Sarah Jane

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[ivarthebadbitch]

He felt a sudden flare of joy when he overheard her mumble hamar, and he felt a solemn sense of happiness. It was foreign and yet, familiar. It took him a while, drifting in between consciousness and unconsciousness to determine the feeling. 

It was to matter. It simply wasn’t more than that, to matter to someone else. To be missed, if he wasn’t there. To be important enough to stay. - Adrift by @nukyster-blog

[nukyster-blog]

Between cross and raven Chapter 25. Eyes of the plague

Thank you @ivarthebadbitch for sharing your thoughts and willing to be my beta for this fic <3

.-.-.

The gray light of dawn had barely begun to filter through the heavy canvas of the tent when Magdalena woke. The damp chill made her pull the coarse furs of Garmr’s bed tighter around her shoulders. Beside her, the massive hound let out a low, whistling sigh in its sleep, its heavy body radiating a comforting heat.

Magdalena lay still for a moment, her fingers instinctively brushing against her waist, feeling the reassuring hardness of the dagger tucked securely between the linen of her undertunic and her woolen waist-cord.

A faint, rustling sound from the center of the tent drew her attention.

She turned her head slowly, keeping her body deeply recessed in the shadows of the corner. 

Through the gloom, she saw that Ivar was no longer on the bed. He was on the ground. He did not have his braces on yet. He was dragging himself across the dirt floor toward his carved seat.

Magdalena watched, frozen, as he moved. It was a slow, labored process. He reached forward with his arms, digging his knuckles into the packed earth, and hauled the weight of his legs behind him. His breath came in short, heavy nasal grunts, his broad shoulders bunching and straining with raw physical effort.

As he reached the foot of his chair, his hand slipped slightly on a slick patch of damp earth. His torso dropped hard against the ground, the breath knocked from his lungs in a sharp, muffled gasp.

A soft, involuntary intake of breath escaped Magdalena’s lips. The sound was tiny, but in the silence of the tent, it was a thunderclap.

Ivar froze instantly. His entire body stiffened into stone. For a long, suffocating second, he remained pinned to the dirt, his face turned away from her, his fingers buried deep into the soil.

Then, slowly, he turned his head.

When his eyes met hers, Magdalena braced herself for a sudden, explosive fit of rage. But what she saw in his face instead was deep humiliation. A dark, furious flush rushed up his neck, staining his cheeks a mottled, angry crimson. His jaw was clamped tight. He looked at her as if she had stripped away his armor and left him naked before his enemies.

But he didn't shout. He didn't lash out.

Instead, a cold, mocking smile touched his lips; mocking himself more than her. Utilizing the immense power of his chest and arms, he grabbed the armrests of his carved seat and hoisted himself upward in one fluid heave. He swung his useless legs into position, settling onto the chair, though his breath was ragged.

He stared at her through the gloom, the deep embarrassment still smoldering in his eyes, but his voice was remarkably quiet when he spoke.

"I have crawled for most of my life," he said, his tone flat. He looked down at his unmoving thighs. "Never able to stand among real men."

He reached to the side of the chair, pulling the heavy braces into his lap. He began threading the thick straps around his shins. 

Magdalena watched from her corner as he pulled the first leather cord, but as he reached for the second, his hand trembled. He had to use his wounded arm, and the raw movement sent a sharp spike of agony through his torn flesh. His face went entirely pale, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead as his fingers slipped, failing to pull the leather taut. 

Without waiting for a command, Magdalena let the furs fall from her shoulders.

She moved across the dirt floor on her knees, approaching him quietly. Ivar didn't move, his  eyes tracking her progress with a guarded intensity. She knelt directly at his feet, her fingers gently but firmly taking the leather straps from his trembling hand.

The tent was entirely silent save for the dry scrape of the leather as she threaded the bindings, her hands working with the practiced, precise care of a healer. She pulled the straps tight, securing his legs into the braces.

Ivar looked down at the top of her covered head, watching her small hands work.

"You should hate me," he murmured. His voice was low, devoid of armor.

Magdalena did not look up immediately. She finished tying the final knot, smoothing the thick leather under her palm. She paused, the silence stretching between them for a heartbeat, before her gaze finally rose to meet his.

"I should," she said softly. She looked into his searching eyes. 

Ivar stared down at her, his jaw shifting slightly. The anger and the deep embarrassment seemed to melt away into an overwhelming, profound confusion. He leaned back slightly in his chair, studying her face as if she were a riddle he couldn't solve, written in a language he had never learned to read. The tent flap moved, and Brechje came in carrying a heavy wooden tray of food. She stopped short, her sharp eyes instantly taking in the scene: the captive nun on her knees, just smoothing down the final leather straps of her master’s leg braces. Brechje’s face remained blank.

She did not acknowledge Magdalena; instead, she simply stood by the entrance, waiting for permission to put the food down.

Ivar gave her a few curt words in Norse, motioning toward the oak table. He kept talking to Brechje as she set the tray down, his tone conversational but sharp. Magdalena, still kneeling on the dirt floor, managed to pick up the names of his brothers, but failed to grasp anything else. Brechje simply nodded, offered a low, respectful tilt of her head, and exited the tent, leaving the heavy scent of breakfast behind.

Ivar turned his gaze back to Magdalena, motioning with a lazy flick of his chin toward a small stool and then to the tray.

“Eat,” he commanded.

Magdalena hesitated for only a fraction of a second before the hollow ache in her stomach overrode her fear. She sat upon the stool, initially trying to maintain the dignified, measured posture expected of her, intending to take small, modest bites. She failed utterly. She was starving.

The tray held coarse, dark rye flatbread, still warm from the hearth ashes, alongside a wooden bowl filled with a dense, salty mash of boiled yellow peas and shredded smoked herring. There was no refinement to it, but to a girl who hadn't eaten a full meal since her convent was looted, it tasted like a feast.

Halfway through the meal, while ripping off another piece of the heavy rye bread with her teeth, a realization hit her. They were eating together. She had learned by now that all the laws of conquest and thrall-hood dictated that he should have eaten his fill first, leaving her to whatever scraps or gristle remained. Yet here he sat, watching her calmly across the small expanse of food. She did not address it. She didn't dare. She was far too busy wolfing down as much food as possible, her fingers slick with the grease of the fish.

“My brothers will be here shortly,” Ivar announced quietly, breaking the silence as he watched her eat. “We are having a disagreement.”

Magdalena paused, a mouthful of the salty pea-and-herring mash stuffing her cheeks, her eyes widening slightly over the rim of the wooden bowl.

“I want you to watch and observe,” Ivar continued, his voice dropping into a low, smooth cadence. “Only speak when spoken to. And when they are here, it is my lord.”

Magdalena didn’t fully grasp the true intent behind his orders; why he wanted a captive nun witnessing the private conversation with his brothers, but she nodded quickly, her jaw working to swallow the dense bread before she choked.

Right on cue, the tent flap suddenly parted.

His brothers arrived. Ubbe entered first, his frame cutting off the weak morning light as he pushed through the leather flap. Behind him strode Sigurd and Hvitserk, their voices already raised in a tense, rhythmic argument that filled the confined space of the tent. They carried a heavy, tightly rolled piece of vellum; 

Ivar’s demeanor shifted instantly. The vulnerable, quiet man who had struggled with his straps just minutes prior vanished completely, replaced by a cold, impenetrable mask of arrogance. He leaned forward in his carved seat, resting his chin upon his interlaced fingers, his blue eyes tracking his brothers' movements with a predator's focus.

Ubbe unrolled the vellum onto the oak table; it was a detailed map taken directly from the scriptorium of Magdalena’s own ruined convent. He weighing the curling edges down with a pair of heavy iron hand-axes, the metal biting softly into the wood.

Magdalena retreated quietly to her corner, sinking back into the heavy furs beside Garmr. The hound let out a soft huff, resting its chin on its paws. 

As the four brothers clustered around the table, shouting and gesturing, Magdalena’s eyes instinctively drifted to the vellum. Even from a distance, she recognized the precise, elegant calligraphy of the late Brother Jerome.

A sharp ache of nostalgia tightened in her chest at the sight of it. It was Brother Armandus who had first introduced her to Jerome’s work during their quiet afternoons in the scriptorium. When Magdalena had terribly struggled to grasp her Latin, Armandus had patiently spread these maps across the wooden tables, using them to make the rigid language come alive. He spoke of Brother Jerome with profound affection; the master who had tutored Armandus in his own youth, and allowed Magdalena to trace her fingers along the vellum, patiently helping her pronounce the Latin names of distant rivers and settlements. Through those maps, Armandus had given her stories of a grand, sweeping world far beyond the convent’s high stone walls.

Seeing that sacred work here, pinned beneath the calloused, mud-stained hands of heathen warlords, made her breath catch. It was a masterpiece of charting, mapping the Rhine’s lower branches and the delta, meticulously detailed with the holy symbols of monasteries, fortified villas, and trade toll-stations.

