Welcome!
hi, iâm clarke! iâm 18
this is my marvel, though primarily Loki, blog. i use this blog to read and write about Loki.
i write mostly reader insert fics, and iâm very open to suggestions!
hope you enjoy my work :))
Ao3 Dashboard
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Andulka
d e v o n
đŞź
Cosmic Funnies

Origami Around
Aqua Utopiaď˝ćľˇăŽĺşă§č¨ćśăç´Ąă

â

romaâ

titsay

izzy's playlists!

shark vs the universe
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

Janaina Medeiros
we're not kids anymore.
Sweet Seals For You, Always
noise dept.

#extradirty

Kiana Khansmith

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@never-stranger
Welcome!
hi, iâm clarke! iâm 18
this is my marvel, though primarily Loki, blog. i use this blog to read and write about Loki.
i write mostly reader insert fics, and iâm very open to suggestions!
hope you enjoy my work :))
Ao3 Dashboard
When you like posts on tumblr, you get a pumpkin animation. Oh, it's so much fun! đ đť
Nice! Now, an animated button on a snake for Loki? đ
silver tongue - Loki x F!Reader
A/N: a short fluffy/flirty thing about an engaged Loki and reader. An arranged betrothal, mind you, which seems to have gone very fortunately for the both of them. :)
@cafekitsune dividers save the day again
Set in Asgard! No other specifications given.
CW/TW: Arranged marriage, very slight allusions to oral (f!receiving duh), loki is a little devious shit but we love them still
1492 words
my fav gif of him ever probs, he was insane for this
Most ladies dreamt of a romantic courtship and of a grand wedding ceremony. You, at least, were certain you would have the latter. As a lady getting married, to a prince of Asgard no less, you were sure to have all of Asgard (if not multiple realms) celebrating your nuptials, however unromantic their origins might have been.
Indeed, arranged marriages were rarely ever romantic. But again, with you being a lady, and the eldest prince getting passed over for your hand in order to be given a chance at finding a true love match, your hand had been cleverly arranged to be given to prince Loki.
It is how you now found yourself living in the royal palace, in one of its nicer guestrooms, and arranged promenades with Loki every single day. It was certainly a change to your previous routine, and it was taking plenty of your energy to simply get used to the idea.
âMy lady, good morrow.â You had not even noticed the doors opening, and yet there was one of your newly appointed handmaidens, Gunhild.
Hi, can I request for Kinktober number 16. Loss of virginity and arranged marriage with MCU Loki. I would like that their wedding is first time they ever see each other. She heard horrible things about him bc gossip ofc and is terrified because his reputation. Maybe she had no say in this arrangement and such. Thank you in advance đ¤ ps. If anything of this makes you uncomfortable (maybe you don't want to write terrified women) you don't have to. You have free will to change anything. Have a good day â¨ď¸đ
Kinktober Day 7: Arranged Marriage with Loki
The wedding feast of a prince should have been a night of splendor. Gold banners hung from the vaulted ceiling of the great hall, torches blazing against the polished marble, goblets raised in endless toasts. Yet you felt none of it. Every cup of mead that was lifted in your honor might as well have been a dirge, for your heart sat heavy in your chest.
You had never spoken to him, never even seen him until today. And now you were bound to him for the rest of your life. Loki, son of Odin. Loki the trickster. Loki the sly.
Your mother, when arranging the match with Queen Frigga, had spoken in cool, rational tones: A prince of Asgard, clever and cunning. Not the reckless sort to fling himself against an army as Thor would. He survives, child. He endures. Such a man is safer than a warrior drunk on glory.
But the whispers you had heard told a darker tale. Of illusions spun like webs to ensnare, of lies sweeter than poison. He was chaos incarnate, a silver tongue clothed in emerald and shadow.
So you stood beside him at the altar, hands bound in ceremonial silk, lips reciting vows you barely heard. His face, pale and sharp as a blade, betrayed nothing. His eyes flicked over you once, unreadable, then returned to the priest. He did not offer his arm when you descended the steps, nor did he spare a word for you when the court roared with celebration.
