#jotunheim mcu

[gloriousburden]

Wait I don’t know if anyone’s talked about this before, but in Jotun Loki fics, people always have the reader touch him while he’s in that form which sort of… never made sense to me.

Considering the fact that he’d be reverted to his Jotun form, wouldn’t anyone who touched him began to freeze? Hence why (perhaps one of the reasons) Loki in Thor 1 was so apprehensive about grabbing Odin’s hand, with the hand the Jotun grabbed him by and reverted him with in Jotunheim?

I… don’t think you’d be able to touch him. And he wouldn’t just be cold to the touch. Loki is ALREADY quite cold to the touch canonically (right bottom corner shown in the picture above), so in his Jotun form… he’d be freezing.

Anyone please correct me if I’m wrong, though. Was just wondering because I always had the sort of idea that if you touched Loki while he was reverted to his Jotun form, that it would be dangerous. Just like touching any other Jotun.

Which is one of the reasons he was probably afraid to grab Odin’s hand. Not only at the thought of himself being a “monster” and untouchable in that sense, but also literally being untouchable because it wasn’t necessarily safe and he was hyper conscious of it, even if he had already been reverted back.

I get people excuse things for the sake of Fanfic, but I actually don’t think I’ve seen people talk about this before. So I don’t know if it’s just them excusing it, or a fandom-wide misconception.

May reword this later. Probably sounds a bit stupid and might be straight up incorrect in some areas because I just woke up.

[vbecker10]

Omg, could you please do a Loki story where Jotuns are basically space penguins, so now Loki has a crush on you and is frantically and meticulously looking for the perfect pebble to give you while Thor just watches and laughs.

The Pebble and the Frost Giant

Pairing: Loki x female reader (y/n)

Summary: Loki is trying to deny his feelings for you so he doesn't ruin your friendship but when he passes an area filled with pebbles and small rocks, he's unable to resist the urge to bring one back for you and tell you he loves you.

A/N: OMG! This is the cutest ask ever, I literally had to write it the second I got it. Most of the time it takes a week or so for me to get an idea from an ask but this one was pretty instant. Thank you so much for sending this, I really hope you like it! 💚

Also, I absolutely love the movie The Pebble and the Penguin! If anyone hasn't seen it, you should! 🐧

"Come on brother," Thor pats Loki on the knee and the younger prince looks up from his book in annoyance.

"I'm not going," Loki resumes reading as if Thor isn't there.

The older Asgardian sighs, "We've got at least an hour until the jet takes off. Let's go down by the water."

"I'm perfectly fine here," he licks his finger before flipping the page. Thor grins and pulls the book from his brother's grasp. "Give it back you oaf!"

"Just twenty minutes," Thor holds the book over his head.

"This trick worked much better when we were children and you towered over me," the younger prince easily reaches up to grip the book.

Before Loki can pull it free from his brother's grasp, Thor yanks it back and tosses it to the ground at their feet. "This is uncalled for," Loki bends to pick up the book but suddenly falls back, landing hard on the jet floor with a grunt.

"Is there a problem?" Thor asks with a smirk.

"No," Loki looks down at Mjolnir as it rests on top of his book. He stands, flicking his hand to produce a second book from his pocket dimension in a haze of green smoke. "I'll just read this-"

Thor chuckles as he pulls the book free from Loki a second time.

"Seriously?" The God of Mischief asks with a defeated sigh.

"Twenty minutes on the beach and I'll leave you alone for the rest of the night," Thor offers.

"For the rest of the week," Loki counters.

"Fine," the God of Thunder agrees and Loki's second book vanishes as the two brothers step out of the jet.

Thor and Loki walk down by the water in silence, the older Asgardian's eyes drift up towards the clouds floating by while Loki scans the beach in boredom. He looks down to check his watch when he's suddenly distracted by a small pile of tide polished stones ahead of him. Without thinking, he leaves his brother's side and begins walking towards them.

"Where are you going?" Thor asks but Loki doesn't answer. He's too focused on the scattered rocks in front of him.

He kneels down, picking up a stone from the top of the pile, looking at it closely then tossing it to the side. "No," Loki mumbles to himself as he picks up a second then a third rock. "No," he shakes his head as he examines each for a few seconds.

"Loki," Thor comes closer, standing over his younger brother as he discards a handful of stones. Without a word, Loki gets up and moves to a nearby pile. "Okay seriously, what are you doing?"

"None of these are good," Loki answers, dusting his sand covered hands on his pants.

"They're rocks," Thor chuckles, amused by his brother's sudden obsession.

"Yes but there has to be one here that's good enough," Loki says. "Not just good, no, it needs to be perfect," he adds in a quieter tone.

"You're not making any sense," he follows the younger prince to yet another pile. "Perfect for what?"

"For who," Loki responds vaguely.

Thor thinks as he follows his brother along the beach, trying figure out who Loki is referring to. To say he has few friends is an understatement, there's really only one person who even comes to mind. "Do you mean Y/N?" Thor asks.

Loki nods, his attention stolen away by an almost perfect stone. Almost isn't good enough though, he thinks as he tosses it towards the water in frustration.

"Why do you need to find one for Y/N?" Thor asks as Loki sits on the sand and picks up a handful of rocks, throwing each away one at a time. "Does she collect rocks? I've heard some Midgardians do that. I wonder if that's more interesting than collecting stamps like Jane does?"

Loki doesn't answer this time, too lost in what he's doing, what he needs to do. I have to find it, he thinks. I don't have time for Thor and his ridiculous line of questions. It doesn't matter if he understands why, Norns I don't even understand why but that doesn't matter now. All that matters is finding Y/N the perfect stone. It can't be too big or too small, the size of her palm should work. It can't be broken, no cracked edges or holes, that won't do either. It needs to be perfect because- his frantic thoughts are cut off by his brother shouting.

"Norns! I know what you're doing," he stands over his brother who shifts to stay out of his shadow.

"I doubt that," Loki says without looking up from the stones in his hand. Because I don't know what I'm doing, he thinks.

"You're in love with Y/N," the older god announces when Loki gets up again to continue down the beach.

"Don't be absurd," Loki denies the truth he hides from everyone including you as he kneels down and begins the process of picking up each stone in the new pile one at a time.

"You are!" Thor laughs excitedly. "This is a Jotun thing."

"What Jotun thing?" Loki looks up at his brother.

"I know this! I read about it when we were younger," Thor says then sighs as he thinks. "I can't remember the technical term for it but when Jotun men are in love, they bring their potential partner a stone as like a proposal."

"What?" Loki asks as he sits in the sand and looks up at his brother. He had never heard of this tradition before now but he also knows very little about his Jotun heritage. When he was a child, frost giants scared him terribly so he never studied them. Now that he knows the truth, he is almost too afraid to learn what horrid tales about them were accurate and which were only made up stories.

"Penguins on Midgard do it too," Thor continues excitedly as he remembers what he read centuries ago. "Ahh! Pebbling, that's what they call it. You're pebbling, you can't help it, it's like an instinct Jotun's have."

"That's ridiculous Thor. I'm not pebbling, or whatever you want to call it, because I'm not in love with-" Loki tries to argue with his brother but the words die as he finally finds it. The perfect stone for the most perfect woman on Midgard, Loki thinks as he turns it over in his hand. Norns help me, my brother is right and I'm not sure I'll be able to hide my feelings for her any longer.

Loki opens your office door after knocking and you get up from your desk as soon as he steps inside. "Hi," you greet him happily, meeting him in the middle of the room. "Welcome back."

"Thank you," he smiles when you wrap your arms around him. "I'm glad to be back," Loki says but what he really means is that he's glad to be back with you.

You rest your head on his chest and his hands settle on your back, holding you tightly to him. You could stay in his arms forever and sometimes you think Loki might let you. He doesn't let go first, he never does.

"You know you spoil me with these hugs," you tell him and he chuckles. "You're going to make me think I'm special cause I'm the only person that gets them."

He rubs your back lightly with one hand, "You are special."

You blush and slowly drop your arms, taking a step away from him. You don't want to let go but if he keeps talking like that, you're afraid you'll do something stupid like kiss him.

Loki's heart pounds in his chest when he catches a glimpse of your blush despite your best efforts to hide it. "I have something for you," he says, clearing his throat.

"You do? You didn't have to do that," you tell him as a smile spreads across your face. You can't help but feel excited by the idea that Loki thought of you while he was away. He never brought anything back for you before.

"It's nothing big," he says with a shrug, "It's actually probably stupid." This was a bad idea, he thinks. How could I possibly think she would accept a silly rock and suddenly be mine? I never should have listened to my idiot brother. Loki puts his hand in his coat pocket, running his thumb over the flat edge anxiously.

"I'm sure it's not stupid," you tell him, putting your hand on his arm. "What is it?"

He sighs and you can tell he's nervous which you find both adorable and interesting. You've never seen him act so unsure of himself and it really makes you want to hug him again.

He pulls a palm sized flat stone out of his pocket. It's perfectly circular and a pale gray with a hint of a blue when it catches the light. "I found it on the beach while we were waiting for the jet," he tries to steady his hand when you take it. He knows it's just a simple rock but the Jotun part of him is truly desperate for you to accept it, to accept him.

You smile and take it from him, bringing it close so you can study the smooth stone, "Loki it's so pretty."

"Really?" he asks in disbelief.

"Yeah," you nod quickly, your eyes still on the gift as you walk over to the window and turn it on the light. "Oh, look! it sparkles in the sun," you giggle.

He breaths a sigh of relief and walks over to you. "You like it?"

"I love it," you reach up and kiss the god's cheek lightly without thinking. "I'm sorry," you apologize quickly but when you look up at Loki you're completely surprised by his reaction.

His cheeks redden and he smiles. "It's quite alright," he tells you, his eyes never leaving yours.

You giggle, suddenly feeling even more nervous than you would have if Loki had seemed uncomfortable with the kiss and take a step away from him. Turning your back to him, you move to your desk but you can feel him following you, "I'm gonna keep it right here so I can see it when I miss you." You place the stone in between a photo of your friends and a mug your nephew made you.

