#he has such loki energy

[elvhendis]

Illario with his hair down won't leave my brain but also what if he got a little fucked up after the Crows throw him in jail. What then

[mobius-m-mobius]

TOM HIDDLESTON and OWEN WILSON in the LOKI S2 BLOOPER REEL

[loki-ioki]

finally did a quick scribble of my mlp Volo design.

[marveltrack23]

Mobius living through the Snap with his boys gets to me

[nostalgia-tblr]

If I could do Fics With A Plot I'd probably attempt An AU Where Lauffey Dies And Odin Goes "Oh Hey, Frost Dudes, I Had Your Heir All Along :D He's Urs Now :D" Except Because This Is A Shit Plan It Does Not Go At All Well. Because it does bother me. Because I worry too much about fictional monarchies having the 'wrong' rules. D:

[black--sun]

It’s what he expected. Denial. He’s not surprised and doesn’t contest those words. It won’t do any good. It’s not a point he’s trying to win anyways, but he also can’t quite keep biting his tongue. He sighs and looks away. “If different means unstable, I guess I can’t argue with the first part.” No. Maybe not unstable. That’s not fair. He’s just… off. And Ichigo can’t help but come back to Shiro’s comment about not being the same person. 

Again, he’s not expecting confirmation, so he falters when he gets it. He frowns, his next response lost when there’s no pushback. Like the muddled steps of a spar. Either way, his stomach is still dripping from the realization. “Hard to want us or how to remember how family is supposed to act?” He grinds his teeth then resorts to chewing the inside of his lip. “I hope you can at least remember I’m on your side.” 

When Shiro goes still, he figures he offended him again. It’s turning into an easy thing to do. But Shiro says nothing and Ichigo pushes his hands into his hoodie pockets and tries not to feel guilty about it. He shakes his head. He’s put off getting back too long, he doesn’t want his sisters to come looking for him in the dark. “Guess you’ll have to entertain yourself for a while.” Because he doesn’t really believe Shiro will stop by for a visit in any timely fashion. Or maybe at all. Ichigo moves to stand beside the door, ready to push the flaps aside, but hesitating. Still. “Don’t forget. You said you’d come see them.” 

If he had his way, he’d stick to Shiro’s back like glue. But he can’t. As always, his sisters come first. They’re his responsibility. So he leaves, going down the way they came.

His mouth pulls downward at the corners a little, briefly, before settling into something kind of neutral. Like hell he'd go back regardless, let alone because Ichigo might say he should. But Ichigo finally says he's broken and it makes him want to snap all over again. "I'm not broken." It's growled out and offended. Ichigo clearly has a romanticized memory of what they were before, like everything had always been perfect but Shiro knows that's not true. It's just what Ichigo's been telling himself all this time, missing and wishing for a perfect past that he'll never have. "I'm just different from what you want me to be. That's your problem, not mine."

Those words ring an uncomfortable bell in his skull, like a loud, annoying, hollow echo. It's not the first time he's been told that. His response is conditioned: a small shrug, his attention shifting to one side. "It's just hard sometimes." That's what she had always wanted to hear from him. They wanted him to struggle, to show that he could admit that he was. They called that progress. Trauma care. What a joke. Well. Shiro's smart enough to play the game.

He notes that step back, away from him, and wonders if Ichigo's trying to mentally and emotionally distance himself, or if he's suddenly disconcerted enough to want the physical distance.

The answer he gets to what was mostly supposed to be rhetorical, a way to show that he's just fine, freezes the air in his lungs. Does he feel like that right now? No, not really, but that's because he's busy. What Ichigo says is exactly what it's like when he's by himself, without enough going on to keep him occupied and distracted. When his lungs unfreeze, the first breath is tight. He shakes his head and hopes it seems dismissive because he can't quite work up words just now. He's cold again, despite the warm sweatshirt. "Yeah," The response comes out on autopilot, too genuine without much thought behind them, "You always were good at keeping me entertained." But they hurt somewhere inside him, because they're true, but they're not true. They can't be true because... because they're just not.

[lokisgoodgirl]

Awful Things [TVA!Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Fresh off the interrogation, Loki is emboldened to make a move. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Heavy smut. Dom! Loki.Bondage, impact play. (w/c 2.8k)

You register your door pad beep through the clink of plates as you slide them into the sink. Strange, you think briefly. I didn’t think anyone else had the code.

Turning, you immediately collide with something hard and flat. But there was no mistaking the scent of him. ��Loki!?” was all you could muster in shock, gripping the lip of your tiny kitchenette. “I brought you some pie,” he growls, punctuating the statement by tossing it to the counter beside you.

His bicep presses against your own, hard as rock through the thick jacket hanging open at his torso. Those eyes that you’d studied so often were darker now. Deeper, somehow.

Dangerous.

“Everything okay?” you squeak.

There’s an energy radiating from him, a heat that seems to charge the air. It hums like static. The intoxicating scent of him wafts from the open top of his shirt, tie askew like he’d yanked it loose on his way here.

You clench. “I just had a very...interesting experience” he rumbles, leaning towards you. His lips are an inch away from yours, tilting his chin upwards as he looms appraisingly. You realise you haven’t been breathing. “O...Oh?” you gasp, as he presses his body closer.

His chin lies nestled to his collarbone, the popped collar of his jacket framing hollowed cheekbones that flex as he breathes in and out through his nose. His trunk is so solid and flat you’d swear it was marble if you couldn’t feel the beat of his heart through his shirt.

“You don’t seem...yourself” you say cautiously, watching the ring of his pupils explode outward. You’re suddenly reminded of a wolf, stepping on a rabbit before it tears its neck out. “I’m feeling more myself than I have in a...long time,” he purrs darkly.

Loki trails a long finger down your cheek, curling at the angle of your jaw and tipping your chin up to face him. There is a calculated pause.

“And do you know what I want to do?” You shake your head, eyes wide like a virgin. Loki smirks, and it makes your pussy melt into your underwear. He leans closer, inhaling against your hairline. His crotch rubs against you, a low rasping sigh escaping his lips as the weight of his cock drags against the bare skin between your standard issue loungewear set.

“I’ll give you a clue,” he rasps lower and dirtier than you thought possible. “It’s not eating that pie.” His eyes narrow, and stay like that.

A curl has fallen down his forehead, black and slick and every bit as out of place as he is in your apartment. And yet – it belongs there.

The counter-top digs into your spine, Loki’s body crushing into your own with the mass of his towering form. You bring a hand to his chest, pressing lightly against the hot flesh you’ve longed for.

“What happened out there-?” you start, feeling desire slide between your thighs as he shakes his head with a chuckle. “Someone reminded me of past transgressions,” he mutters, fingers toying with the sides of your top.

They slide beneath it, his large hands making quick work of cupping your breasts. The rough wool of his jacket grazes your nipples, hard and ripe for his attentions. His eyelids flutter as the flesh moulds to his touch, heavy cock pulsing.

“They reminded me of some terrible...awful things I’d done,” he enunciates slowly. His eyes are alight with mischief, with seduction. Pure godhood is leaking from him like a vapour, saturating the air around you grown heavy with the humidity of sex.

“And it reminded me, of the terrible...awful things I wish to do to you.”

Your legs feel weak. And Loki can feel it too.

His hands slide quickly down your waist, casting the loose sweatpants you wear to the floor. You gasp, gripping the sides of his face and pulling him to you.

Whatever the reason, if this is your chance – you’re taking it.

In moments, his tongue jams into your mouth. It’s wild, unhinged- and for now, the notorious Loki Laufeyson is all you can feel. All you can breathe and taste – every sense alive with his urgency.

He seems to have known the curves of your body for a lifetime, dexterous fingers curling into the perfect dents as he hoists you into the air. Immediately your legs lock around his hips, the flat of his cock pressed against your eager, soaking cunt. “Want me to go easy on you, little thing?” he groans as he spins you round. “Now is your chance.” You decline between grunts as you force his face to yours, tugging at his slut-mussed curls. His chuckle vibrates against your teeth. “Good,” he utters quietly into your open mouth.

Suddenly a cool, flat surface presses against your back. You cast a glance to the side, checking that you are still in fact in your sparse TVA studio. A flicker of green licks the floor beneath Loki’s feet, magic recoiling to its master now that its work is done. A shudder runs down your spine, hips bucking into the thick of his cock still tight beneath the pants.

“A little...theatre, for your initiation.” he purrs smugly as he raises a hand above your head and smacks the newly placed wooden beam twice.

It runs from the ceiling to the floor at the end of your bed. Before you have a chance to process, Loki tosses you to the mattress.

“On your knees, face me.” You comply. The wetness between your thighs is unbearable now, every involuntary clench of your pussy sending pathetic shock-waves of desire rippling across your skin. “Take it off,” he rumbles as he lowers his chin again with a devastating glint. It flickers to the t-shirt.

You pull it over your head, casting it to the floor. Satisfied, Loki raises a hand, curling his fingers. You can feel invisible binds licking around your wrists, winding and whispering against the skin. He pulls the fist towards him with a flourish – and by doing so, you. Yanked forwards, your hands fly to either side of the beam. They meet in the middle, a low hum of magic sizzling as Loki watches on. He widens his legs, the fabric of his trousers creasing and straining beneath the mass of muscle beneath. The triangular stance makes a whine snake from your throat, and a small smile twitches the corner of his mouth.

“Right where I’ve wanted you, all this time,” he hums while his fingers work his belt-buckle with aching slowness.

“Fuck me, Loki” you gasp desperately, clenching around air. It’s all you’ve wanted since the first time you laid eyes on him, but never in your wildest dreams did you imagine this. Loki chuckles mirthlessly, biting his lip. “Oh sweet one,” he coos darkly, “you know not what you ask.”

The leather slides from its holster with a rough hiss as you groan, resting your head against the beam. Anything. You would do anything.

Butterflies soar in your belly as the god loops the belt around one palm. With the other, he pops the button of his trousers, releasing his cock. The obscene bulge you had only fantasised of as you writhed beneath your bedsheets under the cover of darkness lies tantalisingly in the grasp of his hand, pumping slowly back and forth as his head tilts.

Your tongue flattens, already imagining choking on it as he takes his pleasure; saliva dripping in whoreish swathes down your jaw.

“How like you this?” he growls while clasping his hands behind his back with a ceremonial stiffen. He shifts his feet on the floor while you squirm against the post. It's too much to take in. A garbled moan is all you can manage as magic melts the thick jacket from his body, and then his shirt...and then his pants.