Through hours of feasting, music, and congratulations, he was a statue at your side, speaking only when duty demanded. You chewed bread that turned to dust in your mouth, drank wine that tasted of ash. The longer his silence endured, the more dread coiled in your stomach.
By the time the doors of your new chambers closed behind you, you were stiff as marble. The room was warm with firelight, the bed strewn with ivory silk and petals of pale flowers. You lingered by the hearth, fingers twisting in the folds of your gown, while Loki stood a few paces away, studying you with that same distant gaze.
At last, he spoke, his voice smooth as glass, edged with a glint of mockery. âSo this is the timid doe my mother has chosen to tether me to. I wonder if she fears I should starve for lack of meekness in my life.â
The words stung. Hours of biting your tongue split open in a rush of heat. âYou might have offered a kind word before insulting me,â you snapped, surprising yourself as much as him. âBut then, perhaps courtesy is too great a burden for the god of mischief.â
The silence that followed was unbearable. You braced for cruelty, for sorcery, the clink of your bracelets turning into a hiss of serpents, the jewels in your hair twisting into biting fangs. You flinched at shadows on the wall, waiting for them to come alive.
Instead, he laughed. A low, rich laugh that startled you more than any threat. He pressed a hand to his mouth as if to smother it, but his eyes gleamed, bright and alive at last. âThere is fire in you, then,â he said, almost delighted. âI had begun to fear my mother had shackled me to silence made flesh. How swiftly you bare your claws when pricked.â
His mirth unsettled you, but it also loosened something tight in your chest. You stared at him, really stared, for the first time, and saw not a monster, but a man amused, intrigued. A man who, perhaps, had been as unwilling a participant in the silence as you.
âYou find this all very entertaining, do you not?â you murmured.
âWould you prefer I glowered at you until morning?â he countered. âWe are wed, little one. If we are to endure this union, it is better we do so without masks. Or at least, not the sort that bore me.â
You fought a smile, and failed. It flickered across your face, shy and quick, but he caught it. His expression shifted subtly, some sharpness softening as though your amusement had given him permission. He stepped closer, his presence both commanding and careful, like the closing of a door you had not noticed open behind you.
âAh,â he said, voice low. âThere it is. I wondered if you would grant me the truth of your smile before the night was done.â
You should have looked away, but the air between you hummed, charged with something that had not been there before. He reached for you, unhurried, fingers brushing the sleeve of your gown. The gentleness of the gesture unsettled you more than any barbed remark.
âDo you fear me still?â he asked softly.
Your breath caught. âYes,â you whispered. âBut not as much as I did.â
His lips curved. Not quite tender, not quite cruel, something in-between. âThat will do.â
When he drew you into his arms, it was with surprising grace. His kiss was not tentative, nor brutal, but measured, like a man well-versed in power but patient in wielding it. His hands, though, told a different story; they trembled faintly where they held your waist, betraying an eagerness beneath the veneer of control.
And though you had entered the night fearing sorcery and serpents, what he gave you was neither spell nor sting. He was relentless, yes, in stripping away your composure, but he did not turn from your inexperience. He guided you, coaxed you, took without apology but with an attentiveness that made your body yield even as your mind reeled.
You gave him what you had never given another. And when the trembling left your limbs, when your voice returned, you found yourself laughing softly at some wry comment of his, your head against his chest.
Loki shifted, pressing a kiss to your temple as if the gesture had escaped him unbidden. His voice was velvet in the dim chamber. âTake heart, wife. Whatever tales you have heard of me, I am far worse.â
But his hand lingered at your back, steady, anchoring you against him. And you thought, perhaps, that was not the whole truth.
The next gathering was a banquet in the golden hall, a celebration of some minor victory at the borders that mattered little to you but much to the generals who toasted it. You were seated beside Loki, as always, at a long table that glittered with crystal and gold, every noble eye fixed upon you.
It began as it always did: forced smiles, veiled questions, polite venom. Yet you sensed at once that Loki was different tonight. He sat with an ease, every movement measured, as though a performance had already begun.
When a lady of high rank leaned forward, her voice just loud enough to carry, and said, âOne wonders if the prince has yet tired of his new brideâs silence. You always were fond of clever tongues, Loki,â you braced for his usual cutting retort.