"You miss me?" he asks.

"Yeah... when you're away on missions," you suddenly worry this conversation is going to lead to you accidentally telling your friend you love him if you don't figure out how to keep your mouth shut.

"I miss you when I'm gone too," Loki moves a bit closer to you until he's right behind you.

You turn to face him again, "Really?" You can't help but not believe him. For months you've been hoping he might care for you the way you care for him but its been so difficult to get past all of his walls.

He nods, "Always Y/N. The second the jet takes off, I start counting down the minutes until I can see you again."

Now it's your turn to blush deeply when he reaches out to take your hand. When you feel his fingers intertwine with yours, you suddenly get enough to courage to open up a bit more. "I try to plan my meetings around when I know you'll be back," you tell him. "This way I'm free to see you as soon as your home."

He chuckles and cups your cheek, "I would storm in here even if you were in a meeting with Fury just for one of your hugs."

You giggle knowing he's not lying.

"Y/N," he says, "Since we're being honest, I need to tell you one more thing." You bite your lip but the way he smiles relaxes you instantly. "I want to be more than just your friend, I want to take you on a date." I want you to be mine because I love you, he almost adds but he doesn't want to scare you away.

You're unable to form any words at first, looking up at Loki nodding which causes him to laugh a little nervously. "I'm not sure if that's a yes," he says.

"Yes!" you finally find your words but then they flow a little too freely. "I love y-" you stop and correct yourself hoping he won't notice your slip. "I would love to go out with you."

He strokes your cheek gently, moving closer to you as he puts his other hand on your lower back. "That's not what you were going to say," he smirks, the confident Loki you know returning swiftly.

You shake your head and bite your lip, suddenly losing your nerve.

"Fine, I'll go first," his lips are inches from yours. "I am hopelessly in love with you darling."

As soon as the words leave Loki's lips, you press your lips to his, closing your eyes and gripping the fabric on the back of his jacket. He kisses you back and when you finally break the kiss and chuckles, kissing your nose lightly. "Go on, say it," he smiles, holding you close.

You giggle, "I love you too, Loki."

A few weeks later, you walk with Natasha and Wanda through Central Park on the way back from lunch. You nod as you listen to Wanda complain about Tony, agreeing with her when you accidentally kick a rock on the path in front of you. You stop to take a look at it and smile.

"What are you doing?" Nat asks as you bend down for a closer look.

"I don't know, I just thought this one looked cool," you tell them.

"The rock?" Wanda asks.

"Yeah," you pick it up and turn it over in your hand. It's not very large but the rough stone is heart shaped and such a deep gray it's almost black. "I think Loki might like it."

"You two are so weird," Nat laughs.

You smile and put it in your pocket, "That's why we're such a cute couple."

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

@soubi001 @mochie85 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @multyunervisesuperfan @cabingrlandrandomcrap @icytrickster17 @mjsthrillernp @holdmytesseract @lulubelle814 @alexakeyloveloki @siconetribal @eleniblue @ash-muses @muddyorbsblr @loz-3 @firedrakegirl @wolfsmom1 @anukulee @sabspoetic @beaniemoon @peaches1958 @catsladen @michellewgrt @soulpiercing @lcolumbia1988 @lelliefant @crimson25 @jaidenhawke @lovingchoices14 @jennyggggrrr @itscomplicatedx @goblingirlsarah @witchylittlegrl @motherofmischief

[lokisangelxoxo]

I don’t want to fix him … I want him just the way he is … 💭💚

Credit to Pinterest xx

[angelremnants]

Girls’ Night Out, Loki’s Night In l L. Laufeyson

summary : Girls’ night was going great—until Loki decided to make it his personal mission to ruin it, being hellbent on pulling you home. It’s a battle of wills, but let’s face it: the God of Mischief always gets his way.

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature (18+—MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT) Modern SMAU, established relationship, sexting, explicit sexual content, Loki being a horny little shit, flirting and teasing, strong language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

author's notes : Listen, I don't know why I did this or where exactly I was going with this—I was supposed to start on another A Tales Of ficlet. But I wanted to try my hand at a SMAU for so long, so consider this a little crash test just to see if the format appeals or not.

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

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dividers ©️ @angelremnants + @cafekitsune .

angelremnants ©️ 2025. All rights reserved. Do not repost, reproduce, or distribute without explicit permission.

[annmaximoff18]

Security, gesturing to Loki: Excuse me, is this man bothering you?

Y/N: Well yes.

Y/N: But he’s my husband so it’s what I signed up for.

[underthemexicansun]

Just a gif set of Loki smiles and grins.

[g1rlwholivesindelusion]

— Loki of Jotunheim ❄

If you enjoy my art, please consider supporting me on Ko-fi! Every little bit means the world! https://ko-fi.com/leticiacristina

[spacemonolithart]

I was sketching again~

[lemissingmask]

[ID: Coloured sketch of Loki in his frost giant form sitting in a small cage with his knees curled into his chest and his head bowed, bruising coco me on his chest, arms, back and feet. End ID] -

Whumptober Day 17: Caged

[gloriousburden]

Why are we just supposed to forget that Loki is a Frost Giant? This is A BIG THING!!! This is the big dark secret, the scandal, the controversy, the tragedy, the horror, the origin, the defining moment, the catalyst, the turning point of no return, and now we're just expected to ...not think about it?  Or treat it like it's no big deal, as if it's the same thing as saying Loki has a double-jointed thumb, it's just useless information now? Or laugh about it, as if it’s some kind of embarrassing, hilarious accident of birth Loki deserves for existing?  Can you imagine how incredible, how cathartic, how satisfying it could have been, if only? If only.

OH MY GOD YES!! Between the play (Supposedly written by Loki though he felt immense shame over being Jotun, as well as the overall discrimination against Frost Giants from Asgardians…) from Ragnarok, the Loki/Sylvie blanket scene (I don’t care if it was flirting. NEITHER OF THEM WOULD GET COLD FROM A SMALL BREEZE. I DON’T EVEN GET COLD FROM A SMALL BREEZE!), and "Because I see a scared little boy shivering in the cold and you kinda feel bad for that ice runt." From Mobius being like the only reference to Loki’s heritage in the series?! Ugh.

“Am I cursed?”

“Laufey’s son?”

“So I am no more than another stolen relic, locked up here until you might have use of me?

“What, because I.. I.. I am the monster parents tell their children about at night?”

“You know, it all makes sense now, why you favored Thor all these years, because no matter how much you claim to love me, you could never have a Frost Giant sitting on the throne of Asgard!”

“I’m not your brother! I never was!”

“He did tell you my true parentage, did he not?”

(These quotes make me so sad. Poor Loki. He really went through so much.)

Yes, because the same Loki who was in so much distress about his heritage would crack jokes about it and talk openly about it in front of the common people of Asgard, who view Frost Giants as monsters to tell scary stories about to their children, and enemies.

If Loki didn’t find out that he was a Frost Giant… a lot of things would have gone differently not only for him, but as well as other MCU characters. It is essential to his character, and should’ve been talked about more outside of it being used to belittle him, comedy relief, and outside of AUs such as the What If? episode.

It is so unfair. I do also wish it was talked about in TDW, though I know the movie wasn’t necessarily Loki centered.

Haha guys he’s blue and adopted and a runt. It’s so funny and totally not an essential part of his character. It’s not like he’s deeply affected by any of this, or anything. 🤦🏻‍♀️

[oh-look-at-her]

"I can do....terrible things to you."

Pairing: agardian!reader x Loki

Warnings: profanity, PinV, unprotected sex(wrap it before you tap it), oral sex(f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, use of pet names (Prince, princess, pet, dearest, etc), Loki is a warning in itself, degradation, mocking, name calling (just once I think), choking (for a little while), just smut in general

Author's note: I just wanted to say this is my first ever written fic so have mercy on me. I just really wanted to use that sentence from the Loki series🤭It was also supposed to be shorter...it did not keep to that. I also wanted to say that with the word "undergarment" I do not mean modern day underwear. I mean undergarment as in from the 1700's (like depicted in the photo underneath this text). Don't ask me why I decided to do that, I don't know. I think I've just been watching too much Outlander these last few days. Alr I'll stop my rambling now. I hope everyone enjoys♡

“Oh dear gods, another ball. How many of these are they going to organize?” Was my first thought when Thor asked me to go as his guest yet again the other day. I thought I wouldn’t be going.

And yet, here i am. Standing in a corner in the main hall of the majestic golden palace that the formerly mentioned prince calls home, with a glass of liquor in one hand and a small snack i grabbed from a faraway table in the other. Though i did want to support Thor in his victories of the week, that was not the true reason i came to another loud party.

“Quite the partygoer lately. Tell me, is it just because you enjoy being around obnoxiously drunk people or are you trying to charm my dear brother?"

And there it is. The infamous Loki Odinson, prince of Asgard, God of mischief and lies, to the irritation of many people. I know I wouldn't mind him getting mischievous at all though....

I eat the little one-bite snack in hopes of it distracting me from my thoughts, but to no avail.

Meanwhile, Loki keeps talking with a grin on his face and a sultry tone to his voice.

"If it is the latter, I suggest you stop, since he seems to have quite the interest in that other woman he's been eyeing all night."

I give him the best cocky look I can muster and answer back; "Thor does not have any interest in me and neither do I in him. He gets to ogle whoever he wishes, I thought you would know this, being his brother. Tell me, where is the sudden interest in your brother's love life coming from, dear prince."

"Oh please, a blind man would know he was shamelessly into her. Besides, how could I not be interested when my brother continuously invites the same woman to his... Celebrations."

He ogles me suspiciously, as if he doesn't believe I wasn't interested in that loveable blonde buffoon. I myself have a different type of God in mind. I opt to try and change his mind.

"Thor and I are friends. Why are you so interested in this?"

He hums dismissively and ogles the ongoing party.

