Andromeda

╔⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤╗

The Cowardly Lion

╚⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝

✿❀○❀✿

If death had a heart, he would scoop Morte Di Angelo's tired soul in his hands, kiss her forehead, and finally lay her to rest. She would have no shroud, coffin, or casket at her wake, for there would be no wake at all. She simply would lie in the grass, blood seeping back into the earth, and flowers would bloom atop the rotting flesh that would become her body. The sun would smile on her, the birds would chirp, and Morte would finally know the taste of peace. The animals around her would bow their heads before feasting on her remains, and each small decomposer would work to turn her back into what she started as, dirt. No one would stand around and mourn, for no one mourns the passing of a rotten soul. 

Morte thought about death a lot. Images of burned flesh, scarred faces, and crushed limbs would scatter her mind as she wondered what way she would go. Her dreams played out each possibility for her passing as if it was a game to be played and in order to win you had to find the most excruciating end. Would venom melt her flesh as she gasped on the ground, begging for forgiveness? Would she be electrocuted while atoning for her past mistakes that she wished to take back? Or would a gun be pressed to her temple while she slept, a song sung in her ear, and a trigger softly pulled? Spinning on a carousel of painful ends, Morte wished to get off, but she herself was just another metal animal glued down by a conductor that refused to stop the ride. 

After the night at The Cavern with Annabeth, Morte set off searching for Percy at one of the most typical places you could find the teenaged demigod: a school for misfits. The plan was to search every misfit school she could find in order to hopefully sniff out the trouble causing demigod, but it didn’t go so well. Enrolling had been forced upon her when she showed up and was met with the face of a very upset satyr that was adamant that she was the devil in disguise. Morte tried to run away from the obnoxious and strange statured goat man, but he grabbed her by the ear and dragged her inside with a mission: find and take care of the halfbloods he was protecting. Next thing Morte knew she was put in a room with a stunning but surprisingly rude girl named Piper, and she was being harassed by what she could only describe as a latino Santa’s elf. 

Leo Valdez made Morte crave death. He was loud, obnoxious, and annoyingly funny. From the moment that Morte arrived at the wilderness school, he clung to her like a second skin. He immediately decided that she was his muse, and in a bleak empty world, he was the one to add colour. He tried to make her laugh, made meaningless bets with her while she stared at him blankly, and worst of all, he cared about her. Everyday he would save her a seat next to him to ensure she got a good spot. He created a catapult that shot jello across the room so that he could jelly a kid from their physed class who made fun of her leg. She would come back to her dorm only to find a paperclip dragonfly resting on her pillow, waiting for her to see it. 

It was the day that Leo left a note with the dragonfly that made her feelings shift. Her body was sore from the hike that she had just endured, and her ears were still ringing from the sound of Coach Hedge’s megaphone. All she wanted to do was lie down and feel the embrace of Hypnos, but the dragonfly was in her way. Underneath its wing a small note sat folded neatly, waiting. Her slim fingers unwrapped the paper and she found that the note was covered in writing that her brain could not decipher. She turned over to her roommate who was sitting on her bed and reading, hoping that her question would not lead to a confrontation.  

“Hey Piper, sorry, could you read this to me please?” Her voice was weak and she felt tears well in her eyes from the overwhelming embarrassment she felt. It would be one thing if dyslexia was the reason that Morte could not read, many demigods had the affliction, but Morte Di Angelo could not read. It was a guarded secret that sat deep in her chest, pulling on her soul like an itch that she couldn’t scratch. She simply had never learned, and she had no one to teach her. 

“Um sure?” Piper responded, taking the note out of her hand before turning to read it. “... I think it says ‘meet me on the school roof tonight at dark. -L’ ew.” Piper groaned before handing the note back. “Leo’s at it again,” she muttered, turning back to her bunk and laying down.

Morte stared at the note in her hand. A strange feeling filled her, excitement. It filled her lungs and before she knew if, she was suffocating. The annoying elf that paraded around her like a planet does the sun, made her feel something. The idea that a kid she just met did that scared her. It burrowed deep in her chest, refusing to come out until the secret bubbled over. Her body laid itself down on the bed and before her mind could catch up to the fact that time had passed at all, moonlight peaked through the window, and the sound of Piper's snores filled the air. Without allowing herself to second guess, Morte sat up, pocketed a light and a pack of cigarettes, and shadow travelled to the roof. 

Leo sat at the edge of the roof, how he managed to get up there was unknown to Morte. His shoulders were slumped, his fingers softly fidgeting, and a sigh left his lips as he stared over the ledge. 

“Mind if I sit?” Morte’s voice broke through the crisp air. A yelp left Leo’s lips as his head whipped around to stare at Morte’s silhouette, eye finding her pale skin that seemed to glow in the darkness. His hand clutched his shirt, and in spite of herself a smile played on her lips. 

“Good God! You scared me!” His tone was exasperated, but a smile slowly formed on his lips. “I thought you stood me up Hermosa.” He laughed before patting the cement next to him. Morte sat down next to him, muscles stiff from the awkwardness that coursed through her body. 

