#much like with my other loki fics this didn't turn out at all how i wanted. and its way too long. but i hope ppl still like it.

[tickle-bugs]

Hellooo! If prompts are still open can I request some ticklish loki? :) maybe the prompt “ you’re not ticklish? Really now? Lets see about that”

Or somethin, feel free to improvise :))) teehee

Thank you so much!

In Fond Memory

Summary: As an analyst, Mobius's knowledge of Loki comes from stale sets of data. He wants to know more about his partner. Loki decides to take them on a tour of his memories...to interesting results. Pre-relationship to confessing Lokius!

This got wildly out of hand. We're a little over 6k words. Not super happy with this fic, but I'd been sitting on it for too long to start over. Have the long-simmering origin story of Loki's eighth rib lmao.

The TVA cafeteria is chilled and reliably empty when Mobius and Loki take their lunch break. As usual, the break consists of Loki watching Mobius eat--both lamenting his agonizing pace and soaking in his company. 

“I know nothing about you.” Mobius takes a thoughtful bite of his salad. His non-sequiturs phase Loki less and less these days. They make an interesting pair, he thinks--a fallen god burdened with caring and a mustached auditor who speaks only in riddles. 

“I thought you knew everything about me.” Loki huffs. 

“More like bits and pieces. I know little factoids. What makes you tick.” Mobius points at Loki with his fork, a tomato skewered on the end. 

“So then you know what you need?” Loki plucks the tomato off the fork and pops it in his mouth. It crunches beautifully. 

“Well, I mean, I’d like to know more. If a certain someone would like to share with the class.” Mobius replaces the stolen tomato with a pointed stare. 

“You are terrible at asking for what you want.” Loki steals a crouton from Mobius’s salad. 

“Yeah? Pot, meet kettle,” Mobius chuckles, wiping his hands. Loki smiles, but the thought rattles around in his brain. Mobius makes so much noise, truly. Noise about morals and fixing things, about proving himself better than the TVA believes him to be--useless, frivolous noise. 

Compelling noise.

“Fine.” Loki sniffs. He holds out his open hand. 

“Fine…What?” Mobius raises his eyebrows. 

“Your TemPad.” Loki wiggles his fingers insistently. Mobius stares at him, clearly calculating the risk, and then slides his TemPad into the waiting palm. Loki balances the weight of his past smoothly in one hand--he’d expected the TemPad to fall heavier with a sense of occasion. He frowns at it.

These little reminders that he’s not special—significant, really…they start to grate on him after a while. 

“You don’t have to do this, Loki.” Mobius’s voice is worn smooth by something like fondness. It’s compelling to the cowardice still within him, but Mobius will stop looking at him like that if he doesn’t at least try. 

Loki fiddles with the device until the clock hands on Ms. Minutes’s digital face spin rapidly backwards. A portal of orange light opens beside the table. 

“Shall we?” Loki gestures. He can’t quite make eye contact. 

…���.

They stride through the door to Old Asgard’s throne room in all its glittering glory, when its majesty seemed untouchable by the whims of war and time. Mobius gapes at the high ceilings and intricate stonework with a wide grin. It’s cute, stupidly so, but then the grand doors open yet again and Loki’s hackles raise.

He pulls Mobius behind one of the grand pillars and puts his finger to his lips. 

“They can’t see us, Loki. It’s a memory—“

Loki clamps a hand over Mobius’s mouth. Mobius rolls his eyes. He’s right, of course he is, but the survivalist in him can’t take the risk. Not with Odin. 

A younger Loki, toothy and tiny, races up to Asgard’s great throne. He stops before the giant steps, cradling something in a bright red cloth. Odin heaves a great sigh. 

“Father, look! I got my spell to work!” Young Loki carefully holds up the bundle. The fabric falls away to reveal a bulbous little frog with stark blue eyes. It blinks each eye separately.

“What is this?” Odin looks down upon the creature with disdain. 

“It’s Thor.” Young Loki beams. The frog leaps onto his shoulder, then his head, and ribbits triumphantly. He laughs. 

“Bring my son back to me at once!” Odin hisses fiercely. 

“But—“

“Now!” Odin’s shout still tears something open in Loki all these years later. He flinches back into Mobius. The younger Loki does the same, but there’s no one to hold him. 

With a shaky voice, he murmurs an incantation and folds Frog Thor back into the fabric. He tosses the bundle ahead of him and, in a flash of green, a young and shiny Thor stumbles on newly human legs. He’s shorter--still taller than Loki, as he always was--and rounder in the cheeks, but he’s the unmistakable spitting image of his father. His cape, no longer frog-sized, unfurls to brush his ankles. 

“Woo! Loki, that was awesome!” Thor cheers. He pulls young Loki in for a sweeping, spinning hug. His boyish giggles are infectious--soon young Loki joins in, clinging to his brother to keep from falling. 

“Get out.” Odin seethes. The throne room doors slam open, echoing his command. 

“Father--” Thor tries, but one icy look from Odin silences him. He immediately bends the knee, so small that his cape nearly swallows him whole. Young Loki looks at him in disbelief, but when he reaches for his brother, Odin clasps his gloved hand around the shaft of Gungnir, the Spear of Heaven. 

Young Loki stumbles backwards, then flees, scrambling right by his older self without a thought. Loki turns his eye to Odin, the golden sack of shit, and scowls. 

“Come,” Loki says hollowly, following himself outside. He doesn’t look back. He knows Mobius is with him. 

He walks the familiar grounds but the stone doesn’t remember him. The sky is too bright, the torches too warm--this is a childhood preserved in amber. It’s too clear to be real. He passes his hand through the braziers, bitterly amused by the way the flame clings to his fingers. It’s not hot. 

Loki finds his younger self exactly where he expects him to be—no amount of years could erase that instinct to hide, to wait, to be forgotten until he could emerge again. The child is tucked between a pillar and one of the giant braziers, his dark clothes lending themselves as camouflage. 

Young Loki didn’t have that fire in him, yet. The scorn of being lesser. He was still naive, still thought Odin’s love was a real, attainable thing. 

“Loki?” Frigga approaches. Loki looks up at his mother’s face for the first time in years, but she peers directly through him. He steps aside as she approaches his younger self. When the child doesn’t answer, she crouches in front of him. It’s unbecoming of a Queen, but she’d never cared much about that. 

“What’s wrong, darling?” Frigga takes his younger copy’s face into her hands. She wipes away his tears with her thumbs and his skin briefly shimmers its natural blue. 

“Father, he…” Young Loki shakes his head, retreats further. “I upset him.”

“Oh.” She swipes more tears from his face. “Let us spend the day together, hm? I have new tricks to show you.”

The child allows his mother to lead him away, down onto the giant lawn beneath the terrace. Loki watches them go, the bitter sting of grief still raw, even after all this time. 

“My mother was…is everything to me.” Loki sniffs. He can’t tear his eyes away from her. It’s selfish to miss her, but he’s a selfish wretch. 

“She seems like a wonderful woman.” Mobius’s hand is warm on Loki’s shoulder. He leans into it. 

“Extraordinary. There’s no one like her.” He leads them over to a bench on the terrace, one that overlooks the most spectacular view of the palace lawns and waters beyond. He watches his younger self fling bursts of magic back and forth with his mother. 

“Can I ask you a silly question?” Mobius turns to face Loki better. Loki raises his brow. 

“Are you still…blue? Under here?” Mobius gestures at Loki’s face. “I’m not too sure about how this magic stuff works. It’s fascinating.”

Loki barks out an embarrassing laugh and does his best to rein it in, but surprise still leaves him chuckling. Mobius looks at him like…well, he’s not entirely sure what that look is. No one’s looked at him so softly before. 

“I was raised Asgardian, but the nature of changing forms is…fickle. Do it too much and you lose sight of where you start.” He turns his hand over, back and forth, and his skin glimmers blue. Mobius takes his hand, wrinkling his nose slightly at the cold. 

“That’s awful wise of you.” Mobius squeezes his fingers. 

“I like to think I have my moments.” Loki smiles. Mobius holds out the TemPad to him. Loki pushes a few things on it, opening another portal. They step through it with lighter hearts. 

…

What greets them is not the stale brutalism and dizzying expanse of the TVA cafeteria, but the very same terrace, gleaming in summer sun.

“Okay, so this…isn’t headquarters.” Mobius gestures. Loki scowls. He presses a bunch of buttons at random. The machine beeps at him. The animated Ms. Minutes icon sticks her tongue out at him. He scoffs. 

“I noticed.” He slaps the TemPad into Mobius’s hands. Mobius stares at him, plainly amused, and Loki scowls harder. 

“Well? Fix it.” Loki turns towards the lawn to lessen the weight of Mobius’s gaze.

A great shout rings out across the green, utterly unmistakeable, and Loki runs up to the terrace railing. Sif and the Warriors Three mill about on the lawn, their chatting only perceptible by Volstagg’s loud and grating laughter. 

“Brothers, please. I need some help!” Thor’s voice cuts clear and desperate through the air. He can’t be far past coming of age--he’s taken on all those distinctive features that won’t budge as he grows. His hair sweeps his shoulders the same way his cape sweeps his ankles. He supports a drooping teenage Loki as they stumble towards the trio. 

On the terrace, Loki’s eyes widen. He squints at where Thor is hauling his younger self--yep, the little shit is definitely alive and well. Which means only one thing. 

“What’s all the commotion?” Mobius shades his eyes from the sun and looks out towards the fields. 

“Did you fix it?” Loki snaps impatiently, gesturing for the TemPad. 

“Hm?” Mobius blinks. “Yeah. What’s happenin’ down there, though?”

Loki snatches the TemPad and punches in whatever he can. A wave of orange energy ripples over and through them with a loud woosh. Loki opens his eyes to….

The same field. The same day. He’s actually managed to put them forward in time. Just splendid. 

“Get help!” Thor spins and launches his Loki like a shotput. He barrels straight through Sif and Fandral. Their mingled screams of surprise and displeasure ring out. Thor cackles, doubling over, as Sif chases Loki around the field. 

On the terrace, Loki buries his rapidly heating face in his hands. Mobius snickers up a storm beside him. He leans into him for support. 

“Get help?” Mobius wheezes, eyes wet with mirth. Loki’s chest flutters and his face progresses into full redness. 

“It was…a phase. An ill-advised distraction--”

“Seems to me like you used it plenty. One of your variants did that with Thor on Sakaar.” Mobius wipes his eyes and flicks the tears away, grin still splitting his face in two. 

“Shut up.” Loki groans into his hands until silence falls. He can feel Mobius’s keen eyes on the side of his face. He hopes for a random bolt of lightning to put him out of his misery. 

“You’ve changed, y’know.” Mobius bumps their shoulders together. 

“Have I?” Loki drawls, mostly unamused. The sincerity on Mobius’s face makes it hard to keep up the act. 

“You willingly showed me an embarrassing memory! You’ve changed plenty.” 

“I wouldn’t say…willingly,” Loki grumbles, rolling his eyes. 

“You and I both know you can fight a lot harder than that. This is growth, Loki. It’s good for ya.” Mobius pats his shoulder. Loki hums in acknowledgment.

“Careful, Mobius. I might start to think you’re fond of me.” Loki smiles teasingly. 

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Mobius chuckles and squeezes his shoulder. “Let’s get outta here.”

…

Another flash of orange, another failure to return to the TVA. Loki contains the urge to scream. 

“Where are we now?” Mobius puts his hands on his hips. 

“…I don’t know.” Loki frowns, turning in place. 

“That’s generally not good.” Mobius quips. Loki makes a snarky, incoherent noise at him as he takes in their surroundings.

Vaulted wood ceilings, immaculate stone walls, and green silks welcome them. Atop a giant fireplace, a regal painting of Loki leers at them, foxlike and empty-eyed. He cringes and turns away from it. He briefly considers throwing himself down on the green velvet divan and smothering himself in the throw pillows. 

“We’re on Asgard, certainly, and this is my room, but….” 

The doors fly open of their own accord and the hearth flares. A brunette with a strong build strides through the doors, their fingertips dripping with red motes of light. They’re clad in reds reminiscent of the magic--flowing fabrics gathered neatly under bits of strong leather armor. With a twist of their wrist, the leather breastplate falls away and arranges itself on a stand, right next to a stand with his own armor on it. 

“Who is this handsome devil?” Mobius raises his eyebrows and elbows Loki, but he is far too windswept at the sight of them. 

“Signy,” Loki breathes. 

“Who?” Mobius furrows his brow. 

The doors fly open yet again. A past version of Loki enters in similar dramatic fashion. It’s uncanny to see himself like this. Signy turns their gaze sharply towards him. The fire once again flares in the hearth. 

“Hello, darling.” Signy purrs, pulling Past Loki in for a kiss. They drink him in possessively, as if he’s going to evaporate without their claiming touch. He leans into it as much as he can without drowning. When they pull apart, they murmur to one another, low enough for the fire to swallow their words. 

“Ah, I see.” The bitterness in Mobius’s tone pushes Loki to clarify. 

“They were wonderful, but their jealousy often got to them. For all our happiness, we made each other worse over time.” Loki whispers conspiratorially, but Mobius doesn’t seem entertained. 

Signy and his past self begin to raise their voices, yelling at each other in an incomprehensible tumble of Asgardian. Mobius’s brow knits in concern. 

“Were you always this…loud?” Mobius frowns. Loki swallows the joke he wants to make.

“Like I said, we made each other worse. Much worse. We were betrothed all of two months before they tried to assassinate me.” Loki pulls back his shirt collar to reveal a thin, curved scar on his neck. 

“Assassinate—what?” Mobius touches it and Loki shivers. 

“It’s fine, Mobius. My Signy had naught but poison in their soul. This one seems…kinder.” Loki watches as they take his past self’s hands to stop him from wringing his tunic. 

“How is that fine—“ 

Their voices escalate into a tumble of shouting. Concern morphs into frustration and confusion. Why does Mobius even care? It happened, he survived, whatever—

A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. His past self is…staring at him.

Loki squints at his past self and he squints back. Loki looks over his shoulder, then back at his past self, who is suddenly beginning to behave less like a memory and more like a—

“Variant,” Loki breathes. He opens his mouth to shout, but—

The variant disappears in a gentle flash of green light. Fuck.

“I think you just got outsmarted by yourself.” Mobius hums. Loki whips around, panic starting to bubble in his chest. 

“You said this was a memory.”

“It’s supposed to be.” Mobius rubs his chin. “With all the buttons you pushed, it’s possible that you sent us to a branch instead of a projection of your history. I’ll take a look at it.”

“Loki.” Signy eyes him carefully. They take him in with warm, red eyes that crackle with the hearth. 

“Heyyy…Signy.” Loki gestures awkwardly. Mobius snorts. 

“Darling, I apologize. You’re under much pressure.  I shouldn’t add to it.” Signy wraps their arms around Loki’s shoulders and pulls him close. He knows he should derive some comfort from it—he hasn’t been hugged in years—but it feels more like a creature pulling him into its clutches. Their fingers glide over the scar and Loki snatches their hand. 

“I’m…also sorry.” Loki pats their arm awkwardly and tries to worm out of their grip. 

“No need, my blade.” Signy presses in closer, cradling his cheek. Mobius snickers at the nickname off to the side.

“Don’t.” Loki, blushing, points an accusatory finger at Mobius. He holds his hands up, the perfect picture of innocence. 

“I think you’re lovely, but I’m not…your Loki.” He puts his hand over theirs. Their face pinches sharply. The fire kicks up. 

“You are beyond ungrateful. You are mine. I made you.” Signy grips his chin and forces him to look at them. Loki presses his lips into a line. 

“Signy—“

“Perhaps you need a reminder.” They press their hand to Loki’s side, right over the ribs on his right side. He panics and grabs for their hand. A tiny green spark jumps from his fingers, but it cannot stop the pulse of scarlet magic that wriggles deep into his skin. The magic snaps into cords, winding like puppet strings around one of his ribs. 

A strangled sound slips from him before he can stop himself. A terrible, toe-curling tickle—a powerful scritching like the blunt end of a quill over the bone—sends him clutching at Signy’s shoulders for dear life. 

“We are each other’s undoing. There is no you without me.” Signy pulls sharply on the threads of red light and Loki yelps.

“Oh.”

“Mobius—“

“Oh my god.” Mobius makes a noise that can only be described as a squeak of delight. Loki flips him off. 

“Even when I’m right in front of you, you cast your attention elsewhere.” Signy turns Loki’s jaw toward them, eyes darkening possessively, but their lips curl up in that damn smile that had drawn Loki back in over and over. 

There was a time when he’d daydreamed about Signy by his side on the throne. Now, he can’t fathom it. 

