A link to my Masterlist is HERE
Summary: Alternate perspective of Two Gods One Heart from Loki No.3 live from the 'Cuck Chair'. Absolute nonsense. Although if we're splitting hairs, read that one first. (w/c 1.5k)
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Who the eff knows. Threesome. Cucking. Loki being a bitch to himself. Jealousy. Masturbation. Silliness. MMF. Fanfic of my own fanfic.
A/N: I literally wrote this in like an hour and a half so please adjust your expectations accordingly😂 Just a bit of fun.
How the hel did it come to this?
Loki watched from the shadows as two identical versions of himself stripped their shirts and threw them down, grinning. Their leather trousers vanished in a garish flash of green from the hand of the ‘true’ him. Show off.
His own leathers still clung to the long lines of his thighs. Mocking him.
Bastards, all, he thought bitterly, and not for the first time. The laughing, handsy Lokis’ had turned to fixing each other’s hair in a manner which could only be described as conspiratorial. How I hate them.
“You don’t need to be so bloody smug about it,” he said sourly, and folded his arms. The two men smirked in his direction and went back to faffing around.
“Must you infiltrate this haven of sensuality with your frigidity?” Loki’s Alpha form cracked his neck to the side, and in the chair, he felt a dull release echo in his muscles. “You drew the short straw.” He widened his arms, “You knew the rules.”
“You cheated.”
His Alpha smiled cruelly. Loki had never understood what you saw in that smile. Why you loved it. “Of course,” he said, eyes narrowing. “You would do the same.”
“I do, do the same, you twit,” Loki snapped, feeling his cheeks heat and grateful for the shroud of half-light in his corner of exile. There was nothing more exasperating than arguing with himself. He was always right, and it made it very difficult to get the upper hand.
To that, Alpha Loki said nothing, only turned to the other victor in their pathetic straw-related contest and ushered him onto the bed.
I shall not forget this. Loki straightened against the high-backed chair he had arranged here earlier for this very purpose.
She had specifically requested an audience, naughty minx that she was. And yet, the fact that he would be inside his own, frustrated, mind while the fun unfolded in front of him had somehow escaped his logic until this moment. He pinched the bridge of his nose, ignoring the inconvenient swell of lust between his thighs.
“Cuck-Loki?” the other duplicate of himself postured sweetly. He looked up, stunned at the flagrant audacity. “Blow out the candle to your side, will you? Too obvious you’re there.” He winked.
Cuck…Loki.
If those words had passed anyone’s lips other than his own, he’d have wrenched the offender’s arsehole through their throat with nary a second thought.
His molars pressed together and a sharp twinge raced up his cheeks as Alpha Loki sighed, and slid a long, pale leg over the side of the bed. “Save the menacing eroticism for our darling woman…” He folded his hands behind his head. “It’s wasted on us.”
The second Loki slid a hand down the other’s chest and gripped his cock. “I don’t know about that. You have to admit…no one does menacing eroticism like we do.”
They started kissing.
Cuck-Loki rolled his eyes, so busy trying to remain unaroused at the soft moans rolling from Alpha’s throat that he barely registered the gentle click of the door closing.
“Come to bed,” his true form growled towards the door, and Cuck-Loki’s eyes slid to the side, barely breathing, catching the outline of your silhouette drift across the floor.
Norns, you looked incredible.
The lingerie he’d bought last week for no reason other than he worshipped you, the set which had prompted your request for this very act, this very night. ‘Two of you fucking me, and one watching,’ you’d said with a virginal blush and a wicked grin that made his loins ache. ‘Don’t tell me which is which.’
An inexplicable jealousy clawed up his throat as the other duplicate said, “Keeping us waiting…” in his most honed, cunt-drenching voice, and he saw your thighs clench.
He wanted to launch himself from the dark corner and bury himself between your legs, making your knees buckle beneath his tongue, usurp the plans of those other two who might think they could pleasure you, but…
He squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath. Control yourself. This is what she wants. She wants to know you’re coming undone. But fuck, it was torture.
His cock was throbbing lead, pinching painfully against the seams of his leathers. Damned Minx, he thought again. Sent to test me at every turn. But that was what he loved about you, and so, Loki opened one eye, and then the other.
The other two of himself were bickering.
Loki smirked.
Ah, hubris, thy name is Laufeyson. An inevitable series of events unfolded in his mind. The two rubes on the bed would get into a predictably competitive fracas, leaving he, the knight in straining armour, to save the day and fuck the damsel to within an inch of her sanity while they watched.
He rolled his shoulders back at the exact moment you reclined and one of himself manoeuvred between your legs.
Cuck-Loki frowned.
“Good girl,” Alpha cooed, and his eyes flickered upward, meeting his own. Loki wanted to punch him. Punch his own, flawless face into a bloody, formless pulp. His name gasped from your throat; ragged, before being claimed by a kiss.
He could taste you: the sweetness of your saliva, the heat of your need, and the unmistakable, earthy ambrosia of your arousal in the back of his mouth.
His hands flew to the armrests, neat fingernails punching through the embroidered upholstery. He punched the heave of his breath down his throat, swallowing it as abruptly as you were swallowing Alpha’s cock on the bed.
Jealousy melted to something new, something wild. He could sense the ghost of your lips wrapped around his manhood, the light scratch of nails at his lower back, the silky slip of your cunt against his lips. A cloud swelled between his ribs like mist; a climax, like smoke under glass. Dulled. But there.
Gritting his teeth, Loki’s fingers flew to the fastening of his trousers. He’d been determined to remain here: forgotten, stoic. Fulfilling his purpose as the spare, as the observer there only to witness pleasure; to enhance it by his omniscient impotence.
To hel with that, he thought as his cock sprung into his hand: hot, desperate, and he gripped it with a grateful, staggered sigh.
“I’m giving her what she wants,” he heard one of himself say to the other with conviction.
I’m giving her what she wants.
Loki’s lips pressed together as he watched two of himself surround you, and your perfect body slotted between them. You’d hooked a leg over the other duplicate, kissing him wildly as his cock pushed inside your sweet cunt and his eyes rolled back.
Loki’s grip tightened, the swipe of his palm over his flesh quickening. With every drag, the unsated desperation heightened.
Alpha Loki snapped his fingers and a phial of Asgardian oil, the good stuff, appeared in his fist. He shot Cuck-Loki a wink as it dripped over his fingers and he lowered the hand between your asscheeks.
You moaned softly, oblivious, as Alpha mouthed ‘catch’ and tossed the half-empty phial through the air.
Loki caught it.
He emptied it over his cock like an animal, never taking his eyes off your squirming body as he took you from the front and from behind; your body ratcheting between sources of pleasure and sounds he’d never known you could make twisted through the air. His mouth was open now, just like his counterparts, unable to stifle the panting, primal need searing his throat and overwhelming his senses.
He could feel all of it: the tightness of your ass, the grip of your cunt, the heat of your breath and the thump of your heart. Harder. Stronger. Pressing down on him like stones.
Gods, it was torture. Gods, it was perfect.
“Come inside me,” you sobbed, far louder than you’d ever have intended.
Something inside Loki shattered.
It was too much—everything—a series of explosions snapping the synapses of his brain like Asgardian fireworks on the darkest winter night. He loved you. He loved you. More than anything—everything—and as all other thoughts vanished, he clung on to that.
Hot, white seed erupted over his fist. He bit back a scream. But he needn’t have bothered. The Lokis on the bed were ripping through their own orgasms, drowning him out, and as Cuck-Loki’s brain scrambled, breath evaporating in his lungs and muscles spasming, he felt the force of all three.
Seconds slipped into each other like the brush of your lips, and Loki’s senses returned. Hair was plastered against his forehead, cum dripping between his fingers as he slumped in the chair. Undone, he reminded himself. As she wanted. He smiled, closing his eyes.
A familiar tingle began at his feet and worked up his legs, his hips, his heart.
And then, your shoulder-blades were nestled against his chest: naked, hot, real. He slid his hands up your breasts, pulling you close.
He was as near to you as it was possible to be—still sheathed inside you, cradling your trembling, wrung out body warmed with happiness. A happiness he had created. A happiness that was everything: trust.
Loki kissed the curve of your shoulder, and his heart fluttered as you made an embarrassed chipmunk noise against the pillow. You’d chosen wrong, but he didn’t mind. As long as you always chose him.
“I love you,” he murmured tenderly against the damp sweetness of your skin. “And that’s something I’ll never share.”
A link my Masterlist is HERE
Summary: Loki comes good on a promise to have two of himself bed you. (w/c 2.4k)
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Female Reader. MMF. Language. Oral. PV. Anal. Some Loki/Loki stuff.
“Come to bed,” Loki said, his long limbs stretched across the sheets.
One leg was draped over the side of the mattress, the other drawn up. His eyes glittered through shadow as they trailed over the curves of your body.
Two hands rested behind his head while another, familiar hand, worked his cock.
You swallowed, steadying against the doorframe. How ever many times Loki had whispered the details of your filthy fantasy into your ear; seeing promises made flesh hit different.
The loose babydoll covering your skin suddenly felt very tight.
“Keeping us waiting…” a second Loki chided, followed by a series of crisp tuts.
A shiver of arousal skated across your flesh as their voices mingled like cinders swirling up to an open, navy sky.
“Should we be offended?” The second Loki looked at the first, and their eyes narrowed lightly at the same moment.
“Our love is adjusting…” the first said. In tandem, they smirked, before the first Loki’s head fell back with a groan. The second had tightened the grip on his cock, fist bobbing fluidly as amusement danced in his eyes and he swiped his thumb around the tip with targeted ease.
It was impossible to tell which one was the god you’d fallen in love with; which one you’d divulged your deepest secrets to, which one you’d comforted in darkness while he struggled with his past.
The two of them were identical except for the style of their hair; their silvery skin shimmering in the glow of a dozen candles.
Their muscles flexed in all the ways you knew, distinguishable only by the fact that one’s onyx hair spread against the pillow while the other was tied up in a knot, several thick waves falling to his shoulders.
Loki said it didn’t matter, that the duplicate was a mirror image of his body and mind at that exact moment. ‘A breathing mirage who loves you as I do.’
And himself, it seemed.
The Loki propped on his side, working the other, turned fractionally towards you. You licked your lips, clenching immediately with a warm slip flushing between your legs.
“Fuck us,” he growled like a command. His tongue nipped over the curve of his lower lip, dragging it between his teeth. “I fear we’re rather desperate to have you.”
The first Loki’s back arched from the bed, his eyes flying open in momentary terror.
“Don’t waste it,” he snapped at himself as the second Loki’s thumb circled the tip of his heavy cock, slick with pre-cum.
“Perhaps I just want her for myself…You could watch?”
The first Loki’s chest rumbled in a guttural growl, wrenching the hand from his manhood. Of course they’re competitive. At least he was consistent.
The second Loki rolled on to his back, sliding the hand wet with his duplicate’s arousal down his stomach and beginning to tease himself. Your bare feet drew across the floor and mounted the bed, both Lokis’ propping themselves upright as you settled between them.
“As we discussed?” the first asked, all sincerity. There was nothing but love in his voice. It's that one. That's the real one. You nodded, eyes sliding between them.
The second trailed a finger from below your ear down the curve of your neck, his lips ghosting the tip of your shoulder. “Then so it shall be,” he said. No, wait...that's the real one.
The world shifted as the second Loki guided you on your back, the first scooting down the bed and settling between your spread thighs. His hands slid down your legs, hooking beneath, his tongue tracing a soft path along your slit.
“Loki,” you groaned, and the one behind you whispered, “Good girl,” as his fingertips played with your nipples through chiffon. You gazed up at him, mind spinning.
The points of his jaw threw shadows across the sharp planes of his face, eyes glimmering with black delight. One of your hands crept to the scalp of the god buried between your thighs, the other reaching up to hook in the hair of the one above.
If you died at this moment; you’d die happy.
Your breaths grew short under the tender laps of Loki’s tongue: every flick against your clit, every suck between the flat licks that slipped against your sex.
“She’s close,” the one above you murmured, working your nipples, his breath hot on your neck. He moaned your name softly, praise dripping from his lips.
“Oh my god…Loki,” you gasped in a thin, fragile voice, back arching. The man between your legs let out a muffled grunt against your cum slipping against his mouth. You reached forward, burying your hands in his hair and drawing him up into a messy kiss.
“My turn,” the one behind you hummed, and the mattress creaked under their weight. You were aware of a carefully coordinated shift as the Loki kissing you shuffled up your body.
His lips broke away, and then he was towering above you with his thighs spread on either side of your chest; cock in his hand, stroking leisurely. Your palms slid up his iron-muscled thighs, golden in candlelight. And then, the second Loki’s tongue slipped inside your cunt.
Your nails dug into the femurs of the Loki above.
His head fell back with a hiss, a mess of dark hair cascading around his shoulders. The hard cock bobbing between his legs tapped against your cheek and you immediately curled your fingers around it and guided it to your lips.
Loki gurgled as you swallowed him, sucking gently in time with the second god’s expert tongue slide across your pussy. The two of them moaned in unison.
You wondered if they felt the same sensations; if one transferred to the other, and if the god hovering above with his cock in your throat could taste your fresh, liquid arousal welling in the other’s mouth.
The Loki towering with his hair falling free cradled the back of your head as mewls of orgasm vibrated against the velvet skin of his length.
“G-good, f-fuck, Darling,” he muttered as your nails scraped down his obliques. The tongue caressing your swollen, slippery sex vanished—but then a pair of large hands slid over your own.
The second Loki appeared at the first’s shoulder, resting his chin on the ropes of muscle starting to strain under the effort of holding back blowing his load into your mouth.
“Don’t be greedy,” the second murmured: dark, dirty. You released the cock from your mouth with a slurp, and its master frowned, panting heavily.
“I’m giving her what she wants.”
The second Loki snorted, before pulled the first’s earlobe between his teeth in the way that made your lover tighten with desire. “I think we both know what she wants,” he whispered, and both sets of eyes locked on yours.
A thrill swelled between your legs with wicked force. “Yes, you do,” you said, and both Lokis’ eyes glinted with a mischievous spark.
They moved like a dance, sprawling elegantly on either side of your body.
You kissed one deeply, and then the other, settling on your left side facing the Loki with hair spilling over his chest like ink. Your hands tangled in his hair, kissing him wildly. His hand slid down your waist, pulling you flush to his abdomen; cock pressed tight to your stomach, the growl in his throat filling your mind with impossible filth.
But nothing’s impossible with him, you thought, as the second Loki’s lips fastened to your neck from behind.
Another hand skated over your ass, massaging gently. You swung a leg over the hips of the Loki in front of you; his greedy fingertips immediately sinking into the meat of your thigh. The tip of his manhood slid between your folds.
“Are you ready, love?” he whispered. The Loki behind you paused, placing a gentle kiss between your shoulder-blades. You nodded, searching between your bodies and gripping his cock. It slid inside you like liquid, and the breath left your lungs.
‘Made for me,’ Loki always said. And it was true. The expression of the god in front of you tremored, lips parted in pleasure before his beautiful eyes fluttered shut. Your cunt stretched around him, swallowing the size, gripping him in a slickened, silken vice.
The Loki sheathed inside you stilled, his hips trembling against yours with the determination not to fuck you senseless. That wasn’t the plan—not yet. He bit his lip as your peripheral vision glowed green.
You turned fractionally, seeing the second Loki empty a small, ornate phial of oil into his palm and warm it between his fingers.
“Relax, love,” he murmured as a hand slipped between your cheeks, fingers playing against your ass. You clenched around the root of the first Loki’s cock.
“Gods…” he groaned, and the one behind you chuckled.
“Hold on,” he said, as his fingers played at your ass. One digit slipped inside, and then two. The tender wildness set your nerves alight, and you began to thrust on Loki’s cock, desperate for movement. A moan caught in his throat.
“Wait, love,” he choked, steadying your hip and quieting your whine with a kiss. His tongue slipped inside your mouth, thumb playing at the angle of your jaw while the Loki behind you scissored his fingers: in, and out.
“She’s ready,” he purred. The lover holding you pulled his mouth away, sucking on your bottom lip.
He winked. “I don’t think she’ll ever be ready.” You smiled, turning to the one behind you as his hand slid over your thigh.
Feeling down his body, your fingers curled around the second Loki’s cock at the moment you squeezed your cunt around the first’s. Both of them hissed in unison, and you almost came from sound alone.
The second, familiar manhood pressed against your asshole, slipping against the Asgardian oil. You took a deep breath, following the usual routine, as Loki let you shift backwards until he breached.
The stomach flush to your spine spasmed, a sharp gasp splitting the air as you slid down his shaft and the Loki in front of you shuffled closer, brushing his nose against yours.
“You’re doing so well,” he murmured. “Isn’t she?”
“F-fuck…” the one behind you stuttered, “Yes. Yes…”
“Hold on,” the Loki deep in your cunt goaded to his duplicate, echoing the previous jibe. “Don’t ruin the fantasy for her before it’s even begun.”
In lieu of words, the Loki behind you dragged his cock from your ass, teasing, stretching, before sliding back in. An obscene sound rattled in your throat as the first Loki rolled his hips, his effortlessly liquid thrusts stroking your g-spot.
“Made for us,” the Loki behind you murmured, thrusting gently.
With every gentle slap of their skin, another plane of reality melted. Kisses slid one into the next: from the front, from behind. Your hands roamed over their bodies as they cradled you, suspended in syrupy desire, their mouths taking turns over your skin as twisting moans filled the room.
You didn’t think it was possible to feel this aroused, this full, this safe. Orgasm wasn’t a peak; it was a wave—foaming beneath the soles of your feet as you rode it across a sea of their need. You lost count after four.
Sweat slid between the three bodies on the bed, one folding into another as they fucked you, wringing their name from your lips in every conceivable octave.
“Come inside me,” you sobbed, feeling the next climax boiling in your blood. Both Lokis’ breaths hitched.
The one behind you sank his teeth into your shoulder while the first palmed your breast upward before slipping a hand between your bodies, circling your clit. Loki’s voice at the best of times was enough to send you over the edge, but hearing two of him in the throes of ecstasy was too much to bear.
Their breaths became more urgent, the thrusts sloppier, the sounds of your bodies driven by some unquenchable need shifting into its final gear.
Loki, buried in your ass, fastened his hand at your hip; pulling you onto the base of his cock again, and again, and again.
The god buried in your pussy trembled, his jaw clenching, spirals of hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes were wild, pumping up into your cunt with targeted, lethal ease. Fuck, you were so wet. Cum coated the insides of your thighs, slipping against each buck of his hips.
And then, they splintered.
You’d been so excited earlier you’d forgotten to check if he’d made sure the silencing enchantment was in place. But it was too late now, and to be honest…you didn’t care. Your only regret was you couldn’t see them both at the same time, so you glanced between them, drinking in the sight of their faces screwed up and pleasure wrenching from them in violent, guttural sounds.
Twin sets of fingers sank deep into your curves, their sobs of your name ebbing like snow melting into hard, winter earth. True to form, neither Loki stopped the churn of their hips as they came; reluctant to spin a second less of pleasure from your willing body. Hot cum swelled against your insides: white, sweet, perfect.
The one behind you collapsed his face between your shoulder-blades, condensation misting your skin. The second followed, his messy kisses covering your mouth between wild strands of hair.
And then, their ragged breath eased with a singular, staggered sigh.
“Happy, Darling?” the Loki in front of you murmured. You nodded, cupping his face.
“I love you,” you whispered, searching his eyes. This one. Definitely.
In a shimmer of green, and with a knowing smile, his body dissolved.
The arm around your waist tightened, cock still buried in your ass. Loki kissed the curve of your shoulder, and you grinned into the pillow.
“I love you,” he said tenderly against the skin. “And that’s something I’ll never share.”
Thank you for reading❤️ Come say hi!
Alternative Version/Part Two of the THIRD Loki ...yes that's right. The Spare (w/c 1.5k)
Frigga says her final goodbyes to you as Loki reluctantly prepares for his coronation, preferring to stay behind closed doors with his new family. However, the happy ending is far from certain as a vision hits at the worst possible time, indicating that your short-lived peace is already on the brink of expiring.
CHAPTER WARNING: none
WORD COUNT: 2.5k
“Loki, darling, must I remind you again that it is Coronation Day?”
“I’m in here!”
“We’ll be late!”
“Do you think anyone would dare start the ceremony without me?”
“Well, maybe I’ll have them crown Volstagg in your stead!”
“Sh! She’s still asleep!”
Emerging from the bathroom in a luxurious white silk robe that trailed on the floor behind you like a bridal train, you twisted your scowl into a smile at the sight of the new King kneeling like a hapless, besotted slave at the head of one of two golden-trimmed cradles, specifically, Eira’s.
In the days following the uneasy peace that settled as Odin’s banishment was proclaimed throughout the Realms, you never went beyond the wing of the palace that held your private rooms. Neither of you had the desire to move into the former Allfather’s chambers, so instead, you began making your current apartments into the new Master Suite.
Alas, Loki did have to tear himself away once, to conduct the First Proclamation that he’d already delayed once to meet his children. His first declaration was simple: Odin was to never regain the throne of Asgard, regardless of any pursuit. This was, strictly speaking, not undoing any of Odin’s own laws. It was, therefore, legally binding. Even if Odin made an attempt, Loki would have the sworn loyalty of the army.
You began to notice Loki paying extra attention to his daughter. Knowing that he loved both of his children equally, it occurred to you that your husband was likely feeling the same as you did regarding the fears of what each would inherit from each parent. Eira had Loki’s physicality…was she a full Jotun who would grow to fifty feet high? Would the people accept her as Allmother one day? Erik had yours, would he be burdened with prophecy, forced to endure random bursts of pain for the sake of the future?
All you hoped for was peace and happiness for them as they grew into their destinies . The anxiety was your burden for now as their mother.
“Will they meet their grandfather today?” you whispered.
Loki shook his head. “King Laufey does not feel he is ready to leave his home yet. He still fears the prejudices Odin set upon our people. He will send representatives to take the oath of loyalty on his behalf.”
That was fair.
Peering over Eira’s cradle, you couldn’t help but feel your heart warm. Loki seemed transfixed at her azure skin, unashamed and nearly illuminating her bed. “Perhaps I will have her meet Laufey for training, if her abilities match her biology.”
“She will be a great leader,” you promised. “I should be the worried one. I fear that either of them may be like me.” Unfortunately, you would not know for some time if this was true. While precognitive power wasn’t necessarily inherited, it had turned out to be thus in your own case. Therefore, the possibility of congenital Sight was still a threat in your bloodline after all.
“As will Erik,” Loki replied, slipping a hand into yours so gently you hardly felt it. “He is with Anneli being prepared for the day.”
“Oh, they are a week old, Loki, how long could they tolerate a massive Realm-wide celebration when all they ever wish for are milk and sleep?” you said protectively.
Loki chuckled. “You misunderstand, they will only be at the Coronation itself, and then Ilsa and Anneli will bring them here again.”
“Must they go? I hardly wish to be there,” you mumbled, pulling away and going to a mirror. You’d yet to lose much of your pregnancy shape, though it was promised with mild exercise that it would return one day. For now, you were decidedly quite…matronly-shaped. “I don’t think there is a tunic in the Realm that could fit over…these!” you said with disapproval, indicating your swollen breasts as you turned away from the glass.
The ascending King couldn’t help but grin. “But I like them.”
“They aren’t staying.”
“They’ll be back.”
He got to his feet and met you at the mirror, scooping you into his arms and rocking you back and forth as you clung to him. “If I have any say at all, they will be--”
“--Your Majesty, the assembly is gathering in the throne room,” Anneli called from the doorway to the parlor, carrying the tiny Erik in a bundle. “Will you be ready soon?”
You swore under your breath, stepping back from Loki and looking down at your state of undress. “I suppose being angry with your tardiness was a bit hypocritical.”
“I will take that as a no, Your Highness,” Anneli said lightly, bringing the baby to his own bassinet next to his sister’s.
Another knock on the door had everyone in the room look up simultaneously. As Frigga let herself into the room, Anneli curtsied deeply. “Your Highness.”
Frigga nodded curtly. “As you were. My son, I wish to speak to my successor alone…though I had hoped she’d be a bit more…dressed.”
You could feel heat rise in your face. Loki gave you a gentle smile and a wink.
In the parlor, Frigga instantly went to the table beside the nearest chair, where a large black box waited. She swiftly took it and opened it before you in presentation. The crown inside was the brightest gold you’d ever seen even in your time among the royals, two small pearl wings on either side, bending back as if being blown in a gust. Strings of crystal beads hung down from each wing. It was the single most extravagant piece of jewelry in all of Asgard. It had to be.
You recognized it, and that wasn’t good.
“M…Mother…” you said, your lip beginning to tremble. “I’m not supposed to have this until--”
“--I leave for Odin’s hiding place tonight,” Frigga said quietly. “I don’t imagine we will meet again in this life after my departure.”
“What do you mean? If Odin kills you, Loki will--I will---”
“--you will do your chore in Niflheim and assist your King in defeating him,” Frigga finished.
You were silent, unsure of any proper words. Instead, you watched paralyzed as Frigga took the diadem from its container, holding it gingerly in front of her, as if any sudden twitch of her finger could shatter it. “The wings represent the strength of the Valkyries, who chose to sacrifice themselves for Asgard in battle against Hela. Indeed, as they chose, so should a Queen be prepared at all times to sacrifice anything she holds dear.”
This wasn’t exactly encouraging to hear.
“The tales of your remarkable ascent from hidden prophet to Queen of Asgard will one day be woven into Yggdrasil’s very branches,” she continued. “And so I give you my last command as Queen: be worthy of your story.”
“Be worthy?”
“Yes.”
“But what does that mean?”
Frigga smiled and shook her head gently. “You will know what I mean one day.”
Her face was comforting, even if her words were cold. “Yes, your Highness,” you replied, bowing your head.