The debate between the Norsemen grew rapidly heated. Ubbe pointed at a wide bend in the river, tracing a path inland, his voice vibrating with frustration. Hvitserk shook his head aggressively, slamming his fist onto the table and pointing forcefully to a series of crimson ink markings near the western marshes.

Ivar remained entirely silent, watching them blunder blindly through the geography. He glanced down at the map, and then his gaze flicked across the dim tent and caught Magdalena staring intently at them.

She froze, a jolt of panic striking her chest, and she instantly dropped her eyes to Garmr’s dark fur, cursing herself for her curiosity.

"Ubbe," Ivar interrupted. His voice was a sharp, quiet blade that instantly cut through the shouting of his older brothers. He spoke a few curt words in his own tongue, his face expressionless as he waved his hand dismissively toward the tent flap.

Magdalena shrank into her corner as Ubbe’s gaze flicked sharply from Ivar to her. She could feel the dangerous tension crackling between the brothers, a volatile storm waiting to break. 

Ubbe spat a bitter curse onto the dirt, turned on his heel, and stormed out into the night. Sigurd and Hvitserk followed in his wake, leaving the tent in a sudden, heavy silence; with only Jerome’s map lying open between them. 

"Come here," Ivar said.

It was the same command from the night before, heavy with a dangerous weight. Magdalena hesitated for a heartbeat, her pulse fluttering against her ribs, before she obeyed. She rose from the furs and walked to the edge of the table, keeping her hands tucked securely into the wide sleeves of her stained habit, her head respectfully bowed.

"Look at it," he commanded, gesturing downward at the vellum.

She looked. Her eyes automatically tracked the neat Latin notations and ink lines.

"My brother Ubbe thinks the deep water follows the western bank past the old stone bridge," Ivar said, his voice dropping into a low, conversational murmur as he studied the changing expression on her face. "He wants to land the longships there, at the base of the ridge. He thinks the marsh is dry enough to march the horses."

Magdalena looked at the exact section of the map Ubbe’s hand had been pounding. Her mouth went dry. Before she could stop herself, before fear could dictate her manners, she shook her head slightly.

Ivar’s eyes narrowed, catching the subtle movement. "Speak."

"He is wrong," she whispered. Her voice trembled initially, but grew clear as she spoke of the text she knew. She tentatively extended a finger from her sleeve, pointing to the delicate Latin script penned beneath the drawing of the ridge. "The monks marked this text for a reason. 'Palus profunda.' It means the deep marsh. It never dries, not even in the height of summer. If you land your horses there, they will sink to their chests in black mud before they ever reach the solid ground."

Ivar leaned in closer, his chest nearly touching the table, his gaze burning into the parchment, then rising to fix upon her face. "And the riverbank?"

Magdalena slid her finger an inch to the right, tracing a narrow, unmarked curve of the water where Brother Jerome’s blue ink ran thin.

"The deep current shifts to the eastern side during the summer droughts. Here, where the river narrows by the ruined watchtower. The text says...'cursus rapidus.' The water is fast, but it is deep enough for laden boats. And the ground above it is gravel, not silt. It will hold the weight of men and horses."

Ivar stared down at the tiny, precise Latin letters his brothers had completely dismissed as mere Christian scribbles. He reached out, his thumb slowly tracing the line of the eastern riverbank she had just indicated. Slowly, a smile spread across his face; a look of satisfaction.

"My brothers have spent their lives learning how to swing heavier axes," Ivar said, his voice laced with a quiet, lethal amusement. "They think a conquest is won with blood and muscle alone. But they cannot read the very earth they want to conquer."

He looked up at her, his eyes locking onto hers with a completely new kind of intensity. She was still his thrall, completely at his mercy, but a new bridge had just been built between them. A bridge made of ink, strategy, and hidden knowledge.

"You can read all of this?" he asked softly, almost reverently.

"Yes," she said, holding his gaze, her heart hammering violently against her ribs.

Ivar leaned back in his carved seat, tapping his fingers slowly, rhythmically against the armrest. He looked at her as if she were no longer just a captive to be kept in a corner, but a weapon his brothers didn't even know he possessed.

"From now on," Ivar said, his voice dropping to a flat, authoritative whisper that made her skin prickle, "you will be my eyes on the maps, Sancta Maria."

Magdalena swallowed hard. She would be helping the plague of the North spread over her own country. But as she looked at him, pragmatic, brilliant, and yet dependent on her mind to outmaneuver his physical superiors; she felt a strange, intoxicating shift in the air. She was no longer completely powerless.

Magdalena braced herself, gripping the edges of her wide sleeves to hide the trembling of her hands. “What if I refuse?”

Ivar, surprised by her boldness, let out a short, harsh snigger. His dark eyes glinted with genuine amusement. "Refuse, slave?”

Magdalena’s mind raced. If she was being dragged into his dark world of conquest, she needed to know exactly where the boundaries lay. Taking it a dangerous step further, she held his gaze. “I could lie to you.”

The amusement vanished from his face, replaced by the cool, calculating intelligence that made him so terrifying. He leaned back in his carved seat, his tone turning flat, matter-of-fact, and entirely pragmatic. “Yes, you could. So let me remind you that the choices you make directly influence whether your sisters and the old monk live or die.”

A heavy, suffocating weight pressed down on Magdalena’s chest. The brief illusion of power shattered. She looked at his unyielding face and realized the absolute truth of his words: she could not refuse him. She had no choice but to step into his game of war, to let him use her mind to harm her own people, if she wanted Brother Armandus and her sisters to survive.

But if she was going to damn her soul for their sake, she would not do it for nothing. She swallowed the lump in her throat, throwing in one last, desperate condition.

“I want a bible.”

Ivar’s brow furrowed, his patience instantly wearing thin. “I don’t remember asking you what you want in return.”

“You did not, Ivar,” she said, dropping the formal title he had demanded, her voice fueled by a sudden, quiet defiance. “But if you are forcing me to betray my own people, I want to be able to repent. I want to be able to read the bible.”

She needed the Holy Word. She needed the comfort of the Latin scriptures she had spoken since childhood, the sacred ink that could wash the blood of her complicity from her conscience. 

Ivar stared at her, studying the stubborn set of her jaw. He grew visibly impatient with her stubbornness, waving his hand as if dismissing a tiresome fly.

“Fine,” he growled, turning his gaze back to the vellum on the table. “I’ll get you the book of your weakling God.”

.-.-.

A/N: I love writing these tent chapters so much! They have a dynamic that can go in any direction! I really like bringing someone into Ivar’s safe space because he’s forced to drop his mask and lay himself bare. Having her see him face down on the ground was absolute torture for him, and that raw vulnerability is so compelling to write.

When I started writing this story, I wanted it to be about more than just an Ivar x OC romance. I wanted a true redemption arc for Ivar; not just romantically, but in building a better bond with his brothers, too. And heck yeah, I love writing my own country into fiction, so why not have the Ragnarssons raiding it?

I also wanted Magdalena to play a real part in the story without turning her into a fierce shieldmaiden, which wouldn't make any sense. A nun can't gain those combat skills overnight, and why would she want to bathe in the blood of her own people anyway? That's why I picked a very different kind of skill for her.

The next chapter might take a bit longer to post. Between work and my kids being on summer break, writing time will be a little limited! Thanks for reading!

Xoxoxo Nukyster 

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

Taglist: @miksmom-blog

@g-cf2020

@authorpj

@yami267

[nukyster-blog]

Between cross and raven Chapter 24. Sending out a message

Thank you @ivarthebadbitch for sharing your thoughts and willing to be my beta for this fic <3

.-.-.

Magdalena woke without moving, her senses flaring to life while her body remained perfectly still. 

Then she felt him. Ivar lay directly behind her. One of his arms was still draped heavily across her waist, his upper body relaxed and sleep-loosened, though his withered legs lay motionless beneath the heavy furs. The warmth of him pressed insistently through the layers of her wool tunic and the furs alike. It was a proximity so unfamiliar that her body instinctively recoiled before her thoughts could fully form a defense.

Against the back of her shoulder, his breathing stirred faintly. It was different now. Lighter. Closer to waking.

Panic, cold and sharp, flooded her veins. The knife. If he shifted, if he pulled her closer, he might find it.

Slowly, Magdalena shifted her hand beneath the furs. Her fingers brushed against the cold, hidden iron. She closed her hand around it. Not as tightly as she had held it last night, when desperation was highest. But tightly enough. A reminder. A choice.

With excruciating slowness, she began easing it free, already searching in her mind for somewhere better to hide it. A place within reach where he would not find it. A place where her fragile illusion of safety could remain intact.

“Do you honestly think I’m not aware of what you are doing?”

The breath stopped completely in her throat.

His voice was rough with sleep, a low, gravelly vibration against the back of her shoulder. She did not need to turn to know his eyes were open, or to know that their heavy, unblinking weight was fixed entirely on her. Awake. Watching.

Her fingers locked in a desperate, frozen grip around the knife.

“Last night, you held it,” he murmured, his tone dropping quieter now, “like a starving child clutching bread.”

There was no violence in his words. No sharp, anticipated cruelty. Instead, there was a terrible, quiet undercurrent of something that sounded amused.