“You’re mine, Loki.” Signy tweaks their fingers, manipulating their magic, and Loki chokes down a screech. He laces his fingers into theirs and the magic blissfully vanishes. 

“Yes, yours. Mobius, help.” Loki casts a frantic look in his direction, gesturing at Signy. Mobius makes a ‘stall’ motion, then starts fiddling with the TemPad. 

“Look at me.” Signy pulls sharply on his tie. They sigh deeply, and their edge begins to wane. 

“Thanos has you dreaming of more, my love. I want more for you. But have you not enough here? Am I not enough?” Signy smooths their hands down Loki’s chest. He freezes.

“Thanos?” He asks quietly. Dread sinks into his gut. Signy’s expression softens.

“I know that you crave what you are owed. Your family has robbed you of your birthright. You are meant for greatness, Loki, but not at the cost of his greed. Asgard is yours for the taking. By my hand, you shall have it.” Signy leans their foreheads together. He squirrels away as much of this momentary comfort that he can. 

“Why would you help me?”

“Have you contracted your brother’s oafishness?” Signy playfully holds their hand to his forehead as if checking for fever. “I love you, you fool.” 

“Oh.” He blinks. He looks towards Mobius and finds him with a haunting expression, like some sort of ache had burrowed forth into his face. A suffocating hollowness crawls through Loki’s chest. He swallows thickly. 

“Yes, ‘oh’.” Signy curls their fingers beneath his chin. He laughs softly, involuntarily, and flinches away. Mischief and embers dance in Signy’s eyes. 

“My, you are…handsier than I remember.” Loki twists out of their grip. 

“Can you blame me?” They appear behind him in a scattering of red sparks. Warm hands wrap around his waist, tracing feather-light shapes that seem to burrow into his skin. He chokes on a quiet, suspiciously giggly sound and they light up.

Mobius scoffs and clears his throat loudly. His scowl seems baked into his face, a chilling force against the fireplace. 

“Okay, so I’ve got good news and bad news. Which one do you wanna hear?”

“Bad news first.” Loki wrestles with Signy’s roaming hands. Signy trips and tumbles backward onto the divan, scattering the pillows. They start tugging at Loki to try and get him to follow. 

“Your collar is broken. Kaput. S’probably why your variant was able to escape. TemPad can’t get a read on which one of you is real. You also MemLocked us, which is fascinating—“

“I’m sure it is,” Loki huffs, fighting to leverage Signy under him. Mobius barrels on. 

“MemLock allows us to manipulate a branch as if it were a memory, but the tech is volatile, so we rarely use it. It is neat though. Lets us walk right through as if we were invisible. Shame it ain’t workin’ on you.” Mobius snaps his fingers next to Signy’s face. They don’t seem to notice. 

“And the good news?” 

“I can probably fix it.” Mobius smacks the back of the TemPad and a panel pops out the side of it. He starts fiddling with the components. 

“Probably?” Loki’s voice cracks. 

“Well, I don’t wanna take the wrong Loki back with me. That’d be a fiasco. Though Signy—“ Mobius draws out their name with disdain— “probably wouldn’t even notice.” 

“Jealousy is unbecoming, Mobius.” Loki’s joking, but Mobius’s eyes don’t light up the way they usually do. 

“Y’know, far as I recall, you got yourself stuck in this mess. You should be thanking me for helping you.” Mobius puts his hands in his pockets. He tilts his head with a smile, easy and mischievous. Loki lobs a throw pillow at him.

Mobius punches something into the TemPad and, with a glorious beep, Loki’s collar disengages and clatters to the floor. Mobius scoops up the collar gently, letting the straps dangle between his fingers. 

“I’m keeping track of what you owe me.” His half-smile is somewhat dim. 

“I’d expect nothing less,” Loki breathes. Mobius nods sharply and turns towards the door. 

It’s an unfortunate distraction, one that lets Signy discover they can buckle his knees if they tickle him there, but Loki can think of nothing else but the reflection of the firelight on Mobius’s cheek. 

…

Mobius ducks quietly into the hall, shutting the chamber door behind him. The stone floors eagerly amplify his footsteps, tired of its own quiet. 

It’s unsettling, this place. People don’t seem to live here as much as they haunt it. Mobius can see how Loki turned out the way he did. It sets loose an ache in him. 

“Stop.” 

Mobius turns around with his hands raised. The variant twirls a dagger in his hands. He’s clad only in a green shirt and soft pants, his feet bare against the cool stone floors. This Loki is duller—he’s exhausted around the eyes in a way Mobius’s Loki isn’t. 

His Loki. Hm.

“Who are you?” 

“I’m afraid that doesn’t concern you, Your Highness,” Mobius says calmly. Loki disappears in a flash of green and reappears behind Mobius. 

“I could have you executed.” Loki’s dagger materializes across the plane of Mobius’s throat. Mobius tips his head back slightly to avoid the sharp edge. 

“I’m not scared of you, Loki.” He says it firmly, even as his skin prickles at the kiss of the blade. 

“Maybe you should be,” he snarls lowly, his lips brushing Mobius’s ear. Mobius flinches away. He kicks himself for it--Loki follows him easily with morbid interest. 

“Aren’t you curious about what I know?” Mobius hums. Silence stretches down the long hall. There’s a suspicious lack of guards in this wing. Is Loki’s chamber not worth protecting?

“You have a…clone of me. Why?” The blade presses in again. Mobius takes a careful, measured breath. 

“He’s my companion. We took a bit of a tumble, ended up in the wrong place.” A smile quirks at Mobius’s lips. Loki doesn’t look as confused as he thought he might—more…thoughtful. 

“Wrong place being?”

“That I can’t tell you. I can tell you that we’re trying to leave. If you don’t mind.” Mobius puts two fingers on the dagger and gently pushes it away from his throat. Loki releases Mobius but keeps his blade leveled at him. He’s tired, so tired, Mobius can see it in his bones. His eyes, dark-rimmed, seem frightened of closing. 

“You, uh…” Mobius pauses, taking in Loki’s twitchiness-- “I noticed you tryin’ to escape your beau in there. Signy, right?”

Loki stiffens at the utterance of their name. The blade remains steadfastly pointed at Mobius’s throat. 

“They ever hurt you?” Mobius clenches his jaw. Loki eyes him warily. 

“No. Never. Never.” The blade wavers with Loki’s voice. “But we don’t…agree on many things.”

“Well, I think you could do better. For the record.” Mobius steps forward—how could he not? But Loki’s knife and hackles meet him. He stops. 

“I’ll be sure to tell them you said so.” The fingers on Loki’s other hand twitch, glowing the faintest green. 

“You fancy making a deal, Your Highness?” Mobius sticks his hands in his pockets. He tries to keep his demeanor light, but he clasps his hand around the collar where it’s hidden. 

“I’m listening.” Loki shifts his fingers on the dagger’s hilt. 

“My Loki and I will distract Signy for you if you stay with us long enough for us to secure an exit.” Mobius jerks a thumb in the direction he came from. Loki follows the movement with his eyes. 

“All you require is my presence?”

“That and preferably that you refrain from using that toothpick of yours. Rather fond of my Loki.” Mobius inclines his head towards the knife. A wealth of emotions flickers across Loki’s face--he’s always been terrible at hiding his feelings, it seems. He tries to steel himself back into something sharp, but it just turns…sad. 

Loki lowers his blade. He loosens his fingers and it falls, but it vanishes before it hits the ground. 

“I agree to your terms.” Loki sniffs sharply, once again locating his arrogance.

“Excellent. Shall we?” Mobius gestures. Loki nods. They stroll back towards the bedchamber, relishing in the quiet comfort of their footsteps falling in line. 

“What are you to him? To me?” Loki’s voice goes soft. Mobius is usually quite adept at compartmentalizing, but it escapes him at this moment. 

“I’m not sure.” Mobius swallows. It’s easier not to think about it. 

“But you’re fond of him, as you said.” Loki sweeps closer, a familiar teasing grin playing across his lips. 

“I am.” Mobius huffs. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“The honor’s all yours, mortal.” Loki tilts his head, his smile growing wider. Mobius rolls his eyes. 

…

Mobius opens the door for the variant and they’re greeted by a wall of noise. Loki screams bloody murder and Signy yells over him in Asgardian, their sharp fingernails plucking at his ribs. They’ve switched positions, with Signy expertly pinning and tickling Loki down into the divan. 

The variant snickers, covering his mouth to hide it, but Mobius’s ears have long-since been tuned to his partner’s laugh. Interestingly enough, Signy looks up too. They furrow their brow as if searching for something, eyes glazing right past their variant, and then return to taking Loki apart.

An idea prickles at the back of Mobius’s mind. 

“You.” Loki shouts from the tip of his toes. His hair is a frizzy, disheveled mess. The variant goes to run, but Mobius scruffs him by the collar.

“You okay over there?” Mobius calls. Loki’s red face grows redder. He points angrily at the variant. 

“Come take your place, you sniveling little brat—“ Loki hisses, but he’s cut off by Signy tickling his waist. The most hysterical little giggles slip free and he buckles under them. 

“I’m afraid I can’t help you. That weakness is your plague to bear, not mine.” The variant’s regret is all mocking. 

It’s a stupid idea, but it’s an insistent one—the longer Mobius gazes at this variant, the more he finds that he can’t let it go.

“Sorry, just to clarify—you’re not ticklish?” Mobius doesn’t bother to hide his amusement. The variant eyes him stubbornly. 

“No. I’m not a child.” Oh, but like with every Loki, his eyes betray him. 

“Well, that’s a shame.” Mobius regards him thoughtfully. The variant turns a lovely pink. “Then, would you mind asking Signy to release my friend? Seeing as they pose no threat to you.”

Mobius crowds in closer. The variant pulls his dagger. Mobius tuts at him and pushes it away. The dagger’s point makes gentle, insistent contact with his stomach.

“This wasn’t part of the deal,” the variant snaps, but Mobius stands before him un-stabbed. 

“Sure it was. I said we would distract Signy.” Mobius smirks. “Just never said that you were part of the distraction.”

God, Loki is really rubbing off on him. 

“I’ve been told I’m quite stabbable, if you’re not amenable.” Mobius gestures to the dagger between them. The variant shifts his fingers on the hilt. 

“D-Don’t you dare touch him!” Loki pipes up through gritted teeth. He’s managed to pin Signy underneath him, but judging by his twitching, they’re not quite done with him.

Mobius grins at him. Loki makes an endearing little pinchy face and refuses to meet his eyes. The variant takes the chance to try and slink away, but Mobius grabs his wrist. The dagger disappears in a flare of green sparks. 

In a slick maneuver, Mobius loops the collar around the variant’s neck and it magnetically fastens. It beeps in confirmation of acquiring its target. 

“What is this?” He hisses, tugging at it. He flexes his fingers, calling for the dagger, and nothing happens.

“Just a bit of insurance. Now, would you like to deal with them—“ Mobius gestures to where Signy is wreaking havoc— “or me?” 

“I’m sure there’s a third option.” The variant chuckles almost nervously. His eyes dart around for an escape. 

“Oh, no. I don’t think so.” Mobius sighs deeply, as if it pains him. The variant’s eyes widen, and—

There it is. A flicker of thrill. 

“If you think you can stand to a god, I welcome you to try.” The variant spreads his arms wide. Mobius puts his hands on his hips. He’s never considered himself a particularly great fighter, but he prides himself on knowing his targets well. For example, he knows that nearly every Loki lacks small-scale patience. If he just waits…

The variant snarls and charges. Mobius ducks past him and loops his arms around his torso. 

Any Loki is deadly with or without their magic, but thankfully Mobius doesn’t have to worry about killing him. Or harming him at all, for that matter.

The variant lets out a confused, almost-offended squeak, like a kitten being bested. Before he can speak, Mobius starts clumsily tickling him. The resulting stilted laughter is interspersed with threats he can’t understand--both for being peppered with giggles and incoherent Asgardian. The variant tries to headbutt him in a way that doesn’t seem entirely on purpose. Mobius dodges predictable flying elbows and waits.

Over on the divan, Loki’s mostly given up. He’s wheezing more than anything, more focused on hiding himself from view than doing anything helpful. The quiet allows for the variant’s patchwork laughter to carry, just as Mobius hoped. He folds on a particularly powerful guffaw and Mobius follows him with a snort. S’cute, sometimes, the ways in which they’re the same. 

Signy’s gaze snaps up. Loki squirms out from underneath them and darts to the other side of the room, clutching his side. He makes eye contact with Mobius. His gaze is so full of sheer fondness that Mobius has to look away. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” The variant tries to back up. Mobius squeezes his side and he yelps.  

“How’d you get over there?” Signy narrows their eyes. 

“Suppose I’m quicker than you.” The variant falls immediately into his role, ever the Loki. Mobius curls his finger into the collar and it disengages. The variant whirls on him, but then Signy starts to stalk across the room. 

“We’ll see about that, love.” Signy’s tongue curls sharply around the word. The variant bolts for the door. Signy laughs and chases after them. Their footsteps echo down the empty hall and carry them both from sight. 

A wave of green magic slams the door shut so hard that it rattles in its frame. Loki hefts a bookshelf in front of the door, then a heavy chest, then about every piece of furniture he’s capable of moving in the room. He slumps down onto the divan with a heavy sigh. Mobius hovers by his side, shoving his hand in his pocket so he doesn’t start fiddling with the disheveled bits of Loki’s appearance. 

“Well, come on then.” Loki bares his throat with an impatient gesture. There’s an imprinted red line where the collar usually sits. Mobius runs his thumb over it, gently, and Loki scrunches his nose with a smile. The sight is so lovely that Mobius spaces out a bit. 

“You are cruel and terrible, you know that?” Loki grumbles. Mobius remembers himself and tries not to savor the brush of Loki’s jaw against his fingers. He holds the transmitter box of the collar to Loki’s throat, scooting it around a bit in search of a signal. Loki twitches. 

“Mmm, just the worst. Stay still, will ya?” He huffs. Something in Loki’s collar clicks and the TemPad chirps a jolly tune. Both of them sigh in relief. 

Mobius punches in a few things and the familiar orange door opens up before them. He looks down at the collar in his hand, then shoves it deep into his pocket. Loki makes a soft noise. 

“Why?” He blinks almost innocently. Mobius swallows. 

“You wanna go back or not?” He juts his thumb towards the portal. Loki pulls him through as if it’s going to disappear. 

…

They have duties to complete, but living so many years in a day has thoroughly eroded what tiny sense of duty Loki has. His mind is abuzz with various iterations of he trusts me--a new and exciting thought--and it leaves him with zero desire to do anything but sit in Mobius’s presence like a flower in the sun. 

So, when Mobius heads for the library, Loki hooks their arms together and drags them towards the cafeteria. Responsible grumbling turns into fond chuckles, and soon enough, they’re assembling God's mistake: frozen yogurt.

They enjoy their spoils on a bench deep in the massive sprawl of the TVA. The complex sprawls out infinitely before them, twinkling in the abyss. It’s a prettier sight than this place deserves, but Loki can only pay attention to the unnatural strawberry hue of Mobius’s lips. 

“This is awful,” Mobius laughs, cringing through a spoonful of frozen-solid chocolate chips. 

“It’s perfect. Completely mediocre in every way. Humanity’s only worthwhile creation.” Loki bites a gummy worm in half with a smile. He offers the other half to Mobius and he takes it.

Loki thinks of Signy, of the look of muddled pain on Mobius’s face through the entire back half of their misadventure, and he cringes. Mobius pauses in picking at his froyo. 

“Brainfreeze?” 

“No, not quite. I want to…apologize, Mobius.” Loki fiddles with his fingers. He looks up just in time for the back of Mobius’s hand to gently slap against his forehead, as if checking for fever. 

“You? Apologize? Maybe I did bring back the wrong Loki.”

“Hilarious, you bastard.” Loki rolls his eyes and bats away the hand. 

“Well, don’t let me get in the way of history. Say your piece.” Mobius sweeps his hands out. Loki turns to straddle the bench, facing him fully. He leans his back against the wall. The cold of the concrete leeches through his shirt. 

“Earlier, things got…out of hand. I hoped if I showed you my past, you might find some detail, some tiny minutiae that would set me apart from the other variants. But, I suppose nothing you saw surprised you.” Loki runs his fingers over his throat, right where the collar usually sat. He felt lighter without it and, strangely, more exposed. 

“I wouldn’t say that.” Mobius mumbles around a strawberry piece. 

“I spent my life chasing after destiny. Everyone in my family had a grand purpose to fulfill, and I believed mine would be the greatest of all. Now I know that my destiny is to be disposable. The only significant thing I’m part of is the time I’ve spent here with you.” Loki pokes at his froyo with the spoon. Mobius swings to also straddle the bench, grumbling as he does, but it gets Loki’s attention. 