But the belt? That stays wound around one hand, the veins taut and thick and pulsing.

A thrill drops your stomach. You realise that before now, you had only ever met the shadow of Loki Laufeyson which stalked the halls of the TVA. A mirage, dulled by the weight of what he tried to suppress.

Now, somehow, he was free.

But there would be time for understanding later. Loki paced naked around the beam, unwinding the belt from his palm. The muscles in his ass tighten and relax with ever careful pace, cock bobbing with every measured step, muscles in his thighs clenching as he inspects his meal. He’s hungry, it seems. Thick valleys dip in the side of his waist, the ripple of thick shoulder muscle making your thighs tremble as you hold position. “I want to make love to you,” Loki pondered as if to himself. “I want to pleasure you beyond an inch of your sanity, until you are breathless putty begging for release from your amorous torment.” He spins pointedly to face you, gaze afire with an aura you’ve only seen in the archives. “But not tonight,” he says.

Your cheek presses against the beam with a whimper, pussy throbbing. Anything. He shakes the belt out with a dramatic flourish, looking at it and then to you with a jovial air of expectation. An eyebrow cocks. “Just one. For me” he purrs sweetly, undertones of velvet obsidian spicing the air between you. “Two,” you gasp as you squirm. Loki throws his head back in laughter, wild curls tickling down his shoulder-blades. He snaps back up, and with a single graceful bound he positions himself behind you on the bed. Large hands roam your body, biting kisses marking down your neck, your shoulders. There will be marks, you think. It is not a supposition, but a certainty.

He is everywhere at once, fingers trailing through your dripping sex while he utters the filthiest praises the timeline has ever known. The fact he desires you, is touching you – that simple act alone is almost too much to bear.

“I knew this day would come,” he whispers deviously as his lips and teeth make their procession down your spine, your hips, your ass. “An inevitability...perhaps” he groans before sucking the plump round of your ass with an obscene moan. A whizz cuts the air as the belt lays claim to the soft curve with no warning, impact sending your hips flush to the beam with a snap.

You cry out his name, the biting pain followed by the moist slather of his tongue against the tender skin. He bites down, catching only a sliver between his teeth. Groaning against his prize, Loki slips his digits through your sopping folds. “Good fucking girl,” he rasps wetly, thrumming your clit. Bucking against him, you try to slow time as his fingers go about their light work. It’s gentle. Too gentle.

“I knew we’d get along.” he smarms. You can feel his gluttonous smirk thick in the air.

He pulls away, the second smack of the belt coming down in the same precise location as the first.

You yelp, bracing against the beam while Loki moans behind you. He runs his palm across the skin, breathing heavily.

The god’s body presses against your own, flattening you against the pillar while you grunt his name into the wood. Condensation is forming on the grain, the heat making your eyes sting as keenly as your ass. Loki chuckles darkly. A menacing thud sounds to your right as the belt is thrown to the floor, immediately followed by the curl of his fingers around your hips. A sharp inhale sears the back of your throat, realising what is to come.

Your only regret, is that you can’t see his face as he squeezes his huge cock inside your heat with a guttural gasp of air. Another time, you think optimistically; all other thoughts leaving your body as Loki releases a ragged, choking splutter.

He’s settled on his knees, guiding your pussy down his iron manhood with devastating slowness. Your ass meets the expanse of his thighs, the softness of your curves against his animalism making you feel like you might break. And perhaps you would. He thrusts up with the precision of an executioner. Never in your most unhinged fantasies did you think being full of Loki's cock would feel this good. Make you feel this free. The fingers of one hand twist in your hair, tugging it back. If you crane far enough, you can just see the bow of his jawline flex, his chin pointed to the ceiling. The veins in his neck strain, Adam’s apple tight and static with the clench of his teeth. Every filthy, whoreish grunt from his throat is heaven.

The stick of your arousal coats him, every squelch as he fucks into you making your eyes roll back. Your arms ache, but the thrill rising in your blood as orgasm bubbles makes it peel into oblivion. “Who am I?” he growls, the tone seeping into the depth of your soul.

Words have left you, rattling around in a haze of pleasure and utter bemusement. Short gasps are all that come out, but Loki’s showmanship will not be thwarted. “Who am I?” he repeats ceremonially, bottoming out with a punishing thrust.

You yank against the invisible binds, clenching around the root of his cock as he drags it out with a thundering groan. Every vein, every ridge of his manhood makes your soul ignite. “Loki-” you pant, muffled by the squash of your cheek against the wooden beam. Another punishing thrust. If his fingertips weren’t digging so much into the dip of your hips, you were sure you’d hit the ceiling. “Who?” he spits.

You feel a spray of venom hit between your shoulder blades, the violent smoulder of his eyes piecing the top of your spine as he rails you like a bitch in heat. His fingers curl around the nape of your neck, massaging gently as the fire between your legs reaches critical levels. It’s not a threat, it’s incentive. Your lips part, climax threatening to undo you from the inside out. And somehow, you know what he wants.

“God of Mis-mischief – urgh-ah, Loki...Laufeyson, God of..fuck, Mischief”

You and he moan in unison, rising orgasm shuddering your bodies as Loki’s stomach folds flush against your back.

The force of his primal need settles on your neck from his breath, twitching cock tugging inside your desperate pussy with shallow thrusts as he comes undone with a thunder of your name. The force of his seed hits like a flood, spurting against your fluttering walls as you clamp around his girth. A mess of shuddering, juddering, raw flesh. He settles back on his calves, rocking you gently as he milks himself to completion.

All you can feel is the haze of his attention in your orgasm-addled state, hands massaging the spill of your sweat-damp breasts while blood thunders in your ears. You’re vaguely aware of him speaking. “Sorry can you repeat that?” you murmur, tilting you chin. He’s right there, soft lips capturing yours in a messy kiss. It hurts your neck, but fuck...is it worth it. “I said, I have to follow up on something,” he whispers conspiratorially.

His hand travels downwards, tucking between your legs before taking hold of the root of his cock still buried deep inside. You can feel it slide side-to-side, his fingers playing in the swell of hot cum from gathered there.

He brings the hand slowly upwards, scissoring his fingers. Strings of arousal glint in the low light as he hovers it in front of your mouth. Instinctually, you point out your tongue, leaning forwards to meet his fingers.

“Ah,” Loki breaths as you take both fingers between your lips, sucking gently; deep to the second knuckle. His hips pump up gently, hot breath misting your ear as he buries his face in your neck. “F-fuck, little thing…” he rasps, “-you’re even more than I thought you’d be.” Sliding his fingers from your mouth, he picks up the wisp of his train of thought. “This was more of a...flying visit.” he says. Your brow knits, trying in vain to tug your hands from the beam. “But I shan’t be long. Believe me, I would rather be here. But what can I say, I am much in demand.” The mattress shifts as Loki swings his legs over the bed, standing with a stretch. You watch the muscles in his back flex, every inch carved by the gods themselves. Naturally, you muse with a thrill as his freed cum drips lazily down your inner thighs. “Forgetting something?” you purr, enjoying the slant of Loki’s brows as he turns. Your smile fades as that look crawls over his face again. “Who am I?” he quips with a smirk. Magic rolls over his body. The trousers unfurl, followed by his shirt and tie – as fresh as ever. There is a rustle of leather as his belt rears from the floor, and with a decadent click of his fingers, it slithers around his waist; cinching in. The brown jacket appears folded over his forearm.

Your brow furrows, yanking at the invisible binds. “Loki-” you say. It’s a warning, not a statement.

“Who am I?” he repeats, arching a brow.

You roll your eyes, teeth gritting. “Loki Laufeyson, God of Mischief.” Loki smiles. The type of smile you’ve seen in the corridors many times. The type of smile that usually precedes something which increases your workload. His gaze flickers from your face to the beam, hands still bound as he begins to pace backwards towards the door. He raises his palms in a gesture of feigned sympathy, a devious tug at one corner of his mouth betraying him.

“Always have been,” he smoulders, a wolfish grin spreading.

“Always will be.”

Tags (cont in comments) @lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @loz-3 @buttercupcookies-blog @mrs-illyrian-baby @ohboyanotherlokiblog

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

October 12 - Knife Play

pairing: dom!Natasha x sub!Reader

summary: Natasha interrogates you, and you have fun.

content warnings: knife, restraints

word count: 2.1k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

You looked up through your eyelashes, eyes hard, and locked on the figure slowly moving towards you from across the room. You felt your heart jump slightly as deft fingers slowly slid a knife out of its holder. 

The shiny silver metal glinted slightly underneath the singular lamp illuminating the room. If you had to guess, you were somewhere near the coast in a warehouse. The faint sounds of waves breaking sounded out, muffled from the walls. You were tied to a chair, your wrists cuffed in front of you on a solid metal table. 

The table was bolted down, you’d already tried to flip it earlier, your muscles protesting from the effort of your attempt. So you’d conserved your energy, knowing you’d need it once the Black Widow arrived. 

And here she was, looking almost exactly the same as the last time you’d run into her. That was four months ago, but if she and her Avenger friends were anything, they were persistent. It was rather annoying, actually. 

“You changed your hair,” you say, leaning back as far as you can while chained. Your nonchalant demeanor pisses her off, you can tell by the slight twitch in her left eye. 

Natasha ignores your comment, her dark green eyes locked on yours as she moves closer. She looks like a predator who’s finally caught its prey, and you’d be lying if the look in her eye didn’t send pleasant shivers down your spine. 

“I’ve finally caught you,” Natasha murmurs, stopping right next to you and leaning against the table. If you were able to move your hands, you’d be able to touch her thigh. Even so, the heat radiating from her body warms your fingers. “It was laughably easy.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” you chuckle, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you notice the way her lips purse at the name. “You only caught me because I wanted you to.”

“Okay I’ll bite,” Natasha says, crossing her arms. “Why did you want to be caught?”

Smiling, you wait a moment before responding, letting your eyes trail over the muscles you can see beneath her Black Widow suit. “Because I had so much fun last time, don’t you remember?”

Looking back at her face, you watch as she clenches her jaw slightly. Another one of her tells. You’re certain that she’s remembering the way you flirted with her, your fingers grazing her body as you fought, distracting her enough that you were able to slip away once your planned diversion happened. 

“You blew up one of our training facilities just to get away from me,” she says, her eyes hard even as they glance down slightly. 

You lick your lips, smirking at her. You’d purposefully worn a button-up shirt, leaving one too many buttons undone. A lacy black and red bra peeked out just underneath the fabric, and you love the way Natasha’s breath stuttered slightly when she caught sight of it. 

