#loki man. loki man. does whatever a loki can

[sciderman]

What does Loki even do in your universe?

his lokiest

[urdreamydoodles]

Hi! If it’s not too much, could you do spider-man villains responding to an underling hitting reader like you did for the bat-villains? (Idk if you do the spider-man villains or just marvel villains in general so feel free to do that if you’d prefer) You’re really good at getting into characters’ heads it’s really fun to read!

MARVEL COMICS VILLAINS X FEM!READER

One of the underlings hit you and your partner finds out

Characters: Dr. Doom, Bullseye, Taskmaster, Loki, Crossbones, Zemo, Muse, Hela, Green Goblin, Eddie/Venom, Doctor Octopus, Kraven, The Lizard, Carnage, Electro, Kingpin, Scorpion, Hobgoblin, Mysterio, Sandman, Shocker, Chameleon, Mister Negative & Boomerang

Reply to anon: FINALLY some love for Spider-Man villains. The Spider-Man and Batman villain gallery are my favorites. I've done (almost) all of Spider-Boy's most popular villains, I really hope I did the ones you wanted.

Victor von Doom | Doctor Doom

- Doom is not a man prone to outbursts. He does not rage blindly, does not allow emotions to dictate his actions. No, his fury is measured, calculated—and when he sees the mark left on your perfect skin, he does not waste words. He simply turns, his cloak billowing as he leaves. You know better than to stop him. Whatever is about to happen is inevitable. Doom does not tolerate offenses. And this—this was the gravest of all.

- The punishment is not merely death. Death is merciful, death is quick. Doom does not grant mercy to those who defile what is his. The offender is stripped of their name, their purpose, their very existence. Doom ensures they are erased, their presence scoured from the annals of time, their life reduced to a whisper of agony. He does not need to sully his own hands—no, the world itself bends to his will, and his will is retribution.

- When he returns to you, his mask betrays nothing, but you can feel the weight of his gaze, the intensity that lingers. He reaches for you—not to inspect the wound, not to seek forgiveness, but to claim you once more, to remind you that you belong to him, and he to you. "None shall harm you and live," he states, as if it is a fundamental truth of the universe. And perhaps, under his rule, it is.

- His gauntleted fingers ghost over your skin, a contradiction of metal and reverence, of cold steel and burning devotion. "You are under my protection," he murmurs, "and my protection is absolute.” His lips brush against your temple, the touch fleeting, possessive. "They will remember what happens to those who forget."

Lester | Bullseye

- He doesn't get angry. Not at first. He just stares at you, head tilting slightly, the way a predator assesses a kill. And then—he laughs. Not the usual, cocky, self-satisfied kind. No, this one is sharper, colder, something that sends a chill down your spine. "They really put their hands on you?" he asks, his voice edged with something deadly, something thrilled. Because now? Now he gets to play.

- He finds them fast. He doesn’t rush—no, he takes his time. He enjoys watching the moment of realization dawn, the way fear blooms when they understand exactly who they’ve pissed off. And when he strikes, it isn’t just a kill. It’s an art form. He breaks bones with pinpoint accuracy, flays skin with nothing but the flick of a blade. Every hit is personal, every wound a lesson. By the time he’s finished, there’s nothing left but ruin.

- When he comes back, he’s still grinning, like he’s high off the violence. He leans in close, voice dripping with amusement. "Y’know, I was gonna kill ‘em quick, but then I thought—nah, let’s make it memorable." His fingers trace the bruise on your skin, eyes dark with something almost hungry. "Bet they won’t be hittin’ anyone ever again. Hell, they won’t even be breathing."

- Then, just as suddenly, the danger flickers, shifts into something else. His hand curls around the back of your neck, pulling you in, his lips brushing against yours, slow and deliberate. "Next time, babe? Just say the word. I'll tear the whole damn world apart for you."

Tony Masters | Taskmaster

- Tony doesn't ask what happened—he sees it. The way you shift your weight, the slight tension in your jaw, the way your hand lingers over the injury just a second too long. He catches every detail, every weakness, because that’s what he does. And right now? Right now, someone’s weakness is about to become their death sentence.

- He doesn't just kill the bastard. No, that would be easy. He studies them first. Watches their movements, their stance, every tell in their body. And then? Then he dismantles them. Uses their own techniques against them, mirrors their every move just to show them how outmatched they are. By the time he’s done, they don’t just lose. They know they never stood a chance.

- When he returns, there’s no grand declaration, no need for theatrics. He just sits beside you, arms crossed, gaze sharp and assessing. "You alright?" he asks, and it’s almost casual—almost. But there’s a weight to it, an unspoken promise beneath the words. You nod, and he exhales, rolling his shoulders. "Good." A beat. Then, "Don’t let it happen again."

- But later, when the lights are low and his guard is down, his hand drifts to your hip, his thumb brushing slow, idle circles against your skin. "Ain't nobody touches you but me," he mutters, voice rough, possessive. "And I don't do soft." His lips ghost over yours, teasing, taunting. "But for you? Maybe I’ll make an exception."

Loki Laufeyson

- He does not react at first. He simply observes. Fingers steepled, expression unreadable, eyes too calm. And that? That is far more terrifying than rage. Because Loki is not a creature of impulse. He is a creature of calculated destruction. And this? This offense against you? It will be answered with something far worse than death.

- The punishment is poetic. He does not simply kill the offender—he undoes them. Twists their mind until they are unmade, until they do not know their own name, their own face. They become a whisper, a tragedy, a thing lost to the very fabric of reality itself. And Loki? Loki watches, amused, as they break. "Oh, dear," he muses. "It seems you have forgotten yourself. Allow me to help." And with a flick of his fingers, they are gone.

- When he returns to you, there is a smirk curling at his lips, something self-satisfied in his gaze. "It is done," he says simply, as if he has merely handled a small inconvenience. And perhaps, to him, that’s all it was. But then, his expression shifts—just slightly. His fingers ghost over your wrist, featherlight, careful, as if you are something fragile, something to be preserved. "They will not bother you again," he murmurs, "nor will anyone else."

- His arms encircle you, drawing you against him, and for a moment, there is no trickery, no illusion—just him, real and solid. His lips graze your ear, a whisper of silk and steel. "You are mine," he breathes, and there is something almost reverent in the way he says it. "And I do not share."

Brock Rumlow | Crossbones

- The moment he sees the bruise on your skin, something inside him snaps. There’s no slow burn, no measured response—just instant, blistering rage. Brock doesn’t ask who did it. He already knows. He doesn’t ask why. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is the fact that someone was stupid enough to lay a hand on you, and now? Now they have to pay.

- He doesn’t just kill them—he annihilates them. There’s no finesse, no mercy, just raw, unfiltered violence. The crack of bone, the wet sound of flesh giving way—he takes his time, makes it hurt. He wants them to understand what they’ve done. Wants them to feel every ounce of pain they dared to bring upon you. By the time he’s done, they’re nothing more than a broken, unrecognizable mess on the floor.

- When he comes back to you, his knuckles are split, his breathing heavy, his hands still trembling with the aftershock of violence. But when his eyes meet yours, the fury melts into something else. Something dark, something possessive. He reaches for you, fingers rough as they trace over your injury, his touch lingering, slow. "Ain't nobody touches what’s mine," he mutters, voice like gravel, low and sharp with promise. "Nobody."

- And then his grip tightens, just enough to remind you, just enough to claim. His lips brush against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Next time?" His voice drops to a whisper, deadly and sweet. "I won’t just kill ‘em. I’ll make sure they beg for it first."

Helmut Zemo

- Zemo is silent when he sees the mark on you. Too silent. The kind of quiet that is far more dangerous than any outburst, far more lethal than raised voices or shattered glass. His fingers ghost over the injury with a gentleness that feels almost deceptive, his expression unreadable, his mind already working, already planning.

- His revenge is not messy. It is not violent. It is precise. He does not grant them the dignity of an immediate death—no, he dismantles them. Strips them of their status, their power, their very identity. He orchestrates their downfall with the patience of a man who thrives on the long game, ensuring they lose everything before he grants them the release of death. By the time he is finished, they are nothing more than a ghost.

- When he returns to you, his movements are slow, deliberate. He cups your face, tilting it up so you can see the satisfaction glinting in his eyes. "It is done," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek with something almost reverent. "They will never so much as whisper your name again."

- Then, his lips graze your temple, lingering there, soft but unshakable. "No one lays a hand on you and lives," he breathes against your skin. "Not while I still draw breath."

Muse

- He doesn’t react at first. No flicker of emotion, no shift in expression—just a slow, almost languid turn of his head as he processes the fact that someone dared to harm you. And then, after a moment of silence, he smiles. It’s not warm, not reassuring—it’s something else. Something wrong. Something that should send chills down your spine.

- The underling doesn’t just die. No, Muse creates with them. He turns them into something grotesque, something artful. He strips them of their humanity in the most literal sense, carving into their flesh with the same care a sculptor takes to marble. When he’s finished, they are unrecognizable, their body a message, a masterpiece. Something for the world to witness.

- When he returns, his hands are still wet with blood, his smile still stretching a little too wide. He steps closer, tilting his head as he looks at you, as if seeing you for the first time. "You make me feel things I do not understand," he murmurs, his voice lilting, almost dreamlike. "And yet, I do not mind."

- His fingers trail over your bruised skin, slow, thoughtful. "You are mine," he hums, as if tasting the words. "And I do not take kindly to those who ruin my muse."

Hela

- Her rage is not loud. It does not explode. It devours. A slow, insidious thing that coils around her like smoke, seething just beneath the surface. She does not speak when she sees the mark on your skin. She does not need to. The air itself seems to grow heavy, the very shadows bending toward her as if they fear what is to come.

- She does not simply kill the one responsible—she eradicates them. Their soul is hers now, ripped from their body, condemned to an eternity of suffering in her grasp. She ensures their torment is endless, their agony woven into the very fabric of Hel itself. They will know true despair. They will beg for release, and she will deny them.

- When she returns to you, she does not ask if you are alright. She knows you are. You are strong. But still, her touch is almost gentle as she brushes a gloved hand over your bruised skin, as if assessing the damage, as if reminding herself that you are here. "They are nothing now," she murmurs, voice like velvet over steel. "They will never touch you again."

- Then, she cups your chin, tilting your face up to meet her gaze. Her lips curve into a smirk, dark, knowing. "You are mine," she breathes, her voice a silken promise. "And what is mine is untouchable."

Norman Osborn | The Green Goblin

- He is not a man known for softness. The world has felt the wrath of his intellect, his madness, his power—but never his kindness. Yet, in his own way, you are an exception. An obsession that burrowed into his mind and refused to leave. You were his, a claim as absolute as the empire he built with blood and fire. And when one of his men struck you, something terrible and ruinous cracked open within him. Norman does not react with immediate fury. No, his rage is patient, a slow-moving thing with sharpened teeth, and it festers in silence as he watches you, as his gloved hand ghosts over the mark left behind. His voice is eerily calm. "Who?" is all he asks, and though you know what will come, you do not stop him.

- He does not waste time. The moment the name is given, the air shifts, heavy with the weight of his impending vengeance. He could kill the man outright—could rip him apart with his hands and laugh as he did it—but Norman is nothing if not poetic. There is no need for theatrics, no need for a Goblin’s grin. He strips away his mask and handles the matter as Osborn, the man, the king, the ruthless god in a businessman’s skin. His underlings learn a lesson that night: a punishment that stretches long, a display of control so profound that even those loyal to him shudder at the sight. Norman does not simply kill; he dismantles.

- He returns to you in the aftermath, his fingers still stained with evidence of his wrath. There is no apology, no soft words meant to soothe. He does not think you need them. He takes your face in his hands, holds you as if committing the shape of you to memory, and leans in, his forehead resting against yours. "You are not to be touched," he murmurs, his voice laced with something dark, something final. "Not by them. Not by anyone. Only me." His mouth finds yours, claiming and bruising, a reminder of who you belong to, of who would set the world ablaze before letting another lay a hand on you.

- In the days that follow, his men become more careful, their eyes lowering whenever you pass. He revels in it, in their fear, in the knowledge that you are untouchable. But more than that, Norman basks in the way you still stand at his side, still allow his hands on your skin, still whisper his name in the quiet of night. He does not say it aloud, but he knows it in the marrow of his bones: he would burn everything for you.

Eddie Brock | Venom

- The moment Venom senses it, the moment the bruising scent of pain clings to you, Eddie is already moving. His body tenses like a predator scenting blood, fists curling, jaw tightening, and before you can say anything, a voice darker than night slithers out, a guttural growl vibrating in his chest. "Who hurt you?" The question is not for you to answer. Venom already knows.

- There is no reasoning with Eddie when his rage is ignited, no space for rational thought. He is a man of fury, of primal justice, and there is no justice more absolute than the one he will deliver. Venom is delighted, saliva dripping from his fanged mouth as he urges Eddie forward. "We eat them." But Eddie is not in the mood for quick endings. No, this calls for something more intimate. He corners the man, fists colliding with flesh, with bone, and with each hit, his breath comes harsher, his mind consumed by the vision of you hurt, of someone daring to lay a hand on what is his.

- When he returns to you, his knuckles are bloody, his breathing uneven, but his eyes—his eyes are the most dangerous part of him. "It won’t happen again," he says, and Venom’s voice purrs in agreement, curling around the words like a promise. You reach for him, fingers tracing over the remnants of his anger, and for a moment, his fury falters. His grip tightens around you, desperate, possessive, as if anchoring himself in your warmth. "I don’t share," he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your skin, the rough scrape of his stubble sending a shiver down your spine. "I don’t forgive, either."

- The city speaks in whispers after that. The man who struck you is nowhere to be found, his existence erased with the efficiency of something monstrous. Eddie doesn’t care. Venom doesn’t care. They are satisfied only in the way you still let them near, in the way your fingers tangle in Eddie’s hair as he presses against you, breathing in your scent like a man who has only ever known hunger.

Otto Octavius | Doctor Octopus

- He is a man of brilliance, of intellect, of control. But all of it fractures when he sees the mark on your skin. His metal limbs twitch, their claws clicking in restless anticipation, and his grip on his own restraint becomes tenuous. He prides himself on logic, on the ability to calculate his moves, but rage has always been an old friend, and tonight, it whispers to him with venomous sweetness. He cups your chin, his touch unexpectedly gentle despite the storm brewing in his gaze. "Tell me," he says, his voice like silk stretched over steel.

- When you do, he does not explode. Otto Octavius is not a man of reckless outbursts—he is a man of consequences. The one who hurt you does not suffer immediately. No, Otto drags it out, makes it a lesson, makes it art. His tentacles wrap around the man like a vice, lifting him effortlessly, squeezing just enough to let terror sink in. "Do you know what you’ve done?" he muses, tilting his head in that calculating way of his. "Do you understand the depths of your mistake?" There is no mercy in his eyes, only the cold brilliance of a scientist dissecting his latest subject.

- When he returns, his hands are clean, his composure intact. But there is something different in the way he looks at you, something almost reverent. "No one will touch you again," he says, a quiet promise that rings louder than any scream. His arms coil around you, steel and flesh alike, pressing you into him as if ensuring your safety through sheer proximity. He is not an affectionate man, not in the traditional sense, but this—this is devotion in its truest form.

- The world shifts after that. His subordinates tread carefully, their fear evident, their respect unwavering. Otto does not care for their opinions, only for the knowledge that you are untouchable, that the universe itself would have to shatter before he allowed harm to reach you again. And when he holds you at night, when he feels the warmth of your body against his own, he knows with absolute certainty—he would burn every last one of them for you.

Sergei Kravinoff | Kraven the Hunter

- The air is thick with tension when he finds out. There is no great display of fury, no immediate act of violence—but the shift in him is undeniable. His gaze darkens, his jaw sets, and his muscles coil like a beast moments before the kill. He does not ask you to name the culprit. He does not need to. The hunt is already beginning in his mind, the scent of blood calling to him. "They have wronged you," he murmurs, his accent curling around the words like a snare. "That is all I need to know."

- He does not go after them as a man. He goes as a predator. There is no chance for escape, no hope for mercy. The one who hurt you does not simply die; they are hunted, chased, reduced to nothing more than prey beneath the weight of Sergei’s wrath. And when he returns, there is blood beneath his nails, a satisfied smirk on his lips, and something primal burning in his eyes as they settle on you.

- He takes your face in his hands, his fingers rough yet reverent. "You are mine," he tells you, his voice low, possessive, unshaken. "And no man touches what is mine." There is no hesitation when he kisses you, no gentleness—only the raw, unfiltered hunger of a man who has conquered and claimed.

- After that, there is silence. No one dares cross you, no one even dares look too long. And Sergei—Sergei watches you like the wild thing he is, his need for you carved into his very soul.

Dr. Curt Connors | The Lizard

- There are two versions of the man you love, and both are dangerous in their own ways. Dr. Connors—the brilliant, fractured scientist—sees you as something fragile, something to be protected. The Lizard—the monstrous, primal force—sees you as his, an undeniable part of his territory, a possession no one else is permitted to touch. When he smells the injury, when his reptilian senses detect the slightest irregularity in your scent, his pupils slit into thin lines, and his talons twitch. He does not ask what happened. He does not need to. You can see the change in him, the slow, deliberate way his muscles coil, the predator awakening beneath the man.

- Curt tries to hold back at first, tries to reason with himself, to suppress the darker part of him that howls for blood. But then he sees the mark—small, insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but a wound on you—and all his restraint shatters. His skin ripples, the transformation taking hold, scales pushing through flesh, bones shifting as something cold-blooded and relentless takes over. The man who hurt you does not get the mercy of a warning. He does not get the chance to run. The Lizard hunts him down with terrifying precision, dragging him into the depths of the sewers, where screams do not reach the surface world.