“I’ve got my own confession to make.” Mobius chuckles. “I don’t actually know everything about you.”

“We established this.” Loki scoops up an Oreo piece and pops it in his mouth. 

“Well, yeah, but—“ Mobius makes a series of grand gestures— “I mean, I don’t know everything about you, Loki.”

“Now you’ve said the same thing twice.” Loki frowns. Mobius makes a frustrated little noise.

“Look, you’re different. Sure, your story starts the same as the others, but you overwrote my expectations the moment we met. You are unique. You’re a unique pain in my ass, really, but…you’re a good partner. A great one.” Mobius gestures more with his spoon. 

“Go on.” Loki takes the cherry into his mouth, stem and all. A few moments later, he pulls out the stem—tied in a perfect knot. He smiles at his handiwork. 

“I’m trying to compliment you.” Mobius huffs. 

“I’m aware.” Loki grins teasingly, but the mischief caves easily under a wave of genuine joy. 

“Alright, wise guy.” Mobius narrows his eyes. A flutter of thrill picks up in Loki’s stomach, but no chase ensues. He tries not to be disappointed. 

“What I’m trying to get at—“ Mobius huffs dramatically— “is that it’s not your past that makes you. I’ve always studied you guys in patterns and matrixes. I thought a flip would switch and I’d understand how you fell into my lap instead of any other Loki. But…you defy sense. Turns out, you can bake some drastically different cakes with the same core ingredients.” 

“Careful, Mobius,” Loki says softly, so his traitorous heart doesn’t hear. “I might start to think you’re fond of me.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Mobius smiles. 

“No, we can’t.” Loki’s eyes flit to Mobius’s lips. The air between them pulls taut. Loki scoots forward, bringing their knees to touch. 

“You have something on your face, right here. Terribly distracting.” Loki gestures to his lips. Mobius furrows his brow and pats his face with a TVA-branded napkin. Loki bats his hand aside and kisses him. It’s shorter and tamer than what his heart screams for, but he can’t dive into untested waters. Not yet. Not with something so important. 

Mobius, wide-eyed, follows Loki’s every move. He swallows once, thickly, then clears his throat. Not a single coherent word comes out of his mouth. His eyebrows move in nearly every direction as he tries to string some words together. Loki tips his chin up, catching his eyes. Mobius quiets, succumbing to a lovestruck smile.

“Did you get it?” Mobius gestures to his face. Loki laughs, knocking his head into the wall behind him. Mobius scrambles forward to catch him far too late, but they’re close. Close enough for Loki to see the pink froyo flecks actually hiding in his mustache. He smirks. 

“Hm, only one way to be sure.” He pulls Mobius in by his tie and kisses him like it's the end of times.

[thelovelylolly]

Hi. I have a request for a loki x female reader. I love his character so much. I would like it too be a short fluffy one.

Can you write a fic about loki and a reader who likes him but is afraid to tell him that, so she avoids him but he realizes that she likes him because he can read her like an open book. And it ending with them kissing for the first time.

Sorry if this sounds confusing. If you can't write this that is fine.

--sam w

Avoiding

Summary : you're a goddess on Asgard, and you've fallen in love with Loki. Warnings: fem! reader, r has long hair but texture and color isn't desc., some self doubt but it's very brief, let me know if i missed anything! Word count: 1.3k (not proofread) Notes: this is so cute! i did give them some more backstory so i hope you enjoy! (also dividers by @saradika-graphics !!)

You loved Loki.

It was plain and simple. You were a goddess on Asgard and had grown up with him while Frigga taught you how to harness your magic. You and Loki clicked instantly, sometimes getting into trouble together or spending quiet afternoons between lessons together. You helped him with his pranks against his brother, he helped you try new things with your magic.

You had a crush on him when you were both children, but you thought it was just a silly childhood crush.

Then, you grew up and it didn't go away.

If anything, your feelings grew stronger and deeper.

You didn't want to ruin the friendship you had with him and he was a prince. You held no title other than 'goddess' and you had heard about all the suitors his father had set up for him. Loki didn't want any of them and always said he'd rather spend his life with you or no one at all.

Surely, he didn't mean that he wanted to court and marry you, right?

He always went straight to you after meeting with suitors, which is where he found you one late afternoon. You were lounging around in the library, re-reading one of your favorite books, when he slipped through the large library doors. He closed them behind him and let out a sigh as he leaned against them.

You looked up from your book with a soft smile. "How'd it go?" You asked, even though you knew the answer.

"Terrible," Loki answered, walking over to you and sitting on the opposite end of the couch you were on. "I don't think my father understands that I'm not interested in these spoiled princes and princesses."

"Aww, you poor thing," you said teasingly, putting your book aside and scooting closer to him. "You have all these perfect options to choose from-"

"You know I don't want any of them," he quickly cut you off, smiling over at you. "But at least this one brought me a present."

"Oh, did they? What was it?"

Loki held his hand up and used his magic to make the gift appear. It was a delicate, gold crown that looked like a vine full of leafs.

"It's beautiful," you quietly said, leaning closer to get a better look.

"I was nice about it, but I knew it would look better on you than me," he replied, taking the crown between his hands and turning to face you. He gently placed it on top of your head, gently pulling a few pieces of your hair out to frame your face.

Your smile fell when you noticed how close the two of you were, your lips slightly parted as your heart raced. His soft smile made your insides melt and all you wanted to do lean forward and kiss him.

"I was right," he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear, "it does look better on you. You look like a queen."

Your gaze fell to his lips. All you had to do was say three little words and lean forward. But that could ruin everything.

Instead, you pulled away and stood up, clearing your throat awkwardly. You grabbed your book and turned towards him as you walked backwards to the doors. "I-I'm sorry, I have to go..." You quickly said before turning and leaving.

Loki watched the doors close behind you, leaving him alone in the library. His smile fell and he leaned against the back of the couch, letting out a sigh.

Something was up with you, and he was going to figure out what it was.

A few days had passed since what happened in the library and you had done your best to avoid Loki. You felt embarrassed and you didn't want to face him. You started to avoid the places the two of you usually frequented and found a nice beach area to escape to. It was hidden by different types of flora from the palace gardens.

However, you kept the crown he gave you. You only took it off to sleep or do your hair, which was always in a style that let you wear the crown. You had gotten compliments from others around the castle and when they asked where it had come from, you simply said it was a gift.

But it was more than a gift to you. It was a slight bit of hope that Loki requited your feelings.

Yet, you were too afraid to tell him and decided that avoiding him would help. Even with your peaceful beach and your favorite books, Loki still took up most, if not all, of your thoughts. Maybe he did know you had feelings for him because he knew you so well.

He knew you well enough to eventually find you on the beach. The sun was just starting to set and it caused the clear, blue waves to sparkle in the late afternoon light. The sun also shined off of the crown on your head, making you easy to spot for Loki.

When he called your name, your heart skipped a beat. You stood up from where you were sitting and reading before turning to him, watching him as he jogged over to you.

"There you are!" He said with a large smile. "I've been looking for you everywhere the past few days, why have you been avoiding me, dear?"

Dear. Gods, you loved him.

"I...I just needed some space, I guess," you replied softly, looking out at the waves next to you two.

"Space to think about your feelings for me?" He asked with a hint of teasing in his tone.

Your head whipped around and you looked at him with wide eyes. "W-what do you mean? What feelings-"

"Darling, we've been friends since we were children, I know you," he reached for your hands, taking them in his, "I figured out you had feelings for me only recently, so don't think I've been leading you on or anything. I've been trying to figure out how to tell you that I love you."

"You...what?" You were still surprised he found out, but now he admitted he loved you? Your mind was racing and so was your heart as you stepped closer to him. "You love me, too?"

"Of course I do, darling," he said, trailing his hands up your arms to hold your waist as he pulled you closer. "Why else do you think I've rejected all the suitors my father set up for me? Why do you think I gave you that crown?"

He leaned closer, pressing his forehead against yours before saying, "why do you think I spend every second I can with you?"

You took a deep breath, letting out a relieved sigh. "I was scared I was going to ruin what we have," you whispered.

He reached one hand up and cupped your cheek, running his thumb across your skin gently. "You could never ruin it, darling."

You slowly started to lean closer, the gap between you and him closing. He met you half way and pressed his lips to yours.

You had imagined his kiss many times, but none of it compared to real life. He was soft and gently, but still held you tight and close. He knew where to place his hands, how to move his lips against yours, and when to pull away.

It wasn't a short kiss, nor was it long, but you immediately missed the feeling of his lips on yours. However, the look he gave you silently told you that more were to come.

"Would you allow me to court you, darling?" He asked softly, still holding you close to him.

"Of course, Loki," you answered, smiling up at him, "but does your father know?"

He laughed. "No, but I don't care if he approves or not. I want you, I choose you, and he'll have to be okay with that because I'm never going to change my mind."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, 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: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Let me know if you want more. Didn't get too much on Part 1 but I have ideas so...

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!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your third week begins in the same place. Before the iron gate, the code unlocking the green maze within. You’re still just as impressed as your first day there. To you, it’s like a fantasy. Entirely unattainable but it’s right there. You can look, but you can’t touch… not beyond cleaning.

You linger outside, not thinking. You admire the tall tulips and the hedge trimmed to resemble some landmark you can’t quite place. You could see a place like this in an Austenian film or perhaps something Victorian. You don’t have an eye for the difference.

You key in the code for the backdoor and continue on. You put covers on your shoes and grab a fresh set of gloves. You’re getting into a pattern, though each client differs slightly. You put your things away and bring your water bottle with you. You bought a cool strap that keeps it against your hip, a small splurge with your first paycheck. The rest went to bills.

As you start on your usual journey through the many rooms of the airy house, you wonder how its sole resident isn’t lonely. Or perhaps he is. He doesn’t seem the type to admit to it. You turn your thoughts back to your work. You try not to think of him, truly, you don’t know much of him.

You take a candlestick and polish it. You move on the small globe; an ivory orb on a silver axes, the outlines of the continent carved into the surface. As you put it back, you notice something. An item you can’t recall being there before. You reach for it but stop as you realise it’s a camera.

You retract your hand and move on to dust the shelf itself. Does he not trust you or was it there before? Of course, somewhere like this would need security. There was a story just the other day about a break-in, but that was closer to your father’s where those culprits dwell.

The second floor is always easier. It seems even less lived-in than below. All but the study and the main bedroom. You flit in and out, checking points off the list until you’re content. You can only hope he will be too.

As you descend, the epiphany tickles your brain. It’s the first shift he hasn’t appeared. It’s easy to assume he’s busy. You don’t expect him to hang around. As if he would supervise you. Besides, that’s probably what the cameras are for.

You pack up and get your single refill of water. You leave the way you came, as you have twice before. The keypad flashes red to signal the lock is in place. You haul your kit higher on your shoulder and tread slowly along the little path along the side of the house.

You look at the gazebo trimmed in hanging ivy. It’s beautiful. You’d like to venture up and sit on that bench. Just sit and watch and smell and feel. You force the thought away and turn back along the stonework.

You’re going home. Not to pollen but tobacco smoke. Not to lush gardens but wilting strands in soggy mud. Not to immaculate floors and pristine decor but to stained walls and broken springs in your mattress. 

Home, to another man that makes you nervous.

🧹

Your father is as he always is, smoking on the couch. You say hi as you come in with a bag of groceries, the prize for what was left of your check. He grumbles and flicks through the channels. You go to the kitchen to put away the food.

You’re almost at the end of your first month, a third of the way through your probationary period. Hopefully after that, you can pick up more clients. You shut the cupboard and go back to the living room. Your father coughs into a crumpled tissue. He sounds horrible. You can’t say so, he doesn’t seem to care.

“I got some fresh produce,” you announce proudly, “I’ll steam some veggies with the chops.”

“You get fries?” He growls.

“Uh, no,” you admit, “I thought we could eat something healthier–”

“I don’t like steamed veggies,” he drops the remote and grabs his pack of smokes.

“Oh, sorry, I was only thinking–”

“Don’t lie and say you were,” he snorts as he pulls out a cigarette and taps the end of the pack. “Go on, I’m tryna watch this.”

He nods at the television and you follow his gaze to the rerun of All in the Family. He’s seen them all before. You take the dismissal and retreat up to your room. Like you always do.

It’s always been like this. You don’t hate your father but sometimes it feels like he hates you. You put your kit and your water bottle on your dress and change into clean clothes. You lay in bed and close your eyes, trying to let go of the tension in your muscles.

You don’t remember your mom but he does. You assume that’s why he’s like this. It’s not you, it’s what happened. Tragic. A loss he won’t talk about.

You rub your forehead and let your arms fall to bend on either side of your head. You only ever saw one picture of your mother. You don’t think you look like her. She was pretty. And young. You were always too afraid to ask about her but you could tell she was younger than him. No one could’ve expected her to go so soon.

You close your eyes. It’s a strange sort of grief to miss someone who is only a shadow in your mind. Not even a voice, just this ghost you know by name. Mommy…

You blow out a deep breath in an effort to bid away the sadness. That was so long ago. This is now and you have a lot to worry about.

🧹

The Laufeyson house greets you once more with its elaborate brickwork. It’s starting to feel familiar, like a habit to put in the new code and walk along the winding path around to the back door. Six more numbers and you’re inside; shoe covers, gloves, bottle, and the list.

You always check the new email sent by the agency. There’s always something small and new squeezed into the bullet points. This week, you notice the first task is laundry. 

‘Retrieve hamper from hallway. When hamper is left outside door, it means clothes must be washed.’

Easy enough. You go upstairs first and take the tall hamper from beside the door frame. It’s heavy and there’s no wheels to aid in your struggle. The laundry room is downstairs. Your descent is treacherous, one step at a time as you haul the basket down step by step. If Mr. Laufeyson is there, he can’t happy with the noise.

You finally get to the machine and follow the instructions about cycle type and separating colours from whites. However, there is only the bedding to be cleaned. You load the linens in and take a moment to figure out the touchscreen. Your father’s machine has a dial that only works on one setting and gives off a dingy stench.

You leave the basket in front of the washer and retreat to start your usual progression through the urban manse. Mop, sweep, dust, vacuum, polish; hallway, kitchen, dining room, sitting room… Nothing unusual or unexpected.

As you cross the narrow foyer to the den, the sunshine glows a warm orange through the slender windows on either side of the front door. The patterning of the glass reflects prettily on the floor. Despite your best efforts, you can’t help but imagine residing somewhere so brilliant.

You sigh and carry on. You’re sure to open the long drapes to let in the late spring sunshine. It’s not so bad working in the light and you can see where the rare spec of dust is hiding. You go to the tall shelf beside the record player and pull out the albums to wipe beneath them. Music would be jarring in a place always so silent.

You slip the albums back into place, pulling out one to admire the cover; Ane Brun. You’ve never heard of them. You read the track list curiously. You know you shouldn’t be wasting time.

“I don’t believe I’d have anything to your taste on my shelf,” the mocking slither has you pushing the album in line with the rest.

You almost apologise but you remember. You don’t speak. You just clean. So clean.

You glance over at Mr. Laufeyson as he struts in, a book held in one hand as his other is tucked in his pocket. He wears his usual pressed attire; a dark button-up and even darker slacks. You note that he has no tie that day. A single curl dangles by his temple as the rest of his black hair is precisely combed back.

You return to your tasks, gently wiping the cover of the record player and along the stand. You  hear the book drop onto the low table before the sofa before his footsteps continue on; closer. He approaches as you get to the next shelf, a collection of EPs in unmarked sleeves.

You wince as he stops near you, flipping up the cover of the sleek record player before stepping back to peruse his selection. You do your best to keep on as he looms. The air is thick and suffocating. Should you go to the next room and come back?

He slips a record free of its sleeve and places it carefully on the players. He moves the needle over and flips the switch, a crackle before the sound drones from the tall standing speakers. Acoustic guitar with a gritty feel to it. The sudden addition of a woman’s voice jolts you; her tone is peculiar but not unpleasant.

When I woke I took the backdoor to my mind And then I spoke I counted all of the good things you are

He backs away without a word. Not an explanation. You finish cleaning the second shelf and dare to glance over. He reads his book on the couch, unbothered by your existence. That isn’t too unfamiliar.

You finish the space but leave the vacuuming for later. You wouldn’t want to ruin the music. You go into what you can only call a sunroom. The french doors peek out onto the garden and a patio set with a large dining set in white iron and glass.

The music drifts in and keeps you company. It almost makes the work easier. You make quick work and go to check the washer to switch over the load. Once you have the dryer figured out, you begin on the second floor.

It’s only as you come out of one of the guestrooms that you notice the silence is returned. You turn down the hallway and near the next door. You enter the study with your usual reverence. Something about the space is intimidating. 