"No interest in dancing?" he changes the subject.

"No, this dress is not a dancing type dress. Too tight and heavy. I should've opted for another, but it's too late now." he looked my dress up and down as I spoke, seemingly uninterested, though his tone of voice said otherwise.

"Well, beauty over functionality, isn't it? Seems as if you've succeeded in that area, at least."

My stomach flips and the corners of my mouth lift up into a faint taunting smile as I look up at him. "You think I look beautiful?"

He looks back at me, a faint trace of surprise tainting his expression. "Well yes, I wouldn't have said what i did if I did not think it. When have I ever been known to lie about my opinions, dearest?"

My mind jumps at the mention of the pet name and the compliment paired with it and although I tried to hide my surprise, the faint smirk on the God's face tells me enough. Nevertheless, I look at him with a playful light in my voice.

"Well, you are the god of lies. I would expect you to live up to this Title, as you do your other titles."

"Ah, and what titles are these, pray tell?" he asks as he looks at me with disdain, as if I offended him.

"Those of you being the god of mischief, as well as a relentless trickster. Though people say you usually can't do much harm." I chuckle at Sif's offensive words towards the prince of Asgard.

He chuckles with me, though I suspect because of something else, because his expression had turned darker, his gaze falling on mine again.

"Well, I assure you that I can do... Terrible things to you and anybody I wish."

He says in a low, dark voice, his unrelenting gaze catching the widening of my eyes and the heaving of my chest at his threatening words. Although his words do anything but scare me.

Is that a promise? I think to myself, my mind running wild with the different context his words could be said in.

He grins at me, still not letting his eyes wander from mine. "Do you want it to be?" he suddenly asks.

"What?" I manage to spurt out, shock and excitement having taken over my mind.

"Do you want it to be a promise?" he repeats his question with that same dark, knowing smile on his face.

Did I say that out loud? I'm certain I didn't.

"No, you didn't." he answers my thoughts once again and fear and embarrasment seep into my bones as I realize how he had known.

"How long have you been reading my mind?" I ask him with a shaky voice. He chuckles again, knowing he has the upper hand now. He drops his gaze to his shoulder gently touching mine. When did that happen?

"While you were inquiring why I was so interested in my brother's 'love life' as you put it."

Oh. My. Gods. He had seen and heard every single thing I had been thinking. How embarrassing. I wanted to dig a hole to Hel and stay there until I had melted into the fires forever.

"That's a bit dramatic." he tells me. I move away from him with a scowl, taking care that we didn't touch anymore so he couldn't read my mind any longer, but he already knew all of it. He had heard all my lewd thoughts about him and he thought it funny.

He still has that annoyingly handsome smirk plastered on his face as he gestures for us to move away from the busy crowd and into the halls that lead to various rooms. I decide to follow him. All the harm that could be done had already been done, so why not? He knew it all now. He is silent as we walk through the halls, muffled music still being heard from the party.

"You know, I would expect you to say something...." I trail off as he stops walking and opens a door we arrived at. He gestures for me to enter the room.

It is a lavishly elegant room, accents of gold layered the cream colored walls, a nightstand with multiple drawers and a bed with silky sheets line the left wall, while the other side of the room is dedicated to a roaring fireplace and two lounge couches in the same shade of green as the silk sheets on the bed. In the middle of the wall I am facing, there is a lavish balcony that had a beautiful view towards Asgard. Loki walks towards the bed and sits down on the golden bench in front of it.

I stay by the door, looking at him expectantly, hoping he would clear up the fact that we just entered (what I presumed is) his room without a word being said. He sighs and finally opens his mouth.

"Yes, you're right. I should say something." he pauses for a moment, looking me up and down, though this time not in a rude manner. No, this time it felt more like... Admiration. The God of Mischief and Lies is looking at me with admiration.

"You're a beautiful woman. I must say, I had my eye on you ever since you entered this castle for the first time. Though I thought my brother had claimed you for his own, due to him always inviting you to these gatherings. When you told me this wasn't the case, I decided to see if you were being truthfull or not. I must admit, it was an invasion of your privacy, but I do not regret it one bit."

He gestures for me to join him and sit next to him. I oblige and walked over to him, opting to stand due to the uncomfortability of my dress. He notices this and looked down with a smile gracing his lips.

"So yes, what I said is true. You are beautiful, though this dress could never do you justice. Plus, you seem incredibly uncomfortable in it."

I scoff at his words. "What, are you going to offer to take it off of me? I've heard that line a thousand times, it is not original. Besides, I very well think this dress makes me look exquisite. Why else would I wear it?"

"I did not say you didn't look beautiful in the dress. I am merely noting that it does not do you justice." he answers cockily

"And what would do me justice then, Prince?" I spit back at him, getting a little annoyed at his degrading tone, making my mind wander to unholy places once more.

His low chuckle echoes in my ears. Gods, that chuckle. It's so... Seductive.

"Won't tell, princess." the pet name surprises me. Sure, I had called him Prince, but he is a genuine Prince. I feigned nonchalance.

"Ah, there it is. Let me guess, you'd have to take off my dress to show me?" his playful expression turns into one of ice, filled with lust and seduction. It was a thrilling sight to see.

"You'd let me." he said, with full confidence, because he knew it was true. I didn't need to answer him as he stands and closes the small distance between us, making me look up because of his obnoxiously tall figure.

The playful twinkle in his eye had been replaced with something dark, possessive almost. My breath hitches in my throat as his hand ghosts up until it reached the dip of my waist, pulling me impossibly closer to him.

And I let him.

His gaze was ice cold as he inspected my entire face and figure again. Gods, I love it when he does that. He dips his head until I feel his breath near my ear.

"I know." he whispers into my ear. This asshole was reading my mind any time he could, but even if i could stop him, I don't think i would. He lifts his head to look at me again, this time a devillish smirk is playing at the corners of his mouth again.

Please kiss me already.

I beg to myself and I know he heard it. He finally dips his head down to my lips, I part them as I desperately await his kiss. He doesn't kiss me yet, though. He chuckles at my sigh of frustration, though it sounds more like a whine than I had intended.

His amused and torturous gaze lands on my desperate one. "What is it, pet?" he whispers against my lips. So close.... He knows exactly what he's doing. Of course he does. I'd waited so long, stayed up so many nights because of the thought of him being this close. Or closer....

My eyebrows furrowed at the thought of these nights and I know he saw. I know he knows exactly what I'm thinking, but I don't care. I want him. And I'll have him.

"Will you, now? Last I checked, I'm the Prince here. You are under my command, are you not?" he outright laughs at my attempt to kiss him, get him closer to me in any way. He moves away from me, opting to move towards one of the lavish Green couches on the other side of the room. He looks at me over his shoulder while he did so, plaguing me, teasing me with the distance he's creating.

I stare at my hands, nervously playing with my fingers whilst trying not to grieve the loss of his touch. His hand on my waist, His chest pressing against mine, his lips so close to mine... I hear him walking around for a bit while I'm still fidgeting with my fingers, not daring to look his way unless asked.

"Don't get shy now, pet. Look at me." I lift my head to see him sitting comfortably on the couch, his fine asgardian leather suddenly having been replaced with a pair of comfortable looking black lounge pants and... No shirt.

He's trying to get under my skin, I know it. But I don't care one bit as I let my gaze travel along the impressive muscle tone of the Prince, trailing from his shoulders to his chest, from his chest to his toned abs, from his abs to that perfect V-shape that's only disrupted by the thin fabric of his pants.

I let my eyes wander further up now, admiring the strong biceps and, Gods, those perfectly veiny arms. And finally those hands...i could stare at them all day, just the sight of them makes me almost want to drool.

He's so perfect. And he knows it as I finally meet his icy gaze and that same goddamn smirk that made my heart freeze and my hands tremble.

He knows it when he gestures for me to walk towards him and close the distance he so painstakingly created just a minute ago.

He knows it when he stands before me, pulling at the strong threads that were holding my dress together, making the first layer of my dress fall to the ground.

He knows it when he carefully unties my corset with gentle patience, unlacing it with his slender fingers and finally taking it off of me.

He knows it when I'm standing before him in my undergarment, looking me up and down, not with just hunger or lust, but with adoration and relief. The sheer fabric does nothing to hide my body, even showing off my nipples that had hardened due to the cold night air.

And gods, does he know it when he guides my arms to lay on his shoulders, peppering tender kisses onto every inch of skin he can find, pulling me closer and finally granting me the kiss I had been longing for ever since I had seen him for the first time.

His lips capture mine so perfectly in a dance of passion, not at all what I had expected from a God of mischief. I had expected something feral, completely driven by lust. Hel, I'm not sure I even expected him to outright kiss me. No, this exceeds all my expectations.

He carefully bites my lower lip, granting him entrance to lick inside my mouth and taste me, deepening the kiss. The feeling of excitement and arousal growing with every passing second.

He grinds himself into me, pulling me closer and closer. I can feel his cock getting hard through the fabric of his pants, making me clench my cunt around nothing. My hands roamed through his hair, not nearly as greasy as I had imagined, instead I am met with soft curls and a pretty sound coming from the Prince's lips as I tug at them.

He's everywhere. His arms around my waist, squeezing it tight and keeping me close to him. He overtowers me by far, and he has to lean down a distance even with me standing on my tiptoes to reach. His scent, his taste, his hands.

Gods, I need him. He breaks the kiss, but not without tugging at my bottom lip another time, a little rougher now, though.

His breath is steady, whereas mine is ragged and uncontrollable as he rests his forehead against mine, his lips still hovering so close to mine.

"I know, I need you too. You've no idea how long I've wanted you." he whispers, again answering my thoughts. I didn't mind this time, though. I want him to hear and see everything I am thinking. I want him to know what I want.

But that doesn't mean I'm not going to play first. He had been so gentle and loving and it feels so good to be worshipped, but that would have to wait for another time.

He lifts his head up to look at me. "What is it?" he asks, curiosity lacing his voice.