“So… Why'd you ask me to come up here?” She broke the silence once again, curiosity crawling its way up her throat. 

“Oh, um… There's a full moon tonight and I thought you’d like to see it?” He shrugged, tone questioning the lie that slipped through his lips. 

“Leo… It’s waxing crescent right now. What's this really about?” Morte asked, looking up at the moon which stood in the sky, clearly not full.  

“I don’t know… I guess I wanted to hang out with you? Is that weird?” His voice was weak, and Morte could sense it carried fear. Fear was something that Morte knew far too well. It had clawed into her before and she understood the way it latched to your heart. She didn’t want Leo to feel that near her. Morte didn’t like being feared. 

“Leo, what does Leo stand for?” She asked suddenly, a smile in her voice.

“Uh, Leonidas.” He said with confusion lacing his voice. 

“That's what I thought. Where I grew up the name Leonidas was meant to invoke the lion. A mighty beast. King of the Jungle! Right now I’m looking in front of me and I see a cowardly lion. Where’s your roar?!” Morte asked giggling before standing up and looking down at the ground. From the height she was at, a normal person would surely die falling, but she had no fear. 

“Morte! Get down! You’re going to fall!” Leo cried before grabbing her hand. With the contact she immediately lifted him up with ease so that he would be standing on the ledge as well. “Oh my god! Morte!” He screamed with a laugh, clinging to her arms. 

The wind picked up as the two stood on the ledge. They held onto each other, laughter beating their lungs until it became silent cackling of joy. Without warning Morte sat back down, Leo clambering after her so that they would both be sitting. 

“My leg got sore, sorry.” Morte said as the laughter died down. Leo didn’t say anything, but she could see his eyes flutter down to look at where the prosthetic leg joined to the sad portion of her upper thigh that she had left. Her skin crawled as she felt embarrassment creep up behind her once more. 

“So, are you still feeling cowardly?” She asked with a slight chuckle. 

“Nope!” He quickly spoke, tearing his eyes away from her leg to look at her eyes. He stared into them deeply, transfixed by the swirling of purple and gold that covered her iris. It was her turn to tear her eyes away, an embarrassing colour forming on her cheeks. She shoved her hand in her pocket, withdrawing her smokes and lighter. 

“You good if I smoke this near you?” She asked, to which he silently nodded, staring deeply at the pack. A giggle, embarrassing and real, bubbled up her throat by the look on his face. “You want one? You’re practically drooling.” 

Leo nodded again and she passed a cigarette over to him. She then put the pack away and turned to light it for him, seeing as he didn’t have a lighter. He placed it between his lips and she drew near, coming closer to his lips. Another flush of annoying color lit her face and she looked away, flicking the lighter and placing it under the cigarette perched in his mouth. Once his was lit she turned to do the same for herself, but was stopped when she felt a hand on her chin. She froze, muscles tight in fear. 

“Here, let me help.” Leo placed her smoke between her lips, before placing his between his lips, and lining up their mouths so that his would light hers. 

“Thanks,” she said, turning away to hide her crimson face. The two sat in silence, the cool breeze falling on their skin. “So, not so cowardly lion, what’s the real reason you brought me up here tonight.”

“I wanted to be near you,” he whispered. “I really like you Morte, I want to get to know you. I want us to be friends, but every time I reach out I hit a stone wall.”

She understood what he meant. Morte had been great at building walls. Creating lies that fit her like a cloak to avoid attachment. Her life had been nothing but pain, so she got used to sleeping on the brick rather than another's shoulder. Leo was different. He reminded her of herself, and it scared her. She had never had a friend before. She had her siblings, her coworkers, and that was the majority of her connection. Morte had been building a new life. It was time for a friend. 

“I’ve never had a friend before,” her voice hushed. “I guess I could try?” 

Leo did not respond, just took her hand in his and leaned on her shoulder. The two sat like that before he leaned back up, hair messed up from where her shoulder had been. 

“Just to be clear, being friends means I get to sleep on you whenever I want.” Leo laughed and Morte couldn’t help but laugh as well. A yawn escaped his lips and he leaned back down, head resting on her shoulder comfortably. 

“You need to get to bed.” Morte spoke, maneuvering him so that she could stand, and then pull him in suit.

“Fine.” He grumbled, turning away from her and towards the stairs. At the last second, hand clutching the door knob, he turned around. Before she could process what was happening Leo was hugging her, his hair tickling her chin due to how much shorter he was. Morte froze, once again feeling fear, but when she looked down at him, it melted away. “See you tomorrow, I’ll save you a seat, friend.” He chuckled, letting down and stepping back. 

“See you, friend.” She laughed softly and he smiled one last time before turning and leaving. 

Morte smiled before turning and shadow-travelling to her room. She crawled under her covers and for a moment allowed herself to relax. For the first time in her life, she had a friend, and she felt happy about it, drifting off with a small smile still pressed on her lips.