“Nobody was inside,” you say, your words flippant. “Besides, you know I love a dramatic exit.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at that, and you’re careful to not smile too widely. God, it’s so exhilarating to get her to lower her guard. 

“Why are you messing with SHIELD?” Her voice is softer at this question, and if you weren’t utterly convinced that she hated you, you’d hear the concern woven through her words. 

This time, you make sure your face is serious. Natasha sits up straighter, knowing the next words out of your mouth are going to be nothing but the truth. “SHIELD has caused nothing but pain, always claiming to protect the public. Who was the cause of all of the problems they’ve fought for the public?”

You wait for a few seconds, watching Natasha’s face as the realization sets in. 

“That's right, SHIELD. When Loki tried to take over the world and let those aliens into New York, why was he on Earth? Right, because SHIELD wanted to use the Tesseract to build better weapons. What they don’t realize is that by trying to use powerful items that aren’t meant to be on Earth, they’re inviting those threats to our world at the expense of citizens just trying to live their lives.”

You finish your rant, breathing heavily for a moment while Natasha watches you. Regaining your composure, you smile at her. It's dazzling and bright, and it throws her off. 

“But the better answer is that I just wanted to see you, малышка.”

Natasha blinks, scoffing at your pet name. She fiddles with her knife for a moment, before looking back up. “They’ve sent me in here to get answers from you.”

“I know,” you respond easily, cracking your neck before settling back into your chair. “But you and I both know that I won’t give you anything.”

“We’ll see about that,” she murmurs, and your heart rate spikes when those dark green eyes glance down at your chest again. This time, they don’t move. 

The knife in her hand slowly drags along the metal table, the sound grating your ears for a moment. You grimace in annoyance, looking up at Natasha with a cold look. She smirks at you, bringing the knife to your fingertips. 

“First question,” she whispers, the knife gently running along your hands and forearms. “What is your real name?”

“Aww why, so you can put me in your contacts to call later?” 

Natasha drags the knife slightly deeper, creating a shallow cut on the back of your hand. “Wrong answer,” she says, her lips inches from your ear. Her tongue peeks out, licking the shell of your ear while you shiver beneath her. 

The knife drags further up your body, grazing your hard nipple before the cold metal rests on your sternum. Pressing the tip further into your skin, she drags the knife down towards the top of your breasts. 

“Don’t-” you blurt out, but it’s too late. 

Her knife pops the button holding your shirt together, and you sigh. “This was a very expensive shirt, Natasha.”

“Oh,” she says, her eyebrows threaded in false sympathy. She pops another button. “Oops, my hand slipped.”

The tip of the knife drags over your stomach as she continues to pop the rest of your buttons, her hands quick as she pushes the fabric to the side to reveal your torso. 

“This is a nice bra,” she says, her pupils dilating. Natasha looks back up at you, leaning in until her lips are close to yours. You can feel her breath against your skin, and you breathe in her cinnamon scent eagerly. “Not very practical, though.’

“I wore it just for you, детка.”

“Cute,” Natasha says, before smirking and digging her blade under the front of the bra and cutting it cleanly. “Tell me your name and I’ll leave your pants in one piece.”

“Who says I want to keep them on?” You smile widely at her. 

“Smartass,” Natasha retorts, dragging her knife deeper over your skin. 

You flinch, letting out a soft breath as she leaves shallow cuts over your chest. You can feel your underwear dampening, and your hips move slightly. 

Natasha catches the movement, her other hand moving to your upper thigh and caressing you there. Her touch is warm and confident, and you breathe in deeply as you attempt to regain your composure. 

“Just tell me your first name, then I’ll give you what you want,” Natasha emphasizes her words by sliding her hand further up your thigh. Her thumb rests dangerously close to your aching core, and you bite your lip. 

“Why, so you know what to scream in bed?” 

Smirking, Natasha places the tip of her knife over your nipple, digging in slightly as you wince. “You can either comply and feel good, or you can be a brat and scream for me while I cut your nipple off.”

Her voice is hard, and you instantly know that she’s not joking around. Ah, what’s the harm in just telling her your first name, right?

“It’s Y/N,” you gasp out, breathing a sigh of relief when she drags the knife away from your nipple. 

“Very good,” she murmurs, holding the knife against your neck. 

You freeze, feeling her other hand cup your overheated core. Holy fuck does it feel good. A soft moan escapes your traitorous lips, and you abandon all dignity as you grind your hips into Natasha’s hand. 

“Does that feel good? Do you want more?” Natasha’s lips are on your ear again, and you nod quickly, your mind racing. “Tell me your last name and I’ll give you my fingers.”

You laugh, throwing her off guard. The knife at your throat digs in slightly, and you let the laugh die as you tilt your head to look at her. “I’ll never tell you my last name, that’s a promise.”

Your smile is wide, your eyes slightly crazed as you continue to grind against her hand. “But,” you say, catching her attention. “I’ll tell you the location of my home base if you can make me cum.”

Natasha mulls it over, watching your desperation grow. “Fine,” she says after a few moments, “But if you refuse to answer then this will only get worse for you.”

Nodding at her, you watch as she slips her hand inside your pants. Her fingers expertly find your clit, circling it as you moan lewdly before thrusting deeply into your wet, aching pussy. 

It doesn’t take long for you to cum. The combined sensation of her fingers curling deep inside you while her knife solidly digs into your throat is enough to send you tumbling over the edge into a powerful orgasm. 

You cum around her fingers, clenching down tightly on them while you shake and shudder. Natasha watches you through it all, her eyes dark and needy as she watches you come undone. 

Eventually, she pulls her fingers from you. Bringing them to her mouth, she sucks your cum and arousal off of them, closing her eyes briefly and groaning at the taste.

Smiling, you lean back slightly in satisfaction as you watch. You had to admit, she was talented with her fingers. Natasha removes the knife from your throat, only a faint stinging sensation lingering from where she’d pressed the blade against you. 

“Good, now it’s your turn to answer-” she cuts herself off, tilting her head as she listens to something in her earpiece. 

You watch her expression harden, her eyes glancing over to you while her fingers tighten around the handle of her knife. She barks out a quick confirmation of her position, before following it with a quick ‘Yes, Sir.’

Natasha’s eyes lock on yours, and she leans down with her knife pointed directly at your heart. “I have to go deal with something, if I find out that you were involved with this in any way, you’re in for a world of pain. Got it?”

If you could raise your hands, you would. Instead, you settle back as much as you can, raising an eyebrow at her. “I’ll be here when you return, don’t worry.”

Narrowing her eyes at your words, Natasha licks the blood off of the tip of her knife while you watch with your mouth open. She smirks, then turns on her heel and walks quickly towards the door she’d entered. She glances back at you one last time before exiting, her eyes dark and hard. 

You give her a two-fingered wave, chuckling at the resounding slam of the door. Waiting a few moments, you tap your foot as you count to 30. Once you’re sure she’s gone, no doubt dealing with the distraction you’d instructed your team to create, you slip a paper clip from your sleeve and quickly unlock your restraints. 

Standing, you stretch for a moment before casually walking towards the window. You can hear a helicopter overhead, a rope dangling in front of the window. Unlatching the window, you wrap your torn shirt around you as tight as you can, tying the front so you aren’t completely exposed. 

Honestly, as hot as the action was, you couldn’t help but be slightly annoyed at the inconvenience. What was your team doing to think about you once they saw you with cuts all over your chest and a smile on your face? 

You move to climb out the window, one leg swinging over the sill as you grab the rope with your hands when the door clangs open.

Looking back you make eye contact with Natasha as she stands frozen for a moment, knife in hand. She shouts something, but you’re already being pulled from the window by the rope, a laugh escaping your lips as you watch her run towards you. 

By the time Natasha reaches the window, you’re 50 feet in the air, being pulled up towards the helicopter as it speeds away. You blow her a kiss, a wide smile on your face as you watch her stab her knife into the window sill. It was always so thrilling, this game of cat-and-mouse.

Maybe next time she’d finally capture you successfully.

[angelremnants]

Of Stormbound Hearts l L. Laufeyson

summary : In the midst of a storm of emotions and unspoken longing, two souls collide in a moment that blurs the line between desire and fear. The tension between them disguised under quarrels has been building for months, and when it finally unravels, neither can escape the pull of what they’ve both denied for so long. But as their connection deepens, so do the questions. Will they be able to handle the storm they've created, or will it consume them?

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature themes (+16), intense emotional tension, physical intimacy, angst to eventual fluff, vulnerability, character conflict, suggestive content. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 4.9k

author's notes : This is loosely tied to my A Tales Of series—which is why there is no previous plot explaining what led to their dispute—but can be read as a stand alone.

(ao3 version)

The dimly lit room trembled under the weight of unspoken words. Tension hummed like a taut wire, each breath you drew amplifying the storm raging outside the windows. Thunder cracked sharply, rattling the walls like an impatient herald of unresolved truths. Yet neither of you blamed Thor for the horrid weather—after all, he had fled the chaos of your ongoing quarrel, retreating to find solace a few doors away.

The argument had collapsed into a suffocating silence. The air between you was raw and electric, sparking with the aftershock of words that could not be taken back. Loki’s composure was shattered, a pale reflection of his usual elegance. His chest rose and fell unevenly, dark locks falling across his face in wild disarray, evidence of his frustrated hands. His arms hung stiff at his sides, fingers twitching with restrained fury, the kind of control that seemed like a punishment, as though it physically pained him to keep from destroying something—anything.

You fared no better. You tugged tightly at your hands behind your back, a futile effort to quell your trembling. Although your voice had been quieter than his during your shouting match, the magnitude of your confrontation rippled through you like an unstoppable tide, leaving you breathless.

You wanted to say something cutting, to twist the knife just enough to force him to react. But his silence unnerved you. The tension in his body and the way his chest rose and fell unevenly—it wasn’t anger. Not entirely.

“What now, Loki?” Your voice sliced through the quiet, intransigent and bitter. “Another lecture about how I’ve derailed your grand, masterful plans?”

He stood motionless, his silhouette framed by the storm’s flickering light. His shoulders were tense, rigid beneath the weight of everything he didn’t say. You shot daggers at his back, daring him to respond. The distance between you felt impossibly vast yet suffocatingly small.

“Are you going to speak?” you pressed, your words razor-sharp. “Or is this the part where you brood in silence, as if the world owes you something? How very godlike of you.” Your tone dripped with mockery.

