FROST and FIRE FANFICS

All I want for Christmas by @lokisgoodgirl

Avenger!Loki x F. Reader 1.7K | fluff, mild angst Author's summary: Last Christmas, Loki broke your heart. Will this year be any different? Spoiler: yes. Yes it will.

I'm Dreaming of a Green Christmas by @joyful-enchantress

Loki x F. Reader 2k | fluff, humor, slight angst Friends to lovers

In the Bleak Midwinter by @lokisgoodgirl

Loki x Reader 3.4K | fluff Author's summary: On a mandatory Christmas Avengers Getaway, resident Scrooge Loki discovers there is warmth to be found

Peace by @lokisgoodgirl

Loki x Reader 1.2k | fluff Author's summary: After an outing to the Christmas Tree Farm goes awry, Loki does a little soul searching in his moccasins.

A Clandestine Christmas: Clandestine F*cks by @lokisgoodgirl

Avenger! Loki x Fem.Reader 2.9k | Smut, Humour. Author's summary: Off the back of a stunning festive revelation, Loki shows you a hidden room in Stark Tower Part of the Clandestine F*cks Collection Part of the Winter Warmers Collection

Mistletoe Mayhem by @tilltheendwilliwrite

Loki x Reader 3825 words | fluff Author's summary: Mistletoe, mischief, and no mercy.  Can you escape the Avengers long enough to make it through Christmas Eve without locking lips with the entire team? Especially when the only one you wanted to kiss had decided not to participate in Stark’s shenanigans.

Slipping between future and pastby @muddyorbsblr

Timeslipping TVA!Loki x F. Reader/ OC Talía Williams 3.8k | smut Author's summary: You give your friend a few pointers on what to know about Yule, and come across a familiar looking stranger in your bookstore.

The Golden Yule Hunt by @societyfolklore

Loki x Asgardian Female Reader 3.2K | smut Author's summary:   Asgard holds its annual Yule Hunt, a festive competition involving enchanted beasts and snowy landscapes. Loki and the reader team up to win- but Loki has eyes on another prize.

Loki’s Gift-Giving Guide to Mortal Relations by @societyfolklore

 1.7k Author's summary: Loki, in an attempt to ingratiate himself with the Avengers, begins leaving them macabre 'gifts'

A Midgardian Christmas by @just-the-hiddles

Loki x Reader six parts Author's summary: This Loki’s first Christmas on Midgard. You decide to show Loki all that a Midgardian Christmas has to offer. Things don’t seem to go as planned and you are having a harder and harder time keeping your burgeoning crush for Loki hidden.

Man of the month by @muddyorbsblr & @mochie85

Loki x F. Reader 12 parts + Outtakes | smut, fluff, angst Summary: Tony's been informed that he needs to come up with a charity fundraising effort that's accessible to more than just the rich & famous, so he comes up with the idea of making a calendar of the men of the Avengers, with you as the photographer. He also may or may not have let slip to the guys that you have feelings for one of them, so now it's up to them to see if you return their affection. Naturally, some hijinks are bound to happen.

Birthday magic by @holdmytesseract

Loki x F. Reader 1.9 k | fluff, slight smut Author's summary: Everybody around you tends to forget your birthday, because of all the Christmas trouble. Except Loki, of course...

Unrequited by @glitchquake

Loki x F.Reader fluff, hint to smut, slight angst

Day 18: Mistletoe by @gremlin-girly

Loki x gn. Reader 234 | fluff established relationship Author's summary: When you see some mistletoe, you tell Loki some not so fun facts about it. Day 18 of Fluffcember 2024

Last Christmas on Midgard by @chantsdemarins

Loki x Reader 3k | smut Author's summary: You are surprised to find your prayers answered, it's just not the right brother. Or is it?

Eine kleine Nachtsmusik by @xoxovivafics

Krampus! Loki x black witch reader 4,307 words | Holiday fluffy smut Author's summary:An alpine witch visits Krampus with a Christmas surprise.

You Better Watch Out by @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy

Krampus!Loki x Reader 3100 words | Slight Dubcon Monsterfucking Author's summary: You've decided to spend Christmas alone this year, but someone is going to pay you a visit

All I could give you by @muddyorbsblr

Loki x Reader 2.9k | sad Loki, fluff best friends to Lovers Author's Summary: It seems that nearly the entirety of Asgard had forgotten that today was supposed to be a day of celebration. Everyone but you, at least.

All wrapped up by @muddyorbsblr

Loki x reader 6.5k | unrequited love-themed angst, smut, fluff Author's summary: After getting in hot water with Fury about his shenanigans that revolve around candy cane, you give Loki some advice on how to seduce someone if he really wants to go down the red and white striped road. Even if it hurt you to do so.

Excuses & opportunities by @muddyorbsblr

Loki x reader 1.5k Author's summary: Loki has some questions about the tradition of kissing under the mistletoe.

Blue Christmas by @mochie85

Loki x Female Reader Over 2.7k | Smut Author's summary: You ask Loki to give you something special for Christmas.

Winter drabble by @lady-rose-moon

Loki Laufeyson x reader Smut, fluff

Loki’s Holiday Lesson by @jtargaryen18

Loki x Reader x Bucky 6.3K | Smut Author's summary: You’ve just been promoted to a lead elf in Santa’s workshop. You have a keen eye for detail and you’ll be running the show in no time. The first thing that’s going are those huge,gawdy bows slapped on each gift that Santa delivers. But Loki, the Head Elf, knows what you’ve been up to, He’s not pleased. His chief assist brings you into the office for a demonstration on the importance of ribbons and bows -- and discipline.

He helped you with the rest of the preparations for dinner, the two of you had a quick bite for lunch, and then set off together down the road towards town.

The walk was typical, with light conversation and laughter. You stopped at a flower shop in town and selected a small bouquet that primarily featured forget-me-nots. The walk grew quieter as the cemetery grew near, and Loki took your hand as he followed you through the silent plots. The quiet grew heavy. It was a lovely day, the sun was bright and the grass was full and green. The area would be quite pleasant if it weren't for its purpose. Eventually you came to a stop and the both of you looked down at the headstone. Loki glanced over to you, you were wearing an expression of resigned sadness. He squeezed your hand gently, and you met his eyes with a slight smile. You sighed, then bent to place the flowers in the vase attached to the grave marker.

"Happy birthday, Gerdy." You stood and straightened. "I brought Loki with me today."

You then proceeded to speak to her about things in your life, the goings-on of old friends, pottery techniques you were working on. You spoke about Loki, and it was clear this wasn't the first time he had been brought up, which warmed his heart in a way he couldn't quite explain. You spoke to her as if he had known her. In that moment, more than ever, he wished he had. He wanted to know this woman who had been such a powerful impact in your life. Who had sheltered you in a time when you needed it most. In a time before he could. He wondered which parts of you had come from her. He would have liked to see you side-by-side, to recognize the influence himself.

Your one-sided conversation drew to an end. You stood for another moment or two in silent contemplation, then wished Gerdy a farewell. Loki offered her a hushed thanks before turning to follow you again.

The walk back was far more quiet. You hung off his arm as you walked, with your eyes distant. A thought that had been prowling the edges of his mind, held at bay by his duty to you, took this opportunity to strike. He had been fighting it off, but it grew like ice in his stomach now; some day he would be making this walk alone. Some day all too soon, at that.

Mortal. It was a word he had taken for granted, even knowing what it meant. Mortal. Mort. You were named for your death. Suddenly he reviled the word. He may never use it again. It suddenly became clear to him that he had been harboring a certain amount of denial. Your life was limited, he knew that as a fact, but still some part of him didn't believe it would come to bear. As if somehow, somewhere along the way, he would find some way to save you from your fate and keep you forever. This walk had cast a harsh light on the reality of the situation. He tried to push it out of his mind once more.

Apparently, in the silence, you had been following a similar train of thought.

"I'm going to get old, you know." "Yes, that is the natural order of things." He said matter-of-factly. You rolled your eyes. "What I mean is I'm going to get old and you won't. Every year I'll get more wrinkles and a little flabbier and you'll stay just as young and handsome as ever." "I'll grow even more handsome, I suspect." You chuckled. "I'm sure. What will people think, watching us walk down the street?" "I imagine they will finally question why I am with you, rather than the other way around." He glanced down at you. "It will be a refreshing change of pace." "Please. People don't question that." "Oh, I'm quite certain they do. You simply don't hear the whispers. Perhaps you are already going deaf?" You huffed an exasperated sigh. "You are impossible." He smirked, victorious.

You left it at that, for a few minutes at least, but clearly this was weighing on you. "Really, you don't think it will bother you? Years down the road?" He gave you a reassuring smile as he walked. "I will cherish every line on your face, as they will be tokens of the time I've had with you." You bit back a smile. "And the flabby bits?" He clasped your hand in both of his. "A greater surface area on which to bestow my affection." You laughed. "I'm not sure I believe you." "No need. It will all be proven true in time."

The two of you passed out of town and onto the road to your home. Several more minutes passed without a word. Loki could feel something brewing in your thoughts, however. Your grip on his arm tensed ever so slightly. Still, you didn't say anything, and he was beginning to think it would pass. The two of you were almost to your cottage, walking alongside the low stone wall that enclosed your field, when it came to a head.

"You're going to outlive me." He deftly smothered the panic inside him. "Yes, but I believe finding a replacement shouldn't be terribly difficult. There are literally billions of humans, after all, so my-" "Loki." You came to a halt, he had no choice but to do the same. Your face was drawn into a solemn expression. "When I'm gone-" "Darling-" "Please. It's important." He clenched his jaw and looked down at your hands in his. In this moment they seemed much more fragile. You took a breath. "Promise me that when I'm gone you won't bury yourself too. None of those ideas like your century-of-isolation plan. Don't wall yourself in." He managed a half-smile as he brought a finger up to trace your jaw. "Worried that all your good work will be undone?" "You did the work." You mumbled. His smile grew as his hand cupped the back of your neck. "Our joint efforts, then." "Don't do that to yourself." You whispered, clutching his shirt. "Please promise me."

His feet shuffled and he had difficulty meeting your gaze. When he finally looked down at you again he could feel tears threatening the back of his eyes. "I won't be ready." It came out weaker than he anticipated. He looked away and took a breath to steady himself. "It doesn't matter how long-" His voice cracked unexpectedly and he swallowed the rest of that thought. "I won't be ready." You shook your head slightly as you reached up to cradle his face, wearing a sad, sympathetic smile. "We never are."

He pulled you in close, and you let him. Your arms wrapped around his waist while he buried his face in the crook of your neck. You were solid and present beneath his touch, but he knew this was all too ephemeral. He didn't want to move, he didn't want to leave this moment. He wished for some power that would allow him to stretch it out across a thousand years.

He stood with you like that for quite some time. You held him patiently, made no effort to step away. Eventually, Goat had taken notice of the two of you and began making his way across the field, bleating obnoxiously. That finally broke the spell and Loki sighed, taking a step back, but he clung to your hand.

"I imagine you have things to do." He murmured as he lifted your hand to place a kiss against the back of it. You nodded. "A couple things to sort out before Thor and Valkyrie show up." "Let's go, then."

Rather than walk to the gate, Loki crossed over the stone wall, then helped you do the same. He laced his fingers with yours and started toward the cottage. He let the silence rest for a moment.

"I suppose our story needed some element of tragedy." He mused quietly. "If we're to earn our constellation, that is." "Oh?" You smiled. "You think they'll put us in the sky?" "Oh, certainly." He squeezed your hand. "The stuff of legends, you and I." You laughed. "And to think I was going to settle for just a star." "The best star, mind you."

You opened the door to your kitchen. Preparations were made. Friends arrived. Dinner was shared. It was as so many nights had been before, and as many nights certainly would be again.

But perhaps on this night, when you were alone once more and sleeping in his arms, Loki held you a just little tighter.

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It had been Thor’s lust and immaturity, perhaps.

Beyond your ideas of what was possible, he came to you one day as you were finishing your duties. It took all your strength to believe it. The daughter of a clan chieftain who shouldn’t have been praying to Norse gods. Yet he heard you.

Christianity had taken root in most of your village, except you couldn’t help to ask any raven you saw to send a prayer up to Thor. Find him in Asgard. The god you loved the most. The god that had stolen your heart. In the depths of your reverence, you laid flowers next to the Yew tree for the Norn’s blessings. You asked Freya to help Thor know your pleas.

In your wildest dreams, you never honestly expected him to come down to you in a thunderous snowstorm…

You never expected him to hear you.

You never expected him to fall in love with you.

You never expected him to offer Idunn’s apple.

You never expected him to disappear.

One thousand years is a long time to wait…

Pommes du Luc Ski Chalet, 1986

Saas-Fee, Switzerland

“Being stuck on Midgard is lame,” Loki mused while twirling his fingers around the red ribbon of a present before laying it back under the admittedly impressive, haphazardly assembled Midgard Christmas tree Volstagg had dragged in from the mountainside. His earnest attempt to make the best of their wanting situation.

 “There could be worse things, brother, like being stranded on Muspelheim with Surtur using one of us as kindling,” Thor laughed, pouring his brother another stein of grog.

 Loki clasped the drink dismissively and took a large swig. He stalked his lithe body across the large A-frame house to look out the window. It was snowing, yet again.

