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the-whispers-of-death · 7 months ago

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yknow the whole mafia-god!reader junk i sent in. what if... hear me out. role reversal lets fucking go!!!

what if all of that pain, all of that suffering happens to stone instead. what if hes the one getting forced trough the meat grinder

he thought he knew pain. that he knew suffering. but *this*? he can feel his bones moving, readjusting, muscles tearing and healing at the same time. senses sharpening to the extreme

what if he can only look on in horror as his body shifts. his muscles spasm without painfully, his hands and nails sharpening. a crimson tint taking over

he seems like the type of guy to want to tough this out, but just *cant* this is worse than any possible torture he's been trough. his head is *loud* its buzzing like a bee nest, it feels like he can taste colours and see smells.

maybe its so overwhelming that in his haze he claws his way trough his quarters. quite literally dragging himself up, and slumping against the door across the hall.

maybe its late in the night when this transformation takes place. maybe his mind gets clouded with guilt as a half-asleep mafia!reader opens the door and just... freezes.

after all, what the fuck are you supposed to do in this situation?

or maybe theres a one-off chance that reader has had brief run-ins with the occult. the magical and the otherworldly. maybe he slowly, steadily guides his suffering right-hand man onto his bed. soothing words and gentle caresses

stone experiencing the most gentle love hes ever felt while in the most extrairdinary amounts of pain hes been. theres a poem hidden somewhere in all that irnony, i feel.

food for thought: what if this all happened BECAUSE of his devotion. his loyalty, his adoration, his worship

what if this is the universes way of saying "alright. fine. you asked for this so now you get the proper body fit for a worshiper. the ideal protector, the best dog for your master"

i wanna say that he maybe gains a 6th sense of sorts. maybe presences are felt easier this way. heat detection? stronger smell? echolocation? whatever it is, it makes it so much easier to spot hidden targets.

while i was picturing mafia-god!reader as a satyr type after his transformation, i cant see anything but a werewolf type for stone. but like. perma-shifted. fuzzy bastard baby 24/7

maybe he gets more territorial. its HIS god, HIS to see, HIS to touch, HIS to love. this is one of those times i wish i knew how to write smut, but alas...

anyways more food for thought because ig im on a roll today: what if.. what if both of them go trough this in the same universe. bonding trough shared trauma of achieving godhood.

i see stone maybe getting very protective. hes seen HIS god go trough unimaginable pain, then he lived it himself later down the line. nothing, NOTHING is touching mafia-god!reader.

anyways matching collars that say "devil" and "devils dog" for reader and stone respectively

~ rusty

You are feeding me and everyone else so well. I'm speechless. Love these types of asks where all I have to do is react to the gold-mine that y'all type out.

The matching collars bit at the end? Criminal!Stone would happily wear a collar which said "Devil's Dog".

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nildespirandum · 2 years ago

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Loki and Nora have a drink together.

18+ eventually. Tags found on AO3. Always remember, reblogs = love

Chapter 15: "Always do sober what you said you'd do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut." ~ Ernest Hemingway

It was well into the Asgardian evening by the time Nora had walked around the palace long enough for her feet to start hurting despite the incredible comfort and fit of the enchanted boots she wore. Even though there was a lot more to see and not much time to see it before Loki came looking for her, she needed a place to sit down for a while.

Everywhere she had gone throughout the palace she had been treated with great politeness and a weird lack of curiosity, and was offered exaggerated hospitality and generosity but no questions or overt friendliness. She wondered if it was because the place was so big that strangers were the norm, or if everyone knew she was here with Loki and decided that treating her like a badly cracked crystal vase filled with tacks and acid was their safest bet.

Wandering through a pair of what would be French doors / Doors of Vanaheim that were open and led onto a massive piazza overlooking the great courtyard of the palace, Nora stretched hard, every muscle still a little tender from the last few weeks of chaos, and breathed in the scents of night blooming flowers and woodsmoke.