But instead, he turned to you. Slowly. Intentionally. His hand came to rest over yours upon the table.
The hall went still.
âOn the contrary,â he said, his voice smooth as silk but pitched for all to hear. âHer words are few because she chooses them well. A rare art in this place, do you not agree?â
The lady faltered, her painted smile trembling. A ripple of laughter, uneasy but real, passed down the table.
You were frozen, every muscle taut, for his thumb traced the back of your hand lightly, a gesture intimate enough to make your skin burn. He leaned closer, so that his shoulder brushed yours, and lifted his goblet with the other hand.
âTo my wife,â he said. âMay the court weary of speaking her name long before I weary of hearing it.â
They drank because they had no choice, though you saw their surprise, their eyes glittering with fresh gossip. You could feel your pulse at your throat, too loud, too fast, while Lokiâs expression remained serene, almost bored, as though he had not just shaken the entire hall.
You dared to whisper, barely moving your lips, âYou mean to make a spectacle of me.â
He tilted his head, his breath warm at your ear. âA spectacle of us, wife. Do not fear, it will be most convincing.â
The rest of the night passed in a haze. He poured your wine himself, leaned close when you spoke, laughed low at some comment of yours and touched your wrist as though you had whispered the cleverest jest in the realm. It was all theatre, you told yourself, every glance, every brush of his hand designed to ensnare the court in its own hunger for scandal.
And yet, when his fingers lingered a little too long against yours, when his laughter softened for a heartbeat as if only you could hear it, you wondered how much of it was play, and how much was not.
Later, when the banquet ended and you walked the golden corridors back to your chambers, you found your voice at last.
âYou enjoy tormenting them,â you said, not quite able to keep the breathlessness from your tone.
His smile was sharp, but his eyes gleamed with something softer. âI enjoy watching them choke on their own envy. And,â he added, with a glance that made your stomach twist, âI find the role of devoted husbandâŚnot altogether disagreeable.â
You stopped in your tracks, uncertain whether to scoff or blush. He did not pause, only opened the door to your chambers and said over his shoulder, âDo not worry, my dear. Tomorrow, they will speak of nothing else. We have given them their entertainment. Now, perhaps, we might find some of our own.â
The way his gaze lingered on you left no doubt as to what he meant.
Loki shed his cloak in a careless motion, emerald silk pooling on the floor. He looked at you in that measuring way of his, as if reading a book only he could decipher.
âYou think me cruel,â he said at last, âto drag you into such theatre before all of Asgard.â
You swallowed hard. âIt was cruel.â
His mouth curved. âCruel but effective. They will not speak against you now, not openly. To wound you would be to wound me. And none of them dare that.â
He stepped closer, each movement deliberate, until you could see the faint shimmer of green in his dark hair from the fire. His fingers grazed your chin, tilting your face upward.
âBut tell me,â he murmured, voice low, âwas it only cruelty you felt tonight? Or something else?â
Your lips parted, but no words came. The weight of his gaze held you still, caught between fear and a treacherous thrill.
He chuckled softly. âAh. Silence again. But this time not from terror.â
His mouth claimed yours before you could reply. There was nothing tentative in it, only demand, the sharp press of teeth against your lower lip, the taste of wine still clinging to his tongue. His hand slid to your waist, drawing you forward until the fabric of your gown rustled between you.
When he broke the kiss, his breath ghosted hot against your cheek. âI promised them devotion,â he said. âShall I prove it to you as well?â
He did not wait for an answer. His hands moved with swift precision, tugging at the fastenings of your gown until the heavy fabric spilled from your shoulders. You gasped at the sudden cool air against your skin, your arms instinctively crossing over your chest.
Loki caught your wrists, binding them gently but firmly in his grasp. âDo not hide from me,â he said.
Slowly, he lowered your arms. His eyes swept over you, drinking in every line, every tremor, until you felt bared not only in body but in soul. And yet he did not laugh, did not sneer. He looked hungry.