You could feel the light movement of your hair as Frigga set the glorious crown atop your head. It felt heavier than you thought it would. Perhaps it wasn’t the metal that weighted the diadem. Frigga gently placed her hand under your chin, bidding you to raise your head.
“Your Majesty,” she acknowledged warmly. Now, it was her turn to bow before you. “I pray your journey to Niflheim is brief and successful.”
“Niflheim--?” you were caught off guard by the dark change in topic.
“Please perfect that spell, the projection spell,” the new Dowager Queen implored. “I know you never were able to manage it before…it may be your best hope at recruiting the Queen of Death without igniting a second enemy’s vengeance.”
“The projection spell?” you asked quietly.
“Mother! She needs to dr--” Loki quickly entered the room before stopping short upon seeing you, Frigga’s tiara on your brow. “Oh…Mother…”
He knew what this meant. “I will not let him put a blade to you!” he scowled bitterly. “You are staying here with us, and that is an order from your King!”
Frigga shook her head. “You will not put an order on my shoulders now, my son. There is a whole lifetime of trials for you and your bride that you must face without me.”
The King shook his head, though no tears yet pricked at his eyes. “No. I will not allow you to go to him if he will only slay you upon waking.”
“I will remain here to see you take the crown, darling. Then I will depart without ceremony. I have given your wife her task, and she cannot do it without your aid. You need me no more.”
She was set in her course. Even Loki could not sway her.
Instead, he looked at you again, his mouth slightly open. “Norns above…you are stunning.”
Frigga’s announcement sank your mood significantly as Anneli and Ilsa dressed you in your flowing white coronation gown. As she had instructed, it was of a modest cut, with a large gold collar that was heavier than the rest of your dress combined. Your hair was loose of any braid, flowing wild and free down your back. Asgardian Kings and Queens were always crowned with unbound hair. As odd as it looked against the otherwise-extravagant ensembles, it represented a leader always showing his true form before his people, without a bangle, pin, or ribbon to hold it back. Only a crown could adorn a ruler’s head on his first day.
Ilsa and Anneli each held a child in their arms as they paraded up the aisle in the throne room first, the entire nobility of Asgard and representation from across the Nine Realms looking on. Frigga walked with them, in between each maid and babe.
Following was Heimdall, escorting you on the arm he was not using to hold Gungnir.
“Nanna told me,” you whispered bitterly as you proceeded.
“Do you resent our connection?” he asked plainly but quietly. “And how it was kept from you?”
“Somewhat, though I am grateful for it compelling you to save my life.”
Heimdall smiled in his manner, but only the corner of his lip twitched.
“I have learned these past two years to let the Fates work their design,” you said, “no matter what the future chooses to show you, or what the past chooses to hide.”
“A wise lesson, but you always have a say in what the Fates dictate.”
“Do we?” you asked.
You approached the stage holding the wide throne. Heimdall began guiding you to your position to the right of it. “I could have never wandered below to the Sanctum to sleep with Nanna. You could have asked another to fetch water the morning of your vision. Thor could have chosen to avoid the gates that day. Loki could have chosen to cast you out. You are here by more of your own choices than Destiny’s, my dear.”
The words struck your core. Indeed, you’d made the proposal that Loki chase his true identity. It had been your encouragement that led him to accept his place and conspire against Odin. You’d done everything to bring Loki’s feelings for you to love, when you could have easily bemoaned your situation and locked yourself in the library until the day Odin chose to dispose of you.
Heimdall stepped in front, holding Gungnir in his right hand.
A loud, rolling drumbeat echoed proudly through the hall as Loki began his procession, solemn and tall. The room began to gasp upon seeing what you were already expecting: his Jotun form was on full display. He was dressed in green from head to toe, a large ermine cape following behind. His loose hair fell over his shoulders. His single red eye glowed with benevolent intensity. The other was covered by a golden eyepatch.
Were I not a week out of childbed, Loki, I would throw you to the floor and ride your hips, furiously, in front of everyone, you found yourself praying. You bit your lip, subconsciously hiding the brief sense of giddiness the thought gave you in spite of the solemn moment.
The drumbeat crescendoed as Loki reached the throne, kneeling before Heimdall with a dancer’s grace. Heimdall began to use the great spear in his hand to draw a rune in the air above Loki’s head.
“Loki Laufeyson of Asgard and Jotunheim, every Allfather is blessed with a rune on the day of his ascension, as a bidding from the Norns to guide his reign. The Norns have told me to draw the rune of knowledge, light, and unity above your head that it may inspire your leadership.”
He swiped twice in the air, leaving a glowing green rune hovering before him. Two lines separated from a single point and spread out diagonally, leaving a tipped angle. “Kaunaz,” Heimdall explained. “Your predecessor won his throne with blood. You take the crown today having pursued knowledge, and using strategy and truth to seal victory.”
What a perfect symbol for him!
“Kaunaz also bids the King to illuminate the people with art, study, invention, and creativity,” Heimdall went on. “Do not forget that your subjects need beauty and knowledge as much as any King.”
The green rune fell apart, sprinkling emerald dust over Loki’s hair. Heimdall raised his hands outward, holding the spear high aloft. “So blessed by the Norns, I invoke their power to proclaim Loki Laufeyson Allfather of the Nine Realms and King of Asgard, true and recognized successor to Odin Borrson. Subjects of the King, will you proclaim your loyalty this day?”
Silence filled the room as Loki rose to face them. You felt a shiver go up your spine. Would no one recognize him? Was his true skin that much of an offense to the assembly?
That was when, row by row, the crowd began to sink to one knee and place their fists against their hearts. “I do pledge my loyalty,” they began to say at scattered intervals until everyone was on the floor.
“Let Yggdrasil send word of this day throughout existence, that today, Allfather Loki began his reign. Hail, King Loki!”
Heimdall handed Gungnir to Loki, who held it up as the crowd rose to their feet in cheers. “Long live the Allfather! Long live King Loki!”
A bell began to toll from elsewhere. More cheers rang up from the gardens, streets, and circles below. All of Asgard was welcoming their new King with hope and acceptance.
Loki scrambled to your side, pulling you to the center and raising your arm in the air.
That, of course, was when the vision headache sent you to the floor.
The rocky cavern was dark, gray, and cold. Frigga sat beside Odin’s body, glowing and in the Odinsleep still. She still wore the robes she had worn to the coronation. Her hair had not yet had the time to unravel. She looked to be waiting patiently, resigned, brave. A sword lay at her feet.
Odin’s eye suddenly opened. His lips barely parted to breathe out a single word.
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Summary: Loki breaks a self-imposed sexual fast with you, of course. (w/c 1.6k)
Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Language. Asgardian Loki x Female Reader.
Loki was acutely aware of each thud of his boots against stone, each swish of the leather cape which brushed his knuckles as he ignored the hungry eyes following him.
He had one goal; one objective which would consume him with black, maddening fire if he didn't sate it before the need reached crescendo.
'A sexual fast', he'd told his brother loftily. 'To counteract the tolerance from centuries of overindulgence.' And his brother had laughed. But the scepticism had only made him more determined, and Loki had kept the promise to himself not to break until it was a necessity. And now, you'd left him no choice.
As the ache in his hips tightened, he couldn't recall why he'd tried to resist the coy glances for so long; the calculated shift of your body against his during feast days and court balls. Desire ran hot and hard in his veins. It was decided. He would have you—and his fast would be broken.
He wanted to feel your gasps of pleasure fresh and needy on his face, the moans of surprise as he knocked the air from your lungs with his legendary cock. He wanted to own you; mark himself on your supple thighs between wet, indecent pleasures and wring the tantalising lilt from your voice until it was rasped and rusted with his name.
He would fuck you like another never had, and like another never would. Until your dying breath, it would be his prowess that made your cunt glisten in the dying of the light.
Loki's leathers tightened furiously.
The messenger would have arrived to your quarters one hour ago, bringing his command. You would be waiting in his expansive wing used exclusively for entertainment. His nest of debauchery and hedonism, such as it was; dust gathering on its silks and scattered pillows.
Not for long.
He smiled as the bronze doors bearing his emblem drew closer. He could see it now: your naked body spread on the furs, draped out for him, driven half mad by anticipation. A dizzying pulse of excitement soared in his chest.
Two guards stationed outside rose their spears in salute and brought them sharply to the marble floor. Loki waved a hand, and the doors spread as smoothly as he would part your legs.
"Open it to no one."
The guards exchanged a worried glance.
One of them cleared his throat. "Not even....her...Prince Loki?"
Loki's eyes narrowed as he spun slowly towards the one who'd spoken. The fear in his eyes made Loki's cock throb despite the swoop of irritation forcing up his throat. "Do you mean to tell me she isn't here yet?"
"N-No, my—"
"And miss your theatrical approach?"
Loki's gaze snapped in the direction he'd come, heat flushing immediately through his chest. You stood straight and regal, delicate hands clasped in front of you and your chin tilted up with an air of imperiousness that made his scalp tingle. Silk chiffon, barely opaque, fluttered in outrageously alluring folds down to your ankles.
"It's foreplay, watching you storm around like a conqueror. I thought that was the intention."
Loki opened his mouth and closed it again as you passed, shooting a last warning glare at the guards.
The doors slammed behind him.
Loki watched with uncharacteristic silence as you wandered to the window, casting a cursory glance over the sprawl of Asgard’s golden turrets glittering in afternoon sun.
"Everyone has been so invested in your sexual fast, Loki." His name teasing on your lips made his manhood twitch riotously against leather. Norns, he'd never wanted anyone more. And yet he couldn't move. The silhouette of your body was outlined against a halo of thin, pale fabric. "Although I must confess, your public have been rooting for its end. The gossip well is positively dry without you."
"Is that why your temptations have been so flagrant?" His voice was forced; strained. You glanced over your shoulder with a wicked smile.
"It's a game we play. Me and my Ladies."
"I only saw you playing it."
"As intended. On my part, at least. I can assure you it was quite competitive."
Loki's feet moved of their own accord, crossing the sun-slatted room in several long strides. And then your hands were in his hair, fiddling at the clasps of his cape, tangling your bodies and feet and mouths in a liquid rush of desire.
He slipped the material from your shoulders, fine as spider web, devouring kisses rushing down the long column of your neck. You smelled like crushed florals, spices: tingling inside his nostrils and making his hips snap against your abdomen.
"I want you to ruin me, Loki Odinson..." Your smile grew against his ear. "All the depraved, filthy fantasies you've run through your mind as you fucked yourself like an animal in your lonely bed. I want them all."
Loki's mind folded in on itself as lips crushed together, bodies moving to the nearest pile of furs as his tunic was shed, belts skittered across the floor and tangling in the dress discarded beside it.
He crawled on top of you: naked, resplendent, his pale cock flushed with raging, animal anticipation.
"I will not be gentle," he murmured, it tenderness shifting to a savage purr as he grazed his nose up yours and punctuating it with a hungry nip of your bottom lip.
"Neither will I."
He brushed a thumb slowly over your lips, teasing the bottom one down, parting willing beneath his touch, and pushing his thumb further inside that hot, sweet mouth.
He felt a flicker of tongue against it, and then, you began to suck, your head tilting back ever-so-slightly; eyes fixed on him. His thigh pressed up between your legs and a brief grin dawned on his lips at the gasp that followed.
Your fingers fastened around the meat of his length, guiding it inside you. Loki's ragged groan would be heard in Muselheim. But he didn't care. All he cared about was the tight, hot grip of your pussy as it absolved him of any doubt, lighting up the deep, dark, dormant pockets of his mind.
His biceps tensed as he fell to his forearms, caging your impossibly perfect face. He bottomed out, dragging himself back, and the hideously primal ripple of pleasure that coursed across your features made him want to burn the world for you.
Words were lost in the slap of skin and the tight smack of his balls as he plunged deeper. Your hand fisted in his hair, edging him on with each slam of your hips.
Orgasm exploded like magma, searing from his belly and coating his limbs in electric, juddering ecstasy. He slid down the furs, dripping as he went, and burying his face between your legs.
The taste of cunt was heaven. Gods, how he'd missed it. What was I thinking? As Loki's fingers tightened around your hips, reacting to each rise and fall of each breathless moan, he resolved never to deny himself again.
The taste of your sweetness arrived like sunrise through the tang of his cum. He dove deeper, careful to keep the methodical lap of his tongue away from your swollen clit. Too soon. He wanted to feel the madness in your twists against the sheets; to feel you come undone like boneless prey. He wanted to hear you beg. He wanted—
"Loki," you pleaded, and he met your eyes over the swell of your stomach. There was more than lust in them—it was devotion— and the god groaned deep in his throat as he suckled your clit.
Your back arched, and his hands slid up your spread thighs, tips sinking into soft flesh.
He made you come four more times—each leaving you with more sweat glistening on the spill of your breasts. As the fourth ebbed, as he massaged his jaw, you flipped upward and slid onto his lap.
He fucked you like that: slow, intimate, benevolent, for as long as he could bear.
The careful scratch of nails on his shoulders, the soft caresses of your pretty moans in his ear. His hands slid to your waist before raising and twisting your body in one fluid motion to all-fours.
"Do you know you are honoured?" he asked with all the imperiousness he could muster. He had a sudden, blinding need to cover every inch of your body with his seed. Your profile appeared, locking eyes with a rabid determination he’d only ever seen reflected in the mirrors above his bed.
The words from your lips were ambrosia: low and smooth. "Honour me, God of Mischief," you commanded; and so he did.
Loki slid inside your wet slit with a guttural choke.
His large hands grasped at your hips, fucking you like a dog, the slap of his skin against your flesh filling the air like hail. He was conqueror and king; ruler of every pitched whine of pleasure from your lips as your fists tightened against the furs and you panted his name like it was the only word rattling around your skull.
Fresh, milky cum welled at your sex, spreading up the thick of his cock as he slowed and pulled out, dipping the tip leisurely before slamming to the hilt like the starving dog he was. "Turn around," he ordered against your spine, acutely aware of something shifting urgently inside him; the urge to fuck, and fuck, and fuck.
You complied, eyes sparkling. He watched them track from his spread thighs, cum glistening; the flushed cock in his hand, the tight, taut nip of his waist. Your gaze rested on his ropes of tense shoulder muscle, the shift of his right bicep as his fingers toyed with the leaking crown of his manhood.
Shameless.
He loved it.
Your hands cupped your breasts, massaging gently. Loki couldn’t look away. His hand moved faster, jolting at the scratch of your nails on the underside of his balls. They tightened.
"F-Fuck," he rasped, head falling back and curls of damp hair sticking across his forehead.
He groaned a final time, cum forcing up so fiercely it might rip him in two. His neck snapped forwards at the moment it exploded, landing at the hollow of your neck, dripping in thick, white tendrils over the sweat-pearled gleam of your skin.
He panted, mouth open, dazed as you drew a finger up the mess and sucked it clean. You rose to your knees, kissing him deeply, one tilt sliding into another; the taste of him strong in your mouth.
"Welcome back, Prince Loki," you whispered. And between the flush of your bodies, Loki’s cock twitched.
With a temporary peace established, the new royal family begins their reign with a reunion.
CHAPTER WARNING: none
WORD COUNT: 2.5k
Eira was blue like her father.
From the moment she shrieked for the first time, the tent grew frosty cold, forcing Frigga to cast a warming charm strong enough to keep the newborn winter fae from freezing you all. The baby girl also had Loki’s hair and red eyes. Being the first to breathe the air of the realm, she demanded her place as the Prince’s heir with her hasty arrival, and she seemingly had the loud personality required to rule.
She was still commanding the attention of the maids when her Asgardian-skinned brother was born minutes later, almost too quickly for you to cry out for a steadying hand. Erik’s wails were softer; he seemed to adjust to the new world quicker than his sister. While Eira fussed and fought in Ilsa’s arms, Erik felt the warmth of your skin against his face and ceased his crying.
Frigga examined both newborns. “I can only determine so much on my own, but they are both thriving in their own ways. If they have seidr, it will become evident in the coming weeks. If they are Seers--”
She cut off as everyone looked awkwardly at you. You rolled your eyes skyward and mouthed: Norns forbid!
“--if they are Seers, you may not see any signs for several years.”
“They can’t be like me,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from childbirth’s cries and screams. “I won’t let anyone take them to the Sanctum! Don’t let her live like I did!”
Frigga shook her head, whispering a gentle mother’s ‘shh’ and dabbing a piece of linen against your forehead, still drenched in sweat. “No, I’m certain Loki would never hear of it.”
Loki! “He is in danger--you need to find him and tell him--”
But trumpets were already echoing through the forest, trumpets that were only reserved for the most disruptive occasions.
“That may be the King’s hoards searching for you,” said Frigga.
“Will they kill us if they find us?” you and Anneli asked in tandem.
The Queen shook her head. “Not with me at your side. They will take us back to Odin.”
You looked to the maids, each carrying a baby, each looking at you with covert concern. You had two options: one was to try and outrun the guard and hide further back from the path until they were clear; the other was to surrender, hoping that upon returning to the palace Loki will have completed his task, Odin would be in the Sleep, and all would be well again. However, if he had failed, or had yet to make an attempt, surely you, your newborn half-Jotun children, and your maids would all lose their lives.
It was time to trust in Loki, you chose. “Then, we must greet them.”
Frigga nodded calmly. “You will be safer recovering in the palace.”
“Unless it is from death row,” mumbled Ilsa, rocking a nearly-sleeping Erik back and forth.
“It won’t be,” you said quietly, taking in a slow, deep breath as the heat from your labor began subsiding from your face. “It isn’t as if I haven’t languished in the death cell before. Besides, Loki is King now. I can feel it.”
“You’ve seen it?” asked Anneli.
Shaking your head with a shrug, you replied, “No, but since when have my visions been at all accurate?”
Frigga and Ilsa went out to flag down the guards while Anneli helped you get to your feet. After such an arduous labor, your legs felt like liquid. Ilsa had to return to the tent to take Erik from her sister so that Anneli could use her arms to steady you as you held Eira (who, thankfully, was finally starting to calm).
Daylight was fading fast, even as the rain clouds cleared away for a perfect yellow dusk. Frigga lit a small beacon of green fire to summon the oncoming soldiers and announce your presence. As they bowed to the Queen, some looked at the rest of you, bringing forth the new royals as well as the exiled Princess. They looked shocked upon seeing the hour-old twins.
I only hope my full trust in you was justified…
Before you knew it, you were all loaded into the ramshackle cart, which was then tied off to one of the soldiers’ bigger horses and taken away, back to the city where your fate awaited you.
A torrent of varying worries and thoughts raced through Loki’s mind as the stars turned above his mother’s veranda and the night ran its course.
After assembling the Warriors from the dungeons, the plan to smuggle the King’s body out of Asgard’s bounds was implemented. Heimdall assisted, as he now could, being under a new sovereign’s order and no longer beholden to Odin. Thanks to him, no one was the wiser when the Warriors left with the former King’s slumbering form to place him securely in exile to await the Queen’s arrival as his keeper.
While awaiting the final signal from Fandral that the task was complete, the Prince knew that Odin could awaken prematurely, the entire reign of Loki lasting no longer than an hour. To attempt to remove his anxiety, he retreated to his mother’s rooms, standing outdoors and pacing back and forth for miles.
In childhood, he and Thor had spent hours running around the suites when there was little else they could do without supervision. The sofas were often broken under the weight of the boys’ incessant jumping contests, and the ornaments and lamps were always at risk of being destroyed.
So many fond memories. So many yet to be made.
“Norns!” Loki growled, tapping his foot as the first slivers of dawn crept in and began unraveling across the horizon. Every second that passed was a second you could have been in the throes of childbirth without him, without anyone but your simple-headed maids to deliver them.
He quickly rushed inside while his thoughts were upon your wellbeing. He intended to call a sentry to deliver an order to the healers: make a delivery room ready with every comfort possible, and have it ready as soon as possible. The minute there was word, he’d bring you back to the city and stay there with you until the blessed event itself. He never once considered how it could have already happened, perhaps out of wishful thinking.
Loki was startled when he opened the door to find two high-ranking officers nearly about to open the door themselves. As soon as Loki did, they dropped to one knee.
“Your Majesty. We are at your humble service, and are here to announce that the Warriors Four have returned and seek you,” said the older of the two.
Then, it was done.
It was then that Loki’s shoulder finally dropped, pounds of anxiety floating off into space at last.
How was this possible? Was it a dream? Had this strange plot that had been concocted nearly an entire year ago while in the woods actually worked?
No, Loki thought ruefully, it is not over. This was always just a momentary victory.
His mind still instinctually defensive, Loki began trying to plot out every path that would get you successfully in and out of Hela’s realm with the last piece of what was needed to forever free the worlds from Odin’s imperialism.
Norns above and below, I thought my task was difficult!
After that moment, Loki no longer had the privilege of anxiety. He was swept away to be made ready for his First Address, the moment he would step into the light as the Allfather.
The tradition of a new king’s First Address was one of Asgard’s simplest: the ascending sovereign had to go before the Court and make a proclamation, which they would have to approve. Once approved, the full rule for the new Allfather could commence. Most frequently, these commands were symbolic or self-honoring. Odin’s had been for a monthlong feast in his honor.
The only rule to follow was that the first declaration of the new King could not be to directly reverse any of his predecessor’s.
What a loophole, thought Loki. It is legal for me to proclaim Odin’s permanent banishment, but not to undo his laws.
Typically, the coronation would follow immediately after the completion of the First Address. Loki would wait until you returned and were recovered from labor. Was there any point in being crowned without you at his right side? He would never have found himself on a throne at all had it not been for you.
Within the following hour, servants and sentries and soldiers all whirred past Loki’s line of vision, seemingly coming from and going back into a void after addressing him with their respective businesses without leaving any impression on their new King. Seemingly without understanding a word, his mind fifty feet ahead of his mouth, Loki somehow arranged a First Address ceremony and a supper for the Court before the morning was fully born. The Warriors immediately began drinking in celebration and dressing in their shiniest armor for the event, fully expecting to be given high positions on Loki’s war council. Surprisingly, Sif was the one to ask about your welfare.
Loki sighed. “Odin’s guards never found them, or they’d be here.”
“I’ll go out to the hall!” Sif insisted. “It sounds like the sentries never made it that far.”
Nodding, Loki sent her on her way, promising to give her the highest position on the council in reparation for missing the Address. “Take care of her if she is still awaiting her time. Stay there with her and send one of her maids to find me.”
“What about your Address?’ Sif asked.
“The Court can and will wait,” Loki said with a simple shrug. “I am their King. My way is now their obligation.”
Sif smirked. “How kingly of you to say.”
She wasn’t gone for long.
Loki couldn’t be alone to piss for much of the morning, let alone collect himself before his first official act. Ermines and ceremonial swords were practically thrown onto his body, crowns in all manners of precious stone and metal were fitted on his head. Ritualistic speeches were practiced (and not nearly enough wine was consumed to cope with it). When Sif returned, he was just having a servant place a large silver pendant, bearing his family crest, around his neck while he looked at himself in a long mirror against the wall. Loki hid his black eyepatch with illusion before deciding on letting it stay visible. He had no more need to hide it, anyway.
“Is this a King?” Loki muttered to himself, throwing out his arms as the servant stepped away. “Or a child in costume? In how many realities do I find myself here?”
“Your Hi--Majesty.”
Loki’s heart leapt at hearing Sif’s voice so quickly. It was still an hour before midday. “You met them on the road?”
Sif nodded. “They were nearly at the gates at dawn.”
“Outrunning Odin’s guard?”
Sif shook her head. “The kingdom’s two newest subjects wished to greet their sovereign.”
With those words, Loki knew there would be no First Address that day. He practically knocked Sif over as he burst through the door.
“Mm,” Sif mumbled, “he left in such a rush, he has no idea where to go!”
You wanted to sleep for days, while also never wanting to sleep again.
Frigga knew she could not stay in Asgard for long, not while Odin’s sleeping body languished elsewhere, needing tending. Alas, one look at each of her sleeping grandchildren, and her heart could not bear to leave them just yet. “Another fortnight at the most,” she reasoned, daintily rocking the golden cradle in which Erik slept. “They are, after all, the future of my country.”
Your body was sore, but you were too anxious to sleep. You needed to see Loki, and you knew the moment he heard of your return (Sif had promised to expedite the message), he’d flee to your apartment. Compromising with Frigga’s insistence you stay off your feet, you were on a sofa in the parlor, finishing with Eira’s first feeding.
What did help suppress your pain was the news that Odin was away in the Sleep, and Loki was on the throne. Even if your fearsome task-to-be loomed in your future like a storm cloud, now was the time to feel safe, as you hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Perhaps ever.
As you, Frigga, and the maids fussed with the children, the Queen made attempts to give you coronation advice.
“As you know, white is the appropriate color, but don’t bare too much naked skin.”
“The new Queen eats the second bite of food after the King, but do not use a knife to cut the morsel or it will indicate a bloody reign.”
“You no longer need to keep silent. You are the most important woman in the room. They expect you to have opinions.”
“The coronation ball is the first opportunity to show the Realms what sort of Queen you will be. Mind every step you take.”
Of course, most of it went directly through your brain and came out the other side. There was too much on your mind, most of it in admiration of the new princess and prince.
You knew it would be years before any signs of Sight would be evident in Eira. A part of you still felt denial for the fact that any gender could bear the gift, which meant Erik was just as vulnerable as his sister. In fact, if Erik took after you as his skin indicated, he’d be more likely to have it.
Like his grandfather, you thought with a short cringe.
Both of their personalities already began to shine through. Eira was bent on escaping your loving clutches and declaring her independence immediately, her loud battle cries nearly shaking the floors. Her passion seemed to quell when you held her, but only partially. She would always be a fire-hearted warrior princess. Hopefully, this would not lead to strife while enduring the adolescent stages of her youth!
Erik loved to sleep, still as stone, calm as a gentle spring wind. You could have sworn he smiled the moment he was placed in your arms. Something about him also reminded you of his queenly grandmother; he seemed to have a natural dignity about him, peculiar for a child who had yet to see one full day.