Magdalena stared straight ahead at the canvas wall of the tent. She did not dare to speak. Her pulse thudded painfully beneath her skin as she waited for punishment to arrive.

His arm shifted slightly around her waist. He was not withdrawing. Instead, his weight settled deeper, a deliberate anchor keeping her exactly where she was: pinned against his chest by the strength of a man who fought entirely with his upper body. She did not stand a chance. 

Then, after an agonizing moment, he spoke again. “If you mean to kill me…”

His breath brushed faintly, warmly, against the sensitive skin at the back of her neck.

“…find a better blade.”

Before she could react, the knife disappeared from her hand. It was not ripped away with sudden force; it was simply lifted from her grasp with casual ease. She heard the faint sound of the weapon shifting in the dark, followed by the dry slide of his thumb testing the edge.

A sharp, sudden inhale broke the silence of the tent. 

It was his.

Driven by an instinct she could not master, Magdalena turned her head before she could stop herself. In the gloom, she saw the dark, rapid welling of blood across the broad flat of his palm from his wounded arm. It looked black in the dim light, bright and slick against his skin. The cut was shallow, but entirely deliberate; not enough to harm him, but more than enough to bleed freely.

Her stomach tightened with a sudden, sickening jolt. Instantly, an impulse rose that was older and deeper than her fear.

Her hand moved toward the wound before her mind could stop the action, then halted halfway, trembling in mid-air. Permission. She forgot that she needed it.

Ivar noticed the halted gesture. Something unreadable; a fleeting hint of appreciation or calculation, flickered through his dark gaze.

He gripped her shoulder with his good hand, pinning her flat onto her back against the bedding. When she instinctively tried to bring her hands up to defend herself, his palm shifted instantly, trapping her wrists and forcing it effortlessly down into the furs above her head. 

Then, without ceremony or a single word, his free hand descended. He reached for the stark white linen of her habit near her hips, between her thighs. His palm with the cut pressed firmly against the fabric.

Magdalena’s breath caught sharply in her chest. She felt the warm, sticky dampness of his blood soaking slowly, insistently, into her habit. 

Her gaze dropped instantly, unable to meet his eyes. She did not pull away. She could not. He held his bloody palm against her clothes. When he finally withdrew his hand, the dark, irregular stain remained vividly etched against her linen habit. 

When he spoke again, his voice had stripped away all traces of sleep and amusement, returning to something practical. Flat. Controlled.

“Now go.”

He let go of her wrists. She remained frozen, unable to bring herself to move.

“Wash yourself,” he ordered, his voice slicing through the heavy air. “Your clothes.” His eyes flicked once, with detachment, toward the wet, dark stain on her habit. “The bedding.”

Only then did the full, crushing weight of his actions dawn on her.

The entire camp would see her emerge. They would see the blood on her clothes, the blood on the sheets. And they would assume exactly what Ivar wanted them to assume. He had made absolutely certain of it, achieving a total subjugation in one quiet, devastating act. It would be impossible for the other Northmen to miss, and entirely impossible for them not to understand.

It was a mark. Not holy, not pure. She had been claimed.

Her throat tightened so painfully she could barely swallow.

With effort, Ivar shifted, using both his arms to hoist himself backward and drag his legs out from beneath the heavy furs. He moved himself off the bed, settling onto the cold ground beside it. He sat there, propped against the framework, idly playing with her knife, turning it over and over in his hands while his palm still bled a slow trail of red, entirely unbothered by the injury.

Magdalena rose too quickly, her head spinning. Her legs nearly failed her, buckling beneath her weight, and she had to throw a hand out to steady herself against the rough wood of the central tent pole. She kept her eyes averted. She did not look at him, and she did not speak as her trembling hands began stripping the stained bedding.

The bundle of wool and linen felt impossibly heavy in her arms, like a shroud.

From near the floor, Ivar’s voice followed her, low and utterly devoid of remorse. “Now no one will touch you.”

As she turned toward the tent flap, she could feel the heavy, unyielding weight of his gaze burning into her back. Steady. Constant. Watching her leave with the bloody mess.

.-.-.

Although no one spoke to her directly, Magdalena felt like a walking spectacle. Keeping her gaze pinned strictly to the muddy earth beneath her boots, she could still feel the weight of a hundred eyes boring into her. They were staring at the dark, wet crimson stain glaring against the white of her habit, and at the damp bundle of ruined bedding clutched tightly in her arms. 

Everyone saw. Everyone knew.

Right on cue, Brechje stepped into her path, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp.

“Follow me,” she commanded.

Instead of taking the direct route to the riverbank, Brechje turned sharply, leading her down a longer, winding path through the very heart of the camp. It took Magdalena a few paces to realize the truth: this was entirely for show. A calculated, dreadful walk of shame designed to parade Ivar’s brand before his men.

As they rounded a cluster of large, hide-covered tents, the earth beneath Magdalena’s feet seemed to tilt. Emerging in the clearing ahead was the caravan of her captured sisters.

A wave of sickness washed over her; she wanted nothing more than for the earth to open up and swallow her whole. But she could not stop. Her legs kept moving, her feet forced to follow Brechje’s steady, unbothered stride. 

In the silence of her own mind, Magdalena prayed desperately. Please, Lord, let them be asleep. Let them be spared this.

But as she drew closer, the sudden, collective intake of breath shattered her hopes. She heard the sharp, horrified gasps of her sisters.

In that terrible moment, the truth did not matter. It did not matter that Ivar had not truly violated her last night. It did not matter that the blood was his. Right now, the illusion was total, and the shame filled her until she was entirely hollowed out by it. Hot, silent tears finally escaped her eyelids, tracking hot lines down her dirt-streaked cheeks.

“Lena!”

The hoarse, cracked shout cut through the morning air. It was the voice of Brother Armandus.

A faint surge of relief tried to surface, but it was instantly crushed by the weight of her disgrace.  If only she did not feel so utterly ruined. 

She kept her chin tucked into her chest, not daring to look up and meet his gaze, terrified of the pity or the horror it would undoubtedly hold.

“Magdalena!”

Hearing the stern, commanding voice of Abbess Gerhild set years of ingrained obedience into motion before her mind could think to stop it. Magdalena’s head snapped up.

And what she saw devastated her on an entirely different level. The Abbess seemed to have aged a decade since the raid took place. The once speckless, formidable woman who had ruled the convent with a spine of iron now looked entirely broken. Her holy habit was torn and smeared with mud and dried blood; her frame seemed hollowed out and dangerously thin beneath the wool. Her face was a ghostly, ashen gray, her eyes sunken deep into dark, shadowed sockets.

Seeing her daughter in Christ marked in such a way, the old woman’s lips trembled, but she forced a fragile, trembling strength into her voice.

“Filia mea...non derelinquet te Dominus,” the Abbess murmured, her voice cracking on the Latin syllables, offering the only comfort she had left: My daughter...the Lord will not forsake you.

Magdalena’s heart broke completely as her eyes flickered past the Abbess to her closest sisters: Lidewij, Elinor, and Elswyth. All three shared the exact same petrified, pale expressions, their knuckles white as they clung to one another. Behind them, crowded into the back of the wooden caravan, the rest of the sisters watched her with wide, weeping eyes.

From the side, Brother Armandus bowed his head, his hands bound tightly with rope, and began to intone a low, desperate prayer for her soul.

“Sub tuum praesidium confugimus, Sancta Dei Genetrix...libera nos a periculis cunctis...”

Hearing the sacred words, Magdalena felt a sickening wave of guilt. It choked her. If they only knew the truth; if they knew that she had been the unwitting pawn used by Ivar to set the entire raid of their sanctuary in motion, they would not pray for her. They would hate her. She was a traitor clothed in the blood of her captor.

Sister Elinor’s voice rose, trembling but clear, breaking through the low murmurs of the Norse camp. Lidewij joined her, then Elswyth, until the entire caravan of captive women was singing a hymn of fortitude, an ancient chant passed down through generations of faithful hearts:

“Crux fidelis, inter omnes

Arbor una nobilis:

Nulla silva talem profert,

Fronde, flore, germine…”

Their pure, harmonized voices followed Magdalena as Brechje urged her forward, echoing through the crude tents and the harsh clatter of the Viking army. 

She knew she was not worthy of their sympathy. She knew she was completely unworthy of their holy prayers. Yet, as the sacred melody wrapped around her like a protective shield, she felt the crushing weight of her despair shift, just a fraction. For the first time since waking, she felt slightly less ruined by sin. 

.-.-.

Brechje led her past the bustling perimeter of the camp, winding through the brush until they reached a secluded, quiet curve of the riverbank. Here, the tall reeds grew thick and dense, shielding them from the prying eyes of Norse warriors.

“Undress,” the young woman said without preamble, reaching out to take the heavy, stained bundle of bedding from Magdalena’s arms. “I’ll wash that. You can bathe.”

Magdalena froze, her arms instantly crossing over her chest. Years of cloistered life had ironed a strict, unyielding modesty into her very bones. To strip bare in the open air, even before another woman, felt like a transgression.