His muscles tensed at the provocation, every inch of him vibrating with restrained energy. The air around him grew thick, crackling with the kind of dangerous power you recognized all too well. Your instincts screamed at you to retreat, to stop provoking the storm brewing before you, but a deeper, reckless part of you pushed forward, daring to test the limits—perhaps as a way to prove to yourself that you could withstand it.

Yet instead of unleashing his fury, he closed his eyes, drawing in a shaky breath, as though the very act of restraint was excruciating.

“You think this is a game?” His voice was low, trembling with barely restrained anger. “Do you think I stand here, unraveling because it amuses me? Don’t mock me, [Y/N]. I am holding on by a thread.”

The vulnerability laced through his fury struck you like a lightning bolt, but you wouldn’t let him see it. Folding your arms, you threw his anger back at him with a defiant glare.

“Control. That’s all you care about, isn’t it? Your fragile ego.” You scoffed bitterly, crossing your arms to mask the nervous tremor in your fingers. “Honestly, Loki, if you’re so desperate for control, maybe you should stop being so insufferable—”

His head fell forward slightly, his sharp laughter echoing bitterly around the room. The sound was devoid of joy, just a hollow crack in the façade he fought to maintain.

“Stop.” He abruptly turned to you, his eyes unyielding and blazing with darkness. The storm within him mirrored the one outside, each word trembling with unrestrained venom. His lips curled into a joyless smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. The shadows carved harsh lines into his face, and his gaze burned with a fury that made your pulse quicken.

“You ruin everything,” he snarled, taking a step toward you. The intensity in his gaze forced you to take an involuntary step back. “Every plan. Every strategy. Every ounce of control I’ve fought to keep. You invade my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment.” He laughed bitterly, his voice trembling with fury and despair. “You don’t get it, do you? How maddening, how utterly unbearable you’ve made this for me. You’ve undone me. Me! The God of Lies, of Mischief, reduced to this—this pathetic shadow.”

Your defiance faltered. There was no venom in his words, only a bone-deep frustration and something else—something raw and unspoken.

"Please don't do this," you warned, your voice now softer. But he wasn't paying attention.

"Do you know what it’s like? To crave someone so deeply that it consumes you?" Loki continued, his voice cracking slightly. He stepped closer, the heat radiating from him palpable now. "To loathe them for it? To want to destroy them because it would be easier than feeling this—this madness?"

Your anger wavered in the face of his raw emotion. You noticed his hands twitching at his sides, his fingers curling into fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His brow furrowed, veins straining visibly beneath his skin, as if his emotions were about to burst forth. The tremble in his voice betrayed the turmoil he fought to contain.

"You terrify me." His voice softened as he whispered your name in an almost pained tone, and for the first time, you saw the cracks in his façade. The vulnerability he had buried so deeply now spilled over. "You've taken the one thing I've always had—control. And you've destroyed it without even trying. I hate you for it. I despise your existence."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and the armor you had so carefully built around yourself began to fracture. It felt like a physical blow, a sharp breath escaping you as if you had been struck in the solar plexus.

"Then leave," you whispered, your voice thin and brittle. The word felt like ash on your tongue. "If I’m such a burden, leave."

“Do you think I haven't tried?” His voice was a mix of anguish and fury. “I have fought gods, defied realms, burned my own bridges to the ground in the name of my freedom—and yet, I can’t walk away. I am shackled, chained to this unbearable ache that you've submitted to me.”

Your heart hammered in your chest as his words sank in, each one unraveling the control you thought you had. You had believed yourself to be the one in charge, teasing him, testing his limits. But now, faced with the depth of his emotions, you realized how little you truly understood him.

“Loki…” Your voice trembled, softer now, filled with uncertainty.

“No. Let me finish. Let me finish,” he insisted, his voice shaking with a mix of rage and vulnerability that gleamed in his eyes. “You will hear this—I deserve the least of it. You infuriate me,” he growled, suppressing emotion as he took a strained breath, pressing a trembling hand to his chest as if in pain. “Because you’ve invaded every part of me. You’ve stripped me bare, torn me apart.”

He took a step closer, the heat of his body almost overpowering your train of thought. Your back pressed against the wall, and as you opened your mouth to reply, no words came out. The tension in the room was suffocating, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from him.

“I hate it,” he admitted, his voice rough. “I hate how much I need you, how much I—” He broke off, his words choking in his throat. “I can’t even hate you properly. I’ve tried. I’ve tried everything. This burning torment consumes me every time I look at you, every time I hear your voice and know I can never—” He exhaled suddenly, as though the admission physically pained him. Lowering his head, he gripped his hip with his other hand as if to steady himself. “You make me feel like I’m falling apart from the inside out. You haunt my thoughts. It hurts, and it bewilders me beyond recovery to hear you call for me, to hear you say my name.”

The storm outside roared, and the lightning illuminated his face as he towered over you, his forehead nearly brushing yours. The tremor in his hands pressed against the wall on either side of you, trapping you without making contact.

“I am weak, and you are the one thing I cannot resist. It pains me, irritates me, and yet—and yet, I crave it. I crave you.”

You stared at him, rendered speechless, as the weight of his emotions crashed over you. His hands trembled at his sides, and his voice dropped to a near whisper.

“I’ve known nothing but pain and suffering my whole life, but never have I suffered like this. Every moment I’m near you is agony,” he confessed, his breath warm against your cheek. “But every moment I’m away is worse.”

He pursed his lips, his throat constricting as if swallowing the pain. Then, slowly, almost as though it was the last shred of his pride slipping away, he sank to his knees before you.

His shoulders slumped forward in silent surrender, as if his pride and strength had been stripped away in that single motion. Your heart raced as you saw him like this—so proud, so untouchable—now laid bare and vulnerable.

"I am begging you," Loki murmured, his voice trembling. "On my knees, if that’s what it takes. Tell me to leave." He shut his eyes tightly, as if even the thought of it would scar him. "If you feel nothing, say the word, and I will disappear from your life, no matter how much it kills me. But if there is even the smallest chance that you..." He stopped, his voice breaking completely as he looked up at you, his stormy green eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"If you feel even a fraction of what I feel for you... please. End this. Free me from this torment—or let me stay as I am. It would be an honor if you could accept me as such." He swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I am already painfully yours. But I beg you, please, tell me what to do."

For a long moment, the only sound was the storm, echoing the chaos between you. You stood over him, and for the first time, you saw him—not as a god, not as an agent of chaos, not even as your acolyte, but as a being, raw and vulnerable, utterly at your mercy. The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy with unrestrained emotion, making your heart race—and, shamefully, stirring something deep inside you.

"I..." you started, your voice barely a whisper, but Loki shook his head. His hands curled into fists against the earth as he slowly lifted his gaze, stormy green eyes locking onto yours. "No," he breathed, his voice thick with anguish. "If you’re going to reject me, say it directly—don’t give me hope first."

Your heart felt heavy, a tight knot forming in your throat as Loki's words cut through the air like a cold breeze. Each syllable lingered, wrapping around you like a shroud and igniting a tumult of emotions within you. You hesitated for a moment before brushing your fingers over his trembling shoulders. You couldn’t stand to see him like this. He had always been a god of power and control—and now, he was breaking in front of you.

"Loki," you whispered, your voice low but steady, "please, don’t kneel. Get up. It pains me to see you like this." But like a child being reprimanded, Loki shook his head categorically, his body rigid with refusal. His hands clenched into fists against the earth.

"Look at me, Mischief," you said softly, your tone coaxing, as though your voice alone could undo the weight crushing him. Your hands hovered for a moment before finally resting on his trembling shoulders—gentle but firm. "You don’t belong on your knees. Not before anyone, and certainly not before me."

His jaw tightened, and he averted his eyes, an abashed expression crossing his face like a shadow. How wrong you were, not to know that it was one of the finest luxuries in all of the realms for him to be found in such a compromising position for you. Only for you.

Sighing, you resigned yourself to match his position and lowered yourself to your knees in response. Your fingers rose to his face, cupping his cheeks with a tenderness he wasn’t sure he deserved. Though he didn’t return your gaze—probably out of shame, judging by the flush staining his alabaster cheeks—you could see the turmoil in his eyes, mirroring your own.

You took a deep breath, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady yourself. Yet, even in the overwhelming intensity of the moment, a mischievous glint sparkled in your eyes, and a small, teasing smile curled at the corners of your lips. Leaning in slightly, you brushed your fingers lightly against his temple before flicking his forehead. “You really do have a way with words, don’t you? Twisting my thoughts around like one of your tricks.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed, flickering with a mix of disbelief and indignation. His mouth opened, a protest forming on his tongue, but it faltered. He exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of exhaustion. His jaw tightened as he looked away, his hands clenching against his knees. Yet, even in his silence, a small tremor betrayed him—enough to reveal the cracks in the armor he so desperately tried to maintain.

You sighed softly, leaning closer, your breath brushing against his cheek as you tilted your head just enough to meet his gaze again. “You’re impossible, Loki,” you murmured, your tone quieter now, almost tender. “Completely and utterly impossible.”

With that, Loki’s walls crumbled. His head fell gently onto your shoulder as his body surrendered to the weight of his emotions. He was spent, utterly drained, and you held him close, your heart pounding in your chest. Your hands slid through his hair, fingers gently brushing through the tangled mess as a soft gesture of comfort. You glided your hands down his back, letting the tips of your nails graze his spine before tracing back up, repeating the process; each touch sent shivers of pleasure through him.

“You’re cruel,” Loki huffed with dry humor, his voice barely audible yet tinged with something like relief.

You let out a soft laugh, your lips brushing the crown of his head. “If anything, I think you’re the cruel one for making me care this much,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “You push, you pull… you twist me into knots, Loki. And still…” You paused. “Still, here I am.”

His breath hitched at your words, his body taut beneath your touch. Slowly, you pulled back, cupping his face once more. Your thumbs grazed his cheekbones as your eyes roamed over his features—the furrow in his brow, the way his lips trembled slightly, the flush on his alabaster skin.

“Honestly, I should be the one angry with you, Mischief,” you said, your voice softer now but laced with frustration. “I never did anything wrong, yet you let it all spill onto me—your anger, your pain. You teased me, belittled me, and made me feel like I didn’t matter. And yet, here you are, breaking down in my arms and asking me to understand.”

Your words cut through him, and he swallowed hard, the storm in his eyes flickering with uncertainty. With a sigh, your expression softened, your lips twitching into a small, understanding smile. “But you’re a beautiful soul, Loki—complicated, yes, but beautiful all the same. And I can’t help but be pulled in.”