- He does not return to you as Curt, not yet. The Lizard comes first, his body tense with the aftermath of his fury, his eyes glowing in the dim light. He circles you like an animal, sniffing the air, ensuring no scent of your attacker lingers. When his clawed hands cup your face, they are gentle despite their lethal potential, his rough thumb tracing over the bruise with something close to reverence. "Mine," he hisses, low and guttural, his tail twitching behind him. "No one hurts what belongs to me." His forked tongue flicks out, tasting the air around you, confirming you are safe. Only then does he allow himself to shift back, bones snapping, scales melting away, until it is Curt again—shaken, horrified by his own lack of control, but unrepentant.

- After that night, no one in his employ ever touches you again. They don’t even stand too close. The fear lingers, thick and suffocating, but you do not fear him. Not truly. Not when he presses his forehead against yours in the quiet of your shared sanctuary, his breath still uneven from the monster within him. "I won’t let it happen again," he murmurs, half a promise, half a warning to the world. And you believe him.

Cletus Kasady | Carnage

- Violence has always been Cletus’s language, and love—if he can even call what he feels for you that—is simply an extension of it. His affection is red, dripping, chaotic, something sharp-edged and all-consuming. So when he finds out someone has dared to touch you, to lay their filthy hands on what he claimed, he does not fly into a rage. No, no, no. Rage is too simple. Rage is what lesser men feel. What he feels is a different kind of thrill—something euphoric, something electric. The knowledge that he now has an excuse to indulge himself, to play.

- He finds the man easily. Carnage is not subtle, never has been, and there is no need for stealth when the hunt is half the fun. He takes his time with it, drags it out, makes sure the bastard understands the mistake he made. There are screams, of course. Begging. Pleading. But Cletus only laughs, red tendrils writhing around him like something alive, his grin wide and wicked. He does not just kill. He desecrates. When it is over, he leaves what remains in a place everyone will see, a message written in blood and viscera: SHE’S MINE.

- When he returns to you, he is still drenched in his work, red creeping up his neck like war paint. His fingers are slick when they cup your chin, tilting your head so he can drink in the sight of you, the only thing in this world he won’t destroy. "Ain’t nobody stupid enough to touch you now, doll," he purrs, his grip tightening just enough to make you gasp. "But if they do… well, you know me. I love an excuse to get messy." His lips crash against yours, feverish, unhinged, tasting of copper and chaos, as if marking you from the inside out.

- The city whispers after that. Everyone knows. Everyone fears. No one dares even breathe in your direction without permission. And Cletus—Cletus is delighted. He keeps you close, always touching, always claiming, because you are the only thing in this world worth keeping, worth loving in his own sick, twisted way.

Max Dillon | Electro

- The moment Max finds out, the air around him changes. The temperature rises, the hum of electricity vibrating beneath his skin, flickering in his veins. He does not speak at first. He just stands there, his entire body coiled with tension, eyes burning with a glow that promises something catastrophic. His hands twitch, sparks crackling between his fingers, and when he finally breathes, it comes out ragged, barely contained. "Who?" The question is not a request. It is a demand, static lacing his voice like a storm on the verge of breaking.

- He doesn’t wait for you to answer. He already knows. The circuits in the building whisper their secrets to him, security cameras playing back every movement, every offense. And once he sees it—once he witnesses the insult—there is no saving the man responsible. Max does not go after him in silence. He wants people to see. He wants them to understand. When he finds his target, he doesn’t touch him at first—just lets the lights flicker, lets the air taste of ozone and danger. The fear in the man’s eyes is intoxicating. And then—then—he strikes.

- He does not just kill. He erupts. A violent surge of electricity courses through his victim’s body, lighting up the night in a gruesome spectacle. It is over in seconds, but the aftermath lingers—charred flesh, the stench of burnt skin, a warning that echoes in the city’s power lines. No one touches what belongs to Max Dillon. No one.

- When he returns, his pulse is still thrumming with energy, his hands still tingling with remnants of power. He doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t need to. He simply cups your face, his touch still buzzing, his breath warm against your lips. "Nobody hurts you," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours, letting the electricity between you crackle softly. "Not while I’m around."

Wilson Fisk | The Kingpin

- There is no explosion of rage when Wilson finds out. No immediate outburst, no reckless display of violence. Instead, there is silence. A heavy, suffocating quiet that settles over the room as he absorbs the information, as he lets the weight of it sink into his bones. He does not ask questions. He does not need to. His mind has already moved past the why and straight into the how.

- The man who struck you is dead before the sun rises. Wilson does not delegate this task. He handles it himself, in the cold, calculated way that only he can. The punishment is not just a beating. It is an education. He ensures that every broken bone, every gasping breath, is a lesson. That by the time it is over, the man understands—truly understands—who you belong to.

- When he returns to you, his suit is pristine, his composure unshaken, but there is something in his eyes—something dark, something possessive. He takes your hand, bringing it to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your knuckles. "You are mine," he states, as if it is law, as if it is the only truth that matters. "And I will never allow harm to come to what is mine."

- The city learns quickly. No one touches you. No one dares. Because to harm you is to invoke the wrath of a king, and there is no place in this world where his reach does not extend.

Mac Gargan | The Scorpion

- Mac has always been a creature of violence. It sits in his bones, coils in his muscles, waiting for an excuse to strike. But this—this—is different. This is not a bar fight, not some petty vendetta. This is you. His girl. His one good thing in a world that never gave him anything but rage. And someone thought they could lay a hand on you? His fingers curl into fists so tight his knuckles crack, his breath coming out in short, harsh bursts. The suit hums around him, reacting to his anger, tail twitching like a serpent poised to strike.

- He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t ask. He hunts. The city is a labyrinth of shadows, but Mac is a predator who knows every back alley, every bolt hole. And when he finds the bastard, there’s no warning. No time for apologies, for begging, for mercy that never existed in the first place. He slams the man against a wall hard enough to rattle bones, his tail curling around his throat, lifting him off the ground with slow, deliberate cruelty. "You think you're tough?" His voice is low, venomous, dripping with the promise of pain. "Think you can put your hands on her and walk away?"

- The fight is short, brutal. Mac doesn’t just beat him—he breaks him. Leaves him gasping in the filth of the streets, bruised, bloodied, and barely breathing. He could end it. Should end it. But no, he wants this bastard to live. Wants him to wake up every day knowing he made the worst mistake of his life. That if he so much as breathes in your direction again, Mac will be the last thing he ever sees.

- When he returns to you, his hands are still shaking, but his grip is gentle when he cups your face, tilting your chin up so he can look at you. His expression is dark, possessive, fierce. "Ain’t nobody touching you again," he mutters, his thumb tracing over your skin, as if reassuring himself that you’re real, that you’re his. "Ever."

Roderick Kingsley | The Hobgoblin

- The first time he sees the mark on your skin, something inside him snaps. Roderick has always been meticulous, always prided himself on being in control, but this—this—is unacceptable. His fingers twitch at his sides, itching for violence, but his face remains eerily composed, the kind of stillness that only comes before a storm. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. "Who?" he asks, voice soft, deadly. It’s not a question. It’s a promise.

- Roderick does not make a spectacle of his revenge. He is not like the others—messy, impulsive, obvious. No, he is calculated. He plays the long game, luring the fool into a false sense of security. Then, when the time is right, he strikes. The underling who dared touch you disappears, and for days, no one hears from him. Then, suddenly, his body turns up—dismembered, displayed with sickening artistry, a message written in his own blood. A warning.

- When he returns to you, there is not a single speck of blood on him. He is as immaculate as always, his movements smooth and practiced as he approaches you. His gloved fingers brush over your shoulder, over the place where the injury once was, his touch lingering. "No one will ever lay a hand on you again," he murmurs, voice silken but laced with something darker, something dangerous. "Not unless they have a death wish."

- He tilts your chin up with two fingers, studying you with that sharp, analytical gaze, and then he smiles—slow, lazy, possessive. "You belong to me, darling," he whispers against your lips, a ghost of a threat, a vow wrapped in silk. "And I always take care of what’s mine."

Quentin Beck | Mysterio

- Quentin is a master of illusions, a man who bends reality to his will. But this—this is no illusion. The sight of your injury is real. And that, more than anything, enrages him. He stands utterly still, his fingers twitching at his sides, his mind already spinning through a thousand different ways to fix this. "Someone put their hands on you?" His voice is eerily calm, too calm, like the surface of still water before something drags you under.

- He doesn’t just want revenge—he wants a show. Wants to make an example of the fool who thought they could harm his masterpiece. The man who hurt you wakes up in a nightmare. Shadows twist unnaturally around him, voices whisper from the darkness, and the air itself becomes suffocating. He cannot see. He cannot escape. Quentin lets him feel true fear, lets his mind break apart at the seams. And when he finally steps into the illusion, bathed in eerie green light, his voice is cold, theatrical. "You touched something that belongs to me. Now, let’s see how you like being toyed with."

- By the time the illusion fades, the man is reduced to a shaking, incoherent wreck, his mind so shattered that he will never be the same. Quentin does not need to dirty his hands with blood. He has already won. Fear is the best weapon, after all. And now? Now, no one will ever dare lay a hand on you again.

- When he returns, his touch is gentle, almost reverent, as he cups your face, tracing the curve of your jaw. "I’ve taken care of it," he murmurs, his voice carrying that ever-present theatrical flair, as if this was simply another act in a grand performance. "No one will ever hurt you again. Not while I’m around." And when he presses his lips to yours, it is possessive, a silent claim. You are mine. And I will burn the world before I let it take you from me.

Flint Marko | The Sandman

- Flint has never claimed to be a good man, but there are rules. Lines that even criminals don’t cross. And someone crossing you? That is unforgivable. When he sees the mark on you, the wound left by some lowlife under his command, something dark passes over his expression. His jaw tightens, his fists clench, and for a long moment, he just stares. Then, in a voice too quiet, too steady, he asks, "Who did it?"

- He doesn’t wait for the answer. He already knows. He finds him. And when he does, he doesn’t waste words. He doesn’t make threats. He just acts. His body twists and warps, arms elongating, fists turning into massive clubs of hardened sand. The first hit is brutal, sending the man crashing through a wall. The second is worse. By the time he’s done, the bastard is barely breathing, half-buried in the debris, coughing up blood and dust. Flint leans down, voice low, gravelly, dangerous. "You ever even look at her again, I’ll make sure there ain’t enough of you left to bury."

- When he returns to you, his hands are still rough, still calloused, but they are infinitely careful when they touch you. His fingers ghost over the mark, his brows furrowed in something like guilt, like regret that he wasn’t there when it happened. "I shoulda stopped it before it happened," he mutters, frustration lacing his tone. "Ain’t nobody layin’ a hand on you again. I promise you that."

- He presses his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin, his presence solid, steady, safe. And when he speaks again, his voice is softer, rough with something that sounds almost like devotion. "You’re the only thing in this world I ain’t gonna lose." And somehow, you know he means it.

Herman Schultz | The Shocker

- Violence has always been a means to an end for Herman, never something he enjoyed. He’s not one of those lunatics who relish brutality—he’s just a man trying to make a living. But when he sees the bruise marring your skin, the way you flinch ever so slightly when you move, something inside him curdles. His stomach twists, his fingers flex, and there’s a slow, creeping heat behind his eyes. Somebody hurt you. And that? That’s something he can’t let slide.

- He doesn’t go in guns blazing. He’s smarter than that. He finds out who did it first, who was stupid enough to lay hands on his girl. And when he does? He makes sure the message is clear. The vibrations from his gauntlets don’t just break bones—they shatter them. There’s no warning, no grand speech, just a quick, brutal demonstration of what happens when you cross him. The air trembles with every hit, and by the time he’s finished, there’s nothing left but wreckage and regret.

- When he comes back to you, he’s quieter than usual. There’s no bravado, no cocky grin—just a lingering tension in his shoulders, a ghost of something dark in his eyes. He hesitates before reaching for you, before brushing his knuckles ever so gently over the bruise. "Didn’t mean for you to get caught up in this," he mutters, voice low, rough with something close to guilt. "But I swear—it ain’t happenin’ again."

- And then, finally, his hands settle on your waist, pulling you against him, grounding himself in you. He presses his forehead to yours, exhales slow, deliberate. "You’re my girl," he murmurs, his voice softer now, steadier. "And I protect what’s mine."

Dmitri Smerdyakov | The Chameleon

- Dmitri is a man of masks, of deception, of control. And yet, when he sees the mark on your skin, all of that precision shatters. His breath slows, his body stills, and for the first time in a long time, something genuine flickers behind his ever-changing eyes. Fury. Not the theatrical kind, not the controlled, manufactured type—this is something raw, something visceral. Someone thought they could touch you and get away with it.

- He does not act in haste. No, he is patient, methodical. He waits. He studies his prey, slipping into their world, wearing faces they trust, whispering secrets that lead them straight to their downfall. By the time they realize what’s happening, it’s far, far too late. One night, they close their eyes—and when they wake, they are not where they were before. A cold, dimly lit room. A voice, smooth as silk, drips from the darkness. "Did you think I would not find you?"

- By the time he returns to you, there is not a single trace of blood on him. No evidence, no mess—only the ghost of a smirk, the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. He steps close, fingers trailing over your wrist, up your arm, as if ensuring you are whole, untouched. "No one will ever hurt you again," he whispers, and it is not just a promise. It is fact.

- His lips brush against the shell of your ear, his voice a soft murmur, intimate, possessive. "You are mine, моя любовь. And I do not share what is mine."

Martin Li | Mister Negative

- There are two sides to Martin—light and shadow, kindness and wrath. But when he sees the evidence of someone else's violence on you, there is no kindness left. His breath catches, his fingers tighten into fists, and something in his expression shifts—something dangerous. He touches the injury gently, as if the very act of acknowledging it might taint you further. And then, quietly, almost too softly, he asks, "Who did this to you?"

- When he finds them, there is no shouting, no theatrics—only inevitability. The underling barely has time to register their mistake before Martin unleashes the darkness within. The corruption devours them, twisting their very essence, making them feel every ounce of pain they have inflicted—tenfold. They scream, but there is no one to save them. And Martin watches, calm, composed, as their own sins consume them from the inside out.

- When he returns to you, his hands are cool when they cup your face, his expression eerily serene. There is no need to speak of what he has done—you already know. Instead, his thumb brushes over your cheek, his touch reverent, careful. "I will not allow harm to come to you again," he says simply, as if it is law, as if the very world itself bends to his decree.

- And then, softly, with all the tenderness in the world, he presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering, his breath warm against your skin. "You are precious to me," he whispers, and beneath the gentleness, there is an edge of something darker, something absolute. "And I do not lose what is mine."

Fred Myers | Boomerang

- Fred has never been the serious type. Always laughing, always running his mouth, always playing things off like nothing really matters. But when he sees what happened to you? When he sees the proof that someone put their hands on you? The easygoing grin vanishes. His whole body goes still. And then, with a quiet, almost chilling sort of calm, he says, "Tell me who did it."

- He tracks the bastard down himself, no hired muscle, no goons—just him. And when he finds them, all the jokes, all the charm, all the bullshit he usually hides behind is gone. He’s fast, brutal, efficient—sharp knuckles, steel-toed boots, the snap of a ribcage giving way under pressure. He doesn’t need his boomerangs for this. No, this? This is personal.

- When he comes back, there’s blood on his hands—his own, maybe, but mostly theirs. And for the first time in a long time, he actually looks serious. No jokes, no smug quips—just that sharp, assessing gaze as he steps closer, fingers brushing over your wrist. "They won’t bother you again," he says, and his voice is rougher than usual, lower. "Nobody’s gonna touch you. Not while I’m around."

- And then, as if realizing how intense he sounds, he exhales, shakes his head, lets that familiar smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. "Damn," he murmurs, tilting your chin up, eyes dark with something dangerous. "Didn’t know I had it in me to get all protective." His grin widens, teasing, but his grip on you is firm, steady. "Guess you bring out the worst in me, sweetheart. Or maybe the best.”

[magicalqueennightmare]

Period Comfort Headcanons:

So @desimarie12 wanted some of our favorite marvel men and how they'd take care of you on your period. So here's something for uterus owners

Clint: The man knows how to clock when your period is around the corner. The day you start he has supplies ready and waiting. The heating pad, fuzzy blankets and his hoodie you always steal because he knows the first day or so is always the worse. Your favorite chocolate is stashed and waiting too.

Tony loves you, he does but his idea of comfort is handing you his card. "Here sweetheart just get whatever you need delivered" who cares if you also ordered your entire amazon cart as well? He doesn't as long as you're happy and curled up under blankets making him abadon whatever he's working on to join you.

Bruce keeps midol in his desk along with whatever sweets you like. He tends to take a more scientific approach to comforting the pain. Reminding you to hydrate and that potassium helps with cramps as well. Gives good backrubs.

Steve is from the 40s. He had to get used to the fact that periods weren't so stigmatized any more. Wasn't really his fault he didn't know too much about what you needed but was more than willing to learn and always happy to make store runs or just spend time with you.

Thor is a bit clueless on how midguardians handle such things but a quick explanation and once he's caught on understanding? He doesn't like that you're in pain but he does enjoy how clingy you get when you want comfort from him and how happy you are when he brings you sweets and snacks.

Pietro isn't intimidated by periods. Once their parents passed him and Wanda were on their own so he learned to help take care of her. Taking care of you comes second nature. Plus any craving you have? No matter where it's from, you're getting it.

Loki isn't letting you do much of anything he thinks can strain your body for the entire week. He knows it's a natural process but he understands it's also your body quite literally pulling pieces of itself apart and finds it barbaric that human men don't get that. You're getting pampered more than normal that week.