I smile at him, hoping it looks as seductive and entrancing as I want it to and take his hand, slowly guiding him towards the bed.

Upon reaching it, I lie down comfortably in the midst of the bed, tugging at him to do the same. He climbs on top of me, again ogling me with curiosity. This surprises me, if he was still reading my mind he would know what I am doing.

"Opting to not read my mind anymore?" I ask, with a smile.

"I thought it'd be more fun if I don't know exactly what you're going to do before you do it." he grins, seeing that this has pleased me. Now I can do what i want.

I tangle my hands in his hair again, watching his face as it contorts into a relaxed expression as I tug a bit at the strands again. I bring his lips to mine again, but this time, I want it to be different. I bite his lip roughly, making him open his mouth in surprise as I lick into him now, tasting berries and a tinge of alcohol on his tongue. I moan into his mouth at the taste and it seems he finally realized what I was trying to do. He kisses me back hungrily, seizing control again, much to my liking. He abruptly pulls away afterwards, much to my dismay.

He looks down at me with a knowing smirk on his face. "What's wrong, princess? Don't want me to be nice anymore? What do you want? Go on, say it. I know you know exactly what it is." he urges me on with a sultry tone to his words.

"Please...i want you to be mean to me."

"Really?" he feigns surprise, "whatever would you mean by that, darling?" he asks, starting to tease me by peppering kisses along my jaw.

"I want-" he shifts his body so he's lying perfectly on top of me. I can feel his cock rubbing against my clothed cunt and it sends a shiver down my spine. "Please just-" his kisses grow hungrier as he guides himself down to my neck. "Could you please be rough..." he bites down on my neck, emitting a gasp from me. I think that was his answer to my plea.

He is indeed rougher now, biting and suckling on the soft skin of my neck, gradually moving down... To my shoulder... To my collarbone... And then. The hem of my undergarment.

He looks at me while twirling his finger around the measly little thread. The only thing that's between him and my bare body. The only thing he'd have to loosen before slipping my last piece of clothing from me and leaving me bare. And that's exactly what he did.

He slowly, teasingly pulls at the thread and folds the fabric to the side, revealing my tits to him. He rips his eyes from mine and finally meets my bare chest, looking at it like a starved man would a plate of hot food.

He started where he left off, just below my collarbone he peppered kisses and bites again. Slow, agonizing, teasing movements until he finally reached my hardened nipple, waiting, aching for him.

He hungrily takes the sensitive bud into his mouth, suckling on it with rough movements, his hand coming up to cup my other boob roughly. I whine at the sensation, his tongue lavishly doing its job in pleasuring me.

After a while, he flashes me a devillish smile before moving onto the other nipple, suckling at the same pace, much to my relief as it is the perfect pace and he knows this.

I squirm underneath him, whining and moaning as he keeps suckling on my nipple, the sensation making me crave for more. I grind against his hard-on and I swear I heard a whimper coming from the Prince's mouth. He stills for a moment, his hands clawing at my hips to stop me from moving.

"Be patient, pet. Let me enjoy you." is all he says before continuing to suck on my tits, keeping me on edge and increasing my arousal a thousand fold while doing so.

His hands explored my body with rough motions. Grabbing my waist, squeezing it, fondling my tit. Finally he reaches my shoulders, his hands slide down the length of my arms and he grabs my hands before pulling his mouth off of my nipple.

He sits up straight and, while never breaking eye contact, brings my right hand up to his mouth and kisses it. A stark contrast to how he was sucking on my tits just a second ago, but not unwelcome. He kisses my wrist now, then my forearm, then my bicep, then my shoulder.

Then he switches his attention to my neck again, bruising and marking me, coaxing soft moans from me. There would be no way to cover up those spots, although I'm not sure I'd want to or if he would let me.

He continues his trail of kisses downwards again, this time dragging my undergarment down with him. He stopped for a moment to look at me again.

"Off." he gestures towards my undergarment. I obey and quickly slip off the feeble piece of fabric, discarding it on the floor next to his bed. Once I face him again, completely bare now, he looks at me with approval.

"Good girl." he whispers under his breath, but I heard. I smile at his words of praise as he looks me up and down hungrily. He leans down and, while maintaining eye contact, licked a stripe up my body from my hips to my chest.

I breathe out a moan at this scandalous action. He flashes me a cunning smile before biting my nipple gently, coaxing a surprised gasp from me. He continues biting and suckling on my skin, moving down... Down... Down. Until he reaches my thighs.

He wraps his hands around my knees and spread them apart as far as they'll go, slowly and teasingly he leans down again. He starts kissing my thigh, occasionally softly biting down to coax an unexpected whimper from me.

He finally inches closer to where I need him the most. He looks at my pussy with hunger in his eyes, licking his lips and looking up at me. He softly blows on it, making me moan from the sensation. I grab ahold of his locks again, hoping to be able to push him down and just make him have me already, but he doesn't let me.

"Impatient now, are we? I can certainly tell with how wet you are. Is this all for me, pet?" he asks me as his hands caress my thighs. I don't know how to answer him, so I just whine and buck my hips towards him, hoping that he gets the message.

He chuckles at my desperate attempts at seeking his tongue. "Please..." I beg, feeling nothing but longing for the god in between my legs in this moment. He sighs before demanding; "please what?"

"Please just take me already, Loki." I answer him in an annoyed tone, but before I can release a huff of annoyance, he licks a stripe from my hole to my clit. I moan languidly at the unexpected move.

"Is this what you wanted?" he asks teasingly.

"Yes, Gods, yes." I sigh, throwing my head back.

He chuckles at my pathetic tone and starts lapping up the arousal that had been gathering all evening. He moans at the taste, reveling in it as he flicks his tongue over my clit.

His movements have me keening and bucking my hips as he fucks his tongue into me. People said he had a cunning tongue to him(although probably not in this context) and they were right. Gods, does he know how to eat a woman out.

His tongue laps at me at just the right pace, fucking in and out of my cunt, softly suckling on my clit. He brought his hand up to cup my tit as he did so, overwhelming my senses and making me grab onto his hair. This coaxed another moan out of him, sending vibrations throughout my body.

I can feel the coil in my stomach beginning to tighten. I'm close and he knows it, because he suddenly changes his original pace to a slower one, making me whine.

"Loki.... Don't be mean." I tell him.

He stops his movements altogether now, looking up at me with a cocky grin. "What's the matter, princess?" he feigns pity.

"You know exactly what, i was close." I huff, sexual frustration coaxing through my whole body.

He laughs at my attitude. "You don't get to decided when you cum, pet. I do. You are under my command now and what I say goes." he answers in a dark, possessive tone of voice.

His words make my stomach flip and my pussy clench around nothing. He's so attractive, I can't help it. He knows it, noting my reaction to his words. He lifts his head from between my thighs and climbs back on top of me, his face right in front of mine. I can't help but admire him, especially from this angle. His hair framing his face, his eyes piercing my own, his lips... In that sadistic smile.

"What? Do you like it when i control you? Do you want to be my toy, hm?" he whispers, looking me right in the eyes, never letting go of my gaze. He catches the widening of my pupils, the quickening pace of my breath, the desperation in my eyes. No, he doesn't need to read my mind to know how i feel.

He leans down, brushing his lips over mine. I try to catch his lips with mine, but he doesn't let me. He's teasing me again. I whine as he laughs at me.

He laughs at me. How dare he, when i want him so bad and I know he wants me too. How dare he, when he knows how desperate I am for his touch. How dare he, when I'm lying naked underneath him and he is denying me what I want.

"What is it? Annoyed? What do you want, princess?" he asked me tauntingly.

I lift up my hand to caress him. I let my hand slide higher up the back of his neck, having my fingers intertwine with his locks and pulling him down by them until my lips are right next to his ear. He lets me.

I lick at his earlobe experimentally and a soft moan comes from the God's lips that I enjoyed a little too much. I took his earlobe in my mouth and sucked on it a few times, making Loki melt on top of me.

I stop only to whisper in his ear; "I want you to fuck me." his entire demeanor changes as he looks me in the eyes. I'm suddenly hyper aware of my naked body and his hard length pushing against my thigh through his pants. The thought of him fucking me with it makes a pleasurable shiver run up my spine.

He flashes me a cunning smile and gets off the bed, leaving me cold and naked. His gaze scans over me while he takes off his lounge pants. My eyes land on his now bare cock, the sight making my mouth water and my pussy clench.

Gods, it looks delicious. I wouldn't mind having a taste of it. It's long yet still girthy and I'm suddenly nervous about the sheer size of it. He looks at me knowingly before finally getting on the bed again and on top of me. He settles in between my legs to admire me again.

"Turn around, pet." he commands. I do as he says and turn around, keeping myself upright with my knees and having my arms stretched out in front of me. He lets his hand travel the flesh of my thighs, the curve of my ass, the dip of my waist.

I can hear the sheets ruffling and I'm about to look behind me to see what he was doing, before I feel his tongue on my cunt again. I moan at the unexpected feeling. He laps at my pussy for a bit, drinking my arousal like it's his favorite beverage. He lets go of my waist and I feel his finger spreading my lips apart.

"So wet all for me. Look at that, pet. You're throbbing." fuck, and I can feel it as he uses his finger to spread my arousal through my pussy lips. The friction has me bucking my hips when i suddenly feel his finger probing at my entrance.

He pushes his slender finger inside of me, making me moan out his name. He curls his finger, making it hit that spongy spot inside of me. Gods, he's making me go feral. He pulls out his finger now, but before I can whine at the loss, he enters two fingers inside me.

He pumps his fingers in and out for a bit, but then switches to scissoring them inside my cunt, making me almost squeal in pleasure. He begins to lick at my clit again. The feeling of him sucking at the sensitive bud and scissoring his finger inside of me has me keening and the coil in my stomach quickly tightening.

My pussy clamps down on his fingers and he knows I'm about to cum. He suddenly stops all his movements, keeping his fingers inside my cunt, making me whine and mewl at my failed orgasm.