A shudder ran through him at your words, his vulnerability deepening. For a moment, he looked as though he might shatter entirely.

You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and tangling your fingers in his hair. You leaned into him, intoxicated by his warmth, your lips brushing over the shell of his ear. “I want you to look at me, sweetheart,” you murmured, your voice low and commanding.

Loki’s sharp intake of breath betrayed his surprise, his stormy eyes snapping up to meet yours. His reluctance was palpable, a flicker of resistance flashing through his gaze, but he obeyed nonetheless, the weight of your words rolled onto him.

Your teasing nature returned, a discreet and sly smile tugging at your lips as you pulled back slightly. Your thumb grazed his jaw, your touch soft and deliberate as your gaze roamed over his face. You admired every detail, letting your fingers trace his lips, cheekbones, and the curve of his jaw.

Loki's breath caught in his throat, your words cutting through the veil of confusion and tension that had clouded his mind. He buzzed with delight under the weight of your gaze and the soft but insistent touch of your fingers; it was almost too much to bear. Battling to stay still, he fought against the urge to jump on you and ravage you senseless for speaking those words and treating him like he was the finest ornament.

You replaced your hands in their original positions and brushed your eyes over his face, taking it all in. Loki’s features were a portrait you wished you could engrave in your mind forever. His brow furrowed slightly, expressing the intensity of his emotions and uncertainties. His lips, which you teasingly traced with your thumb, parted in a shallow, desperate breath, trembling ever so slightly as if on the verge of confessing something left unsaid, although everything had already been spoken. The sharp, high points of his cheekbones, usually so regal, now appeared softer, flushed a deep crimson from a mix of vulnerability and desire. A single drop of sweat traced down the side of his face, catching the light and adding to the tension in his gaze—and oh, those eyes.

His eyes, darkened with longing, swirled with a storm within—flickers of green shimmered with desperation, burning with desire and uncertainty. The depths of his irises seemed to pull you in, reflecting not only his internal struggle but also his raw need to be seen and understood, and more importantly, for you to accept him wholly. Beneath the intensity, you could sense the vulnerability in his eyes, attracting you like would a siren song.

Your fingers glided down the length of Loki’s neck, lightly grazing his skin as you leaned in closer, your breath warm against his ear. The faint teasing smile on your lips never faded, even as you sensed the tension building in his body, each gentle touch adding to the pressure. You reveled in the way he reacted to your every move. It was a delicate game, a playful form of payback for the emotional torment he had caused you during your journey, and perhaps a way to steady yourself against your growing desire to close the distance between you entirely.

Your thumb traced his jaw, your fingers lingering near his lips, as if daring him to break the silence. The heat between you thickened, charged with unspoken need. For a fleeting moment, you almost forgot his boundaries, lost in the thrill of the game and definitely too enthralled by the gorgeous being in front of you.

However, you failed to notice the shift in his posture. The practiced stillness that once defined him wavered, giving way to a sense of danger. His breath hitched, and his mind snapped back to the person he truly was. The weight of his identity surged through him like a tidal wave, breaking the fragile restraint he had been maintaining. His breath came in short, shallow bursts, and his eyes burned with a warning you failed to heed.

In that moment, you overlooked the reality that you were not dealing with an obedient being, but a depraved and hedonistic god who always took what he wanted. A god whose desires were as boundless as his patience was fragile.

In a flash, Loki shot out his hands, seizing your wrists and yanking them away from his face. His grip was firm and unyielding, forcing you to pause as you felt the rising tension in his body, with barely contained fury simmering beneath the surface.

“Enough,” he growled softly, a whisper of danger hanging heavily in the air. You blinked, momentarily stunned by the shift in his demeanor. You found yourself captivated by the intensity of his gaze, unaware that his restraint had snapped and his longing had surged to the surface all at once. Hunger radiated from him—raw and primal—as his hands tightened around your wrists, pulling you closer with an urgency born of days filled with loneliness and yearning. The heat between you burned brighter, almost unbearable, as the space between your faces dwindled.

“You should know better than to toy with a god,” he warned, his voice thick with desperation, sending shivers down your spine. You leaned in slowly, your lips hovering just a breath away from his. Your warm breath teased him, a subtle dare to close the distance. But at the last moment, you hesitated. Something inside you faltered—not out of fear, but from an instinct to stretch the moment, to savor the tension. You drew back ever so slightly, your lashes fluttering as you caught your breath.

The flicker of hesitation was his breaking point. A low, feral sound escaped his throat as his hands moved swiftly, cradling your face with a reverence that trembled with need.

He surged forward, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was both relentless and heartbreakingly tender. It was fierce and all-consuming, as if every ounce of his pent-up longing was poured into that single moment. You thought you heard him sigh in relief as he pulled you closer, as if the weight of your shared emotions connected you in a way that words never could.

His trembling hands released your wrists, one sliding to the nape of your neck, the other tracing down your silhouette before settling at your waist, pulling you firmly onto his lap. Your bodies aligned, his center flush against yours.

You tried to speak, to say something—anything—but the words were trapped in your throat, lost in the overwhelming intensity of his kiss. His lips were insistent, each press a force that left no room for thought, only the sensation of him, of this. Each kiss felt like a claim, a demand you couldn’t resist. Your breath caught in your chest, and before you realized it, your arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair as his kiss deepened.

Your mind raced faster than your heartbeat, torn between the fire of his touch and the fear gnawing at your insides. How did we get here? you wondered, your fingers pausing against his skin as confusion tugged at your thoughts. Is this what I’ve been waiting for? The line between longing and fear blurred in your chest. You felt yourself being pulled deeper into his orbit, yet a quiet voice in the back of your mind warned you not to lose yourself in this moment.

“Loki...” you whispered, your voice heavy with the vulnerability you could no longer conceal. But before you could finish your sentence, his lips claimed yours once more, and you found yourself powerless to resist. He couldn’t stop; his mouth moved over yours with a desperate passion, and you surrendered to him, lacking the strength to pull away.

"Don't pull away," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. "Not now, please."

The world outside your embrace faded away, leaving only the sensation of his lips against yours and the heat of his body seeping into yours. You could feel his heart racing in his chest, pounding as fast as your own. Every kiss was a question, and every touch confirmed that neither of you could walk away from this—no matter how much you might want to, and no matter how much fear lingered in the back of your minds.

You felt a flicker of doubt—you knew you should stop, should hold back, but the pull of him was stronger than anything you had ever known. The quiet voice in your mind warned you not to lose yourself, but it was drowned out by the heat building between you, a magnetic force neither could deny.

You could feel his pulse racing in his fingertips as they traced the line of your spine, grounding you in the whirlwind of emotions. Everything around you seemed to be speeding up, charged with an urgent, desperate energy that neither of you could control. For a fleeting moment, you understood: this wasn’t just about passion; it was something deeper, something you couldn’t articulate. It was months of tension and longing finally unraveling between you.

When you gently separated, your bodies reluctant to lose the closeness, Loki still had the clarity, even amidst the storm of his desires, to give you space. His forehead brushed against yours, and your breaths mingled as you both tried to steady the rapid beating of your hearts. Loki’s hands lingered on your skin, holding the moment without pulling you back immediately. There was a vulnerability in that—a tenderness within his hunger.

Your heart pounded against your chest, the rhythm echoing in your ears as you gazed into his eyes. There was a quiet intensity there, a storm brewing in the depths, and you knew, with terrifying clarity, that neither of you could walk away from this. Not now. Not ever.

He whispered, his voice raw and desperate, "Stay." The word was barely a breath against your lips. It wasn’t a request; it was an unspoken promise, a silent vow.

Your cheeks flushed deeply as you felt the weight of his gaze and the heat between you. Timidly, you nodded, your lips parting in a barely audible "Yes"—a whisper of surrender. The vulnerability of your gesture only spurred him on.

Without a word, Loki's lips found yours again, his kiss more urgent than before, as if claiming what was now his. His touch was demanding and desperate, overflowing with everything he had kept buried. It wasn’t a tender kiss; it was a claim, a release for all he had confined within. It burned with the intensity of your unspoken words, consumed by the hunger you could no longer deny.

He took everything you offered, his lips moving hungrily against yours, ragged with desire. His hands roamed your body with a reverence that spoke of months of longing. One hand slid back to the nape of your neck, while the other traced the curve of your waist, stationing to their rightful places, savoring how your bodies were leaving no space between you.

You felt a stronger pull towards him than ever before. As you surrendered to his embrace, you realized there was no turning back. You let your instincts guide you and continued to kiss him, your focus narrowing to the sensations of his lips, his touch, and his breath.

His hands trembled as he gripped you tighter, sliding over your curves, anchoring himself to the reality of your touch. He explored with deliberate slowness, tracing the length of your spine and backside, teasing as you had done to him earlier. He relished in this an unspoken dance of hunger and need, in the feeling of your fluttering eyelashes against his cheeks, the thundering beats of your pulsing heart under his palm, the shared heat as your bodies almost united as one.

You tugged at his hair, attempting to slow him—but oh, he couldn't, not now, not anymore. He groaned, unrelenting, lost in the feeling of you. He was too far gone, too hooked up on the feeling and the taste of your sweet lips. He shuddered pleasurably when he chased your mouth even as you gasped for air, even when he too needed to breathe.

It felt as though he could travel to Hel and back with the fire in his veins, ignited by the scent and taste of you. You only spurred him further when you bit his lip and gratified his back by raking your nails down. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest as he shifted his grip and lifted his hips in reflex, pressing against you with relentless hunger.

When you finally broke apart, both gasping for oxygen, Loki's forehead rested against your temple. His breathing was uneven, and his hands still trembled from the raging storm inside him as they lingered on your skin. Although his grip loosened, the raw intensity remained, demonstrated by the furrow of his eyebrows in pleasure.

"Careful," he rasped moments after with his voice hoarse, having taken his time to clear his mind a bit from the foggy sensation in the febrile hope he could somewhat behave himself not to go rampant. He backed away to admire his handiwork, his eyes roaming over you to appreciate the flush in your cheeks, the pink of your swollen lips, and the dazed look in your eyes. "You've already tested my patience. Keep this up, and I won't hold back."

Your heart thundered, your body vibrating with exhilaration and need. A small sly smile tugged at your lips as you leaned forward, biting his lip once more in defiance. Loki’s control slipped further. With a swift motion, he pulled you down against the concrete of the ground, his lips finding yours again in a renewed storm of desire.