“It’s clear he was born second because his sister nudged her way to the front, and he let her go first like a little gentleman!” Ilsa giggled.
While every hour passed with your hopes for seeing your husband growing smaller, you understood why that was. Loki was King. Surely, he wouldn’t be left alone while arrangements were being made for his induction--
--a crash from the parlor made the walls shake as a door was practically kicked open. With no announcement or warning at all, Loki fell into the room without a shred of kingly composure. The first thing he saw was you on the sofa, Eira finally drifting off to sleep under your breast.
He dropped to his knees, unable to speak in awe.
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Holy cheese, chapter 30??? And we're only starting the third act?? Thanks for continuing to read and enjoy this story as to grows and grows into this huge creature! - Lena
Warnings: The gates of heaven have finally been opened, Loki doesn't know makeup, and when you work above and beyond your pay grade.
Summary: You’re a Resource Management Specialist at S.H.I.E.L.D. normally referred to as “The Librarian”. You’ve been assigned the nightmarish task of digitizing all the physical resources currently owned by the agency, with a few new computers and one extra helper.
A/N:
Sorry about the delay. I ended up getting more tasks for work right after traveling abroad. It was a scramble to get the last 2 months caught up.
Please comment/like/reblog. If you’d like to be tagged moving forward, please let me know! (If I missed any tags, please let me know, I’ll add you right away!) I’d also greatly appreciate it if rebloggers remember to add the tags (or some at least).
The lovely banners used in this fic are from @cafekitsune.
If you’re new to the story, please check out the master post for the rest of the chapters.
The doors opened. The library doors swung open without any resistance, no blaring alarms or the ear grating computer voice that incessantly disturbed his times sneaking in. He was actually allowed to enter the library once more.
“Good morning, let me know if you need any assistance!” A familiar voice called out. A sweet voice that triggered Loki, setting his rage aflame and quickly overshadowing the joy of having his access given back to him. His icy blue eyes narrowed as he crossed the threshold and quickly strode up to the semicircle reception desk that forced him to remain roughly three feet away from the villainous woman who left him stranded. He stood tall, looking down at her, ready to scold her, but there was something off about her.
Her face looks pale, but her cheeks are quite red. What sort of makeup style is this? He scrunched his nose in distaste, no attempt to hide his look of displeasure, as Y/N finally looked up at him. She was saying something, but her voice sounded odd, stuffy and nasally. A dark shade was visible under her eyes. He took a step back from the desk, unsure what was wrong with her. Perhaps I should reconsider working with this odd person. Her sense of professionalism is questionable.
“Hello, Loki?” He reflexively grabbed the hand waving in front of her face, but quickly released it at her wince.
“What?” He cleared his throat and straightened up his posture.
“Glad to see you back on Earth. Well, you’re back in the library, free to browse and rent as you used to.” She grinned, but the happiness did not reach her eyes. False niceties, something he was used to seeing. What else should he expect from some odd stranger? Why did it hurt? He balled his hands in to fists to keep from rubbing at his chest to ease the dull ache that blossomed over his heart.
“Yes, thank you,” he kept his tone flat, formal. “I’ll summon you if I need any assistance.” He waved at her dismissively as he turned and wandered into the maze of shelves filled with books.
“You’re welcome?” Y/N raised a brow, rolling her eyes as the younger prince disappeared from sight. Plopping back into her chair, she softly groaned at the soreness that throbbed through her back and hips. Her eyes burned, only a slight reprieve coming from when she squeezed the heavy lids shut. “I really should’ve stayed home today.” She muttered, fumbling under the desk for the small bottle of painkillers, popping two pills with a swig of water. “Rent isn’t going to pay itself, though.” She forced herself to sit up and carefully rolled and rubbed her neck. She shook the computer mouse and woke the monitor. “Let’s make sure the files are properly being shared between locations.” She muttered under her breath, forcing herself to stay awake.
Time was finally running smoothly, as it was meant to be, as Loki finally finished the book he left off on and began a new one. The sunlight shone through the floor to ceiling windows beside his favorite little nook, giving a warmth to the room. Everything was as it should be. Quiet and perfect. No needless ford conversation, unwanted company, and petty animosity. He was able to breathe and simply be. Finishing his second book, he closed it with a soft thud and stretched. A passing glance at the clock had him sitting up in an instant.
“Nearly two already? I’ve been here far longer than I thought.” His schedule was fairly light today since the mission was being replanned and his training session was cancelled due to other members being sent out on missions or having other debriefings. “The dinning hall should be quieter now, and anyone who would think of talking to me should be long gone.” He smiled at his luck, returning the book to its proper place with a snap of his fingers as he stood and left the library.
Yes, all was right with the world once more and luck was finally on his side. Even the stares and whispers of the other agents could not dampen his mood as he made his way to the cafeteria with a slight bounce to his step. A small tune was poised on his lips, ready to be hummed in his sudden abundance of happiness when something odd caught his attention. He frowned at the small crowd of people that lingered at the entry. Had he been wrong about the time? He checked his phone for the time, and his frown deepened.
No, fifteen to two, the cafeteria should be quieter. So why are there so many people and blocking the door? He slowed his space to a near stop.
“What’s going on?”
“Someone fainted.”
“Fainted, where, here, when?!” He rolled his eyes at the bits of conversation he could hear.
If you’re unable to care for yourself, you should not be here. Such poor care makes you a liability, not an asset. He audibly scoffed, grabbing the attention of the crowd, which quickly parted for him. He wanted little to do with such useless gossip, and their fear of him was an asset at this moment. As he began to make his way through the path made for him when a familiar voice caught his attention. It was weaker than before, just as stuffy. He froze, looking down to see the librarian.
“I’m fine, just got dizzy.” She forced a smile that once again did not meet her eyes.
“Y/N, you literally passed out and fell to the floor!”
“I’m fine, just tired from all my travels.” He watched as she used the wall to stand and push herself off of it, only to stumble forward. To his surprise, and everyone else’s, his arm shot out and caught Y/N before she fell forward.
“Librarian, get a hold of yourself.” He scoffed, ready to move his arm, but her lack of response and full weight on him made him pause. “Librarian, what game are you playing?” He stepped closer and turned her, so his arm was hooked around her back. Her eyes were closed, breathing was labored, and her body was on fire. It dawned on him then that her look was not a makeup choice. She was severely sick and was currently unconscious. “Librarian, get a hold of yourself!” He gently tried to shake her awake once more, to no avail. He called out once more, and a slight groan from her eased some of the worry that gripped at his heart. Hooking his other arm under her knees, he vanished in a flash of green and black as he turned on his heel. Captain America would have to excuse him for the use of magic, he was taking a team member to the medic after all.
For both yourself and Loki, the time of ascension is at hand...
CHAPTER WARNING: descriptions of labor pains
WORD COUNT: 2.7k
“Ilsa! Why hasn’t your sister found the Queen?! Where is she?” you screamed, holding your belly as another pain ripped through your side. You knew that barring trouble, you would have at least met Frigga and Anneli on the road by now.
Still hours away from the city even as you rode onward, you began to fear that you’d made the wrong decision as a hot, thick rain began to sprinkle about. Even wrapping yourself in one of the blankets did little to stop the precipitation from soaking you.
“We should turn back!” cried Ilsa. “Before—”
“—ah!”
A sudden sensation of releasing fluid magnified your fear. Your water had broken. The time was almost upon you, and you were hours away from any shelter, your only hope resting in how quickly Ilsa could drive a rickety wooden cart pulled by a hopeless old pony.
“Your Highness?” Ilsa called with concern.
“Keep going!” you said, squinting your eyes and praying that you could still save Loki.
You heard tales of women giving birth in fields and not being bothered for more than an hour. How was that possible, when the very idea of walking upright felt impossible? Searing lightning kept your back glued to the floor of the cart as you began to lie back into an instinctual position for labor. You began to feel feverish, as well as a burning need to push, a need you knew you’d only be able to suppress for a short while. It occurred to you that, at this rate, it would be likely that the twins would be born before reaching Asgard’s city borders.
Loki…Norns…Fates…please, whoever can hear me…help! But did the Norns ever answer your prayers?
The rain began to fall at a steadier pace as light rolling thunder cracked overhead. Ilsa was startled and screamed. After a moment, you heard her shout again, only her words were inaudible against the sounds of the storm. What WAS Ilsa moaning about now? You gripped the sides of the wooden cart and hauled yourself up to a kneeling position to see for yourself.
Riding toward you at breakneck speed were two white horses carrying two peasant women. One horse was bogged down with brown leather sacks and folded sheets. Neither seemed to be wet despite the weather.
“Your Highness!” Ilsa tried one more time. “Look!”
The peasant women’s disguises melted away with the wave of one’s hand. The white steeds stopped short of the wagon, slowing down to meet the set of travelers.
Travelers they were not. Anneli slid down from her mount to go and embrace her sister. The other woman dropping her shimmer was Frigga, dressed simply in brown rucksack robes. She still looked every bit the most beautiful woman in Asgard.
“We found trouble leaving the palace and the city!” Anneli explained. “Or we’d be there sooner!”
“Sweet Norns, are the twins coming, my dear?” Frigga asked, running to your side. You nodded a silent affirmation, followed by a low moan as a short, sharp contraction ran its course. “I feared this. You cannot go any further.”
“Loki…” you panted, attempting to keep regular breaths while in a panic. “…in danger. Vision said…”
“You should not have left Loki’s hall,” Frigga scolded. “But thank the Norns you did. Anneli, the tent!”
“The tent?” asked Ilsa.
“I don’t have visions,” Frigga said to you, “but I can always sense when someone is incapable of staying put. The Queen must always be prepared for the unexpected.”
Helping you down from the cart, Frigga led you off the path and into the woods, where she sat you on a stone underneath a pine and began to use magic to assemble the tiny makeshift shelter. Ilsa and Anneli helped to bring the other bags of supplies to the site.
“Why did it take so long for you and Anneli to come?” you asked.
“I found her in the Lower Ring,” Frigga admitted. “I overheard my husband sending out whole groups of guards to arrest you, wherever in Asgard you were. I knew he’d find the hall eventually. I was trying to ride ahead to warn you, but I see I had a different predestined task out here.”
If I had stayed at the hall, I would have been captured! You felt chills.
“This and only a few centuries of healing study will have to do, I’m afraid,” said the Queen, overseeing the maids as they rolled layers of blankets over the tent floor. “But the Princesses of Asgard have always been strong. You are in good company tonight.”
“Your Majesty…” you began, “…I had a vision, and Loki will be captured by Odin!”
Frigga shook her head. “Odin has been missing for days. You cannot worry after him now. You have your own battle to win.”
The rain continued to pour as Frigga managed to create a birthing space that was almost comfortable (for being a tent in the woods). At least the space was warm and dry. The day began to pass in regular bursts of screams from you as labor grew worse. Ilsa and Anneli proved reliable and quick-footed as Frigga gave them commands and instructions.
“Twins often do not come at once,” she explained. “It could be minutes or even hours between them. However, if it appears that one is on the heel of the other, you must both be ready to catch.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The Queen looked at you with sympathy. “It’s nearly time. Perhaps within the half-hour.”
You were shaking now, feeling everything with intensity amplified by continued anxiety for Loki and the others. Daylight was fading, the rain was beginning to recede. What was happening in Asgard at this moment? Could Loki survive without your warning?
Suddenly, the hardest contraction yet sent you back into whimpers, but even Frigga didn’t know what to make of the sudden burst of freezing energy that drew delicate circles of frost over every surface of the tent’s interior. It was unexpected and strange.
“What is this magic?” asked Frigga. “I have never seen that happen.”
Anneli looked frightened. “It’s as if she’s having a…a…”
You trembled.
A frost giant.
“He will take us out, one at a time,” Loki whispered. “I will be first. It will be up to me to finish this on my own.”
Hogun twisted his lip. “Be careful.”
They’d been languishing for nearly four hours in the dungeon, sharing a cell and waiting for Odin’s guard to fetch the axe’s first victim. It was too dark to see more than shadows flickering against the one weak torchlight. It occurred to him in that moment that this very well could have been the cell where you’d spent the night before your wedding, breathing into blackness, wondering what was about to befall you
Fandral sighed. “At least act the part when they come for you, Loki! If they get suspicious of you, perhaps Odin may yet have a trick up his sleeve to best you.”
“The God of Tricks? Ha!” Volstagg grunted. “This will be quick. Just be sure not to forget to let us out of here!”
Loki looked at Sif, who leaned against the corner, looking off into the middle distance. He knew she was thinking of Thor, perhaps doubtful if he would support the impending insurrection.
A rattling of keys, followed by the sound of a door opening echoed down the stone-lined hallway. A guard with a large red scar running down the left side of his face approached the cell. As he went to take Loki, Loki decided to shed a false single tear to look contrite. The guard grabbed him by the magic-resistant shackles and began to procession upstairs, leaving the other Warriors in darkness.
After what felt like months of marching solemnly through the halls of the palace, Loki and his escort entered the throne room. Completely abandoned aside from the sweeping throne, Loki was surprised to see that nobody was nearby. Not the King, nor an executioner.
“Odin??” He yelled. The guard firmly shoved him forward before turning away, leaving and locking the large double-doors behind him after his long recession back through the expansive space.
Loki was still cuffed. He could not use any magic.
“Where are you?” he said loudly. “Face me as a King faces his enemies!”
Finally, as Loki turned away from the throne, a familiar voice called out. “Indeed, here I am.”
He whipped his head around, attempting to locate the source of the call. Only a slight movement from behind an arras near the throne was cause for note.
The Allfather pulled the curtain aside, revealing himself. “It has been so long, Loki. Abandoning your role in a time of war is a very poor choice for a Prince to make. What would your brother think?”
He was eerily calm, beckoning his heir to come forward with a gesture of his hand. Loki, for whatever reason, obeyed without question, curiosity temporarily getting the better of him.
Odin revealed the small shrine to Thor within the hidden alcove. Loki tightened his jaw at the sight. The fresco along the wall of Thor in victorious pose sent a regretful pang through Loki’s chest. “It has been nearly two years since he was murdered. I had hoped that you would have seen the light by now.”
“What light? Instigating war on his behalf was not what Thor—”
“—Thor was ready to rule,” Odin interrupted. “Olympia must pay the price.”
“This is not about Olympia anymore, nor is it about a price,” Loki answered. “This is about you and I, and the truth.”
His skin grew cold, but it remained the hue of pale flesh. The cuffs made his shifting resistant, but Loki sensed with some effort, they would give. He would just need to stall the King as he manipulated his skin beneath the restraints, attempting to freeze them beyond function.
“The truth is, my son,” began the maddened Allfather, “that you have been corrupted by a pretty face masking an ambitious liar. I should have never agreed to wed you to that insurrectionist Seer.”
“Heimdall had the idea,” Loki replied. “You would have served the Princess’ head to me at supper had you not heeded his word..”
Odin sneered. “Even a gifted warlock’s mind can rot with age.”
Loki could not help but mumble, “But your own self-awareness never waivers.”
He took another moment to admire the shrine, and in that second or two of emotional vulnerability, Loki almost wanted to reach out to his former father. After all, they had one thing left in common: Thor. Or, more accurately, his memory. Loki and Odin were both haunted men.
“I often wonder if he made it to Valhalla,” he couldn’t help but say with sadness. “It was an ambush, not a battle. He had no time to fight back.”
“Valhalla is my own little corner of the Realm of the Dead,” Odin said simply. “It is a retreat away from the more common sections of Niflheim. I can sense when a new presence arrives.”
“And?”
The King did not answer. Instead, he closed the tapestry and sighed. “I am sure, despite your prolonged absence, that you know what has transpired in the months since you left Asgard.”
Loki looked at his wrists. “Fath----Father…may I request to be removed from these--?”
“--and now is the time to attack Olympia,” the Allfather continued, ignoring the request outright. Gritting his teeth behind tight lips, Loki struggled to bring his Jotun skin to the surface while he was yet tethered. “I have waited for your return for many months. Your friends will be released from the dungeons when they agree to re-enlist in my army for the impending war, of course.”
Loki sucked in his breath as he finally began to feel the blood in his veins turn cold at his will. “No, Odin. They will not fight with you.”
The King did not seem discouraged. “I had the feeling that you would resist. No matter, you will agree once I have your wife arrested and executed.”
Loki felt his heart skip a beat. “What?”
“Oh, I have sent sentries throughout the woods. I had an inkling that you were taking refuge at your hunting hall. Blast it all, I do not know where it is. No matter, I was given word this morning that a battalion was closing in on a large lodge in the western woodlands.”
No…he lies. Do not let him gain confidence, or the Sleep will be harder to reach…
“I expect your marital tether will be apprehended any time at the lodge.”
“She is pregnant!” Loki shouted angrily. “You will be murdering the heirs to Asgard!”
Odin chuckled, little surprise in his voice. “My dear boy, did you really believe I was ever going to give you the throne, let alone any horrific bastards you produced?”
The time was now. Any more of Odin’s bullying, and his advantage would be too great to put him into a coma. Loki had to act now, while surprise was still on his side.
“I will have the throne, and I will have it tonight,” he said, his voice growling until it became deeper than a lion’s roar. “I will have my wife at my side by morning as Queen, and your crown on my brow.”
Odin smiled. “Oh, is this a fact?”
“Yes.”
Just as he began advancing on his adoptive father, Loki felt the magic restraints break their seal as a coating of ice weakened the metal enough to break it. “I have the real truth now, Odin. The truth being that your time is at an end.”
Loki threw his arms out to his sides, separating the shackles, ripping the chain apart. Finally, the Allfather stumbled back. “I know the true circumstances around my birth…and how you kept me as spoils of war, hidden like a weapon in the palace, lied to and brought up under false pretenses!”
The King’s skin stilled after moments of trembling. “Now--”
“--NO!!” Loki shrieked angrily, blue veins tracing his skin, turning it as blue as the skies of his birth realm. His muscles began to throb with strength, aching to be used. “You bred me to hate the very thing I am. You are a dark, demented old man who lets tragedy end his rule, and lies paint his legacy on the walls in blood!”
Loki’s eye reddened and glowed. Behind him, Heimdall crept into the throne room, unnoticed.
“You know!” Odin began to grow pale. He shrunk back toward the arras hiding his shrine.
“My first declaration after you are gone, old man, is to make the Jotun our brothers once again,” the Prince went on, “As well as to smear your true intentions over every surface of Asgard before begging for Olympia’s forgiveness for your assault upon their messenger.”
The King grunted with rage. Loki refused to let him get another word. The silver tongue of his youth was becoming venomous as it reappeared after such a long hibernation, and it was carrying him to the new heights that it had always been destined to.
“You are the reason the country is heading for ruin! The Norns will see to the rewards for your sins one day, but for now, Asgard is mine!”
Loki shot a bolt of ice at the King, which he narrowly avoided. Choosing to retaliate with magic, Odin swung his spear, but it appeared nearly too heavy for his arm. A small golden spark appeared, scraping Loki’s right bicep. Only a trickle of blue blood spilled from the hit.
He was weakened!
“Odin Borrson,” Loki shouted, advancing until he stood over the shaking sovereign, “I, Loki of Asgard and Jotunheim, hereby declare you unfit to rule, and proclaim as King that you should be exiled until such a time as--”
The Allfather growled. “--you will die for this when I--”
Loki trailed off as Odin’s body finally fell limp, trailing on the last holler of defeat. He bent down to examine the fallen old man, to see if it was truly the Odinsleep.
Heimdall was now right behind him. “He is in the Sleep, Loki.” His voice was solemn and sad.
Loki stood and turned to him without a word, his Jotun form in full glory before the rest of the throne room. After a silent pause, Heimdall fell to one knee, crossing his arm over his chest and bowing his head, “Your Majesty, I am your loyal servant. Hail, King Loki of Asgard!”
When you sense that the Allfather is on the move, storms and traps separate you and Loki as the time to take Asgard draws close. When a vision threatens Loki's very life, you decide to brave the elements, the woods, and the beginnings of labor to warn him before all is lost.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: some descriptions of pain and labor
WORD COUNT: 2.4k
By mid-afternoon, Loki and the Warriors arrived at the outer walls of the city. Loki was fiddling with the small vial around his neck. He had once chance to get everyone inside, recall how to get out of the Sanctuary, and navigate from there up to the King’s antechamber without being betrayed.
He’d put the party under a light illusion, not changing their appearance but making their forms unremarkable to the average eye. As such, peasants and tradesfolk avoided them as they rode slowly up through the city throughout the day, careful not to attract any attention. For the most part, they’d succeeded: only an old peasant woman riding the opposite way on a small white horse stopped to glance at the riders before moving on.
No one spoke a word as darkness settled, allowing Loki to lead the way under cover of night. The entire day had been spent merely approaching the palace. He looked anxiously for the small divot carved into the inner wall that you’d once shown him, repeating the pattern you’d made with your finger once before in his mind.
“So we’re really going to see where all the Mistresses are kept?” Volstagg asked with hesitation. “That’s enough to lose your head.”
Fandral rolled his eyes. “Idiot, Loki won’t lop it off once he’s King.”
“Oh, right.”
“Shut up, both of you!” Sif hushed from her position behind Loki, who had stopped short upon noticing an irregularly in the wall.
“This is it,” Loki said quietly, looking at the small hole in the wall that indicated the right space for the blood trick. “Once we are inside, stay to the left as much as possible.”
He unstopped the vial and removed it from his neck. Loki held it to the divot and slowly released three drops of blood onto the wall. The telltale line of the blood being accepted radiated from the space and began drawing the door that led everyone within the palace. Volstagg had to stifle an ‘oooh.’
Once inside, Loki led everyone down the same path he’d traced with you a long time ago. His dagger drawn and at his side, he crept along the walls and hoped that none of the Mistresses were awake this time. He’d nearly been caught once before.
Time stood still, inches became miles. Loki heard Sif break the silence with a whisper: “She was really down here her whole life?”
The Prince felt his shoulders drop, a hint of sorrow lacing his answer. “Yes. Seers are taken as children.”
“How young was she?”
“Four.”
She fell quiet again, a chilling realization of her own bringing her ample guilt. “That’s kidnapping.”
“Yes,” Loki agreed. “It is.”
Finally, Loki caught sight of the stairwell. Sif put her hand on his shoulder, Hogun did the same to Sif, and everyone formed a chain as they negotiated the steps in caution.
After opening the gate and stumbling out into the torch-lit atrium, everyone breathed a sigh, aside from Loki, who was briefly mesmerized by the fountain running along the wall.
“Loki?” asked Fandral. “What is it?”
He didn’t explain out loud how the realization that this was where his entire life took the turn that brought you into his world was gluing him to the spot. You’d spilled a bucket at Thor’s feet right where Loki now stood, and had the fateful vision in front of him. It almost felt like sacred ground. This was where we met, Princess. If only I’d known then…perhaps I would have treated you with more than indifference that day.
One thing the young Prince had always internalized was that he’d often daydreamed of the moment he’d meet his future bride (or groom, as when Thor was presumed heir Loki did not have the societal pressure to marry for heir-breeding). He’d always assumed it would be a grand, public ceremony, the match arranged for political harmony between two realms. He knew he’d be arrayed in his finest gold armor. She (or he) would be presented as a pheasant at supper to him, and all would go according to the ancient ritual that’d brought his adoptive parents together. It would be a spectacle that led to a lifetime of meeting expectations and obeying the old ways.
Your meeting had been so average and unnoteworthy, and yet who could tell that it would be the beginning of a grand evolution that would shift the realm under his feet and bring new meaning to his life?
Fandral and Hogun had to pull him along to bring him out of his trance. “It is time, Your Highness,” said Hogun, looking Loki in the eye with reassurance. “Let us free Asgard.”
“Free? Hardly,” Loki mumbled with insecurity. “Usurping a throne and replacing Odin with myself. What if this all leads to myself merely going mad in his place?”
Volstagg smiled and shook his head. “As he said, Prince, let us go and free Asgard.”
One thing you’d learned over a year ago was how the Fates had a macabre sense of humor. Therefore, it should not have surprised you as much as it did when the Twins Heirs of Loki Laufeyson chose to begin their processional ritual into the world that very night.
Mischief makers like their father already. Norns damn it!
If everything you’d ever read was an indicator, labor would come on quickly, striking like lightning out of the blue. It kept you on edge, waiting for the first bolts of electricity to paralyze. So when you awoke to an almost imperceptible twinge in your belly that night after having been asleep for hours, you were almost pleasantly surprised when your instinct told you that this was the start. It wasn’t pleasurable for certain, but it was a gentle nudge as opposed to the searing pain that you’d been bracing for.
Oh Loki, be quick about this, and Norns, where is your mother?!
She had not arrived by dusk as Loki had promised. Ilsa had orders to awaken you if Frigga arrived after you went to bed, and she’d never done so. That meant the entire hall was empty aside from yourself and Ilsa.
Remaining as calm as possible, you chose to take a bath to relax your body for the time being. Worry would only speed the process along. Ilsa was intelligent enough, but you didn’t think she was capable of delivering twins. Frigga had enough healer’s training to do so if she needed to, but you’d hoped she had the sense to bring an actual Healer and swear them to secrecy. Perhaps the calmer you were, the longer you could prolong the process.
By dawn, however, it became clear that drawing out the process would be the worst sort of agony you could imagine enduring. The pains became worse, closer together, and longer to bear. You attempted to cope by walking around in circles while Ilsa slowly gathered everything she could find that could possibly help delivery, and some items that made no sense whatsoever. What the Norns does she need a cheeseboard for??
As Ilsa brought a large tub of boiling water into the parlor, you froze, gripping the windowsill for balance as a headache blinded you, a headache you hadn’t felt in nearly nine months…
Loki and the Warriors were all in prison cells, looking defeated. Loki’s head poked through the bars as if looking longing off for something that would never appear.