He kissed you again, slower now, his hands trailing down to your hips, over the thin shift that was all that remained. His palms pressed firmly, urging you backward until the back of your knees struck the bed.
You fell onto the silken covers, breathless. Loki followed, bracing himself over you, his hair falling like a dark curtain around his face.
âThis union was meant for politics,â he said against your throat, his lips tracing heat along your skin. âAn arrangement. An inconvenience.â His teeth grazed your collarbone, making you shudder. âBut tell me, little brideâŚdo you still believe it nothing more than that?â
Your answer dissolved into a moan as his hands slid beneath your shift, fingers skilled and merciless. He teased you until your hips arched off the bed, until words became impossible.
He laughed softly, wickedly. âAh. That was not the sound of a woman untouched by desire.â
And then the teasing ceased. The shift was gone, tossed aside like an afterthought. His own tunic and trousers followed, each layer discarded until there was nothing between you.
You saw him fully then, and though fear flickered, of his power, his control, it was drowned swiftly by want. He was lean and pale, carved with strength you had only guessed at beneath his finery. His eyes burned with intent.
He entered you in one slow, claiming thrust, his mouth capturing your cry before it could echo off the stone. He held you there, buried deep, until you were trembling. Then he moved, unhurried at first, savoring each drag, each helpless sound that escaped you.
âLook at me,â he ordered, his hand framing your face. âI would see you when I take you.â
You obeyed. His gaze locked with yours, and the world narrowed to the rhythm of his body driving into yours, the searing press of his skin against your own. Each stroke unraveled you further, until you clung to him with desperate fingers, nails biting into his shoulders.
He did not relent. He whispered against your lips, words of devotion laced with mockery, of ownership sweetened with endearments, until you shattered beneath him, voice breaking on his name.
Even then he did not stop. His pace grew sharper, until he spilled inside you with a groan, his head pressed to your throat, breath ragged and hot.
For a long moment neither of you moved, only the sound of your mingled breathing filling the chamber. Then, slowly, he lifted himself, eyes searching yours.
âYou are no longer afraid,â he said quietly, almost in wonder.
You managed a trembling smile. âPerhaps I am. But not enough to flee.â
A low laugh rumbled in his chest. He kissed you once more, softer this time, lingering. âGood. Then we may yet make a marriage of this.â
He lay beside you, drawing the covers around your bodies, his arm firm around your waist. And though his reputation had haunted you, though you had dreaded nights like these, you drifted to sleep with the strange, unshakable thought that Lokiâs arms might not be a cage at all, but a snare you were no longer certain you wished to escape.
there is something erotic about irritating a man. iâm really enjoying pissing you off. do you want fuck me yet
I love a wishy-washy Loki
I don't know what it is about me, and I'm not yucking anyone's yum, but I can't stand it when Loki is being sweet to the reader by like, chapter four. It just feels so unrealistic sometimes I have to close out of the fic, so here's some headcanons of the Loki I envision.
He never wanted to like you; it was just something that seemed like it came overnight. An elephant in the room. Perhaps it was a hazed over dream that he can't quite remember aside from the afterglow of emotions it left him with, but by God, now every time he saw you, it felt like he needed an excuse to get away. He didn't want these feelings, so of course, the first thing he knew to do was to run.
Running turns to ignoring, because no matter how fast he ran, it seemed like it just looped back to you. So now he was trying out bullying you, maybe trying to get you to hate him, to spoil the feelings. He hated that you were always just as sharp with the tongue as he was, and he especially hated how it always made him rather uncomfortably hard below the belt now.
You would think this man gets paid for vacillating. Vacillator by Ethel Cain is his theme song. He has little pockets of vulnerability. Perhaps you're sitting in your bay window together after a long night of partying with the Avengers, just staring out the window. He ticks his jaw, refusing to look at you. "I don't know how you do it." He would say, causing you to quirk a brow. "How you make me so red with anger, yet I keep crawling back like a damn starved dog."
And the look in his eyes when he finally did look at you gave away everything. They were so much softer, much more tired than the act he would possess around the others. Yet, the next morning, he would be right back to donning that mental armor, if not laying on the antagonization of you tenfold in order to take back his soft comments.