The large leather chair with its dimpled back and the even bigger desk; slabs of marble set into polished ebony. Shelves of a similar material, decked out with numerous volumes and the occasional ornament. Some appear even to be genuine artifacts. The rug at the centre is patterned in Persian style.

Behind the desk are a set of doors that open onto a balcony. The drapes are drawn shut. You find that is often the case. It’s a sombre and dark space hidden from the bright gardens without. Your tasks here are minimal. You use the hand vacuum and dust the shelves. You aren’t to touch the desk at all.

A shadow startles you as you drag the cloth along the edge of the bookshelf. Your eyes round and you look over as Mr. Laufeyson enters. You blanch but he doesn’t acknowledge you. He sighs and goes to the desk, sitting in the chair and wheeling it closer. You narrow your sights on the shelves; focus.

You feel a tremble but quickly shake it away. This is his home, he must be able to exist within it, but this feels strange, almost deliberate. Is he trying to make some point? To scare you? You remember the mention of those who came before you. Did they quit or did he dismiss them? Regardless, you can’t afford either.

It isn’t that difficult to follow the rules. Don’t speak? You haven’t much to say. You get closer as you advance along the shelves to the back of the office. He lets out another long exhale. His chair creaks, once, twice, and again.

“Hm,” he rolls back and swivels, an action you observe from the corner of your eye. He tuts and wheels back to the desk, resuming tapping on the keys of his slender laptop. The glow limns his silhouette sinisterly.

You rustle the drapes as you pass them and cross to the opposite shelves. As you brush over the spines of the books, you nearly drop the cloth. His low hum frightens you as he mimics the same melody that played from the speakers below. His tone is deep and sonorous, even delightful.

You squeeze the cloth and pause before regaining your composure. This cannot be a coincidence. The camera and now he’s following you. Or so it seems. Does he distrust you? What reason have you given him?

You are mindful to wipe down the bronze statue of what you assume is a viking warrior. You place it back staunchly, making sure your work is entirely visible to him. You are honest and you like to think you do your work well. Or at least, you try to. Perhaps if he sees that effort, he won’t be so suspicious.

As you head for the door, he quits his humming. His chair squeaks again.

“You are rather more thorough than the last,” he muses.

You stop and turn your head. You nod. He’s baiting you to break his number one rule.

“And you take orders well,” he adds blithely, “that is rare these days.” He taps a key again, “as you were.”

You take the dismissal in stride and flit off to your next task. It isn’t much, maybe only a statement of fact, but it’s something. He isn’t unhappy with your work. So far, neither are you.

[simp-legend]

Drunk Confessions

Requested: No

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Reader

Summary: One of Tony's parties leads you to become very close with a certain silver tongue God

Fic type: Romantic (ig) with a hint of spice at the end

Warnings: None

Words: 758 words

A/N: This is a really terrible oneshot that I've had in my drafts for ages, so apologies. Also I apologise for not being active that much I've been quite busy whilst struggling with mental health.

Proof-Read: No

"But I don't wanna gooo," I told Nat. "Why can't he throw a party some other day when I'm not busy. I need to finish moving in!" I said.

"Well, Tony is kinda throwing this party for you because you are the new avenger," Nat chuckled. 

"Then he should have thrown it two months ago when it was finally official, should I wear this dress, or the blue one?" I asked, holding up two dresses.

"The blue one, anyway, on the bright side, you-know-who will be there," she wriggled her eyebrows.

"Who, Voldemort?" I scoffed, turning away to hide my blush.

"No, Loki," she nudged my elbow. I rolled my eyes but had a smile on my face.

~Time skip~

I walked in excitedly but (tried and failed) to keep a straight face. I made my way to the avengers who were sitting around a table laughing and drinking.

"Y/n! Hello!" Thor yelled when he saw me.

"Hey Thor," I waved. I look at the spot next to him to see Loki eyeing me with a face that shows no emotion. Then, to break the awkwardness, Tony walked in with a box of alcohol.

"So I did a quick run to the bar and brought these so now we can officially PARTAAAAAY!" Tony pumped his fist up. After that, more people started to roll in. I got bored after a while so I went upstairs. I opened the doors to the living room to find Wanda watching TV.

"Hey Wanda," I said slumped next to her on the couch.

"Hello Y/n," she said, not looking away from the TV. She was watching some old black and white show. We sat in silence for a while, watching the show. After an hour I decided to head back downstairs and check on everyone.

While I was heading down the stairs when I bummed into Nat.

"Oh, hey Nat. What's going on?" I noticed she had an annoyed face.

"Stark convinced the boys to drink more and now it's chaos down there. The boys got crazy drunk. Even Bruce and Loki are drinking alot," she sighed.

"Oof. Well imma check it out!" I chuckled.

It was absolute chaos. Clint was singing while swinging from the chandler, Thor was wearing a poptart box as a hat while swinging his hammer at non-existent villains, Tony and Rodney were arguing weather the moon was made out of cheese, Steve and Bucky were having a throwing contest with his shield, which so far had resulted to several broken windows.

"Um, is everything ok?" I asked flustered.

"oH, helloY/n!" Loki slurred, waving franticly at me from his spot on the floor.

"Uh, hi?" I said, worried because when I walked in Loki was wondering aloud how long it would take to chop off all of Thor's hair blindfolded.

"Hey, did anyone tell you that ya look very pretty?"

"Um," I was shocked. "Thanks?"

Loki tried to stand up, but stumbled from all the achohal.

"Oof!" I said, as the god crashed into me, resulting us to fall down.

The next thing I knew, Loki was on top of me, and we were laying on the ground, our faces only centimeters apart.

I coughed nervously, and tried to get up but unLuCkY mE, a stool fell on top of us, so we couldn't get up because our legs were stuck. I was a stuttering mess.

"S-s-sor-ry..." I said, my face feeling like it was on fire.

"No worries, Darling," Loki said coolly. Wait... he didn't seem so drunk anymore...sus.

I felt my heart race faster and faster as I couldn't look away from Loki's face. His eyes were focused on mine, then darted to my lips for a hot second. Then he smashed his lips onto mine!

I laced my arms around his neck as he snaked his hands down to my waist, his tongue roamed my mouth as I lightly tugged on his smooth black hair. I wanted it to last for ever. Sadly, luck was not at my side.

After a couple of seconds, minutes, hours, I honestly do not either, nor or care, we broke apart.

Because Clint yelled, "Get a room!" after the chandelier gave way and crashed to the ground.

Blushing furiously, we managed to out of the stupid stool, and off the floor. 

"Would you like escape these idiotic Midgaurdians and continue somewhere else lady Y/N?" Loki smirked, turning to me.

"Of course" I grinned mischievously.

Please reblog to boost my page!

Constructive criticism is welcomed!

[maple-seed]

The Cold-Blooded Prince

Loki x Fem!Reader

Content: Pining, Humor WARNING: A cat meets its unfortunate (but deserved) demise.

Summary: You are hopelessly infatuated with the younger prince of Asgard. He seems unaware of your existence, until you inspire him to dispatch an enemy.

Word Count: 1,715

Author's Notes: Happy Loki Eve, everyone! Thrown should be coming back next week, but in the meantime please enjoy this silly little Asgard oneshot to celebrate season two premiering tomorrow.

AO3 Link

Loki Fic Masterlist

The second son of Asgard was different. It was the first thing you noticed, naturally. It was seemingly the only thing anyone else noticed. Whispers constantly rippled through the court about Loki, and they were never flattering. People noted his icy demeanor. They commented on how he didn't quite seem to fit in with the rest of the royal family. Particularly, they compared him to Thor and voiced their relief that Loki was not first in line for the crown. The Cold-Blooded Prince, they called him with a wink, but of course only ever when out of earshot.

It was something you could never understand. You found Loki much more appealing of the two. He was mysterious and quiet and there was always an air of danger surrounding him. His grin was like a threat. Even when he stood at rest there was something menacing about him. As if he could attack at any moment. It was exhilarating. You seemed to be the only one who was drawn to him in this way. Once, while mingling with other ladies of the court, you had made the mistake of airing your admiration. They had been chittering on about Thor and his pleasing qualities. When you casually mentioned that you found his brother to be more handsome the conversation had come to an immediate halt. The other ladies fixed you with stares of disbelief, mixed with hints of disgust, before finding some excuse to disburse. From then on you kept your thoughts to yourself, and silently appreciated the vibrant green of his eyes, the set of his jaw, the way his body swayed when he walked. In fact, the taboo may have made him that much more enticing.

Beyond the whispers and rumors, Loki did not face much friction in the court, with one exception. A very important ambassador from Vanaheim had come to reside at the palace. Loki had no particular quarrel with the ambassador himself. However, this ambassador's greatest joy in life was a very spoiled cat. This cat, of all things, was Loki's nemesis.

It started one evening at dinner. Loki's favorite wine was being served, and the cat was allowed to saunter up and down the table, to the prince's great annoyance. The beast seemed to take notice of Loki's irritation, and stopped in front of him, looked at him directly in the eyes, then knocked a wine glass over toward his seat. Loki quickly stood with a hiss and looked to be ready to destroy the pest right there, but froze when he caught a glare from the Allfather. "Oh, ho, my precious girl is a curious one." The ambassador laughed as the cat returned to his side. "Please forgive her, your highness." Loki cast one more glance at Odin, whose stern look made it clear that a scene was not to be made, then swiftly turned away from the table and left the hall. The cat looked for all the world to be gloating. You wondered at how such blatant disrespect was tolerated.

It carried on from there. Somehow the cat seemed to sense that Loki hated it, and somehow it knew it was beyond retribution. It would swat at Loki has he passed in the halls, it seemed to purposely occupy his favorite reading nook, and on occasion it had even made its way to the library and sank its claws into tomes that Loki happened to be studying recently. Always these taunts occurred in front of witnesses, the cat was very careful not to provoke the prince when he was alone. As time went on the cat grew more brazen and Loki grew increasingly frustrated with his inability to retaliate.

Today it seemed the ambassador had brought his little darling into a council meeting. You were loitering in the adjoining hall, hoping to catch a glimpse of the prince as he left. You couldn't be sure what exactly transpired inside, but clearly the pattern of feline impertinence had continued. When the meeting ended, Loki burst through the doors, looking furious. Thor was keeping in stride beside him, trying to placate his brother.

"Loki, it is only a cat. You shouldn't let it get under your skin like this." The only response from the younger prince was a low growl. "They do not live for very long. You'll be rid of it soon enough, in the grand scheme." Thor offered.

That was all you could hear as you watched them pass. And watch them, you did. Loki was handsome even in his fury, perhaps even more so. His strides were forceful, his jaw clenched. His horns glinted in the light and muscles tensed and bulged beneath intimidating scale. You bit your lip as you imagined the power held therein. The brothers soon disappeared, and you lamented that his mood meant your glimpse was brief. You didn't leave immediately, as you didn't want to make it obvious why you had been here, but you couldn't linger for long or you might miss your afternoon appointment.

Most afternoons found you in the palace gardens, on a bench near one of the decorative ponds. You pretended to be absorbing the splendor of the garden, or enjoying the fine weather, or occasionally you pretended to read. Your true purpose, of course, was to see Loki. Every afternoon he came here to swim, and the affair was always spectacular. The way he effortlessly cut through the water, the way it rolled over his back, the wake parting behind him. It was beauty in motion. As he made his laps around the pond the ornamental fish and ducks frantically fled from his path. They recognized him for what he was: a predator.

As captivating as it was to watch him move so elegantly through the water, your favorite part came after. When he felt satisfied in this exercise he would climb out of the pond and lie in the sun. His full body stretched out on the grassy bank, eyes closed, mouth slightly parted. It felt like a sin to gaze upon him, but that didn't stop you. You might imagine yourself lying beside him, basking in the light. You would whisper your adoration and tenderly remove any stray leaves or lilies that had caught on him during his swim. You wondered what his skin felt like. Was it rough? Or deceptively smooth? You day-dreamed about trailing your fingertips across his shoulders, or down the ridges of his back. You would place a playful kiss on his nose, or perhaps several decidedly less playful along his jaw.

Eventually he would open his eyes and leave for some other business. Sometimes he would pass your bench as he left. If he ever noticed you, he gave no sign of it. Never even a glance in your direction, to your disappointment.

You passed your days like this, pining over a prince who wasn't even aware of your existence. Placing yourself where you might admire him surreptitiously. Stealing glances at banquets while pretending to share the other ladies' fascination with Thor.

One quiet evening you found your way onto one of the less-trafficked balconies of the palace. Typically this would be a place of solitude, where you could look out over the grounds and perhaps contemplate your foolishness. Sometimes you might imagine Loki joining you here. He would find you alone and you would catch his attention, strike up a conversation. In your wildest fantasies he already knew your name. Tonight, though, you weren't afforded the opportunity of dreaming about him finding you here. He was already on the balcony when you arrived.

You stopped with your breath caught in your throat. His head was tilted upward, gazing at the sky. He was even more beautiful in the moonlight. You stood transfixed by his slender profile bathed in silver. You wondered what those piercing eyes were searching for in the heavens. You finally remembered yourself, quietly cleared your throat and smoothed your dress before dipping into a curtsy. "Good evening, your highness."

He looked at you. He truly looked at you! Your eyes met, and he even gave the slightest nod of acknowledgement before he looked back to the stars. You calmly carried yourself to the stone balustrade, matching his silence though your head was swimming with joy. Quite some time passed like this, the two of you silently sharing the view while you desperately tried to find some reason for him to look at you again.

You were watching him from the corner of your eye when it happened. Possibly the only thing that could spoil your mood. The ambassador's cat came strolling out onto the balcony. The creature seemed to have an innate sense of where Loki was at all times. Loki noticed it too, and you saw him tense, his jaw clenching. The pest was so bold, confident as always that it was beyond punishment. Loki's glare did nothing to deter it on its lazy promenade. Your irritation had risen as well, but it immediately dissolved as something occurred to you. The cat knew it was protected by witnesses, but it was only you and Loki on the balcony tonight.

"It seems we have vermin in the palace." You state pointedly. Loki looks at you in surprise for a moment, before a conspiratorial glint flashes in his eyes. He then became very still, and you recognize that he is lying in wait. The cat continued its haughty approach, rubbing itself against the prince along the way. Loki's face was one of strained anticipation, waiting for his moment. Finally, the careless cat, secure in its invulnerability, stepped in front of the prince, close to his face.

In one swift motion Loki lunged and effortlessly snapped the cat up in his powerful jaws. He quickly thrashed his head side to side, his tail swinging to counterbalance, before swallowing the creature whole. It was breathtaking. The entire feat had only taken moments.

You took a breath and regained your composure, wearing a sly smile. "Very good, my lord."

Loki rumbled a satisfied clicking growl, and victoriously tossed his mighty tail once more for good measure. He lifted his scaled face to appraise you properly, and as he crawled forward to join you his ever-present grin seemed wider than usual.

🐊

Fair warning, I'm probably going to put my reblog replies behind "read more" clips to avoid spoilers, lol. Sorry for the inconvenience of the extra click.

Loki Fic Masterlist

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@infinitystoner, @muddyorbsblr, @gigglingtiggerv2, @imalovernotahater, @mischief2sarawr, @goddessofwonderland, @purplekitten30, @lokisgoodgirl, @ultrasnakesona, @ozymdias, @navs-bhat, @iambetterthanbefore, @evelyn-kingsley, @goblingirlsarah, @thedistractedagglomeration, @buttercupcookies-blog, @texmexdarling, @kaylalikescatsandstuff, @iamlokisgloriouspurpose, @ladyloki3

[thewriterwithsnakes]

Death Of Me

An unfinished fic I wrote because my brain refuses to decide where to go with it. Enjoy the scraps! If you've got any fic ideas you'd like written please shoot the my way. My brain is refusing to come up with ideas.

Just some platonic Loki fluff with romantic undertones and a flirty Loki.

You didn't really know how it happened.

Loki hated everybody for the most part. Hell, he even tried to kill his own brother on multiple occasions! So why did he act so differently towards you? The truth was that you and pretty much everyone around you knew the answer. You were the only one who showed him unconditional kindness.

Whether it was making sure he got a cookie out of the batch you made or asking about the book he was reading, you were just kind. You were always that way, with pretty much everybody. And you found it unfair how the Avengers treated Loki. He was doing his best to change! Maybe you were naive to think that or to get close but it didn't matter. Everybody deserved someone in their corner, right?