A shadow approached the cells, taking the shape of a large man, an executioner’s axe slung over his shoulder. “His Majesty demands the Prince’s blood first. Let’s go.”
“No…” he whispered. “I must see--”
“--now, traitor!” said the headsmans, yanking the barred cell door open and extracting the powerless Prince, cuffed in anti-magic chains. “The Allfather will finally know peace once your head rolls at his feet.”
Loki’s eye released a single tear and he looked over his shoulder before the scene disappeared.
“No…nooo...noooo…”
You were mumbling as if in delirium, lying on the sofa. Ilsa was dabbing your forehead with a warm cloth.
“What is it, Highness?” she asked. “A vision?”
You snapped back fully, panting heavily and gripping her forearm. “Loki is about to be ambushed. If he doesn’t see it coming…Odin will defeat them before he can induce the Sleep. He will execute them all, Fandral, Sif…but Loki first.”
Ilsa’s shoulder sank. “That’s awful. But what can we do?”
You looked out the window, toward the path leading down the way to Asgard. It wook hours to travel by horse, and all that remained at the hall’s stable was a small yellow pony and a half-assembled wooden cart for hauling large game.
“We need to warn him, or the Queen.”
Ilsa shook her head. “With all due respect, you are hours away from motherhood, my Lady. You should not be moved, let alone travel outdoors.”
You grunted, not listening to her and instead slowly hobbling to your feet. “Get the wooden cart hitched to the horse.” Ilsa’s mouth opened, but her feet did not move. You made another attempt to sway her. “Ilsa, think of Fandral!”
When she hesitated again, you gave her a stern warning. “That is an order from your Princess, Ilsa.”
This finally swayed her, and she ran outside to obey orders. You had to stop every five minutes to withstand labor pains, but your water had not yet broken. Hopefully, that meant travel in some capacity was still possible. You slowly gathered two blankets and a skin of water before meeting Ilsa outside.
Regret was somewhat swift as the clumsy pony began plodding down the path out of the clearing, the ramshackle cart shaking violently over every pebble and tree root. There was little chance of you reaching Asgard at this pace before the end of the week!
“My Lady, we won’t reach them in time…and I believe those are storm clouds!” Ilsa shouted, driving the stupid beast as fast as possible. Looking up, you confirmed for yourself that the sky was growing a menacing deep gray.
“Oh!” you shouted, “we need to hurry!” The King had either found them, or he was now aware that they’d infiltrated Asgard once again.
Ilsa was beginning to think her mistress was half-mad, but she kept going nonetheless.
Another contraction began, sending you doubling over, bellowing painful moans in a pathetic attempt to cope. They were getting awful. Perhaps you would not make it in time to warn Loki, but you needed to take the risk. How could you possibly sit like a duck at The Outlands, waiting for word on if Loki was able to slip past the trap that would condemn them all.
Something occurred to you that nearly sent you into tears: he was hoping to see you and the children before he lost his head, and the look in his eye and the tear on his cheek were his final realization that he was leaving you alone forever.
Suddenly, you felt a second wind. “Ilsa, I will personally give you permission to marry Fandral if you GO FASTER!”
Finally, the cart began to pick up pace to your satisfaction, but it also made the bumping worse. It was going to be an endless day.
Odin was nowhere to be found.
Loki and the Warriors had searched everywhere, until it was nearly dawn. The throne room, the antechambers, the personal apartment, and the private dining room were all empty. Upon trying to find Frigga, it became evidence that she’d fled the palace of her own accord, which surprised even Loki, who’d fully expected to find her nearby and ready to defend the King.
“I don’t like this,” said Sif, keeping her voice low. “And the fact that we haven’t found any guards or heard any klaxons…”
“I was thinking the same,” said Hogun. “It feels too calm. The King is on the brink of war and madness. Shouldn’t there be--?” he trailed off before continuing his thought.
“Then why is the Queen absent?” asked Fandral. “Frigga would not leave Odin’s side unless her life were threatened.”
“I only hope the Princess avoids childbirth while no one is there to tend her,” Hogun added. “If we cannot send the Queen to her, she is nearly alone.”
“She has the good sense to stay put,” Loki said with confidence. “She will be safe.”
The team entered the one final place Loki thought to look: the war room. Alas, while the tables and walls were littered with maps, burnt-out candle ends, leaking quills, and scrambled notes, the Allfather was nowhere in sight. “He…has he left Asgard entirely?” asked Sif.
“That is not good,” Volstagg said, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “He could be delivering the messenger’s body as we speak. It could be too late.”
“It is for you.”
Everyone’s head turned toward the deep, strange new voice interrupting your search of the room. A large gathering of sentries, armed with spears, had blocked the open doorway behind them. “The Allfather was always aware of your impending return.”
Loki whipped out his pair of daggers and began to spin them in the sir before him. The lead sentry posed with his spear.
“How?” Loki shouted, backing himself against the far wall with the others. “We’ve been under cover for nearly a year!”
“You’ve been away too long. You forgot that the Allfather has a Seer at his right hand…”
The group parted, revealing Heimdall as the mastermind behind the trap. He wore a stone face, but his eyes softened at the sight of Loki and the Warriors backed into a corner.
“How dare you…” hissed Fandral, his face turning red with anger. “You told us to hide, you miserable traitor!”
“I am bound to the King’s service,” was all Heimdall could say aloud, but as he made eye contact with Loki, something felt different. He looked as if he were expecting another to be with you.
With as much subtlety as he could muster, Loki whispered so quietly he knew he would be inaudible to all except the Gatekeeper. “She is well.”
Heimdall’s slight nod gave Loki reassurance that he was heard. “What now?” Loki asked.
Breathing in, Heimdall turned to the guards. “To the dungeons with them, all of them. The Allfather will summon them to the block soon enough.”
As they were led below to death row, Volstagg, wrenching against his binds, leaned over to mumble into the Prince’s ear. “What now? Are we going to just allow them to arrest us?”
Loki kept his smile low. “We have a part to play now, and if we play it well, it will lead us right to Odin. You will have to trust me.”
A Link to my Masterlist is HERE
Summary: After ruining the biggest night of your career, Loki ruins you, too.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Dickish Avenger!Loki. Language. Workplace romance. Rough(ish) smut. (w/c 3.1k)
Folds of your expensive black dress swished as you stormed down the corridor of the forty-sixth floor. Everyone was still at the event. Or, The Shitstorm as it would now be known. Shame. Shouting at someone would really help right now.
You tore out the earpiece and slammed it on the nearest desk, shoving a pile of papers off the side for good measure. Laufeyson.
You’d spent months concocting the perfect debut for that greasy-haired, peacocking, gangly-limbed motherfucker. Did he say ‘thank you’? Did he smile and mind his P’s and Q’s and pose with the New York glitterati like he was supposed to for one night?
Nails sank into the soft flesh of your palm. Course he fucking didn’t.
After he’d gone off script during his speech, stating he could fix the woeful state of Earth’s political spectrum in thirty-seven minutes, it had all gone downhill. Insulting politicians, flirting egregiously with their wives…with their husbands.
The cool glass met your forehead as your rested against the door with your name on it. Director, it said. It didn’t feel like it. Fucking Laufeyson. He was unmanageable—just like his hair. He didn’t even comb it—bastard. You’d specifically requested it.
There was a bottle of whisky hidden in the bookcase behind a doorstop project management manual. You glanced down the empty corridor a final time and slipped inside the dark office, making straight for the bookcase. Pulling out the book concealing your beautiful, impending numbness, you frowned. The bottle was—
"I’m afraid I took the liberty," someone said.
You screamed, lobbing the book in the direction of the voice. It hit the flat, black back of your office chair with a pathetic thump.
The chair swivelled: glacial, infuriating. But you already knew. It was that voice; the one that made it impossible not to imagine him making snide remarks while he fucked you from behind with a fist knotted at your scalp. And besides, you could see the wavy, rumpled crown of his greasy fucking hair over the rim of the chair.
"How did you…What the hell are you doing in here? This is restricted—"
"Restricted?" Laufeyson barked out a weak laugh of reprimand. "Please."
He raised a hand, gaze fixed on the ornate glass of amber liquid cupped in his palm. It had been a present from Stark for your promotion, and the sting of your nails on your palm burned new. "This is really rather good, considering."
"Considering what?"
"That it was produced on this planet." His eyes slid to yours, upper lip twitching as he said, "Another thing to add to its sparse list of accomplishments."
You pulled another book from the shelf and threw it at his face. It missed.
Loki didn’t flinch. He just sat there wearing his favourite smirk; one foot resting on his knee and his shadowed eyes glinting with curious observation. He’d removed the suit jacket—the one specifically tailored for this event—in his requested colour, a lush emerald green with gold trim.
Dickhead. You’d run yourself ragged for his petty demands. And then he’d fucked it all up anyway.
Realising your eyes were lingering on the suspenders stretched against the wall chest muscle, you tore them up to his face and forced coldness into your voice. "I literally left the event to get away from you, before I punched you in the face; you realise that?"
"I do."
You threw up your hands and turned towards the window, arms folded; watching the flash of traffic on the street below like luminous ants. Spotlights flashed across the night sky, crossing and weaving against each other in celebration of the biggest night of the year. "Stark will fire me for what you did."
Loki’s laugh was accompanied by a splutter of liquid. You shot a glare over your shoulder, catching him press the back of a hand against his mouth and shaking with mirth.
"I think not. Stark cares only for publicity—and…" He extended a hand with a self-congratulatory flourish before resting an elbow on the armrest, brushing a finger to his lips. "He knows what I’m like," he added with a coy brush of a smile.
Heat exploded beneath your skin.
Before you could think it through you were towering over Loki, a hand spread against his sternum. You pushed against muscle, letting the chair tilt ominously backwards. Loki’s eyes widened fractionally, dark eyebrows peaking in genuine surprise. "If you've ruined my career I will hunt you down and I will—"
"Hunt me down?" Loki purred. His eyes dropped to your hand pressed to his chest and rose slowly to your face. "I’m right here, as you can plainly see. No hunting necessary." His rumble caught on the T. "Being accosted, no less."
You released him with a grunt.
"Couldn’t you just behave? This was your big night…your official launch in the team, your new start. Why couldn’t you just be good for once?"
"Good?" Loki’s voice hardened. A green, glowing rectangle unfurled in the empty air beside his shoulder, and a shot from the ad campaign you’d organised several weeks ago filled the space.
Emblazoned in Stark Industries font across the image of Loki looking like a sexual apocalypse in a skin tight leather combat suit were the flickering words, ‘God of Mischief.’ And then, Loki said, "It’s in the name, darling. The one you selected—a new start was never part of the agreement, nor was it suggested. I believe the phrase was, ‘refreshed branding'…Was it not?"
He shifted, and somehow the muscles in his legs were outlined in the soft glow of a thousand skyscraper windows. "Same package, different wrapping, as it were."
Your brows rose, trying to keep the brittle defeat from your eyes. "Your behaviour tonight was unacceptable. You can’t go around comparing global foreign policy to Thanos’s bowel movements."
Loki waved a hand, sliding the glass over the desk with a scoff.
"My behaviour is always unacceptable; it’s part of the allure. The populous long for something raw, something unexpected. Something unmarred by inane pleasantries and fakery." His eyes slid upwards, nailing you like gas lamps in darkness. "Take you, for instance."
It was your turn to scoff. "I don’t see what I have to do with this."
Loki leant back in the chair, eyelids drooping. His tongue nipped over his lips in a flash of pink. "You very much want to have me; I can see it. I can smell it."
Your jaw loosened, mortification prickling over your skin as he added, "Carnally," as if it required explanation.
"You’re out of your fucking mind. I can’t stand you."
Loki’s lips curled, and you hated how much you wanted to suck the smirk off his goddam mouth. "Correct on both counts, I’m sure. It doesn’t change the inescapable reality that you want to know what I taste like."
Your tongue shaped words, and then you choked on them as Loki unfurled from the chair: all long limbs, slutty curls and slimfit tailoring. Oh Christ.
Your bare shoulder-blades met the window as he meandered across the floor without a care in the world; bladed cheekbones casting shadows across his skin; assassins emerging from the dark.
"You want to know what I fuck like," he said, words stirring like treacle. "Whether I’m generous, whether I’m as good as they say, whether I’m as brutish and punishing as part of you hopes I would be."
He stood in front of you, hands clasped behind his back, and leant forwards until his breath was hot on your forehead and the expensive cologne wafting from the open buttons of his shirt drifted up your nostrils. A short puff of mirth exhaled against your skin before he added, piercing, "But most of all, you want to know what I sound like when I cum."
He was awful: conceited, rude, imperious. But, fuck, he was right.
Your sweaty palms slid against the glass as he straightened and waited for a response. He sighed, and you found yourself staring at the strain of the buttons down the front of his shirt as he did.
"As I thought," said Loki, bored. "Paralysed by your desires—wasting away in a pit of indecision and regret as so many of your ilk." He shrugged, arms wide. "So be it."
Your hand shot out, yanking the nearest suspender and pulling his mouth to yours. Loki’s hand flew to the surface behind your head, and the wall of glass trembled.
His warrior body pressed firm against your chest, crushing you in the scent of desire and the primal heat radiating from his skin while your hands fisted in his hair and the god groaned into your throat.
He pulled back, frowning as your hand grasped at the erection pressing against his trousers. "Let me be clear," he growled. ‘I am no one’s pet. I will not be tamed. Is that understood?"
"Oh, will you shut up?" You tore at the buttons of his shirt, regretting the lack of nuance, before adding, "but, like, keep talking though."
Loki’s chuckle vibrated against your palms as the shirt slid over the curve of his biceps and then you were raking at his perfect skin, pulling his mouth to yours in a hateful mess of tongues and need and fire that ripped through your body.
Nimble fingers made quick work of his buckle, and Loki’s hands ran up the curve of your thighs, pushing the folds of your dress around your hips. "I've been longing to break you in..." he muttered, eyes shining in the light from New York’s glittering skyline.
You yanked his hair, and Loki hissed with pleasure. "I’m not a virgin; weirdo," you gasped, grasping his thick, perfect cock in a punishing fist.
His lips spread with a wolfish grin. "Ah, but you’ve never been fucked by me."
One of his hands slipped between your legs and trailed through the wetness it found. He moaned softly, massaging your clit like oil. Your head fell against the window as he slipped a long, elegant finger inside you. It was disgusting how much you wanted him, and you’d let yourself feel every, traitorous moment.
His digits curled, stoking the same, exquisite spot again, and again— "such a pretty, warm cunt," he whispered, filthy—as whines slid from your lips. "And to think, you’ve been denying yourself."
Loki tsk’d, his free hand playing at your exposed neck. He sucked a bruising kiss into your throat as hot cum welled around his fingers, holding you upright, balanced against the thigh shoved between your legs.
"Fuck me," you gasped, grappling at his shoulders. He said nothing. You met his eyes; slivers of blue visible on the rim of wide, black pools. "Like…fuck me, fuck me."
"I knew you’d want me rough," he said quietly, drawing his knuckles down your cheek. The hand fell to the neckline of your dress and before you could even inhale, a mighty rip sent your dress scattering across the floor.
Loki’s covetous eyes roamed your chest, your body; his chin dipped, his eyes glazed with lust. "Over there." He motioned with his head.
You followed the order and gripped the back of one of the two chairs positioned by the window. Leather slid under the sheen clinging to your palms. Loki’s touch cupped your hips, his hands grazing appreciatively over bare skin.
"I knew it would be tonight," he murmured, pressing his cock into the base of your spine. His breath was hot on your throat. "As soon as I saw the utter loathing in your eyes; I knew it would be the one."
He twisted your hair back, biting the curve of your shoulder with unbearable erotic restraint. You pressed your ass into his crotch, moaning his name under your breath as he traced a finger down your spine until he reached the cock leaking precum over your skin.
Positioning between your legs, he rubbed the column twice through your slick lips before sheathing himself on the third.
The two of you gasped in unison; the guttural growl of Loki’s voice making your knees tremble before he delivered the first, devastating thrust. The force of it sent the chair screeching over the floor.
"G-gods…you’re tight," he choked, withdrawing and circling the crown at the tip of your channel. "I knew you would be perfect…but…but…"
Another thrust and the chair hit the window, but you didn’t care. Loki filled every part of you; you’d never felt so exposed, so free, with every fluid buck of his hips which made stars burst behind your eyelids. He bottomed out with a grunt of your name, balls slapping against your clit, one hand flying to the glass above your head and making a messy streak as it fell.
"Not enough," he said, breathless. The god pulled you upright and kissed you with the force of a storm, gathering you in his arms. The next thing you felt was the cool desk on your ass, Loki spreading your thighs and the utter joy of him breaching the empty space inside you he’d ruined for all other men.
One hand roughly palmed at your breasts, the other cradling your skull as every trinket you’d every owned rattled on the desk. Somewhere, something cracked. He went harder, pounding deeper with each snap of his hips that slapped against your skin.
There was a clink, a melodic roll, and then a smash. The sharp scent of whisky filled the air. You began to look but Loki pulled your chin to face him.
"On me," he ordered, eyes narrowed. There was a faint flush in his cheeks. "On me. Always."
Your legs wound around Loki’s hips. One kiss slid into another, his bucks becoming frantic as climax burst inside you with a rattle of his name. He lowered you to the desk, sliding his glistening cock from your cunt and kissing down your abdomen.
As you craned up, slack-jawed, the god delivered a single, earth-trembling lick up the centre of your pussy; gathering himself on his tongue. He swallowed, pacing behind you and seating himself on your chair.
You sat up, observing him over your shoulder. His shirt was completely unbuttoned, thanks to you, pale skin shimmering pearl in the honeyed gloom. He looked up beneath his lashes—smouldering—slender fingers wrapped around the cock protruding from splayed fabric; pumping in fluid strokes.
He cocked an eyebrow, and it was as good as a beckon from one of those slender fingers.
Shifting from the desk, you sank to your knees, and Loki’s legs widened. The fabric of his trousers creased maddeningly over the meat of his thighs.
"Tell me you haven’t thought about this," he said, baiting. He could smell lies as keenly as sulphur. "That you haven’t wanted to choke on my cock."
It wasn’t a question.
You fixed your eyes on his as you settled a hand around the root and swallowed the tip.
Loki’s eyes rolled back, head falling to the back of the chair. Black waves dripped down his shoulders like spilled ink, every thrust of his hips into your mouth making new combinations of filthy curses rattle from his chest.
A hand settled on your head, following the motion as your mouth worked back and forth along the length of him: sucking, licking, grazing the sensitive tip with your teeth. Loki hissed, fingers tightening in your hair.
"Fucking Norns, you are a slut," he muttered appreciatively.
You doubled down, and soon Loki’s balls tightened. Something shifted as he stiffened, the hand in your hair flying to the armrest. His breaths were short, moans brief and ragged as he fought himself. "Finish me," he growled, tapered to a whine.
One, calculated suck was all it took. Loki’s climax trembled down his body, spurting into your mouth like a tide of warm, smooth butter. Your tongue circled the tip, massaging him through the throes as his body shuddered a final time and a staggered sigh rocked the air.
A finger slipped beneath your chin, tilting up to meet his expectant smirk. "Well?" Loki asked, eyes glinting. "Was I everything you dreamt of?"
The lazy smile on your face evaporated. You brushed the hand aside, covering your breasts. Loki frowned.
"There’s no need for that, believe me." He guided your hands into his and pulled you to his lap. "Do you recall when I mentioned this realm’s sparse list of accomplishments?"
You grunted reluctant confirmation. Loki sucked your earlobe between his teeth, releasing a contented sigh. "Your body is most definitely on that list." He paused, breath catching. "All of you, truth be told," he added quietly.
Before you had time to process what he'd said, you were standing.
Loki’s fingers fastened the buttons of his shirt with unnatural speed as you stared forlornly at the ripped dress on the floor. Fuck. There was a sweatsuit hanging in the small wardrobe stashed in the corner. That would have to do—you could slip out the side entrance, no need to…
"I’ll see you downstairs?" Loki asked, all business. He looked at you expectantly as the bespoke forest green suit jacket melted over his torso like paint. You’d forgotten how good he looked in it and resolved never to forget it ever again.
The god carded a hand through his hair, letting in fall in wild waves. The outline of his erection was still visible through the tight trousers. Did I really just fuck…Loki Laufeyson? A sick pride sprouted in your belly.
You crouched and picked up the tattered, black fabric. "I don’t think so, I mean—" Loki’s kiss cut you off. He sucked your bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled away.
"I’ll see you downstairs," he repeated softly. "Someone has to make sure I’m behaving myself, after all."
You rolled your eyes, trying not to stare as he swaggered to the door and shot a grin through the glass panels as he passed.
He has a point, though. You couldn’t let him go unattended. What if he gets one of the senators’ wives alone? What if he sexes them up...like me?
The thought, however ridiculous it would have been an hour ago, was like a knife between your ribs.
You scurried to the wardrobe concealed in the corner and opened it, cursing the fact you didn’t keep a spare office dress like the slinky bitches on TV.
You stared, blinking several times.
Hanging in the wardrobe was an identical dress to the one lying shredded on the floor. Almost identical. You pulled it out, holding the hanger up. In the glow of the midnight skyline, green jewels glittered around the neckline, woven in intricate patterns that melted into the folds of skirt. A note was pinned to the bodice.
I can be good, it said. Our secret.
Summary: In which the rescue begins - assuming Verity can last that long '.
Chapter List
Full Master List of all works
“Are you hoping for a rescue?” The wheezy bark from the Toymaker broke into Verity’s thoughts. Ignoring her silence he continued. “I’m sorry to disappoint you but you will be waiting a long time.”
Verity kept her face turned towards the window. It was so filthy it was almost impossible to see through, but that didn’t matter. Somewhere out there in the darkness, Cross was searching for her. “He’ll come.”
The man snorted with laughter. “He has no idea where to start looking. We have secure sites all over Europe and by the time he gets here, we’ll have moved on.” He leaned closer. “You’re never going to see him again.”
The next second, an explosion rattled the corrugated iron roof and almost blinded her as fire blazed through the dirty windows. There was a crash as items were dislodged from the walls and shelves and then all the lights in the compound went out, plunging the room into darkness. Verity froze as the blackness settled over her like a weighted blanket, crushing her back into the chair. Was this a regular occurrence, she wondered, or the sign she’d been praying for. The snarled curses from the two men did not carry the weary sense of familiarity, and her spirits rose. They hadn’t been expecting this.
It had to be Cross! A distant clatter of gunfire confirmed her hopes. He was here! He’d found her! Almost weak with relief it took a moment before it dawned on her that if she’d worked it out, so had her captors, which meant she was about to make the transition from hostage to human shield.
Silently, she slid out of her chair and fumbled across to where she remembered the desk sitting. Biting back a curse as she stubbed her toe on the heavy piece of furniture, she dropped to her knees and edged her way around it, her still cuffed hands held out in front of her. Hoping she didn’t stab herself on one of the gruesome instruments, dislodged from the wall by the explosion earlier, she fumbled through the debris looking for a weapon. Blindly navigating the array of sharp edges and points, she bit her lip as a razor sharp blade sliced through the tip of her finger. Further investigation revealed it to be a meat cleaver—tempting, but too heavy and not what she was looking for. A crash from behind and an increase in the volume of cursing told her that her empty chair had been discovered and hurled into the wall in rage. Her fingers closed over the narrow spike of a long ice pick and she held her breath as she disentangled it from the heap of vicious metalware littering the floor. It came free with barely a rasp and, weak with relief, she dived beneath the desk, snagging the meat cleaver almost as an afterthought and adding it to her meagre arsenal. Seconds later, a heavy body collided with the wall and curses rained down on her hiding place.
The sound of gunfire grew closer.
Unseen hands scrabbled through the clutter on the desk above her and Verity curled tighter into a ball. A soft rasp of flint on stone sent up a brief spark of light and a shiver ran down her spine. How far away was Cross? How long did she have? A second rasp and a second brief flare of light had her holding her breath, then a floorboard creaked near to her head and she froze. If that flame caught, her hiding place would vanish in an instant.
Better to use the element of surprise while she still had it, she decided. Before she could change her mind, she lunged forward, stabbing with all her strength in the direction where she’d heard the sound of a footstep. A howl accompanied the sense of resistance as the sharp prong sank deep into the meat of someone’s leg.
The handle was now slick with hot blood as she dragged her weapon free and swung again. This time the tip grazed across the fabric of a trouser leg, but made no contact with the skin beneath. She’d missed. Worse than that, she’d given away her position. Before she could retreat in hopes of finding a safer spot to hide, a foot lashed out, catching her under the chin and slamming her head into the desk above. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and tears spilled from her eyes as she screwed them closed. Rigid with pain, she fumbled for her weapon but the pick had slipped from her fingers and vanished into the inky blackness. Scuttling backwards away from her attacker, she found the cleaver and curled her fist around the handle. Breath hissing from between her clenched teeth, she pressed her back to the wall and listened for any sign of movement; but the cabin had fallen into an eerie silence as the gun fire grew louder outside.
They had to be by the window, she decided. They’d want to know what was going on and who was attacking them. The small square of dirty glass glowed faintly against the gloom of the rest of the room, its edges outlined by the fire burning outside. Making a snap decision, Verity crawled around the edge of the desk and swung the cleaver towards the side of the window where she assumed at least one of her captors would be hiding, safely out of sight of the invading force.
The heavy blade whistled through the air, then its descent halted as it sank deep into her victim. Victory flared through her, overriding the pain she was in, and she nearly whooped in triumph but there was no corresponding howl of agony from her target. No reaction at all. The only thing she’d hit was the wall, she realised in horror. And worse than that, she’d embedded the cleaver so deep, she now couldn’t pull it free. Desperately she yanked at the stubborn piece of metal when a floorboard creaked behind her and before she could react, rough hands dragged her off her feet by her hair.