And God forbid you ever actually bring up those comments. He'll belittle you to the bone for even having the nerve to think that you were anything other than some bothersome mortal to him. You were a time pass, an eye roll, and occasionally, if you were lucky, somewhat of a lukewarm acquaintance.
Yeah, let's not forget if you're human, he is definitely using that as his main device of denial. How could he, a God, like someone like you? He gets sick at even the thought of it, but he can't quite discern if he gets more sick from the thought that he likes a Midgardian or the thought that you are only a tiny thread in the giant tapestry of his life.
He totally goes searching for an apple of Idunn to keep safe until he finally gathers the nerve to get over his emotional constipation and tell you how much he can't get you out of his head.
The worst thing is his love language is definitely acts of service, so he bends through multiple hoops to nonchalantly find out what your favorite candy, food, etc. is. Say there's a candy bowl in the main room, and you're both picking through it. He'll say, "You mortals and your need for tooth decay, I bet your favorite candy is something like those stupid chocolate pills." (Totally not talking about M&Ms.) Trying to get it out of you, and when he does, there conveniently starts becoming an increased supply of that candy everywhere in the tower.
He finds excuses to touch you. Something like the collar of your jacket is popped up, and he'll sneer, beckoning you over. "Come here, you fool." He'll mutter, jerking your collar back in place to pitifully play off annoyance, as if he doesn't leave his hand there a second too long. "Can't even wear clothes properly."
It would probably take something absolutely catastrophic happening to you in order for him to finally confess. Like you come back from a mission within an inch of your life, coated in your own blood, carefully slung over Steve's shoulder, as Tony is barking orders right and left in the infirmary floor of the tower to get you an emergency surgery underway. Loki's in the midst of it all, staring at your limp body in utter horror. He refuses to leave for days, even when Thor and Tony insist he's scaring the poor nurses Tony called in.
And when you do wake up, he almost seems angry. In fact, he's pissed. He grips your hand just tight enough for you to seethe, but when you go to cuss him, you look up to see his eyes tear-rimmed. "You damn brat." He would mutter, bringing the top of your wrist to ghost his lips. "You keep me up day and night, you plague not only my thoughts but my dreams, and then you run off and almost die? Am I nothing but laughable?"
And even after he confesses, you're left in some sort of situationship. It's even worse when Loki refuses to acknowledge it even happened, blaming it on the grocery list of pills Tony had you doped up on.
But now you sleep together. He finds himself in your bed every night, climbing in and lying on the edge at first as if you were a plague patient he's been paid to sleep with. But when you wake up from a routine dream at four in the morning, his arm is clinging to you to mold your entire frame into his.
GIVE ME EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED LOKI OR GIVE ME DEATH
some people think writers are so eloquent and good with words, but the reality is that we can sit there with our fingers on the keyboard going, âwhatâs the word for non-sunlight lighting? Like, fake lighting?â and for ten minutes, all our brain will supply is âunofficialâ, and we know thatâs not the right word, but itâs the only word we can come up withâŚuntil finally itâs like our face got smashed into a brick wall and we remember the word we want is âartificialâ.
I couldn't remember the word "doorknob" ten minutes ago.