✿❀○❀✿

╔⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤╗

The Cowardly Lion

╚⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝

Masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Morte Di Angelo was so tried. Her whole life had been spent fighting and all she wanted to do was lie down and sleep. Of course, she couldn't, not when she was one of the most dangerous demigods in the world. With a prophecy ticking down her clock and the fates going against her, she is destined to be end up alone and miserable, forever doomed by the gods. However when she meets a small, awkward boy on a quest to save the world things begin to take a turn she never would have seen coming.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Also published on Wattpad:

Deaths Shadow- Leo Valdez x OC by hellokityy

I Prologue

╔⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤╗

Prologue 

╚⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝

✿❀○❀✿

"Thinking you're so fine..." Her voice rang throughout the small bar as she strummed the deteriorated guitar in her arms. "Thinking you can have mine." The words projected around as the crowd of drunks dancing around her cheered and sang along. Boots stomped against the ground as hollers of drunken cheer rose above the banging. Mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters, all let themselves fall victim to the beautiful sound that engulfed them whole. Heads flowed back and forth as she sang her heart out. She always did wear her heart on her sleeve, even when a thick sweater was thrown over top to cover it. 

The Cavern, a pub she had been recently hired by, vibrated with life; contrasting with the pale girl who stood on stage. The walls of old wood stood still around her, and the smell of malt whiskey surrounded her like swirls of ecstasy. She felt on top of the world, not a care in her head as she strummed her guitar and sang. For a moment she did not have siblings, a father, or a mother. She did not have a name, or a title that sunk its way under her skin. As long as the drugs, and alcohol flowed through her veins she was safe from the world outside. Her eyes closed as she swayed. Her heart beat with strain, pumping the thick sludge that flowed through her veins, replacing the blood she once had.  

After the battle of Manhattan, she was left with nothing. Her naturally black and curly hair was struck with strips of gold, her tanned skin was stained an unhealthy colour that looked to replicate the delicate lustre of moonstone, and her strangely beautiful purple eyes were stained the colour of the ichor that flowed through her. When she passed by, mirrors would shatter, for her reflection was one that she herself did not know. But, in the same way she did as a child, she picked herself up off the cement, and got to work. Dragging her prosthetic left leg, her two stygian iron scythes, and enough baggage to kill a full grown adult, she got up.  It was only when she was lipping through downtown New York, she saw a flyer in the window: singer needed. One audition, a bag of white rocky powder from a strange man in the alley, and a whole lot of burned spoons later, and she was living in the back of The Cavern and getting paid to get drunk and sing. She persevered because that's what she did. Morte Di Angelo always persevered.

It was only when Morte opened her eyes to sing the most important part of her song that she saw her. Annabeth Chase, whose face was etched with lethargic prowess, and whose spirit withered with each step she took towards Morte. It was the sign of a truly desperate person; coming to talk to another who she had almost killed in hate. Annabeth Chase, who once held a dagger over Morte's heart and prepared to strike down; spit, blood, and tears mixing the face of a child whose world had been broken. There were very few people Morte wanted to see, and Annabeth Chase was not one of them."Nothing you can take from me is worth the dirt." Her voice wavered with anger and for a second the room disappeared as Morte sang directly at the blonde haired girl.  

She began to walk towards Morte, carefully weaving through the thick and hazed crowd. Their eyes never left each other, a weave of electricity connecting them together. "Take it cause I'd give it free it won't hurt."  A pause, a breath, a shudder. "Nothing you can take, was ever worth keeping." Her chest rose and fell with each second of tension that crackled in the air, thick and hot. "No, nothing you can take... was ever worth… keeping.”  The crowd burst into cheers as she heaved a sign of relief. Another performance for Morte to put in the scrapbook, or more realistically a memory she would purposefully forget. Annabeth was standing in front of the stage and motioned for Morte to follow her towards the women's washrooms. Eyes darting and shoulders shrugging. Morte did not want to go towards Annabeth, towards her past, but if she had to, there was no way in Hades she was going to the ladies bathroom. She grabbed the microphone off of the stand with numb hands. 

"Well everyone I hope you're having a terrific night!" The crowd cheered as they slurred their praises. "I will see you tomorrow, but for now I'm going to go get some beauty sleep, cause lord knows I need it." Her voice was laced in fake cheer as a tear slipped from her eye, alone on the surface of her cheek. The crowd erupted in laughter as she bowed and walked towards the curtain. Making eye contact with Annabeth once more, Morte signaled for Annabeth to follow her behind the curtain and into the changing room, aka her bedroom. 

"Annabeth, I don't know why-" Morte was cut off as Annabeth flung herself onto Morte's unnaturally tall and thin frame. 

"He's gone, Morte, he's gone." She sobbed as Morte recoiled from the touch of the blonde. She had not been touched by another person in ages, let alone hugged by someone searching for comfort. 