 Thor joined Loki near the window, his large paws slapping his back, causing him to spit up some of his drink in a thin spray. He looked keenly at his brother, his blue-green eyes matching the icy weather conditions.

 “At least you aren’t blaming me this time. You know we are both stranded here until father lets us come back. It’s equally both of our faults….”

 “It’s mostly your fault Thor of course, but I take some of the blame-otherwise the fun I had participating would be for naught,” Loki winked and smirked simultaneously.

 Wanting to change the subject to pursue the delight of his thoughts, Thor continued. “Moreso, you realize that neither of us knows how to ski,” he said looking out at the snow-covered mountainside.

 “It’s rather ironic, don’t you think? We battle elves and other rather rare life forms with various life-ending capacities, yet we don’t know how to balance on these Midgardian twigs,” Thor philosophically pointed to the lavish display of skis lined up beneath the windowpane.

 “At least I know how to surf,” Loki said with a self-assured laugh.  

 Thor wrinkled his forehead.

 “No, you don’t, brother. I’ll wager 17,000 leagues of Vanir Andara.”

 Just then, Fandrall woke from his nap to interject a brief sentiment.

  “He’s lying. Thor. Let me tell the tale of Brazil once I’m sober enough to drag up the past without passing out from laughter.”

 With this admission, Loki promptly threw his scarf at him, which he swatted away and quickly put around his neck. He relished the smell of cedar, smoke, and bergamot that danced around Loki’s being and clung to all his clothes.

“Smells like you,” he said, sniffing it yet again.

“Breathe deep, for this is the only way you shall receive the totality of my essence,” Loki gestured and bowed, perhaps slightly mocking the Allfather.

 “Sure,” Fandrall laughed before wrapping the scarf tighter and closing his eyes again, drifting back into his drunken slumber.

 Thor caught the faint whiff of his brother’s innuendo toward Fandrall. Never knowing exactly how to process Loki’s rakish gestures, he cleared his mind and returned to his assessment of their situation.

 The truth was they had angered their father. They had angered Heimdall. Frigga was also none too pleased. The Bifrost was temporarily closed. There was no way off Midgard for the time being. They were both given a simple enough task, and both princes failed. Much worse, they had endangered the lives of the other court warriors. It was a rare event when both princes got in trouble simultaneously. They had been careless with a missive, and it had fallen into the wrong hands setting back years of diplomacy. Now they were stuck and without seiðr until they could answer their father’s rather cryptic riddle.

 “Find the heart of the mountain and melt the ice that has grown around it.”

“Allfather’s riddle is lame, too,” Loki croaked out loud, thinking about it for a moment.

 Thor, mainly the more immature and loyal one, agreed with his brother.

 “Yeah, it is rather dumb. Why must we solve a riddle? Can’t father just punish us in some other, more sensible way? I was never good at riddles,” Thor was growing more pained by the moment.

 “Well, brother, you are always in luck while I am around, for as you are most likely keenly aware, I am a master at riddles and will soon have this one solved,” Loki boasted.

 Thor rolled his eyes. Loki continued, plans emerging in his head.

 “But I ask, why rush back? We have this bleak yet relatively well-appointed human cabin. It’s almost Midgard’s “Christmas”, as Vollstag has helped us make merry with this tree,” he pointed at the dry-looking pine in the corner.

 “Perhaps, I should head into Saas-Fee and see who I can wrangle up. Maybe we should have a little faire la fête, as the Midgardians do this time of year?”

Thor looked intently at Loki, his skepticism not well hidden. 

“To lighten the mood?” Loki said, twirling around, letting his boots spin him along the smooth wood floor.

 Still no response from his brother. 

“Right, you’d think Ragnarök happened by how everyone is acting,” Loki mused, looking at the cacophony of drunken warriors laid out in piles, sunken into bean bag chairs, and wrapped in throw rugs. Reassuring himself of the grandeur of his new plan, he prattled on.

 “We just made a mistake, and it will be fixed soon. Until then, we celebrate!”

 With that statement, Loki opened the heavy door and braced himself in the snow. He turned around briefly to see his brother shaking his head before closing the door.

 “Stop. Wait. Don’t go,” Thor sardonically mumbled.

The path to town was covered in thick snow, and Loki was ill-dressed for the trek. He looked down at his shiny black Comme des Garcons boots with disdain. The leather was already buckling—the travails of Midgardian geography, so much damn snow.

 “Ugh. Another pair ruined,” he sputtered as he pursued the barely visible path.

 By the time he reached the only tavern in town, he was thoroughly soaked all over, not just his boots. Entering the dark building, Loki noticed the patron’s chatter came to a brief lull. He was used to making an appearance, so he was not bothered. He sat in a rather fancy booth and took off nearly all his clothes, causing more of a stir with the celebratory gawking patrons. His sweater, ski pants, and socks came off until he was wearing nothing more than his plaid shirt and tight jeans. He moved his hands through his inky wet locks, gently pulling out the wet knots, slightly frustrated.

 “Why didn’t I just wear a hat,” he mumbled, looking at his reflection in the glass-framed vintage absinthe poster in his booth.

 He looked around the Midgard tavern, stealing glances with the onlookers. Unfortunately, none of the people were attractive to Loki. They were almost as boring as his fellow warriors napping back at the lodge. Except for one possibility, Loki had scouted out early upon his arrival.   

You had been drinking yourself into a stupor all afternoon. You hated the holidays. Especially Christmas.

 In your dizzying consumption, you didn’t notice the calamitous man god enter and immediately disrobe in the furthest back booth. How could you? After five drinks in, you could barely make eye contact with the overly nice Swiss wait staff to procure you yet another cocktail.

 “Un autre verre,” you spoke, again and again, barely audible to anyone other than trained tacticians of alcohol and imbibed patrons.

 Loki thought someone with that kind of appetite for drinking before dinner must be a rather fun person, and likely she had some friends to bring along, who were equally as raucous.

 Drink in hand, Loki made his way toward you.

 Scooting in, he slid between you and the other partaker on the next bar stool. His thin yet muscled frame, a paper gliding into an envelope. His smile arriving before his words, he put his slightly damp handsomeness to good use.

 “What do you say? Can I get you another round of whatever you are having? Whisky sour, is it?” Loki inspected her glass, briefly picking it up and swirling the brown liquid in the dim tavern light. Correcting his immediate rejection of the smell with another wide smile.

 Slightly aghast at his sheer audacity, you batted his hand away. A pause before speaking hung in the air as you collected your sprawling thoughts on this man.

 “Look, buddy, this isn’t 1977. A woman can sit at a bar and have her drink and not be bothered,” you coldly replied, pulling your glass closer to your person, making a skittering sound across the bar. Loki was slightly perturbed but not yet daunted.

 He liked you, a challenge.

 On Asgard and practically any other realm, including Midgard-women (and most men) usually fell prey to his charm eventually. Although feeling the sting of your unkind words, perhaps he was misguided in thinking that you were, well…fun?

 Taking a moment for himself, too, he thought carefully about what to do next.

 Lost in thought, he drummed his long fingers along the bar to the songs from the old jukebox. You were likely what they called “feminist” on Earth he decided. Or maybe worse, you were scorned? Loki began to conjure all kinds of less tantalizing possibilities. He could still depart from your range and go to any other starry-eyed woman on the premise. Yet, he felt he must proceed.

 You continued drinking while he was thinking, eventually gesturing to the wait staff to refill your glass again. You turned slightly to avoid this man and return to your thoughts, which were enough for you, and only you, thank you very much.

 Languidly you pulled out a pack of cigarettes procured in Paris last Spring. What a treat from your usual hand-rolled. They were long, like your legs, and you liked how they delicately framed your face as you smoked them. Lighting one up, you took a long drag, inhaling, luxuriating. Smoke billowing, obscuring, creating a pillow of silence around you.

 You hoped he would get the hint.

 After some time and about three Fleetwood Mac songs later, Loki was done pretending he was listening to the music. It was decided he would go another route to entice your interest. You could be a bad girl deep down, and a little frisky yet direct wordplay might just turn your attitude around. He needed to let you know just what he wanted. Leaning in again, Loki made his second attempt.

 “My little pet, you are delightful. So full of energy. Let me invite you to a little soiree up the mountain. My brother and I are looking for beautiful women like you to accompany us.”

This was the last straw. You promptly turned your body and looked at Loki with a coy smile, concealing the boiling vitriol behind your sugary pink lip gloss. You blew a thick cloud of smoke directly in his face.

 “You minx!” he yelled a little too dramatically as you reached over and left the wait staff money for your tab.

 Pulling your puffer jacket on and zipping up quickly, you knew you better exit the scene before this man could stop you with another word or by the reach of his long limbs. You were out the tavern door and peeling towards your chalet down the street.

 Yet, of course, he followed you.

 Leaving all his winter gear behind, Loki ran through the puffy soufflé of snow in just his flannel. His still-wet hair immediately froze into charcoal icicles. It was very illogical, and Loki chastised himself internally as he ran.

 Why bother with this woman? Clearly, she was not interested in his company. Likely 20 other women (and some men) in the tavern would have certainly been a “YES” and not required such theatrics. He yelled at you. You kept walking faster, slightly jogging now. Maybe it was time to try his modest charm. He switched gears yet again.

 “By the Norns, why are you running? I’m sorry, my lady, if I have offended you,” Loki choked out as he tried to keep pace with you, finally catching up, arms flapping.

 You stopped. You replayed what you thought you had just heard.

 “By the Norns.”

 It echoed in your head as if you’d suddenly been transplanted into a canyon. A lightning bolt struck you dead in your tracks. You could barely turn to look this stranger in the eye.

 “Who are you?” was the only thing that came out of your mouth. Your eyes narrowed as if squinting would reveal something of this man’s heritage and identity.

 “Who am I?” He repeated in shallow breaths. Loki was slightly put off. He hadn’t thought this far in advance, was he to tell the woman his real name? You tried to speak again.

 “The only time I’ve heard that spoken in the last thousand years was from a Viking.”

 He couldn’t be.

It just couldn’t be.

 Although looking at him and adjusting your gaze in the singular light of the streetlamp, your mind slowly made a match. He did look familiar, but it was so so long ago.

 “Who are you? I should be asking, perhaps,” Loki mused, now wide-eyed. His attention laser-focused on you. The mention of a “thousand years” perked his interest in you even more.

He didn’t expect to find anyone other than your typical Midgardian bores tucked away in these mountains. You were different, not just because you rebuked him. He sought you out. It wasn’t just your negative attitude that attracted him.

 You stood near him, looking at every detail. His light eyes, his dark hair. His almost perfect triangle nose. The last time you saw him was from a distance when he arrived to fetch his brother and take him back to Asgard.

 Your lover god. Thor. In the woods of Norvegr.

 Loki looked closer at your jacket. It appeared like any old puffer ski jacket, except for the diamond and crystal broach you wore on the lapel. You had worn that broach every day for the last thousand years. Almost without thought, you fastened it to your clothing every day since Thor gave it to you.

 “Mother’s broach,” Loki thought to himself as he looked up from your lapel and into your searching eyes. His face stone, unmoving. Shock rolled through him.

 At this moment, he was confident playing all his cards was not what the occasion called for.

 You instinctively placed your hand on it protectively when you caught him looking at it. Time stilled. Tears formed in the corners of your eyes. Emotions long gone came thundering back like your lost god, but his brother was now before you.

 Not Thor.

Not the man you had given your maidenhood to all those years ago.

Not the man who told you that you would be queen someday.

Not the man who gave you Indunn’s apple.

Not the man who made you immortal.

 The wind picked up, blowing your hair, and a new wave of snow began falling on you both. You wondered what alchemical spell had brought this day to you after so long. No contact. Nothing. You had given up.

 Thor had disappeared. Wearing the broach had become routine, although it was barely connected to the past. If the concept of the past even existed in your eternal life.

Loki cut the silence, as he was keen to do. He wanted his following words to you to be the most careful yet.

 “Dear woman, I don’t mean to bother you. I intended to invite you to a party, that is all. Now I see I’ve caused you harm. I must ask, though, do we know one another?”

 He concealed what he suspected deep within his being just in case you might be able to read his mind or his auric field. You also could not tell him the truth. You knew that much.

If this was indeed Loki, the god of chaos, brother of Thor, he could use your words against you or worse. You were living on borrowed time from Asgard after all.

 You spoke again, each word tenderly cloaked.

 “We do not know one another, but I am also not entirely like the people here in this village, as it seems you might have noticed.”

 “I did notice,” Loki spoke back with a sanguine hush, a purposeful caution edging on something more.

 “That is why your mention of the Norse gods took me aback, I have some familiarity with them, but it was long ago.” That was all you would ever say you decided. That was enough. If he was clever at all, he could draw his own conclusions.

 “How long ago did you have familiarity with them? If you don’t mind, just a few more questions.”

 Loki was surprising himself in this conversation. In another instance, he might had you up against the wall of the corner drug store, one of his knives curled to your neck, forcing a confession. But he did not have his magic, and in this vulnerable state, he defaulted to using his silver tongue instead of his silver blade.

 “I do mind, and I am done answering your questions. I am going to retire to my home, um, sir, I didn’t get your name.”

 “Loki. My name is Loki.”

 There it was.