Screaming as she was hauled across the room, Verity fought back as best she could, landing a few well placed kicks, but almost ripping her hair from her scalp in the process. Then she was slammed against the wall with enough force to jar the air from her lungs. Thankfully the detonation earlier had dislodged the dangerous weaponry, so she wasn’t impaled on a random axe or knife, but a nail protruding from the wooden board ripped through her shirt and stabbed deep into her back. Long fingers tightened around her throat and a hoarse voice snarled, “Be silent!” Without oxygen to fill her lungs, Verity had no choice but to obey and every attempt to wriggle free only embedded the nail deeper in her back, so she stopped fighting and clutched at the hand squeezing the life from her.
Bright spots danced in front of her eyes and she could feel her accelerated pulse thundering in her ears. It couldn’t end like this, she thought in frustration. Not when Cross was so close. She had to hang on.
Suddenly the pressure on her windpipe vanished and she drew in a ragged breath. Switching his grasp from her throat to the chain between her cuffs, the man dragged her arms above her head and a fresh wave of pain and nausea swept through her as her position shifted and the rusty nail tore at her flesh. A sharp blade traced down the column of her throat. “You don’t get to die that easily,” he snarled in her ear. “I will make him watch as I carve the skin from your body, one strip at a time.”
To emphasise his statement, the viciously sharp tip nicked the skin over her collarbone and Verity bit back a whimper of pain. Then, without warning, the door on the far side of the cabin slammed open. She only had a moment to register the dark silhouette in the doorway, outlined by the hazy red glow of the sky behind him when a hail storm of bullets were unleashed in his direction and the figure vanished, hurling himself to one side and out of the range of fire. Hope surging to the fore, Verity struggled against the grip of the man pinning her place. She hadn’t imagined it. She knew that figure! The broad set of his shoulders and the imperious tilt of his head.
Cross was here! With a howl of fury she kneed her attacker in the nuts, but other than to spit a string of unintelligible obscenities in her face, he didn’t react. He was too close, her scrambled thoughts screamed; she had to get away from him. Cross needed a clear shot. Oblivious to the pain, she used her full body weight to drag her hands through the loosened cuffs and as the nail tore itself free from her flesh, she dropped to the floor. An instant later, she heard the soft cough of a silencer followed by a grunt and then the heavy thud of body landing on top of her. Nearly hysterical from the competing waves of fear, pain and relief, Verity fought to free herself from the corpse but her legs refused to cooperate, leaving her a twitching bundle of limbs, half covered by death and crouched against the wall.
From the doorway there was another exchange of gunfire, followed by another thud which wrenched a scream from her throat.
“Cross!”
Heavy footsteps moved through the room, drawing closer. Unable to tell who they belonged to, Verity plastered herself back against the wall, fists raised in useless defence until she heard a familiar voice.
“I’ve got you. I’m here. It’s going to be okay—”
Breath hissed from her lungs as relief swept through her. “Cross?” she whispered, barely able to believe it was true. There was no answer, but strong arms lifted her from the ground, pulling her into an embrace. She struggled for a moment, wanting confirmation before she could truly let her relax, but her second appeal of, “Cross?” slightly stronger than the first, was still met with silence. Then his scent filled her head, eradicating all doubt and she slumped against his shoulder, sobbing with relief.
He was here. He’d found her!
Crosshairs - Chapter Thirty
Pairing: Jaguar Villain Tom Hiddleston + OFC
Warnings: Gunfire / physical violence
Length: 2k
Summary: In which Cross fully steps up for the Hero role
Chapter List
Full Master List of all works
Night vision painted the scene in front of him in a muted greenish grey, the poor resolution hiding much of the horror he knew this room contained, and for that Cross was thankful. But he could still make out the terror streaked across Verity’s features and the threatening glint of the knife being held to her throat. Two attackers he noted. Neither seemed fully prepared for their arrival, but both were armed and quick to regroup. The odds were better than he’d allowed himself to hope, but his trigger finger itched as he bit back a curse. The man pinning Verity to the wall leaned close to her face, making a clean shot next to impossible.
A flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye warned him of retaliation and he dived to one side, narrowly avoiding the wave of bullets sent hurtling in his direction. Hugging the ground, he edged forward until he could see into the cabin. The view remained unchanged, Verity still pressed against the wall, almost obscured by her attacker. Silently he evaluated his options. From this angle, a kill shot would pass straight through the man and into Verity. He couldn’t risk that. His remaining choice would be to shoot for the man’s legs, but with that knife pressed to her throat, Verity would be dead before he could get off a second shot. A growl of frustration rose in his chest.
She needed to move. She had to know he was here, didn’t she?
Before he could even open his mouth to issue an instruction—and possibly for the first time in their entire history—Verity anticipated his demand and did exactly what he wanted, dragging herself free of her attacker and dropping to the floor. One shot was all he needed, and a grim smile carved across his features as he put a bullet straight through the back of the first man’s head, painting the wall with a lurid mixture of blood and brain matter. Another wild flare of gunfire had him clawing at the ground. There was still one man left, but in the darkness he wouldn’t be able to see Cross, or more importantly, Verity. Killing him would be easy, but they needed him alive, which made the task trickier. The next wave of bullets were aimed at the far side of the cabin. Clearly the man didn’t care if his companion was alive or dead, and was shooting randomly, hoping to hit Verity.
That was all the incentive Cross needed. Abandoning his cover, he surged to feet and stormed into the room. The man managed to get off one final shot as he approached, but Cross barely felt it carving into his shoulder as he reversed his grip and slammed the butt of his gun into the monster’s nose. Hopefully there was a whimper of pain as he slumped to the floor, but with his ears still ringing painfully from the initial explosion, Cross could hear nothing above his own heartbeat and a high pitched wail.
Belatedly remembering that he hadn’t come alone, he holstered his weapon, strode further into the cabin and shouted “Clear!”
At this single word, Elise followed, her gun still outstretched as if she doubted his assessment of the situation. That should have annoyed him, but in that moment, the only thing he cared about was getting Verity out of there safely.
On the far side of the room, he could just make out her struggling to extricate herself from the body slumped on top of her. Dragging himself out of the paralysis that had gripped him, he crossed the space between them, seized the corpse by its collar and wrenched it off her. Wide-eyed with terror, she stared up at him blindly, her lips moving around the same repeated word he couldn’t quite catch.
Relief that she was still alive flooded through him, and he finally got to murmur the words that had been aching at the back of his throat.
“I’ve got you. I’m here. It’s going to be okay.”
An instant later, Verity scrambled up from the floor and hurled herself into his arms.
Only when he had her clamped tight to his chest did Cross begin to believe those words, and the first sparks of hope and relief that came with them. He had her. She was alive. They’d got there in time. Weak with relief, he sank to his knees, taking her down with him.
A touch on his arm jerked him back to the present. Elise held up a lamp, her intention obvious, and he had just enough time to rip off his night vision goggles before being blinded as the cabin flooded with artificial light. Deaf was bad enough, if he lost his sight too, he’d be helpless.
Returning his attention to Verity, he pulled back, his eyes scouring her face and body for injuries. She was slicked with blood from her knees to her hairline, but her eyes were clear as he pulled her closer and her heartbeat was strong against his fingers. Her lips moved and he shook his head. “I can’t hear you,” he said, probably too loudly, but it was impossible to judge. “My ears were fucked by the blast.” A tremor ran through her shoulders and he realised she was laughing.
The laughter faded and she traced her fingers down his face, as if to reassure herself he was really there. Tears followed and he pulled her closer as her shoulders heaved around heavy sobs.
Across the room, Elise had activated the computer and was frowning at the login screen. She shouted something he couldn’t hear and then rolled her eyes and picked up a palm print reader and waved it at him. Reluctantly, Cross nodded and extricated himself from Verity’s embrace. Keen to finish what they’d started and be on their way, he grabbed the slumped figure of the Albanian kingpin by the scruff of his neck. The man was built like an ox and unconscious was a dead weight. Even with Verity’s assistance, it was slow progress to drag him across the room. As they got closer to the desk, Cross could already anticipate the difficulty they would have manoeuvring his bulk into the necessary position to place his hand on the scanner.
“Fuck this.” Dropping the body with a heavy thud, he stalked across the room to where a stained meat cleaver was embedded in the wall. “Right or left?” he snapped at Elise. She merely raised an eyebrow and then her right hand.
Kicking the slumped figure onto his back, Cross stretched out the man’s right arm. Consciousness returning, the man twitched and his eyes cracked open.
Cross tightened his grip on the cleaver, a cold sneer lifting his lip. “Perfect timing! Wouldn’t want you to miss this!” Turning to Verity he jerked his chin. “Hold his arm.”
Vengeance was written across his every feature; she didn’t need to be asked twice.
Matheiu’s men had thoughtfully allowed several armoured vehicles to escape the carnage, so while the trip down the mountains to the pre-agreed landing site was slow due to the state of the narrow track, it was considerably more comfortable than he’d originally feared. Settled in the front seat of a rusty jeep with his arms wrapped tightly around Verity, Cross felt the terror finally releasing its grip on his chest and revelled in the luxury of being able to breathe freely once more.
If it hadn’t been for her battered and bloodied state, he would have felt quite content sitting there, cradling her head against his shoulder and watching the dawn gradually seeping between the mountain peaks. The worst of her bleeding had stopped, but he was anxious to reach the doctor who would be waiting for them on the plane and have that hope confirmed.
In the seat behind them, Sandrine was sandwiched between Mathieu and Chris, clutching both their hands and alternating her tears between one broad shoulder and the other. His hearing was finally returning, Cross noted with relief, and judging from the softly growled conversion taking place behind him, Sandrine was about to be grounded for the next thirty years—and didn’t seem to care. By contrast Verity hadn’t shed another tear since their initial reunion and any attempts at conversation had been entirely one-sided, due to his percussive deafness. Thankfully words were unnecessary and she seemed quite content to curl up against the wall of his chest, her face pressed against his heart.
As for the rest of their men, they had been crammed into every available vehicle and were following close behind. Due to the element of surprise and the overwhelming firepower unleashed, their losses had been negligible. A few new scars had been earned and would no doubt be celebrated, but no additional lives lost. Cross glanced at the wing mirror, silently counting the members of their small convoy and sending up a prayer of thanks for each and every man who had risked his life. No, not just men, he amended. Elise, seated in one of the trucks and keeping an eye on their captive, had also earned his gratitude. A smile twitched the corner of his mouth: she’d been quick to remind him of that fact, even as they dragged the Toymaker from his gruesome workroom.
The rest of the cells beneath the compound had been found empty. Cross wasn’t sure if he was saddened or relieved by that fact. He knew Elise would not stop until she’d found and freed as many victims as possible. Just as he knew he would give her whatever resources she needed to complete that task. Now at least they had a thread to follow.
Mathieu had taken a flamethrower to the Toymaker’s bloody stump, which was all that remained of the man’s right arm, before loading him into the flatbed of the truck. Cross frowned. While there was no immediate danger of the man bleeding out before they got the chance to ask the questions they needed, if this trip took much longer, he might freeze to death enroute. Which would be a shame, but a risk he could live with.
Reminded of the ever present chill, Cross fiddled with the heat settings of the radiator until it coughed a cloud of tepid, exhaust-tainted air into the cabin and Verity hummed out a sigh of gratitude. His arms tightened around her. Answers would be found and debts would be paid. A hand touched his shoulder, forcing him to twist in his seat. Leaning forward, Matheiu held up the detonator.
“Do you want to do the honours,” he shouted. Cross winced at the unnecessary volume and declined the offer with a brief shake of his head.
One push of a button later, an explosion shook the ground beneath their wheels as a large section of the mountainside sheared away and plummeted into the valley below; redefining the landscape and burying the bodies they’d left behind under a thousand tonnes of rock and rubble. Verity peered over his shoulder and allowed herself a smirk of satisfaction before settling back into his embrace. Pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head, Cross let his thoughts drift to what would come next. Other than learning that the man referred to himself as ‘The Toymaker’ they hadn’t wasted time on a full interrogation, opting instead to get back to the plane and away from this hellhole. Questions would come later and if the man himself failed to survive long enough to provide the answers they desired, Cross was confident they had other resources. As the one member of their raiding party not distracted by any thoughts of rescue, Elise had concentrated her efforts on downloading every scrap of information from the cloud account and had appropriated the hard drive for good measure. Cross was certain they now had enough intel to lop off at least one head of the Red Trade if not drive a stake straight through its heart. That thought did more to warm his limbs than the feeble gasp from the asthmatic radiator.
Renewed strength flowed through him. Vengeance was highly underrated for its restorative properties.
Warnings: Not much, a few threats of physical violence and a scary ascent.
Length: 2.8k
Summary: In which 'operation rescue Verity' reaches Albania.
Chapter List
Full Master List of all works
Attention fixed on the dismal view from his airline window, Cross heaved out a silent sigh. It was still fully dark and the lights from the plane illuminated little beyond the endless blanket of dense cloud, hiding the horrors which he knew lurked below. Several thousand feet beneath them stretched ‘The Accursed Mountains’—a glacial feature running the length of the Albanian border with towering peaks swathed in perpetual snow. Cross shuddered; neither the name nor the brief geography lesson provided in Ashton’s notes doing much to improve his already sombre mood. His temper was further eroded by the fact they were operating on blind faith that whoever now had the watch was still with Verity and Sandrine, but he couldn’t bring himself to consider the alternatives that they might have been sent elsewhere, or separated from each other en route.
They would be there, he told himself. Together. Or god help anyone they found in their place. He checked his watch again. Verity had now been missing for over six hours; his gut clenched at what that might mean.
They had been wheels-up the moment the tracker had indicated which base was the most likely target, but he hated being on the back foot. He clenched his teeth and fought down a snarl. He should have followed its lead immediately. Trusted his instincts. But what good would that have done? Alone he’d have been useless to her. He had to believe that the time spent collecting the information from Ashton and assembling the men and munitions they needed would be worth it. He wasn’t the only one second-guessing decisions and torturing himself with images of what might happen next. Across the narrow aisle, Chris sat gazing out of his own window, fingers tapping a nervous tattoo on the armrest of his seat. Cross was unsurprised but nevertheless impressed that the lad hadn’t even hesitated before joining the party. And if he was having any second thoughts now, he was sensibly keeping them to himself.
“They’re going to be alright,” he said, knowing the words were as much for his own benefit as Chris.
Without turning from his vigil, Chris shook his head. “Do you really believe that?”
“I do.” Cross took a breath. “If they wanted them dead, we would have found their bodies at the scene with the rest of the men. They hold more value while they’re still alive. Both of them.” He didn’t need Chris tearing himself apart with guilt over feeling more concern for one or other of the missing women. That Mathieu was probably wrestling with the same question was enough of an issue.
As if summoned by that thought, the man himself appeared from the cockpit and strode down the aisle towards them.
“We’re nearly there.”
Cross nodded and got to his feet. He wasn’t looking forward to the next phase of their journey, but it was what it was.
Chris leaned closer to the window, frowning at the featureless expanse of cloud beneath them. “Where are we landing?” he asked.
“We’re not,” Mathieu replied, thrusting a parachute into his hands.
That statement jolted Chris to his feet and stripped any remaining colour from his complexion. “We’re jumping?”
“Yes. We’re jumping.”
“You’ll be fine,” Cross assured him, as he shrugged into the harness. “The chute will open automatically and once we get through the cloud you should be able to see the lights from the advance party.” Fastening the cinches around his waist he tightened the straps. “Keep your knees soft and roll on impact.”
Elise was waiting by the open door, obviously anxious not to be left behind. Taking one look at Chris’s pallor she gave a sympathetic wince.
“First jump?” she yelled over the howl of the wind clawing its way into the cabin.
Chris nodded, edging towards the open door.
“Hey, don’t worry. I’ll jump with you.”
“Really!”
“Why not. We’ll go on three.”
Bracing one hand on the door frame, Chris took a deep breath and rechecked his straps. “One—”
The single word ended as a yelp as Elise pushed him out into thin air.
Cross shook his head. “Just when I start to think, maybe you’re not the bitch I always assumed, you go and do something like that.”
Elise shrugged. “He wasn’t going to get any less nervous. Sometimes you just need to rip the bandaid off.” Giving him a cheery salute she rolled backwards out of the cabin and vanished into the clouds.
It had been a fair few years since Cross made his last jump, but thankfully muscle memory took over, leaving him nothing to do but endure the silent descent. This used to be his favourite part of the process, a few precious minutes alone to gather his thoughts and focus on what was to come. But this time, he couldn’t appreciate the journey, and tiny shards of ice slashed at every exposed inch of skin. When he closed his eyes against the barrage, his thoughts and fears swelled louder, clawing at his mind and dispelling any attempt at peace. The rage burning inside him refused to settle, and he could feel his muscles tensing and twitching in anticipation. He’d had enough time alone with those thoughts; now he needed action. The snarling beast of fury wouldn’t be quelled with words or mantras—it needed blood.
Gradually the stinging, icy vapour thinned enough for him to scan the terrain below. Brutal mountain peaks, blanketed by a dense, snow filled forest greeted his eye. Mathieu had been right, there was no way to storm the castle from the ground; trucks and armoured cars would have been next to useless. Thankfully, those first to jump had ignited flares, marking the small clearing which passed for their landing zone, but as he scanned the horizon it was impossible to make out their intended target. He could only hope and pray that Ashton’s information was correct.
As soon as his boots hit the ground, he was already moving, cutting away the harness and balling up the silk of his canopy. Elise strode towards him, a thin trickle of blood on her cheek showing she’d caught a branch on the way down.
“Where’s Chris?” he asked.
She smirked and pointed up. Twenty feet above them, Chris dangled from his tangled lines.
“Are you alright?” Cross called. “Anything broken?”
“Nah,” he wheezed, struggling to release the cord wrapped around his chest. “I think I’m good, just a bit tied up.”
Returning his gaze to Elise, Cross jerked his thumb upwards. “Get up there and cut him loose.”
“Why me?”
He shrugged. “You took charge of him for the jump, how he lands is your responsibility. Make sure he gets down safely.”
Getting Chris down would be the easy part, he thought, tightening the straps of his climbing harness. Getting everyone up the sheer cliff face in front of them was going to be considerably more taxing. High above him he could hear the faint chink of a piton being hammered into a narrow crevice as the advance party continued their assault of the sheer rock wall.
“How long?” he asked Mathieu.
The Frenchman shrugged. “They think about another hour or so to create a safe route for everyone to follow.”
Cross tilted his head in surprise. He’d expected it to take far longer. “That fast?”
“We have some experienced climbers and we’re not aiming for the summit. We just need to get above the facility on the other side of the peak. The climb is the easy bit,” he added in a somber tone. “Getting everyone around the mountain is the risk. They’ve found a ledge, which will speed things up, but it will still be treacherous in the dark.”
It felt like only a few minutes later when a soft hiss disturbed the silence and a rope uncurled down the side of the cliff. Cross reached out an automatic hand to grab it. That was the signal that the staging party was ready for the rest of them to begin the initial ascent. Glancing back over his shoulder to ensure Chris had landed safely and was now making his way towards them, Cross waited for Mathieu to take the lead and then clipped his climbing harness to the safety rope.
“Up we go,” he muttered, placing his boot against the solid rock and reaching up for a finger hold.
The next hour passed in a white-knuckled blur. The climb itself had been exhausting, but traversing the narrow ledge which ran around the peak was nothing short of terrifying. Chest pressed to the cliffside, fingers clenched around the guide rope he inched his way along the narrow ridge of rock, desperately feeling for each new toe hold.
No one had the energy for small talk. The only sound was the laboured breathing from the men on either side of him and an occasional muffled curse.
Cross closed his eyes and summoned Verity’s face. Not much further. It couldn’t be that much further, he told himself. Small rocks, dislodged by his boot, skittered down the mountainside, as his foot slipped. Groping for a hand hold, Cross clung to the shear wall and waited until his heart had stopped trying to beat its way out of his chest before risking another step. Just one more step. That was all he had to do. One… more… step.
And finally it was just one more step. Weak with relief Cross felt a firm hand grip his shoulder and help him off the ledge and onto level ground. Doubled over, it took him a few more minutes to get his heartbeat and breathing back under control before he could take in the view. The dark silhouette of trees edged the broad plateau and in the clearing at the centre the men were already busy assembling the weapons they’d brought with them.
Mathieu was standing between two trees, where the cliff face fell away beneath his feet, night vision binoculars glued to his eyes as Cross approached.
“Is it what we were expecting?” Cross asked.
Not bothering to turn, Mathieu gave a short nod and held out the binoculars. “Seems to be. Look for yourself.”
Cross leaned forward and peered over the edge. The electronically enhanced images glowed green in front of his eyes. Hewn into the mountain beneath them, Cross could make out the roughly levelled area containing a few free standing structures all surrounded by a heavily fortified wall of solid rock.
“Not much there,” he muttered.
“Plans indicate that all the holding pens,” Mathieu spat the last word, “have been carved into the mountain beneath. What we’re looking at is the guard house, canteen, possibly some offices and the generator room.”
“So the plan is to take those out first?” They’d discussed this on the plane, but Cross wanted to make sure they were all on the same page.
“Yes. Hopefully the men work a shift rotation, so we should be able to take a significant number who are either sleeping or eating. If we can identify the generator, hitting that will take out the lights, but all our snipers have night vision on their scopes, so they can pick off anyone coming up from underground.”
Cross nodded. It was a good plan. They still held the element of surprise. The kidnappers wouldn’t have expected them to follow so soon.
Mathieu twirled his knife between his fingers. “And while they’re still reeling from the shock, we can move in and take out the remaining men. Personally.”
“We can’t kill them all. Not until we’re sure they’re here.” Cross did not need to name names. Mathieu’s expression immediately darkened.
“The tracker. It’s still here, yes?”
Cross checked the small screen and nodded. “Looks to be above ground. Hard to tell from this distance which building it's in.”
“Doesn’t matter. This place will be rubble by the time we’re finished.” To one side, his men were already assembling shoulder mounted rocket launchers and moving into position.
“Just make sure there is someone left alive.” Cross snapped. “I want answers and I’m very much looking forward to asking the questions personally.”
Mathieu gave a dark smile. “I’ll make sure there’s plenty to go around.”
Cross felt his phone silently vibrate to signal an incoming call. Leaving Mathieu to direct his men and ready them for the attack, he moved away, frowning at the unknown number.
“Who is this?” he snapped.
A wheezy chuckle greeted his question. “Now is that any way to speak to the man who holds the thing most precious to you?”
Cross had no time for games or euphemisms. His fingers tightened around the phone. “Let me speak to Verity.”
“All in good time. First I will need you to do a little something for me.”
Jaw clenched, Cross gripped the device so hard he feared he might shatter the case. “What do you want?”
“I want the Eighth Circle.”
Cross almost laughed out loud. “It’s not something that can be gift wrapped and handed over.”
“I disagree. You are the Chairman. For now.”
“The members decide who holds that power.”
“Yes, and they chose to bestow that honour on you. Which means you choose how to direct it.” He laughed again, the grating sound sending a chill down Cross’s spine. “Or rather, I now choose.”
“It’s not down to the Chairman,” he ground out. “There is a board, there are—”
“We know all this,” the faceless voice interrupted. “You installed most of them. And I am happy for you to remain as figurehead of that illustrious organisation, directing their efforts.”
“Who are you?” Cross snarled.
“I’m the puppeteer who will be pulling your strings from this moment onwards. And the first dance I want you to perform is cancelling the vote scheduled for tomorrow.”
“I’m doing nothing until you let me speak to Verity.”
“You don’t get to make demands.”
“How do I know she’s even still alive?”
“Oh she’s alive.”
“Prove it!”
There was a snarled curse followed by some rustling and then a familiar voice filled his ear.
“Hey.” Verity’s voice was low and slightly dazed sounding. His relief that she was still alive was slightly tempered by his immediate thoughts of what they’d done to her.
“Verity! Are you okay? Have they—”
“I’m fine.” She gave a humourless laugh. “Well, not fine but they’ve mostly left me alone.”
“And Sandrine? Is she there with you?”
“She’s here too, somewhere. We were—” The sound of slap cut off whatever she was about to say next. Clearly a warning about giving away too much information.
“Are you still there?” he almost shouted into the phone, desperate not to lose even the most tenuous thread of connection.
“I’m still here.” From her tone, he could tell she was glaring at her attacker.
“I will find you,” he whispered. “I promise.”
“I know.” There was a pause and then she continued. “Had a lot of time to think since we arrived. And I was remembering when we first met. You were so angry because of what I’d done. But I’d do it all again. Exactly the same.”
Realisation slammed into his head like a piece of two by four and Cross jabbed the mute button.
“Stop!” he yelled at Mathieu, who was crouched next to a man wielding a rocket launcher.
Both men stared at him in confusion. Cross ran his fingers through his hair. “We can’t blow the surface structures. Verity has the watch. Wherever it is, she is.”
“They didn’t take it?”
“I think they tried, but she stole it back.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. She told me she’d done it again. She has the watch.”
He could hear Mathieu grinding his teeth but he gave a curt nod and the men stationed at the edge of the cliff lowered their weapons.
“Well?” the harsh voice grated in his ear. “I hope that little trip down memory lane was enough to motivate you.”
Unmuting his phone he sighed heavily. “I will cancel the vote.”
“See how easy it is, when everyone works together. You have one hour, or the next time I put Verity on the phone, all you will hear is her screaming.”
The call ended and Cross stared at his phone in silence for a few seconds before sending a text and then jamming it back into his pocket. The vote was the least of his problems. It would end up being delayed anyway, and cancelling it for now would buy them valuable time.
Mathieu was on his feet as he approached, his arms folded across his chest.
“So we do this the hard way,” he said.
Cross nodded. “Verity would expect nothing less.”
Crosshairs - Chapter Twenty Eight
Pairing: Jaguar Villain Tom Hiddleston + OFC
Warnings: Descriptions of abuse and torture.