And there was a deeper, more agonizing reason she loathed to reveal her body. Her dark hair and the deep, sun-warmed olive of her skin tone made her a permanent outsider. 

Countless times in her youth, she had taken coarse soap and pumice to her own skin, scrubbing until she bled, desperately trying to erase the color that marked her as different. She had tried to wash away the heritage that had made her an object of utter disgust in the eyes of her mother’s husband. 

That man had marked her too. Just in a very different way than Ivar had.

Brechje watched her troubled hesitation, letting out a sharp, impatient sigh. She nudged her chin toward a dense cluster of towering reeds. “Undress there, then. I’ll come down once you’re settled.”

Safe behind the wall of stalks, Magdalena stripped in the blink of an eye. She kicked her soiled, blood-stained clothing aside into the mud and stepped instantly into the river. The biting, early morning chill of the water made her hiss, the cold piercing her skin like a thousand tiny needles. 

Teeth instantly chattering, she submerged herself rapidly until the dark water rose to her shoulders, concealing her entirely.

Brechje came into view a moment later. With pragmatic indifference, she hitched up her heavy woolen dress and tied it off at her hips to keep it dry before stepping into the shallows. Kneeling on a flat, smooth boulder at the water's edge, Brechje began to wash the bedding. She dunked the heavy linen into the current, repeatedly striking the fabric against the stone to beat out the dark stains, a rhythmic, echoing thud that resonated through the quiet bank.

Magdalena watched her in silence. When Brechje suddenly turned her head and met her gaze, Magdalena let herself sink completely beneath the surface.

Darkness and a profound, icy quiet rushed over her. The sound of the camp, the beating of the linen, and the weight of her reality vanished. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold onto that blissful loss of her vital senses, wishing she could simply dissolve into the water.

Suddenly, a violent, stinging force gripped the crown of her head. A strong hand yanked her mercilessly upward by her hair.

Magdalena broke the surface, gasping for air, water streaming into her eyes. Brechje was leaning over her, staring down with an agitated, fierce expression.

“Do not try to flee,” Brechje warned, her voice a sharp whisper. “There are hunting parties scouring the woods on the other side of the river. You will not get three paces before they run you down. And if you drown yourself, he will have my head.”

Magdalena swallowed a mouthful of river water, wanting to tell Brechje that escaping hadn't been her intention; that she had only wanted a moment of peace. But the young woman had already let go of her hair and turned back to her work, aggressively scrubbing the bedding against the rocks.

The deep, penetrating chill of the river began to settle into Magdalena's bones. With a heavy heart, she watched Brechje drench her ruined, blood-marked habit in the freezing current. It would take ages to dry in the damp morning air. But returning to the camp without proper clothing was out of the question. 

Honestly, as her limbs grew numb, a fatal case of pneumonia didn't feel like a punishment at all. It felt like an escape.

Brechje must have heard the violent, uncontrolled clattering of her teeth. She paused, looking over. “Will you flee if I go back to the tents and bring you clean clothes?”

Magdalena shook her head weakly. She watched in silence as Brechje stood, wrung out the edges of her skirts, and marched back up the bank toward the camp.

Left alone in the freezing water, Magdalena looked longingly over her shoulder toward the far side of the river. The temptation was a physical ache. She could attempt to swim across. The odds of surviving were close to none, but wouldn't it be a relief to simply be slain by a Norse scouting party in the woods? To have the misery end?

She turned her body completely now, treading water as she stared at the opposite shore. A vast, unbroken line of tall, swaying grass and ancient forest stretched out as far as her eyes could see. It would be so easy to swim over and embrace death.

But a glaring flaw in the plan halted her. What kind of man would kill a nude, defenseless maiden lost in the wilderness? They wouldn't kill her. Not at first. They would use her, far worse than anything she had faced yet. Wolves, a bear perhaps; if she were certain to meet a wild animal instead of desperate men, she would have swum across in a heartbeat.

With a hollow, bitter ache in her chest, she was forced to admit a terrible truth: even after the psychological torment of last night, even after being branded like livestock as his property...Ivar was the safest of all her options right now.

A sharp, piercing whistle shattered her thoughts.

Magdalena spun around. Brechje was standing on the riverbank, holding a clean, dry habit in one hand and a thick, coarse wool blanket in the other.

Getting out of the river without being fully exposed was impossible, and Brechje already looked thoroughly irritated by the delay. Steeling herself, Magdalena emerged from the water as fast as she could, acutely aware of any hidden eyes that might be lingering across the water. She stumbled onto the muddy bank, instantly wrapping the heavy blanket around her trembling shoulders.

Brechje stood by, watching with a critical eye as Magdalena frantically rubbed the moisture from her limbs. She handed over the dry garments.

“It wasn’t too bad, then,” the woman stated casually.

Magdalena paused, her hands freezing against the wool. She looked up, entirely unsure of what Brechje meant.

“Last night,” Brechje clarified, gesturing crudely between her own thighs. “You’re not bleeding. You're not in pain.”

A hot, furious blush rushed to Magdalena’s cheeks. She had been so focused on surviving the cold and getting dressed that she had completely forgotten to maintain the act. She hadn't faked a limp. She hadn't shown any of the physical agony of a violated woman. 

“I wish not to speak of it,” Magdalena whispered truthfully, her voice tight as she hurriedly pulled the clean habit over her head to hide her face.

“I understand,” Brechje said. For the first time since they had met, there was a note of genuine sincerity in her tone. She leaned against a willow tree, looking out over the water. “He never fucked me, though. He told me he only fucks up, never down.”

Magdalena honestly did not know how to answer such a crude statement. She remained silent, pushing her damp arms through the long sleeves of the tunic. As her fingers brushed the coarse, familiar fabric, a pang of grief struck her; she recognized the specific, tough weave. This habit had been looted directly from the storerooms of her convent.

“In a way, you should feel special,” Brechje continued, entirely unbothered by the silence. 

“Hvithár, my other master, told me I’d never have to share his bed. He said I remind him of his late daughter. Same laugh, same spirit. But he told me he could never refuse his prince if the boy wanted to use me. So, I offered myself up to Ivar the first chance I got, just to get it over with. He just laughed at me. Told me he’d never fuck a thrall, and sent me away.”

Magdalena did not allow the weight of Brechje’s words to fully sink in; instead, she carefully stored the information away in the back of her mind.

“But,” Magdalena swallowed hard, her voice trembling as she looked at the young woman, unsure of where her question would lead, “you’ve been hurt. Like me.”

“Yes. In wedlock,” Brechje replied without a shred of self-pity. “I had a horrible father, and a worse husband. I was gambled away over a game of cards.” For a brief moment, lost in the dark fog of memory, Brechje’s rough fingers traced the jagged scars that marred her face. She looked up at the grey sky, a bitter, profound smile touching her lips. “As God is my witness, these pagans have been my salvation.”

Before Magdalena could even begin to parse the terrifying paradox of that statement, Brechje snapped back to reality. She turned resolutely toward the wet bundle of washed linen.

“We better get this out to dry,” she said, her voice returning to its sharp, practical edge. “Move.”

.-.-.

Magdalena had been able to steady the frantic rhythm of her mind by focusing entirely on the mundane, bone-deep exhaustion of labor. Brechje kept her moving throughout the day, ensuring she had no time to think. 

She worked until her hands were raw from hauling heavy buckets of river water to the cook-fires. Afterwards, she was set to tending the massive, soot-blackened iron cauldrons over the central fire pits, using a heavy ash wood paddle to constantly stir a thick, greasy pottage of dried peas and salted mutton while the grease coated her skin. 

The other thralls quickly branded her with the name ‘Nunna.’ It was a byname she wore with a quiet, stubborn grace, deeply relieved that Brechje at least allowed her to keep wearing a habit. 

Yet, it was painful to notice that even here, in the dirt of a pagan camp, she could not escape the sting of gossip. The only difference was the sheer boldness of it: the Norse thralls did it directly to her face, fully aware she did not understand their harsh, guttural tongue. They pointed openly at her, their laughter sharp and mocking as she passed. Even here, among the lowest of the low, she still managed to be the outcast.

It should have hurt her. It should have pricked her pride. But a thick, protective callous had curled around her heart; right now, the whispers of slaves were the least of her problems.

Whatever fragile spirit she had gathered during the day vanished entirely when Brechje motioned for her to follow her back to Ivar’s tent.

An icy knot of dread tightened in her stomach. She honestly was not ready to face him. She had no way of knowing what version of him she would encounter tonight: the amused tormentor, the cold strategist, or the ruthless warlord. And his absolute unpredictability was starting to take a heavy toll on her sanity. 

Nausea swirled in her gut and hot tears pricked the back of her eyes as she lifted the heavy flap and quietly stepped into the dim interior of the tent.

Ivar was positioned in his carved seat, leaning forward over a large oak table. His brother Ubbe and two unfamiliar, heavily tattooed warriors stood close by, their low voices rumbling as they discussed the markings on a sprawling parchment map.