Sam grew up with a sister. He knows what buttons to not push during that time of the month. He's making you his mama's best recipes, doing store runs if need be and just being goofy to make you laugh to help you feel better mentally because he knows your mood dips that week.

Joaquin teases at first. I'm talking "Aw my little ketchup pack" that is until your mood dips, cramps hit and he can see you're in pain. Then that switch is flipped. He's right at your side for anything. Heating pad, snacks, cuddles, his hoodie..anything you need. You get

Bob builds you a literal blanket nest that is the softest warmest thing you've ever seen and is willing to disappear into it with you for hours to watch any sappy romcoms you want and snack on the weirdest combos you can think of.

Alexei is the literal definiton of the meme where the guy just throws chocolate from across the room and yells "Be gone demon"

Bucky took the time to learn about these things. He cared about you and wanted to help. Once he did? He's willing to do anything to bring you comfort. Snacks, cuddles, hot baths. He's there

John was with Olivia since high school and that woman trained him better than the military ever could. If you ask him to go to the store you can tell him what product you need and know for a fact you aren't getting a confused phone call because he knows his way around that aisle. He's coming back with you a new heating pad because "That one you had was a piece of crap" he's got chocolate, the snacks you like, a couple different types of painkillers and food from that takeout place you love. When he brings it to you he's also carrying the shirt you love stealing from him. It's up to you if you want company or not. If you want him to stay? He's making sure you hydrate and he's rubbing your stomach and back. If you don't want him to? He's kissing your forehead and reminding you to holler if you need anything else.

John's got long...so sue me?!?!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Touch of Sweetness 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Loki Laufeyson

Sister series to mob!Thor

Summary: you make a new friend, but that's not all. (short reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“So I thought we could go berry picking,” you suggest. “I saw it on the news. They’re going to be having a whole strawberry fest on this farm--” 

Estelle, Candy, and Jada sit at the table with you, sipping their fancy lattes as you nurse a hot chocolate. Caffeine always makes you so jumpy. Still, you could’ve got a tea and felt a little less childish. They always tend to make you feel a bit simple. Especially your sister, Jada. 

“Oh, look who just walked in,” Estelle raises her filled in brows. 

Candy cranes next to you and turns back with a gasp. You peer over your shoulder and see the large blond man as he joins the queue, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets casually. You squint as the person in front of him peeks back and moves frantically out of his way. You’re curious as the line scatters before him and he steps up to the counter without wait. 

You face the table again as the girls gape, “about the berries...” you begin. 

“Oh be quiet. You’re always talking about such stupid things,” Jada says. “What do you think he’s doing here?” 

“Well, he can go wherever he wants, can’t he?” Estelle intones. 

You don’t get the big deal. That man is huge, sure, but why are they so concerned. 

“It’s not stupid,” you argue. “We can bake after--” 

“Oh my god, grow up,” Candy barks. “Look at him...” 

You harrumph. You were nice enough to buy their drinks and once again, you’re pushed into the corner. You’re a nice person but they make you have un-nice thoughts. 

“Who cares?” You pout. 

“Whatever. Don’t be a baby because no one wants to go to a farm and get attacked by bees,” Jada snips. 

“Fine, I’ll go alone,” you stand and gather up your bag and cup. 

“Please, do.” Your sister chirps. 

“Ha, you are always so dramatic,” Candy cackles. 

You feel like crying. They’re always laughing at you. You tell your parents as much but they just come back with the same old excuse. ‘She’s your sister.’ 

Yes, well you’re an adult and so is Jada and she doesn’t need to be such a bully. You go up to the counter to hand over your used mug to the barista. 

“Thank you, it was very good,” you say. “Is it real cocoa?” 

“Um, I think so,” the girl behind the counter says. “Have a good day.” 

“You too,” you smile. Well, you don’t feel so bad now. 

You turn and head for the door. As you get there, that big blond man does too. He’s right ahead of you. And aware of you. He pulls the door inward and nods you outside. He has a bright pink box under his arm with the cafe’s logo on it. 

“Oh, thank you,” you duck your head and scurry out, sending one last look to your sister and her friends as they squint back at you. No, not at you, at that man. 

As you step outside, so does he. 

“Excuse me,” he calls after you before you can flee back home to mope. 

“Yes,” you stop and spin back so your ankles twist. 

“I suppose it’s not my place but I overheard you talking about berry picking? It sounds like a fun time and my... partner, she’s in need of distraction. Would you be able to tell me exactly where I can find this farm?” He asks. 

You’re shocked. He must have very good hearing. Or maybe you really are dramatic. 

You smile. His voice is deep and warm. Cozy, just like his beard. 

“Yes, it’s called Ulster’s Ridge,” you explain. “I’m not sure where exactly, I haven’t looked it up, but it’s all next week.” 

“Mm,” he nods thoughtfully. “It seems you don’t have anyone to go with.” 

“You... heard all that?” You look away bashfully. 

“Not very nice. Those are friends?” He wonders. 

“My sister. They’re her friends. Not mine, I guess,” you bat your lashes at the admittance stings in your eyes. “I’ll go by myself.” 

“That’s brave but if it isn’t too forward, my partner, she could use a friend. I’m not sure she’d like to be stuck with only me much longer.” He laughs lightly, “I’m afraid I can be a bit much myself.” 

“Oh, I... if she doesn’t mind, I guess,” you say. “I wouldn’t want to crash a date.” 

“Not at all,” he insists. “Might I have a name to give her? I don’t think she’d handle a ‘I met a strange woman today and chatted her up’ without more detail.” 

You giggle. He’s funny. “Sure,” you give your name. 

“Ah, lovely,” he praises. “My name is Thor. Odinson.” 

“It’s nice to meet--” you raise your hand and pause as the name strikes a familiar chord. Oh. Thor. When you pictured the infamous mafioso, you didn’t imagine a teddy bear of a man. 

“I see my reputation precedes me,” he grins and shakes your hand, his large one swallowing it up. “I promise, I’m not so vicious as they say I am. And how could anyone be so to a sweetheart like you?” 

“I... thanks, sir,” you say. 

“Thor, please. Only my men call me sir,” he squeezes and lets go of your hand. “I will see you for berry picking.” He takes his phone out. “I only need your number and I will have my lady choose a date.” 

“Oh, sure,” you accept his cell with a slight tremble. 

You bow your head as you focus on entering your number. You sense movement nearby and turn your head to the cafe window. You only realise then you’re standing right in front of your sister’s table. 

You sniff and hand the phone back with a smile, “thanks. I can’t wait.” 

“I look forward to it,” he says. He gets closer and leans in, “I know family can be tough. Don’t let your sister dull your shine, sweetness.” He winks and sidesteps you, “I hope your day gets brighter, little one.” 

“You too, Mr. Odinson,” you call after him and wave. 

“Thor,” he booms back over his shoulder as he struts away. 

You turn to look at your sister. Her and the others look gobsmacked. You smile wide and drop your hand. You don’t need them. More berries for you and your new friend. Whoever she is. 

[fatkish]

How the different Avengers take care of a sick Omega Reader

The Alphas:

Bucky-

it depends on when you get sick.

If he’s still on the run then he rarely ever leaves the your side. The only time he does is to get food. He’d buy fruits, white bread, white rice, and other easy to digest foods. He’d probably skin and boiled some apples before mashing them up to make applesauce

He definitely doesn’t trust anyone to help his omega. Would definitely feed you by hand and be waiting on you constantly. Barely ever lets you leave your nest

If you’re feeling weak then he’ll help you get around and help you bathe. He’ll cuddle with you and make sure you’re drinking water. He’ll always have a large bowl or bucket nearby in case you puke

If it’s after he reunites with Steve and spends time in Wakanda

He’ll immediately alert whoever, either Friday or someone in Wakanda depending on where you guys are

He’ll allow Bruce or whoever to look you over and give you medicine but he will be hovering around watching

Treats whatever the doctors say as gospel and makes sure to follow it. If you want a food that the doctors didn’t specify say was okay then you’re not getting it

Might let Steve look after you if needed

Loki-

How he goes about caring for his omega depends on whether he’s on earth or Asgard

King. Of. Comfort. Is your nest too small? Don’t worry you can have the entire floor if necessary. Blankets not soft enough? He’s getting you the most luxurious and soft blankets ever. Lights too bright? He’s about to fight the fucking sun. There is nothing this man won’t do for his omega

Would personally oversee the chefs who make your meals by using a clone if you’re on Asgard. If you’re on earth then he’s constantly backseat driving while either Bruce, Wanda or Pepper cook for you. They’re the only people he trusts to not poison you accidentally

He would cook your food himself but he wants the best for you and his cooking isn’t. Also, he doesn’t want to leave your side while you’re not feeling well

If you have to take medicine that you don’t like then he’s going to find a way to get it in you. Doesn’t matter the method, if you need this medicine you’re getting this medicine even if he has to trick you or seduce you

If you’re sore or tired and need a bath then he’s more than happy to help. He’ll carefully wash your hair and skin, making sure not to get soap in your eyes. He’s careful not to jostle you too much in case you’re feeling queasy

If you’re having trouble keeping things down then he’ll hold your hair back and sit with you by the toilet. If you’re crying from the constant vomiting then he’ll rub your back and softly sing to you to comfort you

If your nest doesn’t feel right then he’ll gladly be your proxy and build your nest for you as you tell him where to put things. It doesn’t matter how many times he has to repeat the process, as long as you’re comfortable

If you’re just an overall emotional mess then he’ll be more than happy to comfort you in your time of need. If you’re just so sick of feeling sick he might put a sleep spell on you so you don’t have to suffer, he’ll watch over you and make sure you come out feeling better

Thor-

Giant. Puppy. Energy. He will cuddle with you, bring you food, watch tv with you. Whatever makes you feel better, he’s down for it

You want to snuggle and have skin to skin contact? Move over, he’s already lost his clothes and doesn’t mind snuggling. You’re self conscious because you’re sweaty, your hair is a mess, you look like shit? He only sees the most beautiful omega ever and he’s more than happy to prove it to you

Whatever food you need he’s gonna get. If he has to fly across the world just to get these one chips you like only to return and you throw up after eating them, he doesn’t care. As long as it’s to help you, he’ll do whatever he needs to

You want to steal his cape and use it in your nest? He already put it there. The world needs saving, eh, there’s always tomorrow, right now his omega needs him

If you’re fussy and a pain when your sick, he doesn’t mind, you don’t feel well so he’s happy to let you do whatever you need to make you feel better

He’ll tell you stories about his childhood and his adventures as you lay your head on his chest and try to rest

He’ll bring you the fluffiest blankets for your nest and help you build it too, all he wants is for his omega to get better

Steve Rodgers-

Having spent over a decade being sick in the past, he’s no stranger to being ill. He might not be an omega anymore but he knows and remembers what helped him

He’ll make old family recipes just for you, he’ll use everything he remembers from being sick. Cold damp towel on your forehead to help ease the fever, warm blankets and easy to digest meals

He’s more than happy to feed you if you need it. If you can’t keep things down then he’s already got the puke bucket ready for you by your side

If nothing works then he’s happy to do some research even if he struggles with it

Will gladly let Bruce look you over and give you a checkup. If you need medicine and you hate the way it tastes he’ll use every trick in the book to get you to take the medicine. Afterwards he’ll give you praise and lots of snuggles

He’ll help you bathe but he’ll definitely be shy about it. He has to clean your crotch and chest? His face is red as he looks away but he’s gentle and thorough making sure you get clean

If you have an accident like throwing up on yourself because you couldn’t reach the bucket or the toilet fast enough and your embarrassed, he’ll smile softly and reassure you that whatever you did, he’s probably done at least twice. He’ll even tell you embarrassing stories about himself and have Bucky join in if it makes you feel better

Bruce/Hulk-

There’s only one thing these two can agree on and it’s that they love/care about you

The moment Bruce realizes you’re sick, he goes full mother hen mode. Partially because he himself is an omega, but also because it’s the doctor in him. He brings you to his lab or he brings his equipment to you and does whatever tests he needs

Hulk will be yelling at him in his head the entire time to let him out so he can take care of you while Bruce does his check up on you

Bruce somehow manages to convince Hulk to let him run the tests so he can make sure your condition is nothing serious. Once they both know that it’s just the flu and you won’t die or need some exotic/fancy treatment then Bruce relents and allows Hulk to care for you

Hulk is definitely a cuddler, he climbs into your nest and lets you use him as a bed. He’s got his arms around you and holds you keeping you warm. C’mon, the guys practically a giant gamma powered heater

Hulk will wrap you up in a blanket burrito and purr to you, Hulk can be surprisingly soothing and he holds nothing back, he knows he can’t smash the germs making you sick, so he provides moral support while your body fights

Hulk listens to Bruce’s instructions on how to care for you and make you food. If his form is too inconvenient then he’ll let Bruce handle the intricate things like cooking or getting your medicine

Bruce has a Hulk sized tub so Hulk can bathe, Hulk helps you and is gentle with you as he washes your hair and body. Makes sure you’re nice and dry using his big towel

Hulk gently rubs your back as you puke and holds your hair back. He doesn’t like seeing you so miserable

If you want to watch movies then Hulk will cuddle with you even if you fall asleep and he hates the movie, anything for his omega

The Betas:

Scott Lang-

This sweet baby is immediately on his feet and worried for you

He might not be an alpha but that has nothing to do with how much he loves/cares for you

This lovable goofball is running around like a chicken with his head cut off at the first sign of the sniffles

Will definitely get the ants to help clean the house and make sure to sanitize everything so that the germs are gone

If you’re puking then he’ll braid your hair and put it in a bun so it’s out of the way, he has a daughter so his papa instincts are in full swing

He helps you get in and out of your nest, bringing you whatever you need and making sure you’re warm and cozy

If you’re feeling down or tired of being sick then he’s more than happy to cheer you up. Cue the magic tricks and playing rockband with the ants

He’s more than happy to cuddle with you if it makes you feel better, anything for you

He doesn’t mind if your nose is stuffed or runny, he’s got plenty of tissues and even makes a game of seeing how many he can throw in the trash from afar

Tony Stark-

Now he knows he’s not the best with caring for sick people but as the team’s omega, which he personally recruited, he takes his job seriously

He’ll have Bruce look you over and make sure it’s just the flu before making sure that you have everything you need

If you specifically want him to snuggle with you then move over, he’s snuggling but your watching a movie too

He’ll have either Jarvis or Friday monitor you so he can ensure that you’re eating and staying hydrated. If you’re puking they’ll alert him so he can make sure you get easy to digest meals

He’ll watch bad movies with you so the both of you can roast the movie. For example: an old sci/fi with terrible visual effects that he’ll keep commenting on. That or you’ll watch YouTube videos of people failing and doing stupid stuff

He’ll gladly order whatever you need no matter how ridiculous, if a dozen dancing cacti make you feel better, you’re going to get double

You’re not allowed to move from your nest unless it’s to use the bathroom. He’s very controlling but in a loving sense. You don’t move to get anything, that’s why he’s here, he’ll get what you need so don’t move

He almost becomes like a worried parent, constantly hovering over the line of ‘its just a bruise’ and ‘everyone panic! It’s the return of the plague’. He’s constantly a mix between relaxed and incredibly worried

[kuromixheartzzz]

WANNA BE MY FN DUO?! | side

michael kaiser. 19. a super big streamer. plays mainly fps games. ness is literally in every stream of his and is quite literally called his pet. he has a weird relationship with ness like it’s not normal. his fan base is filled with toxic fangirls. his biggest enemy is isagi, his most viral videos are his competitions with isagi. lives with ness.

alexis ness. 19. kaisers lapdog. he does stream sometimes by himself but is mostly in kaisers streams. when he streams by himself, he plays minecraft and has the best builds too. his chat is filled with messages saying “leave kaiser!” or “STAND UPPPP” but there is nothing he can do about it. kind of obsessed about kaiser. but fuck it we ball!! lives with kaiser.

sae itoshi. 18. rin’s older brother. pro esports player. definition of nonchalant and has a whole ass fangirl club over it but he don’t gaf. he’s a genius at all games. he doesn’t understand that rin does NOTT like him, he thinks he’s going through puberty. he knows shidou but purposefully ignores him and his advances. 

rensuke kunigami. 17. works at the restauraunt. literally the kindest man everrrr. he’s super good in his role and works part-time cause he’s studying to be a doctor so he can save people and be a superhero. doesn’t know that chigiri has the biggest fattest crush on him and he keeps doing shit to make chigiri fall deeper but he doesn’t even notice cause that’s just how he is. but soon though.. soon.. 😈

otoya eita. 18. womanizer. cheater. player. philanderer.. any synonym for the following words, he is. there is actually a groupchat filled with all the women he cheated on (he doesn’t know about it) and they are all plotting revenge on him. he also likes to pretend and act like he’s a ninja. one time he tried to do a trick on a girl ended up karate chopping her and she beat him up. learned his lesson and never tried to do that again.. he’s best friends with karasu and mutual friends with hiori. 

tabito karasu. 18. he thinks everything is mediocre. he knows hiori from high school. they played on the same youth team and helped hiori out. he gets roped into otoya’s shenanigans all the time and it ends going horribly wrong. however he always stays unscathed despite it all. probably because he’s smart unlike a certain someone.. best friends with otoya and high school friends with hiori. otoya and karasu sometimes visit the apartment. 

julian loki. 17. another pro e-sports player. he’s literally charles mom. he has to always fix whatever mess charles, shidou, and y/n gets themselves into. a single mom.