The storm hadn't passed. It had only just begun.

ending note : I honestly almost turned it into a smut— almost. It was tempting, but I haven't reached that level yet.

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

dividers ©️ @strangergraphics-archive + @enchanthings .

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

[reveryfics]

Lotus Eater

Pairings: Loki x Male Reader

Summary: Loki has taken you along to Asgard, but instead of dealing with his princely duties he instead spends indulging in more pleasurable activities.

A/n: To clarify a "Lotus Eater" is someone who spends times indulging in pleasures and luxuries instead of dealing with concerns.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The shimmering Bifrost bridge, a rainbow of energy, deposited them onto Asgard, the golden city gleaming against the backdrop of a thousand stars. Loki, his hand clasped firmly in his own, guided his boyfriend through the bustling streets, the air alive with the hum of magic. Towering spires, shimmering fountains, and gardens bursting with exotic flora painted a picture of otherworldly beauty.

"It's… breathtaking," his boyfriend breathed, his eyes wide with wonder.

Loki smiled, a mischievous glint in his emerald eyes. "Wait until you see my old chambers."

He led him through the opulent halls of the palace, the marble floors cool beneath their feet. Finally, they reached the door, heavy and ornate, adorned with intricate carvings. With a flourish, Loki pushed it open.

The room was a sanctuary of comfort and indulgence. Bookshelves overflowing with ancient tomes lined the walls, while scattered across the floor lay exotic furs and shimmering silks. A four-poster bed, draped in a canopy of shimmering moonlight silk, dominated the center of the room, inviting surrender.

"It's magnificent," his boyfriend whispered, mesmerized.

Loki chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "I have another surprise for you, my love."

He led him towards the en-suite bathroom, where a small, exquisitely crafted box sat upon the crystal sink. "Open it."

With trembling hands, his boyfriend lifted the lid. Inside, nestled on a bed of black velvet, lay a garment of shimmering silk, a masterpiece of seduction. It was a dress, the fabric clinging to the curves of his body, revealing more than it concealed.

Loki watched, a predatory gleam in his eyes, as his boyfriend emerged from behind the screen, the setting sun glinting off his bare skin. The silk clung to him like a second skin, accentuating every curve, every ripple of muscle.

Suddenly, all thoughts of royal duties, of family obligations, vanished from Loki's mind. There was only this – the raw, primal desire burning within him, the need to possess, to consume.

"Come here," Loki growled, his voice a silken caress.

His boyfriend moved with a grace that belied his strength, straddling Loki's lap. The silk rode up, revealing the smooth curve of his buttocks, a tantalizing glimpse of forbidden pleasure.

"Does it please you, my prince?" he murmured, his lips brushing against Loki's jaw, sending shivers down his spine.

Loki's hands tightened around his waist, his nails digging gently into the flesh. "You have no idea," he rasped, his voice rough with desire.

He leaned in, his lips finding the sweet curve of his neck, tasting the salt of his skin. This was Asgard, a realm of magic and wonder, but nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the magic that ignited between them.

The air crackled with a forbidden energy as Loki, eyes gleaming with mischief, trailed a finger down his boyfriend's chest. A soft gasp escaped his lips as Loki's touch ignited a trail of fire across his skin. Their lips met in a fierce, passionate kiss, a battle of wills and desires.

Loki pulled back, his eyes lingering on his boyfriend's flushed face, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips. "You look so… delectable," he purred, his voice a silken caress against his skin. He nipped at his neck, eliciting a low groan. "Like a forbidden fruit, ripe for the taking."

He began to unbutton his shirt, discarding it carelessly to the floor. His eyes roamed over his boyfriend's body, drinking in the sight of him, his skin glistening with sweat, his eyes glazed with desire. "You're so beautiful," he breathed, his voice husky with need.

He reached for the waistband of his pants, slowly sliding them down, revealing the evidence of his erection. His boyfriend, eyes wide with a mixture of lust and apprehension, reached for him, his touch tentative at first, then bolder, exploring every inch of his body.

Loki groaned, arching into his touch, his fingers digging into the sheets beneath him. "You drive me wild," he whispered, his voice rough with desire.

He pulled his boyfriend closer, their bodies melding together, a symphony of skin against skin. He moved against him, slow and deliberate at first, then with a fierce urgency that mirrored the storm brewing within him.

"You're incredible," he murmured, his breath hot against his ear. "The most beautiful creature I've ever seen."

He buried his face in his neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his skin. "And beneath this dress," he whispered, his voice a low growl, "you're even more breathtaking."

He moved with a primal intensity, his body a whirlwind of sensation. He kissed him deeply, his tongue exploring the warm, moist cavern of his mouth. He tasted the sweetness of his submission.

As the world around them faded away, they surrendered to the raw, primal force of their desire, their bodies moving as one, a perfect, passionate dance of pleasure and pain.

His boyfriend, emboldened by Loki's surrender, shifted, his hands finding purchase on Loki's hips. He began to move, slow and deliberate at first, teasing Loki with the promise of deeper pleasure. Loki gasped, his head thrown back, his eyes fluttering closed. He was lost in the sensation, his body arching involuntarily beneath his lover's touch.

His boyfriend, sensing his vulnerability, increased the pressure, his movements becoming more confident, more demanding. Loki cried out, his nails digging into the sheets, his body trembling with the intensity of the pleasure. He was completely at his mercy, his will melting away beneath his lover's skilled hands.

His boyfriend, reveling in his control, leaned down and kissed him deeply, his tongue exploring every corner of Loki's mouth. He tasted the salt of Loki's tears, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure he was inflicting.

Loki whimpered, his body shaking uncontrollably. He was on the verge, teetering on the precipice of ecstasy. His boyfriend, sensing his imminent release, moved with a final, explosive burst, sending Loki over the edge.

Loki arched, his back twisting, his body convulsing with pleasure. He cried out, his voice raw with ecstasy. He clung to his boyfriend, his body limp and spent.

His boyfriend, his chest heaving with exertion, held him close, whispering words of comfort and love. He traced gentle circles on Loki's back, soothing the tremors that still racked his body.

"You're mine," he murmured, his voice husky with satisfaction. "Completely mine."

Loki, nestled in his arms, could only manage a weak smile. He was utterly, hopelessly lost. He had never felt so completely, so utterly consumed. He closed his eyes, savoring the afterglow, the lingering warmth of their bodies pressed together.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room. They lay entwined in the large bath, the water lukewarm and soothing.

"We should do this again," his boyfriend murmured, his voice a low rumble against Loki's ear.

Loki, his eyes half-closed, smiled lazily. "I think we should," he agreed, his voice thick with lingering pleasure. "And next time," he added, his eyes twinkling mischievously, "I want to see you in more lingerie."

His boyfriend chuckled, a low, throaty sound. "Anything for you, my love." He leaned down and kissed him, a lingering, tender kiss that promised more to come.

This continuation explores the power dynamic shifting, with Loki becoming more submissive under his boyfriend's confident touch. It emphasizes the sensory details and the emotional impact of the encounter, creating a more immersive and satisfying reading experience.

[erinwantstowrite]

idk if this was obvious but is “the realm between our worlds” loki put (who im assuming is) thor in the place peter kept dreaming about? or was peter somehow dreaming of that exact scene we saw (with loki and klarion when thor was arriving) but instead it was a more weird abstract version?

Pretty much this!! Klarion is directly responsible for all the weird dreams and the storms- it just happened to coincide with the glitching and confused Peter and Dick. It'll be explained in chap 18, but Klarion was using himself as a bridge to get Thor out of the rift. He zeroed in on Peter using his magic, giving him the dreams kind of as a side effect/consequence to the magic. They were more abstract because Peter's sleeping mind was processing visions of what Klarion was seeing/what he knows about. By doing this, Klarion was giving Thor the ability to find Peter. Thor is the cause for the weird weather patterns and the fact that it has been following Peter, but Klarion gave him the dreams/visions. here's a picture i drew with my mouse cause i didn't want to get my tablet out just yet:

Klarion had to help Thor get out, as well. Thor wasn't strong enough to get out of the rift on his own (because Thor's powers aren't like Loki's) so Klarion was like "oh have some energy using this spell my friend" (Klarion was not his friend, Thor was a backup if Loki didn't say yes), and that's how Thor was able to get out. He almost succeeded one time on accident- that was when Peter and Jason were nearly struck. Klarion pulled back because Thor was stronger than he expected and he wasn't planning to actually release Thor unless he had a reason

basically, Klarion was sending a charged up lightning missile to Peter's location. at least Thor is friendly :)

[corroded-hellfire]

I love the AYW universe, whenever I get bored I come and choose a random part to read again anyways the newest update was really good, especially the NKOTB mention cause I'm a big fan of them too ❤️

Anyways a thought I had is what if reader shows Eliza NKOTB music at some point just like my mom did with me. I feel like Eddie would pick on reader for being a new kids fan but once Eliza is on the dark side he knows he'll have to put up with it

This reminded me of the home movie of my big sister doing this dance and now I want to find it lol. Also a big thank you to the lovely @lokis-army-77 for helping me when my brain forgot what words were 💕

Words: 1.7k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The end of May means that Eliza’s dance classes have paused for the summer, but her brothers are still in school, leaving her bored. Dance also helped burn off the three-year-old’s extra energy, which is now dropped in your lap.

After a week of no dance classes, an idea strikes you when Eliza stumbles upon a box from your childhood while playing hide and seek. 

“Hmm…” you hum as you walk into your room. “Where, oh, where is my little girl?”

The sound of a box shifting in your closet catches your attention. You smile to yourself and tip toe towards the closet. The shuffling continues as you reach for the doorknob.

Quickly, you yank the door open.

“Gotcha!”

Eliza is sitting in a cardboard box, various CDs and cassettes tumbling out and a couple clutched in her tiny hand. Your daughter grins up at you, her dimples heightening her already high level of cuteness. 

“What’s these, Mama?” she asks.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” you say, sitting down on the floor in front of the box. “Oh, okay. This is music I listened to when I was a kid.”

“Like me?” Eliza asks.

“Mm, more around Luke’s age.”

“Can I hear?”

“Sure, baby,” you say. 

You pick up a small stack and start to go through them before one in particular catches your attention. 

“Hey, Liza. Want me to teach you a dance?”

Her large brown eyes widen, and she nods so quickly that it looks like her head is about to fly off.

“Yes!”

“Ugh, thank God I’m home,” Eddie sighs as he steps through the front door. 

He kicks off his boots and stretches out the muscles in his lower back. 