Ivar’s sharp gaze snapped to Magdalena the moment she crossed the threshold. Without breaking his conversation, he immediately dismissed her, pointing a single finger toward the dark corner where the massive hound sat.

Obedient and desperate to remain unseen, Magdalena lowered herself onto the furs next to the animal. As Magdalena tentatively reached out a hand, the dog leaned its heavy head into her touch, letting out a soft grunt and softly licking her knuckles as she petted its thick side.

The discussion at the table grew heated, the men’s voices rising in an argument until Ivar abruptly raised a hand and dismissed them all. Just as they filed out, Brechje entered with a heavy wooden tray of roasted meat and flatbread. Neither woman acknowledged the other, and Brechje left as quickly as she had arrived, leaving Magdalena alone with him again. 

“Garmr,” Ivar said suddenly, breaking the silence as he tore off a piece of meat. When Magdalena only blinked, not understanding, he pointed a grease-stained finger at the dog. “I named her after the blood-stained guardian of Hel’s gate.”

Magdalena stared at the scarred beast, watching the slow rise and fall of its powerful chest, and felt a chilling realization of how fitting the name truly was.

“Garmr. The howler,” Ivar continued, his voice surprisingly flat, almost reflective. “She was the smallest, scrawniest of the litter. I raised her myself on goat’s milk and scraps because her mother didn’t want anything to do with her.” 

He cast a brief, knowing glance toward his own motionless legs. “Animals have a sense for that, you know. Some eat their young. Some leave them out in the cold to die. She is alive only because of me.”

Magdalena did not know how to respond, or if she was even permitted to speak, so she remained silently on the floor, watching him eat.

When he finished, Ivar set the tray aside and motioned for her to come close. She rose without a word and knelt to carefully unlace the heavy braces from his legs. When she finished, she turned her attention to the linen wraps on his wounded arm, her movements precise and gentle.

Suddenly, Ivar reached onto the table and pulled up a sharp, iron dagger.

Magdalena froze completely, the breath dying in her throat as he held the gleaming edge close to her face. Her eyes widened, her heart hammering against her ribs as she braced for the strike.

Instead, Ivar reversed his grip. He pressed the smooth wooden handle firmly into her palm and forced her fingers to close tightly around it.

“Keep this close,” he commanded, holding her gaze with an intensity that burned through the shadows of the tent. “If anyone touches you, make them regret it.”

Magdalena stared at him, her chest heaving.

“Even me.”

The words hung heavily in the air. Slowly, Magdalena pulled the weapon closer to her chest, the profound, staggering depth of the gift settling into her mind. 

“You can choose where you sleep tonight,” he told her, leaning back into his chair.

Subconsciously, her body reacted before her mind did; she took a skittish step backward, toward the safety of the dog. She watched him warily, her eyes darting across his face, desperately searching for the trap, the trickery, a sudden laughter that would accompany cruelty.

Seeing her hesitation, Ivar simply held his arms open, his expression remarkably unreadable. 

“You choose. No consequences.”

The tension snapped. Magdalena turned and fled back to the dark corner, sinking into Garmr’s pile of furs. She quickly and carefully tucked the dagger away between the tight linen of her undertunic and the woolen cord wrapped around her waist, ensuring it was within arm's reach 

Turning onto her side, away from the weight of his gaze, she curled herself into a tight, protective ball.

The silence of the tent stretched out, safe and vast. Magdalena closed her eyes, burying her face into the coarse fur of the hound, and whispered into the dark, “Thank you, Ivar.”

.-.-.

A/N: Another chapter with a lot of ups and downs. I wanted to give a little insight into all three characters, Ivar, Magdalena and Brechje. I do believe Ivar did Magdalena nasty, then again he could have hurt her far worse. He did make his point though. 

And when Magdalena thought her day could not possibly get any worse, she came across the caravan. I did like the encounter with Abbess Gerhild though and Brother Armandus and her fellow sisters. Brechje is an interesting OC, I like to give the ‘bystander’ OC’s backgrounds too, so in this chapter I wanted to reveal a little of hers. 

And the last part; Ivar giving her options in forms of a knife and her place to sleep. I do think he disliked how he was sort of forced to act in the last chapter. Let’s be honest if he did not make this point she’d be targeted. I want this Ivar to be cruel too, but more out of necessity than just for the sake of it; like in the tv show.  Translation: Sub tuum praesidium confugimus, Sancta Dei Genetrix...libera nos a periculis cunctis: We fly to your protection, O Holy Mother of God... deliver us from all dangers 

Crux fidelis, inter omnes, Arbor una nobilis:, Nulla silva talem profert,Fronde, flore, germine: faithful cross, above all other, one and only noble Tree! None in foliage, none in blossom, none in fruit thy peers may be;

Xoxoxo Nukyster

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

Taglist: @miksmom-blog

@g-cf2020

@authorpj

@yami267

[luna-azzurra]

"Why do you write morally complex love interests??"

Because a man who is gentle DESPITE being dangerous is more interesting than a man who is dangerous BECAUSE he is broken. I have given this thought. Too much thought. Goodnight.

[jamj3n]

Why are we drawn to characters who commit unforgivable acts?

**Contains Spoilers from Season 4 of Vikings**

Ragnar Lothbrok is a fascinating character who stole the hearts of countless fans, yet he is also a Viking responsible for the deaths of countless people. He ruined his once-perfect family by betraying his first wife, Lagertha. In pursuing greatness and chasing what lay beyond the horizon, he gradually lost the simple life that once made him happy.

He is one of the few characters in a television show whose death made me shed tears. We, the viewers, followed his remarkable journey for four seasons. He was once a simple farmer, but eventually became a king with extraordinary power.

While an outsider would view him as a terrifying 8-foot man who eats children, we got to see him struggle. Before his final moments, we saw his final thoughts flash before our eyes. He thought about the ones he loved and the regrets he carried with him.

We saw the ambitious Season 1 Ragnar who desperately longed to sail west and discover new lands. Those flashbacks brought back memories of the simpler days, when his life was filled with wonder, curiosity, and hope.

He thought about what life could have been if he had never achieved greatness. It makes you feel sorrow for the character, even after he unleashed so much havoc on innocent lives.

It shows the complexity of human relationships. I can apply this to my own life because I have family members whose political beliefs differ greatly from my own. At the end of the day, I can't abandon those relationships because there are other parts of them that I deeply love. Someone can hold beliefs you strongly oppose while also being generous, dependable, and loving in other areas of their life.

It reminds me of the complex relationship between Floki and Ragnar. Although Floki betrayed Ragnar by murdering Athelstan, Ragnar never truly stopped loving him because Floki was his oldest friend. He was the man who helped build the first ships that changed Ragnar's life forever. Their friendship had been built over decades. That history doesn't erase Floki's betrayal, but it explains why Ragnar couldn't simply stop loving him.

I think this is incredibly important to remember in our day-to-day lives. You might witness someone at their worst and question how anyone could love a monster like them. It's because they are not remembered as a monster by everyone.

We constantly judge strangers by their worst actions, but we judge the people we know by the entirety of their lives. I am guilty of doing this all the time. I enjoy watching true crime documentaries, and I often catch myself thinking, How could the friends or family of the criminal still love them? It's because they still hold on to the years of memories they shared together. Meanwhile, the victims and their families remember something completely different.

Now, I want to emphasize that I am not saying monsters deserve forgiveness. Rather, I believe people are often more complicated than the worst thing they have ever done. Our emotional attachments don't simply disappear because someone has failed us. Understanding someone's humanity is not the same as excusing their actions.

[mischiefmaker615]

One-shot idea: You find yourself somehow transported to Loki’s cell in the Asgard dungeon with no idea how you got there. Once Loki determines that you’re not a threat, he uses illusions to hide you from prying eyes and, well, there’s nothing more dangerous than a bored god of mischief. 😈

Title: One Wish Willow

Rating: DARK ELEMENTS! (R@pe warning/dub con)

Your body landed on the ground with a thud, disorientating you just a moment before you fluttered your eyes open. 

Right before they shot open. 

The floor was a cold marble, the air even colder. Everything was so bright.. So clean.. So isolated. What stared back at you was a gold gaze of light, humming quietly like one’s air conditioner at home. Each wall seemed to be the same way and it was not at all homey when your gaze squinted through to find a few guards in gold armor posted up throughout the hall.

‘’Welcome to Asgard darling,’’

That voice.. That familiar voice.. Drenched in seduction and trickery.. You already knew who it was before you even spun around, your hand ghosting over your hip as if you still carried your gun on you.

‘’Loki..’’ you seethed, knowing he had to be the one to be behind all this. 

He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, wearing his signature colors but in a more comfortable attire such as cloth and leather rather than his battle gear. His hair was a bit longer, less styled than how he had it back in New York- but no less stylish for his taste. His scent intoxicated your senses, even if the two of you stood quite a ways apart that carried a sort of pine and masculinity to it. It almost had your eyes fluttering, just as they had the first time you had smelled him.. But that was a long time ago. 