Length: 2.3k
Summary: In which the Toymaster gives Verity a colourful description of his artistic vision for her.
Chapter List
Full Master List of all works
The phone was ripped from her hands before Verity had even had the chance to say goodbye and her tenuous connection to Cross abruptly severed. Thrust into a rigid backed chair, she pulled her legs up in front of her and dropped her throbbing head onto her knees as she fought to hold back the tears threatening to follow. She’d given the message she’d wanted to give: namely the fact that she still had the watch on her, so Cross would know how to find her. That was all she could do, other than wait. He would come for her, she had no doubt about that, but she had no idea where she was or how long that might take.
The low mutter of foreign words told her little, other than the fact that they were not being directed at her and a cautious glance from the corner of eye confirmed that the two men were paying her no attention whatsoever as they stared at the sleek computer screen on the desk. Seizing the tiny window of opportunity, she spat the hair grip into her trembling finger and with her wrists tucked between the barrier of her knees and her chest, she set to work on the cuffs. To her relief, the restraints turned out to be bulky rather than excessively complicated, and she managed to unlock them in near silence—but hesitated over her next move. Removing them completely might be too obvious and would be noticed as soon as she was moved from this chair. Replacing the cuffs loosely enough to slip her hand free felt like the better choice but the mechanism gave an audible click as she locked the second one back into its new position and both men turned in her direction.
Shifting her weight she was relieved that the chair creaked loudly in response. “Sorry,” she muttered, “my leg’s gone to sleep.”
Not wanting this to become a staring contest, she shifted her gaze to the wall of gruesome looking instruments behind them.
The older man, the one who had named himself the Toymaker, straightened and chuckled, his head tilted in faux appreciation. “Oh, are you admiring my collection? The tools of my trade.” He waved a hand towards the wall. “These are just a few of my favourites.” Choosing a pair of pliers and a wickedly sharp blade from the selection in front him, he circled the desk until he was standing in front of her. “These are what I use to create my special dolls.” He ran the blade down Verity’s cheek and she could barely stifle the whimper of fear which rose in her throat.
Amused by her reaction he leaned closer. “Every toy I sell is, of course, unique and beautiful in their own way but, for a price, they can be perfectly tailored to their new owner's requirements.” Straightening, he tilted his head to gaze at her, like an artist seeking a new perspective. “One client might value his pet’s silence above all else.” The blade whispered over her throat. “It is a relatively simple matter to slice the vocal cords or…” He paused, the knife moving higher until it was tracing the outline of her lips. “... or remove their tongue entirely.”
Teeth gritted, Verity refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinching away. His smile grew wider at her defiance and blade swept lightly over her brow. “Another may want a permanent means to ensure total anonymity. More than once I’ve been asked to remove the doll’s eyes and rupture her eardrums, so she cannot bear witness to the atrocities visited on her or others.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Can you imagine never being able to see or hear again? Unaware of your surroundings and unable to anticipate the next threat?”
The blade was now hovering beneath her left eye. The Toymaker gave a tiny flick of his wrist and Verity flinched, letting out a yelp as the sharp tip pierced the skin and a bright red tear ran down her cheek.
“For some, their toy is disposable. A temporary distraction or perhaps the centrepiece for a party. That allows for greater creativity. They might ask me to remove her eyelids, so she can’t hide from the horror, or cut the muscles to her jaw to prevent her from closing her mouth, or dislocate all her joints so her limbs can be positioned just how they want, like a puppet.” The tip of the blade tapped against her lip. “No smile for me? Perhaps I can do something about that.” Before Verity could react, the needle sharp point flicked against the corner of her mouth, prompting a scream this time and another rivulet of blood. “A permanent grin drawn into your skin, demonstrating how happy you are to see me!”
Her stomach churned and threatened to empty itself as bile rose in throat. Verity swallowed hard and tried to blink back the tears, but knew it was a losing battle. Breathing through her nose she willed the panic crowding her thoughts to subside.
“Of course you, my dear, are not so temporary. I will want to keep you alive for a long, long time.” He turned to survey the room. “Perhaps I’ll build a little toybox for you to live in?” He ran an assessing eye from her shoulder tip to shoulder tip. “I’ll need a few measurements, to ensure a snug fit. It will need to be large enough to close the lid but leaving no room to move once you’ve been forced inside. How does that sound? To live curled in a ball and locked in the dark, unable to twitch a muscle, barely able to breathe. How long would it take before you were begging for me to take you out and play with you a little longer?”
His companion made a comment which prompted a bark of laughter from the Toymaker.
“Oh I think she’ll beg. Beg and plead and bargain. And if the cramps and the dark aren’t enough to break her, there are other trades I can suggest.” He shifted his attention back to Verity. “I wonder what would you offer to do in exchange for keeping those pretty eyes intact? Or to retain the use of those dainty little fingers?” He leaned closer. “More importantly, what do you think Cross would do to keep you whole?” He shrugged and faked an expression of sorrow. “Of course, he might not believe my threats. To begin with, at least. But there are so many little ‘gifts’ we can send him without killing you. Trinkets to convince him that I am sincere in my promises. Fingers, toes, ears. All non-essential to life and so very easy to remove. Where shall we start…?”
Hyperventilating and nearly hysterical, Verity backed away as far as the chair would allow, nearly overturning it her attempt to avoid the knife now swaying in front of her face like a cobra preparing to strike.
The Toymaker chucked. “There’s nowhere to run, my pet,” he said “And no way you can fight. I can ask Jonuz here to hold you while I work, or simply add additional restraints.” His smile was colder than the air outside. “I’ve always found a noose around the neck to be very effective in keeping my dolls still, particularly when any movement might cause them to lose their precarious footing. I wonder how still you could be, strung from the ceiling by your neck, toes balanced on a wobbly stool. Will the need to breathe be stronger than the pain caused by my knife?”
Just when Verity could feel her nerve crumbling entirely and was about to give in to the gut wrenching sobs burning her throat, he stepped away.
“Sadly, our creative project will have to wait, just a little while longer. Cross has been given his first task and we need to see how well he performs. Hope is critical to our new partnership. He must believe he can prevent the horrors or he won’t even try.”
He replaced the knife on his trophy wall and Verity drew in a wheesy breath of relief and closed her lids, summoning the last threads of control. It was just threats. She needed to hold it together a little bit longer. She had to give Cross time to find her.
The chink from a belt buckle snapped her eyes open. The Toymaker gave her a malevolent grin. “But just because I can’t allow myself full artistic expression, it doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun while we wait.”
His zip lowered.
The Albanian, lounging against the wall murmured something Verity couldn’t understand and the Toymaker frowned, replying in English, no doubt for Verity’s benefit. “You think she’s brave enough to bite me?”
His companion shrugged. “Maybe. I certainly wouldn’t risk placing anything I valued anywhere near her mouth.”
The Toymaker tsked softly. “Such an unfortunate habit, but one that is easily remedied.” Grabbing her by the hair, he dragged her head back until her mouth was forced open. The pliers closed around a tooth. Verity shrieked and wrenched her head to one side, leaving a good chunk of hair behind in his fingers, but thankfully all her teeth intact.
Both men laughed uproariously at her reaction.
Grateful for the illicit blanket of darkness which shrouded them, Mathieu’s men silently rappelled down the sheer cliff face. A series of muted shots from the snipers above cleared their path, taking out the guards patrolling the perimeter walkway and pitching their bodies into the endless chasm below. Silence followed as they took stock: no alarms, no shouts of concern. Crouched behind the parapet, Cross rechecked the tracker. This close, it was easier to identify which building held the watch and, therefore, Verity herself. He leaned into Mathieu.
“She’s in the hut on the far side,” he whispered loud enough for his words to penetrate the vicious wind which cut through his clothing and sank its teeth into his skin.
Mathieu nodded and pointed into the compounds below. “Judging by the wires, that’s the generator room down there.”
Cross followed his gaze. The structure he indicated was almost the entire length of the compound away from Verity’s location, which was good. But its placement in the corner beneath the overhang of the cliff was closer than he liked to where they and most of their men were huddled. He was still mentally trying to calculate the blast radius as he glanced up to see an identical expression on Mathieu’s face.
“We’re too close,” his friend murmured, “we should fall back to the far side.” Activating his earpiece he gave crisp instructions in both French and English to the men on the wall, and those remaining in the trees above them, who were wielding rocket launchers, ready for the assault.
Shouldering his rifle, Cross crab-walked after Mathieu and the rest of the team, careful to keep his head down—but before he’d managed ten paces he caught a crackle of static from the intercom and he saw Mathieu freeze.
Face tight with frustration, Mathieu demanded a repeat of the message in a hushed but urgent tone and from his expression, Cross already knew what his friend was about to say before he opened his mouth.
“The rocket launchers can’t get the angle on the generator building. Not from their position.”
Cross swore under his breath. That was why the generator was tucked so close to the cliffface, it was to protect it from an attack from above. He eyed the gap again.
“Get your men to a safe distance.”
Mathieu tilted his head. “What are you going to do?” Cross uncurled his fist to reveal a grenade and his friend winced. “Is your aim that good?”
“I’ll need to get closer.”
“How close.”
“About twenty-two yards.” At the look of confusion on Mahieu’s face he tossed the still-pinned grenaded lightly in his hand to test its weight and added, “I used to do a bit of bowling for Cambridge.”
Mathieu glanced back at his men, who had now made it to the far side of the wall. He tapped his earpiece and growled, “Everybody down!”
Cross shook his head. “You should go with them.”
“They know what’s expected of them.” Reaching into his jacket he pulled out a second grenade. “It’s not that I don’t trust your arm, but you’re not going to get a run-up, and it’s both my daughters in there—so let’s double our chances of success, yes?”
They exchanged one final grin of intent before pulling their pins and taking aim at their target. The twin projectiles sailed gracefully through the air, one rapping the door as it landed and the other clattering off the corrugated iron roof and into the gutter. Cross and Mathieu dropped to the uneven rock walkway and covered their heads. The silence that followed was so intense, Cross could feel the weight pressing down his chest. A brace of seconds passed before two detonations shook the mountain.
Alarmed cries filled the air, followed by a random spray of machine gun fire as the enemy poured out of doorways and up from the subterranean levels.
A heartbeat later, the oil reservoir caught and the entire structure went up like a roman candle, painting the night sky crimson and gold.
Ears ringing from the blast, Cross staggered to his feet, shaking off the chunks of masonry embedded in his tactical suit.
A trickle of blood ran down Mathieu’s face, but he swiped it away and gave a thumbs up. Cross nodded in response and watched as his friend’s lips moved, but no sound penetrated the high pitched wail in his ears. Thankfully he didn’t need to hear the words to know what was said.
AN: Thank you so much for your patience my loves!!! Here it is. Enjoy
Chapter 8
“I'm sorry. This is new for me. I don't know how to do this,” you explain, fidgeting with your hands.
“Do what?”
You rise to your toes, bracing your hands on the golden armor around his shoulders.
Be brave, you tell yourself. Be brave. Be brave. Be brave.
Somehow it feels like falling and flying all at once, either way, you grip tightly to the rigid pauldrons, anchoring yourself against being swept entirely away.
You close your eyes and press your lips cautiously against his, as if he really might bite. They're comfortingly cool like snowflakes melting against the heat of your mouth, and he melts with you, for you.
Long arms encircle your waist and lift you easily to reach his eager mouth. You feel your body settle into the security of being held against him, tethered to the moment. He hums deeply against your parted lips. It's nearly a growl, somehow dominant and desperate all at once, like the howl of a wolf.
When his silver tongue moves in graceful flicks against your lips, seeking entry, you grant it readily, opening for him to taste you, devour you, drink you in. The kiss ends after a small rapturous eternity. You part, you pant, you gaze into each other's eyes as the prince speaks in halting ragged words.
“You have no idea how I've longed for that...for this,” his voice turns needy and tender, and he cups your face in his hand so carefully, like you're the most precious thing in the universe and he's terrified of breaking you. “How I've needed you like air in my lungs.”
Even at the apex of this moment, you feel your heart fracture and sink as you remember what it would really mean for him to love you, what it would cost...the world it would shatter.
“Loki, I'm sorry. That was reckless. I...I shouldn't have done that” you say sadly, frantically, fighting in vain to slow the whirlwind of all this. “This could ruin you.”
His eyebrows peak in concern mirroring your own, but it's not himself he's concerned for. “My wise lady and her good heart,” he says tenderly, but with a taunting tone of wicked amusement at the purity of your goodness.
He smirks while considering how his version of goodness is not nearly so simple, so altruistic, and that's why he needs you. The prince's goodness is hidden in a labyrinth of mixed intentions (some not even he truly understands). His goodness is a dark sort.
This darkness clouds his expression suddenly. The storm shifts. His eyes go icy as he stares you down, driving you backwards with long steps until your shoulders meet the marble wall. You yelp and he rests one long finger against your lips, addressing you in his hypnotic baritone.
“Shhhhh...and what if I tell you I want to be ruined? Hmm? I'll ruin you, you'll ruin me, and none of it will matter because we'll ruin Asgard together.”
He pauses as his lips move closer to your ear. One hand cradles your face more firmly and the other settles on the curve of your hip, latching tightly. You feel your heart race, in fear or arousal or both, you can't be sure.
Loki continues in a husky whisper, nuzzling his nose into the warmth of your hair. “I'm going to bring Asgard to its knees. I'm going to burn it down and from the ashes it will rise like a phoenix out of its ignorance. And you...you will be the brilliant queen by my side, and my conscience.”
His kisses trace the slope of your neck, drawing his tongue and teeth over the contour of your jugular vein, tasting and breathing in this feast of love and fear. Your eyes close and you whimper at the ecstasy of his touch. Your powerful mind is silenced, lulled by the sensations he's granting you.
Your flavor, your smell, it intoxicates him better than any drug, any wine, and he knows he will never have enough. He has to have you and he has to have you now.
“But first, my queen, before all of Asgard kneels before us, I kneel before you and only you.”
He lowers himself, genuflecting before you, a god humbled. Meeting your eyes he says, “I need you.”
“Loki?” you gasp, feeling more than a little surprised, baffled, and uneasy at the display of deference. You don't want a throne. You don't want power or a title. You find yourself just wanting him to be okay.
He nuzzles his long patrician nose into the fabric of your dress, right between your thighs and inhales shamelessly. In that moment, all your worries about right and wrong and the future incinerate. He's a force of nature, more ancient and primal than human ethics; an avalanche, a forest fire. You're powerless to stop him and you don't think you want to.
“So sweet,” he hums as he parts your heavy skirts, nuzzles against your warm naked thighs. He rests your legs over his armored shoulders, hoisting you there against the wall with a grunt. You feel pinned, conquered, but you've never been happier to surrender, to be at the mercy of a merciless, relentless, god.
“Loki,” you pant his name like a prayer as your fingers weave into his pitch black locks. He answers your prayers wordlessly but graciously, kissing and nipping at the vulnerable flesh of your inner thighs, moving closer and closer to where your body has already blossomed open for him, ripe and wet and succulent.
He smells your arousal and purrs, “delicious,” before he tastes in ravenous strokes, groaning with satisfaction.
You inhale sharply with a hiss, as if you've been pierced with an arrow, when his long tongue pushes inside of you, drinking your nectar from the source, burrowing deep in your channel. The lean red muscle pulses and flicks where it's nestled within you, and you pulse around him; a vascular coordinated rhythm, like separate chambers of the same heart.
By the time his fingers move inside, and his tongue begins to lathe over your clit, your eyes have pressed shut. You're so close, shuttering against his gorgeous face.
You whisper his name, certain he can't hear you in his position but you've underestimated his wolf's ears. “Yes, darling,” he purrs and fixes his gleaming sapphire eyes on yours.
You meet his gaze directly but your voice sounds feeble, brittle and desperate.
“Ruin me.”
And he does. Over and over and over again. Ruins you for any other lover, for any other man, for any other god.
But for now, he ruins you while you come on the blade of his silver tongue; a double-edged sword of pleasure and pain that shatters you into a thousand rapturous pieces.
Your hands clench and release against the smooth wall as your breath slows, seeking something to grip but finding nothing until you feel his cloak graze your fingertips. You open your eyes to him standing before you once again, towering over you. He wraps his velvet cape around you and it envelops you like bat wings while you sway into his chest. You're still panting, still gripping the velvet and leaning against him as he strokes your hair.
“Thank you,” you say softly, sincerely. You have so much more to say but you can't gather the thoughts or formulate the sentences now...not after that. Once again you feel like you might float away in the storm of all this but for his solid presence, so you hold on tight, arms secured around his neck.
He chuckles and sweeps you into his arms, saying with surprising sincerity, “Come now, little librarian. I know, it's all overwhelming. Time for bed.”
As he lays you down on the rich satin you set your hand against his chest to still him, then rise to sitting on your heels.
“Wait...just wait.”
“Are you alright?”
“Yes...yeah. Better than alright. But I want you to be better than alright, too. I want to see you.”
You kneel on the bed while he stands and you curl your fingers carefully into the latches of his breastplate. It surprises you how quickly and firmly he holds your wrists to stop you, a sudden defensive twitch and a forbidding glare.
Be brave, you think.
“Please...Loki.”
He releases your wrists reluctantly, eyes closing as he takes a long fortifying breath.
“As if I could deny you anything.”
You lift his sharp chin, smiling so kindly that he can't help returning it.
“Be brave,” you say in a whisper as you kiss his cheek and the latches click open beneath your fingers. “You don't have to be afraid...or alone.”
He almost lies. Almost let's slip an indignant, I'm not afraid!. It wouldroll so easily off his tongue (which was so perfectly made for falsehoods by fate itself). But he doesn't. He can't...not to you.
The gold plates of armor slowly begin to loosen and shed from his body, one at a time. You're so careful with them, with him. When all the metal is gone you reach towards the laces of his shirt and he grasps your wrists again (a protective force of habit) then relents intentionally, but not easily.
“It's okay,” you soothe as you untie the laces, baring his chest. He's looking away, eyes shut, letting you explore...but not easily.
You take in the pale, firm expanse of his torso as his shirt drops to the floor. Your hand reverently moves over the chilly chiseled marble of his skin. “So gorgeous,” you say in awe, like your handling a sacred object. Your hands feel so warm against him, like sinking into a warm bath. Loki can't help but relax at your soothing touch and praise.
Your fingertips find his scars, faint seams of pink upon the canvas of snowy flesh.
“Gorgeous,” you repeat and watch his face. His eyes are still shut but tears begin to gleam on his glossy black lashes. You wipe them away gently. “Do they hurt?”
He finally opens his eyes and stares into yours. He sees you and you see him.
“Not anymore.”
He hugs you tightly against himself, easing you back against the bed as his lips find yours with a new hunger. They're damp and salty now with his tears and you treasure the taste of his vulnerability.
He's quick to return your favor of undressing, unlacing your bodice and throwing layers aside, peeling you like a rare scrumptious fruit he must taste...again.
You're both bare now and he holds himself above you.
“I need you,” you pant, your own tears welling in your lashes. “I'm terrified and I need you.”
“Be brave,” he commands gently, returning your words from his lips. “Remember how brave you are. I'll take care of you. I promise.”
His lips travel down, tracing the hills and valleys of your breasts, collecting the taste of your skin on his long tongue once again as his hand travels between you, massaging against your wet seam, begging once again for permission. You can feel the hard weight of his cock pressed between you.
“Please...please...” you hiss.
He nods and holds your face, stroking his long fingers against your hair, your cheeks. That warm hard shaft begins to rub between your folds as he undulates in slow muscular waves, like a snake. You whimper and he chuckles. The trickster can't resist just a little teasing.
“Alright darling...It's all yours.”
He thrusts inside in one firm movement that punches the air from your lungs.
It's adorable...the way you cling to him. Such a small warm thing you are, wrapped around him so tightly. He grinds slowly at first and growls into your ear, “so sweet....so good. You take me so well, my lady...so well.”
Words fail you in the rapture of it all. They're solely breathy pants of his name and pleading for more more more of him...all of him.
And for the first time in his life, he gives someone all of him. For the first time in his long life, he's brave enough not to hide.
With answers from Mistress Nanna finally acquired, you and Loki realize that the time to induce the Odinsleep is now....before the twins are born.
CHAPTER WARNING: none
WORD COUNT: 3.2k
You were able to avoid fainting outright, but you still felt a confused haze fall over your head.
Within a few moments, Loki had jumped down from his secret eavesdropping perch beyond the stairwell. Mistress Nanna was standing in the doorway when you re-oriented on the sofa moments later, fully veiled. Loki knelt by your side. You could smell a fresh pot of tea’s faint steam wafting over your nose, the one you’d put on to brew earlier.
“Do you need her to go?” he whispered.
“No.”
He looked over his shoulder. “I’ll have the maids set aside a room upstairs for you, Mistress. You will spend the night here, and speak to her again in the morning when she feels better. And I suggest--” he added, getting to his feet and addressing Nanna directly, “--you use a bit more tact. Good Norns, Mistress, did they forget to teach common manners in that…that pit?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” the Mistress muttered. “And no, Your Highness.”
You ignored Loki’s ongoing admonishment. “I didn’t even think that was what you were implying, Mistress,” you said weakly, shifting up to a sitting position as quickly as your belly allowed. “I only thought that…I never entertained the notion that you…”
Loki’s concerned look cut you off. “Tomorrow,” he insisted.
“I can’t wait until morning!” you pouted. “And of all people, you would know what it’s like to try to sleep with your past plucking at your dreams!”
He appeared to take your words into consideration before looking down, raising an eyebrow, and giving you a skeptical look. You knew he was going to say it before he did: “I wasn’t carrying twins when we went to Jotunheim.”
“Carrying?” murmured Nanna from the doorway. “So there is an heir?”
Had she not noticed your state the time she’d been in the room with you? Was the old woman’s eyesight failing? You sighed without looking back at the Mistress. “We will speak tomorrow, but please know that I already regret bringing you here.”
“As I regret coming, Your Highness,” she replied.
You got up several times during the night, careful not to wake Loki every time you stirred from a nightmare or other cloud of thought surrounding Nanna’s words.
Not only had she had an illegal affair (with Heimdall of all!), but you were proof of it. It would explain why my Sight acts so irregularly, you thought. It’s from two very different branches of divination magic!
No, they were lies. She was punishing you for not heeding her orders. Your birth mother, if she were still living, was in the Lower Ring somewhere, living with the family she was permitted to keep. She was on orders from the King to forget about your existence. Your memories were hazy, but they were there in earnest.
Now, you were having nightmares about those memories, as if your mind replayed them repeatedly in an attempt to see the hidden truth. The more they repeated themselves, the more vague they grew, and the more you doubted the details within. How much older was your brother? Was he blonde or raven-haired? How many men came for you? At first it was two, then it was one, then five.
Before dawn, you chose to surrender to the waking world, taking your time to get into a fur-lined coat and winter dress. A bracing walk at the edge of the woods would clear your head for the inevitable fallout from the previous night.
A pair of footprints already lined the path, freshly-pressed into the snow. Someone had awakened before you, and the footprints were smaller than your own, meaning the other morning bird was Sif or Nanna.
Sure enough, you’d followed the prints to the southern treeline, and there by a holly bush stood Nanna, completely unveiled.
Norns, I have her eyes. How did I never see it before?
“I…Mistress…I only thought you and Heimdall were plotting together as a couple, using me as the Allfather used Loki. I never suspected that this entire time, you were my--”
“--speak lower,” Nanna hissed. “Even trees have ears.”
“You were my mother, and yet you allowed them to take me to what you thought was my death,” you said lowly.
The Mistress sighed deeply. “No,” she denied. “I knew what Heimdall was planning for. I had to play a role, but I was not sending you off to danger.”
“Mistress Unn certainly thought so.”
“Mistress Unn is an insipid old fool,” Nanna replied, and you could not bring yourself to disagree.
“But I recall,” you switched the topic, “living outside the palace as a young girl…”
Nanna nodded and began meandering slowly along the path. You kept pace two steps behind. The pre-dawn light was turning the sky into a light rouge, which would then turn a brighter blue as the day rose.
“...even I could not foresee your approach,” Nanna explained, “There was no way for Heimdall and I to wed. Even if we did, we would have still both paid for your existence with our lives. But hiding someone extra within our Sanctuary walls was easy, as long as you were inside my body. Once you were born, you would have betrayed us with your incessant cries.”
You sucked in a breath, the cool crispness of the winter air bringing a stinging sensation to the inside of your nose while Mistress Nanna went on. “Heimdall brought you to that peasant family in the Lower Ring in the hopes that you had not inherited any Sight. Were you ungifted, you would have been raised as that family’s daughter.”
“Alas, I was gifted,” you added with bitterness.
“Indeed. However, we saw no need to tell you the truth once you presented and were returned to the palace.”
“Are you still lovers?” you asked with curiosity.
Nanna shook her head. “When we learned of your presence in my womb, the full realization of the danger our silliness posed overcame us, and we chose to minimize any risk to you. We separated, and he married another. We speak only as friends.”
You looked down at the snow, gently drawing circles in the snow with the toes of your boot, an act you could not see for yourself with your belly obscuring the view.
“I am not my husband,” you said sternly, “My forgiveness is not so freely given. I don’t believe I can call you Mother after keeping this from me and manipulating me the way you have.”
“Child,” Nanna said coldly, “Fate is the only true mother you’ve ever had.”
You both walked along in silence, completing a lap around the clearing as daylight finally came over the valley in full. Despite the lack of any warmth between you, there was still satisfaction in the over-simplified explanation the Mistress had offered. Unlike Loki, you were inclined to let the mystery of your heritage roll off your back like bathwater.
Above you, the window leading to your bedroom quickly illuminated in a soft green. Loki was awake, and likely looking for you. “Nanna,” you finally broke the silence, “You know of my task in Niflheim.”
“Of course, you wield Hela’s staff in the battle against the King,” the Mistress reminded you.