“Hey, you.” You smile at your husband as you stroll in the room to greet him. He smiles in return when you slip your arms around his neck and press a kiss to his lips. “How was work?”

“Not bad,” Eddie says. “Not as good as this.”

“Dinner is almost ready,” you tell him. “But we have a special performance first.”

“Oh?” Eddie cocks an eyebrow. “Luke want to read some Shakespeare for us?”

You laugh and drop your head to Eddie’s jumpsuit-clad shoulder.

“No, he’s doing his homework. Assured me he didn’t want to be here for this performance.”

“That scares me,” Eddie admits. “What about Ry?”

“He’s out with friends,” you say. “This is just for you. So, go get changed and meet me on the couch.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Eddie yawns as he steps into the living room, scratching his stubbled jaw. He plops down on the couch in one of his old Hellfire shirts from high school and a pair of black sweats that are looking more faded and grayer these days. His mane of hair has been pulled into a ponytail at the base of his neck and all traces of oil or dirt from the day in the garage are gone. 

“Thought I was supposed to be entertained,” Eddie says loudly, smiling to himself.

“In a minute!” Eliza shouts back from her bedroom down the hall.

Eddie laughs and stretches his arms out, resting them on the back of the couch. 

A few moments later, you come down the hallway and swipe up the remote that controls the stereo. The spot on the couch next to Eddie looks like it’s been waiting for you, so you grab it and cuddle up to his side. Your husband wraps his arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“You smell good,” you murmur to him. 

“Used some of your soap,” he replies.

You take another sniff and realize it’s your body wash from Bath and Body Works. A store where Eddie refuses to buy anything, yet always uses what you get. 

“Thief,” you tease before sticking your tongue out at him.

“A-hem-hem!”

Eliza is peeking around the corner from the hall and you’re quick to remember your role and nod at her.

“So,” you say, looking back at Eddie. “Have you heard that Eliza will be starting preschool in the fall?”

Eddie’s brow furrows and raises at the same time. It’s a look that says of course I have and where in the hell are you going with this?

“Yes…”

“Well, you know what that will make her?” You aim the remote towards the stereo and press the play button. “A New Kid on the Block.”

Bum-bum bum-bum buh

Bum-bum-bum buh

“Oh God,” Eddie whispers. 

A grin splits your face from ear to ear as you snuggle into your husband’s side and watch your daughter emerge into the spotlight of the living room. 

You wanted her to look as authentic as possible for the late 80s, but with Eliza’s wardrobe, that mostly meant finding the right hues of pink to put together. It works for her, but even if it didn’t, Eliza would make it work. 

First time was a great time

Second time was a blast

Third time I fell in love

Now I hope it lasts

“What did you do to our girl?” Eddie grits out quietly through his teeth as Eliza starts to dance. 

“She wanted to listen to some of her mommy’s music,” you say sweetly, laying your head down on your husband’s shoulder. “And she misses her dance class.”

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Eliza puts her hands on the waistband of her neon pink leggings and begins to shuffle her legs from side to side while hopping like the iconic moves from the music video. 

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

The right stuff

Now, Eliza steps with her left foot and pumps her left hand up towards her right shoulder twice. Then, she switches and goes to the left with her right hand and foot.

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

The right stuff

Out of the corner of your eye you see Eddie grin. It makes you pick your head up so you can get a full view of his smile as Eliza bounces along to the beat. 

“She gives Joey McIntyre a run for his money,” you whisper.

“I’m going to assume that’s one of the members,” he murmurs back. 

You roll your eyes and silently vow to give this whole family a boy band education. 

The last chorus is about to start, and Eliza runs up and grabs your hand.

“Come on, Mama!”

With a chuckle, you stand up and join her at the front of the living room. Both of you position your hands at the top of your pants and begin to hop on one foot, bring them back together, then hop on the other. 

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

The right stuff

Eliza giggles wildly as the two of you do this together. She looks up at you as you dance, her curls bouncing and cheeks pink from the small exertion of energy. 

A sort of lightness fills your body, your mind transported back to when you were hardly a preteen and learning this dance for the first time all alone in your room. The fact that you’re now doing it with your daughter in front of your husband makes you nothing short of giddy. 

Now, the two of you go on to the next move. Step with foot, pump hand, step, pump, switch. Step, pump, step, pump.

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

The right stuff

The song finishes and Eliza bows. Eddie cheers and you clap your hands until Eliza straightens and tries to tug you down in a bow with her. Instead, you give a deep curtsy and bow your head in Eddie’s direction.

“That’s my girls!” Eddie whoops as he claps. 

Eliza giggles and runs over to her father, launching herself in his lap. He catches her and lets out an oof.

You take back your previous position at Eddie’s side and Eliza flops down to lay across both of your laps. 

“I like that song!” Eliza states. 

“Me too.” You poke her belly, and she lets out an airy laugh. 

“You like it, Daddy?” Eliza asks.

You raise an eyebrow and smirk at your husband. Eddie can practically read your mind: Go ahead, babe. You’ve made fun of me a thousand times for liking New Kids on the Block, now tell that to your daughter. 

Eddie looks down at Eliza before responding.

“I loved your and Mommy’s dance. You’re both very good.”

The dodged question doesn’t even register to the little girl; she’s just happy that her dad enjoyed the dance she learned today. 

“Maybe next time we teach Daddy a dance too, huh?” you say.

Eddie whips his head in your direction and narrows his eyes, making you giggle.

“Yes!” Eliza cheers, sitting up. “We’ll find a Daddy dance!”

“We’ll find a really good one,” you add. 

“Mama, don’t let me forget tomorrow!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you assure her. “I won’t.”

Eddie lets out a low growl and leans in to nip at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You squeal and pull away from him.

“Daddy, no biting!” Eliza chastises. 

“What if Mommy likes it?” Eddie responds. 

“Don’t be silly, Daddy.” Eliza shakes her head. “Biting is bad.”

“But what if I’ve got…” Eddie pauses and leans so far over you that you’re forced to lay back on the couch cushion with a chuckle. “The right stuff?”

He waggles his eyebrows at you, and you can’t help but roll your eyes, despite being tickled by the dad joke. 

Eliza sighs and lays down on top of you, her head resting just above your heart.

“Isn’t Daddy so silly?” she asks you.

You grin up at Eddie as he winks at you.

“The silliest!”

[parrotxx]

just saying if u like loki from mcga (or myth) you will probably like aaravos (elf mirror guy)

So i stopped watching the Dragon Prince somewhere around season 2 and its been showing up on my FYP page on tiktok now...

WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED? THE ELF MIRROR DUDE HAS A DAUGHTER NOW? WHY IS IT DEAD? WTF HAPPENED WHEN I STOPPED WATCHING!?

[venussaidso]

Anya Taylor Joy is a confirmed Bharani ASC thank goodness I was right. Elven beauty and playing the vengeful Furiosa??? BHARANIIIIII NATION STAND UPPPPPPP

Also. I personally believe Tom Hiddleston is a sidereal Virgo ASC. I am for the first nakshatras of the rashi. If he is, I wonder if Loki is more Uttara Phalguni because Uttara Phalguni Sun native Jeremy Irons has voiced the character Scar. He parallels Loki a lot. And also, Hela is literally played by a Krittika Sun! And she is very similar to Loki, too. So there's a lot of Sun in the theme of fighting for the throne. Will be researching this because I'm seeing an heirdom overlap between Sun and Ketu again! (Interestingly, with Tom Hiddleston's possible Uttara Phalguni ASC and Ashwini Moon, he has played King Henry V who has also been played by other Solar and Ketu natives (such as Uttara Phalguni native Michael Sheen played the character, and double Ketu native Timothee Chalamet has as well. Ashwini Moon Adrian Lester played Henry V. King Henry VIII has been portrayed by double Mula native Jonathan Rhys Meyers as well. More importantly, Uttara Phalguni Sun Jeremy Irons has played King Henry IV!!! I also made the connection of Ketu nakshatras to King Arthur). I'll be definitely coming back to this pattern for Sun nakshatras).

The green seems to be associated with the Mercury rashis. In vedic astrology, the colour of the nakshatras Ardra and Hasta is green. They fall in the Gemini and Virgo rashi respectively. Scar's voice actor is a Virgo Sun, while I personally suspect Tom Hiddleston having Virgo ASC as well. Both these villainous/anti-hero characters are known for their association with green.

Kovu is the son of Scar, and I love the green trait mark in the eyes. He is voiced by Uttara Phalguni, likely in Virgo, Moon Jason Marsden.

When actors have played the same characters, or very similar characters, there tends to be a synastry! Loki and Scar are literally the same character, let's be so fucking serious. And Uttara Phalguni is a very ambitious nakshatra so the power-trip tendencies are often the negative impulse of it, due to the themes that define it. And Loki & Scar's counterparts are Uttara Phalgunis themselves.

And not the only Tom Hiddleston-Jeremy Irons connection; they both played the historic figure, Uttara Phalguni Sun native, F. Scott Fitzgerald!

F. Scott Fitzgerald was also Ashwini Moon, and Tom Hiddleston's possible Uttara Phalguni ASC would mean he has Ashwini Moon. But Hasta is common in witchcraft, magic, fraudulence, impersonation and deception. So Hasta is also possible as well, as it is still Virgo.

This scene has always, always gave me Hasta energy. Either way, with a plain Virgo ASC, that puts his Jupiter and Saturn in the 1H in HASTA. So 1H would still be in Hasta and that's valid enough. Also the possible Saturn in the 1H makes sense, I so see it on his appearance.

This is all speculation, of course. I'd be very excited to be proven right.

[frostdayz]

First meetings

Loki x reader (f! reader)

genre: Fluff

summary: Loki turns smitten when he first lays his eyes on you.

AN: it took me not kidding like 25 minutes to post this short thing. I had to edit and post a paragraph each minute. Anyway, I got frustrated and deleted the actual summary so enjoy that mess. BTWWWW if anyone has good Logan (Wolverine) fics/ one-shots send them my way, thanks

my stories never really describe the readers gender so unless stated otherwise all my stories are gn!!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The grand hall of Asgard was a sight to behold—glittering gold, towering columns, and a ceiling so high it felt like the sky itself. I had only heard stories about this place, about the grandeur, the power, the gods who roamed these halls. But none of it compared to standing here, in the heart of it all, among legends.

Thor led me through the grand entrance, his booming laughter echoing in the vast space as he recounted tales of his many adventures. "And then," he chuckled, "I turned to Loki and said, 'You, brother, are as slippery as a snake!'—and he didn’t even deny it!"