What stood behind him was a simple bed, a table that had a chalice and a few books upon it. Other than that, the room was bare and what surrounded you both was nothing more than a prison.. Come to think of it, as you dared risk a glance behind yourself, you were indeed in some sort of prison!

Your body tensed, standing in a defense position with your fists now curled like you could stand a chance against the god. Your attire was no less out of place than yourself in this realm- sporting an oversized hoodie and jeans you were hoping to get out of if you hadn't so happen to disappear and teleport realms away from your world.

‘’Wha-.. Where-’’

‘’Asgard darling, as I've stated once before. I see your realm still dulls thy education, truly those creatures hold you back from what could have been your greatest potential.’’ Loki sighed but looked no less amused while you took a step back from him just encase.

‘’Like i said before, i have no intentions on helping you, and if this is your sick joke to try to blackmail me other wise, i would be willing to bet the others are not far behind from retrieving me and making your situation even worse.’’ you threatened, having faith your comrades already knew about this mysterious situation and before you knew it, would bust right in the room and get you out of here.

The look on the prince’s face told you otherwise.

‘’On the contrary dear Y/N, they have no idea of your whereabouts. No one does, actually.’’ he grinned, even having the gull to spread his arms out as if to show you how totally alone the two of you seemed to be in the spacious cell.

You stared at him as if to catch his bluff, but he remained as calm as the grave. Taking another glance around your surroundings again, you debated on shouting at one of the guards, asking for help or at the very least, making your presence known because something told you, Loki had his cell to himself for a reason.

‘’Oh, don’t bother. They will neither hear you nor see you.’’

Loki’s answer had you look back at him to glare, only to see his hand was held up and his Seidr swirled around his fingertips as if to emphasize that his magic had something to do with that.

Great.. Just great..

Drawing in a breath, your mind tried running over options while you looked at him carefully, your heart beginning to pick up even faster. ‘’..i don’t know what you want from me, but it’s not going to-’’

‘’It’s clear you are trying to stall and reason your way out of this Y/N, but let me soothe those hopes right now by saying, you’re quite stuck with me.’’ Loki said simply with almost a shit eating grin, clearly enjoying watching how your brain began to scramble for a way out.

If there was one, he wouldn't be here.. However, there had to be some hope right? I mean.. How did you get here?

His footsteps drawing closer had your mind snap back to reality. ‘’The guards cannot help you. Your friends aren't on their way. No one on your pathetic planet even knows about your disappearance, nor will they ever. I very much suggest you accept this new reality so that we may begin to make things between us.. Easier.’’

‘us?’

His words prodded you like a hot iron at the side, making you eternally cringe while your shoes began to back you up with his same pace. Though his legs were longer, he was getting significantly closer to where you almost tripped backwards, risking a glance behind to find yourself already at the golden, buzzing window you knew better than to touch. You didn't know much about Asgard, but you could bet that one single touch to that energy field will hurt far more to a human than to its people it was made for. 

Drawing in a breath, you glared up at him with the nagging fact that your chin had to dip up just to meet his eyes. ‘’..what do you want? And how did I get here?” you demanded, voice much quieter now as the tip of his shoes grazed yours once he stopped. 

The way his smile grew wider while his eyes seemed to study your face, the more you were actually considering leaning back into the humming wall. His hand came into view, your eyes dropping enough in question before you felt the light brush of his fingertips beginning to caress right under your jaw.

‘’I’ve been waiting for this for quite some time Y/N.. the timing, the calculations, all of it couldn't have been more perfect.. Quite the..’’ his eyes flicked to yours. ‘’Wish come true.’’

You glared at him, showing disgust on your face as he even dared to touch you with your whole body growing rigid. ‘’What are you talking abo-’’

Your words were cut off short when these slender, cold fingers suddenly grasped around your neck, causing your hands to come flying up and try to pry off his. It was a useless task against a god, he hardly seemed to notice your struggling when he began raising his arm, causing your feet to begin lifting off the ground until you were up at eye level with him.

‘’Your going to have to learn your place darling if you are to stay here.’’

‘’B-but i dont w-want to..’’ you struggled out, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to take in a concentrated breath before you felt yourself being brought forward, your chest ghosting up against his as he seemed to inspect you with a smirk.

‘’You have no choice darling, allow me to explain,’’ he suddenly tossed you to the side, causing your body to thunk on the ground once more and slide a little to a stop. 

You winced, pain shooting up your elbow and hip from the impact but more so concentrated on drawing deep breaths of air now that you finally could. This man clearly hadn't changed at all during his solitary confinement. Granted, you wouldn't doubt any one would find themselves pissed being locked up with the idea that they did nothing wrong, but being locked up WITH the person in such a temperament, even made your stomach twist with the realization of how vulnerable you were. 

You and he hardly made contact during his time on earth, but it was enough for him to clearly remember you. It was during the time where SHIELD had him contained- as temporary as it was, and it was your job to conduct the interrogations- including trying it out yourself. 

It was during a frustrating time, and if you would have waited just a bit longer, Romanoff would have gathered what was needed. But in desperate times, that's when you normally went in when all agents failed. You hadn't gathered much info from him, he was quite focused on trying to flirt with you instead, leading up to some choice words with a promise that you would never touch royal rejects like himself until the day you died. 

The smile that followed right after, would be one that would haunt you for the rest of your life, even if you did hear how Thor took him back to Asgard. Now, you were quite facing the day you would die and the possible events that would happen leading up to it scared you the most while your body began to scoot you back away from him as he began walking towards you.

‘’Ah, you remember,’’ Loki smirked, seeming to read your mind while his steps pressed forward like a man who had all the time left in the world. ‘’I’ve looked forward to making a liar out of you.’’

You drew in a shaky breath and brought your eyes up to him. ‘’I’ll never touch-’’

‘’You have no choice darling, or at the very least, can't refuse me.’’ he said with his expression falling into something unreadable while his hand left from behind his back, holding up something you’ve never seen before. 

It looked like a longer, skinny match box with red shapes covering the tan background. If perhaps you were back on earth, you might have mistaken it for a candy bar but at the end of it, had sharp jagged edges as if someone had just broken a piece of it off. It was clear you had no idea what it was and you eyed Loki who looked almost annoyed you didn't know what he was presenting. 

With a condescending sigh, he held it up and looked over it with admiration. ‘’It's one of my oldest party tricks, but nevertheless the most popular when i released a few to you Midgardians.’’ he smirked and eyed you with growing mischief. ‘’Have you ever heard of the One Wish Willow?”

Your brows furrowed, having never seen nor heard of such a thing and grew even more confused that he was presenting it at a time like this. However, it didn't sound like it was going to help you and you figured him being distracted by such a thing could present you a chance at escaping- or at the very least, time to find a weapon.

‘’Never heard of it.’’ you said with pure disinterest while you eyed the furniture over by your side when Loki glanced at the little box admiringly.

‘’Quite a shame, this could grant someone their purest desires, no matter how dark, sick or innocent it is.’’ Loki smiled, his thumb running over it while you slightly scooted towards the little table, freezing when he began looking over and spoke to encourage him to keep distracted.

‘’Sooo like a genie, but just one wish? Everyone knows they don’t exist.’’ you rolled your eyes, only half interested while you took a pause to genuinely look at it. Wasn't something like that.. Impossible?

‘’Many people say the same thing about gods and,.. Well, here I am.’’ Was he making a jest? His smile quite said so, but you gave him a dry look while your mind calculated what to grab first when you found yourself close to the table. Side eyeing him as he looked over the knock off candy bar, your mind suggested grabbing for the chalice.

‘’I've thought long and hard about what to wish for. I hardly had an interest in using one myself, but when I found myself in a..’’ he glanced around. ‘’Particular situation, I was quite presented with the obvious choice.’’

You could feel the muscles in your arms tense, ready to lash out and snatch your only choice of weapon while glaring up at him. ‘’And let me guess, you used it to help with your escape?” 

‘’Doubt me all you want Y/N, but these are very much real.’’ Loki said seriously as he then tossed it into your lap, startling you as you looked down at the thing. ‘’You honestly think I couldn't escape the very realm I grew up in? That be quite a waste indeed.’’ he smirked and watched how you briefly picked it up to look at it. ‘’As for one of your questions, you’ve asked me how you got here..’’

You furrowed your brows and looked up at him, tossing the small box aside with no interest and raised your knees up to your chest, looking ready to stand when he took a step forward. ‘’Well I hope you didn't wish for company because i’m the last person who’s going to assist you.’’ you snapped at him but the back of your mind questioned on why exactly you were here.

If he could escape this place like he claimed, why hadn't he? You were inside the cell, not outside, so your assistance proves useless. In any case, why you? There were literally thousands of others who he knew that could have presented better abilities or assistance- even if he had to blackmail- was this really all because you hurt his feelings back when he was captured?!

Your eyes slowly raised to his and the look on his face made your skin crawl, almost as if he were admiring you.. Lovingly?!

Glaring back at him, you cleared your throat and leaned your weight more towards your actual goal- the chalice. 

‘’Perhaps not your idea of assistance.. But very much company indeed.’’ 