"W-What?" Morte's brain was burning as Annabeth clung to her, shoulders shaking with sobs. She wanted Annabeth to let go, but at the sight of the sobbing girl a motherly instinct that Morte had used time and time again, kicked in once more. She began to rub her left hand along Annabeth’s spine, mentally recoiling from the feeling of being so close to another. With her right hand she stroked the wavy blonde hair that portrayed how disheveled Annabeth was. Who was missing, and why was it her problem? She started panicking as her brain shifted her thoughts to the estranged brother Morte tried so desperately to protect. Her hands continued to stroke Annabeth, comforting her, before slowly their pace. Would Annabeth truely care if another Di Angelo was missing? Or would it be recounted as another instance of Chase landing on top.  "Annabeth, who's gone?" Her voice was a quiet whisper, but laced with fear so loud she felt as if it was shouted. Morte grabbed Annabeth's shoulders gently, maneuvering her in order to get her to look into Morte's purple and gold eyes. 

"Percy." Annabeth hiccuped, finally breaking away from her hysteria. "He's gone." As soon as she finished talking she collapsed back into Morte and clung to her like a life line. Involuntarily, Morte let out a sigh of relief. As she did she felt a pang in her chest for being relieved he was gone. Morte had Met Sally Jackson, in fact Sally had shot her in the shoulder during the Battle of Manhattan trying to protect Percy. She was a good mom, and didn’t deserve the grief of a missing child. Morte knew that better than anyone.  

"Oh, Annabeth." Morte hugged the sobbing girl and stroked her hair as she once did to her own sister. It felt wrong, but then again Annabeth confining in her, a virtual stranger, was also completely wrong. "It's okay, you're okay, I'm here. Breathe.” 

"I'm- I'm sorry. " The tears stuck to Annabeth's face. "I don't know what to do." 

"Start with the story. Talk me through it, just relax and think. Okay? All I need is for you to explain.” 

Annabeth nodded as she began to explain the course of the last month. A cheerful period where everyone believed that Morte had been slaughtered. A celebration of newfound peace and joy. A boyfriend who promised the world to his love, and then disappeared without any sign of him leaving. And an inkling of a suspicion that not only had Morte Di Angelo not fallen victim to her fate, but may be the one to help save Percy’s. She started crying a few times and Morte's heart sank. Although Annabeth may have hated Morte, Morte admired her bravery and intellect. Seeing her so broken and scared, she needed to help fix whatever was going on. 

"What do you need me to do?" 

Annabeth looked up at her, eyes still shining but no longer spilling tears. A white streak of her hair fell softly on her shoulder, one that matched perfectly with the giant patch on the back of Morte’s head. The sea met the sand, and Annabeth drew in a breath. She opened her mouth; the fates began to sing their song of misery, and knit their socks of destiny. 

✿❀○❀✿

╔⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤╗

Prologue

╚⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝

Loki Laufeyson x wife!reader 

Warnings: NSFW, Smut (18+ minors do not interact), pregnant!reader, sub!Loki, soft!dom!reader, worship kink, humiliation kink, pregnancy kink, praise kink, size kink, mentions of breeding, light degradation, overstimulation, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, female anatomy, plot divergence, some plot spoilers if you squint, anger/yelling, angst, unprotected sex, mentions of minor/major injuries, bad writing/cringe, this is my first smut, NOT proofread at all, changes tense every five seconds my apologies 

Context: You’re Loki’s wife and after he had been presumed dead during the events of Thor, you had been left to grieve your lost husband while being left to deal with your pregnancy on your own. When you find out that not only is your husband alive, but he is being held prisoner by a group of ‘wanna be superheroes’ all you can feel is the utter rage at both them and your husband.

WC: 5064

“Lock the door behind me, and don’t come downstairs until I’m back.” Those were Loki’s last words to you. His last soul-crushing words before he left to visit Odin in the Odinsleep, a visit he never returned from.

 You understood why he would want you to lock the door, although Asgard, especially the palace, had some of the best guards in all of the nine realms, over the past four months Loki had become extremely protective over you. Whether it was simply grabbing you a book from the top shelf, or putting himself in front of you when someone got too close, Loki went out of his way to do it. The growing bump on your lower abdomen, the one that for two long and tortuous months you had kept hidden from everyone but Loki, made the muscles in Loki’s heart burn at the idea of you ever hurting yourself, or worse, someone hurting you. His worry over you, although unnecessary in your eyes, made a spark in your heart, and day by day you could feel the fire catching and growing ever stronger. You were too ashamed at the mere thought of telling anyone, but the way Loki looked at you with such care and worry in his eyes made you want to sing and laugh with the utmost giddy. It pained you to see your husband worry, but the way he worried about you, like you were the only thing in the world that he could ever truly care about, lit your body on fire. 

It was when you heard loud crashing from the floor below you did you realize why Loki had told you to lock the door and not to leave. Recently, ever since a few weeks before Thor’s supposed coronation, Loki had been acting off. From telling you every small detail about his day, painting beautiful pictures with the words that feel from his silver tongue, to just shrugging off your questions about how he was doing. He began to whisper to himself, whispering secret things that didn't make sense to anyone around. It was only when the frost giants had attacked the kingdom on Thor’s coronation day that you had come to a conclusion of what your husband had been doing. That night you had confronted him, in the quiet and cold darkness of your bedroom, silk sheets covering you and the man you loved so. When you asked, he told, just like he always had when you asked him what he truly was doing. You wanted to say something, to ask why, but you remained silent, endorsing his plans with a tight lipped smile, as if pretending for the sake of your child and lover would make you feel any better about the situation. 