Though a perfect, golden, chilly-looking redoubt on the outside, the inner courtyard of the palace was made of an impossible number of tiers, balconies, and mezzanines so that one could always find a view of its cloistered space. Filled with gardens, training grounds, what looked like an open-air tavern and more - it was where the true life of those who lived here seemed to take place.

Fairy lights, most likely actual fairies, Nora thought, floated and spun about gently through the air, and copper chandeliers thick with cream-colored candles burning with a variety of different color flames hung from nothing, offering a warm glow to the enormous space. Now and then it snowed, just a little, with an effect more like a snowglobe than actual precipitation, dusting a delicate coating of white on everything - including the Asgardians - before melting away, leaving nothing but a pretty memory behind.

Here and there gazebos and shelters gave courtiers, warriors, and whoever else might be part of the palace life places to sit in privacy, to plot or canoodle, or whatever people did who hung around with Royals.

Laughter, bits of conversation, and song rose in the air, sounding like any good party or decent pub, leaving Nora a bit homesick.

Above, the pearl black sky was filled with the smoldering, multicolor lights of more stars than Nora had ever seen through the light pollution that was all but inescapable on earth. Though she knew that the stars were not only white, for the first time she could see it. Reds and oranges, blues and greens, and yellows that looked like cat’s eyes, as if they might slowly blink at her.

Carefully holding the Thor-sized tankard of warm spiced wine that she had been handed when passing through one of the feast halls, which seemed to never grow cold she hoisted herself onto the wide-topped balustrade meant to keep tipsy space Viking royalty from plunging into the prickly looking holly bushes beneath. Leaning back against the wall of the palace, the cold from the golden marble seeped through the heavy sweater Loki had provided her with but luckily, she’d discovered the nearly hot wine had more than the typical warming properties of booze.

The mug was also never less than half-full, which was convenient, since Nora couldn’t remember exactly which of the many feast halls that she’d passed through it came from.

It was impossibly complex, and though it had quickly gotten her pleasantly mellow, no amount she drank made her any drunker.

Looking at the mug, Nora wondered if there was any way to steal the recipe. Back home with a thing like that she’d never need work again.

The wine itself was the color of currants, and tasted like berries Nora knew she’d never eaten, ink, and juniper, and was spiced with a few familiar things - cinnamon, black pepper, anise, vanilla, honey, and orange - and probably a large number more that were deeply unfamiliar. It was delicious.

Unlike most of the food she had sampled. Apparently the Asgardians saved all of their spices and flavors for their drink. The leg of the bird that was unlike a turkey was dry and needed salt. The bowl of lentil soup was watery and needed to be tossed out entirely. Even thinking about the slice of mystery meat she had tried to make a sandwich with a bit of gummy bread gave her heartburn.

Thankfully there had been bowls of fruit and nuts everywhere or she would have been gnawing on a table leg. The old Irish joke about the English invading the rest of the world to escape their own cooking did a lot to explain Asgard as well.

The music was not much better. Not bad, so much as monotonous. Again, as the night had fallen and the Asgardians had put aside their spears and swords to start partying in earnest, Nora had heard music playing in room after room.

A harpist plucked gently beside a group of beautiful young women who were drinking and flirting with each other. A lutist accompanied by a bodhran played with loud insistence to be heard over people throwing knucklebones and telling stories. A full band, including an aggressive horn section, was at that moment giving people something to dance to in the courtyard.

All of them were talented. And, to Nora’s ear, they were all playing the exact same song.

Over and over.

Criticisms aside, Nora mused, the palace was beautiful. Of that, she held up her mug to salute the air, there could be no doubt.

After some restful drinking, and considering what she would spend the money on from Nora’s Perfect State of Drunkness Wine first, finally settling on an island off of Ireland and a trip to Vietnam with Oscar Isaacs - he looked like one of her favorite ex’es - her, so far, PG-13 fantasy was interrupted by the sound of a fanfare from the horns followed by a reverent silence.

Below, the action in the courtyard had come to a standstill as a pair of elephantine doors swung open and a procession led by Odin and a beautiful older couple dressed in matching silver and blue satin and not looking military enough to be Asgardian, entered the courtyard. Behind them were various other clearly important people, all handsome or pretty, all dressed in either formal armor or fancy robes.