Memory is a fragmented thing after so many years. If your life had ended when it should have, perhaps at 35, you might not have the darkness in your heart. Darkness prompted moving from village to village when your family and friends died, and you didn’t.

 A darkness that you tried to enliven with dalliances into different religions, each with its unique unsatisfactory conclusion. The darkness you tried to quell with lovers and with liquor.

 Eventually, you only thought of Thor every hundred years or so. Every hundred years you let yourself still wonder.

Would the gods be back?

Would your god-king return?

Every hundred year you sent silent prayers to Odin’s raven, even if they were with half your heart.

 Stilling the shiver pulsating through you, you pulled your arms close to your body.

They were back. Both brothers. Both gods. Broken through the veil of the Christian god and here back on Midgard.

 You could not ask about his brother waiting around at the chalet for him to return. You could not step forward or backward. You could not speak Thor’s name.

 Loki noticed your hesitation and fright, his annoyance and curiosity changing into concern. He was now sure you would not be heading back to the party with him.

 He wondered how much time he had. Were Thor and the rest decorating and waiting for him to return with a crowd? What about the riddle he tasked himself to solve with his superior intellect so they could go home…

 His attention had wandered intimately, and completely to this stranger. These earlier concerns seemed so very far away now. Whoever you were, you were hiding your identity, and without his powers or magic, he wouldn’t know who you were unless you told him.

 He knew you were beautiful, and the more licentious part of his being wondered if maybe the right thing to do would be to return to your place with you.  

 Would you soften if he confessed what he knew of the Vikings too? Were you a kind of Midgardian planet-bound Valkyrie? Unable to leave the gravity of this banal realm?

 These thoughts ran wild in his mind as he carefully considered if he should let you go.

You knew he didn’t want you to leave.

 It seemed that the Norns were overriding all the time you usually spent avoiding contact with others. This was a moment to either tell Loki everything or simply be quiet, reveling in your answered prayers, which were somehow heard once again. They had been heard once before by Odin’s ravens, after all, it shouldn’t be so shocking to finally have it happen again.

 But instead of bringing you back to Thor, they brought you, his brother. Loki.

 Were the Norns asking you to be twice a concubine to the gods?

 This time you were not a naïve village girl.

This time your earnest reverence had been tempered with knowing both passion, love, and disappointment. You knew how life on Earth worked by now and this time your prayers were answered, it was going to go a different way.

 Taking in the visage of Loki’s crestfallen and reserved demeanor, you spoke gently. The Norns were playing with your frozen heart.

 He was in fact very handsome. More handsome in some ways than your Thor. You could tell Loki’s whole existence was based on rearranging reality, stirring the pot. He wasn’t one for morals or any Midgardian principles of peace the many religions of the populace extolled. You liked that.

 You hadn’t felt this kind of madness, this kind of power, in so long. The more you stared at Loki, the more the feeling grew. This power you once felt in your Viking village. The reason you prayed to Thor. You cherished the Norse gods still as much as you had tried to forget about them.

 Could you take this man before you home? This god of mischief, could you take him into your body as you had his brother so easily?  Not any ordinary woman could change her heart like this, lean into the plaid shirt wearing destiny before her. You were not ordinary.

 Finally, you spoke. “I live nearby. It might be nice to talk about the old days for a while. Since you seem to also know about them. Only If you promise not to ask why I know about the old days in 1986.”

 Loki looked flummoxed. You had taken the words from him—a rare thing for a human to do.

You had asked him over first; he was not in need of seducing you.

 You both walked quickly in the bracing air, watching one another with growing interest. Loki could not shake his need to know just who you were, although his other need to bed you seemed to be taking precedence over getting to the truth. When you arrived to the chalet, you turned the lights on briefly to find matches so you could light candles. You flicked the lights back off quickly when the flames held your tiny house with enough light to see his face and his tall thin frame. You knew he must be freezing.

 To warm things up you turned on the old space heater and rubbed your hands together. Loki was shaking. Resisting the urge to coil your body next to his, evoking the ancient snake rituals you could only vaguely recall, you only let your hand rest on his for a few seconds too long as you handed him a blanket.

 “No Christmas decorations for you then?” Loki laughed as he surveyed the bare, dimly lit front room. His usual bravado was not on full display in this unfamiliar situation.

 “I don’t celebrate Christmas,” you said flatly, nervously.

 “That explains your cheerful disposition then,” Loki jested.

 You laughed. An earnest laugh. You were remiss about what to do next. Offer him another drink? You were quite drunk still. In fact, you wondered if in your drunken state you were imagining all this. A cruel trick.

 As the heater kicked in, off came more clothes. Leaving only your black turtleneck and corduroys remaining. Next, you unraveled your hair from its braid, placing your barrettes on the side table, it was relaxing, it felt like the home you knew so long ago. Although another drink would be nice. You both needed your nerves settled.

 So, whisky from the cabinet was poured into diminutive glasses. Loki started talking about how interesting it was to meet someone who knew of the Norns. His voice sounded like ocean waves coming and going. It was hard to find his exact words in the swell. The low rumble of each sentence felt controlled by the moon or something even more mysterious.

 It was intoxicating. Thor did not have this effect on you, you remembered as much.

 The anti-hero, it seemed, had more verve.

 Not to be too taken by Loki, you remembered bad boys could be easy to let go of. They were often the first ones to leave anyway. Thor wasn’t a bad boy-he was summoned back to Asgard.

 This Loki would likely go on his own even before coffee.

 The night wore on and eventually you were sitting wrapped in blankets, holding your whisky, talking in what seemed endless cantos. Your voice joined his ocean huskiness until a sweet murmur flowed. You didn’t realize how much you needed to discuss the old world with someone who knew it as you did. Somehow, you’d won the favor of the Allfather once again. You were two drunk strangers nested in the protection of Yggdrasil’s branches. Time had moved and yet not moved at all.

 You said his name, “Loki,” and placed your hands on his legs, fingers finding their way under the coarse wool. It was now or never, you supposed, as the sun began to rim the outline of the mountains—nearly dawn.

 You were not going to hang on to this god. No tears. No wailing.

 You were going to let him go so you better hurry up having him.

 Loki was seemingly at your service. Besotted, he let you take the lead.

 Your hands removed the blankets from his body, his skin now warm and growing warmer with your nimble hands finding buttons, clasps, and pulling sleeves off his body. You used your teeth, nearly nipping his skin, causing a quick inhalation of air from Loki as he helped you remove his clothes.

 He leaned into your body, his head in the crook of your neck, turning his face upward, his blue-green princely eyes taking you in. He finally remarked how truly beautiful you were, kissing you deeply, tongue folding into your mouth, hands holding the back of your head.

 “This evening sure took a detour.” He laughed, slightly self-consciously, in whispers.

 “I don’t think this is a detour Loki, I knew what I was doing inviting you over.”

 “But you nearly poured your drink on my head earlier, and you blew smoke in my face,” he continued laughing in between kissing your neck.

 “If those were your real pick-up lines, then I’m sorry,” you smiled pulling back from him slightly. His naked form was gorgeous to behold. When Loki noticed your eyes drinking in every inch of him, he laughed even more.

 “Hardly fair, I’m naked, and you still have your clothes on.”

 You shrugged your shoulders and smiled.

 “I think we need to fix this,” Loki spoke softly as he took off your shirt.

 Naked, after some awkward adjustments, including a bra clasp that was apparently broken, Loki’s hands were once again on you, worshipping your body.

 The long fingers that earlier in the evening were swatted away when they grabbed your drink at the tavern were now not nearly deep enough inside you. You felt his cock on your stomach. He was impossibly hard, but you were begging for more—one more finger inside you.

 Loki could read your mind and crept down the length of your body until his mouth found your wet folds. His fingers and his mouth moved in tandem. You arched your back, spreading your legs in a reverent gesture. You thought briefly of the prayers you had sent to Odin’s ravens to have Thor back, the god you loved. How immature you were even at your age. You hadn’t consciously considered. Perhaps Thor had not been your destined lover all along.

The raven had flown your message to another god.

 Loki. Loki.Loki.

 You called his name aloud as he sunk his cock inside you. Your hands held on to him with all your life. The lewd noises from his cock slamming inside your welcoming body flushed your cheeks. It had been a while. You forgot what being fucked shamelessly sounded like.

 “Open your eyes, dove. I want you to feel this and see it. I want you to look down.” Loki growled into your neck.

 You barely dared to glance-but you lifted your body and looked at the god between your legs.

 His cock was the most glorious sight. Your cheeks deepened their color as you brought your eyes back to his. His breathing was unsteady.

 “You are so beautiful. I wanted you to see how beautiful your pussy looks with my cock inside it,” his words barely audible. He was picturesque. His cock was stunning. His body. His finely hewn muscles. His large hands were holding on to you for dear life. His thighs were holding you hostage.

 “Come for me my dove, come for me, whoever you are,” Loki said as he skillfully slammed his body deeper and deeper into your core.

 Your immortal strength had rarely been tested with any human lovers. This seemed an apt moment to try it out with Loki. You were never able to do so with Thor.

 Suddenly you flipped him over. The shock of being flung startled him as you pinned his hands down to the floor and rode him harder. Harder. Unable to hold you, unable to do anything but be rode, Loki’s orgasm arrived unexpectedly. His growl became a scream, and he finally wrestled his hands from yours.

 Grabbing your hips, he bounced you up and down on his cock with all his strength, your body almost unable to stay upright, only his massive cock holding you in place. You felt him come inside you, and as he slowed his movements, you found your release too. You were finally closing your eyes. Savoring. You both lay still, perhaps shocked at the perfection that just occurred.

 Dawn soon flooded the room, and the rising sun dwarfed the candlelight. Loki was on the verge of falling asleep. His naked, well rode body was strewn akimbo on the floor. Swaths of light colored his alabaster skin a light citrine. He was magnificent.

 “It’s morning, Loki. You must go,” you said after the tiniest inner debate on the merits of exchanging phone numbers or whatever you did in 1986. One thousand years ago, things were a little more severe. Queen, wife-something permanent. Something forever. Not so today.

“You’re kicking me out?” Loki opened his eyes and turned his body to face yours, hands running up and down your body as you attempted to cover it with a blanket.

 “I thought maybe we could stay in touch?” Loki said awkwardly.

 “Or have breakfast? This seems incredibly too short of an encounter,” he lingered on your neck, peppering kisses again.

 “Really?” you said, keeping your cool.

 “What about that big party you and your brother are throwing? I am sure there will be many women there once you return their glances. Even when I was rejecting you, don’t think I didn’t see them all staring at you,” you admitted.

 Loki sat up. He was confused. Even after passionately fucking this woman, he was still not willing to divulge who he was, and he could tell she was also not readily going to confess anything further.

 “The party was a dumb idea,” Loki now felt sheepish.

 “When my brother and I get together and cause trouble sometimes I like to make it worse.”

 “The old gasoline on the fire thing, huh?” you replied.

 “Yeah, something like that.”

 “Is that what this was to you Loki? More trouble?”

 Loki paused. Now even more unsure.

 “No, it wasn’t. It was real. I wanted to spend the night with you. I didn’t want to bring you back to our chalet, to the party,” Loki mused. Pressure building in his chest. Nerves or something else.

He had said too much to you already.

 He jumped up, dressing quickly not looking further at you. You were also hurriedly putting something on, just enough to see him to the door where you hoped he was heading. As much as this might be something, for all the pain being in love with one god caused, being in love with another was an equally bad prospect. You knew this. You were sticking to your guns. No more gods.

 Realizing there was a long walk ahead for him and he was still woefully underdressed he sighed in defeat. Maybe he could just stay for coffee?

 Then suddenly something happened. In the blink of an eye, Loki was wearing the jacket he left at the tavern. Your jaw dropped open.

 “What,” you yelled, walking towards him feeling his chest, pulling at the fur-lined hood in disbelief.

 “How?” you rubbed your eyes and blinked again, yes he was in fact wearing his coat now.

 “Oh no,” Loki looked at you with embarrassment and with some nascent excitement.

 “I think you owe me an explanation! How did you just make your coat appear?”

 Knowing he was a god was one thing, but you honestly didn’t expect him to reveal himself in such a pedestrian kind of way. Where was the big fanfare? Weren’t Loki and Thor warriors with powers beyond the comprehension of mere mortals?

 “I, I..well, I didn’t have this um ability earlier,” he quixotically spoke.

 You were now in a bad spot. Was he going to say more? Would you have to now confess everything just because he magicked his coat from the pub?

It occurred to Loki at about the same time, that his seiðr had come back, he had obviously solved his father’s riddle. Loki stared at you.

You.

You were the riddle.

Your heart was frozen. He had melted it. How could Odin have known? He felt his own heart beating in his chest, if there had also been ice on it, it was a soggy mess. What had he done?

He needed to get back to Thor. No doubt the Bifrost would be pummeling from the sky at any minute. They needed to go home.

 Knowing full well this lame magic was possible because he was a god you tried to put him at ease without revealing anything further.

 “I’ll just chalk that up to me being still a little drunk Loki,” you laughed, trying to make him feel relieved. He smiled and a knowing look graced his face.

“Thank you for understanding, and not asking too many questions.”

 “I could say the same thing about you mister,” you tried to be casual. 