When Thor came into your chambers that night, knocking to be let in, your face fell. Dread creeped up your spine, whispering things of fear into your mind, shouting when Thor had shook his head to confirm. Loki was dead. The man you had loved since you two had met in a field of wildgrass, him on a horse and you in the shade of an old apple tree. It had been a childhood romance that ended in tragedy, as now you were alone, and the only thing left of your lover was the smell of him on the soft, silk pillow, and the baby that kicked inside of your stomach, crying for its father. The image of Loki, surrounded by his father and brother, but utterly alone, hanging from the bifrost as sorrow seeped into his chest filled your mind. The idea that he could simply let go of the one thing that tethered him there, killing himself and leaving you behind. You felt as if you were being sliced open by an invisible sword, and with every thought of your husband, the blade sunk itself into you deeper, tearing you apart. 

The only thing that kept you going was your child. You told yourself that Loki wouldn’t have wanted you to lose yourself in your grief; but a part of your mind, the part that lurks in your darkest thoughts, whispered that he didn’t care. Because in your eyes, and in the eyes of everyone else, Loki had killed himself, and it didn’t matter to him that his wife and his unborn child waited for him back in his bedroom, underneath blankets that smelt of the two of you and the love you shared. Your mind tore itself apart, waging war on your body and the baby that grew inside of it, because that baby was the only thing you cared about, and it was the only thing you had that made you feel a burning rage at the selfish man you had left you both. 

Frigga herself had become worried for you. As the swollen part of your stomach grew, so did the hurt and anger in your eyes. You became cold and sullen towards those around you. The light in your eyes that Loki had once compared to the burning of the sun became replaced with the burning of a fire, one that was fueled by loathing itself. Your magic had begun to act out, shadows lashing around you like the detestation for the world lashed inside of you. It became clear to Frigga that she had never seen this part of you because you locked it away from the prying eyes that stared at every crack in your composer. She had always wondered how you, the goddess of discord, strife, shadows, fear, and the disease of everything pure, goddess of all that was bad in the world, had always been such a beautiful and kind soul. Frigga came to realize that you were a kind soul not because you didn’t like your powers and didn’t indulge in the chaos they brought, but because Loki was your chaos. With Loki, your darkness became light, for he was the mischievous chaos that you radiated, you radiated Loki. With him gone, all that was left was the chaos that hid underneath the fun, the chaos that led men to pluck out their eyes, and the darkness that caused them to go mad. The very soul that balanced you disappeared, and the darkness that his light drove away, slowly crept back in.

Rain had poured down on Midgard that night, a fact you only found yourself caring about because the weather would be affecting Thor. The Allfather, the man with one eye, the man who you had referred to as your father in law, had sent Thor down to Midgard on a mission. One you did not know of. It was only when Frigga walked up to your room, a cup of tea in her hands and a soft smile on your face did you learn that Thor had been sent off. Frigga gave you a hug as you two discussed what was happening in the other realm. It was when you heard the name that you longed to hear, that your anger reached a fever pit. While you sat in the agony that was being nine months pregnant, joints aching and but luckily unswollen, Thor was busy being sent to Midgard to find the man you yearned for.

 Loki was alive, and you were inconceivably angry.  

The mirror that hung on your wall shattered with the hurt and rage that radiated from your body. Frigga put a hand on your shoulder before slowly helping you up from the chair you sat on, fully intending to help you find your husband. 

“Get dressed, and then we will find Odin.” Her voice was motherly, but your mind was too busy processing the fact that Loki was alive to care about how loved it made you feel. 

“And if Odin doesn’t let me find my husband? What then Frigga?” You asked, desperation filling your voice. 

“He will.” 

With that Frigga left your room, allowing you to get dressed so that you could go to the allfather. You flung open your closet door and fished out your favorite dress. The fabric was form fitting but stretched over your baby bump, hugging it gently, before cascading down into a looser, more ruffled bottom half. It was deep, emerald green, with golden accents embellishing the sleeves, neckline, stomach, and a strip down the front. The velvety softness held your nerves with a sense of familiarity, and the sleeves that draped down from your wrists in beautiful ruffles allowed you to fiddle away the fear you felt in your heart. You put on your matching jewelry: a simple green laced choker with a golden pendant in the middle, and emerald earrings that were wrapped with intricate golden backs, hanging down from the soft lobes of your ears. You quickly called Frigga back into the room, asking her to put your hair into a crown upon your head, your messy hair being styled away from your face. It was only then that you realized how sunken your eyes were and how much your cheekbones and collar bones stuck out. You had made sure to eat enough for your baby to thrive, but you realized that your kindness had not extended to yourself. Once Frigga finished with your hair you quickly threw on a pair of sleek black, high heeled boots, seeking frigga to assist you with the zipper on the side of them. 