So that's how you found yourself in this position, laughing with him on the loveseat in Stark towers enormous library. You were both reading a book, well, he was reading and you were using the excuse to lean over and be close with him. As you peered over to make out the faded words on what had to be the original copy of The Odyssey with how did the book looked, you couldn't help but smile to yourself. Even if Loki didn't return your feelings -the ones you were even lying to yourself about- you still enjoyed being with him like this. Getting to see his smile and hear his genuine laugh made your heart swell and pride grow knowing he was comfortable enough around you to relax a little.

"What are you so happy about, darling?" Loki raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk resting on his annoyingly handsome face. Doing your best to come up with a quick lie you managed to embarrass yourself further.

"Nothing! I'm not happy at all! Wait, I didn't mean that. I mean, of course I'm happy, I'm around you! But not like that either. Not that you don't make me happy! I just-" You gave up on trying to get your brain to work and simply buried your face in your hands and groaned. Sometimes, you think it would be easier to just curl up into a ditch for the rest of your life.

Loki found much more humor in the situation than you did, and he chuckled at your flushed face.

"I know I'm irresistible darling but you don't need to fluster yourself just thinking about me," A proud and teasing smirk slid across his features and you gave him a playful punch to the shoulder.

"Oh shut up, Lokes," Rolling your eyes, you turned your attention to the book in his hands, nudging your head forward to prompt him to read again.

"Like the sound of my voice that much, love?" His gorgeous eyes never lost that teasing glint. He was going to be the death of you, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

[arcielee]

Interview With a Writer

Thank you @st-eve-barnes for going over your Saltburn series with me! Just a reminder, you can view volume 1 & 2 of my ongoing series Interview With a Writer, where these talented individuals allow me to pick their brains over the brilliance behind their writing!

Name: st-eve-barnes

Story: Leverage

Paring: Michael Gavey x Female!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ for explicit content and language. Kissing, oral sex (male receiving), dry humping, hand job, fingering, p in v sex. First kiss and loss of virginity. Experienced reader. Enemies to lovers vibes.

So, when did you start writing?

I guess I have to say as a teenager, though I never shared anything I wrote back then. I still have the notebooks I used to drabble in (in Dutch), it wasn’t very good at all but I guess even back then I had that need to be creative and make my own stories.

I officially started writing fanfic in 2013. I watched Thor the Dark World, fell in love with Loki, made a Tumblr and a whole new world opened. After a few months of reading fanfic, I started writing my own. Again, it wasn’t very good at all but even my bad stories slowly started to find an audience on here, so I stuck with it.

Loki is amazing, just Aemond energy in a different font.

He truly is! I've written different characters since, but the moment I saw Aemond on screen I was transported back to the first time I saw Loki. His intensity, that quiet threat like you don't know what he's going to do next, combined with this, "I was made to be king but my stupid brother is the chosen one."

And a certain sadness, of course. We know they're the villains, but we understand them in a way and can feel their pain. And they are sexy as hell of course ;)

Where did the plot for Leverage come from?

Okay, so first of all, I am someone who never plans an entire plot when I start a fic. I am very much a "make it up as I go along" writer. I start with an idea and a dynamic I want to write between two characters and then I build from there.

For this one I wanted Reader and Michael to have a common goal and a common enemy, something that would push these two different characters to want to work together. I wanted the enemies to lovers vibe but soft. Like, you can tell very early on in the fic that they have empathy for each other. When Reader is crying, Michael softens up easily, and when she sees Michael being vulnerable about not being able to get girls, she feels for him as well.

Their personalities will still clash even after that, but you can (hopefully) feel the connection between them as well. I wanted Ben's threat to loom over them for the entire fic but also never make it the main plot point in every chapter. The main plot for me here was how Michael and Reader could help each other change and grow, and then either accept that change or turn away from it.

Was there anything in specific that inspired your Reader portrayal?

No, not really, I think. I wanted to make her independent and confident, but also a little bit lonely, all traits you can also find in Michael. And anything else, as usual, I make up as I go along. I get to know the characters as I write them and often I'm surprised where they take me. In this fic I think it was Michael who surprised me the most though, he really turned out different than I initially had planned.

Explain your interpretation of Michael. What drives him? How did he differ from what you originally had in mind?

Salburn didn't give us much to work with, and I actually love that because it gives us so much freedom to play with the character.

I went with what the movie did give us: Michael's obvious hatred for the popular privileged kids. It's the reason he initially hates Reader, but warms up to her when he learns that she is actually working for her place at Oxford and she is not a real part of Ben's group. I think he is driven to help her purely because of that common enemy in the beginning.

Then he gets to know her a little and the promise of sex comes into play, which he definitely doesn't say no to. What surprised me in writing him is that I initially planned on writing him as a sub throughout the entire fic, but then half way in the tables started turning and he started taking over control a bit (of the Reader and me as well apparently!). And then suddenly it made complete sense to write him that way, because he would be that overeager student who wants to do well and who does the homework to get it exactly right, it doesn't matter whether it's math or sex, he wants to show how good and smart he is.

Him just accepting his feelings for her so calmly was also something I didn't plan, but just sort of happened as I was writing.

My initial plans there was going to be a big fight between her and Michael right before they would call things off. He would force her to admit her feelings and the sex would turn quite rough; Michael just being Michael and saying a lot of wrong things to her that would eventually shut her down completely. But I never wrote that scene and by the time I got there in the story it didn't seem to fit their characters anymore and it also seemed too heavy for this fic so I let go of that idea.

Do you feel your Reader and Michael complement one another?

I definitely think they complement each other, but I also think they are quite alike in many ways. As I said before, they are both quite confident in different ways and insecure in others.

I do think they complement each other perfectly with Michael being more book smart and focused, while Reader is (a lot) better with people and social skills. I think them being together changes them both for the better cause they can learn from each other's personalities and bring out the best out in each other (but also the worst, of course).

Let's say that in their future they definitely learn to focus on bringing out the best and not the worst in each other ;)

Do you think you'll ever continue their story?

Never say never, but there's no plans to write more for them for now. I don't think I've written many sequels over the years, but I love writing different ideas and dynamics between two characters and once they are together, it's like "my work here is done."

Do you have a personal favorite story (on ao3 or Tumblr) you'd like to share?

My absolute favorite story is from a previous fandom that I'm not in anymore, but I have to share that one as it is the single most beautiful thing I've ever read. It was the fic that pulled me into the fandom. It's a Stucky story and it's called Not Easily Conquered, known as NEC in the fandom.

It will crush your soul and heal you and I will give anyone the same advice I got before I read it for the first time: be prepared because this one will hurt. I cried for like a week after I read it and I don't cry easily so this one should come with a warning. But it is absolutely worth it!

Do you have another story in the works?

The only thing I'm working on right now is a Felix Catton x Reader story called Pretty Little Liars. Two chapters have been posted and I'm working on the next ones, but it may be a while as life has been a bit full on here lately.

Would you like to share a snippet of what's to come?

“I think he has a little crush on you,” you stated while Felix opened the door to his room and let you step inside first. Felix shook his head but the little blush on his cheeks didn’t go unnoticed by you. “It’s not like that,” he denied, “He’s just…a bit lost and I’m trying to be his friend.” “You sure that’s all he wants?” “Yeah,” he laughed, “Ollie doesn’t want me, he just wants to be like me.” “If you say so,” you sighed, not convinced. Felix grabbed you by the shoulders and pushed you down to sit on the side of his bed, leaning forward to look into your eyes, “Hey, come on, don’t ruin this by becoming jealous.” “I’m not jealous, I’m…concerned.” That wasn’t a lie. Jealousy was never a factor, you knew right from the start that Felix would never truly be yours, you would always have to share him with the rest of the world. And you always accepted that. But the idea of sharing him with Oliver somehow made your blood boil. Felix kneeled down in front of you, eyes locking with yours as his gaze darkened and he smiled that irresistible smile of his. “Now, did you come up here to chat about Ollie, or to get your pussy eaten, hmm? Cause I can’t do both at the same time.” His lips connected with your knee, kissing your skin softly and you bit your lip and sighed deeply, “Fine, I’ll shut up.”

[11queensupreme11]

Me: I'm going to read Arsenic blues, wishing to see what the queen has to us ❤️

After reading the note: The fuck!?

Can't believe people are really stealing your job and asking why they haven't the right to it. People are crazier every time I check is half concerning and half amazing how their brains work

Have to be nice, living in that fantasy world for free and without Isekai yourself.

Be for real and growth. Write your own stuff and don't come here asking yourself why the author is mad when you literally just committed a CRIME

Anyway, great character as always queen! ❤️

It is amazing how Loki has one type, defender of rights only person here that knows about human rights and thinks they deserve it.

Loki's the "fuck around and found what happens" god and is always hurting him but he can't scape the consequences of his own actions

Dumb bitch, you're lucky you're hot

Baldur was the first to say: they deserve to live cause you created them and if they're bad it is because you all are worse, maybe if you all learn a minimum of moral they would be better ❤️

I love him, Loki really didn't deserve him, he doesn't deserve Percy either but Baldur is... *Chef kiss*

He was the first, if you know what I'm saying, it is even wonderful how a person (god) can be so kind without knowing what it really is. It is hard to be kind, but without an example!?

Made him the god of humanity and sent him far away from Loki's (too late)

Loki: what's wrong here? Him or me?

Me: You have one chance, and hint, it isn't Baldur you asshole

(That hint of karma. Poseidon is going to lose his daughter, one as loved as Baldur and it's just his fault cause he doesn't have a heart. Love that for him. I love him but I also love the drama)

(Maybe we're more like the gods that we like to think I guess)

Thinking about it, maybe Percy being too gremlin with him IS a good thing.

No matter what, that side of her, the way she's always ready to fight but also being ready to relax with him is his... Well, Loki is always on the edge, but her giving so much kindness to him is also pushing him away.

She chooses to spend time with him and genuinely enjoy that time when he isn't tricking her (to the surprise of EVERYONE including him)

(Percy, being too kind is one thing)

At least he's learning that maybe killing and hurting your loved ones isn't the best decision.

Took him millennials but progress is progress

For now, act 4 is going to give him a ticket express to that fall to madness

Beelzebub...

Well, his trauma is stopping him right now, but I trust him to find a way, it's the smartest one so I'm going to wait before saying something

(For once, the author's favorite is one of my favorites)

(Just laughed cause that is karma right there, you were the one always making the deals with bad ends, now is your turn babygirl. Still rooting for you king ❤️)

Thanks for the chapter Queen and remember, a alive Nico is the best kind of Nico ❤️

bro omg that plagiarizer was weird af. did you see the old ask asking for permission to make an hp x pjo x ror fic inspired by mine? THAT TURNED OUT TO BE THEM. they made a third wattpad account sfahdvbjhv 😭😭😭

i made another chapter calling them out on wattpad and they deleted the books and fucked off (they'll probably be back with a fourth account 💀) but yeah, that's just weird behavior fr 😭

and also.... the thing i wrote about poseidon getting karma? yeah, that's a big ass hint for the future HEHEHEHE

and yesss percy actually does enjoy loki's company most of the times, he just ruins it by... you know, being an asshole to her sometimes, but other than that, she likes hanging out with him! she actually considers him as a friend (but beelie is her #1 bestie in the ror verse LMAO)

[i-try-to-write-stuff]

Hiya mate again, this is the other user the requested for Tony, Stephen and Loki's fics. Well I do have other requests but let me ask this since I know you make Shelby fics you might make this aswell.

1# Dark!Cillian Murphy x Reader

Let me just say how it should start. Let's say that the Reader is an Actress that was casted for Oppenheimer (Or you can choose the movie/film). Cillian showed signs that he hates the reader but secretly loves her and because of the hate signs, the reader thinks he actually hates her and uhh just continues this fake rivarly then one day Cillian just asks the reader to come to the backstage in after hours (after work) and then maybe confront her about how much he loves her and after the reader refuses and declines his offer multiple times he ends up drugging and kidnapping the reader.

Sorry I explained the plot too much.

Thanks mate.

Okay...I may have gotten carried away and wrote a small blurb. Let me know if you guys want to see more of this.

There were no warning signs, nothing that could show your co-star’s obsessive feelings. His aloofness and borderline rudeness should have bothered you, and it did for a while, but you eventually got over it. You were a total boss, keeping your cool and staying polite with your head held high, knowing there wasn't any other way to handle it. We all know that Hollywood unfairly favors men. They can act badly with no repercussions, while women get scrutinized for the tiniest slip-ups. You did not let your negative feelings show and stay friendly with your co-stars and crew, even when they left you out of things. You knew that any drama could mess up your career at the peak of your fame. Luckily, your cast-mates made an effort to include you without upsetting Cillian. You actively avoided Cillian in get-togethers and parties because you didn't want to worsen your strained professional relationship. Since he was the lead actor and Nolan's top pick, and you were playing a supporting role, you could be easily replaced. Even though you didn't care, getting fired from a movie isn't a good look for any actor, let alone you…

Finally, after months of rehearsals, shooting, and re-shooting, the movie was done. The heavy weight on your chest lifted as you realized you were finally going home after what felt like an eternity. Nolan threw a party to thank everyone for their hard work, but let's just say you were eager to leave without being rude.

You were chatting with John David Washington and D’Arcy Carden about future projects.

Any plans now that the movie's wrapped up?”, John asked you as he took a sip of whiskey.

“I get to go home for a bit and then it's press tour time for MI,” you said excitedly.

“Oh God, press tours can be so monotonous, day in and day out, answering the same questions just in different ways.” D’Arcy sympathised.

“What could be so draining D’Arcy?” Nolan asked as he joined you along with a few other of your cast mates, including the one and only diva Cillian. You stiffened but were relieved by the buffer of people around you.

“We were just discussing what’s next for Y/N, she has a press tour coming up in a few weeks,” D’Arcy explained to the newcomers. Nolan chuckled.

“Yeah, press tours can be exhausting, but I'm still excited. I'm pumped to see Tarzan, Noah, and Zendaya! We've been so caught up with our projects that we haven't talked.” You blurt out cheerfully.

When your cast mates saw you all giddy, their smiles widened except for Cillian’s. He tightened his grip around his beer bottle, furious that you were so excited about meeting up with your friends. He wanted to be at the receiving end of that joy, that excitement, that anticipation.

“I expect the same level of excitement for the press tour for our movie.” John laughed.

“Not the same level, John, at least double the amount of excitement.” Nolan teased you.

“Well, we all have to wait and watch,” D’Arcy added.

“I promise to turn my excite-o-meter and charm to the fullest.” You jokingly promised as you side-hugged John, not noticing a set of clear blue eyes filled with rage.

Wheels were turning in Cillian’s brain. He would not let you slip out so easily, not without a fight. You were his, you just know it yet. And he was going to have to make you see that.

[strangesthirdeye]

✨Thank you for 200 followers! ✨

Me: *burst into my account's door hall* Alright guys settle down. I have good news.

Crowley: ngk- hurry up. I have a business to run.

Aziraphale: *nods* Very important business.

Stephen: if it's a useless thing, allow me to use my Sling ring to go back to the Sanctum. I've got some dimensional demon on the run.

Wong: The dimensional demon who is trying to seduce you.

Stephen: shut up.

Sherlock: better hurry up. I've got bored easily.

John: whatever you want to say, Dhani. Just a little quick, we have a case to solve.

Doctor: let's just listen to what she has to say, guys.

Donna: these guys really don't know how to relax.

Me: chill out, boys *pause* and girl. Now *open projector* This is great news. we finally got 200 followers on Tumblr.

Crowley: Sheshh, you're popular very fast here.

Doctor: the others platforms you own has many followers but here it is quite difficult to get followers judging by the many accounts that make fanfics fandoms the same as yours.

Sherlock: more to those guys *nods towards Aziraphale and Crowley*

Aziraphale: *mouth becomes a thin line* Well, I suppose you all have results in different ways.

Stephen: Let's just face it, guys. She's doing it because your fandoms *nods to Crowley and Aziraphale* in the move on phase after episode 6,they say. She *nods at me* trying to move on by making memes.

Severus: and fanfics *looks sharply at them in the corner of the hall in the shadows*

Them: *turns back and notices Severus in the corner of the hall*

Doctor: *looks at Donna with raised eyebrows*

Crowley: who are you?

Severus: her other fictional character she's obsessed with. Evidently, she was busy looking for Severus Snape x reader on Tumblr several times these days. Not to mention in Ao3 as well. But still, she never thought of making fanfics about me.

Them: *looks at me*

Me: *sweating* chill out, kids. Your mama here has a lot more work to settle. Severus, your first fic will be made after I finish some abandoned fics, so be patient.

Severus: *scoff* abandoned fics.. so to speak. More like a new upcoming fics that you haven't finished yet.

Them: *gasp*

Me: alright, alright. I know. Let's just listen first, I'm still thinking about making fics about you but I still don't know what the ideas is yet. okay? so chill, Now back to the business.