 “Well then thank you for the beautiful evening,” Loki leaned down and kissed your forehead.     

Feeling confused yet again, he was thankful to you for so many things.

 “Wait Loki, I want you to have something,” you ran over to your own coat hanging on your wooden rocking chair. You carefully unpinned the broach. Holding it in your clasped hand, you fought back tears of a thousand years held in your heart. You couldn’t stop them. They cascaded down your face as you handed Loki the broach. Immediately Loki backed away from you.

 “I can’t take this y/n. Obviously, this must mean something to you. Why would you give this to me?” Loki held your shoulders as you held your hand out to him. He was full of questions. He knew this broach was his mother’s. He still didn’t know why this woman he just made love to had it. It occurred to him that she was some Asgardian exile. Maybe she was a friend of his mother’s from long ago? He could not take it from her, he knew that much. He refused.

 “You must take it Loki,” you raised your voice slightly.

 “It was never mine to keep, none of this was.”

 “What do you mean? None of this?”

 You took his large hand in yours and placed the broach, folding his long fingers around it.

 “Go.”

 Stupefied, Loki did as you asked.

 “I do hope our paths cross again my lady, there are so many things left unsaid,” he bowed slightly and hesitantly left. As the door closed you fell in a heap against it.

 With his seiðr restored Loki immediately returned to the chalet to find his friends packed and ready to leave. Obviously, they had their powers back as well. Thor stood unceremoniously in his blue jeans, hands on his hips.

 “I see that you were in no hurry to return to us Loki, we’ve been waiting since near dawn.”

 Loki scoffed, “I see you are unthankful, for it was me that solved father’s riddle.”

 Thor narrowed his eyes. “Brother, do tell us how you did it.”

 “A woman.”

 “If that is not the most unoriginal thing I have ever heard!” Thor was really laughing now.

 “Let me guess your gracious powers as a lover solved the riddle.”

 “Something like that,” Loki offered, fiddling with the broach in his pocket.

 “Here. You should give this back to mother,” Loki pulled the diamond broach out of his pocket all the way and placed it in Thor’s shocked hand.

He inspected it, his face growing pale. It couldn’t be. You.

Loki could swear he heard the faint crackle of thunder in the air.

 With his voice raised at least ten octaves, Thor yelled at Loki.

 “Brother where in all the nine realms did you GET THIS!”

The riotous blob burst into a small feasting hall near the Rite chamber with long tables laid with glazed hams and towers of pastries. Thor slapped Loki’s back hard enough to leave a mark.

"Is she getting changed? Is she coming?" Loki glanced over his shoulder, drawing the sash tight around his hips. It didn’t make much difference, being that the robe was translucent, but he needed something for his hands to do. “Don’t be absurd, brother.” A tankard was shoved into his hand. “Sif came to the festivities after your Rite—”

“Yes but Sif was a warrior, and a member of the inner circle." Thor’s face scrunched. ‘Your one is…” Loki’s face hardened. “Is what?”

Thor’s laugh made the ale ripple. “Come, Loki, be serious. She’s not one of us. You have what you wanted, your place in Asgard’s Royal line. You can stop playing the cunt-struck lovelorn, now.” Loki stiffened, setting the tankard down purposefully on the table. "She loves me."

"Yes, and?" Thor shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. "She isn’t the first, she won’t be the last. Who cares about her? Enjoy the—”

Loki smacked the tankard from Thor’s grip. It flew across the hall at force, hitting Fandral between the shoulder blades. He spun. “—I care...brother,” Loki hissed, so close to Thor’s face he could smell the pepper-roasted ham he’d been guzzling between idiocies.

“All my life I’ve been surrounded by people like you, thinking I was the one who should linger in shadow; the one who didn’t fit; who didn’t deserve the life he had.” His molars pressed together, growing more incensed with each of Thor’s vacant, casual chews. “But it was the rest of you that needed to change. She sees me for who I am, and she loves me.”

Thor rolled his eyes. “Did that witch Lagertha slip her some magic potion to smear on her lady-bits? Brother, you’re acting most unlike yourself.” Loki’s hand flew to Thor’s throat, lifting him off the floor.

The blonde’s face turned red instantly, struggling against his grip. No one tried to intervene, they knew better than that. With a growl, Loki lowered him, but he didn’t release the grip on Thor’s windpipe.

“Perhaps I’ve been concealing the true fury I hold inside me, brother,” Loki hissed in his ear, enjoying the desperate swallow as he struggled for air. “Boys, boys,” Fandral smarmed, edging them apart. “Your brother’s right, Lo—ki,” Fandral said, sliding an arm around his shoulder and grasping against the chiffon clinging to his muscle. “Enjoy yourself, hmm? Forget that pretty nothing. Tonight, perhaps you’ll indulge in something more…on your level.” He winked, curling a loose strand of Loki’s top knot around a fingertip. “I told her not to get attached. It’s not your fault if she did, she was warned.” Realisation hit Loki like a chariot.

“What did you say to her?” he growled, noting the sudden fear in Fandral’s eyes. The man stumbled back, tripping over a pair of ridiculous satin shoes. Before he could hit the floor Loki’s arm shot out, grabbing the cravat bunched at Fandral’s neck and pulling him up. Fandral slammed against Loki’s chest, nails ripping down the fabric of his robe and tearing into chest muscle. “I’m sorry, I’m sorr—” “What…did you say to her?” An arctic silence had fallen over the feasting hall. Pain clawed beneath Loki’s skin, but he ignored it. Blood was already starting to clot between the minuscule weave. “That you were trying to make her fall in love with you, which, wh-which you did—”

“—And?” Loki shook him, making Fandral’s coiffured golden curl wobble loose. “—A-and that you’d discard her,” he choked, eyes darting manically to the ceiling. “Which…you did.”

Loki punched in the face: right on top of the fastenings covering his re-set nose from last night. Fandral whimpered as Loki punched him again, only stopping because of the tidal wave of arms pulling him off. He thrashed, throwing his fists and swiftly receiving one himself. Loki’s face wrenched to the side, the knot atop his head falling and the golden snake clip bouncing to the stone below. “Brother, stop…” Thor shook his fist, knuckles blossoming scarlet. Loki’s stare fell on Fandral, being hoisted between two guards out the room. He pressed his cheek, wincing. “I avoided your nose, at least,” Thor said. “But it will bruise, for certain.” “Fuck you, brother,” Loki spat.

He didn’t indulge the hands that grasped at him, half-drunk, petitioning him to stay at his own celebrations. He could still taste your delicate arousal on his tongue, and hear the unspoken words hanging in the air between the two of you.

I love you, your eyes had said, even before the enchanted robe confirmed it. He wondered if his had, too. What must she think of me?

The guards opened the golden door separating the inner palace from the outer court. Their eyes fell down his body, but they said nothing. Under normal circumstances, Loki could materialise a more modest outfit with a wave of his hand, but his emotions were too high; his magic was too unstable. So, for now, any members of the court milling around would have a scene to tell their grandchildren about: Loki of Asgard, resplendent in his Rite robe, cock hanging free – on the way to salvage the love he thought he’d never find — if she'd still have him. Quick footsteps pattered behind him and Loki whipped around, fire flashing in his eyes. Håkon stood masked in shadow, a low hood covering his face. “What are you doing here?” Loki said, not bothering to hide the exasperation in his voice. Håkon shrugged. “I thought you might need me. When you messed up, you know?” Loki folded his arms, suddenly aware the boy was seeing him practically naked, but Håkon’s eyes were set firmly on his own, even when a pair of leather pants materialised around Loki's lower limbs. “What do you mean when I messed up?” Loki scoffed, feeling his ears burn. “Why—?”

Håkon sighed. “—Do you know where her rooms are?” A swallow worked down Loki’s throat, common sense spreading now that his heart had slowed. “No.” Håkon smirked in a way that Loki felt entirely responsible for. “Exactly. Come on, let me help you for once.” Loki’s heart wrenched a little at the sentiment, quickly diluted by the whisper of ‘idiot,’ as Håkon passed him. And then it was his turn to smirk.

The boy led him through a maze of corridors Loki had never seen before, up three flights of stairs and to the furthest wing of the court. Your door was open, but to his dismay, Loki quickly realised you weren’t there. Clothes lay strewn across the floor, emptied from a dresser.

“Where is she?” Loki growled to no one, and Håkon shrugged lightly. “Depends what you did, master,” he said, glancing out the door and down the corridor. “But she’s gone, alright.”

No one had tried to stop you. And really, that said it all.

You’d made straight for the baths and shrugged off the ceremonial robe, pulling on your old day dress as quickly as possible. You’d run to your chambers with bare feet slapping against stone, slamming the door behind you with wild eyes and wilder thoughts.

I have to get out of here. You couldn’t stay here where you were a figure of ridicule; where everyone knew you loved Loki enough to satisfy some ancient magic and his first thought had been an ale, and the approval he so desperately wanted.   A place of honour, yeah right. Anger curdled in your gut. He hadn’t even said thank you. Bastard.

You bit back tears as a bag was stuffed with all the necessities you could think of. It would take a few days to arrange travel somewhere far away from here, maybe back to your family. But until then, you couldn’t sit here waiting for whatever pity knock came at the door. And there was only one place that came to mind. “Oh,” Lagertha said, peeping through the gap in the bronze door of the Weaving Tower. Moonlight smoothed the deep wrinkles of her face, and the bobble of a sleeping cap hung by the sheet of fabric draped down her chest. She peered to either side, groggy eyes blinking back to your face. “Got Loki exhausted and begging for mercy already? You better be here to spill all the details - I’m a little old for girl talk but I’ll do my best.” She smiled as she said it, but it was wary.

When you didn’t reply she added, ‘…What’s he done?” And then, you started to cry.

Lagertha ushered you inside, bringing you to a small door at the back of the ground floor. Through the haze of tears, you couldn’t even appreciate that the door that had appeared from nowhere on the smooth circular wall, opening into a homely set of rooms. She plonked you at a small table and set about making tea while you heaved out the important details: ceremony, amazing, loved him, left.

Lagertha sighed. She drooped into the chair opposite and pushed a steaming cup of something herbal in your direction. You blew a wet snort into the sleeve of your dress. “Blessed Norns, dear. We may not be royals, but we’re not animals.” She fished in a pocket of her nightdress. “Here,” she said, offering a suspiciously crinkled handkerchief. You took it, blew into it, and she sighed again. “I’m sure he meant well, love.” “He left me!” you gasped, high and squeaky. Your eyes itched from tears and Lagertha grimaced. “He didn’t say a word, let himself be dragged off by the people he claims to despise all telling him how fucking great he was…Fandral was right. I’m nothing to him.” You folded your head in your hands, staring at the table. “I never liked that Fandral,” Lagertha said after a pause. Her chair creaked. “Never trust a man with more shoes than sense, that’s what my mother always said.” A small laugh erupted in your throat. And soon afterwards, the stone weighing in your stomach was dust. Temporarily, at least. When the teapot was empty, she showed you to a small bedroom beside her own holding a long single bed, and not much else. A nightdress was folded on it, woven by Lagertha. The threads shimmered in moonlight. “I can’t magic you up a four-poster bed, I’m afraid,” she said with a sad smile. “But I can guarantee you’ve never slept on finer sheets.” You shook your head. “No, it’s perfect…thank you, Lagertha.” And as you curled your knees to your chest, staring at the wall, you tried not to think about Loki’s eyes as he kissed the inside of your knee; of his warm breath in your ear as the syllables of your name lingered on his tongue, and the hope you'd felt. That was the worst of it. You were trying so hard not to think about it, you almost didn’t hear a knock at the front door.

“What do you want?” Lagertha hissed. You stood with an ear pressed tightly to the wood separating the front door of Lagertha’s quarters to the main entrance of the Tower. A low voice rumbled in response. “I don’t know what to tell you,” Lagertha said. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

“…Safe?” the voice mumbled. It sounded sad. Is it…? You pulled the door open.

Loki stood in the entrance, that broad shouldered silhouette unmistakeable. Shards of liquid moonlight dashed across the wild hair spread over his shoulders. He still wore the ceremonial robe, but the intricate folds were tangled and now he was wearing a pair of those — fucking —leather trousers that clung to every insane muscle. And then, breath caught in your throat. A bruise the colour of stormclouds was spreading under Loki’s eye socket, and a deep scratch ran from his heart down to the oblique on his left side.

He gasped your name, lunging forwards – but Lagertha stopped him with a delicate press to his chest. He looked at her, and then at you. “I need to speak to you,” he pleaded. “I can explain, it’s not what you—" You raised a hand. Part of you wanted to run into his arms and tell him to shut up and kiss him into oblivion. But another part, the sensible part, knew that nothing had changed. Not really. Lagertha looked between the two of you.

“Why don’t the two of you have a little chat, hmm?” You said nothing, staring at Loki. He was breathing heavily. Did he run all the way from the palace? How did he know I was gone? Butterflies erupted in your stomach as you noted the twitch of his fingers by his sides, the frantic dart of his eyes over your face, his lips itching to say the words jostling behind them.