By the time you make it to Odin, you already feel a shortness of breath creeping up on you. It pounded at your lungs, demanding you stop and obey its will, causing you to rest for a moment, recovering your breath. After a minute of you awkwardly panting in front of the allfather, you turn to him and loudly make your statement.  

“Send me to Midgard so that I can retrieve my husband.” 

“I can not do that and you know it. Thor has already been sent and even if I sent you to find him, Loki will be locked up the minute he reaches Asgard for the crimes he has committed against us.” Odin says back to me, a tone of superiority in his voice that causes the red hot anger in your body to surge forward. You take a step closer to the allfather, getting closer to his face as you prepare yourself to do whatever it takes to get your husband back. 

“Send me to my husband. I don’t care if you have sent Thor and I don’t care that you plan to lock him up. I will find him, and so help me Odin, I will tear this palace down brick by golden brick if you so much as hurt a hair on his head. He will not be placed near a jail cell and he will come home a respected prince of Asgard.” Your voice is full of conviction and anger. 

Odin takes a surprised glance towards Frigga, confusion over what to do evident in his eyes. She nods her head at him, telling him to listen to you about what will happen to Loki. Frigga clearly doesn’t want her son in jail any more than you do, and no matter the crimes he is committing on earth or in Asgard, he will stay away from a cell.  Odin signals for you to take a step away from them before preparing to send you down to Migard. A smile grows on your face and Frigga steps forward, placing a seemingly normal pendant in your hand. 

“When you find him, simply click this pendant, and it will send you back to here.” She gives you a kiss on the forehead, before stepping away once more. 

Odin raises his staff towards you and you take a deep breath, ready to be teleported to your lover. The feeling is unlike anything you had felt with the Bifrost. Instead of being shot through the air, you feel a slight pressure on your ears and nose, before suddenly the pressure dissipates and you're left standing in the middle of a large room, people staring at you in confusion. 

“What just happened?” A man with a scruffy beard and a strangely high but gravel-y voice asks, staring at you. Before you could even get the chance to respond, someone cuts you off excitedly. 

“You’re here!” A golden retriever of a man hugs you. Thor. You roll your eyes trying to pry him off of you before he takes a step back. “Wait. Why are you here?” Thor asks. 

“I want my husband Thor.” At this point you feel annoyance filling you with every second you stand there without Loki. A gasp fills the room as the collective group all stares at you in confusion. 

“Wait, you’re Loki’s wife?” A stunning woman with copper hair asks in astonishment. “Your husband sucks.” 

“Watch your mouth about my husband,” you say. “He is evil and would gladly watch everyone he loves suffer for an ounce of power…” You say with a hurt filling your voice. “But, he is my husband and I will not allow you to disrespect him.” 

Thor grabbed your arm before lightly taking you into his side. “Sister, you know that I love Loki but we cannot let him go. He needs to be punished for what he has done.” 

“And what had he done exactly that is so utterly disgusting?” 

“He forced a ton of people to kneel before him in a Germany square, and tried to kill an old man." A blonde man who you hadn’t noticed before said, glaring at you while looking you up and down. Clearly he was disgusted by the fact that you loved Loki, was getting him out, and were with his child.

“He destroyed a SHIELD base and brainwashed multiple of our soldiers, and doctor selvig to do his bidding.” A man who I had heard someone call Fury when I first arrived, stated, clearly angry over the matter.

“He’s killed eighty people in the span of two days.” Thor states as you grow increasingly more impatient. 

“Shit,” is all you can muster. 

“So who are you, Mrs. Loki’s wife?” A quiet man pipes up, kind eyes filled with curiosity underneath the frames of his glasses. 

“She is my sister in law, wife of Loki, goddess of discord, strife, shadows, fear, and disease of all that is pure.” Thor stated as he looked extremely proud to say who you were. 

“Yeah, what he said. Now where is Loki!” You finally snap, patience worn to thin from the constant back and forth that you had been given. 

“Not so fast. Tony Stark, nice to meet you, but you can’t just take him and go.” 

“Yes I can. I have orders from the Allfather himself that I can take Loki. He will go back to Asgard and You will never have to worry about his foolish acts again. You get peace. I get my husband.” 

The man, Tony Stark, nods to himself before shrugging his shoulders and nodding from me to follow him. No one objects as we move down a hall before entering a large, circular room with a glass cage sitting in the middle of it. You see Loki standing in the cage, back turned to you, and you feel your heart burst with pain, rage, and sadness. The husband you had longed to see for so long was finally near you. After over six months of crying yourself to sleep each night, longing for his cold embrace, he stood in front of you, separated by a dome of glass. 

“I got to say you are one lucky son of a bitch, reindeer games,” Tony said as Loki stayed turned away from him. “Not only are you getting out of this scot free, but you have a smoking hot wife who is the one saving your sorry ass.” Tony's words ring out in the room and you can see Loki’s shoulders rise and fall heavily as he turns around to yell at Tony.