Sherlock: what recent work is she still working on?

Doctor: *open my noted* umm, Too Many Secret part 2. Well, it's still hanging, due to her having bad writer's block.

Crowley: gosh, that's bad.

Aziraphale: I think she needs something to be inspired, right? That's what a writer needs, isn't it? inspiration.

Stephen: exactly.

Me: woah, woah. How come you just open my noted apps at will? That's- that's not good.

Doctor: Dhani, you forgot what I can do, right?

Me: well, I didn't expect you to open my noted apps! now get out of it!

Doctor: *blew his lips* alright.

Me: *sighing* now, another thing, thanks to all of you for being willing to work with me to reach this level, not to mention, being one of my inspirations to correct my English, although there are mistakes but people still like the fics.

Them: *clap and cheer*

Severus: *slowly claps his hands but his sharp gaze is still there*

Me: and also, thanks to Y/n who is also the 'main character' in all of your fics.

Them: *cheers loudly*

Y/n: *nods and waves with a big smile*

Severus: *whisper* when will I get my own Y/n.

Me: and also, the biggest thanks to my followers, whether new or old, for being willing to follow and like my silly fics. Thank you so much! although some of my fics and memes make no sense but you are willing to reblog and like my fics. I love you so much! Thank you. Thank you! *nods my head*

Loki: and edits! *walks into the hall with an unreadable look*

Stephen: *narrow eyes* Loki? you are supposed to take care of timelines and the universe. How come you are here? and who takes care of your place in the tree of life?

Loki: don't worry about that, Strange. This is just an illusion I made. *looks at me* you forgot to mention edits about me.

Me: *sweating* oh yeah, i forgot.. sorry.

Loki: don't bother *waves his hand*

Crowley: that's my line!

Aziraphale: *holds Crowley from getting up* no no!.

Me: oh god. *massage the bridge of my nose*

Donna: I can't believe I accompanied you to sort of kindergarten thingy.

Doctor: it's not a kindergarten thingy.

Loki: not to mention that there is also a fic about me you made.

Me: oh, fuck. *looks at Severus*

Severus: *wide eyes* what?!

Me: ok! I think we can finish our meeting today. So, umm thank you for 200 followers and I love you guys in every universe. Muah.. bye bye! *run away*

Severus: *chases after me with a red face* HOW DARE YOU MAKE A FIC ABOUT LOKI BUT NOT ME!

Stephen: and it feels like that's our cue to go back to our respective universes. *open portals for all of them*

Crowley: *grumbles and enters the portal*

Aziraphale:*looks at Sherlock, Wong, Doctor, Donna, John and Stephen* well, i hope we can meet again but in a good situation.

Them: *nods*

John: of course. *smiles and enters the portal*

Sherlock: *nods and enters the portal*

Doctor: only after everyone gets their own fics and is in a good mood. *enter portal*

Donna: He really means that, actually. *enter portal*

Aziraphale: well, good day. *enter portal*

Stephen: *nods and enters the portal with Wong behind him*

Loki: well, better get back to work then. *disappears*

[tumblingghosts]

#me writing yet ANOTHER time travel fic-

out of curiosity what draws you to time travel? like what inspired that for you? (i also love the time travel- i definitely need to read more of your stuff, do you have a favorite of yours that you recommend i start with?) 🫶

re: reblog of this post

i love the concept of second chances and do-overs! it's just fun to see how things change when someone is no longer the person they were before - the time they've lived beyond the point they've travelled back to has given them new experiences and different perspective on life, so doing things 'the same as before' is no longer an option.

it opens a ton of what-if scenarios: what would they do differently if they could change how their future turns out? how do they cope with the people around them not being the people they know? especially if they've travelled back to a time before they were born - it puts them in a situation where they technically don't exist yet, so any change is huge change (e.g. thg characters in tbosas times)

(i will manifest sejanus & katniss and/or prim being friends, especially if i have to toss them into tbosas times for it to happen)

i was inspired by other fics that i had read - the very first fic i had read was a time travel oneshot (future loki dropping in on avengers 1) and that author had other time travel fics that got me into fanfiction in general. i didn't write time travel at the start, but i was reading a bunch of mcu time travel fics, and thinking about that trope carried over when i moved onto other fandoms.

also, most of the characters i get attached to end up dying (*cough cough* sejanus plinth, polities from epic the musical, severus snape, mcu loki, the list goes on) and like,, what if dying wasn't the end of their story? what if they got to do it again and do it better?

there's a lot of different ways it could go! maybe the time traveller seizes the second chance and tries to chance the future for the better (the hopeful path). or maybe they didn't want to go back - maybe the future was one they were happy with and are furious with that life being taken away, or maybe they didn't like the future but at least it meant the horrors of their past was over. they don't want to live through what they did again, even if it means a brighter tomorrow (the angsty path).

maybe the time traveller uses that opportunity live life the way they wanted to, without caring about what others think of them (lots of crack potential for this one!). maybe they decide to live their second chance selfishly, maybe they've decided they've suffered enough to deserve it. maybe they try to enjoy living in a time before [tragic incident], or maybe the tragedy is that the people in the past are not the people they know and love (very bittersweet). maybe they save the people who died the first time around, but the people they saved aren't the same as the people they knew.

maybe they fix things. maybe they make things worse. maybe they don't care to change things. maybe they care too much. but regardless of what they think or what they do, their very presence will create change whether they want it or not, and exploring those possibilities is something my brain has latched onto.

also! how do people around the time traveller react? they don't know about the time travel, but they likely will notice that a sudden shift in personality that seemingly happened overnight with no clear explanation. how do their lives change? they don't know how their life was in the future-past, so they're living through the effects of the time traveller's actions without quite knowing that there had ever been a different path for them.

i have a collection on ao3 of all my time travel fics [link: time travel my beloved <3] but my favorites out of the tbosas time travel fics i've written is either for you, at last to comprehend (marcus time travel) or echoes of shadows (sejanus time travel).

(note about echoes of shadows - i wrote that a few days after watching the film and hadn't yet finished the book, so there are details in there that are wrong)

i really meant for this response to be shorter but time travel gets me yapping - thanks for the ask!

(i may or may not be hopping in your ask box later if you don't mind - time travelling persephone is now on my mind)

[harlequin-hangout]

Consequences

Loki Masterlist | Bucky Masterlist

Pairing: Dom!Loki x Sub!Fem!Reader x Dom!Bucky

Warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI Knife play, Denial, overstimulation, kink, honorifics

Contains: This is just porn. Straight Smut

Word Count: 3.1k

This fic includes Polyamory! I've used some terms that, as a Polyamorous person, are part of my life, but I also didn't learn them until I became Polyamorous. So! Here's a glossary, just so everyone can enjoy the fic without googling. Not all terms may be used, I wrote the glossary before the fic 😅

Throuple/Triad: Relationship involving three people that are all involved with each other

V: Relationship involving three people where one person is dating both of the other people but the second and third partners are not dating each other

Dividers are made by me! Want some for yourself? Send me an ask!

I do not nor will I ever give permission for my writing to be copied, pasted, reposted to other sites, or edited in any way shape or form. Seriously, just don’t.

A/N: This may be expanded on in the future, I haven't completely decided yet. Thank of blame @vbecker10 for this one, however it goes 😅😅

Two weeks. Two fucking weeks. You sigh and look at your phone hoping that maybe you’d missed a text in the three minutes you hadn’t looked at your phone, but you had no such luck. Bucky and Loki had been gone for two weeks – twice as long as was planned – and you hadn’t heard from them in three days. The mission had gone well, much better than expected, actually. It had gone so well that Pepper had immediately scheduled a week-long press tour.  Your boys weren’t exactly the crowd favorites – one of them being an assassin and ex-Hydra operative, the other a god who tried to conquer your planet – but this could change all that. The tip they received had been a trap. If it hadn’t been for Bucky’s intimate knowledge of Hydra protocol and Loki’s magic, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark would be in critical condition, and Peter Parker would be dead. Hydra had been trying to take out as many of SHIELD’s top operatives as possible. Bucky had managed to spot things out of place, and had pulled Stark down out of the way of the explosion. He’d given Steve enough warning to move that the Super Soldier escaped with only some bumps and bruises, those would heal in no time. Peter . . . Peter had been mid-swing. The pillar had crushed his lower half. Thank god for his mutated genetics or he wouldn’t have made it long enough for Loki to get to him. Loki had managed to keep him alive just long enough for the QuinJet to get him to an intensive care hospital. He pulled through, and was due to be discharged from the ICU and sent to recover in the Avengers Tower medical bay next week.

A text from Steve lit up on your phone.

Message from: Steve Rogers

Y/N – Turn on your television, you’ll want to see this. – SteveYou smirked. No matter how many times you tried to bring that man into the twenty-first century, he still texted like an 80 year old man. At least he’d stopped sending letter-length texts in the group chat. Steve was the Avengers’ Golden Boy, but the Steven Rogers you’d come to know was every bit as bratty as you were. Not as submissive, that’s never a word you’d use for him, but bratty? Well, Doms are just brats who get their way. When he was vague like that, you knew he was up to something. You grab your laptop and open one of the national news channels that you knew would be carrying the conference. Tony stood behind the podium giving some kind of statement to the press before fielding questions. What on earth had Stevie Boy wanted you to – There we go. You smirked, he knew your style well. 

The camera changed angles, and you could see your boys sitting in the back. Bucky had his headphones on, and they were both on their phones. Score. You immediately text Steve.

How long until you’re all home?

Y/N – Sometime after 2100, we will finish our last photo session at 2030, then make our way back to the jet. Pepper has already convinced Tony to leave the debrief for tomorrow. – Steve

Mischief spreads across your face. Steve, you sly bastard. Okay, what was 2100 on the twelve hour clock? It’s 2pm now, and that’s 1400, so eight . . . nine. Seven hours should be PLENTY of time to make them wait. You slip into your emerald green lingerie set – the strappy one that hugs your curves just right – and slip on one of Bucky’s casual leather jackets (the formal ones were the ones without knife marks or blood, but you were confident that the dry cleaner had been able to get all the blood out of this one). Planting yourself in front of the full length mirror, you sit on the floor and snap a few photos. Bucky’s jacket falling off of your shoulders, covered in Loki’s colors. Marking yourself as theirs. Smirking, you hit send in the Throuple group chat and watch the laptop screen. If this works, you have something much better in mind.  Three . . . Two . . . One . . .

Message: Read

Bucky smirks, and Loki ever so discreetly raises an eyebrow on your computer screen. Wonderful, they’re paying attention. You grab the vibrator you keep for personal moments. Several settings and fifteen minutes later, you send an audio recording to that same chat with the caption “Headphone Warning 😈” 

You run back to the laptop, and just in time. You see Bucky’s head snap up from his phone, then see him slowly pass the headphones to Loki. The God’s expression darkens, the lust poorly masked on his face. Your phone vibrates, a new message on your screen.

Group Message from: Loki 

We land at nine. By the door. On your knees. No exceptions.

You could feel the butterflies forming in the pit of your stomach. This was definitely going to be a long night.

8:59pm: You kneel next to the door, sitting back on your heels. You’d brought a pillow for under your knees, knowing that you may be here for a while if the QuinJet was delayed.

9:07pm: The tower is silent. You squirm a little and consider getting up, but decide against it. You’d pushed your luck earlier that day, so you better do what you were told.

9:13pm: You hear the roar of the QuinJet engines. Your boys were finally home. 

They took their sweet time getting ready. It was almost 10 before you found yourself kneeling on the floor with Bucky pressed against your back. His vibranium hand clasped your wrists. You could feel him pressing into your back, his muscles moving against your bare skin as his fingers worked their way up your thigh. You could feel his hot breath on your neck as he leaned down to nip at your ear, smirking as you whined. Loki clicked his tongue at the sound.

“Come now, Pet. Your little stunt during the interview has made things rather inconvenient for the Sergeant here.” Loki’s voice absolutely dripped with salacious intent. “Do you really want to make things that much harder on him?” Loki stared down at you, raising an eyebrow as Bucky gently pressed his hips against you. You felt your breath catch in your throat. 

“N-no, My Prince,” you manage through Bucky’s teasing.

“There’s my good little Pet. Now, hold still.”

Loki was going to take his sweet goddamned time and there was nothing you could do about it. Every touch, every bite, hell, every look, was like electricity on your skin. You did your best to hold still, but the lust in Loki’s eyes made you squirm with need. You felt Bucky’s metal hand squeeze your wrists – a reminder to behave.

“C’mon now, Doll.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, breath hot on your ear. “Be good for the God, hmm? You had your fun earlier, now you need to deal with the consequences of your actions. Understand?” You whine as you feel Loki’s slim fingers ghost over your panties. You feel another squeeze on your wrists, this one a little harsher. “I said, do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir!!” You gasp. Bucky groans softly in your ear. The honorific does it for him and you knew it. 

“There’s my sweet girl . . .” He nips at your neck as Loki stands.

“Pet, I’d like to bring out my knife to pay you back for your press conference stunt. Is that something you’re willing to indulge tonight?”

“Yes, My Prince, but can we use the dullest one please?”

“Of course, love. Thank you.” Loki’s expression softens, even if only briefly. “We’ll use the red light system this time, love. I intend to take. My. Time.” an ornate blunted knife appeared in a flash of green. This one was your favorite. You could feel the cool metal on your skin, but there was minimal risk of your skin breaking. “Sergeant, if you would.” Bucky released your wrists and stood, sliding his intimidating form back onto the couch. He watched, his eyes dark with lust, as Loki worked. While Bucky would never bottom, damn did he love watching Loki work. The man was a genius when it came to denial, and he loved the way your body squirmed as you screamed and begged for your release.

You felt a pressure on your legs as an invisible force began to pull at your thighs. You giggle excitedly, knowing exactly what’s coming next. You loved shibari and being suspended, but it did take a lot of time. You felt a pull between your legs – that must be his magical anchor point – as your body is pulled upwards. You find yourself hanging upside down, the bite of invisible rope along your thighs and ass, as you lazily spin, your feet hanging down by your ass.

“Hold still for me, Pet,” Loki purred. You breathe in and out, waiting. The anticipation was always the worst part . . . not knowing when you were going to feel the cool bite of the knife, your Prince’s firm grip on your skin – you moan softly as you feel a sharp line of pressure draw up your thigh. He’s starting slow, warming you up. The blade makes its way over your hip, up you side, and presses in a bit more at your ribs before disappearing. You whine at the loss of contact, then gasp as you feel the knife scrape down your spine, from your tailbone to the base of your neck. The pressure feels heavenly. You let your eyes flutter closed as you begin to bliss out, your surroundings becoming fluid. Floating there, nothing matters besides you and the pressure of that beloved blade.

It could have been minutes or maybe hours before you felt the pull of the rope switch.Your arms fold crossed on your chest as a gentle force moves you into the perfect position. The pull of the rope traced its way around your arms and chest. The invisible anchor point centers itself over your breastbone and wrists. You feel yourself slowly pulled upwards as the rope drops from your hips.

“Can’t leave you upside down for too long, Pet. Besides, I have other plans for you tonight. Look at you, so pretty covered in those little red lines of mine.” You hang at just the right height for Loki’s hand to snake its way around your neck as you lean your head back against his shoulder. Your feet still dangle in the air as the other hand traces the outline of your panties. His long fingers push the fabric aside as they draw a slow, teasing line across your entrance.

“Remember, not until you’re given permission.”

“I promise, My Prince, I’ll be good!”

“Good Girl.” Loki smirked as his fingers entered you, their pace already merciless. He expertly curled his fingers against your favorite spot, while his other hand tightened on the sides of your neck, allowing air to flow to your lungs but giving you a floaty light headed feeling that made the warmth pooling between your legs infinitely more intoxicating. Your whole world narrowed again as you felt the band tightening in your stomach, bringing you closer to that intoxicating edge. Your moans fill the room and you can feel Loki growing harder by the second  when – Hands off. He immediately ceases all contact, and you whine at the sudden feeling of emptiness. Clicking his tongue, the god holds his slick fingers near your mouth, a silent order hanging in the air. You immediately open your mouth, your tongue swirling around his digits. 

“Now, darling, you didn’t think it would be so easy, hmm?” You can hear Bucky’s dark laughter at your frustration somewhere off to the side, but your world is still hazy. Loki repeats his process again and again, you’d lost count of how many times. Squirming, writhing, begging, bargaining, nothing satisfied the God – your God – more than your frustration and suffering.

“Now,” Loki growled in your ear. “Are you ready to be a good little Pet for your God?”