"Stop your whining. Didn't I tell you? I decide when you cum and I won't let you cum unless it's on my cock, do you understand?" I whine at his words, my mind being too far gone to string together coherent sentences to answer him.

"So pathetic for me. Look at you, lying there with your ass up just for me. And you like it, don't you?" I whine in response. "Of course you do, you're mine now. I'll do anything I want to you and you'll let me." he proves his point by spreading apart my ass cheeks and licking a stripe from my clit to my ass. I moan at the sensation.

"Do you want me to fuck you? Hm? Do you want me to make you mine?" he splays his hand down on my scalp, scratching it with his fingernails before tightly grabbing a handful of my hair and pulling me up against his chest.

"Yes! Yes, please, make me yours. Please, Loki." I beg pathetically, but I don't care. I want him to fuck me already and I'll say anything to make it so.

He harshly throws me down on the bed again, shoving my face into the pillow in the process. I yelp at the unexpected action. Loki's hand travels now from out of my hair, over my back, my waist, to my ass. His other hand pumps up and down his dick slowly.

He starts to tease me with the tip of his cock, guiding it through my folds and spreading my arousal and his precum. I moan at the feeling, bucking my hips because why is he not railing me yet?

He stops his movements, his cock stilling right where my entrance is. I'm about to ask him why he stopped when i feel the tip of his dick entering me. I let out a near pornographic moan. Fuck, is he gooood.

The stretch feels so good after all his teasing, but he's not pushing any more of his cock in. Instead, leaving just the tip and staying where he is. I whine when i realize this and he knows exactly why.

"What is it? You want more, pet? Don't be greedy, take what I give you." he says, with a degrading tone to his voice that makes my cunt squeeze down on him. He cursed at this notion, but stayed as he is. I try to buck my hips to get more of him, but his strong hands are keeping me in place.

"Please, come on, I've been good. Pleaseeee." I beg him. "Please, Loki, i-" before I can finish my sentence he thrusts his whole length into me in one swift movement, making me choke on a sob from the pain and pleasure.

He doesn't still to let me adjust. Instead, he sets a rough pace. Fucking in and out of me fast and deep. So fucking deep, I can feel him in my stomach. I'm sure that if I had the physical strength to reach, I would be able to feel a bulge in my stomach from his cock.

My curses are high pitched and incoherent as the snap of his hips continues. "That what you wanted? Did you want to be fucked like this, hm?" I sob at his words, too overwhelmed to say anything.

"Is it too much, pet? But you were just begging me to take you, begging me to make you mine."

"T-too much-" I manage to stutter out in between his thrusts.

"Shut up, you can take it." he says in a mean tone of voice that send a shiver down my spine. "You asked for it. This is what greedy whores get." my pussy squeezes him like a vice at the degrading name he called me. Fuck, did that turn me on.

"Oh, you like being called that, hm? You like being treated like a dumb bitch." he says, grabbing a handful of my hair again and lifting up my head. "Don't you?" he asks me, emphasizing his words with a deep thrust. I answer with a guttural moan. He seems content with that answer, though. A sadistic smile claiming his lips.

"Turn over." he says all of a sudden, pulling his cock out of me and I whine at the empty feeling before obeying his order and lying down on my back now.

He leans down again and catches my lips in an aggressive kiss. He licks at my bottom lip, into my mouth. He thrusts back inside of me fully, catching me off guard. He swallows the moan it coaxes out of me and starts thrusting at the same unforgiving pace.

I close my eyes, too far gone to keep them open from the pleasure. His hand snaked towards my neck and chokes me, making my eyes shoot wide open and my hand clamp on to his.

"There we go." he says with a smile. "Keep your eyes on me, pet." so I do. I try with all my might to keep my eyes on him. Gods, the choking isn't helping. My senses are all overwhelmed, completely focused on the feeling of his cock spearing into me.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

I hear him curse under his breath when i feel the coil in my stomach tightening for the third time this evening, making my pussy clamp down on him again.

"Fuck, so tight for me. You feel so good." he brings his free hand to my clit, rubbing calculated circles onto the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"I wanna cum inside you. Let me?" it sounds more like a demand than a question, but I shakily nod my head anyway.

The coil in my stomach gets tighter by the second. The snapping of his hips, the squeezing of his hand on my throat, the circling of his thumb on my clit. All of it.

Tightening... Tightening....

"Cum for me, princess." he tells me.

The coil snaps and the best orgasm of my life rips through my body. My pussy clamps down on him like a vice, my eyes roll to the back of my head, my jaw falls slack. He fucks me through my high and I can hear him cursing at how tight I am.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum inside you." he curses, his pace growing sloppy as he's nearing his high. He keeps fucking up into me, making me cry out from overstimulation.

A string of curse words falls from his lips as I feel his hot cum painting my walls. He rides out his high, letting his body relax on top of me. He embraces me gently, a stark contrast to how he was fucking me just a second ago. His hips cease their rocking motion.

We lie there for a bit like that; Him carefully holding me, his cock growing soft inside of me. Our sweaty bodies unwinding and relaxing against each other. I come to after a bit, finally snapping out of my brainless daze.

"So you really thought that I was fucking your brother?" I ask him.

"Yes, I did." he sighs. I chuckle at his tired response.

"So what was your first thought when you read my mind and figured out I most certainly was not?"

"Surprise at the disgusting thoughts that courses through your head about me, mainly." he says tauntingly. "But also relief."

"Awhh how sweet." I coax.

"You know, I was right." he says in a cocky tone.

"About what?"

"That dress doesn't do you justice and I was exactly right about what does." he answers. I chuckle at his words.

"You know what I was also right about?"

"No, what's that, Prince?" I ask teasingly.

"You let me show you exactly what did do you justice, princess."

[lokisangelxoxo]

TVA Loki the man that you …… 💚🖤

He has my heart in every era ….💋

[angelremnants]

HIS FOR THE SEASON l L. Laufeyson

CHAPTER ONE,⠀The Price of Pride

chapter summary : In the first installment of our ever-tangled tale, we find both our fair protagonist and the mischievous prince at the crossroads of deception and ambition. As deals are struck and masks are donned, dear readers, be warned that not all that glitters is gold, and not every promise comes without a price.

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature (16+), implied oral gratification (male receiving), emotional turmoil, light violence, referenced/implied minor characters' death, mind games, mild language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 6.7k

author's notes : Here is the first chapter! I'm honestly so hyped to start writing for this series, but unfortunately I still have to pass my midterms, so the second part might not come as soon as this one.

For a referential point in this story, 1125 years old in Asgardian years is the equivalent of being 18, and 1315 years old would be being 21.

(ao3 version)

⠀

⠀

The road was a serpent of stone and shadow that wound through the untamed countryside beyond the capital's reach. It curled between towering pines with aged branches grasping at the sky and their gnarled roots engulfing the ground below. The air was humid with the promise of rain, dense with the aroma of fir and wet soil, and as the rider moved forward, the storm gathered on earnest—low thundering rumbling in the distance, acting as suggestive caution of his arrival rather than a danger.

No one traveled this road without purpose.

He didn't need a map to know where it led. He had unfortunately been there before, but the years between visits had thinned them out until they scarcely existed at all. However, the pathway remained undisturbed through and through, like the passage of time hadn't dare to touch it.

The first peek of the estate was a sensation rather than a sight—an eerie change in the surroundings, as the sought-after structure then appeared from the increasing mist, like a specter out of the gloom.

A castle of black stone, wreathed in foliage and partially swallowed by the encroaching wood. It stood apart from the rest of the world, unfettered by court or crown regulations, its mere presence a tacit defiance. At the threshold, the gates were ajar, twisted iron molded into fascinating designs, as if warning invaders of what could lay within. There were no guards, no showcasing of banners or sigils indicating its allegiance. 

The traveler did not slow down. His patience had run thin even before he reached the gates, as seen by the continual readjusting of his gorgeous golden hair, withering in the bleak atmosphere. The journey had been quite lengthy, but not as long as the years of silence that had separated him from the owner of this location.

He dismounted his stallion with practiced grace, and despite the bold statement of his presence, the house did not greet him. There were no servants or movement at the windows—only the uncanny serenity that had come to define this place of residence. His boots sank onto the damp earth, slippery from the distant rain, but he ignored the unease. After all, he had not come here for comfort.

Only when he approached the entry did the doors part open, revealing a figure framed by the sallow luminosity of candlelight. The head butler stood by, as immovable as the granite around him.

"Your Highness," Skurge greeted, mitigating the sound of hesitant recognition. "My master is not expecting you."

Thor exhaled through his nose, his frustration like a slow-burning ember. "I will see him regardless."

The retired warrior did not flinch. "My lord—"

"Enough," The prince cut him off, brooking no argument as he stepped past him without dispute.

Skurge sighed softly but did not stop him. It was an old battle that they had fought numerous times before. He had long since realized that denying entry to Thor was a futile attempt. His weary and knowing stare stayed set on the royal attendant as they both marched farther inside the building.

The stronghold's splendor consumed him whole. Velvet draped like falling dusk over the high-arched windows, reducing the outside world to nothing but a memory. Sconces emitted a warm glow that danced across the dark marble and mahogany, catching on the ornate paintings and carvings of mythical beasts, gods and beings. The smell in the room was laden with incense and wine, almost tied into the very foundation of the building. 

This was not a house of duty. It was a house of indulgence.

With each step, he felt the burden of his task on his shoulders. He had not come for a visit—rather, it was an intrusion. He did not belong here, and neither did his brother.

Skurge finally came to a halt in front of a hefty wooden door that, like the manor, appeared to preserve mysteries within its frame.

"He is inside," the housekeeper quietly announced in a way that hinted that he had witnessed this confrontation countless times already. The blond did not respond, simply pushing the door open, the hinges creaking with an aloofness that matched his own.

And immediately regretted it.