“But a living person cannot enter the Realm of the Dead without an invitation,” you said. “Who do I know who would let me pass?”
“They will make themselves known in time, impatient girl.”
“And how do I convince the Queen of Death to surrender her weapon to me?” you asked.
Nanna sighed loudly. “She responds to flattery. But know this: once the King is dead, she will be released from her tethers and free to destroy Asgard. Your task will be not only to procure her weapon, but to convince her to allow Asgard to be left to Loki’s reign.”
“A task I assume will be difficult,” you mumbled with regret.
“There is no easy task for a Princess of Asgard. I’d have thought you would have understood that by now, more than a year into the title.”
Loki was beginning to annoy you, to be blunt. After you and Nanna went inside, he’d already poured tea, and was now practically shoving you into a chair. “Are you faint? Are you hungry? Volstagg was bringing eggs this morning. Are you in pain?” he kept asking, shooting intermittent looks of anger at Nanna. “You should not have come here.”
“Loki, Norns’ sake, I’m fine!” you groaned, rolling your eyes.
“I will take my leave once Volstagg returns,” Nanna promised. “And I vow, Princess, this will be the last time we ever speak.”
You scoffed. “Sometimes I feel I cannot be rid of you, old woman.” You were still bitter with her.
The Mistress leaned back in her chair, a gray veil of fatigue crossing her face. Her demeanor softened somewhat. “Heimdall is taking me out of Asgard for my safety, now that our secret is unleashed. He will hide me in Vanaheim, and there I will remain until an illness takes me some time in the future. I have seen it. A soldier will bear word of your final victory to me in the night, and then I will not see the following sunrise.”
Biting your lip, your words left you. All you could do was absorb Loki’s sudden look of pity. You were not saddened by the news, but it did fill you with regret.
“This will be the last advice I ever give, Princess: Follow your destiny. Perhaps it was always something we couldn’t stop.”
A horse whinnied outside. “I used to slay dark elves and monsters, and now I’m the bloody damn grocery woman…” Volstagg was returning with breakfast.
“And one final prophecy for you,” Nanna added, her face dropping as she pointed to your stomach. “I do hope you enjoy being with child. This will only be the first of many such times. I nearly pity you.”
Loki blushed from across the kitchen, his Jotun blood bluing his face until he was the same hue as the sky.
Somehow, you both knew that when the snow finally began melting away after nearly three months of flurries and blizzards, Odin was preparing to make his move, with or without his heir in tow.
Within a matter of days, the piles of snow melted, flooding the glen in inches of puddle and mud, drowning the withering remains of the grass that had been growing before the storms began. The nearby stream overflowed and drenched the paths. The sudden increase in heat also birthed thick blankets of fog that blinded every eye from dusk until mid-morning. Humidity beaded every brow. A summer’s warmth returned before Ilsa and Anneli could put away the bed furs and replace them with linen.
Loki couldn’t sleep. Neither could you, for your time to give birth was coming soon. There was no more room for the twins to move around within, and it began to feel like they were being held lower in your belly, as if at any moment, they would come tumbling out on their own.
The Prince feared for the worst as the temperature rose. One afternoon, everyone was taking tea on the upper terrace (it had been so long since the weather was agreeable). Everyone was sitting but Loki, who paced briskly back and forth in an almost humorous manner. “If he begins the war, and I am still here…”
“...he’s bluffing!” insisted Fandral.
Sif shook her head, taking a swig of ale. “What good would that do if a bloody-damn-everlasting snow wouldn’t bring him home?”
“His madness progresses,” Loki muttered. “He is only the Allfather in body. His mind is on another Realm.”
“We need to induce the Odinsleep now,” Volstagg pouted. “While there’s still time to stop the war.”
You were somewhat surprised when Hogun agreed. “We may not feel ready, but time is out regardless.” He paused, looking at Loki with encouragement. “You must do it before the week is out.”
“Why the week?” you asked.
Hogun looked at you with sympathy. “The King is a mad dog. The longer we wait for him to bite, the deeper the wound will be.”
Your hands traced your belly, concern heating your blood. “But…Loki…you’re supposed to stay here until I--”
“--we can’t wait for that,” Sif groaned with impatience, rolling her eyes and leaning back in her chair. “Idyllic family shit is for another day, Princess.”
You cringed. Having Sif on your side was hardly any easier than having her as your rival. Loki hissed irately. “Mind your mouth, Sif. That’s my wife, and for the record, I intend to stay with her.”
“Would you rather wait for Odin to start war while you play ‘Mummy and Daddy’ in the woods?” Sif put her hands defiantly on her hips. “While your future kingdom erupts in fire?”
You bit your lip, miffed at the harshness of her words, but moved by the seriousness behind them to change your heart. “Loki, she may be right.”
He looked at you with confusion. “Are you certain?”
You absolutely did not want him to leave your side, especially now. “Maybe it will happen quickly, and you can send for me before I even begin labor?” you suggested with hidden doubt that you could hold on for longer than a few days. Maternal instinct had begun to pluck at your mind. You had the sensation that the blessed event was nigh, perhaps only a few days hence.
“I can send Mother to you,” Loki suggested. “Perhaps not having her around the palace when I confront Odin would be for the best.”
You shrugged and looked at Sif. “You are right. But I will still need a physician and healers, and you all will be leaving me to accompany the Prince, yes?”
“I’ll stay,” volunteered Fandral almost instantly.
Loki looked at him with disbelief, as did everyone. “You? You wish to assist the Princess in childbirth?”
Volstagg chortled. “That may be the single worst idea I’ve ever heard in my centuries!”
You smirked. “I think it is my lady’s maid he wishes to ‘assist.’”
Fandral’s face went red.
“Fandral, your sword hand is faster than mine,” Hogun stepped in. “I can stay with the Princess and the maids until the Queen and the healers arrive.”
He shrugged. “With any luck, we won’t need my ‘sword hand.’”
“Indeed,” Loki chimed in, continuing to pace. “However, I still wish for you to follow me, Hogun. If I do this right, there will be no bloodshed whatsoever. The maids can stay behind.”
“How does one do it right?” you asked, anxiety beginning to rise in your chest. “Have you any idea what you are doing? What if it doesn’t work?”
Loki sat beside you, taking your hand. “Even if this weren’t for our future, this is something I have always needed to do. I need to tell him that I know about my past, I know the truth about the Frost Giants. And…I will give him one chance to stop the war.”
“And you are certain it will force him into an Odinsleep?” asked Hogun. “Something about this plot of ours still doesn’t feel certain.”
“If challenging his throne and revealing my true nature to him won’t do the trick, nothing will,” Loki answered. “The key is creating swift and sudden stress in such a manner that he cannot summon his power to cope or defend. The man is so emotionally unstable that our chances are actually better that this works.”
“I wish I could see how this goes,” you sighed, leaning back and looking up at the azure sky. “I wish my visions were fully my own.”
“You have!” Loki said quickly, putting a cold hand on your shoulder. “You’ve seen the final battle!”
“Which means this won’t end with your current plans. And what of my task ahead in Niflheim?” you asked.
“Let us just pave our path one stone at a time,” he whispered, his hand tracing your arm down to your clenched fist, which he squeezed with gentle reassurance. “Tomorrow, we take Asgard from Odin. After, we bring our children home to the palace, where we will begin preparing for what may lie ahead only after we put them to sleep at night.”
You got the feeling that this was the only assurance Loki could give you for now, and you decided the bravest thing to do would be to let it go.
The following morning, after a sleepless night in each other’s arms, you and Loki woke early to stroll along the path before the hour of his departure. You woke Anneli and Ilsa, having them go to the palace for the Queen early, both for her safety and yours.
Regrettably, Odin’s melted heaps of snow still rendered the path unwalkable, so you settled for the terrace again, taking morning tea while the Warriors began awakening themselves and preparing to move.
Not much was said, other than silly small talk about the babies. “Perhaps I will be lucky and they will stay tucked away until Odin is out of Asgard.”
“It will be difficult for Mother,” Loki sighed sadly, “Being here to see her grandchildren before being immediately thrust into exile.”
“She could still choose to stay,” you added.
Loki shook his head. “She still feels loyalty to her husband. She is already going against many of her instincts as Queen by agreeing to be here for you without his consent. Frigga will go with him.”
“Where will you stow him?” you asked.
“There is a star that belongs to no one realm, and around it revolves a small planet about the size of Midgard’s single moon. It is uninhabited, but there are caverns below the surface that they can shelter in. I’m certain Mother will be prepared with every comfort she can bring with her.”
You wished internally that Frigga would shed her stubbornness enough to let Odin’s body be stashed on that rock without her. It wasn’t fair that she would be sharing in his exile.
Loki nuzzled his nose against the side of your face, inhaling deeply. “I need to take your scent with me.”
You moaned in pleasure, leaning up and exposing more of your skin for him to kiss. “If it weren’t for me…”
“...this would not be the hour of our freedom, beloved.”
He drew your chin into a kiss, his lips still tasting of overly-sweetened tea. When your lips parted, he whispered almost inaudibly, “Last night, while I was briefly asleep in between waking bouts of anxiety, Thor came to me.”
You leaned back, raising a curious eyebrow. “Did he? What did he say?”
Loki smiled mildly, looking past you with recollection. “He handed Mjolnir to me and told me to take his thunder into battle.”
“Mjolnir is lost,” you quickly said.
“Yes, but you above all should know that our visions are not always literal,” Loki said, making you smile with a wink.
You took something out of your pocket that you'd been keeping for that moment, something you knew he'd need to succeed in infiltrating the palace without Odin's knowledge. It was a tiny glass vial on a gold chain, no bigger than a matchstick, filled with dark red liquid. Pressing it into his palm, you whispered gently. "It's my blood. You know what to use it for."
Leaning against his shoulder, you felt Loki wrap an arm around you. “Please send for me the moment it is safe. Before I begin labor if you can. Please.”
Loki sighed, the absolute fear he’d been hiding inside finally rolling across his face. “By the Norns above and below, I will strive to.”
Warnings: Not much, a few threats of physical violence, bad language - the ususal.
Length: 2.4k
Summary: In which 'operation rescue Verity' begins.
Chapter List
Full Master List of all works
Concealed behind a shuttered kiosk—which during daylight hours served lukewarm coffee and over priced vacuum-packed pastries to the crowds of tourists—Cross watched Elise settle onto one of the benches opposite. Bundled up against the chill autumn night, she had the hood of her puffa jacket pulled up and appeared to be having an animated, if slightly inebriated argument with someone on her phone.
Ideally Cross would prefer to conduct this operation in the middle of the day, when it was easier to see, but this wasn’t something which could wait until the morning. The fact that Elise had positioned herself at the wrong end of the bench to benefit from the street lamp overhead was a further annoyance and he stabbed out a short demand on his phone. In all likelihood, she’d ignore his terse instruction, but he felt better to be doing something, rather than simply crossing his fingers and hoping it all worked out.
But before he could send the text, ordering her to move over, the final guest of this impromptu party arrived. Lip curling in distaste at the string of expletives Elise was yelling into her phone, Ashton Warwick took his place on the far end of the bench beneath the street light and turned up the collar of his coat.
A wave of relief swept through Cross, leaving him lightheaded and he mentally sent a strongly worded apology to Elise. She knew exactly what she was doing and her positioning had forced Ashton directly beneath the only light available.
Activating his earpiece he asked, “Everyone in position?” Quiet whispers of confirmation followed and he locked eyes on Elise. They were only going to get one shot at this. All he could do was hold his breath and pray to whichever god might be listening.
“Go.”
After that, three things happened in rapid succession. Firstly, Elise whipped around and slid along the bench until her thigh was pressed against Ashton’s. Then she pushed back her hood so it wouldn’t conceal her features and finally she leaned closer and pressed a brown envelope into his hand.
Unwittingly playing his own role to perfection, Ashton turned to her in surprise, his fingers closing around the envelope, possibly to push it away, but that didn’t matter. Cross could feel the silent click of the camera shutter, capturing the moment. Hands balled into tight fists, he prayed that the meagre light would be enough. One clear shot of a clandestine meeting between Ashton and Elise was all he needed.
“Got it!”
At the confirmation from Ethan, his men moved out from their various hiding places and surrounded the bench.
Snapping out of his shock, Ashton surged to his feet and thrust Elise away. “Who the hell are you? And what are you playing at?”
Elise picked herself up from the ground and dusted herself off. “You don’t recognise me? I’m hurt.” Her gaze flickered to Cross as he walked over. “I’ll let him do the introductions.”
Pulling at his coat, Ashton swung around. “What the fuck are you playing at?”
Cross took the camera from Ethan and checked the digital display. “Just a little incentive.”
“For what?”
“To ensure your full cooperation during the conversation that’s about to follow.”
At his nod, Ethan grabbed Ashton by the collar and force marched him towards the waiting car. Cross paused and turned back to Elise. Feeling an unfamiliar swell of gratitude towards her, he thrust his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels.
“Thank you.”
Zipping her coat right up to her chin she nodded. “I hope he can give you what you need.”
Cross heaved out a sigh. “So do I.”
Tilting her head, she met his gaze. “If I wasn’t burned before, I definitely am now. You can’t threaten him, without telling him who I work for and once that information is in his possession, I’m done at the Park.”
“I know and I’m sorry about that. There was no way to get to him, other than attack his reputation. If people believe he is feeding information to MI5, he’ll be destroyed, probably killed.”
“But you’ve painted a pretty big target on my back too.”
Cross nodded. That cost had been factored into his decision, but not discussed. He owed Elise for this, they both knew that. “If there’s anything I can do: a fresh start, new identity, money. Just name it.”
She stuffed her hands deep into her pockets. “There’s only one thing I want.”
“Anything.”
“Take me with you.”
Cross blinked, “What? Take you where?”
“When he gives you the location of where the girls are being held, I want in. I want to be there.”
“While I appreciate the offer, I can’t bring MI5 along on this trip.”
“Not MI5, just me. I need this, Thomas.”
Shaking his head he took a step towards her. “I promise you, if Francesca is there, we will get her out.”
Elise held up her hand to stop him. “She’s not going to be there. That photo is nearly a year old. She’s probably been sold three or four times since then.” She swallowed hard before adding, “If she’s even alive still.”
“So why—”
“I want their names. I want a list of the sick bastards who buy these women.”
“And you think there’s a spreadsheet, just lying around?”
“They have to communicate with them somehow, let them know when the next sale is taking place and where it is. And someone holds that information.”
“If it’s there I will find it for you.”
“You’re going to be too busy getting Verity and Sandrine out in one piece. You’re not going to have time to think about anything else. Just take me with you, Thomas. You owe me that much at least.”
He grimaced. He did owe her that, and so much more. When he’d told her what he needed and why, she hadn’t flinched and she’d done everything he asked. Yes, she had her own agenda, but she was the one sacrificing her career and placing her life in danger. He nodded slowly. “I agree.” Jerking his head towards the car, he added, “You’d better come with us. Once Ashton gives up the information we need, we’re not going to hang around, so there won’t be time to pack or say your goodbyes.”
Elise picked up the small rucksack which had been kicked under the bench during the scuffle.
“Got everything I need right here. Let’s go.”
Ashton was stalking the perimeter of the bleak, white walled interrogation room when Cross entered. The sound of the door closing swung him around and he raised his zip tied hands.
“What the fuck are you playing at, Cross?” he demanded.
Ignoring the question, Cross laid the 8x10 image of Ashton and Elise in the centre of the table. “You have one chance here, Ashton or this photo goes to every affiliate of the Eighth Circle, along with Elise’s full bio and I’ll the membership draw their own conclusions.” He took a breath. “Where have they taken Verity?”
“You wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t hang her out to dry, just to get back at me.”
“She’s burned already and is more than happy to walk away from her former career in exchange for the information I know you hold.” He took a step forward, his hands clenched into fists. “Where is Verity?”
Ashton raised his chin, punctuating each word. “I. Don’t. Know.”
Cross turned to the guard at the door. “Throw him out.” He snatched up the photo. “I’m declaring open season, let’s see how far he makes it.”
“I don’t know exactly!” Ashton amended quickly. Cross paused and inclined his head but didn’t turn. Ashton ground his teeth before continuing. “We’re assuming this is the work of the Ilyin Bratva, yes?”
Tone clipped, Cross nodded. “Yes.”
“Last I checked, they have at least six detention points they might use.”
Hope fading into gnawing fear, Cross rechecked the tracking device. This had been a complete waste of time. They would have to operate on blind faith that whoever was now in possession of the watch, was sticking close to Verity.
“Eastern Europe.”
“That would only narrow it down to five.”
Remembering the tattoo he’d seen in one of the pictures, Cross turned to face the man. “Albania?”
Ashton frowned. “That would reduce the options to two.”
Cross closed his eyes. So much for getting ahead of them; they still needed to wait until the plane to land before they could identify which base was being used. “Get me the coordinates of both.”
Ashton raised his hands. “Cut me free and I’ll give them to you right now.”
“You have them on you?” Cross couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.
Giving a humourless laugh, Ashton nodded. “It didn’t take a genius to guess what information you’d be wanting from me.
It took Cross less than a second to close the space between them and slam Ashton up against the wall.
“Did you know?” he snarled.
Remarkable calm, given the hand clenched around his throat, Ashton met his gaze. “You’ll have to be more specific. I know a lot of things.”
“Did you know they were going to take Verity?”
“No, I did not know,” he stated carefully. “But I assumed there would be some kind of retaliation. Bogdan was never going to let that vote go through without a fight. If I’m honest, I was expecting a larger response, I thought he’d blow up the club.”
Cross felt some of his murderous rage fade and release his grip on Ashton’s neck. He’d assumed the same thing, and had concentrated his efforts on ensuring that didn’t happen. He’d been looking the wrong damn way.
Ashton tried unsuccessfully to shrug his collar back into place. “As soon as I heard about the snatch, I started compiling a list of useful information.”
Snorting out a laugh Cross nodded to one of the guards to release the ties on the man’s wrists. “And you were just going to hand that over?”
Rubbing feeling back into his hands, Ashton glowered at him. “Do you realise just how out of character it was for me to rock up at an unscheduled meeting, in the middle of the fucking night!”
Cross leaned back against the wall and folded his arms. “You’ve been acting out of character for the last few weeks, Ashton. Is there something you want to get off your chest?”
Scowl still in place, Ashton reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a slim envelope. “This is everything I have on the Ilyin Bratva and their connection within the Red Trade.” Straightening his jacket, he pulled himself up to his full height. “You’ll find the list of locations on page two and schematics for the various centres are at the back.”
Cross had already ripped the envelope open and was scanning the contents. Ashton was thorough, he had to give the man that. While this might not be the full list of clients that Elise was after, there were some interesting details which would refine her search. More importantly, it gave them insight into what they might face when they landed. His eyes narrowed. “What’s your angle?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You pay lip service to your Eighth Circle membership and yet, suddenly you’re a central player in a key vote.”
Ashton’s hands balled into fists. “Why the hell do you care? You have what you need, now let me get the fuck out of here!”
“I need to know just how far I can trust this information. And who else knows I have it? It’s not going to help Verity if I walk my men straight into a trap.”
Some of the belligerence faded from Ashton and his shoulders slumped. “It was just business, that’s all.” At Cross’s disbelieving expression, he raised a hand. “I have a number of clients—very wealthy clients—who are looking to relocate to the UK. They hire me to smooth the way and make any necessary arrangements.”
“Go on.”
Ashton ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “One requirement they all share is the need for a suitable import/export partner.”
Eyes narrowed, Cross tilted his head. “Enzo?”
Confirming his suspicions, Ashon nodded. “Enzo. Unfortunately, Bogdan has his balls in a vice and he’s been surprisingly unwilling to even enter talks with these potential clients.”
“You sent the pictures to the papers?”
“No!” He paused and swallowed hard. “But I did commission them in the first place.”
“From whom?”
“Someone within Enzo’s little setup with a big axe to grind.” He shook his head. “I never intended for those images to go public. They were to be used for internal negotiation only. I just needed leverage. Something to break Bodgan’s grip on the man.”
“So what happened?”
“I think my whistleblower suddenly cottoned on to the fact that Enzo wasn’t going to be destroyed in all this. Far from it. The number of clients I have lined up would have more than made up for the loss of any Ilyin trade.” He grimaced. “I underestimated their hatred for the man. They weren’t just going after the Red Trade, they wanted him to suffer personally. To pay for his crimes.”
“So they sent the pictures to the papers?”
“And the Intelligence service and, I assume, Verity.” He dropped his chin. “I am genuinely sorry about that. It was not my intention to draw her into the mess so early in her tenure.”
“But you were quick enough to jump on the bandwagon, once she started making moves of her own.”
“Would you believe me, if I said I thought I was helping.”
“I don’t believe a single word that comes out of your mouth.”
Ashton sighed. “By all means, get your own people to verify that information. But you’re just wasting time.” He raised his palms. “I may not have involved myself much in the day-to-day politics of the Eighth Circle in the past, but I’ve always been careful not to work in direct opposition. That’s not about to change now.” He buttoned up his jacket and took a step towards the door. “I think our business here is completed, so if you don’t mind, I’ll—”
“Sit down.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. You are going nowhere until we have safely retrieved Verity and Sandrine.” He leaned closer. “And if we run into so much as an over zealous border patrol, that man behind me is going to put a bullet through your skull. Understand?”
Crosshairs - Chapter Twenty Six
Pairing: Jaguar Villain Tom Hiddleston + OFC
Warnings: Angst / Injury / Violence / Bad language
Length: 2.8k
Summary: In which Verity starts to formulate plans of her own.
Chapter List
Full Master List of all works
Eyes closed, Verity surfaced slowly from the cloying, drug-induced sleep. Pain was the first thing she registered. Her head was pounding, and every inch of her body throbbed in counterpoint. Cold penetrated next: deep, bone chilling cold that emanated from the floor beneath her body, sinking its icy fingers into her limbs and rattling her teeth.
The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and her stomach muscles clenched. Slowly she ran her tongue over the teeth, mildly surprised to find them all in place—but the pain increased and more blood pooled at the back of her throat. Twisting awkwardly onto one side, she choked out a cough and cleared her airway. Somewhere in all the excitement she’d nearly bitten through her tongue.
Snatching a breath of much needed air, she grimaced. The stench clinging to the room was enough to make her heave. Shit, sweat, bile and terror all rolled into one nauseating concoction that coated her nose and sank through her pores. Wishing she could return to the drug-soaked oblivion, she fought back the tears she could feel threatening to spill down her cheeks. Hiding from the horror of her situation wasn’t going to make it magically vanish, she told herself firmly. Better to know what she was dealing with. Reluctantly, she cracked one eye open.
Since her hands were pinned behind her back, it took an awkward shuffle before she could lever herself upright and take stock. She was still dressed. Mostly. That was a relief, but her shirt was missing its buttons and a long rip in her jeans was soldered to the wound beneath with dried blood. More importantly, she still had her boots on. If she managed to get free and make a run for it, that would make all the difference as to how far she’d get.
Next she attempted to lurch to her feet, but the chain connecting her wrists to the wall was frustratingly short and she slumped back into a crouch, her eyes scanning the rest of the room around her. A single naked bulb swung in the air above her head, casting more shadow than light, but it was enough for Verity to make out the bare walls and filthy floor. For one moment she thought she was alone and fresh panic stabbed through her, then she noticed the battered form, slumped into the far corner. Long hair dragged out of its ponytail covered the face, but Verity recognised the owner immediately.
“Sandrine,” she whispered, as loudly as she dared, but there was no response. She tried to move closer but her efforts were hampered by her restraints.
Growling beneath her breath, she twisted her neck to peer over her shoulder at the offending cuffs. She couldn’t do anything with her hands pinned behind her back. That was the first issue to deal with, she decided. Bracing her hands against the floor and trying to ignore the slimy surface clinging to her fingers, she bowed her arms and started to wiggle her hips between her tethered wrists. It was at least a decade since she’d last attempted this manoeuvre and the years had not been kind to her flexibility. But it was the only constructive thing she could do in this predicament, so she ignored the pain in her shoulders and the bite from metal cuffs digging into her skin, and forced her body through the gap between her arms. Gritting her teeth, she tried to ignore the sickening sensation of the wound on her thigh reopening as she curled her legs tight against her chest, the contortion ripping the denim away from the half-healed gash as she slid the cuffs beneath her heels.
Trembling from the effort, she stared at the cuffs and wiggled her fingers in triumph. It was a small victory, but it was a victory nonetheless. Now she just needed someone to celebrate with, she thought with a grin.
At full stretch, which pressed her back into the revolting floor, she managed to kick the boot of the figure on the opposite side of the room. There was no response.
“Sandrine,” she hissed, kicking again, this time managing to catch the girl’s ankle.
A muffled grunt emerged from the untidy bundle of hair and clothing. Careful not to do any actual damage to Sandrine’s leg, Verity kicked her again and snapped, “Wake up!” Finally the figure cursed in French and drew her knees up in front of her, awkwardly squirming against her cuffs until she was sitting upright, back pressed against the wall.
Weak with relief, Verity returned to her own side of the room and waited for Sandrine to shrug off the worst of the drugs in her system and take in her surroundings.
Verity had no idea what sort of sight she presented. The whole left side of her face was throbbing and she could only open one eye, so she had to assume it was bad.
“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, but the words felt hollow on her tongue.
Eyes wide, Sandrine let out a whimper as she surveyed their prison cell. “Where are we?”
Unable to summon anything remotely plausible, Verity shook her head. “I have no idea.”
Visibly wrestling with her panic, Sandrine wet her lips. “But they will find us? Non?”
Unable to meet the terrified gaze, Verity dropped her eyes to her naked, bloody wrist. The watch was gone, her one link to Cross stripped away. Tears stung her eyes but she blinked them back.
Thankfully sounding more confident than she felt, Verity lifted her chin. “Yes, of course they’ll find us. They’re probably on their way right now. And when they get here, Cross is going to kill every last one of them.”