Lagertha rose her eyebrows at you, and you nodded in confirmation. She made a fist at the thin material on Loki’s chest and pulled him inside. The bronze door slammed. The god smoothed his hair back, his abdomen twitching. “Upstairs is about as private as it gets,” Lagertha said breezily, shuffling across the floor. Her bare feet whispered across polished marble. “Just…try not to throw him out the window, will you?” she asked as she passed, patting your shoulder. “The kids need those hams from the palace.”

You lowered your gaze as her wizened hand lingered and then slid into the darkness beyond with the rest of her. And the next thing you felt was the gentle touch of a finger trailing up your jawline. “Little Ow—" “—Don’t.” The finger flinched. Your vision started to blur. “I’m so embarrassed, Loki,” you whispered, hoping he couldn’t hear the waver in your voice. His brows peaked.

“Come upstairs,” he said, letting the fingers graze down your arm and tentatively cupping your hand. Loki led you up the staircase, his perfect ass shifting in those ridiculous leather pants. You bit your lip, trying to douse the hope building in your gut. That hope always got you in trouble. The measuring room looked different by moonlight. A wide bar of white spilt through the solitary window. Outside, Asgard's twin moons were almost in perfect alignment. Once every 500 years, you thought lazily. The chaise in the corner was still in the same place you’d first seen the god draped over it, the first place you’d seen the hint in his eyes there could be something more.

He dropped your hand, pacing to the centre of the room, and spread his arms, turning in a solemn circle. Loki looked up beneath his lashes, the bruise shadowing one half of his face, and moonlight dashing the other. “I am, who I am,” he said with a tinge of bitterness. Loki’s tongue nipped over his lips, trepidation flashing on his features. “To everyone…I am the prince of pleasure. I am usually drunk, mostly rude, or having sex…or all three.” You rolled your eyes, arms folding over the thin nightdress. “But then…I met you,” he finished. He crossed the room, a hand sliding around your waist. “Years in the palace shovelled dirt on the person who I am, who I want to be. I felt like I was…mad. But with you, I feel whole. I can be…free.”

His lips brushed yours, hovering. “When they said The Rite had been successful…I was blinded by everything I always thought I wanted. Everything I’d been conditioned to want by that awful place, just for a moment," he said, voice catching against the short puffs of your breath into his mouth.

“But what I truly want…is you. And you owe me nothing, I know that. But I need you to know that I —” You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him to your lips, tongue demanding entry as he stumbled back and clasped his hands at your back.

“I love you, Loki,” you gasped through messy kisses. "You fucking fool, I do...I just thought, I thought..."

He pulled away. The dark, tangled halo of his hair framed the angles of his face. Loki’s eyes were black in the gloom, a small sliver of blue ringing blown pupils. He cupped your jaw, and brushing a thumb over your parted lips. “I love you in ways I thought weren’t possible, I love—”

Your body moulded to him like a magnet, tongue exploring his it was the first time. His hands cupped the base of your skull as one of yours worked down his chest, down his waist. Loki hissed, jolting back. “I’m sorry,” you said, glancing at the ragged scratch. “What happened?” “Fandral,” he muttered, but before you could ask his mouth was on yours again. You squeezed his cock through the tight leather as Loki unwound his hands from your hair and shrugged the ceremonial robe from his shoulders. “Can we…you know... now?” you breathed against his chest as your eager fingers pulled at his laces. Loki’s chest shook with silent laughter but all he said was, “Yes. If you want to.” You looked up, scandalised. “If I want to? Are you mad?” Loki’s hands stilled around yours. The tip of his cock was hard against your fingers, and all you wanted to do was dig down the narrow gap of the fabric and squeeze; feel him tremble under the weight of how much you wanted every part of him. “If you don’t want me anymore, if The Rite was too much and now you have doubts…you’re under no obligation to—”

“—Fuck you?” A smirk curled at one side of Loki’s mouth. “Well, yes.”

“You’re every bit the arsehole they say you are,” you said, poking the centre of his chest, “you’re vain, and brash, and arrogant…” Loki’s smile grew, sinking slowly to his knees. “Keep talking, darling. Ruin me.” His thumbs and forefingers curled above your knees, working upwards and raising the hem of your nightdress with it. “Proud, and mouthy…but…you’re also kind, and generous and, oh-gods,” Loki’s mouth fastening to your clit, suckling gently. Your fingers raked through his hair, pulling his face tighter to the heat between your legs. In the pearl-slick gloom, there was only you and him; Lagertha's fabrics glistening like exotic bird wings in the half light. Your legs trembled and Loki’s hands flew to your ass, balancing as you staggered through orgasm with a rush of his name.

Sinking to the floor under his guidance, your lips met; whispers of ‘I love you,’ cracked the stillness while Loki waved his hand, and soft fur rugs unfurled from nothing on the floor.

You pressed against his chest, nudging him onto his back. Light kisses were peppered on his bruised under eye, down the line of his nose, across his parted lips. You travelled down his neck, tongue nipping over the thick vein straining and dipping into the hollow of Loki’s collarbone. “Please,” he gasped quietly, nails scraping lovingly down the ridges of your spine, “I need you, I’m begging you, darling.”

“A Prince? Begging?” Tutting softly, you straddled his hips, scooting down the god’s long legs and pulling the leather trousers as you went. Loki laughed as you threw them to the side and kissed up his perfect femurs, and then up the trail of the scratch on his stomach. His cock nestled between the swell of your breasts, pre-cum leaking into the fabric of the nightdress. “No…” Loki whined with feigned frustration. Or maybe not feigned, you thought with a thrill. His cock was incredibly hard, flat to his stomach, the tip dripping fat beads of arousal to the skin below. He arched his back, his eyes flashing with a primordial need. Your grip tightening around the girth, and Loki released a guttural choke. With a deft swoop, you captured the crown of his cock in your mouth. Loki was silent for a moment, and then, he moaned.

It was the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard. His skin was velvet against your tongue; every ridge pulsing in time with each suck. Loki’s words were unintelligible. Murmurs of praise in an ancient tongue, the glimpse of his fingers tightening around the furs out of the corner of your eye, his hips quivering with the effort of not emptying down your throat. Your fingers tightened around the base, tongue flicking the sensitive underneath of his shaft. Loki squirmed, and you looked up – mouth full of his cock. His brows peaked in desperation, his jaw slack and strands of hair stuck to his forehead. “I need to be inside you,” he panted, biting back a groan, “please…fuck me. Please—" Before he could finish the sentence, you’d crawled up his chest, kissing him like a Valkyrie. Loki Odinson was putty in your hands, thrusting against your bare thighs like a needy youth desperate to feel a cunt wrapped around his prick for the first time. And it was fucking hot.

A deep groan rumbled in Loki’s chest, and it was only at the last second you realised it was a growl.

He flipped you to your back, caging your wrists above your head, and spread your knees wider with one of his own, settling in the middle. Loose hair hung around his jawline. Above you was the devastating god of legend: the one that could ruin a city and a woman with one smoulder. And he was yours. “I love you,” he said again, nudging his cock at your slippery entrance. You arched up, capturing his lips. “Please, Loki,” you whispered. Loki’s cock breached and the two of you stilled. He panted slowly; his eyes fixed on yours as he eased himself inside.

The god’s forehead rested against yours as he circled his hips; a fullness rising like the tide filling a narrow cave. Of all things you expected Loki to be – gentle wasn’t one of them. And now, you weren't sure why. You clenched on every drag of his cock from your cunt, relishing the pained pleasure in his eyes before he sank inside again.

Each wickedly slow wave of his hips caught the deepest secrets of your desires; his breaths timed with yours, and only your name on his tongue. And then, his lips lowered to your ear, sucking the lobe between his teeth as he came with a thunderous gasp of devotion. "I'm yours," he breathed. "Utterly."

Your legs tightened around his hips, capturing him deep, locking tight enough you’d swear you’d never let go.

Loki's face buried in your neck, his heartbeat thumping against your chest. “I feel cheated,” you whispered against his cheek.

He frowned, pulling back. His cock twitched inside your snug cunt. Norns, it was even more perfect than he dreamed it would be, but — “Excuse me?” he said, followed by a confused snort unbecoming of royalty. He cringed as your lips rippled with a stifled smile. “I’ve heard all these tales of Prince Loki and his sexual theatrics…drama, you know?” You shrugged, and Loki tried to ignore the gnawing desire rear in his lower stomach at how innocently fucked-out you looked. “Is my lover…unsatisfied?” “No?” You bit your lip, and Loki’s manhood eased from your silken channel with a licentious slurp. His eyes narrowed as you continued with, “That was…incredible, I just…you’re different to how I thought you’d be. Gentler, more…romantic.” Loki knelt back, heels digging against his ass. He ran his hands through sweat-damp hair, pausing with the fingers locked behind his head. “You should be honoured,” he sniffed imperiously. “I don’t think I’ve made love like that in…” He realised he’d been staring at the window and tilted his head to meet your eyes, “Ever.” Your beam of pride made his heart explode into a thousand, shining pieces. He towered over your moon-drunk body, memorising the lines that appeared in your face when you were truly happy. Joy. Acceptance. Love. So, this was what it felt like. One finger traced over Loki’s lips, down his chin; fell to his chest and continued its descent between his ribs. “Are you asking to experience both sides of me, tonight?” he asked: slow, gravelled.

You bit your lip again, but the smile couldn’t be contained. Loki lowered, making a show of placing his palms above each of your shoulders.

“Are you asking for Loki of Asgard to fuck you like a god?” he growled, relishing the frantic nod of your head. “To take you as his mistress, and mark you as his own?” He shot you a wolfish grin. No words passed your lips – at least, none known to gods or men. Your hips thrust up to meet the dangle of his riotously hard cock with a clouded, desperate mischief in your eyes.

“Mmm,” Loki hummed, sliding a flat palm between your breasts and massaging the base of your neck. In one graceful movement Loki’s hand dropped to your waist, the other scooping beneath your hips and sliding your body up his thighs. He gave your arse a tight smack, grabbing a handful of hot flesh with an approving rumble. He held you still above the tip of his cock, mustering his best look of regal indifference. “What do you want?” he goaded. The fingernails digging into his shoulder muscle would leave marks, but Loki didn’t care. “Fuck me again, Loki…please, hard” you gasped, raking through his hair. He knew it would be hanging in perfect dishevelment around his jaw, trailing the hollow of your neck, strands marking his moonlit skin like ink.

Loki lowered you an inch, letting the tight ring of your cunt swallow the tip of his cock. His whole body shuddered, fingertips sinking into the soft flesh of your waist. “F—fuck, darling,” he stuttered. He hoped he’d never become accustomed to that silken fire.

You yelped as Loki powered upward.

His thighs smarted, and your legs tightened around his waist. The god took several steps forward, pressing you tightly against the turret wall.

Asgard’s twin moons shone through the window, coating the city rooftops like white sapphire. They're almost joined, he noticed. The court would be out in force for the event: fires blazing, chants ringing. His absence would be noted. But all Loki could feel was the beat of your heart against his, and your whispers of forever in every breath.

The moan that ripped from your throat as he buried himself was heaven, and Loki intended to wring pitches of pleasure from that pretty throat that you’d never thought possible. He ripped the neckline of your nightdress, devouring the supple skin that taunted him — palming your perfect breasts, and his enthusiasm as harsh from his throat as it was from his cock. You arched into his body, offering your neck like a willing rabbit to a panther. Or was he the rabbit? Hel's fire: It had never been like this.

He wanted to consume you, or rather, let you consume him. An endless cycle of lust, and love, and eternity. He wasn’t afraid anymore. Whatever he’d found in you, he’d found himself. Every inch of himself was alight with the grip of your cunt as he bottomed out again and again. A hand flew above your head, gripping a chunk of uneven stone. “Make me yours, Loki Odison,” you breathed as your climax ebbed, clenching tightly around the root of his cock. He dragged it out with a gritted growl. Webs of cum squelched as he eased in, and out; your ambrosial mess coating the wet, slow clap of skin. “You give yourself freely,” he panted, and your fingers wrapped deeper in his hair, tugging sharply. He hissed, delivering a punishing thrust that made the wall behind you tremble. “I take nothing which isn’t offered freely; I take nothing which isn’t already mine.” At that, your crossed ankles pressed deeper into the base of his spine. Loki thought he might explode. “Mark me with your power, Loki,” you said, nudging his lips to yours. “Uhhh, g-gods…don’t…” A sob caught in his throat as he felt orgasm swell. He bit into your shoulder, sucking hard enough to bruise. Your gasp of pleasure was the final tie. It snapped. Loki’s hand flew to your ass, pulling you a final devastating time down the rippling veins of his length. His heavy breaths thrummed with climax, your hands fastened to the sides of his face – forcing his eyes to yours.

“Mark me,” you slurred, resting your head against the wall: watching him come undone inside your sweet cunt with a lazy smile. Loki’s vision blurred, blood thundering in his ears. He screwed his eyes shut, face tipped to the ceiling and a strangled moan choking from his throat as he emptied molten seed deep inside you for a second, glorious time.

Your lips fastened to the hard vein throbbing in his neck, kissing up until they met the angle of his jaw. "Which side of me do you prefer, then?" he asked, noting the wild thump of his heart. He felt your smile against his cheek.

"I love all of you, Loki." You kissed the tip of his cheekbone. "Every side," you whispered, "and each piece between. You never have to pretend with me. And I promise, I won't pretend with you."