Nora turned to sit with her legs dangling over the side, to get a better view.

Next to last came Loki, looking even haughtier than his usual haught, his left hand up, and a woman whose right hand was laid gracefully over the back of his. She had long red curls, no, Nora corrected herself, masses of red curls flowing down her back, her skin was deep gold, and despite the distance, it was clear her features were at once elegant and a bit mischievous.

Add all of that to her extremely Nordic-looking body and height and it became clear that Loki’s Princess-to-be was an anime character.

Behind them an extremely tall, elderly woman in simple gray carried a pillow holding something covered with a piece of velvet. Though she looked solemn and dignified there was something about her body language that made Nora think she was about to spike that pillow and engage in the godly version of excessive end zone celebration.

The crowd parted so Loki and Kethia could approach Odin, both gracefully kneeling before the All-Father who raised his hands and spoke. Nora could hear his voice if not what he was saying, though the tone was slightly sing-song so she guessed it was a prayer. As he spoke the elderly woman handed the pillow to a servant, plucking from it what turned out to be two crowns woven of enormous red flowers, which she gently placed on Loki and Kethia’s heads at the same time that the woman from the couple who entered with Odin tied their hands together with a piece of thick, rough-looking rope.

Kethia and Loki turned to face each other and didn’t so much kiss as touch their lips dryly together and share an aesthetic moment. It was exquisite.

Nora snorted.

So did Loki, right in her ear.

“Whaaaaaa!!!!!!!” Startled, Nora would have fallen off of the wide railing if Loki hadn’t simultaneously wrapped an arm around her waist and shot a hand out to catch her winecup, not so much as spilling a drop, the fucking show off.

“Can’t be losing you just yet,” he murmured too close, giving Nora a shiver that started in the shell of her ear and ended up in all manner of inappropriate places. For the length of a few slightly too heavy breaths they stayed still, his front warming her back, his long fingers spread wide over her stomach before his arm finally slithered away. He stepped out of the sightline of the courtyard to lounge, one long leg bent so his foot rested on the wall while taking a sip of her wine. “Too much avrium and not enough honey,” he critiqued before handing it back to her, pulling a blackened flask from nowhere that he started to swig from.

“Uh, I imagine you’re annoyed I didn’t stay in your rooms. Sorry, I did not remain in your chambers,” she said, imitating Loki’s intonation.

“Never do that voice again. And not in the least. It never occurred to me that you would do as I asked when you have all of this to snoop through. You are one for never letting wisdom impede curiosity. A quality, I might add,” he softly brushed her nose with the veriest tip of his finger, “we share.”

Taking another drink, he went on, waving a hand about dismissively, “No, knowing you would wander, I started a rumor that you were Tony Stark’s illegitimate daughter, or half-sister cousin niece or some manner of female relation - Asgardians have a hard time telling how old mortals are so it doesn’t matter which - and that Thor would be irate and embarrassed in front of his work associates if you were not treated with great forbearance and hospitality. How did you like the palace?”

“Very pretty, terrible food, excellent cocktails, good service, lousy music, I give it seven out of ten battle hammers. But aren’t you-” Nora started to answer then put it together, “The illusion from your closet?” she asked, gesturing over her shoulder to where everyone was toasting Loki and Kethia.

He shook his head, a little hard, and it occurred to Nora that he’d been hitting that flask before he got there, “No, no. Not an illusion. A duplicate , an exact facsimile of one's own body in its present circumstance... a true holographic mirror of its molecular structure.” He snorted again, and took another drink. “It's as much me as I am. Maybe more. Maybe it can marry Kethia, she would be unlike to note a difference.”

“Is that what’s happening down there?” Nora asked, sliding down to lean next to him, feeling like if only for the moment he might want someone next to him.

“A wedding? No. That is merely the first of many, many, many tedious ceremonies leading up to a full royal Asgard-Vanir wedding. Fortunately for us,” and then Loki slung an arm heavily over her shoulder so Nora knew that she was right about him and the flask that was giving off fumes that were singing her eyelashes, “only this one and the last one require the bride and groom to attend together. The rest of them are private and solemn and very, very….”