The air within was fragrant with an intoxicatingly faint mix of floral and musky. The room was barely illuminated, only emphasazing on the plush bedding and velvet pillows. A fire crept lazily into the hearth, pouring its warmth over tangled limbs, silk-strewn furnishings, and a scene of pleasure the guest did not want to see.

And in the heart of it all—a man clothed in carefree grace, with dark locks ruffled and keen green eyes lifting up to lazily gaze toward the door. A woman knelt before him, her head lowered and her hands resting on his thighs in an act that left little to the imagination.

Thor recoiled, his expression twisting in disgust. “By the Norns—”

Unconcerned, the man turned his head, peering at him with twisted amusement that showed in a smirk so languid. It was clear that the interruption did not even faze him.

"Ah, brother," Loki drawled in a honey-smoothed voice, his eyes glittering with delight. "What a nice surprise. Are you coming to join us?”

Thor glared at him. "Seize your rascality and compose yourself."

The dark prince, on the other hand, was never content with silent compliance. His lips curved, teasing at the edges, mocking innocence. With a languid sweep of his fingers, he waved the woman away.

"Go on, pet," he murmured in a deeper undertone. His fingers knotted in the woman's hair, allowing him to easily lift her head. "We will resume our—" his eyes flicked towards his brother, "—conversation later."

The courtesan pouted and slipped away with a lingering brush of fingers over his knee, her silhouette disappearing through the softly shut door that sealed them in.

Loki groaned and stretched like a cat roused from sleep. He stood with a worrying ease, completely unhurried as he fixed the loose buttons on his tunic. "You've become such a bore," he mused, rolling his shoulders, mockingly disappointed. "Had you walked in centuries ago, you might have actually been inclined to join me."

Thor's glare darkened. "And yet you wonder why our father sees you as a disgrace."

Loki smiled in a sluggish, knowledgeable leer. "Oh, I no longer wonder."

He smoothed down his sleeves and carefully adjusted the cuffs before moving toward the magnificent cabinet on the wall. He took out a crystal decanter of mead, the amber liquid reflecting in the firelight as he poured himself a large drink. 

Not once did he glance in Thor’s direction. He never treated him with the same courtesy. Instead, he raised the cup to his lips and took a leisurely, savoring sip, seemingly not caring about the tension hanging between them. Then, only after swallowing did he speak.

"Now," he voiced, swirling the mead in his glass, his eyes bright with laughter. "Tell me, dear brother, what I owe the pleasure to. Another warning? A lecture, perhaps?" He inclined his head, pretending attention. "Do you intend to recount my many misdeeds, as if I am not already aware?"

His brother exhaled sharply to steady himself. "Not this time. I came for another reason."

Loki arched his brow. "Do tell."

Thor's fingers curled along his sides. He had expected resistance, not such carelessness. This was not the brother he had previously known. The brother who had formerly measured every step with care and sought praise no longer stood before him. In his place stood a creature of indulgence and disobedience, a terrifying figure honed and shaped by unwarranted exile.

But for all his decadence, Loki had never been a fool.

“You are to return to the palace.”

The host’s sneer remained constant, although the light behind his eyes flickered for a brief moment. A brief, almost inconspicuous shift.

He laughed, bellowed even.

Thor tightened his grasp on Mjölnir, the hammer's familiar weight both reassuring and frightening in his hand. His knuckles turned white, and the veins in his arm tightened in an effort to contain his mounting rage. This was not the reunion he had hoped for—but, truth be told, he hadn't really expected anything else from his brother.

"Your presence has been requested at the court," he insisted, each word bearing the heft of obligation and haste. "It is time."

Across the room, Loki's smile contorted sardonically. With a sinuous flick, he sent the last drop of mead spiraling from his cup, allowing it to fade into the shadows as he laid the vessel down with exaggerated disregard. 

"Requested my presence?" he repeated. "How quaint. Let me guess, should I expect greater condemnation? Another lecture on my failings?" He leaned back in his chair, the scowl on his lips growing greater in depth. "Is that why you rode all the way here? To offer the customary refrain?" His cold, mocking gaze never left Thor's, challenging him to prove him wrong.

"This isn't another lecture on your reckless behavior," the crown prince bargained, exasperated but determined. "This is about your title."

At those words, the raven-haired stiffened, his eyes flashing with incredulity. “The one you so kindly withheld because of my exile, you mean? The one I was deemed too… troublesome to receive, while you paraded your birthright before all of Asgard?” His voice was sharp as a drawn blade, every syllable dripping with scorn. “I’m past the age of 1125, you know that well enough. It’s too late to rewind time and add the fanfare and ceremony you so cherish. I have no need of it.”

Thor's chest clenched at his cruel words, but he was undeterred. He needed to make him see reason, if only for a moment. "It's not just that," he ground out, the tension in his voice palpable. "It's about what our father intends to do, and you—"

“Your father,” Loki spat, as though the very qualification felt like venom on his tongue. “Not ours. Do not speak of him as if he ever cared about me."

Thor's mouth dried up, and he couldn't help but feel a stab of remorse. But there was no time to dwell on it now. “It’s not just the title, Loki. It’s... a deal.” his voice dropped. “Father wants to strike a deal with you.”

For a long moment, the second prince regarded his elder with amused disbelief that failed to mask his calculating gaze. “A deal?” he echoed. “And what, pray tell, could he possibly offer that would capture my interest at this late hour?”

Thor’s hand twitched by his side as he fought against the torrent of words threatening to overwhelm him. Inwardly, he cursed the inevitable vulnerability that came with speaking the truth.

“It’s about the will.”

Time seemed to stand still at the statements. Loki ceased to move as though struck by an invisible force. It was a genuine reaction, with his eyes reflecting an image of the youngster he once was. But the shock passed as fast as it arrived, replaced by the gravelly resolve of a man who had long forsaken hope. "The will is no longer of my interest," Loki flatly responded. "Why should I care for his proposal now?"

“I never thought you would, Loki.” The blonde exhaled slowly. “I think you should hear him out. Do it at least this once, and I promise we’ll leave you free of these constant intrusions.”

Loki’s gaze bore into his, seeking any flicker of deceit or ulterior motive. Finding none, an unspoken understanding passed between them—a fragile bridge over a chasm of past grievances and present imperatives.

“Fine,” he agreed at last, a trace of genuine curiosity mingling with his ever-present defiance. “I’ll hear him out. But do not mistake my interest for hope.”

Thor’s weary yet steadfast eyes met his brother’s with a silent promise. “I never would.” 

His eyes traced every disorganized detail of Loki's appearance, which was far from the polished princeling he had previously grew up with. His dark hair fell in wild, tangled cascades around his face, and his once impeccable clothes hung in crumpled disarray, as if burdened by a sorrow too great to be contained.

"You look as though you've abandoned even the last shred of dignity," Thor indicated sorrowfully, the words flowing out before he could catch them. "I'd wager she would be disappointed if she were still here to witness this."

He knew his words shattered the fragile peace, and he promptly regretted uttering them, knowing all too well the tragic history that laid behind this pitiful façade.

In an instant, Loki's eyes flared with terrible enmity. He rose from his chair with the predatory elegance of a cornered animal and rushed toward the envoy. In one swift action, the dark prince grabbed his arm, his hold alluding to an implicit warning built over years of suffering and indolence

"Do not speak so idly," he growled alarmingly, in the fashion of a wintry wind. His fingers sank sharply into Thor's flesh. "You would do well not to invoke her again—especially when you know nothing of what transpired."

The blonde stiffened under his grasp, his stare locking with his in a quiet exchange rich with old wounds and buried truths. For a long, tense moment, they stood there—two souls bound together by blood and remorse, their shared history a shaky bridge over a chasm of pain.

Loki finally let go of him, moving back with a controlled calm that concealed his smoldering despair. "We'll go to the palace tomorrow," he stated calmly and dismissively. "Until then, see to it that Skurge assigns you a place for the night. And send the maiden back inside."

Thor halted, but he knew better than to press on. His brother's barriers were too high, and his resistance was too strong. "Understood," he replied, the resignation in his voice combined with the residual pain of loss. "I'll make the arrangements."

He paused only briefly before turning and heading out of the bedroom, his footsteps retreating down the corridor. The door closed behind him with a faint, decisive click, leaving Loki to his own devices.

The silence that followed felt like a heavy blanket pressing from all sides, saturating the entire space with concealed facts. The shunned prince resided stationary, his gaze fixed on the dark horizon visible through the small window panels. Outside, the night stretched out in a never-ending palette filled with ambiguity and impending possibilities. His thoughts were entwined in knots—of the palace, of his contested title, of the Allfather's aspirations, and of the storm that threatened to come tomorrow.

⠀

⠀

The hippodrome was saturated with incense, a perfumed fog that curled through the towering hall and melded with hushed exchanges and muffled sobs. Draped in somber shades of black and violet, the grand chamber exceptionally bore the sigil of House of Sigvard in golden embroidery upon the banners that swung gently from the pillars. It was an extravagant farewell, one meant for a nobleman of once-great stature, though the weight of his transgressions loomed like a silent specter over the gathered mourners.

You stood at the center of it all, clad in mourning robes of midnight silk, your hands gracefully clasped before you in a practiced pose of grief. Condolences flowed in a delicate stream of soft, sorrowful words from nobles who pitied you and empty gestures from those who secretly rejoiced in the slow and continuous decay of your house’s legacy.

“He was a man of duty,” one of your uncle’s acquaintances lamented barely audibly above the solemn dirge.

“A great loss,” another added with feigned regret.

You nodded, lips pressed into a trembling smile as your eyes shimmered with unshed tears that caught the flicker of candlelight. When the final rites were called, the assembled crowd parted with solemn efficiency, leaving you alone before his final resting place—your last remaining close kin. The casket laid upon a raised dais, framed by flickering torches that cast dancing shadows upon its polished wood, awaiting its fate to be consumed by flame.

Each step you took toward it was in sync with the steady rhythm of your breath. At its edge, you bent down, letting your fingertips trace the smooth grain of the wood as though you sought to commit every ridge and curve to memory. Leaning close, you let your lips ghost near his ear, your voice barely more than a whisper in the hush of the hall.