Sandrine gave a choked off giggle containing more hysteria than humour. “Only if he gets to them before Papa.”
Determined not to give into the bleak thoughts edging their way into her imagination, Verity forced a smile. “But we’re not going to sit around, waiting for that to happen. We’re going to get out of here.”
“How?”
That was a very good question and one to which she really didn’t have an answer, but Sandrine didn’t need to know that. Clearing her throat and trying to recapture the air of confidence she’d exhibited earlier, she shrugged and said, “One step at a time. And the first thing we need to do is get your hands in front of you, where you can use them.”
Patiently, she demoed the manoeuvre, forcing her cuffed wrists back behind her body before repeating the necessary contortions needed to reverse the process. It took three attempts (and her shoulders were screaming from the exertion) before Sandrine was finally able to replicate the move.
Panting from the effort, the younger girl stared at her fingers for a moment before slowly lifting her face to meet Verity’s gaze.
“Step one done,” she whispered, the first hint of a smile twitching her lip.
Her own grin returning in response, Verity nodded. “Excellent work. We’ll make a thief out of you yet.”
“What’s next?”
“Next, please tell me you still have a hair grip clinging to that fancy do of yours.”
Almost holding her breath, she waited impatiently for Sandrine to fumble through what was left of her previously flawless hairstyle.
“Here!” Sandrine triumphantly held out the tiny twist of metal and Verity nearly slumped with relief. But before she could give the next instruction, the girl flung the hair pin wildly in Verity’s direction. Hampered by the cuffs and the chain, she couldn’t get her hands under the projectile and it bounced off the metal floor, disappearing into the shadows in the far corner of the room.
“Fuck!” Verity swore, kicking off a boot and lunging after it. Almost wrenching her shoulders from their sockets, she stretched her foot to where she’d seen it last, but her toes encountered nothing but filth and grime.
“Wait!” Fingers scrabbling through her hair, Sandrine held up a second pin. “I have another.”
“Don’t throw this one!” Hauling herself back into a sitting position, Verity gestured to her feet. “Take off your boot and put it between your toes. At Sandrine’s confused look, she gave a tired sigh. Sometimes, having a second pair of hands didn’t necessarily make things easier. “I can reach your foot with my foot. You can pass it to me.”
It took a lot of wriggling and more pressure on her aching shoulders, but eventually Verity secured the vital scrap of metal between her toes and nearly wept with relief.
“Put your boot back on,” she said, “Just in case—”
Before she could finish that warning there was a loud jangle of keys in the lock and the pair of them barely had time to jam their feet back into their shoes before the door swung open.
Verity scuttled back against the wall as two figures marched through the doorway, accompanied by a blast of icy air. One man she recognised instantly. The dead-eyed stare and greasy hair burned into her memory. The other looked like the standard, rent-a-mob heavy. All muscles and bad attitude. She couldn’t say for sure if he’d been part of the snatch in London or not.
“I see you’ve been making yourselves comfortable.” The soulless shark eyes dropped to her clenched fist where she was concealing the hair grip. Did they have cameras in here? Verity wondered with a lurch. Had they seen the transfer or was he merely referring to the fact her hands were now in front of her body? She tensed as he moved closer, the hairpin suddenly feeling red hot in her palm.
“What are you going to do with us?” Sandrine wailed, her hysterical shriek echoing round the room. Both men swung around to face her and Verity took advantage of the distraction to jam the grip into her mouth, lodging it painfully between her cheek and her gum.
Okay, maybe it did make things easier when you had help.
A sharp slap silenced Sandrine’s screams and their captor crouched down in front her. “I was going to keep it a surprise, but why wait to share the good news. You will be added to the inventory for our next sale.” His lip twisted into a sneer. “It’s a shame you’re not a virgin, you would have fetched a much better price. Sadly everyone knows you’ve been spreading your legs for that pathetic boy. But you’re pretty enough. And I’m sure there will be any number of bidders keen to add the DuRoi princess to their stable of whores.” He leaned closer and Verity could see Sandrine shrink beneath his touch as he ran one finger down her cheek. “Your father has made many enemies over the years. Any one of them will be prepared to pay handsomely for such beautiful leverage over him.”
Aware that Sandrine was on the ragged edge of losing it completely, Verity lashed out with her foot, catching the man on the shin. “Hey! What about me?”
The man spun around and backhanded her into the wall. Verity rolled onto her elbows and spat a mouthful of blood onto the congealing matter of the floor beneath her.
He moved closer. “Oh, we have very different plans for you. A vicious kick to her stomach flipped her over onto her back and he squatted next to her and an evil grin carved across his face. “You really thought you could take on the Red Trade? You stupid bitch. You’re going to give us everything we want.”
Verity gaped at him in horror. “What do you mean?” she whispered.
“You’re the key.”
“To what?”
“To the kingdom.”
Faking bravery she really didn’t feel Verity sneered up at him. “I’m not going to give you anything!”
“Willing or unwilling, it makes no difference to me.” He leaned closer and a lank strand of hair brushed against her face. “I like it when they fight back, but it won’t do you any good.” His long fingers wrapped around her throat and began to squeeze. “How much pressure do you think I’ll need to apply before Cross signs over control of the Eighth Circle?”
Verity thrashed, her cuffed hands clawing at his fingers as spots swam in front of her eyes.
Just when she was about to pass out, he let go and her head thumped back against the floor. Gesturing to the silent guard, he said, “Unhook her and bring her with us.”
Frantic at the thought of being separated from Sandrine, Verity scrambled back against the wall fists raised in useless bravado. “Where are you taking me?”
“We’re going to send Cross a message.”
Keys rattled on a large metal hoop as the guard squatted in front of Verity and unclipped the chain, leaving the cuffs in place. Grabbing her by the upper arm, he dragged her to feet.
“Hey, get your filthy hands off me!” Glaring at the hand in question, Verity was distracted from his opportunistic attempt to cop a quick feel as his sleeve rode up, revealing a brief flash of gold.
He had her watch! He’d stolen her fucking watch! For some reason this transgression outraged her more than her abduction or any liberties currently being taken. That watch was the reason she and Cross had come together in the first place and it was the first gift he’d ever given her.
“Nice timepiece,” she muttered, dislodging his hands from her cleavage. Checking that his superior wasn't watching, the man held it up to the light. “I thought so. And it looks so much better on me!”
Verity faked a smile. She’d stolen the damn thing once, she’d do it again. There was no way she was leaving it here with him. A rough shove between her shoulder blades got her moving and she made her way down the dark corridor towards the metal steps at the far end.
A blast of icy wind greeted her as they left the basement cells behind them and as much as Verity appreciated the taste of fresh air, she almost crumbled beneath the skin-shredding cold. Unable to wrap her arms around her body, she hunched forward trying to minimise her exposure to the arctic temperature. Any plans she might have been formulating for an escape vanished in an instant. She’d thought it was cold inside, but out here, she wouldn’t last more than a few minutes in what she was wearing.
A scattering of spotlights did little to relieve the darkness surrounding them, giving her no clue as to their location. She had no idea what time it was or how long she’d been unconscious. She didn’t even know what day it was. Swallowing hard, she clenched her teeth to stop them chattering. Right now she didn’t care about location or the time. All she wanted to do was get inside and away from the soul-crushing cold. She nearly sobbed with relief as she was thrust through an anonymous doorway and sank to her knees, her skin stinging from the sudden application of heat blasting from the vents in the ceiling.
Giving her no chance to recover her senses, the guard grabbed her by the hair and started to drag her across the room. Whirling around, Verity locked both hands around his wrist and lashed out with her foot. With his attention focused on the pain in his shin, it was a relatively simple manoeuvre to remove the watch without him noticing.
Retaliation was swift and pain exploded along her cheek, the punch knocking her to the floor. Curled into a ball, she stuffed the stolen watch into her bra and braced, waiting for the next blow to fall. Her attacker managed to land a couple of heavy kicks to her legs and lower back before a sharp command, in a language Verity didn’t understand, cut through the air from the other side of the room and the violence ceased.
Almost shaking from the effort to control the pain, she could mount no resistance as she was hauled to her feet and dragged across the room. The expressionless man seated behind the desk ran an appraising eye up her torn and filthy clothing to her battered face. At the slight jerk of his chin, her guard shoved her into a straight-backed wooden chair and then left the room. Alone with shark-face and this new threat who had yet to introduce himself, Verity forced her gaze away from his scarred and pock-marked face to take in her surroundings. Her initial assumption, based on the desk, was that this must be an office, but as her eyes drifted to the grizzly looking implements hanging from hooks on the wall behind she was forced to reevaluate.
Apparently noting her interest or her pallor, the man smiled—at least she had to assume that was his intention—but the scar on his cheek distorted the expression into a leer.
Summary: A continuation of "Have Mercy." Loki tries so hard to get you to kiss him again but you resist him. Until he comes up with a plan on New Year's Eve.
Pairing: Loki x Female Reader
Word Count: Over 3.5k
Warnings: Fluff, kissing, cameos from multiple Avengers, the use of Y/N
It had been weeks since you saved Loki’s life and brought him back from his near-death experience. Or as Loki fondly likes to call it, “the time you asked him out on a date.” He was relentless with his flirtations towards you. He would seek you out at all hours, multiple times a day, just to wear you down.
One time he caught you by the kitchen pouring yourself a cup of coffee. “There you are, my angel.” He slid on the side of the counter, pulling up right next to you. “I have a headache. Do you think you could kiss it and make it all better?” he crooned so sweetly.
“No,” you answered him flatly and walked away, sipping your coffee.
Or, that time you were kickboxing with Sam. While Loki and Thor just happened to be training on the mat across from you. Thor had knocked him down with a single blow. Loki immediately cried to you from the floor. “Darling! My brother doesn’t seem to know the difference between practice and actual combat. Could you spare me a kiss so that I can continue and teach him a lesson?” He lay on the floor with his hair falling from the loose bun he kept it in. His arms spread apart, looking up at you through thick, long lashes.
“No, Loki!” You were so irritated that you took your fighting gloves off and threw them on the floor. Missing his head by an inch. Loki didn’t even flinch as he watched you storm off in anger. “Go to med-bay if you’re injured!”
“My angel,” Loki purred this morning after a team meeting. “I seem to have a paper cut on my finger. Can you-”
“No! Loki I will not kiss you!” you asserted, gathering your materials to get out of there quickly.
“I was going to suggest you lick it. But if that’s what you prefer, I’ll take it as a consolation prize,” he smiled and puckered his lips towards you. Your palms had never itched more, wanting to slap the kiss right off his mouth. You growled in frustration as you turned on your heel and walked out.
Loki heard light chuckles coming from the end of the large meeting table. Wilson and Barnes were shaking their heads, having watched the whole scene play out. “Is there something that you two find amusing?”
“Ya, man. You!” Wilson answered.
“I’m glad my shortcomings amuse you,” Loki answered with a slight upturn of his lip.
“Let me give you some advice,” Sam said walking over to him.
“Not warranted. Nor requested.”
“I’ma give it to you anyway.” Sam clapped a hand on Loki’s shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. “You need to chill.”
“I beg your pardon?” Loki said astounded.
“The more you push, the harder she resists,” Barnes interjected.
“Stop harassing her,” Sam continued.
“You, constantly being around her, reminding her of that kiss, is not gonna go well for you,” Barnes added.
“Are you saying that she regretted healing me?” Loki questioned.
“No,” they both answer in unison.
“Anyone can see that she was smitten with you from day one!” Sam declared.
“And she wouldn’t just kiss anybody. She offered to heal my arm once, though,” Barnes said to Wilson. “I wonder if she would’ve kissed me then?” He said introspectively, biting his lip in thought. Loki sneered at the notion.
“But she thinks that you’re just teasing her. That you’re not sincere with your feelings and you’re just looking for a way to provoke or annoy her.”
“I honestly don’t know how I can make it any clearer for her that I’m interested other than to ask her flat-out naked!”
“NO!” they both screamed again.
“Well, it would've worked on Asgard.” Loki pouted, crossing his arms as he sat on the ledge of the conference table.
“I’m sure it would’ve,” Sam nodded sarcastically. “Look, do you really like her?” Loki gave him a sardonic look, appalled that Wilson would even ask such a question.
“Then prove to her that you’re worthy of her affections. Wait for her to ask you. That way you’ll know she wants you too and not just because she’s trying to save your life.” At this last drop of wisdom, Barnes and Wilson left Loki in the conference room, pondering ways to prove his sincerity towards you.
You hurried towards your room, scenes from the last moments with Loki replaying in your mind. How could everything have gone tits up in just a couple of weeks?! You left the meeting today exhausted more than ever. You weren’t sure if it was misplaced gratitude for saving his life or if he genuinely is attracted to you but you didn’t think you could resist Loki anymore.
You know he’s just mocking you about what happened. He doesn’t have any real feelings towards you. It’s in his nature to be playful. But every time he comes anywhere near you and he puckers those lips of his, your knees buckle and you almost give in.
Screw it! If he wants to tease you so badly, maybe you could call his bluff and kiss him back. Perhaps then he’ll realize that his joke had gone way too far and he’d stop. Yes! The next time he teases you, you’ll kiss him right back.
But he never did. After weeks of trying to get under your skin, he finally relented. Morning coffee breaks were innocuous and pleasant. Sometimes, he would have a cup waiting for you, just the way you like it. No quips. No lewd gestures about kissing. Just a handsome smile and a friendly, helping hand.
There were times you would see him walk out of the training rooms with Thor, holding on to his side in pain. You were ready for him to make a quick jab about needing your kiss to heal the ache. But none ever came. Only a quick, “Hello, darling,” in passing as he limped off in the direction of med-bay. You’ve missed your chance.
Days later, holiday lights still glittered around the buildings of New York. Remnants of Christmas still decorated Fifth Avenue. The frigid air nipped at your cheeks making you hold on to your faux mink tighter.
Tony’s New Year’s Eve party was different this year. No celebrities. No politicians. Just the Avengers, along with the friends and family that loved them. He had rented the whole rooftop of the Marriott Marquis, overlooking Times Square. Soft velvet settees were strewn across the space under a luxurious pergola and a fantastic view of the ball waiting to be dropped.
Lounging next to one of the many heat lamps, you wrapped your coat tighter around your shoulders. “So, who are you kissing when the clock strikes midnight?” Nat asked you, pouring you a glass of Bollinger. Her red lipstick was as bright as her hair. With one side of her fur falling down her shoulder, she looked like the classic Hollywood vixen, ready for her next close-up. Fitting for tonight’s Vintage Hollywood theme.
“I don’t know,” you lied, taking the stem from her hand. You knew exactly who you wanted to kiss tonight. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Liar.” She said so cooly. You smirked, chastising yourself for trying to lie to one of the world’s best interrogators. “I bet I could guess who!” She sang as you rolled your eyes.
“Even if I did want one of them to kiss me, that doesn’t mean that they will.”
“Come on. I’m sure one of them would love to snog you at midnight,” she chuckled. “An extra blessing of good health and fortune for the coming year…” She wagged her eyebrows and elbowed you.
“Oh, please.”
“Ok, there’s Steve.”
“Your ex?!”
“Ya!”
“No!” you exclaimed.
“He’s a great kisser.”
“Then why don’t you kiss him at midnight”
“We’re trying to get YOU kissed. Not me, remember? OK, what about Thing 1 and Thing 2?” She said pointing to Sam and Bucky.
“No,” you said laughing.
“Why not?”
“No. I just don’t see them that way. It’ll make for an awkward kiss.”
“How ‘bout Bruce?”
“Bruce isn’t even here.” You said looking around the party.
“Ok then, what about Thor?”
“He’s with Jane.”
“Why not try your luck with tall, dark, and stabby then?” she said pointing to Loki with her champagne flute. You snorted at her nickname for Loki nearly spilling champagne as you took a calculated sip. “Oh my god!”
“Nat! Please. Keep your voice down!”
“No one can hear me! It’s a loud party.”
“Yes, a party with superhuman beings who have superhuman hearing!”
“Good! Maybe he’ll make a move!” She said slightly louder, hoping to grab his attention.
“Shh! Shh! Keep it down!” you laughed as you tried to calm her. “He’s been making moves. But I think…I dropped the ball on this one.” You looked over to where Loki was standing, trying to see if he had caught anything that Nat was saying. He was standing proud, having a conversation with Steve. His long black coat fit him snugly while the fur lining of his collar accented his sharp jaw. His gloved hand squeezed tightly around the cane he was holding, making you wonder if he did hear Nat. God, to have that gloved hand wrapped around my neck.
“He’s staring at you.” You heard Nat whisper to your ear.
“What?!” you turned to Nat and then back to Loki quickly, meeting his stare. You were so caught up in imagining his hands that you missed his eyes on you.
You see Loki and Steve staring at both of you, saying things under hushed tones. “They’re probably looking at you,” you explained. “What’s the deal between you and Steve, anyway?” You changed the subject. “How long has it been since you guys talked?”
“A while.”
“How long is a whi-”
“Listen, since I don’t have anyone to kiss either, why don’t we just kiss each other at midnight? Deal?”
You paused at her ability to change the subject. You gave her a knowing look but allowed her to escape your scrutiny. “Deal!” you sighed, giggling as you clinked your glasses again and took sips readying for round two.
Loki smirked as he listened to your entire conversation. Up until now, he’s been patiently waiting for you to come to him. Giving you compliments. Finding small but lingering ways to touch you. He didn’t know if his tactics were working until he overheard your conversation with Agent Romanoff. He was confident you returned his affections.
Nerves shot through his entire body. Excitement and anxiety all rolled into one giant emotion he could not define. Who knew that Barnes and Wilson’s advice would work? “Tell me, Rogers, what is this tradition you guys have about kissing each other at midnight?” Loki asked as he watched you and Romanoff.
Steve followed Loki’s stare and saw you and Natasha lounging and laughing over a bottle of champagne. He remembered how he and Nat kissed at midnight last year, promising each other to try. But ultimately failing after six months.
“It’s a stupid superstition that doesn’t mean anything,” Steve said bitterly. Loki gave him a look to continue. “It’s said that whoever you kiss at midnight, will be your sweetheart for the rest of the year. Or if you’re already in a relationship, make it stronger.”
“I see,” Loki said contemplatively.
“It’s just superstition, Loki, don’t buy into it.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I have to find my brother.” Loki excused himself, already putting together details of a plan in his head.
“Thor! Thor…” he said pulling him aside. “Did you know about this Midgardian tradition of kissing at midnight?”
“Yes! Jane and I planned on it when the hour strikes. Who will be your intended, dear brother?” Thor asked happily. Loki looked at him pointedly. “Oh! You got the priestess to agree to kiss you?! That’s wonderful news!”
“Not quite. I need your help.”
“Get Help?”
“NO! For Father’s sake, if you throw me across the room, I will END YOU!”
“Alright, alright. I jest Loki. What can I do to help?”
“I’d like to kiss her at midnight, but too many people are vying for her attention. Too many variables. Too many options.”
“Don’t worry little brother, I’ve got this!”
Ten minutes before midnight, you can feel the buzz in the air as everyone scrambles to ring in the new year. You and Nat had graduated to the bar. Both of you nursing new flutes of prosecco.
Behind you, Thor rushes through the crowd looking for Steve. “Rogers, who are you kissing at midnight? Nat or Wanda?”
“Nat or Wanda? What do you mean?”
“Well, you have to kiss someone. Isn’t that your Midgardian tradition? And I figured you wouldn’t want to kiss Nat, I mean with your history and all…”
“Well, ya…” Steve rubbed the back of his neck, thinking about Thor’s proposition. “But what about Y/N?”
“Oh, Lady Y/N is kissing my brother.”
“Loki?! But, I…”
“Oh, I apologize. Did you want to kiss my brother instead?” Thor asked quickly. “I can look for him and change his mind. I didn’t know you had…”
“NO! No, I don’t. But, um…”
“Wonderful! So, Nat or Wanda?”
“I guess Wanda,” Steve shrugged. “Nat and I do have a history.”
“Perfect! I’ll let Wanda know.”
“Now hold on just a second…” Steve’s voice trailed away as Thor sprinted into the crowd. His eyes searched for the Scarlet Witch among the revelers and found her amidst a harem of men all rivaling for her attention.
“Wanda!” Thor shouted, frightening some of the men in the group. “Come. Steve says he wanted to kiss you at midnight!”
“I knew it! He couldn’t hide behind that shy act for long!” she said standing up and smoothing out her dress.
“Perfect! You should go to him right now, and make sure no one else claims him before you do.” Thor said. Wanda nodded with determination and marched her way over to Steve.
“Oh, come on Thor!” Wilson said behind him. “I was just about to ask her!” Thor turned to see Sam and Bucky amongst Wanda’s many admirers.
“Uh…you’re in luck, my dear friends. I know someone anxious to kiss you both.” Thor gleamed.
“Us both?” Bucky questioned. Thor pointed to where you and Natasha sat.
“Ooh, nice choice. But I doubt that Steve would actually like that.” Sam said.
“And I believe Y/N is already spoken for,” Bucky added, pointing to Loki walking in your direction.
“It is for Steve we do this!” Thor wrapped his bulging arms around each of their necks. “We all know how miserable both he and Natasha are right now. Make him a little jealous. Perhaps he’ll rise to the occasion and get back his true love.”
“His true love?” Sam questioned.
“For true love!” Thor repeated, squeezing their necks tighter.
“The things we do for our friends,” Bucky grumbled under his breath.
Meanwhile, Loki made his way to the bar where you and Nat were laughing. “Ladies,” he said in that low baritone of his. “I’m sorry to disrupt your merriment, but may I speak to you privately, Agent Romanoff?”
You and Nat exchanged glances as she raised her eyebrow. A smirk fell upon her red lips and that’s when you felt it. A sharp pang of jealousy that twisted a knife in your gut. You hoped that your smile was still plastered on your face. Lord knows Nat could spot a tell from a mile away and you weren’t as good at hiding it as she was.
Loki offered his hand and Nat took it, hopping off the barstool, hand in hand with the man you’ve been pining for. You waited till both their backs were to you when you turned back around to the bar and let your smile die.
“Can I get a shot of tequila!” you yelled to the bartender, holding up your hand. You watched as Loki led Nat to the middle of the room, his arm wrapped around her delicate waste. “Make it a double!” you said with a huff. The sight in front of you was too much to witness. You had accepted that you might not get to kiss Loki at all tonight, but to watch him kiss someone else would be devastating to you.
With nothing, and no one else, keeping you at the party you decided to leave. You ran from the party as quickly as possible with your head turned down, holding back tears and feelings of betrayal.
“Loki, I hope you’re not gonna ask me for a kiss at midnight. That’s a hard pass.” Nat started before he took her very far.
“No, my dear. I overheard your conversation earlier with our dear healer. I was hoping to alleviate your promise of kissing her at midnight by offering you an alternative.”
“What alternative?”
“Two, alternatives actually.” At this, Loki gently grabbed Natasha’s shoulder and spun her around to see Bucky and Sam by the DJ booth. Sam held his drink up to her in greeting, while Bucky just grinned.
“Two! Steve wouldn’t like this.”
“Roger’s is kissing the Witch tonight.” He pointed to where Steve and Wanda were talking. Jealousy burned inside Natasha. A quiet resolve cemented in her and she was set on making him pay for it. “But what about Y/N?”
“As I said, I plan to take charge of her kiss from midnight, and all her kisses thereafter,” Loki winked at her.
“Don’t play with her heart, Loki.”
“I should warn you of the same with your soldier, agent.” He bowed slightly as Nat sauntered her way over to the two soldiers waiting for her.
When Loki turned back towards the bar, his face had fallen realizing that you were no longer there. Panicked, he looked around and found a trail of your coat just as it disappeared inside the hotel. Loki looked at his watch- three minutes left. The crowd below started getting restless and the giant numbers on the large screen on top of the prismatic ball had started ticking down towards midnight.
“Darling, where are you going? The clock is about to strike.” Loki caught up to you at the elevators. You gulped at the sight of him coming towards you. Inside the lobby, the heat was almost suffocating, and Loki unbuttoned his coat to be less stifling. You watched as he removed his gloves, finger by finger, and stuffed them into his coat pocket. The action mesmerized you until you were face to face with him.
“Loki! Shouldn’t you be with Natasha right now?” You said as you looked up at the elevator numbers ticking by so slowly. You pushed the call button praying for the lift to come faster.
“She’s currently entertaining Thing 1 and Thing 2. If my memory of your conversation serves me correctly.” You stared at him in disbelief. You might have had too much to drink. But not enough to miss the implication of what that meant.
He knows. He overheard your conversation and he knows!
He placed his hands on your waist and pulled you towards him, leading you away from the elevators. Away from the notion of running.
His fingers were soft and warm as he cupped your cheek. “Since you’ve saved my life, I have plotted and asked several times for you to kiss me again, my angel. I will not ask again.” His lips were grazing your skin. The heat in his breath intoxicated you. You closed your eyes at the overwhelming sensation of being held by him. “I told myself that the next time we kiss, it would be because you asked me to. Not out of any obligation. But because you want me. As much as I want you.”
Outside you could hear the deafening roar of people counting down from ten. It melded with the electric buzz going through your body being held so close by Loki. “But I truly can't resist you any longer. I have thought of nothing else since you kissed me that day on the field.”
“Loki…”
“Please ask me.” Three.
“What?” Two.
“Ask me to kiss you.” One.
“Kiss me Loki-” you barely said his name when his lips found yours and held on tight. A slight whimper fell from your lips, and he reacted by holding you tighter against his body.
Your fingers were entwined in his hair, holding him close to you. You pulled away to catch your breath, and his lips followed yours—unsatisfied from the short amount of contact they had received.
This kiss was different than the last. There wasn’t a threat of losing his life hanging over you. Instead, the urge was from longing and desire. There was fire and vigor in his lips. And you consumed him easily like a starved woman.
“Happy New Year, my dear,” Loki exhaled between kisses.