He trailed off, seeming to have forgotten what he was saying, then looked away from the courtyard, drinking, and frowning at nothing, “Under kinder circumstance my mother would be the one officiating this first ceremony.”

Nora put her hand on arm without thinking about it, curling her fingers over the warm suede, but he stepped lightly away from her touch, laughing, “Fear not for my feelings. Being in my cups makes me as maudlin as it does every creature with regrets.”

“Same, friend,” Nora lifted her mug to clink his bottle, brushing off his brush off in turn. The wine was softening her edges, which meant she shouldn’t drink any more of it, and yet she did.

After they drank she asked, “What was the rush, I thought we had a while to work out-” not sure how to word it, Nora gestured to the space between them. He followed her hand with his eyes, the way a cobra would follow a mouse. After a moment he snatched it on the fly.

They both froze. Then he laughed, not the dry ratcheting sound that she had gotten rather fond of, but a whinny and tried to hand her his flask. “No thank you, I’m allergic to CLR .”

“Alas, we have rather less time that would be optimal for our visit to Skadi and our return to the Norns, for reasons that scarcely bear mentioning.” Now he waved his hand, spilling a little booze which surprisingly did not take the finish off of the marble floor. “We will be leaving tomorrow after I see to a few affairs. It is too bad, I had hoped to show you….”

Again, he trailed off. A bit lost-looking, a bit worried. His hair was windblown and his clothing not dirty certainly but far from the perfection Nora had come to recognise as being as much armor as his armor itself. It was worrying, which was no doubt why she felt an odd pang in her lungs.

Then he looked down at her, “I promise that no matter what happens you will be fine. No matter what, I will see to that, Nora.”

Loki’s voice was deeper when he was drunk, and he’d managed to add a few extra Os to her name. “Ok.” He kept looking at her, as if waiting.

“I believe you,” she added.

Which was when he kissed her in what was a far from aesthetic moment.

Rather it was sloppy, and soft, and then hard. Not the sloppiness of a teenaged kiss, they had both been where they were many times before, Loki no doubt countless times. It was the sloppiness of not caring what anyone might see, of falling into the kiss rather than planning it and being too into the moment to worry about sticking the landing.

Though Loki didn’t touch any part of her but her mouth Nora felt touched, caressed, held. Opening her mouth a little, letting his tongue slip in, letting him taste her, his own mouth a bit too wide, an invitation and an offer to bite at the same time. But he didn’t bite, he took her in and Nora tasted the burn of the liquor on him, over something fresh like apples, and then just him.

She was numb with shock and alive with sensation. It had been a long time since her last kiss, and her whole life since she’d been kissed so utterly.

For a fleeting second, he cupped the back of her head and held her in place so he could explore, messily, eagerly, licking suggestively, in a way that made Nora’s whole body feel heavy and alert, hot and shuddery, made her stand up on her toes to press back and give what she took. His hand was gentle, warm, and then gone.

Just as quickly as he touched her he let go and stepped back.

“Apologies. I have overstepped and taken advantage of my role as host and guardian. The romantic events,” and here he waved roughly towards the ceremony still going on, the sarcasm and loathing in his voice growing thicker by the word, as did his accent, “must have o’erwhelmed my sense of decency,” at which point he rolled his eyes and sighed at the heavens, as if bored with his own little speech, “and proper judgment. If you are unable to retrace your way to my chambers ask any menial or drudge or passing stranger. All know the way to my bed. I shall see you in the morning for breakfast.”

“It’s fine-”

Loki didn’t wait for her to finish, and Nora stared at his little performance, mouth open, feelings a bit more hurt than she would have expected to be, since after all he was drunk.

The Prince of Asgard bowed to her a little too deeply tp actually be polite, heel-turned, and left.

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#love is hel #loki au #loki fanfic #nora and loki #Loki and Nora #tags on ao3 #mulitverse compatible #loki au fanfic

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