Loki's vision blurred, a thick swallow working down his throat. And for the first time, he knew without a doubt exactly what he wanted; what he needed.

“Marry me,” he murmured, and your grip on his hair faltered. “What?” You looked at him with nothing less than utter bemusement. “You can’t be—" “Serious? Deadly.” Loki lowered you to the ground and kissed you so deeply that he felt the hidden parts of him mingle with yours. But it was meant to be this way. “You opened yourself to me during The Rite – gave me my destiny – but it wasn’t the succession, it was you.” You opened your mouth and closed it again.

Loki raised a hand and snapped his fingers.

Balls of light burst in perfect sync in mid-air: dozens of tiny, flickering orbs of golden flame. Your eyes met his. “Loki, I love you, but you don’t mean that you need to…your family would never—" “—Fuck my family,” he said softly. “To Hel with their inane traditions that serve no one but themselves. I will marry you, and I’ll be happy. I’ll make you happy. If you want it.” Loki touched his forehead to yours, feeling your shoulders begin to shake. “Together, we can usher in a new age of Asgard; a new dawn.” Loki drew his face away, unsurprised to see tracks of silent tears making your cheeks glisten. With every second that passed, the nerves in his stomach skittered to the emptiest corners of his mind he preferred never to tread.

“Will you have me?” he whispered, searching your face. “Will you help me?” The air was knocked out his lungs as you threw your whole weight at him; arms locked around his neck and mouth pressed violently to his own.

Amber slats of sunrise played in the sharp crevices of Loki’s cheekbones. They softened the bruise Thor had left. Loki hadn’t wanted to hide it, not from you. Not from Lagertha, either.

His blue eyes peered knowingly over the rim of one of her pattered teacups, narrowing softly. You smiled, and straightened as Lagertha came bustling through the kitchen door. “Ah, you stayed the night,” she said brightly, nodding to Loki and making for the teapot. “Thought you might. And I see you got the night-robe I left out, thank you for…wearing it. Not that I don’t appreciate the spectacle but given the circumstances it may be a little…inappropriate.”

She poured a cup, plopping down in the third seat at the small table, before looking between you. An eyebrow rose.

“If I go upstairs, Loki Odinson, there better not be a button out of place.”

The words were honeyed, but you could tell she’d kick his ass if there was. And Loki knew it too. You stifled a laugh as his eyes widened, and he pressed an innocent hand to his chest: mortally wounded. “Every thread is in place, Lagertha. You have my word.” She rolled her eyes, landing on you with a wink. "Mmm..." she murmured sceptically, her eyes falling to the tattered neckline of your nightgown. Heat crept up your neck.

The three of you sipped in silence before Lagertha said, “So I assume I’ll need to clear my weaving schedule for a wedding, then?” Loki's tea erupted in a splutter, bringing a fist to his mouth and coughing frantically. You turned to her. “I…um…we,” Lagertha patted your hand. “Don’t worry dear, I wasn’t listening. But like I said the first time we met…I have eyes.” She smiled gently. “Am I wrong?”

Her wry gaze swung between the two of you. “Thought not. Fandral just ordered a new batch of capes. I’ll tell him it won’t happen this quarter: Royal wedding garments take top priority, you see. What a shame. I know how much he loathes not getting what he wants.”

She gave you another wink. “But, for the two of you, I shall enjoy every moment.”

Loki reached across the table, and your own hand crawled forwards, meeting it. “I love you,” he murmured. “Finally,” Lagertha huffed. “Nice to hear you say it out loud – blazing Norns, it’s been a long week. If I wasn’t already grey, I would be.” Loki threw her a loving glare as his thumb massaged the centre of your palm. Despite lack of sleep, you’d never felt more awake. “As much as I adore her, Lagertha likes to think she knows everything, darling.” “Cos’ I do,” she said with a shrug. “At least where weaving and their enchantments are concerned. But this?” She gestured between you, “It was as obvious as Asgard is golden. Colour me unsurprised when you announce it and no one bats an eye. He’s met his match, and I’ll curse anyone who says otherwise; weave a spell into their robes which makes them perpetually shit themselves, perhaps. But you better not forget about the little ones—”

“—Never,” Loki cut in. She nodded, and put her hand on top of the knot you and Loki had made. A golden ribbon as thin as cobweb snaked over your wrist, slithering in soft waves through the gaps in your fingers and up Loki’s forearm.

“May the Norns bless you,” Lagertha said with a gentle smile, and the ribbon dissolved like melted sugar, absorbing into your skin. And as you and Loki’s eyes met, you knew, finally, that they did.

A/N: Thank you so much for coming on this journey with meee❤️I really hope you enjoyed seeing a bit more of this version of my Asgard, silly as it is. 🕯️ Whether you're reading this two days or two years afterwards, I'd love to hear your thoughts 😊 May the Lagertha-Vibes be with you, always.

Somehow, you needed to fall in love with him in two moons – three if he counted the night of The Rite itself. Or at least, the stirrings of love which went beyond simple lust or pure reverence. If you knew that...it would push you away. Why wouldn't it? Asgardian royals had stacked the decks for millennia; beginning courtships of likely matches for marriage from a young age – and the Rite was a foregone conclusion: part of the wheel. It was too important, and there were no second chances.

But you fucked it up. If he didn’t fulfil the Rite, then he’d be forever out of the succession. And if he did succeed, and you fell in love with him, he’d have to break your heart as swiftly as he’d cheated his way to it. Loki couldn’t love – not like the others. He’d accepted that a long time ago - he'd been told many times.

He brought a hand cleanly against a goblet on the desk and sent it crashing to the wall. Thick cracks spread from the impact. He buried his face in his palms, stifling a scream. Perhaps his brother was right; perhaps Fandral was the better choice after all. There was no hope for your feelings to blossom given the boorish, wanton way he’d conducted himself. The Circle-Club, Norns. What must she think.

The door creaked open. “More wine, my Prince?” the chambermaid said. She was wearing the low-cut robes tonight, holding the flask beneath the curve of her breasts. She looked up at him through lined lashes, a dark eyebrow rising. She didn’t seem concerned at his distress – not one bit. Just wanted to ride him or suck him off or let him bend her over the balcony: not that he could blame her. “No,” he said abruptly. Once she’d left, he was sure the serving groom wouldn’t be far behind – offering his services. They had a system, he was certain of it. If one was declined, they knew Loki was in the mood for the other. His eyes wandered out the open archway. Daytime bustling of the courtyard below sounded loud to his ears. Suddenly the jug appeared in front of him, tapping onto the table while the tart, sweet scent of wine filled his nostrils. Her hands wound around his neck; breasts pressed between his shoulder blades; her breath hot in his ear.

“Are you sure, my Prince?” she whispered, sucking his earlobe between her teeth. “I’ve missed your highness’s touch, it’s been over a week.” Loki closed his eyes, trying to smother the revulsion at himself. The drinking, the endless sex, the aloofness: that nothing mattered. Perhaps he wanted it to matter – did anyone ever think of that? Even endless pleasure, Loki was finding, grew tiresome when flitting from one instant gratification to the next.

“No…thank you,” he said softly; holding up the flask. She said nothing else, just blinked a few times as he nudged the smooth metal into her hands. She threw concerned glances over her shoulder every few steps as she left, closing the door behind her. Loki slumped into the chair; trying to remember how people who didn’t drink wine and fuck all afternoon passed the time.

And so, until sunrise, he decided to do what he’d avoided for far too long: think.

Loki pulled at his sleeves.

The inferior material so favoured by the common-folk was starting to itch. He lingered on the outskirts of the palace gardens, scanning for you. And soon, there you were – led by Håkon. He was a little shit, but Loki liked him – and he showed promise as an apprentice; a rarity, considering his beginnings. Loki smiled. The face he wore didn’t hold that type of smile so agreeably as his own, but it would do. Håkon nudged you to his level, and Loki saw your eyes widen before meeting his own across the path.

You walked briskly towards him, eyes darting to passers-by. “Loki?!” you hissed. Loki’s smile grew. “The very same, little owl. Does my disguise not please you?” You made a face, and Loki snorted lightly, the rough knuckles that met his lips stifling it. To anyone that looked on him, he was a roughened, reddened stable-hand ilk: the type would garner no second looks except that of the guards searching for escaped jailbirds.

“It’s necessary, I assure you. Even this early in the morning, the markets are busy. I’d rather not attract any unwanted attention.” “I didn’t think it was possible for any attention you received to be unwanted...” Loki’s eyes narrowed. The subsequent smile lit your eyes in the same when it did when you looked on his own face: like the strike of a match. It made his stomach flip. You were wearing a beautiful green day-gown – the same shade as the calla lily growing by the pond.

“I had intended for us to walk around the gardens but…plans have changed. I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “Håkon’s coming too. Although…I fear you may be rather overdressed.” Your face fell. “Håkon’s coming?” “He’s not so bad,” Loki said as the boy wove ahead through the crowd, stealing small pieces of cake from the morning stalls. “Perhaps you may grow to like him.” You cleared your throat, and Loki felt his skin prickle with the words unsaid. He could feel them on the air before your tongue formed them. The obvious question most were too afraid to ask. “Is he your son?” There was no judgement in the question, only curiosity. It was, Loki surmised, a reasonable assumption with the boy’s dark hair and playful tricks – indeed, he often wished the answer was yes. But he replied, “No, merely my apprentice. No illusions, not this time. Upon my honour, such as it is.”

Loki’s fingers flexed by his side, and a rough, woollen cloak unfurled covertly in his grasp. He held it in a bundle towards you. “As beautiful as that gown is,” he said in his gruff, stolen voice, “Best not to attract attention where we’re going.”

“Don’t you want to change my face, too?” you said, and the sparkling mischief in your eyes made blood thud in his ears. “No,” he said, perhaps a little too quickly. He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t deny myself, and the people of Asgard, even the shortest glimpse of your skin under this morning light.” You stared at him for a moment before gasping into laughter. Loki frowned. “I’m not laughing at you, Loki…I just…” Your breaths were becoming short, and people were staring. You leant against his shoulder, burying your face against the rough scratch of his grubby tunic. “It’s only…well, they have to see me with you. I can only guess what they’re thinking. I still have a reputation to uphold, you know.” A laugh built in Loki’s chest, shaking in time with your own. You pulled away from his shoulder, smoothing a wiry chunk of crusted, mousy-brown hair behind his ear. “Alright,” he said bashfully. “I didn’t think of that. How about…I change your appearance too – but alter it so that we can see each other for our true selves?” You grinned. “Deal.” Loki could tell the exact moment that the enchantment licked over his skin by the edge of your bottom lip between your teeth. Norns, how he wanted to rip that dress to shreds with his teeth and have you inside the topiary maze.

Beneath the magical mask of rough, woollen clothing – he was wearing casual livery; a green tunic buttoned up to the neck, and tight-fitting buckskin breeches tucked into riding boots. Freshly washed hair tumbled over his shoulders. He could see you, and you could see him – and to anyone else, you were just two, ragged, happy peasants and their thief of an offspring.

Loki’s breath hitched as you reached out a hand. “So…where are we going?” He led you through the market, down side-passages that spread like veins from the centre of Asgard’s township and soon the buildings grew less polished…less gold.

Amber brickwork shifted to craggy, dirt-smoked stone and Loki couldn’t help noticing your face grow more cautious with every step. Eventually, he stopped outside a large wooden door cut into a tall building. Håkon knocked. After a minute, the gap creaked open. “Lagertha?!” you gasped, neck snapping to Loki. Her eyes narrowed. “What says the fox to the crow?” she asked warily, keen gaze shifting between you. Loki rolled his eyes. He could never remember the inane answers to such riddles, no matter how many times she told him. “43, 33, 36,” he said. Lagertha frowned. “What?” He repeated his measurements, and her eyes widened. “Loki?!” she hissed, sticking her head out and casting a furtive look to either side of the empty alley.

She shot out a dainty fist and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him inside. Loki grasped your hand, yanking you after him. The door slammed. Loki crouched to receive her hug; he was always surprised how strong she was. “I didn’t think you’d come, what with the late notice…I didn’t think—” She stopped herself, pulling back and shooting a piercing glare in your direction. “Who’s this?”

“Ah,” Loki said. Before he could say anything else, Lagertha wafted theatrically in front of her nose.

“Borr’s bones, Loki. Lower the glamour, will you? I understand the need for secrecy, but is there any need for the smell?” Loki’s lips rolled together, biting his tongue. Behind him, Håkon laughed. With a flex of his fingers the enchantment burned away to reveal his true form, and yours too. Lagertha’s face softened. “My dear…” she said sweetly, as though she hadn’t been moments away from poking you in the eye. “So nice to see the two of you spending time together. He must trust you, if he brought you here.” You opened your mouth to ask inevitable questions but Loki placed a hand on Lagertha’s back. “Show me. From your note, it seems we have no time to waste.”