“Don’t you dare mention-” Loki cuts himself off as he is met with you face to face. Tony passes you the remote to open the glass enclosure that cages Loki in and then leaves, not wanting to stick around for your reunion. 

“Loki.” Your voice rings out, a sudden rage filling it as you open the cage for your husband to step out. “How could you?” You ask as tears well in your eyes, hot and desperately trying to escape. 

“My love, I’m so sorry.” It’s all he seems capable of saying, as he sees your hurt and the bump that had grown large on your stomach. 

“I thought- I thought you were dead. Then I find out that you’re running around wild on Midgard as I suffer through my grief with a child of an alleged dead man. Loki, you are so, so selfish. I- I can’t believe you.” You can feel the anger that you have held onto for so long dissipate as the relief of having your husband back washes over you. Loki looks as if he is about to burst into tears as he desperately searches for words, silver tongue turning to lead. 

“I’m so sorry. Forgive me. I will do anything.” He begs you as he begins to walk towards you, the shock that was holding him in his place melting away. A smirk reaches your lips as you hear him beg. You no longer felt mad at him, for now all you could focus on was that fact that he was in front of you, and the fact that he was desperate for your forgiveness. 

“Fine. Kneel.” Is all you say. 

“What?” He asks as confusion breaks through his despair. 

“Kneel before me, for I am your god. Am I not?” You ask as the smirk on your lips grows when Loki realizes what you are referring to, referencing how he treated the poor citizens that were just going about their lives. 

Loki, with complete and utter conviction, kneels in front of you, face so close to your enlarged stomach that you could feel his breath against your sensitive skin. His breath comes out in rapid and irregular spurts as he silently pleads for your forgiveness. The sight alone makes your stomach flip, and within a second you have already more than forgiven Loki. However, you still wanted to get back at him for his disappearance. You thread your left hand through his hair, before your right comes to rest gently on his cheek, stroking the soft skin with your thumb gently. 

“Oh Loki,” you sigh, feigning true sorrow. “Beg,” you say harshly. At this point the smirk that graced your lips evolved into a full smirk at the shock that presented itself on his face. However he doesn’t argue, he just sucks in a breath of hot air, as you can feel his heat beat rapidly. Not arguing, but not begging either. “You heard me. Beg for my forgiveness Loki.” With a shaky inhale he does just that. 

“I am so sorry, my love. I never meant to hurt you, I just wanted to give you and our child the power we deserve. I’ve done it all for you. You’re my everything. Please, I beg you.” He sputters out as sudden fear that you won’t forgive him washes over him. You laugh, looking down at him with love as he looks up at you, love and pain staring at you from beneath his green blue eyes. 

“I love you Loki Laufeyson.” 

You quickly tap the pendant that Frigga gave you and you find yourself and Loki back in Asgard. You feel caught off guard to find that instead of reappearing in the throne room where Frigga had given you the pendant, you and Loki appear in the middle of your bedroom, which has been cleaned up from its disheveled state that you had left it in. Loki still sits on his knees in front of you, hands now grasping each side of your stomach as he presses a kiss to the top of your large baby bump. With a hunger growing in your eyes you quickly lift Loki from his knees to press a kiss to his already parted lips. 

He immediately groans into the kiss, lighting your nerves on fire. The both of you moan into each other as you stumble onto the bed that you share. All of the time spent apart has sent you over the edge with want. You thought that if you ever saw Loki again you wouldn’t be able to forgive him. The way your heart had bled after he left, like a wound that would never heal, felt irreparable. But, as you kiss his lips, you realize that the only bandage you needed was Loki’s love and touch. You push him back onto the bed softly, before climbing onto his lap and peeling away the first laying of his frustratingly hard to remove armour. You feel him sift into the kiss that you share as he suddenly becomes bare from the waist up. Not waiting a moment you run your hands up and down his chest feeling his toned torso and running your hands over the warmth of him, something that you believed to have been gone forever.  

The kiss you share grows in intensity. It becomes far more than just lust, but connection. For nights your heart ached believing that you had lost the one person you truly cared about, but now he was back, underneath you, willing to bend to your every need to make up for it. Your teeth clash together and you whimper into his mouth, gums already being sore as a result of the pregnancy. 

“I’m sorry my love,” he says as your tongue runs over your teeth. “Let me make it up to you.” Before you can say anything in return Loki has already begun to rub his hands over your breasts, applying just enough pressure to turn the soreness from your pregnancy into pure unadultured pleasure. Within an instant your dress, and jewelry vanish, leaving you in a bra, underwear, and your black high heeled boots, causing Loki to groan at the sight he has unveiled. “Darling,” he purrs into your ears as you begin to leave blotches of colour along his pale neck. “You look absolutely ravishing. Carrying my child like it’s nothing. So fucking perfect for me.” He grunts out as you begin to grind the aching heat between your tights onto the place he so desperately wants you. You begin to pull away to stare at him before you unsteadily get to your feet, heels clinking against the floor, before you pull his pants down, leaving him bare everywhere except the place he most desperately wants you to see, to touch, to love. He whimpers at your stare, incredibly embarrassed by how you look at his body like a woman depraved, and incredibly embarrassed by how unbelievably hard he is at the thought of his pregnant wife ruining him with just a stare. 