(a/n: OKOK I PROMISE NOW ITS STARTING!! also btw.. these characters are side characters so some of them will like be more relevant and then some of them will be like rare appearances. also kunigami is pre-wc)

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taglist: @kyeeeeeeeweeeeeeewi @emikikus18 @l0v3ly-st4rs @olix111 @kuronarnze @soph1sticatedly @ang3licprinc3ss

[ichorai]

letters of loki ; david loki (m).

pairing ; david loki x reader (afab, gender-neutral pronouns)

synopsis ; nsfw alphabet + micro-drabbles for each letter.

words ; 4.0k

themes ; smut, fluff, barely-there angst, established relationship

warnings / includes ; mentions of scars, unprotected sex, mentions of bondage, oral sex, light roleplay, 'honey' as a pet name, david being exhausted </3

a/n ; been in a terrible fic-writing slump so i tried out the nsfw alphabet format for the first time! hope you all enjoy :)

main masterlist.

A — AFTERCARE

Definitely the kind to hold you close after the act, his arms firmly wrapped around your waist, his nose buried into your shoulder. David’s mostly silent, but would gladly listen and hum along if you wanted to start up any kind of pillowtalk. He just likes hearing the sound of your voice. Eventually, however, he’d get up to take a shower (he’s a creature of habit, after all), and bring you anything you needed, like a glass of water or a damp towel. 

“Your hair’s wet,” you mumbled in complaint when he slipped back under the covers after his brief shower. His cold hands slipped beneath the wrinkled button-up shirt you were wearing (his, he realized a second later), and you made a disgruntled noise.

“Sorry, honey,” he replied with a soft huff of a laugh, but made no move to shift away. Instead, he pressed closer, kissing a warm spot just above your ear.

B — BODY PART

David’s favorite body part of yours would definitely be your hips. Or your eyes. Or your thighs. If you were to ask him, he’d give you a different answer every single time. There’s so much he loves about you, he can hardly pick just one. Though, he really does have a particular fondness for holding onto your hips, even in a non-sexual manner. He also loves any and all of your moles, scars, or birthmarks. Would press kisses against them because he finds them so beautiful in their uniqueness, and it makes him feel close to you. He thinks tattoos are hot as fuck on you too—especially the small ones in the most random places. 

Your favorite body part on him would be his hands. He found it strange at first, how your fingers always found his, how you’d spend hours in bed simply staring at his knuckle tattoos, tracing over every inked etch and every bruise, scar, and callous. It didn’t come much of a surprise to him when he found that you liked the sight of his hand pressing down on your lower stomach as he fucked into you. It got you going—and whatever gets you going, gets him going, too. 

The movie the two of you had put on was entirely forgotten. He was on the ground, knelt down in front of you, tongue tracing utter sin along your soaked cunt. And his hands—oh, his hands—one was gripping on your right thigh with iron-strength, forcing you apart to make space for his insatiable self pressing against you. The other hand was intertwined with your left palm, squeezing every once in a while, as if in reassurance. How sweet of him to hold your hand while he utterly destroyed you.

C — CUM

He’s a classic man—he likes to cum inside of you the most, but wouldn’t mind seeing it all over your tummy or over the inside of your thighs. If he was to make a mess, he would immediately clean it up with a damp towel after, asking if you were okay. 

“Gonna cum inside you—that okay, honey?” he grunted right by your ear, one hand splayed over your stomach, pressing with just the right amount of pressure, and the other gripping your hip tightly.

“Yes—yes, please, David,” you moaned, breath catching at his name as you moved to lay your hands over his so you could squeeze them earnestly. “Need you to fill me up.”

Just the sound of your voice was enough to push him over the edge. He pistoned his hips against yours a few more times until he doubled over with a gruff noise, hot cum filling your throbbing pussy until it leaked out around his still semi-hard cock.

D — DIRTY SECRET

There’s a set of handcuffs in the bedside drawer just for emergencies. But David’s always wanted to ask if you’d be willing to try it out in bed. He’s not even entirely sure if he would enjoy that, since he prefers to keep his work separate from home, but the thought of you trusting him enough to keep you bound to the bed wasn’t exactly unappealing.

David could only imagine how beautiful you’d look with your wrists up above your head, cuffed to the headboard as you looked up at him with those pretty eyes of yours. How the metal would look like against your skin as you tugged and begged for him to let you touch him—

“David?” you asked with a mildly curious tone, jolting him out of his thoughts. His head turned to you, in your soft pajamas, having just brushed your teeth and washed your face. You were about to slip into bed. “You okay? What are you thinkin’ about?”

“Nothing, hon. Let’s go to sleep.”

E — EXPERIENCE

He knows what he’s doing, but he hasn’t been with a lot of people before you. Two or three one-night stands, and maybe one barely-there relationship that didn’t last very long. Before you came along, he hardly had enough time to sleep, much less concern himself with having flings. Once he met you, he was much more determined to reorganize himself so he could make time for you. 

The diner was buzzing with activity that night. You were sipping on a strawberry milkshake, telling him about how you’d love to see a jaguar in person one day. He was smiling, thinking about how beautiful you were, even beneath the harsh lighting of the diner. And then—then it was all spoiled, because he caught sight of his ex in another booth. It hadn’t ended well—she left in a fit of anger and tears, frustrated that David hardly ever made time for her anymore. 

Almost immediately, you noticed his change of demeanor, and reached over the table to take his hand. His tense muscles relaxed just a bit. Something you always managed to do with very little effort—it was an uncanny talent of yours. 

“You wanna get out of here?” you offered. If you noticed his ex, you didn’t say anything. For that, he was grateful. “We can watch a movie at home.”

“That sounds great, actually.”

F — FAVORITE POSITION

Loki’s got a particular fondness for reverse cowgirl. Don’t get him wrong, he loves missionary and doggy too, but there’s just something about reverse cowgirl that itches him in just the right way. He likes reaching over to press down on your stomach from behind while he pounds into you, and he also likes how it’s easy access to your clit. Plus, you really enjoy hearing the gruff noises he makes right by your ear, so you’re not at all complaining. 

“David!” you cried out, voice strained with ecstasy. 

“I hear you, baby. Moan for me,” he muttered from behind you, sweaty chest pressed flush against your back. David glanced down and gave a guttural noise upon seeing a creamy ring of your combined arousals at the base of his cock. Another erotic sigh fell from you when he reached down to rub circles over your clit, making you keen with shocked arousal.

G — GOOFY

Very rarely would sex with David be light-hearted or humorous. The two of you are usually far too caught up in a pleasure-ridden haze. But if you happened to start laughing or smiling, he’d give you a loving half-grin before making it his mission to get you back into a moaning mess.

“That tickles,” you half-laughed when he skimmed his fingers up your sides, smiling up at him. He only barely made a humming noise before he thrust back into you—and the grin melted right off your face.

H — HAIR

He takes good care of his hygiene. Granted, he’s usually preoccupied with work to spend too much time grooming himself, but he keeps things clean down there. He also knows you’re a big fan of his slicked-back hair, so he does take the time to make himself look presentable in the morning. You’d also told him once while he was shaving that you liked how he looked with a beard—he’d really have to consider growing it out for you.

“I like how it looks,” you told him one morning before he had the chance to shave. “Your stubble. I think you’d look so hot with a beard.”

“You think so?”

“You should try it. That caveman look. It’ll suit you.”

I — INTIMACY

David can be incredibly romantic when he wants to be. Flowers and your favorite takeout are things he’d grab for you on the way back from work. He’s a detective—he studies you, observes all your likes and interests, and he’s a very fast learner to top it off. Kisses during sex are also not uncommon, and he would definitely press his lips along your neck or on your cheek, whether he’s on top or behind you. And, as mentioned before, he does hold your hand a lot. When he’s feeling more affectionate than usual, he’d murmur how good you are for him in your ear. 

“You feel so good, honey. Doin’ so good for me,” he groaned, firm arms curled around your waist as he bucked his hips into you. At his praise, you arched your back so you’d press further into him, a breathless keen falling from your lips. 

“Yeah?” David asked in smug approval. “You like that? You like being good for me, hm?”

J — JACK OFF

He rarely ever masturbates, because he’s got you around. And because he’s working so much. He feels as if it’s a waste of time if it’s not with you. But on the rare occasion you were out of town for longer than usual, he’d give into the temptation in the shower just once, imagining his wet fist was your warm cunt.

He missed you more than anything. All he could think about was you and your smile, your laugh, your beautiful hips and legs and thighs—

Fuck, even the cold shower he was standing under wasn’t helping his hard-on go away. With a muffled noise of frustration, David switched the water over to scalding hot, and curled a sopping hand over his throbbing cock. He leaned his forehead against the condensated tiles and closed his eyes, thinking about you and your delicious fucking moans. 

K — KINK

Mentioned before, but handcuffs! He likes that you trust him enough to be at his mercy, and he also thinks you look incredibly hot tied up. Another would be when you tell him what you want him to do to you—that gets him going so good. David also loves when you tug at his hair right at the root—makes his eyes roll right to the back of his head. He also really doesn’t mind when you scratch your nails down his back. Seeing the red marks afterwards feels like an award more than anything. 

It surprised him just how good it felt when your nails lightly scratched at his scalp. He peered up at you from his position (between your gorgeous thighs), tongue dragging torturously over your sensitive clit. It surprised him even more when you took fistfuls of his hair and tugged with just the right amount of pressure. He made a noise of approval right against your cunt, the vibrations making your back arch so that your cunt pressed up closer to his face. 

L — LOCATION

In bed is his go-to, since the two of you would usually have sex super late at night or really early in the morning. The couch in your living room is also home to lots of impromptu sex, mostly during the weekends. The kitchen counter and the dining table aren’t exempt, either.

The stir-fry you were cooking up crackled and popped in the pan, just about ready. From behind, David’s arms wove around your waist, his nose running along the curvature of your neck. It was only when you felt his stiff hardness against your back did you halt your ministrations.

“Here?” you asked with a sweet smile, turning your head to the side so you could see his sheepish expression. 

“Here’s good,” he replied, before turning the stove off for you and crowding you up against the kitchen counter.

M — MOTIVATION

Your voice gets him worked up the most. Especially when you make it go all low and you whisper right into his ear—he gets hard just from the thought of it. You could be talking about the most asinine topics, and he’s looking at you like you’re already begging him to fuck you. Whenever you wear his clothes, too—preferably with nothing underneath—it just makes you all the more irresistible to him. 

It was rare for the both of you to wake up lazy, with no plans for the rest of the day. But today—today was a miraculous weekend where both of your off-days lined up. And so that only meant you got to lounge around wearing David’s shirt, whispering pure filth into his ear so he’d push you up against the closest surface and fuck you with no abandon. It was simply heaven.

N — NO

Anything that could potentially really hurt you. He’s alright with a little bit of spanking here and there, but slapping you across the face is a hard no from him. He already sees quite a bit of abuse and violence at work, the last thing he’d want to do is replicate that with you. David can call you dirty names if you’d like, too, but he’s not very keen on being on the receiving end of it. Reminds him of his military school days. And, if it wasn’t obvious, none of the typical “gross” kinks, like piss and shit. He’s not into that at all. 

“Before we do this,” David started, trying his best to quell his racing heart, despite the fact that he’s slept with you three times prior to this. It was all still so new to him. “I just wanted to make sure—you’ll let me know if you’re uncomfortable, right? Or if I hurt you in any way, okay? I need to know if you’re not… enjoying it.”

“Okay, David,” you said with a serious nod, wrapping your legs about his waist. “I promise I’ll let you know.”

O — ORAL

Loves giving and receiving equally. On days where he’s come from work utterly exhausted and too tired to fuck you, he’d have you hanging right by the edge of the bed, where he’s kneeling on the ground, licking lazy patterns up and down your aching core. Eating you out also makes for brilliant foreplay—David likes to tease it out, and he especially likes the way you tug at his hair and groan out his name. As for receiving, he loves to pull your hair just as much, low moans of appreciation falling from his lips.

It was heaven between your legs, he thought, brows knitting together as he hiked your thighs up higher on his shoulders so he could properly bury his face into you sopping pussy. The noises you were making were going straight to his cock, which ached within the confines of his trousers. Even when you’d come twice from his tongue, David just kept going, humming in amusement when you began to whine with overstimulation.

P — PACE

It really depends on the day. Sometimes he wants to burn off some steam and frustration—goes all rough and quick until both of you are seeing stars. Other days he takes it slow, drawing it out to savor it as long as he can, drenching the sheets with both sweat and cum. 

“David—David, honey,” you cried out into the mattress, fists curling against the sheets. His cock was hitting all the right places inside of you, so fucking deep. “Please, please, go faster.”

He let out a guttural noise when you tightened around him. “No, no, honey… I’m taking my time with you today. Wanna make you feel every inch of me.”

Q — QUICKIE

Much to his chagrin, the weekdays usually leave him no other choice than a quickie. He’d certainly prefer it if he had the option to take his time with you, but David makes the most out of it regardless. You certainly don’t seem to mind—though, you’ve convinced him to come in late to work a handful of times.

“I’m gonna be late for work,” David grunted right into your mouth as he pounded into you. The squelching sound of his cock hammering into your throbbing cunt was enough to leave his cheeks warm and flushed. “It’ll be all your fault, honey.”

You clutched onto his shoulders, your forehead drooping down onto his cheek, far too delirious to come up with a coherent response.

R — RISK

He’d be more than willing to try out new things with you. He’s especially a big fan of when you come to him proposing a new position to try out. However, David isn’t likely to try out anything new on his own, so it’s all up to you. He’s just happy to do whatever you want to do.

“Hey, David?”

Your boyfriend glanced up from the paper he was reading, brows quirked.

“Well, uhm,” you wrung your hands together, with a sheepish expression, “I was wondering if we could… try something out in bed tonight.”

David blinked once, twice, and a third time. He put the paper down. “Of course, hon,” he said, a soft smile playing at the corner of his lips, “We can do whatever you want.”

S — STAMINA

Usually only one or two rounds since he’s already so worn out from his job but you can easily work him up into a third round if you really wanted to. The rounds can last pretty long, though—he’s good at pacing himself and also makes sure that you’re feeling good, too.

“Again?” he panted with a tired grin when you rolled him over so you could clamber onto his lap, grinding your slickened cunt against his spent cock. 

“Mhm,” you replied, nodding. Your hair was a complete mess—David took pride in being the reason you looked so sexily disheveled. “You don’t even have to do anything. Just—lay there and let me take care of you.”

“Can’t argue with that.” David’s muttered words tapered off into a low groan when you sank down onto him.

T — TOY

He wouldn’t own any toys of his own but if you owned a vibrator he’d definitely tease you with it during foreplay. Not at all the kind to be insecure about you using toys—in fact, he’s glad you have a way to feel good on your own whenever he’s not around to take care of you. Independence is incredibly sexy to him, after all.

The gentle buzz of the vibrator against your clit made you buck your hips up, to which David only let out an amused hum of laughter. One of his hands pressed down on the expanse of your stomach to keep you pinned down onto the bed.

“Stop squirming around, honey,” he muttered, teeth nipping at the inside of your thigh. “Relax—let me make you feel good.”

U — UNFAIR

David can be a huge tease if he wanted to be—he knows the exact buttons to press to work you up until you’re right there, but he’d pull away just before you could cum. Would have a wide, smug grin on his face, but he’s quick to cave once you start moaning out his name.

“Why’d you stop?” you huffed, breathless, propping yourself halfway-up with your elbows so you could look down at him. The lower half of his face was covered with your arousal. 

“Hm?” The faux noise of confusion aggravated you to no return. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shot you a cocky smile, before kissing up your stomach.

V — VOLUME

He’s not very loud, mostly quiet grunts and the occasional murmur against your skin. He’d much rather hear you—he loves it when you cry out for him, and tell him how good he feels against you.

Your nails dug into his shoulders as he plowed into you—you could feel the vibrations of his breathless groans and choked grunts. With a particularly hard thrust, your pussy walls shuddered and clenched around him, the lewd cry you let out enough to etch a permanent blush over David’s cheeks.

W — WILD CARD

Roleplay wouldn’t even be something he thinks of doing but if you brought it up, he’d find it so incredibly hot if he pretended he was arresting you before bending you over a table and fucking you senseless.

“You gonna punish me, detective?” you asked with a coy smile, hand trailing down his chest, toying with the buckles of his belt.

David blinked at you—trying his best not to break character. With firm hands, he yanked your fingers away from his belt and twisted your arm around over your back, crowding you against the table. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and may be used against you in a court of law.” 

It took all it had in him not to laugh when you let out an aroused moan. 

X — X-RAY

Size really doesn’t matter because he knows how to pleasure you regardless, but he’s definitely quite girthy. The first few times he had sex with you, he’d take it slow because he really didn’t want to hurt you and he was stretching you out so good.

“You’re so big,” you whispered as he carefully eased you onto his cock, hands gripping your hips tight. “Was worried you wouldn’t fit when we first had sex.”

David let out something akin to a hiss and a groan, his forehead leaning against yours. 

Y — YEARNING

David’s sex drive isn’t all that high. It was mentioned before that you could work him up most of the time if you wanted to but unprompted, David would be just fine with having sex around once a week, especially since the two of you are so busy with work and quite tired when off it.

“We haven’t had sex in a while,” he whispered as he clambered into bed.

You muffled a yawn behind a fist. “Do you want to now?”

David rubbed at the corner of his eye, also fighting back a yawn. “I’m exhausted.”

“Me too.” The two of you laid down beneath the comforter, curling into your favorite positions like magnets snapping together. “In the morning, then?”

“Sounds good to me,” he replied, planting a chaste kiss on your shoulder and watching your eyelids slide shut.