Lagertha led him to the open courtyard in the middle of the building. From the outside, it resembled the same crumbling wreck as all the buildings in this district – but inside, it was a palace: all curved edges and bright, warm colours. Cushions littered the floor, a pond in the centre and a fountain spurting shapes with changed on the hour. The lilt of childish laughter twinkled in the air – but then, he saw her. A girl no older than two lay cradled in the arms of a nurse in the corner. Her skin was flushed and splotchy: the areas not afflicted had the pallor of rotted milk. Loki had seen her several times before – and several times he’d wished she would alter her screeches of happiness at a change in the breeze or the spray of the fountain to a decibel lower. But now, the absence of that joyful screech was torturous. He came skidding to a stop, falling to his knees on the cushions. “You should have summoned me sooner,” he said, pressing the back of his hand to the girl’s forehead. She was hot with the scorch of impending death. Lagertha sank to her knees beside him. “You know the rules– only in the direst of circumstances.” “May I?” he asked the nurse, and she shifted. He held the child, her head lolled in his arms, eyelids fluttering. He could see your profile out of the corner of his eye – and for a moment, he regretted ever considering bringing you to this place.

Nothing says romance like the demise of an infant, he scolded himself. He hadn’t thought it would be this bad. But you touched his back, a comforting trail of your fingers down his spine.

Loki pressed a hand to the small chest, closing his eyes. A swell of magic pulsed through his skin; green licking out from his palm. The baby’s eyes shot open in shock, a strangled cry of surprise tearing around the cloisters. Loki held the squirming child steady, palm flush to her skin. Hold on, he willed. Hold on.

Slowly, too slowly, the angry splotches receded. Plumpness began to puff back into her cheeks, and the child’s eyes opened – glossy and bright with sleepy wonder. “Thank the gods,” the nurse breathed, and Lagertha clapped her hands together. “Not the gods,” Lagertha said dryly, “just this one. He’s the only one worth having.” Relief swelled in Loki’s chest as he passed the child to the nurse. “Careful, Lagertha – I’ll have you for treason.” “Not if I have you first,” she replied wryly. They exchanged a knowing smile.

Loki’s nerves didn’t settle until they’d draped into the chairs by the water’s edge. Someone brought tea, and he tried to pour it before realising his fingers were trembling. You took the pot, pouring a cup for Loki, Lagertha, and yourself. “Thank you,” he murmured, and the smile that danced on your lips was like none he’d ever seen before. He looked away quickly, and then heard you ask… “What is this place?”

Lagertha snorted. “An orphanage, of sorts. I help when I can, in between the weaving – and Loki manages to come once a month or so to keep things in check – keep things nice for the children, make sure the pantry is stocked with the meats he smuggles from the palace, bless him.” Loki felt heat creep up his cheeks as she reached across the table, nobbled fingers wrapping around his wrist.

It's now or never, he thought. But in his heart, he knew you had to know. That you could be trusted. He could feel it. “If my father knew it existed…especially under my patronage - he would shut it down, turn them out.” Tea slopped over the side of your cup. “What?!” “He grows suspicious – and there are spies everywhere. Fandral, for instance.” Loki bit back the spit of his name. “If it's discovered before I am confirmed in the line of succession, then I won’t have as much say in what's done if it’s exposed.” “Why would Odin want this taken away?”

Loki’s heart sank as your eyes landed on each small, plump child in turn, older ones around Håkon’s age peering around pillars. There was a dozen spread across the courtyard, and more upstairs in bed. Many, many more. Two girls splashed in the centre of the garden pool, un-phased by their illustrious visitor. He saw the exact moment your keen mind landed on the right question. “Who are they?” you asked quietly. “Bastard sons and daughters of the gods, and of the court. The unwanted; the shame of Asgardian wealth and lust, and selfishness,” Loki heard himself say. Lagertha squeezed his hand. He met her eyes, unspoken words passing between them. She was asking permission, and he granted it. She cleared her throat. “The high and mighty in the palace like to smear this one because he lays it about, no offence intended m’Lord—” “—None taken,” Loki said with a small smile. “—But Loki here, he enjoys his pleasure with people he can take care of, should it be needed. I mean yes, he has the contraceptive magic and all that…but he doesn’t take advantage, not like the others. They pretend goose-fat wouldn’t melt: playing pure and then heading to the taverns and brothels, leaving their seed behind in the bellies of women who have no choice but to give ‘em to us when the lords’ pretend they don’t exist.” Loki couldn’t look at you. He stared at a ripple in the pool, following its progress until it faded to stillness. Suddenly, your hand was at his cheek; your lips pressing to his in a silent, soft understanding. He met your eyes.

“I know what it is to be unwanted,” he admitted – and with horror, he realised his vision was beginning to blur. “I couldn’t let that happen to them.” “He says next year, I’ll have a friend at the palace,” Håkon interrupted cheerfully from across the courtyard, looking up from a plate of sliced cheese. He shot Loki a glare. “Not a girl through,” he added – and beside him, a girl with long blonde hair suspiciously like Thor’s punched him in the arm. “Ow.” Loki smiled. “I can’t add my apprentices too quickly, you understand. One a year usually suffices to evade suspicion – and then afterwards, they travel to Vanaheim to continue their education. But Håkon is staying a little longer…” His eyebrows rose in the boy’s direction, “If he behaves himself.”

Loki met your eyes. There was that look again, the one that made him feel like a nervous virgin and a king at the same time. He straightened as your fingers clasped around his thigh beneath the table. It wasn’t a gesture of lust, he was sure – but his groin ached just the same. “We should go,” he said, and your face fell. Around them, childish wails of discontent grew loud and soon small hands were pawing at his legs - little bodies jostling for a place on his lap and wrapping their chubby arms about his neck. Your laughter was music above the fray. “We should stay,” you said sternly over the excitement – and Loki grinned through a veil of small limbs and wide smiles. “They’ve clearly missed you.” “You don’t mind?” His heart fizzed as you rested a fist beneath your chin. “Not a bit,” you said, as a boy with auburn ringlets crawled onto your knees, smudging the green silk with butter-greased fingers. And what’s more, Loki realised as you greeted the boy with a hug, she means it.

When you returned to your chambers, the sun was beginning to set.

The most beautiful dress you’d ever seen in your entire life was hanging against the window: shimmering in amber hues slatting across the floor. A deep, rich green: silk that rippled with sparks of gold. A note was pinned to the lapel. ‘Make him erupt in his britches again,’ it said. You snorted. It was signed with a looping, cursive L – and a kiss. You weren’t sure how Lagertha had managed to ensure its delivery between hobbling after three dozen squealing children for nine hours alongside you – but you appreciated it none the less. The fact Loki had told her about events in the orgy-room yesterday made an unexpected warmth blossom in your belly. It was becoming harder not to get attached.

You’d tried not to think too much about tonight: the feast. It made it all a bit…real. A celebration of Loki’s attempt at The Rite – and a celebration of his chosen partner: aka, a chance for the court to get a good look at you.

You sighed, looking in the mirror. I can do this, you thought. For Loki. You frowned. The idea that you’d be doing it for him was new – and the thought seemed to expand inside your skull like dandelion seeds blossoming on a stalk. For Loki. And then, another thought. You’d meant to raise it this morning, but the day’s events had been…distracting. What the fuck was the second part? The one that had him more nervous than he had any right to be? He couldn’t doubt his skills in oral pleasure, surely. He’d only have to look between your legs and you’d explode. It had to be something else: something important. You tried to push it aside as your giggling maid helped you into the dress and fixed your hair. It wasn’t as elaborate as the royals, but it would do. And besides, you weren’t one of them. And you never will be.

When the final clasp was added to your hair, there was a knock at the door. Just one. The maid answered, and from the pitch in her voice you could tell she was flustered. Loki had said he’d meet you outside the feasting hall – Is he here? Your stomach fluttered as you scurried to the entranceway, and immediately grimaced. “Fandral?” He looked up from where one forearm was pressed against the archway, looming over your maid like a lech. If Loki did that, it would be unbearably hot – but Fandral had a way of making even the most potentially erotic poses illicit the same response as hot sick. “The very same,” he drawled, straightening a ruffled cuff. “Loki sent me to fetch you, since we’re all to be such great friends.” “He did?”

“Mmm,” Fandral said. It wasn’t an answer, but you were running late. Maybe he’ll throw me down a well, you thought as you gingerly took his arm and began walking in silence down the corridor. If he tries, I’ll drag him by the balls down with me.

Fandral’s tunic was made of the softest velvet you’d ever felt: a bright, cerulean blue. His fingers clasped over your hand wrapped around his forearm as you walked. “How curious,” he hummed, and your expression hardened, staring ahead for what was coming. “Such soft hands, despite your status. I’ve heard buckling ones own shoes is a terror for callouses.” “You must give me some tips - I’d hate to scratch Loki’s intimate areas with my nasty, commoner callouses.” Fandral yanked you to a stop. There was a flash in his eyes. “Do not call yourself a commoner. It’s an insult to the Prince – as though he would lie with a peasant. You are the lowest rung in the court, and he’s too good for you…but you’re not so low as to be unable to debase yourself further.” “From what I hear, others aren’t so picky as you are,” you muttered, pulling your arm from his grasp, remembering the sweet faces of the children nobody wanted. The shame of the Asgardian court. One of Fandral’s slicked eyebrows rose. “And what does that mean?” Shit. He’s a fucking spy - you’re going to blow the secret, and you’ve only known for a day. You improvised, cracking your neck to the side and painting on a mask of apathy. “You’re arrogant, anyone ever tell you that?” Fandral sneered, the illusion of his upper hand returning. “Consider your proclivity towards our Prince, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You rolled your eyes, thankful that the chatter of nobles filing into the feasting hall was growing louder. Looked like there was only one more turn—

“He’s trying to make you fall in love with him.” You stopped, blinking furiously; the crowd visible at the end of the corridor blurring. “Excuse me?”

But before Fandral could respond, a shadow fell over you both. The sight was like smelling salts. Norns, he’d never looked so handsome. Loki’s dark hair was half drawn up to expose the sharp lines of his face; a golden band resting on his head with thin spires like spun, violent sunlight pointed to the ceiling.

His outfit matched your own perfectly: a thick brocade tunic with delicate buckles running up his midsection; green and gold woven with breath-taking perfection. The tunic fell to his mid-thighs, leather trousers tucked into thin boots the same forest green as your dress. His hand slid around your waist, placing a chaste kiss on your cheek. Out of the corner of your eye, Fandral grimaced.

“You look…beautiful,” Loki breathed against your ear, his scent richly spiced, and for a moment it stifled the guilt clawing in your chest. He drew back, shooting Fandral a withering glare. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” As Fandral gave you a last, salty look – Loki’s eyes fell on you again. “Just one more thing,” he said softly, flexing his fingers. A weight grew on your head in time with Loki’s smile; the same crown of sun rays growing towards the ceiling, matching his own. “Tonight is for you,” he said, offering his arm.

“For us,” you replied, hoping it was true.

The first few hours of the feast passed in a blur.

You’d never forget the feeling as you walked arm-in-arm with Prince Loki down the centre of the hall feeling like a queen: nobles cheering, Fandral looking like he had a wedgie, Frigga smiling widely, and Thor…although not quite as much. Odin’s face was like a pruned apple, but what else was new.

Don’t get attached, you reminded yourself again. But it was becoming harder.

You sat beside Loki at the top table, chatting easily as the two of you tucked into honey-glazed boar, potatoes baked in cream, vegetables soaked in the most delicious spices you’d ever tasted.

Every so often, a noble would shuffle in front of you both with a small bow, offering their good luck wishes to the god beside you. “Not required, but appreciated,” Loki said every time. And every time, you stifled a laugh. More than once, you caught Frigga gazing at you out of the corner of your eye. But when your eyes met, hers darted away. That small smile hadn’t left her lips all night.

Loki stood. “It’s far too dull for this time in the evening, time for some dancing…don’t you think?” Thor perked up two seats down from you, his eyes alight and a sticky ring of honey smeared around his mouth, dripping down his chin. “Dancing! Yes, brother.”

Loki smoothed the front of his tunic, waiting for a adequate number of revellers to admire his outfit, before making his way to the band assembling in the corner. You recognised the lute player from yesterday’s orgy – the blindfolded one. Loki’s seat was immediately taken by Fandral, and you rolled your eyes. “What do you want?” you snapped. “The second part of The Rite – I assume he still hasn’t told you.”

Fandral released a whispering chuckle that made your stomach tighten. He hovered by your ear with a smile stretched on his rattish face, golden glitter from his hair falling to the tablecloth. To anyone watching, it might look like he was telling a joke, but there was no humour in his voice.

“He has to make you cum with that pretty mouth of his, yes. But your feelings towards him as he does it will be measured: not lust, or respect as your better…but the deeper sort. It will be impossible to hide it. If you do love him, then afterwards, he’ll discard you like the commoner you imagine yourself to be. And if you don't, which is more likely...let's be honest, you’ll have cost him his place in the succession.” Fandral withdrew, a dazzlingly artificial smile plastered on his face. You opened your mouth and closed it again, heartbeat hard in your throat. “It breaks my heart to see him play you,” he sighed, playing with Loki’s fork. “Just as he will break yours…but alas, it’s how it must be. I expect he’s lavished you with his attention these past days, let you see…allegedly…another side of him?”

“You’re just jealous,” you blurted. It was childish, and frantic.

His eyes narrowed. “It’s no secret I have feelings for the Prince which go beyond mere frippery – I make no waves against it. Loki is magnificent in many ways, but he’s always been a fool. And you will make a fool of him too, when it’s clear you don’t love him; when he is shamed, his status diminished - left forever in his brother’s shadow.”