His seductive voice had you tense, the both of you being at some sort of stale mate before you drew in a breath. Sharpening his eyes as he seemed to read your mind, his eyes flicked over to the table just as your body tensed up. ‘’Don’t-’’

Your body shot up, ignoring him with the pure adrenaline to get there first before your hand snatched up the metal cup, knocking a few books on the table as you ungracefully spun around and to your feet, then realizing he hadn't made a move to stop you. No matter.. You had a form of protection.. perhaps it was strong enough to knock him in the head or something.. But either way, you stumbled back for new distance.

‘’I don’t know what the Hel you're talking about, nor do I really care. You’re going to magic your way to get me back home, and then I'll think about putting in a good word to my team so we may forget this whole thing ever happened,’’ you explained quickly, pointing the cup at him as if it were your gun in which he just glanced at with an amused expression. 

‘’Y/N, would you like an honest answer or would you like me to show you?” Loki offered, now truly throwing you into confusion, especially as he takes a step forward as if your threat didn't mean shit to him.. Which it probably didn't.

‘’I want to go home- even here you're a prisoner and have no grounds to tell me what to do! Whatever sick game you think this is, it's just going to make things worse for you and-’’ your words got far quieter as he got closer and closer, somehow closing up more distance faster than you had thought where his chest now pressed up against the chalice, continuing until your arm was now beginning to be forced to bend from its straightened position, all while you stumbled back and nearly tripping over yourself.

‘’I told you Y/N, you're stuck with me.’’ he smirked and extended his hand out slowly, taking hold of your wrist before you had the chance to stop him and he pulled you to a stop, pressing the cup to his chest himself to merely tug you closer to him. ‘’Get used to it.’’

‘’S-So what? You wished for me to be here? Why? It’s a waste of a wish- i could merely just leave.. As soon as the guards figure things out, it's.. It’s not literal..’’ you reasoned in a rushed tone, hating how calm he was while you tried wretching your wrist back, finding it strange just how less energy you had to do so. Instead, your grip tightened on the handle, almost as if that was the next thing he would try grasping.

‘’Oh dear Y/N, you hardly even notice it’s already begun,’’ he cooed, his thumb stroking over your wrist’s flesh while you felt a shiver run down your spine. 

Your heart pounded, looking at your hands to him, to your hands again, as if trying to believe what you were seeing- the audacity of him touching you! Gritting your teeth, your free hand suddenly moved and took hold of the chalice from your other, bringing it up with such force, there’d be no way the guards wouldn't be able to hear the clank of the uppercut you were about to deliver! 

Just before it could make contact with his jaw, your hand came to a stop. 

Did you freeze? No.. there’s no way you would have held back.. This son of a bitch deserves every ounce of this! Taking a deep breath, you quickly tried again before he could think twice on moving away- but that's the thing.. same result happened, and just like the first time, he didn't move an inch. In fact, the bastard’s smile got wider and wider the more you looked panicked and kept drawing back the chalice, just to swing it and have it stop a mere inch away from his body.

‘’Wha..’’ your eyes grew wide, panic and confusion running through your body while the prince’s hands slowly moved to rest behind his back, as if to give you a mock chance at trying again. 

Glaring, you tensed your leg with full intention on ramming into his balls- but it’s as if your brain knew exactly what you were intending and you couldn't even move your foot off the ground. You dropped the chalice, swinging an open hand this time right towards his face, but same thing. Your leg, same thing. Your other arm- Hel, even shoving forward to headbutt him-

Same thing.

Nothing. 

All while he continued smiling and even held back a chuckle while you looked more and more frustrated while you were getting closer and closer to screaming. Why couldn't you hurt him?

You looked more like an idiot- flinging your limbs around just to have them stop before you could touch him. WHAT THE HEL?!

‘’Wa.. Why can’t i…’’ your words trailed off when you realized there was a shake to them and the sight of Loki’s hand raising up made your eyes grow wider upon realizing just how much power he had and you had nothing.. 

Was he going to hit you? Hurt you? Have a turn now that you clearly couldn't land a blow? Your body noticeably got tenser as his hand raised but his expression seemed to grow softer, that look of someone loving returning to his face. You hardly had any time to react when that hand gently brushed across your cheek before sliding his fingers into your hair, giving a firm grip before suddenly yanking your face forward to collide your mouth onto his own. 

His eyes were closed, moaning instantly at the immediate taste of you and your heart beat a million times faster. What was worse? Your body wasn't cooperating when you tried to will it to back away, not even turn your head or even bite his lip off as he continued to run his tongue at your entrance before forcing its way into your mouth as far as it could. 

Your yelp only sounded like a high pitch moan while you felt his chest now up against yours, his other hand snaking around your waist to tug you even firmer against him before you were aware of something hard pressing up against your pelvis. 

And still, you couldn't move.

Well.. yes, you could move- you raised your hands in fact with the intent to push him hard in the chest away but they merely rested against it instead. It’s not like you were enjoying his administrations- as skillful as he was-, for some reason, your body just couldn't cooperate and hurt him!

Perhaps your sounds of frustration finally got to his ears after he had been busy tongue fucking your mouth, maybe he couldnt hear you over his own moans, maybe he didnt care, or maybe he just finally needed to breath, but he FINALLY pulled away but his lips hovered a mere inch away from yours.

‘’Are you finally understanding now darling?” he grinned, his voice breathy with the heavy heat of lust.

‘’Wha.. What did you do to me? Why can’t i-’’

‘’Hurt me? That’s the thing darling, you can’t.’’ he smirked and suddenly released your hair, pressing his hand now to your chest to give you a firm shove backwards so that you’d land on his bed he must have turned you both towards. 

You bounced on the mattress and scrambled to sit up on your elbows, tensing when his body moved to stand before you. You glared at him, ignoring the heat in your cheeks from the mind buzzing you could feel against your lips and went to scoot away from him instead once a knee joined the mattress.

‘’W-what are you talking about?” you stuttered, all sarcasm and hate having taken a pause to now leave you feeling actually worried about the situation at hand here. 

His hand effortlessly caught your ankle, leaning his body forward onto the mattress so that by the time he yanked you towards him, you were already right under him. He looked at you with a shit eating grin, finally relishing in his victory on.. whatever he had done to get you like this and your hands extended out to push at his shoulders, only being able to rest them.

‘’I could have hurt you darling, I could have hurt many others. But I got to thinking about what I wanted my wish to be. A throne? Perhaps, revenge? Maybe. And then my mind began to wonder back to those times where I found myself in that cell, being subjected to interact with those mindless mortals until i finally got you to come to me yourself.’’ 

Your body tensed and you held your breath when his eyes began to wander over you, lightly biting his bottom lip as if wondering where to start first. His eyes flicked back to yours and you almost flinched.

‘’Oh what choice of words you had, though I could hardly make each of them out when you’re body caused quite the distraction, it’s a shame you weren't around when i did manage to escape- i even devoted a bit of time trying to find you if I hadn't been on a tight time limit.’’

You shivered at the thought of him seeking you out while you scrambled with the rest to try to maintain the Helocarrier in the air. What would he have done? Where would he have taken you? Would results for the fate of New York be different if you had? 

His hand grasped your chin and raised it a little, coaxing your eyes back on him before his thumb began stroking your bottom lip, instantly making you want to turn your face away but were unable to do so.  ‘’You wouldn't touch a royal reject until the day you died, wasn't that what you said?” you actively swallowed and squeezed your lips shut when you felt the pressure of his finger trying to pry. ‘’Quite the liar we have here.’’ he smirked.

‘’I am not touching you.’’ you mumbled out, flinching in fright when your body betrayed you and his finger slipping into your mouth, stroking your tongue before teasing its way towards your throat.

‘’Perhaps not, but what matters is there isn't a single thing you can do to stop me from touching you.’’ he purred and began lowering his body down, fitting it against your like a glove where he let out a gentle moan of pleasure. 

Your eyes only grew wide, finding yourself absolutely helpless when you could neither move away, bite, nor show any form of resistance while his head dipped down and ghosted the tip of his nose against your neck, inhaling.

‘’So my darling, do you know what I wished for?’’ he whispered, feeling your thighs press together before he slowly ran his tongue against your neck with a hum. ‘’I wished for your surrender.. Your unresisting, unwavering partnership..’’

‘’Why didn't you wish for me to love you?” you mumbled against his finger, flinching the next second as he pushed too far and making your throat damn near contract around his digit, he couldn't help but tilt his hips into you.

‘’Where’s the fun in that? It’s much more fun when you are of your own mind and knowing there isn’t a damn thing you could do to stop me..’’ he purred and flicked his gaze up towards the guard with a smirk. ‘’And given my life sentence, i’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to get used to it where it won’t feel like a wish anymore..’’

His finger was then removed with a wet pop, making you close your mouth tight encase he’d do it again. He then sat himself up, watching you as you shook below him with hesitance before your eyes watched him move off of you to sit down on the bed instead. With a moment of pause, you sat up as well, wanting to get away from him again and went to get off before his hand came to your hair again to stop you, keeping you sitting beside him.