"May your next life be as wretched as this one was undeserved."

Then, with a tenderness that belied the venom in your words, you pressed a soft kiss to his cold forehead—a farewell infused with a bitterness far removed from true grief.

You straightened with grace before turning and rejoining the front lines, harboring a flawless mask of quiet devastation. Behind you, the ceremonial flames were kindled, and soon the fire took hold. A collective, solemn gasp rippled through the assembly as the casket was engulfed, the scent of burning incense giving way to a harsher, acrid tang that stung the senses.

Tears traced glistening paths down your cheeks as you watched the funeral pyre, each flicker of flame reflecting memories of a once-honorable past. For a long and silent juncture, you remained rooted to the spot, witnessing the send-off until the last embers shuddered and died.

The guests began to gradually drift away in final bows and a mumblage of sympathies fading into the chill of the night, until at last only you and your company remained in the desolate quiet of the burial grounds.

A soft cough shattered the welcomed stillness. “My lady?”

You turned around and revealed your once-tear-stained face being carefully composed, with every trace of feigned grief meticulously erased.

“Elva, please fetch me a handkerchief,” you declared, your voice steady and low. “And go ready the carriage.”

Your ever-faithful maid complied without hesitation, retrieving a pristine silk tissue and placing it gently into your outstretched palm. You brought it to your lips first, dabbing them before using it to carefully wipe your face.

Elva’s eyes widened momentarily. “My lady, why did you—” she began, then faltered, her voice a mere whisper. “Why your lips?”

You folded the handkerchief in a neat fold, tucking it away in your palm like a secret too precious for the light.

"Well, I shouldn't afford to leave noxious substances so carelessly on my lips now, should I?” you lightly chipped, tilting your head in private delight. 

You approached one of the liberated flames from the funeral pyre’s dying glow and threw unceremoniously the ruined fabric. The hanked reacted immediately to the contact—an almost unnoticeable sizzle resounded as its edge curled with unnatural speed into ash, erasing any trace of its presence.

Elva’s lips parted in realization as if to offer further counsel, but no words came—only a respectful silence as she bowed her head and hastened toward the waiting carriage. You stepped after her at an unhurried pace, the ghost of your smirk lingering like a promise of the plans yet to be set in motion.

The carriage door closed with a firm click, sealing the both of you inside the dimly lit interior. Without hesitation, you surged for the nearest window and pulled down its heavy velvet curtain, ensuring that no fragment of the outside world might enter on your personal sanctuary. The cabin was warm and quiet, acting as a cocoon where covert revelations might be shared without the jeopardy of inquisitive ears. You carefully secured each window one by one, an exacting process that the brunette quietly observed, her gloved hands lying demurely in her lap.

Only when the last curtain was drawn did you nestle into the soft seat. You exhaled deeply, as if relieving the pressure of a lifetime in one long, slow breath. Outside, the repetitive clatter of hooves against cobblestone blended with the night's silence. Through a narrow rip in the fabric, you watched the vast sacred building fade into darkness, a mere outline absorbed by the small municipality's tortuous highways.

After a long, reflective interval, Elva's kind voice shattered the quiet. "What are you going to do now, my lady? Seeing that you're free?"

You let out a deep, almost languid sigh, one of odd comfort rather than grief. "I've already begun," you remarked. "The furniture is being sold, piece by piece, and most of the staff have been let go."

Elva's posture tensed as she blinked, recognition dawning in her eyes. "Then that would mean..."

Your lips curled with a faint, knowing smile. "Yes, you have been promoted to the position of head maid."

After a minute of calm acceptance, Elva nodded softly. "That should secure our future, along with the savings you've so discreetly accumulated," she answered nervously. "It was fortunate that your uncle was ill enough in his final years to entrust you with managing the household's resources."

“Fortunate indeed,” you mused, a wry note lacing your words. “Though I doubt he ever meant for me to wield it to my own advantage.”

Elva fell silent for a heartbeat before asking with an almost timid curiosity, “Why not sell the estate as well?”

A distant chuckle escaped you, devoid of genuine mirth. "That house is the only reminder of my childhood. I spent my happiest days there," you mused, your mind drifting as memories surfaced. "I am sure you remember the swing that my father built for me among those old pear trees. I can still recall my mother's standing nearby in case I fell. In the end, I had to regrettably sell it."

Your maid regarded you with a blend of understanding and pity, but offered no further words.

You exhaled through your nose, the corners of your mouth softening into a wistful line. “No matter. I’m certain no one would dare engage in dealings with an estate burdened by such a dismal reputation.”

A profound inertia fell between you, interrupted only when Elva spoke once more. "Did you even sell the portraits?"

You shifted your sight to the curtained window, your face unreadable in the flickering shades. "I couldn't," you confessed with a rare vulnerability. "Some things... are too cherished to be relinquished to strangers."

The rest of the route was spent in thoughtful silence, with the city gradually disappearing as the vehicle transported you home. Finally, the estate's imposing gates emerged in the pale moonlight, and the horses halted, the carriage slowly grinding to an end.

As you reached for the door handle, Elva shifted uncomfortably. “You have no guardian now, my lady,” she reminded you in a hushed tone. “And you remain a bachelorette, at that. How do you intend to proceed?”

Stepping out into the cool air, you smoothed the folds of your mourning dress and turned to face her. “How else?” you replied, a smile playing at the corners of your mouth as clear ambition sparkling in your eyes. 

“I’m going to marry rich. Obviously.”

⠀

⠀

The streets of Asgard have never felt colder as they did tonight. The pavement, slippery with twilight mist, glistened beneath your measured tread and lead you through a region of the city you used to avoid. Lanterns sputtered in the heavy darkness, their meager radiance generating wavering shadows that danced maliciously at the borders of your view. This was not the Asgard you remembered—it was bright, resplendent, and full of pomp and color. No, this was the underbelly of a fading realm, where houses' facades crumbled like brittle paper and wealth remained a faraway dream.

You walked with careful intention, each step resounding on the damp cobblestones. In the back of your mind, Elva's gentle query from yesterday's evening lingered. 

"My lady, why suddenly... this wish?" Her worry was evident, a compassionate spark in the midst of your anguish, when you announced your intention to enter the marriage market. It was a decision made out of necessity, not whim, and one that became increasingly urgent with each passing day.

She was positive that you, of all people, would never debase yourself by engaging in such a banal and ignoble transaction. But surely she was aware of your golden cage, of the days spent imprisoned in the decaying confines of your family's home where sycophantic suitors bargained for your attention as if it were a valuable commodity. Pathetic men of low ranks and even simple commoners, dressed in the finest of what they could afford and bursting with fake admiration, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. They were eager, preening before you as if you were the sun that centered their entire world.

Once, you were untouchable.

Your household name had echoed through every banquet hall and noble ceremony, a jewel in the illustrious diadem of House Sigvard. As the daughter of one of Asgard's most powerful families, you were admired for your grace, brilliance, and wit. You had smoothly presided over your mother's salon, the centerpiece of high society, where the elite eagerly awaited your insights on courtly issues, the latest political intrigues, and the scandalous whispers of the realm. Every word you spoke was valuable as gold.

You'd been at the top.

And what of now? You walked these dour alleys like a phantom of your previous self. Your uncle's reckless expenditures had consumed the once-glorious fortune, leaving nothing but sallow ruins. Gambling. The wretched man threw away everything—your family's name, your inheritance, and the future you had once hoped for. When the payments came due, he callously sold your numerous assets, which included your beloved mother's salon, to satisfy his creditors' voracious appetite. You could still picture it vividly in your mind, the day the "sold" sign was hammered into the front yard, along with the harsh laughing of vultures as they swept away the final vestiges of your inheritance.

It was an insult you could never forgive.

That bastard. 

You clutched your fists as a stringent laugh from your lips and echoed off in the lengthy road. "Idiotic rule," you mumbled beneath your breath as you thought of the oppressive law requiring noblewomen to stay under the custody of their male relatives. Such a horrible charade. 

Fortunately, you had no brother to protect you, no distant cousin prepared to challenge the status quo. The few remaining relatives were either too old or already comfortably ensconced with their own fortunes to give a damn. Had your name retained its former glory, they would have fought like starving lions to claim the scraps of you and your estate.

The edifice in front of you resembled an inn at best, its stone walls weathered and pitted from the unrelenting passage of time and neglect. A sprinkling of weakly reflective windows on the higher floors glowed like feeble stars, giving only the sensation of a long-forgotten place, a hollow echo of a purpose that had once existed.

You pushed open the hefty door and walked inside. The smell stale ale, charred wood, and a faint scent of something metallic mixed in a suffocating haze of smoke straightaway assaulted your nostrils. A faint drone of conversations, accented by the odd clink of chipped glass, emanated from the few figures slumped over tattered tables. It was a dramatic contrast to the sumptuous salons of the past, where laughing sounded like music and every word was dressed in polished beauty.

This decomposing hideaway was your destination—a place where answers may be found among the private matters of people who thrived in the dark. Your torn cloak, nevertheless rich in color, was your only protection against inquisitive scrutiny. Here, you appreciated the anonymity it afforded. Being a faceless, nameless wanderer in these forsaken streets was a small comfort in that abandoned world.

You walked to the far end of the room, where a weathered wooden bar stood under the careful eye of a broad-shouldered bartender. As you neared, his face flickered up, marked with the lines of long nights of hard work. You feigned to fix your cloak, taking care not to reveal your features.

"Anything I can get for you?" he asked in a gravelly tone.

You paused before conspiraciously leaning in. "A glass of the Red Eel," you whispered softly, allowing the words to install themselves.

The bartender's hands stopped mid-polish, his eyes narrowing as a spark of recognition flared inside them.

"The bathroom is two rooms down the corridor, on the left. Be quick," he nodded towards the aisle.