“God,” you whisper as you glide kisses up his naked torso, leaving marks as you go. “Look at how pathetic you are for me. So goddamn hard from just kissing. I would hate to know how fast you could cum from just me freeing you.” You laugh as he shivers and whimpers at your words. “Freeing your cock, just like I had to free you from jail.” You say as you harshly twist his nipple on the word jail, breaking a loud sob of a moan from his lips. You feel him begin to rut himself against his thigh, speeding up as his climax approaches him, from your words and thigh alone. “So pathetic honey.” You say as he cries out moans of pleasure. “Can’t take over measly Midgard, and now you’re about to cum just from my thigh.” His moans break from his throat faster now, and you whisper into his ear, softly biting onto his earlobe, “Cum for me baby. Show me how good you are. Be a good boy Loki.” 

With the words good boy Loki comes, beautiful moans breaking free from his throat as he ruts softly into your thigh, cum drenching the underwear that he hadn’t taken off. Within seconds from his release Loki becomes hard again from your stare alone. You raise your eyes to him and stroke his cheek. “Such a good boy for me love. You’re so beautiful all fucked up for me.” 

“Just for you darling,” He smirks up, eyes glazed over slightly. He reaches up, wanting to unhook your bra from behind you, giving you a pleading look asking for you to let him remove the unwanted fabric. “Love you are the most beautiful women I have ever met. The stars in the heavens rival your beauty each day as they know that they will never compare. You carry our child with such elegance and poise. I beg you, my queen, my god, do me the honor of taking you to bed once more.” 

You feel yourself grow wetter with every honeycovered word that leaves his glistening salvia coated lips. “My Loki, I am yours as you are mine. Forever.” You scoot down his legs to finally remove his underwear, which is now coated in the sticky substance you've grown to crave. After discarding his underwear onto the floor you discard your own, earning another moan from the god of mischief. His cock springs upwards and you can’t help the small that grows on your face when you once again are reminded of just how big your husband is. “Gods Loki, you’re so big. How will you ever fit?” You ask with fake concern to get Loki to look down at you, snarky reply already on the tip of his tongue, before you quickly grab his cock, spitting to it before stroking your saliva over him. “There. Much better.” A loud moan leaves Loki’s throat as you slowly slide your tongue against the underside of his cock, making sure to overstimulate him in all of the right ways before making your way back upwards to straddle his hips. 

As you line yourself up with him, Loki already looks fucked out beyond belief, completely blissed by the touch of his pregnant wife and her love. “Are you okay Loki?” You ask, making sure that Loki is okay with what you're doing. He nods his head fastly as a whisper slips out. “Words love.” 

“Yes, please yes.” Loki moans and you sink down, moaning loudly at the pleasurable burning sensation of him stretching you out. 

“So big Loki. You’re so big.” You moan as you move to kiss his neck before beginning to move one him. You start slowly, teasing your already fucked out husband, before setting a brutal pace on top of him. His hands move to knead at your swollen belly, careful about the pressure he applies, mortified of what would happen if he just so much as pressed too hard upon his unborn child. 

In what feels like a matter of seconds you both can feel pressure coiling within you. It brings tears to your eyes with the amount of pleasure you feel, and you can tell by the rise and fall of his chest underneath your hands that Loki feels the same way you feel. The blinding pleasure builds within you and you can hear the tow of your moans growing more desperate by the second. 

“Darling, I can’t hold back much longer.” Loki whimpers in your ear as you play with his nipples, so close to your own orgasm you can feel yourself fading away from reality. 

“Cum with me Loki. I’m so close. I need you.” 

You practically beg Loki as you cum around him in unison with his own orgasm.Your vision goes white as glimpses of stars fill your head. You feel as if you have reached valhalla from the pleasure Loki gave you. You can feel him fill you up with his cum, almost as if trying to impregnate you while you’re already pregnant with his child. The feeling of being absolutely full of him overwhelms you and brings tears of overstimulation to your eyes. You pull off his and lay next to him, moaning as his cum falls out of you coating your thighs. You both breath together, voices raw and skin bruised with bite marks. 

“I love you, and I am so sorry.” Loki says, turning to me with tears in his eyes, the events of the past day catching up with him. 

“I love you too loki, and that is all that matters now. I have you back now.” 

You lay together in silence for a few minutes before you hear Loki groan again. You look down and smirk at his once again hard cock, but all he can do is stare at you with adoration and lust in his eyes. 

“You never took off the boots.” He whispers as you lean in to kiss him again. 

“No I didn’t.” 

“God I love you so much.” He says. “Please tell me you're up for another round.”He asks with almost adorable desperation. 

“When am I not?” You tease before once again climbing on top of him, smiling down at his heaving chest. 

“I love you.” He heaves out.