Z — ZZZ

Sleep is hard to come by for David, so he’s usually up for a while after sex. Just holding you, listening to you breathe, his nose pressed against your shoulder. He likes watching you sleep—not in a weird, creepy way, obviously, but he just likes how peaceful and restful you look. He finds that he sleeps much better with you around. Still doesn’t get enough hours, but it’s much more restful compared to his nights without you.

You collapsed into the mattress face-first with a satisfied noise, which was muffled into your pillow. Sweat glistened on both of your bodies, but neither of you had the energy to go wash up before bed. David’s eyes darted down to your legs, suppressing a grin when he saw his spend smeared between your thighs. 

“You’re too good, David,” you muttered, having turned your face away from the pillow, shooting him a lazy, blissed-out smile. 

Funny, he thought you were too good for him. His arms curled around you. “G’night, hon.”

“Night, David.”

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

The Words Hung Above But Never Would Form

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: let's see fingering, handjobs, riding, marking/Loki with a pain kink- unprotected sex (wrap it or don’t tap it) I think that's it idk

Genre: smut, fluff

Summary: You thought you and Loki wouldn't be more than a casual thing, but there's a reason they say never say never

I couldn't Utter my love when it counted // Ah but I'm singing like a bird to ya now ~ Shrike by Hozier

***

Your relationship with Loki isn't complicated. You call and he comes and- then you cum, all night, usually. It's a simple arrangement, because Loki's incredible in bed, and it's easier than anything you would've asked for from him. You'll admit there was a time you wanted more, but- never mind, there's no need to dwell on that. What you have now is good. It works. The knock on your door comes at exactly 9 o'clock p.m. It's funny, Loki's commitment to punctuality, even for something as low stakes as breaking your back a few times a week. You smile to yourself as you cross your apartment to open the door.

"Hello darling." Loki smirks, his eyes gliding over you.

"Hi Loki, how've you been?" You ask stepping aside to let him into your apartment.

"Busy. I don't know why I thought joining those ridiculous Avengers would be tolerable." Loki rolls his eyes as he drops onto your couch.

"Because it was that or being an intergalactic war criminal?" You remind him, climbing into his lap.

"I'm starting to think I'd be better off never being allowed to return to Midgard." He scoffs and you giggle.

"Oh relax, they can't be that bad, you guys save the world or whatever." You run your fingers through his hair and shower him with quick kisses against his lips.

"You can say that, you've never had to work with them." He mutters between your kisses.

"You're such a baby." You laugh.

"Shut up." He frowns.

"I will if you kiss me." You smirk.

"You-" Loki stops himself as if he didn't quite process your request right away. His hand comes around the back of your neck and he pulls you down for a proper kiss. You moan and Loki uses the opportunity to slip his tongue between your lips. He explores your mouth as he always does, the feeling so familiar yet still as thrilling as the first. It doesn't take long for his mouth to part from yours, traveling down your throat. He nips and sucks at the exposed skin as nimble fingers undo the buttons on your shirt. One of Loki's hands settles against your back as he lowers his head to take an achy nipple between his lips—your back arches against his mouth as he teases the bud with his tongue and teeth. You hardly realize your hips grinding against him until he growls lowly at the friction. Loki's other hand slides across your waist to dip beneath your shorts. Two digits plunge into your already dripping center and his thumb lightly strokes your clit, reveling in the breathy moans coming from you at his hands. He toys with your body like an instrument he's played all his life, a smirk plastered on his face as you grind against his fingers desperately. Quickly, frantically, you undo his pants, pulling his erection out and stroking him.

Loki momentarily loses his rhythm when you touch him and you take advantage of the moment's reprieve to shimmy out of your shorts. It's a bit awkward to do with his dick in your hand admittedly but you manage- although Loki makes it no easier, staring at you as he sucks his fingers clean of your juices. Distracting man. Freed from the barrier of clothing between you, you line him up with your entrance and sink down with a satisfied hum while Loki tosses his head back with a groan. You ride him eagerly, relishing in the drag of him against your walls, the feel of his hands squeezing your hips, the quiet cacophony of grunts and moans leaving his lips. You pull his shirt over his head exposing his pale, sculpted chest to your gaze, but more importantly your hands. He never says anything about it but you know for a fact Loki always cums harder when you mark his skin with evidence of your little trysts. You drag your nails along his body, harsh enough to see the red trails left in your wake, and hear the way Loki's breathing changes at the action. 

Loki, just as in tune with your body as you are with his, watches for the moment signs of an impending orgasm start to reveal themselves before his hand slips between you two, fingers finding your clit again. Your hips stutter for a moment at the stimulation but you only ride him harder as he rubs your bundle of nerves. Loki can feel the moment you tighten against him and with his free hand, he takes over rocking your hips against his as the waves of your orgasm make it impossible to keep pace. He allows you to ride it out before he flips you on your back rutting into you, chasing his own orgasm. When his muscles tense up and his grip on your hips tightens you drag your nails down his back, the groan he releases deep and long as he spills into you. You bask in the afters of your orgasms for several minutes before eventually, you tap his shoulder needing to get up.

"Well this has been fun, as always." You say stretching as he sits up.

"Kicking me out already darling?" He smirks.

"No, you're welcome to hang around but I have to shower." You shrug standing.

"Shall I join you?"

"If you do that I'll need a shower from the shower." You kiss him quickly.

"Seems fine to me."

"Of course it does." You roll your eyes. "Oh I have a date on Saturday so I'll have to let you know if you're still coming over that night." You tell him while you remember.

"A date?" He blinks at you.

"Yes, a date."

"With who?"

"Just a guy I met at a coffee shop." You shrug.

"You never mentioned a guy at a coffee shop." Loki tries to keep his tone light though he's not sure how successful he is.

"I'm mentioning him now. No biggie. Anyway, if you're sticking around I made stir fry- help yourself."

"I'd love to but I actually have something to do at the tower so I have to head back but enjoy your evening, have fun on your date, and maybe see you Saturday." Loki is quick to tug his shirt back over his head and tuck himself into his pants.

"Alright have a good-" Loki's out the door before you can finish your sentence, "night?" You frown to yourself for a moment but don't let yourself dwell on it. He said he had something to do, maybe it was important. No need to assume anything more.

The next few days you're pretty giddy thinking about your date on Saturday with the cute guy from the coffee shop. By the time Saturday rolls around and you're meeting up with Marcus you've barely managed to get your excitement under control. The date is as fun as you could've hoped, you go to a  jazz bar and spend the night giggling over drinks and food while lovely music acts as a soundtrack for your evening. You're even humming to yourself as you walk home from how much you enjoyed the evening.

Back in your apartment you take a shower and get ready for bed with a smile still on your face. Marcus has already suggested going on another date and you're not exactly against the idea of seeing him again. 

It's the next morning, when you're making breakfast that the calm before the storm ends. Your back is turned so you don't notice Loki appear in your apartment until he speaks.

"You know normally I wouldn't care if you left me hanging- but seeing as you went out with a stranger it would've been nice to know if you were alive." Loki's voice makes you jump and almost throw your spatula.

"Christ- Loki we've talked about that. Don't appear in my apartment without warning!" You scold him with an eye roll.

"You're avoiding the subject."

"I'm not. I just don't appreciate being jump scared in my own apartment. Especially not at 11 am on a Sunday. But on the subject, I didn't realize you worried so much about me, I'd have shot you a text when I came in." You shrug.

"Y/n." Loki sighs.

"Is something the matter Loki? Avengers getting under your skin again?" You chuckle.

"What?"

"You seem grumbly this morning. Something get to you before you came here?" You ask.

"I'm not grumbly. You're just- excited. What's with that anyway?"

"Dude- you poofed in here talking about the reason I'm excited. What?"

"All this over some guy?" Loki scoffs.

"He's a very sweet guy thank you very much." You stick your tongue out.

"Oh please." He rolls his eyes.

"If you're just going to be a downer Loki go back to the tower, you're not about to ruin my good mood."

"I'm not being a downer, I'm simply here to remind you not to be impressed by little shit. Him having manners shouldn't make you this giddy." He says.

"I didn't say anything about manners. And besides what would you know? it's not like you're trying to impress me." You let out a half laugh as you speak. Loki pauses for a moment, his brow furrowing as he looks at you.

"Is that what you want from me?"

"No? I mean- that's not what I was implying." You say.

"What are you implying?"

"That you don't have a leg to stand on in the dating conversation, it's not exactly your area of expertise." You shrug.

"I guarantee anything that coffee shop boy did on your little date I can do a hundred times better." Loki scoffs.

"Yeah right." You roll your eyes.

"I'm a god y/n, don't tell me you think I'm at all as mediocre as your mortal men in any capacity."

"I didn't say that."

"Yeah there's a lot you don't say it seems." He crosses his arms.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You frown at him.

"You may not admit it but you're comparing me to your coffee shop boy. It's a battle he'll lose in the end but I'm sure you'll hold out as long as you can."

"Loki we fuck a couple times a week. There's really no reason to compare you two. You're categorized differently." You shrug.

"Categorized differently?" He quirks an eyebrow at you.

"Yeah. He wants to date me. You- don't. So, no need to think about you versus each other."

"You have no- You don't even know this guy."

"You are very much missing the point." You shake your head.

"You are the one missing the point."

"Oh am I? And what point might that be Loki?" You smirk, leaning against your counter with your arms crossed.

"Gods you are so stubborn." Loki huffs out crossing your apartment. Loki's hand cups the side of your face and kisses you fiercely. It's like second nature to you, the way you react immediately, matching him each moment. When he pulls away he doesn't step back, still so close you can feel his breath against your lips.

"You're- a strange being Loki." You say softly.

"It's you that makes me this way."

"I haven't done anything." You say with a slight shake of your head.

"You've gone on a date." He says.

"Well yeah but that has nothing to do with-"

"Y/n." He cuts you off.

"Loki." You say back.

"I love you."

"You what?" You blink at him, so shocked you lean back to look at him better.

"I love you." He says again.

"When did that- what?"

"I love you."

"No, I don't think you do." You shake your head.

"I do. Y/n I do and I may not have said it before but I'm saying it now. Please don't tell me it's too late." His eyes search yours, for what you're not sure.

"Too late?" You frown.

"Your coffee shop guy. I can't lose you to him."

"I don't understand- how long have you felt this way?" You ask.

"Too long."

"Then why not say anything before today?"

"I couldn't, I couldn't when it counted, but I'm saying it now. And I'm hoping I haven't waited too long because- I cannot imagine staying on this dreadful planet without being able to see you, to hold you, to call you mine- like a shrike to your glorious thorn, I cannot survive without you."

"That's rather poetic of you to say." You say carefully.

"It's true."

"I- your timing is- what am I going to do with you?" You shake your head.

"You said dating is 'not my area of expertise', allow me to show you how very false that is."

"Are you asking me on a date Loki?" You smile.

"I'd like to ask for more than that but we can begin there, sure."

"I'm not opposed." You say.

"Very well, enjoy your breakfast. I'll be back this evening to take you out." Loki finally steps back, a cheeky smile on his face.

"Where are we going?" You ask.

"That will be a surprise."

"Well, what should I wear?"

"Whatever you like. You'll look amazing in anything." Loki smirks.

"That's not enough infor-" before you can finish Loki disappears in a flourish of green sparkles. "-mation." You say to the empty air. "Nice. Guess I'll wing it." You mutter to yourself. You can't even manage to be fake mad at him for more than a moment, the possibilities for your upcoming night out filling you with delight as you make breakfast. So, maybe you do want more from him, since that's a possibility now.

***

[somuchforahobby]

you'd make me fall from heaven

Summary: What if Loki is a fallen angel and reader is still one? Heavily inspired in the ineffable husbands of course Tags: Fluff,banter, mutual pining and THE enemies to lovers Warnings: Saint Peter will ask about this when my time comes - this is pure blasphemy I am sorry Word count: 4.7 K Left GIF belongs to: @tomhiddleston-loki Right GIF belings to: @stevenrogered Read on AO3

You watched as the couple left the garden, both ashamed of what they had done.

“I won this time.” A sultry voice spoke from behind.

You turned to it in a defensive position, your holy sword in one hand and a shield on the other, making a full display of your wings and halo.

“Well, hello.” A tall man, with dark hair and mesmerizing eyes greeted you. “I don’t think we have been introduced.” His sight roamed through your tunic covered body.

“Nor shall we. I order you to leave immediately.” Your voice did not falter but one of his eyebrows rose in defiance.

“Or what?” A smirk also played on his face.

“Wait and find out.” You defied him as well.

A lustful demeanor took him over, “Oh, I’d really like that, angel.” He took a step closer and you raised your sword, “the name’s Loki.”

Before he took another step you spoke, “The smartest thing you can do is leave before an Archangel sees you and ends you.” 

He stared in silence, “Are you sparing me? Because if you are, I will be at your dearest service.” 

“Just leave, disgusting demon.” 

And with a wink he dissapeared in the air.

***

“ What have you done? ” The heavenly voice asked Cain, as you watched from afar.

Abel lay dead on the ground, his blood spilling the earth; staring at the crimson liquid you felt an obnoxious presence near you.

“That is probably the lowest you’ve gone, fallen .” You added a nickname for him.

Loki creeped behind you until he reached your side. “Is that a challenge, I hear?” 

You turned to find him smiling, actually smiling, enraging you. “I should have ended you in the garden of Eden.” You muttered. “I will kill you.” With a flick of your wrist you leaned your sword on his throat. The mere touching causing visible damage on his skin.

“Threatening to commit murder is actually a form of flattery, angel.” His eyes shone, “I will die happily if it means I got you to sin.”

Your sword came back to your hip in an instant as a gasp left your mouth. With tears in your eyes you stared at him; his blue eyes staring back at you nonchalantly, curly black hair falling on his shoulders and a devilish grin on.

You turned away from him muttering “just get away from me, please.”

***

You could not believe your eyes as you stared into Gomorrah, bodies clinged to each other, doing things you had never seen before. You were sent to stop it, to warn them of the fury of the Lord, but something in your belly did not allow you to stop staring.

“‘tis a dangerous place for a woman to set foot in.” 

You finally looked away and turned to find Loki leaning against a wall. His hair was in a ponytail, small curls bouncing free behind his ears.

“I am not a woman.” You muttered.

He gasped “You’re not?! Then what’s under that?” He signaled at your tunic.

“I am an angel of the lord and as such I am not categorized into the social ideologies of the bodies.” You calmly explained before turning back to the people sinning in front of you.

“Does he agree with that? Your boss?” He bumped you with his shoulder, throwing you off tracks. Exasperated, you turned back to him.

“First of all, he created me so I don’t think he does not agree with whatever form I use. And second, he is not my boss, he is my Father.” You took a step back, “Do not bump me, demon.”

“Oh, angel, he really is not your father.” He nodded towards the people, “he is their father.”

You swallowed as you stared, again. A fuzzy, new feeling coiled in your tummy. “This is your doing?”

“Some, yeah. Not the murdering but definitely the orgies.” He said proudly.

“That’s what you call…” your hand moved ahead of you trying and failing to pinpoint, “ that ?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What…” you cleared your throat, “are they doing ?” Blushing, you turned to him again.

His eyes turned red as his smile extended all the way to make wrinkles, “You actually don’t know.” His head leaned back in a big laugh, “oh, you sweet, naive feathered-thing.” His sharp teeth bit his lower lip.

Your eyes rolled as you backed away from him.

“Oh, come on, don’t leave, I can’t let you go up there with that doubt.” 

“I will ask Michael.” You kept walking.

“In the best case he will tell you they are sinning, the worst he will send you down to me.” He cut off your way, standing in front of you. “I will explain what it is and why they do it.”

“Do it quickly.”

The ghost of a smile creeped his face. He seemed to think about it for a second, then he asked, “do you know how babies are born?” 

It was your turn to laugh, “of course!” 

He raised both eyebrows, expectantly. 

“Families pray to God for a baby, so He makes it and sends it to them through the mother’s belly.”

Loki took a hand to his mouth to avoid a burst of laughing. “I guess that is a way to see it.” He swallowed and turned his body towards the multitude again. “But there is something that needs to happen within their bodies for a baby to get into the mother’s belly.” His arm surrounded your shoulders as he angled your body to face them as well. “See that?” Loki’s finger pointed to a naked man standing.

“Yeah, what of it?” 

“He has something between his legs that is different from what a woman has, isn’t it?” Loki’s eyes fell on you, his head was much closer than ever before, his brow almost leaning in yours. You nodded softly. “From there, sometimes, comes out a pasty liquid that goes into the woman’s belly and starts to, anatomically, form the baby.” 

“Oooh.” Your head nodded in full understandment, “that is why she is putting it in her mouth!” You pointed to a woman kneeling in front of a man.

This time he could not stop himself from bursting out laughing. He even took a few steps back and faced the wall to calm down while you tried not to think of the coldness on your shoulders now that his arm was gone.

“That is not.” He tried but a laugh interrupted him. After a few more deep breaths, he turned back again. “That has entirely another purpose, and we will get there, but first, see those two?” He pointed to a couple, the man was lying on top of her, pushing his body on hers. You nodded to Loki. “That is how he puts the pasty liquid inside of her belly.”

“So all these people, are they just gathering to make babies together?” Your eyes returned to Loki, who stared at you with wonder.

“Not necessarily. Now we will talk about pleasure.” His voice darkened as he leaned to you, placing his arm on your shoulders once again, but now he turned you away from the crowd, towards him.

“What is that?” 

His eyes scrutinized you, as he was deep in thought. “What do you enjoy?”

“Uh?”

“Anything. Food, music, nature, talking to Michael .” He rolled his eyes at the last one, making you giggle.

“I like music. I come to earth sometimes just to hear it.” A blushed crept in your face as you confessed.