“Yes!! Oh god yes, please,” you begged. Immediately you felt the ropes adjusting themselves again. Your feet hit the floor just long enough for Loki to pull your arms behind your back as another invisible harness forms, this time two anchors settling, one between your shoulder blades, while the other supports your hips but leaves your legs dangling towards the ground, toes barely able to scrape the floor. Your wrists are bound by the same invisible pressure as you’re lifted back into the air, ready to receive your God.

“How bad do you want to feel me, dove?” The thin grip Loki has on his composure was evident by the strain in his voice as he pressed himself against your ass. 

“Please . . . plea–” You gasp as Loki presses into you. Giving you no more than a couple seconds to adjust, his grip is ironclad on your hips as he pounds into you. You moans fill the room as you’re reduced to a puddle, suspended in the air by nothing more than the will of your God. Loki works expertly, hitting your favorite spots over and over, bringing you to the brink of orgasm time and time again, but always you have to wait. You have to hold.

“Please, oh god, My Prince, please, I can’t last . . . I – I’m gonna–” you fight your orgasm, determined to obey your god’s orders. A hand tangles in your hair and pulls, Loki’s voice thick with lust in your ear.

“Cum for me pet, and worship your God.” You release, the building coil in your lower abdomen finally snapping as your orgasm rips over your entire body. Loki’s touch is electric as he eases you down. The last thing you remember is Loki’s heavenly moan before your vision fades.

“ . . .pet. Come back to us, darling, there’s my good girl. The Sergeant hasn’t had his turn yet.”

You open your eyes to see a now caring Loki holding you against his chest. You’re no longer suspended from your magical ropes. Bucky next to him, running his thumb along your cheek.

“Hey doll, how you feeling? Do you need a couple minutes?” You press your cheek into Bucky’s hand. Your heart always flutters when they’re soft with you, especially after a rough scene.

“No, m’good,” you manage. “Do whatever you want to me, Sir.” Bucky leans down and gently kisses your forehead.

“Mischief? Grab her hands for me. I wanna take my sweet time.” Bucky’s smirk was evident in his voice.

Loki chuckled, his voice deepening.

“Anything to help, Sergeant,” he smirked as his hands closed around your wrists. Bucky didn’t waste any time getting started, he had different plans than his godly counterpart. Bucky loved watching Loki work, the man had style. However, now Bucky was feeling a little like showing off. He pulled your ankles, pulling a squeak from your lips as he stretched you out, leaving your head in Loki's lap. He traced his hands slowly up your body, pressing your legs open and laying flat on his front. God, he loved how your legs shook when he nipped and kissed at your thighs. Hearing you gasp at the cold metal of his hand excited him, and he growled as he roughly pulled your panties off of you. He smirked up at you as you began to squirm under him.

“You have standing permission from me, Doll. Laufeyson may have wanted you to wait for your release, but I want to remind you what happens when you decide to play with fire.” Bucky could see Loki’s slender fingers squeeze your wrists, and then he got to work. He licked a slow strip up your slit, paying special attention to that ever-so-sensitive bundle of nerves at the top. He could hear you start to moan, only encouraging him. He pressed two large fingers inside of you, scissoring and curling them to find the sweet spot that he loved so much. You struggle to control your volume, back arching in the air as your head presses against Loki’s thigh. Aaah, there it was. Your hips started to buck already, your first orgasm quickly approaching. He can feel you begin to tighten around his fingers, only making him pump them harder, tormenting your favorite spots with a new devotion. He drapes his metal arm over your hips to hold you still as your first orgasm washes over your body. Taking no time for you to recover, he keeps pushing. At about three orgasms, you had lost your ability to control your volume. Thankfully, Loki took care of that for him, his lips crashing down on yours in an effort to keep the rest of the floor from hearing your extracurriculars. By six orgasms, Bucky could barely contain himself. He backed up just enough to give himself time to pull his hardened cock out of his pants and boxer briefs. You whined through Loki at the loss of contact, then moaned despite him as Bucky slid inside. You fit so nicely around him. So warm and tight, he gave you a couple moments to adjust once he bottomed out, then began to move. Slowly at first, relishing every gasp and moan that escaped your mouth. He reached down, starting to toy with one of your breasts, Loki’s hand quickly finding the other as his pace quickened.

“B-Buck– I mean Sir, pleeassse, so much . . . it’s so much I dunno . . .”

“You’re okay, Sweetheart, just one more for me, okay? Just one more. You’re doing so good, baby girl, just one more. Are you green?”

“Y-yeah, Green. Ahh!” you gasp as he picks up the pace, desperate for his own release as well as yours. As soon as you started tightening around him, it was over. Bucky came, and he came hard. He heard you scream his name, followed by a string of profanities. Breathing hard, he leans down and plants a tender kiss on your lips.

“There’s my good girl, you did so well for me.”

Loki had taken you to the shower to clean up. The bathroom was definitely Loki’s domain, Bucky didn’t know much about care products. Bucky grabbed the takeout he had ordered while Loki had his fun, set up the pillow fort in the living room, and queued up netflix. He heard you and Loki erupt into laughter, and he couldn’t help but smile. How someone like him had found two people that not only made him feel normal but loved – like he belonged, he’d never know. Even if nothing else made sense, he knew one thing. Even if your Triad was an unconventional relationship, he had found his family. Nothing could ever take you two away from him, and if anyone ever tried to use you to get to one of the Avengers, he had a partner in Loki who would help him burn the world to bring you home.

Tags: @vbecker10 @soubi001 @thomase1

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 32

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, 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: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Well, this escalated in a way I didn't plan.

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. 💖

Mr. Laufeyson’s voice is a low drone. You can hear his curt tone as he comes through the front door. His slither is met by a booming timbre that makes you jump. Thor speaks loudly, enough for some of his words to thunder through the walls that divide you.

Your ears pulse as you try not to listen. You know you shouldn’t. By Laufeyson’s reaction alone, you know his brother is less than welcome. Thor’s presence brings you little peace yourself as the memory of his creeping touch crawls up your spine.

You sit behind the laptop and try to focus on the screen. If you can distract yourself, it will be over soon enough and Thor will be gone. Maybe then, you can figure out why Mr. Laufeyson has turned to ice.

“...is she?” The two words echo and jar you from your failing battle.

Laufeyson’s response is short and sharp. You fill in the blanks of his deflection; ‘none of your concern’.

“...busy cleaning up your messes, eh?” Thor’s taunting question rolls upwards as footsteps hammer up the stairs, stopped halfway as another pair shuffle after them.

“I did not welcome you in,” Laufeyson is clearer now. You assume they are on the staircase with how their voices waft airily.

“Always the gracious host,” Thor counters.

“Do not lecture me on grace. Say what you’ve come to say and go. I’m busy–”

“Oh, yes, if I had a little maid like that, I’d always be busy as well–”

“Get on with it,” Laufeyson snarls.

Thor laughs heartily, “brother, one day you will see we are more alike than you care to accept. Maybe then you would see that it is the crux of our problems. You might even appreciate our shared tastes–”

“If you’ve only come to ramble, I’m not interested. I’ve spent enough time entertaining you lot–”

“You speak as if we are enemies,” Thor accuses, “you cannot waste time on family.”

“Ah, because kinship has always been sacred in your heart,” Laufeyson scoffs, “you are like a storm, you bluster but only make a mess. Say what you came to say and leave me be. I’ve work to do. Real work.”

“Well, if I am to deliver my message, I think both recipients should receive it, don’t you?”

“Say it,” Laufeyson hisses.

“But it is meant for both of you. The little maid as well–”

You sit up straight and tweak your head. You shouldn’t listen but you’re caught now. You cannot keep from overhearing.

“House manager,” Laufeyson girds, “I’m certain I can efficiently communicate whatever nonsense has drawn you here.”

“And they say I am stubborn,” Thor snorts, “Walpurgisnacht.”

“Walpurgisnacht?” Laufeyson echoes the single word.

“Surely you recall the old ways.”

“Don’t,” Laufeyson warns.

“Mother is having a celebration. Like when we were young. Father’s agreed to it.”

“She didn’t mention.”

“Ah, yes, well, you’ve much going on. She sent me to inquire after the little maid– house manager. She would require help with arranging the festivities.” Thor explains, “oh, and you’re invited too, I suppose.”

“She has her staff, does she not?”

“Frida is too old. She only serves tea and Gertrude’s never been very strong-minded. Mother needs input, not an empty vessel.”

“Charming,” Laufeyson remarks, "well, I will consider it. Next time, tell mother to call.”

“There will be many old faces. Many may even be happy to see you,” Thor goads.

“I wouldn’t expect so,” Laufeyson retorts, “must I ask you to leave anon?”

Another rolling guffaw fills the house. You hear a grunt from Laufeyson and a muted thump. Thor quiets with a sigh, “ah, fine, fine, I shall leave you to your little– house manager. You will tell her I say hello.”

Silence roils through the air. A scuff cuts through the tension and footfalls clamour down the stairs. The front door opens and closes, leaving you to wallow in the dark cloud left behind. Mr. Laufeyson’s long exhale blows up the staircase ahead of him and you listen to his approach.

You look at the door, expecting him to come through any moment. But it isn’t that one he opens. It’s the study door that slams with a terrible force. His growl permeates through and the adjoined door clicks as the lock is flicked into place. You stare at it and frown.

You don’t suppose his mood will thaw any time soon.

✨

Mr. Laufeyson does not emerge for supper. You barely eat anything yourself as anxiety tortures your stomach. You clean up after yourself and retreat upstairs. 

You near the study, lingering before the door as you pluck up your courage. You tap softly on the wood. There’s no answer. You didn’t hear him go but maybe you missed it.

“I made dinner, Mr. Laufeyson. I’ve left you a plate in the oven,” you speak through the wood, to the ghost on the other side.

You traipse away in defeat. You’re entirely confused. What did you do so wrong? Even before his brother’s unprompted visit, Mr. Laufeyson was coolly apathetic. Yet that morning, in the shower, he’d been on fire, consuming you like flames.

Maybe you’re not good enough. Maybe you didn’t kiss him just right or make the noises he liked. Oh, but how are you supposed to know what to do?

You sit at the writing desk and tap your fingers on your chin. You squirm in your chair as the scene in the shower replays in your head. You tear it apart, trying to pick out the exact moment of your offense.

You shift on the seat and the throbbing pressure in your core ripples through you. Just the thought of his touch has you alight. You touch your hot cheeks and flutter your lashes. You shouldn’t be worried about all that, you should be working on that spread sheet.

You glance over at the study door. The house is stagnant once more. Just like those early days when you made your slow progress with a broom and mop. Something’s gone terribly wrong. Maybe… you should just leave.

You put your fingers mindlessly to the touch pad of the computer. You swirl around the cursor mindlessly. You blow out through your lips and sit up, another fraught peek towards the door.

You bring both your hands over the keyboard. No, you shouldn’t. 

You need to figure this out. You need to know what you did, or didn’t do. You can be what he wants you to be, you have to. You have nothing else.

You type, then backspace, then type again. After several times, you hit search. You click through to a site with a black background and gasp at the obscene ads that fill the margins. 

You bite down as you try to focus past the small thumbnails. You key into the search bar ‘shower’. You hover your finger over the enter key before you will yourself to hit it.

The search results are just as chaotic. You don’t know what you’re looking for. ‘Best Shower Scenes STEAMY’. Your insides tickle and you squeeze your thighs together. Invisible flames lick at you and cluster in your chest.

You mute the computer as the video loads. The house is so quiet that you’re aware of every creak and crack. You fidget as you sit through the ad of a woman giggling over a URL for meet-ups. You press your hands to your thigh, sitting forward so your weight rests on your pelvis, dampening the tingly heat.

The video begins. A woman with caramel coloured hair and a curvy body. You admire her figure and peer down at your own. Maybe that’s it, maybe you’re not hot enough? You remember how Mr. Laufeyson touched you all over, almost as if he was examining you. Did you disappoint?

You flick your eyes back up as a man enters and they step into the shower booth. You chew your lip as you fixate on his large dick. He’s very big but you think Mr. Laufeyson is too. You’re not sure. This isn’t helping, you still don’t understand anything.

They kiss and fondle each other. You lean forward, watching with a stitch between your brows. The woman drags her hands down the man’s body and gets to your knees. She pumps him with her hand and licks his tip, dragging her tongue down his length. He grabs her head and forces himself into her mouth.

She takes him greedily. Oh. That could be it. Last night, you were so afraid, and you got all teary, and you didn’t know what you were doing. 

You watch her as she touches his sack, squeezing then works her hand in tandem with her mouth on his dick. You put your hand to the side of your neck and hold your breath. You wiggle on the chair, the friction making your own arousal more obvious.

Finally, the woman stands, the man lifting her by her hair. He spins her and bends her forward. She braces the wall and as he slaps her ass several times before gripping her hip. He’s so rough. You don’t know if you could handle that.

He slides into her and your mouth falls open. Her thighs quake and your own give a tremble. Your walls clench as the pressure knots in you. The thought of doing that with Mr. Laufeyson both frightens you and excites you.

You twiddle your fingers and blink at the screen. The furrow in your forehead deepens as you lean forward. You put your fingers along the touchpad but don’t press them down.

“Ahem,” Mr. Laufeyson startles you as he clears his throat.

You sit up and quickly hit the X in the corner. Your throat closes as you struggle to breathe, caught but not entirely. He stands in the doorway between the study and library. From that angle, he can’t see what’s on your screen.

“You are working hard,” he muses as he strides in with crossed arms.

“Yes, sir,” you answer breathily. You stare him in the face, too afraid to look anywhere else as your mind dares to imagine the shower again, both of you naked, this time, you’re bent over and he’s behind you. “Um, did you get your dinner?”

You close the laptop as you stand. You wince as the fabric of your panties clings to your wet cunt. You feel like he can see right through you.

“I’m not hungry,” he stops on the other side of the desk.

“Okay,” you swallow and your eyes flit side to side.

“I never told you to come out,” he drops his arms, placing his hand on the desk as he leans over it.

“Pardon?” You blink furiously.

“I said to remain in here until I told you it was safe. If you made my dinner, then you did not obey me.”

“I… Mr. Laufeyson, your brother’s gone–”

“And how could you know for sure if I did not confirm it?” He challenges with a wry tilt in his head. “I’ve been patient, pet, but I think you may require a different sort of discipline.”

“Mr. Laufeyson?” You babble, “I’m sorry–”

“Your apologies grow tiresome,” he huffs and stands straight. “Come here,” he points between him and the desk.

You put your head down and swiftly walk around the desk. He swirls his finger in the air and you turn your back to him. He backs away and rounds to the side of the desk.

“Hands down,” he nods to the desktop.

You press your palms flat, bent slightly at the waist. He considers you and strokes his chin with a hum. He circles the desk and you in a single, patient lap.

“Stay as you are.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you utter.

“Ah, no talking,” he warns, “remember your rules, pet.”

You gulp as he turns and struts away. Is it okay again? You can’t tell. He’s still rigid and painfully formal. He hasn’t touched you, he seems to be avoiding getting close. You stare at the wood beneath your hands and shiver.

You hear him in his study. You glance over as he appears in the door frame, his hands hidden behind him. He tuts. “Head forward.”

You look ahead and focus on the wall. He nears, his shadow skewed in the lamplight. He stands behind you, a foot away and he hums. He clucks and strolls around the desk to face you.

He pulls his hands from behind his back, revealing a thick leather strap. The brown leather is faded and cracked. Your eyes round as you stare at it and he brings it taught between his hands.

“Flogging is historically a long held practice. For the monk in his self-flagellation, for the heathen in his cell, and… for the woman in her disobedience,” he explains as his lips curl. “Spare the rod, spoil the child…” He takes a breath, “and you, pet, are growing spoiled.”

Your lips part but you don’t speak. You must follow the rules. This is the test. If you fail this, then it’s over. If you fail, you have nothing.

He walks along the desk and rounds the corner, brushing by as he purrs, “remember your rules. Not a sound.”

He comes up behind you and you hold your breath. He tugs at the back of your skirt and shudders. He pulls the fabric above your ass, his hand trailing along the back of your panties. He hooks his finger in the elastic and tears them down to your thighs. You quiver and clench your jaw tight, fighting back a squeak.

He stretches the leather across your ass. It’s cool and smooth. You twitch as bumps rise across your skin. He pulls back and you lower your head. You wait. Nothing. 

You cautiously raise your chin and look back. He snaps the whip across your ass as you do and you spasm with the hot flash of pain. He points to the wall in a wordless demand. Eye forward. You turn your attention back to the grey blue paint as your eyes glisten. He strikes you again, the agony scalding across the swell of your ass.

Your thighs shake as he pulls back again. You await a third but it never comes. You don’t dare move. He paces behind you. You watch his shadow cast before you and he moves abruptly forward. You bite your tongue as he lashes you again. Harder as he lets out a thick grunt.