A contented smile traced on your lips. "Thank you," you answered calmly before leaving the bar behind. You crept into the small corridor, the inn's muted sounds fading into a distant cacophony. You soon discovered the small door that went to the so-called bathroom, enclosed in peeling wallpaper and illuminated by a single, flickering light overhead.

You shut the door after you, allowing yourself a moment of calm satisfaction. The excitement of being so near your goal sent shivers down your spine—a delicate blend of yearning for rebirth and desperate hope.

You stepped into the narrow room, where the dim glow of a solitary candle revealed a large desk set in the center of an alcove at the far end of the room. The desk was sinister, made from dark oak and marred by age. Its surface was crowded with parchment scraps, old books, and assorted trinkets, all of which had been neglected to accumulate dust. Behind the desk stood a gaunt man with eyes like chipped flint, his face shrouded by the half-light. 

"What brings a stranger to our door?"

You straightened, readying yourself for the next battle of wills to come. "My intentions should be obvious," you coolly replied. "After all, this is the most renowned informational guild in the city—a sanctuary of secrets for those who truly need them."

He chuckled, a dry sound that echoes in the gloom. "Indeed. But we do not entertain any clients who come so freely." He gestured for you to approach the desk with an appraising stare and greedy eyes shining through the dark.

You obeyed without hesitation, your footsteps echoing faintly as you made your way toward him. "Precisely because I know that, I am here," you asserted, producing your family crest from within the folds of your garment and placed the emblem on the scarred surface of the desk.

The man's eyes widened as he inspected the proud and intricate design bearing the insignia. A slow, humorless laugh escapes him. "What a joke, for the House of Sigvard falling so low to be seen here," he scoffs. "The Grand Marshal's legacy has truly reached the very depths of Hel. 

He shook his head as if almost in disbelief. “Tell me, Sigvarddóttir, why should we even be interested in your demand when you hail from a house that now holds little value?"

Your gaze sharpened and you remained still, not fliching at his attempt to undermine—you knew better than to let his words wound you. "Because, as you yourself noted, House of Sigvard was a bastion of prestige for centuries until it fell into unworthy hands," you countered. "I am of the blood of that esteemed lineage, the direct descendant of an union between the most praised ex-lady in waiting for the Allmother herself as well as one of the most strategic and intelligent war scholars our realm has been blessed with. Naturally, I have inherited those qualities."

The man arched an eyebrow, his smile turning wry. "Inherited, perhaps," he conceded. "But let us not forget the disgrace your house was sealed with when your father was accused of treason and of leaking the kingdom's most confidential secrets. A legacy tarnished beyond repair."

The informant looked at you with narrowed eyes, feeling that beneath your calculated façade lurked a secret weight far larger than desperation. You decided to comply and prove his hunch was right by reaching within the folds of your cloak and pulling out a purse. Its contents clinked softly in an exquisite symphony of gold coins and tiny gems, each one a relic of the richness that once established your ancestry. You carefully opened the pouch, allowing the gold and stones to stream over the desk's scarred surface.

But it was not all.

Added to the funding, you set a little book sheathed in a leather cover that had split with age. Marked on its pages were precise notes written in your own hand, a record of secrets acquired over years of patient observation. This book was your weapon, the result of decades spent documenting the illegal activities of people who had betrayed your family. You had kept it buried for fear of the consequences of revealing it, but now was the moment to wield its terrible truth.

The man's gaze shifted between the bag and the book, his interest evidently piqued.

"I'm positive," you stated, "that my father was framed. And I can prove it—with time, money and power." You watched his lips move to speak, but you lifted your hand to silence him. "But for now, what matters is this." You tapped the book lightly. "In these pages are the names of every shady noble my uncle gambled with—the very ones who collaborated with him to dishonor my family's reputation. Their schemes, deceptions, and cover-ups. These are the architects of House of Sigvard's demise."

You leaned forward, your eyes locking onto his with fierce intensity. "I know that your guild despises the crown's myriad laws. They flaunt their wealth and defy every decree. Releasing this information, especially when most concerns imperialist nobles, would shake high society to its very core. And you know it."

A heated silence ensued, laden with the promise of upheaval. The man then let forth a rich, hearty laugh stirring the dust in the dim light.

"By the Allfather," he vociferated in both admiration and menace. "You really are the daughter of Sigvard and Regna, to speak so boldly." His eyes glittered in a blend of curiosity and a tinge of an unsettling look. "Very well, girl. Tell me, what do you want from us?”

You inhaled quietly to calm your nerves, keeping your grip protectively curled around the purse and the book. The man's dark gaze pierced into you, anticipating your next words and the price you would set.

"I want your help," you bid carefully. "I will gradually pay you in coins and reveal names when I'll come to seek your assistance. Presently, I request your aid regarding two issues."

His eyes glinted with interest, prompting you to deliver the next words with purpose and careful arrangement.

"Firstly, I want you to remove the allegations and evidence of tax evasion that my uncle have tarnished my house's reputation with. Clear my reputation in the eyes of the crown, so that the gossip can stop." You paused, letting the weight of the request settle between you. 

"I will also need a list of future bachelors. I need the names of individuals who are wealthy, of impeccable stature, and untainted by nefarious relationships. These individuals must have enough caliber to be able to keep my distant relatives at bay should they seek to claim what I am and what I own, and they have to allow me to develop sa business of my own by using their riches and influence should it be necessary."

The candle's flame trembled in the silence of the room, its feeble glow stretching enough to let you perceive the man reclining in his dilapidated chair that protested with every tiny movement. 

“Very well,” he pronounced resolutely, as if the verdict had been sealed in his mind long before the words escaped his lips. “You will receive a pigeon carrier during the following few days to deliver the information you have requested. Regarding the remainder of your requests, I will make every effort to assist you as soon as you deem it necessary. You have my word.”

A slow nod was your only reply, as the gravity of the agreement pressed upon you like a stone sinking in dark water. With the deal inked in the silent contract between your eyes, you reached for the small, leather-bound book that lay between you. The book’s spine creaked in protest as you opened it, your fingertips caressing its jaundiced pages and you swiftly tore out a single page.

The crisp sound of paper severing its bond with the rest of the book was startling in the impendation, a punctuation to the gravity of the occasion. You laid the page  before him, bearing a list of names—each scrawled letter a testament to your resolve and the fate of those who had wronged you.

“Here,” you piped, betraying nothing of the tumult that churned beneath the surface. “Consider this a preview. This will only be the beginning.” Your fingertips brushed the cool edge of the parchment as you withdrew your hand.

His searching eyes roamed the list, a subtle spark of malevolent glee igniting in their depths. No words were needed, the silent acknowledgment passed between you both was enough. You then released the contents of your pouch, of which jangled softly as you set it beside the page. 

“As promised,” you declared, your tone final. You cast one last glance at the parchment and the pouch—symbols of heritage and leap of faith intertwined—and with a hasty resolve, you retrieved the crest. 

You finally took your departure, your boots tapping against the floor as you advanced. Your hand reached for the cold iron handle, but before you could definitely leave, his voice halted you once more.

“Sigvarddóttir,” he called with curious intrigue. “One last question before you leave.”

You paused, your eyes meeting his as you tilted your head in quiet expectation. “What is it?”

“If you had to represent yourself, how would you do it?”

The question hung between you like a delicate wisp of perfume. For a short stretch of time, you considered its layers, the hidden meanings swirling like autumn leaves caught in a gentle wind. “I suppose you have your own reasons for asking,” you began, a note of uncertainty in your tone. 

“As for how I would present myself... the answer is, in truth, simple.” Your eyes fell to the family crest, seeping cold from the metal in your hand. "I will always bear the signature of my house with pride, regardless of the circumstance. I wear its history, its strength, and even its failures upon my shoulders, and it will forever define who I am at core, along with how I choose to depict myself hereafter.”

A moment passed before the man’s lips twitched into a small, wry smile. “A proud answer indeed,” he concluded thoughtfully in a small appraisal. 

With that, you turned once more toward the door and without a backward glance, you pushed open the door and stepped into the dim corridor beyond, your mind already racing with the preparation of your next move to play.

Inside the room, the man’s attention returned to the page, his fingers tracing over the names with abnormal care. A soft chuckle escaped him as he murmured, almost to himself, “Interesting... Very interesting.”

His form began to blur and shift. The harsh, angular features softened, the masculine lines giving way to the delicate grace of a woman’s visage. In a seamless transformation, the dark, tattered garments were replaced by a gown of deep, earthen green. The fabric flowed around her lithe frame, rich in texture and hue as if woven from the forest’s heart. Golden blonde hair tumbled in gentle waves around her now expressive face that combined ethereal beauty with a spark of calculated brilliance.

She once again fixed her gaze upon the names on the page, her delicate fingers skimming over the inked list as her eyes glinted with a newfound admiration. “If my calculations are correct,” she said softly, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, “this will be a fine choice as an ally. For both of us.”

Her eyes shone with the thrill of the unfolding game, a quiet laugh escaping as she already started to plot the pace to adopt in this upcoming intricate dance of fate. “Yes,” she affirmed to herself, “this will be most interesting indeed.”

⠀

⠀

ending notes : To explain the corrosive part in the burial, my understanding is that in Asgardian funerals, the fire is supposed to slowly process the body to thoroughly purify it. Her accelerating the burning would mean disrupting the ritual and therefore meddle with his passing. Let me know your thoughts about the series so far, comments and interactions are very welcomed ! <3

⠀

PROLOGUE.⠀|⠀CHAPTER ONE.⠀|⠀CHAPTER TWO.

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[annmaximoff18]

Loki passes handcuffed outside the laboratory with a group of shield agents guarding him

Y/N: handcuffed looks sexy

Tony: You will be able to calm your hormones for once in your life.

Y/N: Sorry, I see a handsome man in handcuffs and I get excited.

Bruce: He is evil and ruthless

Y/N: extra points 😏

[tehgvicious]

"Oh, this is one of my favorite scenes." - Me, every time Loki is on my screen.

[g1rlwholivesindelusion]

new hyperfixation or something

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