“You sinner.” He said with sarcasm. “Alright, what you feel when you hear music” a clasp of his fingers and a quartet of musicians appeared in the corner, filling the venue with a strong melody, your eyes closed and a breath left your mouth. “That’s what they feel when they do what they do.” He whispered in your ear, flustering you even more.

Instinctively, you took a step back as you opened your eyes. Loki, in front of you, had a devil smirk on his face.

“Well.” You swallowed, “God does not like them pleasuring themselves like that.” Your words felt stiff as you spilled them.

“Well, God does not like many things, does he?” 

You ignored his comment, “Thank you for explaining your demonic doing to me.” You turned on your heel and started to walk away.

“Let me know next time you get curious.” 

You did not dare to look back and yell at him, mostly because he would then have noticed the color of your cheeks.

***

The Egyptian heat was starting to get to you, so much for angels not having bodily experiences. Your mouth was dry and you craved something to ease your hunger. Staring at the enslaved people working under the sun while you smoothly and quietly worked on Moises faith, was starting to weaken you. You knew it was wrong, you were not supposed to feel anything, but to see this injustice and not be able to stop it made you miserable; the sun along with all the evil surrounding you made your strength wobble.

You could feel Loki was always around, of course he had to, needing to maintain the minds of the slavers rotten.

For a reason you could not comprehend, you followed his aura until you found him, staring at sin with a smile.

“Hey, angel.” He smirked.

“Hey.” You barely whispered out of exhaustion.

“Are you alright?” He turned his entire body in your direction, his shoulders shrugged and his brows furrowed.

“I am just” you sighed, “tired”.

Everything started to fade around your eyes and before you knew it, you collapsed.

You woke up in a dark yet cold space, lying on a comfortable bed, a wet towel on your forehead and air caressing your face. After a few blinks, you identified Loki sitting in front of you, reading.

“And she lives.” He said sarcastically with his gaze still fixated on his book. “You know, you really should talk to your boss about an 8 hour shift.”

“It is not that.” He finally directed his eyes to you, a warm ocean blue staring into yours. “There was just… too much evil around.” 

“And yet you went to me” he scoffed.

“I had a feeling that you wouldn’t let me die.”

“Well you shouldn’t have!” He stood, enraged.

“Am I not alive?” 

“I could have done anything with you!” He raised his voice even more, “I could have murdered you! I could have dismembered you, or even worse, take you to hell and let everyone have a feast! And then take you back to heaven’s gates for your big boss to see who you ran into.” He sneered as he paced around the room. All you did was chuckle.

“But you did not.”

“I am a demon, dear. Angels do not go to demons when in need.” His voice was vicious, the warm blue in his eyes turned to ice.

“I did not go to a demon, I went to you.”

He stopped his rant to breathe out and look at you. “Well it was dumb.” 

You smiled, “but you saved me.”

His eyes closed with a faint smile on his lips, “like I said, it was dumb.”

“I should eat something” you ignored him looking around the room for food.

“There” A red apple dropped on your lap.

You turned to see Loki with a mocking smile and a scowl, “really?” 

“It's just an apple!” His eyes rolled, “just eat it and get the hell out of my bed.”

***

“Yes, lamb blood on the lintel.” You finished explaining to the family and walked off, looking for the next ones when a man reached your step.

“A bit too far this one, eh?” Loki whispered near your shoulder.

“It is not in me to question my Lord’s order and neither should you.” Your voice was filled with pride and duty.

“He never liked the first borns, anyway.” He mocked.

You turned to see him again, both eyebrows raised. “Of course hell would find a way to make this about themselves. God does not revolve around you, you know?” You asked with a smirk.

He scoffed, “of course.” 

He kept your pace and waited outside as you delivered the Holy message to all the households in Egypt. After the sunset you finally sat down on a boulder and he stood stoically in front of you.

“My feet are killing me.” You raised and stared at both your feet, red and trapped in sandals, dirty from all the walk of the day. With a clasp of fingers they were clean and you dipped your chin in gratitude towards Loki.

He kneeled in front of you and removed your sandals from your feet, rubbing circles on your soles with his thumbs.

“What are you doing?” Your voice revealed nothing as you stared hollowly at him.

“Trying to ease the pain.” He did not falter, his hands kept working on your skin.

“I mean here today, with me.” 

He stopped to look at you, dropping your feet to his lap. “Well, the Egyptians could take you hostage, imprison you or worse, marry you to some random.”

“Did you know Egypt is one of the places where a woman is the safest? I can buy land, I am free, I can divorce, even.” You explained with a cocky smile.

“I thought you weren’t a woman.” He reciprocated.

“I thought you were dangerous.” You bit your lower lip to stop smiling. “Are you trying to protect me?”

“No!” He scowled, “just keeping you company.”

You hugged your knees on your chest, “Thank you, then.” Another smile escaped your mouth.

He only growled in response as he stood up from the ground, patting his pants roughly to take off the dirt.

“Why did you fall?”

Your whispered question stopped his movements altogether, his eyes rose to yours but not with anger, but with pain.

He took a step forward, not breaking eye contact, and for a while his eyes told you he was having an internal battle.

“Because I was not as worthy as my brother.” Loki finally muttered before walking away.

***

“You can still stop this, take him to justice.” You whispered in the human’s right ear.

“Just stab him.” Loki bittered on his left.

“This is not the way.” You tried to convince him.

“It is the only way.” But the demon next to you kept tempting him.

Brutus finally stabbed Caesar, putting an end to his dictatorship.

You walked out of the Theater of Pompey, defeated, with Loki following nearby.

“Cheer up, darling. Brighter days will come.” He mused.

“I doubt it. Poor Cleopatra, may God help her grief.” You prayed, head down.

“She is not one of yours, you know.” 

You raised your face to find him standing in front of you. “ Everyone is one of ours.” 

You sat down on the steps of the Theater.

“Can you imagine the amount of filth that is on that floor?” 

“I didn’t take you for a clean one.”

“Are you kidding? That’s why I’m up here all the time.”

You giggled, “look at the bright side, fire kills bacteria.”

He scowled, “Very funny. I didn’t know you were capable of joking.” His head tilted softly to the side.

You rested your palms on the floor, leaning backwards a little to lift your face to him.

“Humans are starting to grow on me.” 

Loki smiled. “Don’t get too attached, dear, I will still take them from you.”

“You should take me-” his eyebrows rose and his smile grew, “TO DINNER.” You yelled, offended. “I’m hungry, okay? Trying to stop a murder is exhausting.” You rose to your feet, two steps above where he was standing, finally being the same height gave you the full view of his lusting eyes.

“I’d take you anywhere, angel, to dinner, for a drink, hell.” He smirked as he extended his arm for you to lean on.

“You don’t even go to hell.” You accepted his offer, placing your hand on him.

“I can still give you a guided tour.” 

You both laughed as you walked off.

***

“ ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants’ . And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.” Jesus spoke with great calmness to his disciples, and you listened from afar with a smile.

“Do you think he means it?” Loki asked on your left. You scoffed.

“Of course, He does not lie.” You pointed at Jesus with your chin, leaning a little closer to Loki. “You just need to repent.” You said softly, looking at him.

His chin was held high, proudly; looking down on everyone around. He growled in response before stepping away from you and disappearing.

***

“You did this, didn’t you?” You asked Loki with tears in your eyes.

He stood beside you, his hair a bit longer than before, wearing a green tunic that made his eyes pop and his skin even paler.

“Oh, no angel, that was not me.” His hand cradled your cheek to wipe away a tear.

“Then who else could have done this?!” Your tears kept falling as you watched the man you had been sent to take care of, be tortured and killed.

“I’m afraid it was your boss, darling.” 

You turned to see Loki, enraged, “No, He sent his son to teach humans the holy word, he did not sent his son to-“

“Die for their sins? That was the whole plan.” 

“I don’t understand.” You covered your eyes with your hands.

“Don’t worry your divine little head with that, you don’t have to understand, you just have to obey.” Although there was hatred in his words, he sounded sincere and kind, somehow. “What happened to him, anyway?” Loki asked, as you both stared at the man being nailed to a wooden cross.

“Mm?” Your eyebrows rose as you turned to face the demon next to you.

“The big guy. Ages ago he would’ve torn this place to ashes for much less.” 

You smirked, “yeah, or under water.”

Loki laughed, “or filled it with, what were those awful bugs?”

“Locusts!” You yelled with a smile and his smirk softened. “Yeah… I guess parenthood made him softer.” Your arms crossed on your chest.

“Wanna grab a drink? You don’t have to see this, y’know?” You looked once again and saw how the cross was slowly lifted. Your eyes closed instantly.

“Yes, but-“ you bit your lower lip anxiously, “I don’t have any money.” Loki rolled his eyes with a smirk and before he spoke you continued, “And I can not just make it appear, it’s… against the rules.” 

“Of course, modesty and all.” He laughed, “Don’t worry, angel. It 's on me. Now and every other time you allow me.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders to guide you through the crowd.

***

You looked at Loki from afar, a bunch of people were sitting around him while he showed them a book and explained what was inside.

He raised his eyes to you eventually, with a smile you dipped your chin in a gesture of challenge. After an hour, he finished his lesson by giving all the people a book and then walked to you.

“What brings you to America, angel?” 

“Evangelization, of course.” You smiled at him. “You?”

“Same thing, I’m afraid.”

“Is that why you gave them books? Are they your disciples?” 

“Sort of.” 

“But you were teaching them how to read, you dirty liar!” You accused him with a smile.

“Well, technically, it is a sin for them to know how to read.”

You busted out laughing, “no it’s not!” 

“Your people say it is!”

“Well they are obviously wrong! I wonder whose work it is that got them thinking some humans are better than others!” 

He smirked, “Point taken. But you are still losing, angel.” 

You took a step closer to him with a seductive smirk, “How is having a demon doing good deeds losing?” 

“So you know this is wrong? How has your boss not sent them a message that this is wrong?” 

“He does not communicate with them like before, you know that. His message was loud and clear with Christ and He has given them free will, the shall be judged in the afterlife.” The air of holy and perfection came back to you, making Loki roll his eyes. “You, on the other hand, seem to have understood Christ’s message perfectly.” The corners of your lips tilted upwards.

“I am going against your own rules.” Loki gritted.

You scoffed, “Whatever floats your boat, love.” And with the same seductive smirk, you walked away.

“You calling me love certainly does.” 

You did not turn back.

***

“What is that?” You pointed at the shiny chain around Loki’s neck.

“Oh, this? Is called jewelry.” 

“Is it ornamental?” You took a step forward to inspect it closely. 

“Yes and no. It is very expensive.” He pulled it from your fingers to put it back into place. “You see humans found out that the big guy left some shiny rocks down here and they are making these out of those.” He extended his hands to show some other metals around his fingers. “Only kings and queens use them.” He gave you one to inspect.

You fiddled it while you laughed, “but you are no king, you’re the lowest being in the universe!” 

“I may have fallen, but I kept my title.” He snatched back and put it on again. “I am still a Prince. And I brought you one.” He searched in his pocket and extended a golden chain with a dangling charm.

“What is this?” You looked at it, there were two lines, one horizontal and one vertical, against each other. The horizontal was slightly shorter than the vertical.

“It is what your followers use to identify each other nowadays.” 

Your brows furrowed as you tried to understand, “but what does it mean?” You look back at Loki.

“It symbolizes the cross where Jesus died.” He calmly explained.

“IT WHAT?” You tossed it away but Loki catched it gracefully. “That is AWFUL. Why would they choose the Lord’s most traumatic event as a way to identify their religious beliefs?” You gasped in horror. “This is your doing, Loki.” You pointed a finger at him.

The corners of his mouth quirked up, “I’m afraid I can not take credit for that.” He extended his hand with the chain to you again. “Use it, let them see you as one of them. Maybe they will even start following the rules more closely led by your example.” His eyebrows perked up in a quiet petition. You only nodded.

He walked to your back, you lifted your hair as he clasped the thin, golden chain around your neck.

“It is quite pretty, though. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it, angel.” He whispered in your ear.

***

“What are you wearing?” Loki scowled.

He stood in front of you with a full black outfit, as usual.

“My-my tunic.” You looked down on you, blushing. “Why?”

“You will draw attention.” He clasped his fingers and your white tunic turned into a red velvet dress, the bodice was tight lining your waist and breasts, with golden embroidered details, while the skirt’s details were in a darker shade of red. 

“What are you doing?!” You gasped at the change. “What is this?!” Your open hands signaling down your body.

“It is my treat to you.” A devilish grin adorned his face, “although I can’t say it’s not for me too.” His eyes wandered your body.

“Oh and this color!” You finally touched the fabric, changing its color to a light blue and white details and a much more loose bodice. “Much better.”

Loki pursed his lips in disapproval. “Be careful, let’s hope the King does not see you and desires you to marry.” He offered his arm to you, gracefully you placed your hand on the inside of his elbow and let him guide you through the street.

You chuckled “Henry the Eight is married already, perhaps since it is an alliance blessed by God you did not notice.” You added smugly.

With a smile on his face, Loki raised your hand and placed a kiss on your knuckles. “Soon enough you will know what I mean, dear.”

You both walked through the London streets looking for a decent looking tavern to share a drink.

“So what have you been up to lately?” You asked, lifting a golden goblet to your lips.

“The usual, you know, tempting.” A charming smile adorned his face. “You?” 

“The opposite, of course.” You smiled as well, “your 

brother asked me about you the other day.”

Loki nearly spat his drink, still coughing, he asked, “pardon me?” 

You tilted your head to the side with a smug smile.

“And what does my dear brother say?” 

“He is very surprised I haven’t seen you all these years on Earth.” You said with a smirk and he quickly matched.

“Well I was always the smart one.”

You tried your best not to laugh but you could not hold it, and just as you gained your breath again, a big sweaty hand fell on your shoulder.

“Haven’t seen this whore before.” A fat man grabbed you towards him, but before you could react, Loki had unsheathed his sword and stabbed him dead.

You gasped in horror while Loki pulled you to him and transported you elsewhere. In just a second you were in Spain.

“What did you just do?!”  You asked, horrified. 

“I saved you.” He answered calmed.

“You killed him.”

“He disrespected you and was going to hurt you.” He stood proudly in front of you.

“You murdered him.” You took a step towards him, although he was much taller, you defied him with your stare although your breath was hitching, still in complete shock.

“Yes, for you!” He snapped, shouting at you, “And God knows I’d do it again!” He lowered his face to yours and in his eyes was long gone the saphire blue, replaced by a hellfire red.

“Then I shall not allow the opportunity.” You straightened yourself to walk away but he stopped you with a hand on your waist.

“Angel.” His hoarse voice was not demanding this time, but begging .

“Fallen.” 

You look into his red eyes until they return to blue, actually feeling the rage leave his body. You tried to focus on your breathing instead of how you felt with his digits still on your body.

“Farewell, Loki.” You sighed.

“See you around, angel.”

***

You were sitting on a bench in front of a church looking at the just married couple. They looked happy and inlove, everything around was filled with flowers. You looked with joy and a pinch of jealousy. That’s when he appeared next to you.

“Did you summon me?” He asked, sitting next to you.

“No!” You scowled, “I would never-“ a gasp left your mouth.

“Oh, you sinner.” He sneered. “What is it that made you sin?” His eyes wandered around, struggling to find it and you did not try to help him. “Them?” He pointed at the people gathering outside of the church.

“I am not jealous in a sense that I don’t want them to have it.” You quickly explained, straightening yourself. “I just wish I could too.” 

“Oh, darling!” Loki laughed, “you are better than that, you are an angel! They wish to be like you.”

“But I just want that!” You cried out.

“A wedding?” 

“No! A family.” Your head lowered in shame, “a partner to share my life with.” 

You felt Loki leaned closer to you. “Why don’t you ask Micha-“ His mock was interrupted by your lips, since you grabbed his hair and clasped your mouth to his.

He was hesitant at first, but he quickly adjusted to your pace and kissed you back fiercely. One of his hands cradled your cheek while the other sat on your waist, pulling you to him.

“Took you long enough” he whispered in your mouth.

[erosia-rhodes]

Speculation on Mizu’s heritage

Blue Eye Samurai on Netflix is one of the best things I’ve seen all year. As I’ve been rewatching it, I couldn’t help but speculate on Mizu’s heritage, and I wanted to share my theory so we can all laugh at how wrong I was in a few years. (I am notoriously bad at guessing plot twists. I was totally wrong about how Wandavision and Loki season 1 would end.)

Spoilers and speculation behind the jump.

Short version: Mizu’s mother was a white woman and her father was the Shogun. The Shogun’s wife, Lady Itoh, put the bounty on Mizu’s life because she was proof that the Shogun broke his own laws.

Who Would Want to Kill a Baby?

We know that there has been a bounty on Mizu’s head since she was a baby. There are only three reasons I can think of for putting a hit out on a child who’s just been born and couldn’t have personally wronged anyone yet:

1) To deny them an inheritance.

2) To eliminate proof of an affair.

3) To eliminate proof of a crime.

The woman that claims to be Mizu’s mother is Japanese, so Mizu assumes her father must be white. But once Fowler reveals that Mizu’s “mother” was actually her maid, it opens up the possibility that Mizu’s mother was white and her father was Japanese.

We know that someone is willing to a pay a lot of money to kill Mizu, but the maid also ran off with enough money to take care of Mizu for several years, so at least one person in this mess is wealthy. We also know that someone still wants Mizu dead when she's an adult because men come to kill her when her husband rats her out, so she’s still a threat to someone else’s interests at that time.

If the Shogun slept with a white woman and fathered a mix-raced child as a result, that would fulfill all three reasons to put a bounty on a baby. Killing her would remove any chance that a bastard might try to blackmail her way into an inheritance, it would remove proof that the Shogun had an affair, and most importantly, it would destroy evidence that he violated his own laws against Western influence by sleeping with a white woman.