Your vision swam. “But…why would he…why would he choose me, then? It’s too important, I…” Those plump, hopeful kid’s faces flashed in front of your eyes again. The way he sang to them, and made baby animals burst in living shadows from his fingertips to prance across the courtyard amidst their shrieks of delight. They were in danger. Loki had to secure his place in the succession. This wasn’t about you, not really.

“Fandral,” you said, searching his face, not knowing what you wanted him to say. “Just enjoy yourself tonight.” Fandal smiled, giving a small wave to someone across the room. “I’m sure Loki will come to his senses before the ceremony.” Time seemed to stop as Loki drew you on to the dancefloor, and soon the centre of the hall was a shifting sea of graceful bodies and swirling silk. You’d never wanted anything more than to attend one of these things – you weren’t going to let Fandral ruin it.

Loki’s body was like steel, but he moved like fluid - a liquid grace which twirled and manoeuvred you easily across the floor. His cheek pressed to yours, lips grazing your skin at achingly slow intervals. You wondered if he knew he was doing it. And yet— ‘It breaks my heart to see him play you; just as he will break yours.’ Your hand faltered from Loki’s hold, fumbling the step.

He drew you closer, eyes clouded with concern. The lutes seem very loud all of a sudden. “Loki…” you started. You needed to know – and he needed to choose. There was much at stake, and you didn’t know if you could give him what he needed to come out The Rite with his place in the succession intact.

“May I?” Fandral’s voice shattered the moment.

He was the picture of gentile chivalry, a hand extended with a reverent bow. Loki looked at you, and you suddenly realised the only thing you wanted was more time before the illusion that this could all be real shattered forever.

As your hand left Loki’s, reaching for Fandral’s – you saw the creep of a cruel smirk, and a white glisten on Fandral’s fingers too late. Your breath caught as he lunged. And then, all hel broke loose.

Loki’s body was a wall of muscle ramming between the two of you, smacking Fandral’s arm to the side.

You stumbled backwards, falling into Frigga dancing with some lord from Vanaheim. Grapes went skittering across the floor from the knock-on-carnage; goblets cracking against marble and shrieks as priceless suede shoes were splashed.

Loki was gripping Fandral’s wrist as the blonde looked up wide-eyed, words shaping his lips that came out in a mess of denials and apologies. Between the nonsensical muttering, you heard two words from Fandral’s lips: ‘Thor…whorehouse.’ Loki’s eyes narrowed, and then he punched Fandral in the face. The sharp crack of his nose breaking split the air. “Loki,” Odin boomed, shuffling in front of the long table at the head of the hall. “The Rite feast is no occasion for your brutish theatrics.” Loki’s fingers tightened around Fandral’s wrist and a pathetic squeal snaked from his throat. “He tried to sabotage my partner,” Loki growled through gritted teeth. He sent Fandral sprawling to the floor. “See? He bears the seed of a god on his hand – you know the rules better than any, father. It would render her ineligible to take part. Bartered with a lady of the night in Asgard’s township from one of her patrons, no doubt.”

Your stomach dropped as gasps rose around the hall; whispers of a hundred conversations turning to a roar. “Silence,” Odin shouted. The guests obeyed. “Is this true?” he directed at a cowering Fandral. “Surely no god would involve themselves with such a person, such an act.” Your eyes swung to Loki. You’d never seen him angry. And dark irons…it was hot.

His fists clenched and unclenched by his sides; a muscle in his jaw feathering with every strong beat of the pulse in his neck. A wave of pride, and desire, and…something else, swelled in your stomach. The gold-spired crown on his head glittered beneath candlelight, dark curls spilling over brocaded shoulders like ink. “I assure you, father – it is true.”

And Odin knows it…bastard, you thought as Loki turned, brows heavy as he stared his father down. “Order him from my sight, or I cannot be responsible for what comes next.” And for once, Odin complied.

You couldn’t hear Fandral’s protestations of innocence, or the clatter of guards. All you could hear were Loki’s heavy breaths as he pulled you after him down a side corridor and into the open air of the balcony. All you could feel was the press of his body to yours as your back hit the wall; the pressure of his ravenous kiss; the need of his sighs and broken apologies into your open mouth.

His palms cupped your cheeks, lips slotting so perfectly against yours and the weight of his chest flush to your body like he thought you might vanish.

You pressed a palm to his chest, pushing him back. Deja-vu of the first night you entered Loki’s world flashed in front of your eyes: a kiss on a balcony, a promise made with hidden intentions– but it was nothing like this.

There was something different swimming in his sapphire eyes: more than lust, or duty…or tricks. It would’ve been a foregone conclusion that Loki would be successful in achieving The Rite with Fandral. He could bring that golden turd pleasure like he’d never known; show the Norns he could win the love of the people who worshipped him…but that option was dead now. Not that you’d wanted it for him in the first place.

Could that look in Loki’s eyes be faked? The one that smouldered with embers of cities he’d burn for you; of how inexplicably far he’d go to keep you as his partner in this farce even though the odds were stacked against him. He’d known they were all along. “Loki…” you whispered, and he wet his lips, biting the bottom one softly as his gaze fell. I could love him, you realised. Eyes wide open; knowing that this might be all it ever was, and even if he would never feel the same – I could love him. With the little time that was left, you only hoped it would be enough.

Tags in comments ❤️as always I lovvvvve hearing your thoughts! Thank you so much if you're here!

The Rite itself is in chapter six.. and chapter seven? ...who knows🤔 (me, I know.)

“Fan-tastic,” Sam says dryly, yanking the depleted bowl to his side. He clutches it in one hand, searching for stray chocolate buttons concealed beneath his thighs with the other. Tony snaps the leg panel of his recliner down, bracing at the sides. “Zip it or you’re barred. I have managerial rights.” “C’mon man, you saw what he did to my snacks - to my chinos.” Tony raises a silencing finger to Sam, moving it slowly to Scott. They both shrink into the sofa. "You know you're out of line when the lovebirds are better behaved that you are - and one of them is Loki." Loki’s mouth moves to your ear in the midst of the bickering, his breath making your scalp tingle. “It still amuses me that these picture reels affect you so. So easily unnerved.” “I’m not affected,” you mumble against his t-shirt. Loki’s low chuckle jostles your head. You prop your chin on his chest, staring up at the taut underside of his jaw. His eyes are bright and reflecting the screen stretched across the wall of the common room. “Yes you are,” he whispers in a frequency it feels like only you can hear. “It would be unreasonable for you to be as stoic as a god, darling. Very difficult to affect us to the same extent, you see.” “Is that right?” “Mmm,” Loki hums as he focuses on Morgan Freeman doing something clever. “My concentration is impeccable. Always has been.” You snort against his t-shirt. Minutes pass and peace is restored to the Stark cinema. You reach for Loki’s hand, intertwining the fingers. He gives it a squeeze, kissing the top of your head with his eyes trained on the screen. “Quiet,” Tony snips. A puff of air escapes against your hair. Loki squeezes your hand again and you press a kiss into his stomach, sucking the cotton between your teeth. The hard heat of his muscle clenches as your teeth graze the curve of a pectoral, blowing a blast of heat through the fabric. A strained exhale escapes Loki’s nostrils. “Careful, darling,” he murmurs. Silently, you shift the back of his hand to your lips. It's huge. Your dainty fingers get lost in the flickering shadows from the screen beneath the perfect pale of his long digits. His abdomen tightens against your cheek; hips shifting beneath you. After pausing a few moments...just to make him sweat, you press your lips against his skin. The unlikely pair on-screen move and talk, but you’re not really listening. It’s Loki’s gentle breaths you’re listening to, the ones drawn with such utmost precision that they’re anything but natural. Your lips move along the back of his hand, kissing the way you used to practice when you were a kid. “Mmgh,” he groans quietly, widening his thighs. Without looking you can tell Tony is glaring. “Apologies,” Loki says. “Cramp.”

Your tongue covertly traces the line of Loki’s finger from his second knuckle to the tip, catching it between your lips. A violent shudder wrenches his thighs and his effort to remain casual is astonishingly evident in the tighten of every muscle touching your body. His finger balances on the flat of your tongue and Loki’s holds his breath. After a pause, you slide it to the back of your tongue, fastening your lips to the base of his finger. “Norns,” he breaths, clearing his throat. It times perfectly with a jump-scare on screen. His free hand is curled to the arm-rest, perfectly manicured nails turning white as he digs them into the upholstery. You began to suck.

A growl rumbles his chest and the desperation to seem un-phased makes heat pool in your belly. You shift your hips, wetness sliding in your underwear. Loki’s cock is hardening furiously against his thigh, the drape of your hand, swelling against the tight jeans he insists on wearing. Sucking firmly, you drag your mouth down his finger, lingering on the tip and swirling your tongue. When you do that to his cock, just right, he cums down your throat with a whimpering stutter of your name. “I can’t do this anymore,” Loki mutters. Suddenly the world is upended and you’re tossed against the cushions on the opposite side of the sofa. Loki’s on his feet, one hand on his hips and the other pointed at the screen. It glistens with your saliva. Tony slams the feet of his recliner down. “Laufeyson for Christssakes will you pee before the movie? How many times.” “This man is an insufferable buffoon,” Loki says as he gestures at Morgan Freeman. “It’s clear the villain they seek is among them: the man with the vaguely attractive face who’s eating constantly.” Scott covers his ears while Sam leans forward. “Yo, man...spoilers,” he warns, raising an eyebrow. Loki lowers his head, shaking it with a smirk. Dark curls fall around his face and the pulse in his neck races in the half-light. “Fools. Come, darling. We shan’t waste your depleting lifespan on this nonsense.” Loki grabs your hand and yanks you from the sofa, bustling towards the door. “Keep moving,” he orders while a frantic hand runs over your ass and squeezes hard. The door barely clicks shut before Loki descends like a storm; hands and lips and dark sighs smothering you against the wall. “You dare to tease me thus?” He pants between the words, wet lips parted and eyes heavy. “I didn’t think you’d be affected, you say as Loki’s eyes glint. “I thought your concentration was impeccable.” He steps between your legs and the flat of his thigh pressed up against your clit. You gasp. “Even a god can be undone by simulated oral pleasure on his extremities, darling." You bat your lashes, biting your lip. “I won’t tell Hydra, I promise.” Loki growls again as he trails his knuckles over your breasts; his black hair and t-shirt and jeans melting into the darkness of the unlit corridor. The hand snakes down your thigh, working under the loose hem of your skirt. “Loki,” you say, eyes darting to the cinema-room door at the other side of the corridor. “Shhh…” Loki buries himself in your neck, sucking against your pulse. There’s a girlish scream from inside the room as another body is discovered. Your fingers fumble with Loki’s jean buttons, a desperate sigh of relief clouding the air as his cock springs free. “You’re impossible,” he says as he pulls the gusset of your panties to the side. “You’re impossible.” “Well, yes,” he says with a conspiratorial smile before hoisting your legs around his waist and sinking you greedily onto his length. The tug of his cock squeezing inside you hits with new fire as his hand covers your mouth. The finger you sucked is still wet and you pant against his palm. His eyes are bottomless in the gloom; the slight tremble of his brows and the part of his lips as he fucks you against the wall making you melt against him. Every slow roll of his hips erupts a quiet moan between his fingers. His breathy pants time with your own as he gets off on your pleasure like he always does. Your fingers claw at the V of his t-shirt, bunching it in a fist with a mewl of his name. “Teasing a god rarely ends without mischief, love,” he murmurs in the dark. Loki’s skin is flawless in the weak light leaking beneath the door to the cinema room. “You’d do well to remember that as we continue this…” He thrusts with calculate precision. “Venture.” You moan against his hand, eyes screwing shut as the coil tightens deep inside you. He loosens the pressure of his palm, a finger nudging at your lips. “Go on,” he whispers through heavy exhales. “Suck it as I fuck you. Show me how filthy you are for me.”

You let it slide against your tongue, sucking the digit over the flat with every rise of his hips. Legs tightening around him, Loki bites his lip as he looks down at your head falling back against the wall with unbridled approval. “You like it,” he moans with a whiff of condescension. “Perhaps I can summon a duplicate of myself for you to pleasure while I take you another way; would you like that?” The thought has blood thumping in your ears and the twisting pressure tightening in your core reaches critical levels. You whine, sucking Loki’s finger frantically as his eyes glaze with lust and his teeth clench. “F-fuck,” he chokes, stiffening against you. His forehead presses to yours, a guttural sigh shaking from his chest. Breath mists against your lips and you can feel the swell of his hot cum leak from your slit as he shuffles, milking the last of his pleasure – and yours. Your nails dig into the meat of his shoulders as you cum with a strangled whimper, dragging against the cotton. Loki’s thrusts slow, his kisses working into the angle of your jaw and the thud of your pulse. “You were wrong,” you sigh as he lowers your feet to the floor. “Excuse me?” “About the killer. It’s not Brad Pitt.” Loki’s brow scrunches as trembling fingers pull at his zip. “How can that be?” You shrug mysteriously, buttoning his jeans with a pat of his softening bulge. “Shall we go back in?”

Loki’s eyes narrow and he curls a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “Alright. But no distractions.” “I promise,” you lie, and a wicked smile plays on Loki’s lips.