Your hands slip and you fall forward. You plant your palms more firmly as you push yourself straight. A fourth comes and sends tendrils down to your toes. You hiss through your teeth, quaking, fighting not to collapse.

You deserve this. Whatever you’ve done, you’ve earned this. 

A fifth and your knees knock together. You barely keep afoot as the sixth lands with extra bite. Seven, eight, nine… He lashes you in quick succession, as if he cannot stop himself. The tenth has you heaving, about to vomit with the pain.

He stops himself, his shadow holding up the stap. He lowers it and steps back. He sighs and turns away.

“Tomorrow you will pack for our departure,” he declares, “we leave on Friday.”

We? So you are to go with him. You don’t dare ask or say a single word. You stay as you are, shaking as you roll your eyes back against the flood.

“You will be on your best behaviour,” he warns as he nears the study door, “I trust this lesson will not be forgotten.”

He passes into the study and the door closes harshly. Your legs fold and collapse beneath you. You land in a heap, holding yourself off your ass as you whimper. You won’t ever forget.

[dotster001]

Hey! Congrats on your 1k followers! Going to give your a event a try. Keep up the great work. You are doing a great job! Let's do romantic Twst if thats okay. My first pick was Jade, he reminds me of another video game character. That character? That character is Loki from Devil Survivor Overclock. He did everything for his own amusment. Great game. I had Jade around for a while until Leona showed up. Though I sent Leona back because he is housewarden and Ruggie cant run the dorm for him. Jamil is curently with me on break from Kalim. I think about them all. But I also want them to focus and take care of themselves before come running to me. About me? I like a lot things, but I like ships most of all. In fact give me a chance and I will tell you the history naval warfare. Not just big ships interest me, small ones too. I tend to be a mother hen of my friends. I love animals, its just bugs I'm not very fond of. I think I would be on good terms with Jade and Leona. Might be fun to try a harem with the three of them. Oh I can see this one being a crack fic.

(Hope you like it, boo! It is a chaotic group, but I can also see similar traits that could work to make it better or worse depending on the day 😂)

In this Harem, We Self Care; A tale where Jamil, Leona, and Jade have to get their Shit Together

Three men stood outside of Ramshackle, glaring at each other. Jade held a single rose in his hand, and though his face was the calmest of the three, the stem was dangerously close to snapping. Leona held a gift bag that was full of things that probably cost more than both of the other boy's existence combined. Jamil had brought himself, he knew he was enough. But that didn't mean he didn't have the urge to throw the other two's gifts into the lake.

After a long tense stare down, the door opened. Grim looked at the three in shock, then rolled his eyes.

"It happened!" He yelled inside before leaving the dorm.

You came happily running down the stairs. "All three of you on the same day! I'm so happy! Sit. Sit."

Seeing your happy smile was worth having to deal with the other two. The three men sat on the tiny Ramshackle couch, shoulders touching, and resisted the urge to elbow each other.

"Okay," you said. "Who wants to go first?"

Leona stood up abruptly, tossed the gift bag at Jamil, and threaded his fingers with your, tapping one of your knuckles as he listed things off.

"I did all my paperwork, started regular therapy, did my homework, went to class, went to practice, and called my nephew three times."

You pulled a hand away and cupped his cheek. "I'm so proud of you Leona, good boy."

Then you pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He turned to sit back down with a smug smile at the other two boys. Jamil stood up abruptly, tossing the bag back at Leona.

"I had a discussion about my feelings with Kalim, started regular therapy, took up some offers to split the extensive work I have, and have built a self care day into my weekly schedule."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and gave him a soft kiss. "I'm so proud of you Jamil."

With his heart beating at 3 million miles a minute he sat back down.

The stem of the rose had snapped while he had sat there, but he knew he could work with that. He stood, put the rose behind your ear, then gracefully took your hand, pressing a delicate kiss to the back of your fingers.

"I delegated my extraneous work out to other students, scheduled a meditational walk into my day, set a reasonable sleep schedule, and spent some time doing things I love."

You nuzzled your nose against his, then kissed him.

"I'm so proud of you, Jade."

He gave a pleased hum and sat back down. All three men watched you in anticipation as you smiled like the sun.

"I just, you have no idea how happy I am! When I told you we should take a break until you learn to take care of yourselves, I had no idea you'd do so well! And you all came back to me on the same day? Wow, I just love you boys so much!"

"And we love you," Jamil said, probably a little too loudly, as he stood up and wrapped you in a hug, running his fingers through your hair, and pressing your face to himself. 

Nowhere to look but him, he thought to himself smugly.

"Yes, we'd do anything for our beloved herbivore," Leona stood up, looking for a way in to take you from Jamil. Finding none, he sighed and just decided to make it a group hug in order to get some contact with you.

"That said," Jade mused, "I believe the reward for the first person to take significant steps to take care of themselves, and make moves to heal, would be the sole recipient of your cuddles and affection for an entire week."

"Well, which one of you got here first?"

"I did." Three voices rang out unanimously, followed by arguing sounds

"Hey!" You shouted and the room went silent. "Okay, you all arrived at the same time so you'll each get a week. As to the order, I'm thinking of a number between one and five."

Jamil and Leona groaned, but Jade smiled. He always knew what number you'd pick. And the other two knew it.

"Three I guess," Leona groaned.

"Four," Jamil said.

"It's two," Jade said, and you nodded. He victoriously claimed his prize, by passionately kissing you. When he pulled away, he smiled sweetly at the other two, and said,

"Gentlemen, your services are no longer required," then he pointed at the door as you tried to hide an innocent giggle.

The other two sighed and walked out. Once outside the door, Jamil muttered, "I hate pick a number."

"Agreed," Leona groaned.

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Interview of a lifetime

PAIRING | Tom Hiddleston x Female!Reader

WORD COUNT | 1.3K

SUMMARY | You have your first celebrity interview with the one and only Tom Hiddleston after the release of season 1 of 'Loki'. You're extremely nervous and when Tom finds out, he will do anything to make you feel safe and help you get through your first interview.

WARNING(S) | This is your official trigger warning. Do not proceed if any of these topics upset you. Anxiety attack.

A/N | Hi all! This is the first one-shot I've written for Tom, he is such a gentleman in my opinion and I just couldn't help myself with this fic. I hope you will enjoy it as much if not more than I did when writing it!

Likes and reblogs will be very much appreciated 💜

Main Masterlist | Tom Hiddleston Masterlist

Two weeks ago, your boss told you that you would be doing your first major celebrity interview - with none other than Tom Hiddleston himself - after the release of season 1 of the series called 'Loki'. When he told you, your first thoughts were very exciting, this could mean your big break, but when it sank in a little bit, you couldn't help but feel nervous, more nervous than you usually felt in a moment like this. Despite this, you researched a lot about Tom, Loki, and the series he was playing in, watching it as well so you would be prepared as to what was to come during the interview. Nothing could have prepared you for what actually happened though.

The morning of the interview, you made sure you had all your questions with you on your cue cards, so you would have something to fall back on if you happened to forget a question or something, but you weren't really worried too much about that. What you were most nervous about, was meeting Tom, and seeing what he was like, since you never met him. In the interviews you saw of him he looked really down to earth and like a true gentleman, but that didn't really mean anything. People could be the nicest in front of the camera and really bad people when the camera's turned off, but that wasn't the case with Tom, at all.

You decided to wear a simple white and blue sundress which always made you happy. You put on your leather jacket over it, finishing it with your black Doctor Martens boots. You wore simple make-up, not wanting to take away from the outfit too much, and your hair hung loose in waves around your shoulders. You looked at yourself in the mirror one more time before grabbing your bag and keys, ready to head out the door and to the studio for the interview. It was a 30-minute drive, which wasn't too bad, but the closer you got, the more the nerves took over how you felt.

When you arrived at the studio you parked your car and headed inside. You were still too early, but you'd take that over being even a minute late every single time. ''Hi, my name is Y/N and I'm supposed to conduct an interview here today,'' you tell the lady behind the reception desk. You have to sign in and then she showed you to the studio where the interview would be held. You got ready to sit in your chair and wait until Tom and his team arrived, reading through your questions again just so you can be sure you know what you want to ask. It doesn't take long before they arrive, and your nerves start taking over instantly.

''Good morning!'' you say in a cheerful voice, and you're surprised it comes out like that because you can feel your anxiety rising to your chest. You couldn't believe you were in the same room as TOM. FREAKING. HIDDLESTON. ''Hey, good morning! I'm Tom, and you're name is...?'' he asked when he extended his hand out to you. ''Hi, I'm Y/N, it's really nice to meet you Mr. Hiddleston!'' you answer and he says you can call him Tom, there was no need for that kind of formalities. ''It's nice to meet you too. How are you doing this morning?'' he asked as he sat in his chair, his makeup being touched up just a little bit while the cameras are being set up. ''I'm good, excited, and nervous at the same time honestly. It's the first time I'm doing a celebrity interview, so I hope it will go well,'' you tell him.

''You're going to be fine, we're not in a hurry, so if you need to we can take a break in between the questions. I get how difficult it can be to do something like this,'' he said with a reassuring smile, and you couldn't believe he was so understanding. This made you feel a little better, but that didn't take away from the fact that your chest still felt like it was on fire, and you had some difficulty breathing. ''Are you ready?'' his manager asked, and you nodded yes, so the cameras started rolling. ''The first season of Loki has just premiered, how was the filming process?'' you started the interview, and he gladly told you all about how it was to work with everyone on set and the filming process as a whole. Hearing him talk did make you calm down a little, and you were happy you got to ask some questions without stumbling over your words.

You were about 7 questions in when you suddenly got a bad rush of anxiety, you had some difficulty breathing, and you stumbled upon your words. ''Are you okay, Y/N? Do we need to take a break?'' Tom asked worried, and he stopped the interview to make sure you were okay. ''Hey, it's okay. You're okay. Breathe with me okay? He took a deep breath in through his nose and breathed out through his mouth. He repeated this a couple of times together with you, and after about 10 breaths your heart rate slowed down, and you didn't feel like you were unable to breathe anymore. The tears that threatened to fall down your face also went away, and you could compose yourself a little. ''Here, we have some water for you, take it easy and we can continue when you're ready,'' his manager said, Tom was still by your side rubbing your back soothingly.

''How are you doing now? Feeling a little better?'' he asked and you nodded. ''I'm so sorry, I tried to keep it under control, but my anxiety got the best of me. I feel horrible I had to stop the interview...'' you said with a soft voice, your sadness strongly intertwined in your voice. ''It happens to the best of us, I completely understand and it is nothing to be ashamed of. I used to have them all the time when growing up, and I know how horrible they can be. But you're going to be fine, and whenever you're ready we can continue,'' he said. You just needed a few more minutes before continuing, and the rest of the interview went by smoothly.

''Thank you so much, for your kindness and understanding. Again, I'm really sorry that it happened, but it was really nice of you to help me,'' you said to Tom, but he didn't want to hear any of it. ''Hey, like I said, it's no problem at all, it happens to the best of us. I was happy to help you feel better, I hate seeing people in distress like that,'' he said and he gave you another reassuring smile. ''Thank you, for everything,'' you said, and you extended your hand out to him as thanks, but instead, he gave you a hug. ''It was my pleasure, and I know you will be great at interviews. I can't wait to be interviewed by you again,'' he said.

When you pulled back you had a huge smile on your face. ''Oh, I'm sorry but I hope I won't overstep, but would it be possible to get your signature or maybe a selfie? I've been a fan of your work for a while now, it's okay if you say no though!'' you ask shyly and Tom is more than happy to agree. The two of you take a selfie together, and he signs the case of your laptop before walking out of the room and waving goodbye. When you go home you are all giddy and can't stop thinking about the fact that he was so extremely thoughtful and helpful. And best of all, you got a selfie with him, and it would be the wallpaper on your phone for a really long time.

[mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea]

🌿 💞🕯️💌

🌿how does creating make you feel?

Alive. Powerful (in some ways). Really good about myself because I'm utilizing my imagination and creativity and all of those things I learned and worked toward in my writing classes/degree. I feel really good about myself when I'm writing - like I'm fulfilling part of what I'm in this particular life for, which is storytelling.

💞what's the most important part of a story for you? the plot, the characters, the worldbuilding, the technical stuff (grammar etc), the figurative language

The characters are definitely the most important thing, I think. I like to get their voices right - their voice, mannerisms, their expressions, the specific tone and lilt of their voices. Everything else - the plot, the worldbuilding, the settings - those are secondary to the characters. The plot (or scenario, if it's not something huge that requires a full-out PLOT) drives the characters, but I mean, the plot can change from story to story, so it's really still mostly about the character. I'd be lying if I said the technical stuff wasn't a top important thing - I'm an English/writing major, and all those grammar and spelling and punctuation things are hella important to me. Those keep me honest and make me slow down and pay attention to how I'm writing. Figurative language fits in with that, too, though, because it's all the stuff I absorbed in trying to become a better writer, either by reading or by what my awesome professors passed along to me.

🕯️was there a fic that was really hard on you to write, or took you to a place you didn't think it would take you?

I just answered this one here!

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

From Too weird to live, too rare to die, a prompt fic for @kleenexwoman that is a Justin Hammer/Loki (in canon, post-Endgame, everyone lives) bonkers fic:

-------

Still humping the American Dream

Tony closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose between the thumb and index finger of his left hand.  He took five deep breaths.  Counted to twenty.  Took five more.  Counted to ten.  He opened his eyes, the right one pale amber and couldn’t see nearly as well after his snap that ended the war with Thanos. 

Justin still stood in front of him, hands defiantly on his hips, watching him. 

“Anthony, I’m not here to just take up space and piss people off,” Justin said in that affable tone that still managed to dig underneath Tony’s skin and threaten to give him hives. 

“And yet you do that so well, Justin,” Tony snarked as he felt the threat behind his eyes indicating a headache was imminent.  He winced at the harshness of his tone, even with this pain in the ass he never expected to see again, much less share a living space with him. 

Still, they’d made peace with Loki when he returned with Thor and Bruce to help them handle Thanos, and as it turned out, the guy wasn’t so bad in the long run.  Tony liked his sass and sense of humor – always had – and he was pretty handy to have around. 

Perhaps he could make himself get used to Justin Hammer, too.  The guy wasn’t dumb, and since they’d released him early for good behavior and some other reason Tony had already forgotten for the moment, he’d dropped some of that pretentious peacocking that paralleled Tony’s own, which to be fair, he’d been happy to mostly give it up since it got tiresome after a while. 

“Who?  C’mon, Tony, I’m a big boy.  I can take it.  You can tell me who else I’m pissing off besides you,” Justin cajoled, his big grin stretching across the angles of his face.  He’d been trying, but Justin wasn’t stupid; he knew he’d fucked up by trusting the wrong guy.  Didn’t help that he kept trying to compete with a guy known for his genius and his ability to stare any problem in the face, punch it once with his intellect and creations, and boom, no more problem. 

“Pepper for starters,” Tony blurted out, “though she doesn’t live here, and she’s kind of gotten over the idea of you being around Morgan since the kid actually likes you and trusts you.” 

The expression on Justin’s face burst with a sappy fondness he used to reserve for his nephew alone, and he schooled it quickly when Tony had to dial back that initial Papa Bear concern that his kid was around several former villains these days.  Respectfully, he tried to look serious, to take Tony’s comments seriously. 

“To be fair, your kid’s awesome and one day’s gonna run circles around us to make the world a better place,” his words came out clear and heartfelt, and Justin thought he noticed that Papa Bear pride seeping into Tony’s features. 

Note to self, praise that adorable little big-eyed bunny, and that’ll keep Stark from wanting to shoot your nuts off.

“Yeah well.  That’s the truth of it.  Oh and Nat’s still keeping an eye on you.  Everyone else...you’re a somewhat clean slate with.  Not like you’re the only former bad guy in residence,” Tony remarked and went back to what he’d been working on when Justin wandered into the kitchen, namely working on agility and firm (but not too firm) grip with his new arm by making and rolling out pie dough. 

“You want some help?” Justin asked when it seemed like Tony was having trouble with one of the cookie cutters he was using to cut out star shapes (to go with the crescent moons).  He held up both hands when Tony just tossed a glare his way.  “No problem.  Just...offerin’.  As for Natasha, eh.  Sam mentioned it took her a little bit to warm up to Loki, too, so I’ll just...be patient.” 

Justin was in no rush to be liked, and he really didn’t expect to be.  It wasn’t even that he was being a martyr or self-deprecating or living on his low self-esteem.  The prison counselor got him to see where he’d fucked up way before he’d actually chained his personality to impressing the military and broke Anton Venko out of custody. 

Piece of shit and his dumb fucking bird.

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