But the True Culprit is…

But I don’t think the Shogun put the bounty on Mizu’s life. I think it was the Shogun’s wife, Lady Itoh, for several reasons:

1) Lady Itoh is willing to kill people who learn that her husband broke his own laws.

When the nobles are trying to escape the fire in the finale, Lady Itoh makes her sons lock the door behind them and sentence the other Lords to death because they witnessed the Shogun’s shame, the revelation that he broke his own laws by dealing with Fowler, a white man. She’s demonstrated that she’s willing to kill people to destroy proof of her husband’s violations, so she’d do the same to a mixed-race baby he fathered. It would also explain why Mizu’s maid never claimed the bounty herself; she would have been targeted for death too because she knew about the Shogun’s crime. She probably took whatever money was in the house when the killers came for Mizu, and went on the run as much to save her own life as Mizu's.

2) The woman’s a sadist.

Lady Itoh does everything she can to make Akemi’s life hell once she marries into the family. She saddles her with bitchy attendants and serves her disgusting food at the banquet, and finishes it off with the cooked remains of the bird Akemi tried to free. Then she sends her two more birds the next day, claiming they’re breakfast and lunch. I have no trouble believing this woman would put a hit on a baby!

3) She’s a hardliner against Western influence

After the fire, Lady Itoh orders her sons to destroy 2000 guns which they could have used in the future against their enemies because she’d so fiercely against Western influence. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the one who came up with the law banning white people and talked her husband into enacting it. That would explain why the Shogun was willing to violate the law, because he didn’t completely believe in it and only enacted it to get his wife off his back.

It Fits a Common Theme of Revenge Stories

Another reason I think Lady Itoh is the ultimate villain is because it fits the common theme that revenge is futile. Revenge usually destroys the person seeking it just as much as anyone they go after. There is a famous quote from Confucius that says, "Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves." The implication is that the second one is for yourself.

If it turns out that Mizu has been going after the only four men in the country who couldn’t be her father, it would demonstrate how misguided revenge quests are. She’s spent her whole life pouring hatred into the wrong mission.

It would also be a painful twist to know that Mizu was in the same room with Lady Itoh in the finale, but she was focused on killing Fowler instead of realizing that her true enemy was fleeing out the back door with everyone else.

How It Will All Sort Out

I predict that Mizu will eventually learn the truth about her parentage and ultimately target Lady Itoh for death, not just for revenge, but so she can permanently remove the bounty on her head and live her life freely as a woman.

Akemi might end up assisting Mizu since Lady Itoh is also her enemy. Akemi will probably spend season two battling Lady Itoh for control of the household, and thus the country. If Akemi can put her husband in place as the Shogun, she could remove the bounty on Mizu's head.

If Taigan ends up working as a castle guard, this might put him in conflict with Mizu and Akemi if they target Lady Itoh since he would be honor bound to protect her.

It will be interesting to see how it all sorts out!

ETA: I misspelled Lady Itoh's name, sorry! (According to the subtitles it's Itoh, not Ito) I think I fixed every instance.

[nameless-flame]

RoR gods reactions to you calling Poseidon a 💅Drama Queen💅

RoR and fem!Reader crack below the cut

Seated along the round table, various prominent figures of each pantheon waited, some more patiently than others, for the mortal standing before them to reveal what she had summoned them for.

[Name] cleared her throat, putting an end to the idle chatter that had previously filled the walls of the old-fashioned conference room. "I have called you to this meeting to discuss a matter of utmost importance."

Shiva rolled his neck, allowing his eyes to freely wander between the faces of the gods – all deemed to be high figures in their respective pantheon – some even belonging to the same one. And yet, there was one man missing.

Leaning his chair back, the God of Destruction balanced himself with two hands holding onto the edge of the table, whilst his remaining two rested behind his head. "Where's that sea deity?"

Shooting a glare in Shiva’s direction, [Name] resumed talking. “If you had not so rudely interrupted me you would have known why.”

The blue man merely rolled his eyes. He had long before grown used to her more… unmannerly way of addressing them. Her disrespectful attitude had at first irked him, and many other deities, but eventually whatever ill feelings they initially harboured toward her soon evolved into intrigue, and later friendship. Some even more than that.

Seeing how the god had not argued back, the human continued. "As for why Sea Boy isn’t here with us today, I didn’t invite him.”

Hades’ brows flickered and he paused his chess match with Zeus. “I presume this meeting concerns my brother?”

[Name] gave the God of the Underworld a curt nod. “I’ll just get straight to the point so to not further waste our time. Can we all come to common agreement that Poseidon is the biggest drama queen in history?"

Hades didn’t know what was more worrisome; her odd exclaim, or the fact that no one had so much as reacted to it. Have things like this truly become the norm?

Most eyes darted to Apollo, and then lingered there, before returning to her, obviously questioning her statement. However, [Name] did not yield under their distrustful stares but continued speaking without any less conviction. "Yes, sure. Some might argue that the twink has some dramatic traits as well."

Apollo craned his neck in her direction, no longer staring in the reflection of his hand mirror. "Why are we listening to her, again?"

“Because they’d rather be here than at one more of your lame parties.” Apollo furrowed his brows, but ultimately decided to just massage the tense muscles of his temples, not desiring to start a fruitless dispute with her.

“But we are not here to talk about Apollo, but Poseidon – the biggest drama queen I have ever encountered in my entire life.”

Beelzebub sighed, tapping his foot impatiently against the marble floor. He just wanted to return to his research. “How did you even come to such an irrational conclusion?”

Standing tall, [Name] placed her hands on her hips. “Irrational? Do you guys truly not see it?” Blank stares were shot in her direction, only Heracles and Ares had the decency to shake their heads.

“Well then, allow me to provide you with an example; If a fly were to land on that drama queen’s shoulder, he would not hesitate to drown all their villages, slaughter their children, and then feed their corpses to the nearest animal.”

Loki snickered, obviously finding some amusement in what he deemed to be an exaggerated story. [Name] ignored him and continued. “And then, to truly top it off, after exterminating an entire species he would just act as normal, as if his reaction was more than justifiable.”

“She does have a point,” the serene voice of Aphrodite spoke. “Poseidon’s reactions do tend to be quite… overbearing at times.”

[Name] dragged a hand through her hair in hope that the motion would soothe her racing mind. “And I know this to be true because that fly is a metaphor for us humans. I literally bumped into him just the other day, and this bitch-”

A warning glare from Hades.

“This very fine gentleman acted like I gave him the bubonic plague.” Loki and Shiva broke into a fit of laughter. The Hindu god even toppled off his chair, but that didn’t seem to encourage him from continuously laughing his ass off.

[Name] rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, continue howling all day long you buffoons, but I think I singlehandedly made him wish for a second Ragnarok.” This only made the duo double over, trying to choose between drying their tears or holding their stomachs. It was a good day for Shiva to have four arms.

Hermes, however, coaxed his brows. “Do you mean to tell us that you came in contact with Lord Poseidon without invoking his wrath?”

[Name] cocked her head to the side. “Didn’t I just tell you that he looked like he wanted to pierce me into a shish kebab?”

Hades moved his king one square forward on the chessboard, the slight click when the piece hit the wood gaining her attention. “That is not what he meant, my dear. If our brother is truly angry, he will not hesitate to kill whoever is around him. The fact that you are still alive indicates that he had no desire of ending your life.”

Odin nodded from the seat beside his son, who was staring out of the window, wishing for this conversation to come to an end.

"This!” [Name]’s sudden outburst caught the attention of everyone in the room, including the socially withdrawn God of Thunder. “This is what I mean when I call him dramatic! You have just grown used to his actions. Look, I don't mind his exaggerated reactions, but he needs a bit of variation.”

[Name] began pacing around the room, her back straight and chin held high, while holding a stick in her hand. Where did she even get that?

“Someone breathes the same air as me? Dead.” Everyone’s eyes widened.

She was imitating Poseidon.

“Someone accidentally steps on my foot? Dead. Someone has the audacity to look me straight in the eye? Dead.” She stopped and heaved a heavy sigh, “Like, come on. Try something new for once, please."

Zeus stroked his long beard. "Wait, let me get this straight. You mean to tell us that your problem with Poseidon is not his behaviour, but that it has grown old?"

[Name] slammed her hands against the table, making the glasses along the wine bottles on it shake with the sudden force. “Yes!”

“This meeting is over.” Hades declared, already walking away. It did not take long for the other deities to follow him, Loki and Shiva needing to crawl out from all their excessive laughing.

“Fine, go! But don’t come crying to me when you guys realize I was right!”

“We won’t,” cooed Zeus.

…

“Hades?”

“Yes, Zeus?”

The King of the Gods blinked, not believing his eyes. “Why is Poseidon drowning that entire meadow?”

Before the two deities stood their brother, sending wave after wave into a beautiful landscape of green hills and the most gorgeous of flowers.

Hades sighed, running a hand through his white hair. “To kill the flies.”

Zeus turned his head to his brother, already dreading his next answer. “Why?”

The King of the Underworld gulped, cursing that mortal for how correct she had been. “Because a fly had landed on his shoulder.”

[lokisrealpurpous]

dating loki would include

dating loki in a nutshell

hair

loki would be obsessed with you hair and would probably be touching it with any chance he gets. he would always offer to wash it and braid it, style it or to even just run his hands through it. It would also work both ways, loki would love it when you played with his hair.

physical touch

this man is touchstarved. he will never be able to keep his hands off you, no matter where you are. he'd love hugging you from behind and nuzzling into your neck, taking in your sent, holding you as he sleeps, holding hands. He also would always have you in his arms or lap.

consent

Before loki does anything, this being touching or doing things for you, he would always ask, unless he knows 100%, you are okay with it. he's very strong on consent and always listens to your feelings and checks you're comftable even if you say something is fine. If you change your mind or refuse he will immediately stop and make sure everything is okay.

reading

Loki would love reading to you, reccomending you books and would constantly be ranting on about books he's reading. When you can't sleep, he'd often let you lay against his chest as he reads you an old book from his childhood while running his hands through your hair.

sarcasm

Even if you're his lover loki is still the most sarcastic, witty person to exist. He'd constantly be messing around or teasing you, always making sure you know his jokes are jokes and picking a right time but he'd probably be pranking you alot.

cuddles

He secretly loves them. After a long day he will search for you just to wrap himself around you or cling onto you any way he can. he loves hugs from people he trusts, and he would always make sure he falls asleep cuddled up with you.

insomnia

He barely sleeps and is always awake when you wake up. He loves the night but also the sound of birds at the crack of dawn. Although he doesn't sleep himself, he will always make sure you get enough rest.

kisses

Loki loves kissing you, his favourite places probably being your neck, thighs, hands, forehead, cheeks, and his overall favourite your lips. Even a peck is enough as long as he gets his kisses. When he's touchstarved, he won't get his lips away from you.

words of affirmation

he loves praising you, and he loves it when you say nice things to him, especially after his neglection as a kid. He will always make sure you feel loved, and it goes both ways. You'd often have him sneeking behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and whispering small things in your ear like, 'you look so beautiful, my darling' 'that dress looks gorgeous on you'

gift giving

He would buy you the entire 9 realms if he could. Loki would spoil you every single day. Whatever you wanted, he would buy for you, and you'd always be getting small gifts off of him

princess treatment

loki would unshamefully do everything for you, even in public. If your heels were hurting he'd take them off, carry them, and then carry you to wherever you both need to be, if you had laces, he'd tie them up, if you were unwell he would honestly slave for you, you'd have breakfast in bed, a hot water bottle and literally whatever you ask him for. He'd probably make you some chocolate covered strawberries as well.

music

he loves music and deffinatly has a viynal and cd player in his room. He likes all genres depending on the mood he's in, and he is the type of person to play his music loud enough for the whole of Asgard to hear. You've introduced loki to many 'midgardian' artists such as lana del rey, amy winehouse, artic monkeys, the weeknd, billie eilish, and rihannah and he loves them, especially the older artists such as Bowie, Queen, ABBA, Elvis and Harry James. Loki also has quite a soft singing voice himself, and you'd often catch him singing or humming to songs. After a lot of persuading, he'd sometimes sing you old norse lullabies his mother used to sing to him to help you sleep.

[cryptidstealingyourcreditcard]

Ruff & Tuff hcs? “

oh man do i have a lot

ruff:

-has ocd

-not very tactile, but will cuddle tuff if he asks

-she’s more street smart than tuff

-she’s the younger twin, but she likes to act like she’s older

-not as strong as tuff, but she still always wins their fights

-loves plants, but doesn’t tell the others cause she thinks they’ll make fun of her for it

-very good artist

-will bite

-likes her hair short, but doesn’t want to seem any more boyish than she already does

tuff:

-has schizophrenia and adhd

-will cuddle anyone and everyone

-more book smart than ruff

-loves animals

-will do ANYTHING if he thinks it’ll be funny

-lowkey a pyromaniac

-very sensitive & emotional

-eats dirt

-has probably killed someone

together:

-love to kind of just. babble. and let their weird thoughts run free & bounce off of each other (the more people around to hear, the better)

-used to pretend to be the other person but they had to stop because people got too confused (they couldn’t tell if the twins were telling the truth about who they were or if they were pretending to be the other one & it made it not fun anymore)

-see stoick as a father figure, even though he’s not aware they do

-do each other’s hair

-when they get in trouble stoick puts them in air jail the same way he does with hiccup

-appear out of thin air. no one knows how. people are starting to think they’re actual children of loki, or even loki himself in disguise

-always climbing whatever they can for fun

-routinely meet up with torch & scauldy

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

On Good Behaviour 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: after release, you try to get on the right track but your new boss isn’t much help. (ex-con reader)

Characters: Loki

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As the day winds down to close, you steel yourself for the inevitable. It doesn’t come. Laufeyson remains in his office as you pack up your bag. Your lunch is untouched. You’ll have that for dinner, though your appetite is fleeting. 

You shut down the computer and check that everything is tidy. You get up and approach the door. You linger there until five minutes after the hour. You go but cannot leave the dread behind. 

You get home and leave your bag at the door. You step out of the creaky heels and go to the couch which makes up the bulk of your furnishing. You sit in silence. Just like those days in your cell. The air crackles in your ears, buzzing through your skull. 

You’ve done worse for less. It’s more bitter now because you thought those days were behind you. No, you hoped they were. Whatever optimism you’d clung to is gone. You’re back where you started even if you’re on the other side of the walls. 

Your phone rings. You get up and dig it out of your bag. It’s Dina. You better answer. 

“Hello,” you stand by the door, an arm across your churning stomach. 

“Well, hello,” she trills in her pretentious way, “I’ve only had a rather long conversation with your employer.” 

You falter and uncurl your arm, placing your hand flat to the wall. You lean as your legs shake. After all that. You should’ve known better than to trust a snake like him. 

“He gave a shining review of your work,” she says. Your ears ring and you shake your head. You don’t believe it. You can hardly understand. “Punctual, attentive, thorough. I’m only just sending in your monthly report. The board will be happy.” 

“Oh,” you utter. “Right.” 

“They will be inclined to review your conditions. Granted you stay within them,” the edge returns to her churlish voice. “And who wouldn't be good for a man like that.” 

You frown. 

“Thank you,” you sniff. 

“Oh no, you be sure to thank Mr. Laufeyson. Had you another disappointing report, I think there may have been a bit of reversion. I hear the ankle monitors are not very comfortable,” she warns. You were lucky to avoid that at least. 

“Yes, Dina.” 

“Don’t lose sight of the end goal. We both know the rates. I’d hate to see you back in orange,” she chides. 

She hangs up. You’re happy she does before you can respond. Your lip curls as the grey humiliation blazes to white hot rage. You black the phone and drop it on top of your bag. It falls to the floor. You don’t give a fuck. 

You strip off your clothes as you head for the boxy bathroom. There’s not enough room for a tub, only a shower. All your time in lock up and you looked forward to that final soak. There was so much you wanted when you got out. As usual, you’re wrong. 

You stand under the stream of hot water until it turns cold. You don’t notice the difference. You get out and dry off. You pull on your green swears and a black shirt. You unfold the couch, the frame squeaking beneath the thin mattress. It’s as stiff as a bunk but bigger. 

Your phone goes off again. You want to scream. You want to break every single thing in this place, not that there’s much.  

You retrieve your phone from the floor. It’s him. Laufeyson. You hesitate but answer. You left without saying goodbye. Would he be unhappy? Hardly concerned. You won’t fool yourself. 

“You’re welcome, darling,” he begins the conversation as you put the phone to your ear. “Now, don’t think I can’t hear you huffing like some rabid dog. Speak.” 

You inhale and cross the apartment. You stand by the window. “Thank you, Mr. Laufeyson.” 

“I am not in the habit of lying. Especially for felons,” he slithers. 

“I understand, sir. I am... grateful.” 

“Are you? Because you sound rather angry.” 

“No, sir,” you counter. 

He snickers. You huff.  

“Oh, do not fear. I will assist you in refraining from your worst instincts. I have no doubt I will break you of those unseemly habits,” he tuts. “I will make a lady of you. Or a facsimile of one.” 

You grit your teeth. “Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. Thank you.” 

He laughs again. 

“I shall allow you to get your reprieve for surely you will need your energy tomorrow,” he taunts. 

“Yes, sir.” You mutter.  

He only finds it amusing as he chuckles. “Good night, darling.” 

The line clicks. You squeeze the phone and spin. You hurl it at the wall and it pings off the corner. Fuck it all. 

You stomp to the mattress and fall onto your stomach. The frame jars you through the narrow cushion. You bury your face in your arms and growl. 