I smiled politely, though my attention was elsewhere. There was a figure at the far end of the hall, standing alone by a window, his dark silhouette contrasting against the golden light streaming in. He had an air of mystery about him, his raven hair falling in soft waves to his shoulders, his sharp features etched with an intensity that made my breath catch. It was as if the world had paused momentarily, the air around him thrumming with an energy I couldn’t quite place.

"Ah, and here he is!" Thor called out, nudging me forward with a playful grin. "Loki, brother, come meet our guest!"

The figure turned slowly, and my heart skipped a beat as our eyes met. His gaze was piercing, emerald green, and filled with something unreadable. I could see the flicker of surprise in his expression, though he masked it quickly with a cool, collected demeanor. He stepped closer, his movements graceful and deliberate, and I found myself rooted to the spot, unable to tear my gaze away. "Lady Y/N," Thor continued, clearly enjoying himself, "this is my brother, Loki. Loki, this is Lady Y/N. She has come to Asgard as a guest of our realm."

Loki stopped in front of me, his eyes never leaving mine. There was a subtle shift in his expression—something softened, something curious. "Lady Y/N," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "It is… a pleasure."

I managed to nod, feeling the weight of his attention on me like a physical presence. "The pleasure is mine, Prince Loki." Thor, ever the observant one, let out a hearty laugh. "Well, well, would you look at that! I’ve never seen you so taken aback, brother. Normally, you’d have some witty remark ready, but it seems Lady Y/N has rendered you speechless!"

Loki shot his brother a look—half annoyance, half amusement—but I caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Do you always announce my thoughts so loudly, Thor?" he asked his tone light but laced with a subtle challenge. Thor clapped Loki on the shoulder with a grin. "Only when it’s so obvious! You should see the look on your face."

I felt a blush creeping up my neck, and I tried to focus on anything other than the fact that Loki’s gaze hadn’t wavered from me. It was as though he was studying me, trying to unravel some puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. It was both unnerving and… thrilling. Loki tilted his head slightly as if considering something. "And what is it, Thor, that you think you see?" Thor chuckled, leaning in closer as if sharing a secret. "I see a brother who is completely smitten."

Loki raised an eyebrow, but there was no denial in his expression. Instead, he simply looked back at me, a slow, almost imperceptible smile curving his lips.

"Perhaps," he mused, "there are things even gods cannot anticipate."

My heart fluttered at his words, and for a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the room. The world faded into the background, and all I could focus on was the way Loki’s eyes seemed to see right through me as if he knew me—understood me—on a level I hadn’t even realized was possible.

Thor’s laughter broke the spell, and I blinked, the world snapping back into focus. "Come now, Lady Y/N," Thor said, still grinning, "let us continue our tour. I’m sure Loki will join us once he’s done… collecting himself."

Loki’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before he stepped back with a slight nod. "Enjoy your tour, Lady Y/N. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon." As I followed Thor through the hall, I couldn’t help but glance back over my shoulder. Loki was still standing there, watching me with that same intense gaze. And in that moment, I knew—whatever this was, whatever had just passed between us—it wasn't the last time I'd see it.

[slowcatsworld]

Blue Lock Master Striker Headcanons

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

France’s PXG: Julian Loki

My sweet

Julian definitely is an older sibling (literally made a 3 post long argument on how he is one so TRUST he is). His favorite memory of his little sibling is when they first said his name. The small ‘Julian’ mumbled in multiple breaths (ju..julian yk) made him pause his homework and look them straight in the eye. They stared back with a big, innocent smile. Julian broke out into a smile of his own and grabbed the little guy for a hug.

Julian has such a carefree relationship with his mom, he gives off such mama’s boy vibes. They are a duo that would stay up late watching tv shows even though he has school in the morning and his mom has work. When his mother would cook something Julian was always her taste tester. He lost count the amount of times he would go back for seconds just to “get a better taste” and receive a wooden spoon to the hand. Julian’s mother would adore his girlfriend, especially since she can tell what a good impact you have on her son.

Julian would work well with someone who has a lot of energy but doesn’t need to be monitored or babysat. For example, say he is out at an amusement park with his friends and significant other. His girlfriend sees a game stand that piques her interest and hurls away from the group to investigate with determined steps. Julian isn’t worried about her getting lost or in an altercation with someone. he knows she’ll be back soon and give everyone a detailed report of the stand, the game set up, and the prizes offered. Whether or not she will ask him to spot her some cash to play the game is a whole other story. (Brother is loaded just from playing football)

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

England’s Manshine City: Chris Prince

I hate him

Pathetic man baby vibes

Chris is very aware of his personal hygiene and is ridiculously active in taking care of his body. He has a personal massager, esthetician, chiropractor, waxer, the works. He loves his physicality too much to let himself rust in any capacity. He almost never skips brushing his teeth or washing his face. If he isn’t fueled with a type of passion or desperate enough, he won’t kiss you in the morning until you both at least have some mouth wash. He carries two different deodorant scents in his practice bag. This is nice because you know he won’t ever smell bad, but sometimes he becomes cologne nose blind (especially on high end dates).

He has a beef with Americans. (I don’t know if he’s confirmed English but he is today) He doesn’t mock them or become outwardly rude to them, but he’s thankful to be in the European League and not the North American League (is that a real league? Google isn’t helping and I don’t know shit abt professional soccer leagues-) Chris goes bonkers when someone jokingly calls him an American; as he will be whining and waving his arms about how he’s so much better than them and how it insults his legacy to be compared to an American and not be acknowledged as an English man.

When his hair isn’t cooperating with him he cries out of frustration.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Spain’s FC Barcha: Lavinho

Lavinho loves the feeling of dancing with his partner. It’s intimate and free, no matter what style nor if there was music or not. Lavinho is so fond of holding your hips and gently swaying the two of you in the silent hours of the night that he has a pep in his step when he walks home from practice. Your scent filling his nostrils, the heat he can feel coming from your neck and shoulder as he rests his head there, it’s all too perfect as he begins to hum a song to himself.

Lavinho would want to get a tattoo reminiscent of you. If yall ever were that serious. At first he was thinking of your name, but you shot that down quickly. Something more primal and colorful was more his style. He wants something that represents you, though. Y’all compromise on a couple things that fit both of your wishes. Your favorite flower, a kiss mark, and a woman dancing with a pair of wings emerging from her back. (Picture this omg. The woman could be bowing, in the middle of a dance move or smth and the wings are halfway out of her back. Or something like the woman looking up and outstretched and welcoming to the feeling around her. With the wings spread out powerful and graceful. Okay I’m done I’m done)

Lavinho loves being barefoot. If he can’t be barefoot, Lavinho is wearing open toed shoes. Chanclas, flip flops, Birkenstocks, doesn’t matter. He grew up like this, and doesn’t quite want to conform his freedom and customs to the world of Europe yet. Even if he has been living there for years. He gets so happy at feeling sand under his feet as well, it reminds him of his younger childhood days in the best way. (This is prolly canon bc the first time we see him he’s barefoot right?)

Am I becoming a Lavinho girl..?

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Italy’s Ubers: Marc Snuffy

I don’t like him but I don’t hate him-

He says ‘shitty brats’ too much in the same breath at the end of the Ubers vs BM match I think he unlocked his previous degradation kink or smth idek maybe that’s why

Okay focus

Mick Moon’s death still haunts Snuffy. He hasn’t truly let it go, and even though he seems to make progress during the Ubers vs BM match, he has a long way to go to fully come to peace with his best friend’s death. Most times Snuffy can’t drink alcohol without thinking of Mick and becoming guilty. All the thoughts of how he could have saved Mick from his fate, how he did try but it wasn’t enough, how he allowed for his best friend to ruin his own life- even though that meant Mick stayed true to his philosophy. It hurts Snuffy. It’s the main reason why Snuffy cares so deeply for his teammates now, and why he goes out of his way to make sure they are okay mentally in his own way.

Snuffy wasn’t that interested in the luxury of lust that came from women when he first started out on his dream to being a professional footballer. It wasn’t until Mick that he started indulging in being a lady’s man. While it was almost always lustful and physical, the women that tugged at his heartstrings were the ones that would compliment Snuffy’s nose. The ones that would hold his face to their chest and give him slow, loving kisses to his nose while their hands moved further up into his hair. The ones that knew his eyes were actually orange and not brown and how those women looked into his sharp, big eyes like he was the reason for all their happiness was surreal. Those instances it would become all too real for Snuffy. The lines between lust and something more would get blurred and blurred until he got scared and backed away and moved to the next lady in the next club with a smaller smile than before.

Snuffy is very proud of his black belt in Jujitsu. Especially with the way it helps him on the football field. His understanding of his own body and abilities mean more to him than the average person too. Also because of Mick and how Mick ignored his body both before and after getting let go as a footballer.

Okay, Snuffy isn’t that bad I guess-

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Germany’s Bastard Munchen: Noel Noa

My man my man my man

Let me give you a big smooch

Noel sunburns so easily. He never tans, he always burns a hot pink. He has but an ounce of melanin in his skin that prevents him from being totally albino. Because of this, he is very serious and methodical about applying sunscreen. He applies daily, especially when he knows he’ll be outside for practice or a game. He also isn’t that fond of costal activities because of the sun exposure, even more so because he can’t swim that well. (OMG I read a little blurb about Noel not being able to swim but his wife loved to I don’t know who wrote it but it was so cute I’ll try to find the writer)

He does interviews for football, but finds them rather bland and not that important. He likes to discuss football strategies and profile analysis he’s done of other players, but most of the time reporters aren’t that interested in his words. They always want to know more intimate details about him, it feels like to Noel. Just not his exact cup of tea, but he knows other players are always willing to talk in an interview so he leaves the chitter to them if he can. He likes for his actions on the field to speak for him.

Noel makes an effort to acknowledge stray animals if he can. The cat sitting on the restaurant sill? He gave it some head scratches before continuing his walk. The dog that always lays in the same sunny spot of concrete on the sidewalk? Noel has given him some water just yesterday. It feels as though he’s paying homage to their sacrifices by giving them small acts of domesticity as he was once a stray too. He still feels like one sometimes. At night when he’s awake in his bed thinking, he ponders the possibility of taking one of the many strays home with him. He won’t allow himself to though. He can’t stoop so low as to take an animal into a home that he knows he’ll be absent enough from them (his football commitment sigh) to not properly take care of them, his head reasons, even if his heart wants him to act so unrationally.

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This biscuit is just for you, mwah 😽

8.6.24