ok but the onelook thesaurus will save your life, i literally could not live without this website
REBLOG TO SAVE A WRITER'S LIFE
Loki Oneshots I Recommend ~M~ to ~Z~
~M~
Airport (from @meganlpie)
Shiver // Savior (from @muertawrites )
Late night cravings (from @maiden-of-asgard)
Have fun (from @multific)
Spellbound (from @mygfloki)
In the name of science (from @marvelswh0re)
Training wheels (from @marvelmadam08)
Badass reader (from @mischievous-loki-headcanons)
Loki shapeshifting into you (from @moonlit-imagines)
Cookie (from @micahsweirdworld)
~N~
New beginning (from @never-stranger)
~O~
Curiosity kissed the cat (from @odinsonsobsessed)
Winning (from @ohhhmyloki)
~P~
Ragnarok Kinks (from @picassho-18)
When in doubt, be a snake (from @poormeowmeowcollector)
~R~
Craving her (from @revengingbarnes)
Spellbound (from @redbluekj)
~S~
One more habit (from @shotsbyshae)
A cage of golden glass (from @sserpente)
Mint (from @surrounded-by-superheroes )
Asking Loki dirty questions (from @starscreamloki )
Squishes and Kisses (from @sugars-fluffy-escapes)
Very subtle (from @samdeancass)
The kissing contest (from @sassenach-on-the-rocks)
Loki falling for a shy reader (from @starks-hero)
A snitch in slumber (from @stanknotstark)
Only in my daydream (from @star-bucks-lover)
Getting Loki // New Year kisses (from @sabine-leo)
Despised enemy (from @sauntered-vaguely-downward)
~T~
Liâl Lou (from @thegoddamnfangirl)
I could just drink you up ( from @thosekidswhohuntmonsters)
Warm up (from @tarithenurse)
The illusion of ice (from @theincaprincess)
Hickey (from @thejokersenigma)
It's not work if you enjoy it (from @the-winter-smoulder)
Loki vs Puppies (from @that-little-zebunny)
First encounter (from @takenbypeter)
Mr Laufeyson (from @theartofimagining13)
~U~
Braid (from @uncomfortable-writers)
~W~
You snake (from @wickednerdery)
The curious incident of the doppelganger (from @wolfpawn on AO3)
We make a pretty good team // The gift (from @wrenhyperfixates)
Last Updated : 09/11/22
thank you so much for the rec!!
itâs been more than half a year of me being 18 and i still donât feel 18 enough đ when does the feeling of adulthood kick in
reblog if youâre a sick fuck
A Penchant For Danger
Pairing: Magnus Martinsson x journalist!reader
Summary: basically a meet-cute drabble with Magnus and a mildly frustrated reader trying to find a lead on a compelling case. Might have a longer next part (that may or may not include smut)
Tags & Warnings: Mentions of murder.
Forenote: I rewrote this thrice and kept kept all copies LOL. This was the second rewrite, the third rewrite will be the second partâmeaning itâs already halfway through!
Word Count: 1054
ââââŕ¨ŕ§ââââ
Fondness and Friendship
Pairing: Loki x fem asgardian!reader
Summary: reader visits Asgard every summer and becomes friends with the princes. But one holds a special place in her heart.
Tags & Warnings: mild angst, mentions of blood, Odin, first kiss
Forenote: I actually SUCK at writing titles. Sorry. But I might write a second part/another oneshot vaguely connected to this one? Maybe. Long time no post. Barely proofread, but if I make any edits, Iâll log it in here. Also I actually cannot for the life of me write love confessions.
Word Count: 3,355
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actually in awe of this piece, absolutely loved it, beautifully written đ
thank you so much đĽšđ
Fondness and Friendship
Pairing: Loki x fem asgardian!reader
Summary: reader visits Asgard every summer and becomes friends with the princes. But one holds a special place in her heart.
Tags & Warnings: mild angst, mentions of blood, Odin, first kiss
Forenote: I actually SUCK at writing titles. Sorry. But I might write a second part/another oneshot vaguely connected to this one? Maybe. Long time no post. Barely proofread, but if I make any edits, Iâll log it in here. Also I actually cannot for the life of me write love confessions.
Word Count: 3,355
ââââŕ¨ŕ§ââââ
Title: Glory Burnished Bronze â Chapter One
Pairing: Loki x fem!reader (reader has wings)
Summary: After a mishap in a great battle, you are condemned as a traitor to Asgard, Vanaheim, and your own country. Centuries have passed of your incarceration in your kingdom, your magic suppressed by wards, your wings gone, but the magic falters and brings forth your freedom.
Your freedom is a catalyst for nothing but calamity.
The younger prince has a penchant for calamity.
Tags & Warnings: (For this chapter) Slow burn, Violence, Torture, Blood (for general tags, check it out on Ao3)
Forenote: This is gonna be a loooong one. big
Word Count: 3K+
i canât even begin to explain the entire plot i have in mind for this fic⌠twists snd ending and everything else in between⌠it would be an entire thing on its own đ¤đĽ˛ i want my motivation to continue writing this so baddd