You’re a fuck up. You always have been, you always will be. You hear your mother’s voice; I told you so. 

💼

You walk into the office. You wouldn’t say you’re ready. You’re resigned. It’s a familiar feeling. It’s how you got through those years. Alone. 

Mr. Laufeyson sits at your desk, leaning back, one long leg crossed over the other, arms bent behind his head. His nonchalance is a bit too performative. You put the cortado before him. 

“Ah, like a well-trained dog,” he smirks. “Let us see what else you’ve learned.” 

He’s completely prepared and you are anything but. You put your hand on your bag and dig your nails into it. Your anger aches in your knuckles. 

“Let us see,” his eyes flick down, “did you attend to your work attire?” 

You stare at him. You slip your bag from your shoulder and place it next to your feet. You didn’t change anything. You were too paralysed to do much more than hate yourself. It’s better to do nothing than to fuck yourself any more than you already have. 

You pull up your skirt. He sighs. 

“Off,” he commands. 

You let the skirt fall slightly as you reach under it. He clicks his tongue. 

“Pull it up and take them off,” he orders. 

You swallow your disgusts. You roll the skirt above your waists and clutch it with one hand. With your other, you tug down each side of your panties. You step out of them. You ball them up and near him, holding out. 

He pinches the seam and pulls them free of your grasp. He unfurls them and turns them around. He runs his thumbs along the back of the panties. 

“This. None of that. You will not show up again unprepared. I haven’t the time for you to waste,” he reproaches. 

You drop your skirt. His green eyes flash but he says nothing. He tosses the panties in the bin and pushes himself out of the chair. 

“I pay you well, you will meet the standards I set,” he sneers. 

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. Thank you.” 

He comes close and stares you down. He’s not as intimidating as Jenny who used to steal your shampoo. Not scary, but a problem nonetheless.  

“I’ve been told that employee appreciation is... important. You’ve made it this far so why don’t you book us in somewhere for lunch and I will show my...” his eyes skim up and down you. “Appreciation.” 

“Mr. Laufeyson.” 

He rolls his eyes and swipes up his coffee. He leaves you. You grab your bag and round the desk. You sit and tuck it beneath. You leave your cracked phone inside. Best not to get distracted. 

You login and get started. You go into the deleted folder and search out anything you can find. You don’t know many places for lunch that aren’t selling burgers for two bucks or pizza and wing combos. You don’t expect he’ll be pleased with that. 

There’s nothing in the inbox. You revert to the shared drive and review the receipts and cost reports. Several business lunches later. There’s a place he’s been to several times and written off. Well, that seems a safe choice. 

You don’t think you’re passing his test but you’re doing enough. You’ll never be good enough. He’s made that clear. It’s what he gets off on. 

As if you haven’t been through that before. He thinks that he’s the big bad. You’ve dealt with assholes your whole life. You just wanted to try not to become one. 

You make the reservation online under his name. That will feed the ego. You forward him the confirmation. No response. That’s perfect. 

You get to work. The stuff in your job description. Emails, filing, all that boring, safe stuff.  

Your Teams bings. He’ll have some gripe about the booking. You click on the chat. It’s a hyperlink. You click without thinking. 

The image of the lingerie surprises you. It shouldn’t, really. He’s not very subtle. 

It’s not really your style. You don’t have much of that. You wear what’s expected. Years of the same uniform every day made you less concerned about clothing. Coming out, you just tried to match what was normal. You could laugh at the teenage rebel in her band shirts and striped leggings. 

The style is much too refined. Too elegant. That ever-present sense of inadequacy grows suffocating. He’s winning. 

You’re not a lady. You’re never going to be like him. You’ll always be another cog in the machine. Just doing what needs to be done. Even after your through your probation, you’ll have that stain for life. 

You send a thumbs up. What else can you do or say? You’ll look for something like that. The thought of walking into a lingerie shop makes you shrink further. If it’s anything like the boutique, you’ll be lucky not to be chased out by security. 

There’s always online. 

Sigh. Back to work. Think of anything but that. But him. Not so easy when everything around here is stamped with his condescending touch. 

💼

Laufeyson struts out as he checks his watch. He clears his throat and you’re on your feet. He waves you ahead of him. 

“I would guess you haven’t a car?” He wonders as he locks the door. 

“No, Mr. Laufeyson.” 

“No, you wouldn’t,” he sniffs. 

You’re patient and placid. You count up to ten and back down in your head. Let him say whatever he likes. Reacting is what got you into this. 

He strides ahead of you. You follow him outside and to his car. A sleek silver luxury sedan. You only get it as he buckles his seat belt. You will not presume. Especially with him. 

He turns the engine as you click the seat belt in. He checks his blind spots before he pulls out. He exhales heavily. 

He joins traffic and stretches his arm over to tap along the headrest behind you. His touch crawls along your hair and he extends his finger across your skull.

“It is a mess today,” he drones. “Come, let’s pass the time.” 

He wrenches you away from the seat. Your neck pangs with his strength. You grip the edge of the seat as you resist throwing a punch. 

You hold air in your chest and bend awkward between the seats. He shoves your head over his lap as you push the top of the seat belt behind you. You brace his leg as you twist awkwardly. 

You pick at his fly as your vision hazes. He’s already hard. You can’t help the shudder as it rolls through you. You take him out and stroke his length. Your jaw locks up and you take several breaths to loosen it. 

“You must sing for your supper,” he teases. 

You put your lips to his tip. Slowly, you open and slide down his length. You close your eyes and recede into yourself. Like you did when Shanna bashed your head into the top bunk. Everything after that was black. 

It’s not much different than that. Reality shifts and time whirs by. It all comes back in a sickening tide.

You choke as Laufeyson spurts down your throat and you pull off him with a cough, covering your mouth to catch the mess. Your spit is smeared down him and across your palm. Your face is wet with it, your tongue salty with his cum. 

You blink and look around. You don’t recognise this area. It’s far from the office. You’re shaken by the blip. 

“Darling,” he pets your head and lets you sit up. You gag as his cum gathers behind your tongue. 

You reach for the door and open it. You spit out onto the tarmac. There's a car right beside you, and to the other side of the car. You’re in a parking lot. The restaurant marquee greets you as you sit up. 

“Mm,” he tugs his pocket square free and wipes himself clean. You swallow down the dregs and drag your hand across your mouth. You check yourself in the side mirror. 

You’re silent as he gets out. You follow. You can only mirror him as the shock slakes away piece by piece. 

You enter the restaurant behind him. The hostess takes his name. It’s all a blur. 

As you’re led into the dining room, a squeal cuts through the din. 

“Loki!” A woman’s shrill cry stills your feet. Laufeyson stops and grumbles as you nearly hit his back. “Oh, what a surprise!” 

[hurtspideyparker]

Then how about some WinterFrost? (Loki x Bucky)? Anything you'd like.

"I don't know about this Thor, I mean I'm all for second chances, but isn't it against his entire identity to...be good?"

"No, of course not! He just likes a bit of mischief. He'd never wish senseless harm on you all."

Steve and Bucky exchange glances.

"What about—"

"I said senseless! He very much had a purpose last time, he was just a bit misguided. He's content on helping us this time. He can't dominate a world with another sorceress in the way."

Tony steps up, hand waving.

"So he wants to help us because he's the one who should be supreme leader? Yeah, changed."

Thor laughs, and no one joins him.

"Listen, friends. It's not like last time. It's a personal thing. Loki is a very jealous person, and Enchantress is always getting in his way. Magic user to magic user, yes?"

The Avengers all huddle together, excluding Thor.

"I don't trust him."

"Yeah no shit Tasha, but what other option do we have."

"I don't know Clinton, maybe not inviting the homicidal maniac to watch our backs?"

"I can still hear you!" Thor butts in, everyone ignoring him.

"It doesn't seem like we're Loki's targets."

Bucky sends Steve his signature glare at the optimistic comment, "if you think he has a straightforward motivation for once, you've fundamentally misunderstood him as a person."

"Oh and you know him so well Manchurian Candidate?" Tony brisks.

Steve steps in-between his two friends, "Tony, don't start—"

"No, I wanna hear what he has to say. Go ahead Stark."

"As amusing as this is, not nearly enough of the attention is on me."

They all whip around, the man in dark leather grinning at them from beside Thor.

"Thor, we didn't even agree yet."

"Nice to see you too Man of Iron. See, my brother isn't in charge of me. It does seem that you're all a bit out of your depths, so I'm gracing you with my assistance. It's all right, mortal men are often confined to their material weapons."

"Brother! Glad you could join us." Thor goes to land a heavy hand on his back, but the palm goes right through the illusion.

Bucky jerks when the gun held loosely in his grip is ripped from him.

He spins around, sharp eyes finding another pair of watchful blues.

"Ah, the soldier. You see I, too, have a little ice in my veins. I think we'd get along."

Bucky startles back a step.

"In your dreams, freak."

Loki lets his smirk fester, seeping uncomfortably into Bucky's skin.

"Ah, I like you. And this," his fingers graze the metal arm, sending shivers up Bucky's spine despite the lack of feeling in the limb. "Is most fascinating."

The metal arm shoots up faster than anyone can blink, grabbing the trickster by the neck and shoving him against the wall.

"Oh look, this one's real," Bucky snides as Loki drops the firearm and tugs at the metal fingers around his throat.

"Buck..."

"No, Steve, I actually I agree with him for once." Tony says, watching on in intrigue.

"He isn't going to be helpful if he's dead." Natasha says with the same amount of interest she chooses a fork with; which is very little and yet a surprisingly non-zero amount.

"It would be most kind of you to let my brother go, and wait till after the battle to initiate his well-deserved punishment."

Loki just gives a sheepish grin and taps on the fist constricting his air flow. Bucky doesn't move and the tapping becomes a bit more frantic until he's released.

Loki gasps for a few moments, "how generous of you. I think I like the arm even more now."

"Kinky," Clint says at the same time Bruce remarks "gross."

"Whatever," Bucky says, "he can stay. Best case scenario both the witch bitches die in battle."

* * *

Neither of them die, but Loki does succeed in capturing the Enchantress and Thor leaves to bring her to Asgardian justice.

His brother doesn't go with him.

"Who wants to celebrate me!"

The Avengers stare at him blankly.

"Spoil sports. I just did you all a true favour out of the kindness of my heart. I'm not even trying to enslave you, I only wish to be entertained with wine and dance. You all enjoy such affairs, do you not?"

Loki waves his hands, turning Tony's living room into one filled with warm lights, live music, and piles of steaming food.

"Ah? Yes?" he asks with a charming head tilt.

Tony is the first one to break. "Yeah, fuck it. Let's have that drink," he succumbs, heading straight for the liquor table.

"Did he kidnap that band or are they an illusion..." Clint whispers to Nat, who shrugs.

Steve convinces Bucky to stay around, and Bucky convinces Bucky to stay by keeping himself close to a bottle of whiskey.

"Hello my soldier."

Bucky rolls his eyes and doesn't turn around.

"What, you want your punishment now?"

"You make it sound so enticing," Loki leans on the bar beside the man.

"It won't when I choke you out. I thought green was your colour," he sips from his tumbler with a slow ease.

"Trust me, I've been known to look good in blue."

The voice isn't Loki's and Bucky startles, finally turning to it.

It's Steve—or, well, Loki wearing Steve's appearance. He's in his signature blue Captain America suit, beautifully strong and looming.

"What are you doing?"

Loki leans closer, lowering his voice.

"Is this how you like it?" the mischief conflicts with Steve's honest and proud tone.

"Stop."

"Hm," Loki hums, before his body morphs into Natasha. Her hair is long and wavy down her back, a tight black dress emphasizing her...everything.

"You're right, that's probably old news. This what you're in the mood for?"

Bucky looks behind him uncomfortably, but none of the other party goers notice the second Natasha.

"How low is your self-esteem?"

"What?" as close as Loki can appear and sound like someone else, his tone is all wrong. Natasha would never be caught off guard.

"I said, how low is your self-esteem that you think you need to be anybody else but yourself to get me to like you?"

Loki morphs back into himself, nose held high and scoffing, "is that your story now? I recall you wishing me dead."

Bucky shrugs and swirls the remaining alcohol around in his glass.

"Yeah well, you didn't kill us, so I suppose you're alright for now."

"Huh." Loki glides closer, eyes devouring the sharp lines and darkness in Bucky's face.

"You are truly a beautiful specimen."

His hand reaches up, moving towards Bucky. He flinches and eyes Loki warily, but Loki continues to move forward slowly until he's running a hand through the other's hair. Bucky relaxes, sighing into it.

"I like your darkness, your tortured soul. Your arm..." Bucky's metallic fingers flex on instinct, and he resists the urge to hide them under the table.

"Sure."

"It's true. It's, fascinating. I too have a darkness, most don't understand. Tell me, do they fear you too?"

Loki chases Bucky's modestly downcast eyes.

"See, that's why I've learned to embrace it. You cannot be disappointed in something's existence when you orchestrate it, use it to your advantage."

"Well what if I don't want them to be scared?" Bucky says, letting Loki capture his baby blues.

"Well then maybe you play the hero for a bit."

Bucky's lips open slightly in understanding. Loki lets his fingers curl the others hair behind his ear before removing his touch. He steps back ever so slightly, feet prepared to turn.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Bucky stands, grabbing Loki's hand and lacing their fingers together in a near crushing grip.

"Okay." Bucky says one last time, and tugs Loki along and away from the festivities.

* * *

"Did you just see that?" Tony's eyes shoot up, hands moving sporadically between Natasha and the couple leaving the party.

"Mhm," she says into her glass.

"They. He. What?"

"Yep."

Tony continues to stare long after their bodies have disappeared.

"I am so telling Steve."

Natasha tilts her head all the way back to get the last dregs of wine, Tony jostling the couch as he gets up and rushes to find the Captain.

"Clint?" she says once the glass is truly empty.

He shoves twenty bucks into her hand with a grumble.

[11queensupreme11]

What would it be like if the Gods, adults not children, know all this about Percy being from another universe and everything he's going to have to go through and somehow they end up meeting a 12-year-old Percy? I'm talking about a Percy before the field trip to the museum with Mrs. Dotts, which is to say when he didn't know anything about the Gods.

this whole thing just reminds me of this final fantasy 7 ao3 fanfic where everyone got sent back to the past AND remembered what happened... EXCEPT CLOUD and they were all frantically planning on a way to train this poor kid on how to save the world in case sephiroth goes insane again while simultaneously not telling him cuz they didn't want him to remember all his trauma 😭😭😭

(also if anyone knows which fic this, PLEASE SEND ME THE LINK CUZ I FORGOT THE TITLE AND AUTHOR AND I WANNA READ IT AGAIN!!!!)

anyway, if they got isekai-ed to percy's universe in the past AND THEY KNOW what's gonna happen to her, they are absolutely gonna scramble for a way to get back to their universe with percy in order to prevent The Plot from happening 😭😭😭😭

like "hell fucking no my baby is NOT going through any of that!!!!" 😭😭😭😭

i can't even blame them cuz imagine finding this tiny lil 12 year old girl, the de-aged version of someone you love so very much, and KNOWING she's about to go through some traumatizing shit soon and you have the chance to save her from that? they're gonna do whatever it takes to save her from that awful fate!!

poseidon is straight up kidnapping her, getting a child leash, and tethering her to him while he frantically tries to find a way to access the bifrost and send them back home, meanwhile he's got a feral 12 year old trying to gnaw through the leash 💀

hades definitely feels bad for kidnapping her from her poor mother, BUT IT'S FOR PERCY'S OWN GOOD, HE SWEARS!!!! 🥺🥺🥺 he's absolutely not gonna go to any of the gods for help because he's seen their buffoonery and wants no part of it, so it's up to him to find a way back home!!

beelzebub's not gonna bother with a child leash, after he kidnaps her he's whipping out the cuffs again cuz those have a shorter chain AND she can't gnaw them off 💀 probably gives up on the handcuffs tho when she somehow manages to break them and ends up just lugging her around like this:

apollo's gonna be such a nervous wreck. he does NOT want to kidnap her, he would prefer it if she just comes with him willingly but it comes off SO sus like "hi there little girl! do you want some candy? i'm trying to save ur life pls trust me" and percy may be 12 but she's not STUPID, so she goes "stranger danger" and runs away and now he has no choice but to kidnap her while he tries to find a way back 😭

loki's more subtle at first. he'll kill of mrs. dodds, chiron, and grover and shapeshift to become percy's new math teacher to replace dodds. he knows he still has some time before The Plot hits, so he's not TOO panicked rn and when he's not pretending to be a math teacher, he spends his time snooping around asgard to try and figure out how their bifrost works to send them both home. killing those three ^ eliminates the whole field trip issue, but you know, Fates 💀 ofc they find a way to make The Plot keep going so yeah, loki snaps and kidnaps her to keep her safe

i promise you, ten minutes into anubis' arrival in the pjo verse, the news article "freakishly tall furry man kidnaps child from yancy academy -- local furry community claims no ties to the kidnapper" is gonna spread around like wildfire 💀 he is absolutely gonna kidnap her is probably gonna spend most of the time freaking the fuck out instead of actually trying to find a way back home

cú chulainn's got it a little harder. yes he can easily kidnap her, but he's not a god. he's been blessed with his adoptive father's abilities, but he can't like... teleport, be in multiple places at once, easily search the universe in case percy runs away, etc. so he tries to be more discreet about it like loki by killing off mrs dodds and any monsters that come percy's way. he'll try to find a way to the bifrost too, but it'll be more difficult for obvious reasons. it's once The Plot hits does he finally say fuck it and just joins her to keep her close while trying to find a way to access the norse pantheon