‘’I know you might find the need to run, or move away or perhaps find other ways to try to defy me, but i assure you Y/N, it won’t do you any good other than force my hand.’’ he warned but his voice was calm, almost as if lecturing a child before you noticed a hand moving to his groin.

‘’L-Look.. If what I said in the interrogation room truly upset you that much.. Then let me at least apologize.. Y-you don’t have to go through this intensity just because i hurt your feelings or something.. This all will just make things worse for yourself-’’ you rushed out quickly, feeling the sting in your scalp but was unable to move your head away. 

It's as if this man had you on strings, his own little puppet in a way… perhaps you were able to move yourself to the other side of the room, move your head away, stuff like that.. But any form of touch with intention.. Your body seemed to be under his spell.. His ‘wish’ as he calls it. Your eyes looked over to the other half of the wish on the ground not too far away.

It had to be.. Impossible..

‘’How.. How do you stop it?” you whispered, fully doubting he’d even tell you before the sound of a zipper going down made you jump and move your eyes back to his lap. As soon as you saw his hand dip into his pants, your body tensed to move away- but to no result.

‘’No please- please L-Loki i don’t want to do this- by gods.. You can’t do this!” you whimpered, honestly surprised you were able to say such words without this ‘so called wish’ interfering but something told you Loki had something to do with it because he seemed to be getting off on a little of your resistance.. What little you had left..

‘’How do you stop it?’’ he echoed, completely ignoring your begging before pulling out the monster that had tried humping you earlier.

Eyes blown wide, you were staring back at his erection that definitely spoke for the gods. He was large, larger than any you’ve seen and your jaw already began to ache at the thought of what he most likely would make you do as he pulled you by the hair closer.

‘’One of us would have to die darling.’’ His words showed fear in your eyes as you looked up at him, hands now planting on his thighs in hopes to stop him but, indeed, gave no resistance in your limbs as he pulled you enough to him to have you rest on your knees. ‘’I most certainly have no intention on harming you, or myself and i promise you have no will to bring harm upon me nor yourself with how close I plan on keeping you.’’ 

The sound of stroking skin hinted for your eyes to look down from their strain, his slender hand now gliding up and down his cock with his hips raising teasingly as his pleasure began by being administered himself. Something told you, you’d be taking over very soon.

‘’L-Loki.. Please.. You can’t do this..’’ you whispered, squeezing your mouth shut as he pushed your head down just enough to begin stroking the tip of his cock against your lips, the drops of precum moistening them with a salty tang. 

‘’You have no idea how long I've been waiting for you darling.. To taste you.. To fill you.. For you to please me, and we’ll have all the time in the world for it..’’ he cooed, swiping his cock against you to emphasize every word before you felt the pressure begin to push at your head, and slowly, your lips began to part.

‘’Life sentences don’t have to be terrible, and don’t worry baby..’’ his eyes fluttered at the sensations finally of satisfaction from your mouth and couldn't resist the grin he sent over to the match-like box laying on the ground. ‘’Ill make sure you’ll love me forever..’’

Note: Hope the ending wasn't crap- other than the disappointment of a cliff hanger, BUT i definitely wanna write more on this concept!!!

~also sorry for some spelling mistakes.. i was finishing a beer LOL

Tag List: @kitcatling @wolfsmom1 @mitsukichiis @justhereforthememes27 @saturnuswrites @mlpotter @dreamerofasgard @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden @kathren1sky-blog @eleniblue @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @queenofstarsign85 @slytherinqueen4life @soulpiercing @westwindrhapsody @lulubelle814 @angelofthorr @lolathecorso @literatureatthebowofnails

[mischiefmaker615]

Infected

Summary: You're left alone with Loki to babysit him in the van while all the action takes place outside.. or is it inside?

Rating: R

Song Request: Infected by Bad Religion

Requester: @clancy-the-pretty-odd-killjoy

You couldn't help but cringe whenever the cuffs got your attention, reminding you just how messed up the organization you worked for could be. 

Loki had been doing tremendously well since New York- showing progress in his ‘rehabilitation’ by working on being better. He's gained mutual trust amongst the tower and the two of you had become close friends- and yet, car rides always had that stupid rule that handcuffs were required. 

‘’It's okay Y/N.’’ His gentle voice got your attention as you looked over, meeting his reassuring eyes that he was neither in pain nor discomfort while taking up the back of the van. ‘’It’s not so bad.’’

You gave a small sigh, wishing honestly you were allowed to at least sit beside him- sitting sideways against the van’s walls wasn't exactly limo tolerable. ‘’Are they tight?” you nodded to indicate the cuffs, wanting to check anyway since he now and again would rotate his wrists in his lap.

‘’I meant the company.’’ he teased and you couldn't help but laugh, especially when the two of you noticed a dry look coming from over Steve’s shoulder who had taken the front passenger seat. 

‘’Its not my decision either Loki, you know Fury calls the shots.’’

‘’And yet how much is Stark able to get away with?” Loki challenged, watching how Roger’s shoulders slumped at how right the statement was.

‘’I'll talk to him again, we’ve already pushed a bit of your leaveway and-’’

‘’He deserves it Steve, he’s helped so much on our recent assignments.’’ you pointed out, crossing your arms defensively as if you were the one being talked about but Loki shook his head. 

‘’Worry not about me Y/N, ill be free soon enough.’’

The statement had Steve whip his head around with a sharp look, only to find what Loki called his ‘kidding face’- which most of you all were still trying to recognize. 

‘’Sir, there seems to be a call coming in.’’ The agent in charge of driving SHIELD’s transport van got Roger’s attention. The screen lit up Stark’s face then who seemed to be semi distracted with loud interference behind him.

‘’Speaking of.’’ Loki mumbled.

‘’Gonna need you guys to make a pit stop-’’

‘’We’re not stopping at another coffee shop Stark.’’ you noted dryly before Tony shook his head.

‘’Different this time- we have more agents than anticipated and gonna need a little help, I saw you’re just about to pass the block.’’

‘’Romanoff isn't with you?” Steve raised a brow and already gave the driver a look that told him to change their route and head over.

‘’She is but she’s heading towards the root of the problem so i’m covering the outskirts which.. Seems to be scattering faster than I can keep up,’’ Tony cleared his throat, clearly having a hard time admitting such a thing but he did have a power problem back at home when Thor thought it was a good idea to ‘bring the toaster back to life’ and interrupted most of the repairs Tony was working on.

‘’We’ll head there right away and join you.’’ Steve nodded and Tony hung up. 

You just began to shift in your seat, feeling the familiar itch that stirred up whenever you were about to get the adrenaline rush but by the look on Steve’s face, you deflated quickly. 

‘’Were gonna have to stay here with Loki.’’

You raised a brow and the two of you glanced at each other before you returned back to Steve. ‘’Why can't we both help?”

‘’We’ll have enough coverage and you know Fury still hasn't found out about most of the cases where he’s helped,’’ Steve sighed and looked over at Loki. ‘’If you want those off sooner, we’re going to have to start following the rules.’’

‘’Fine by me, i quite enjoy watching the struggle from in here.’’ Loki shrugged with a smirk and would have relaxed his hands behind his head if he were able too. 

‘’Please Y/N,’’ Steve pressed, trying to suppress his irritation from the god- as if we needed another sarcastic smart ass on the team (his words, not yours) before you gave him a little nod.

‘’No problem.’’ you promised before glancing out the window to already find the van pulling up at the scene in question. 

In all actuality, you didn't mind staying with Loki.. if it didn’t make you hella nervous. The two of you have grown quite close in your friendship, the way people would flirt playfully but hinting on the borderline of meaning it but not confirming it. Unless you were reading the room wrong, you were getting small hints that Loki kinda liked you.. The way you liked him. You never were this nervous from the beginning.. But he’s begun quite recently to watch you intently, fondly, even speak in a way where it was almost.. Seductive? 

‘’Y/N.’’

‘’Huh?” you snapped out of it and looked over at Steve who was already fixing his face mask with the door half way open.

‘’Call if you need anything,’’ he warned, knowing he was also telling you to stay focused while you sheepishly gave him a thumbs up before he and the agent exited the car. 

As soon as the van’s doors closed, you were left in an almost loud silence, the kind where it was almost awkward and you thought that even the smallest shift would be too loud.

‘’You are nervous today.’’

Loki’s voice noticeably changed, that seductive tone he often took when the two of you were alone together. It sent that shiver right down your spine and although he still stayed sat in the backseat, somehow it almost sounded like he spoke right up against your ear.

‘’I feel like.. Their on to us..’’ you said quietly and turned your head to look at him, seeing how his eyes already waited for yours.

He smiled knowingly and lounged more in his seat, looking like he wished to cross his arms if he could. ‘’I ceased at my flirtations upon request love, anything else they pick up on could be merely out of assumptions.’’

You raised a brow accusingly at him with the faintest redness to your cheeks. ‘’I’m pretty sure they saw you touch my ass when I got into the van first.’’

Loki smirked. ‘’Merely accidental, I wished you not to misstep when entering but have to work with my.. Limitations.’’ he sighed and shifted his hands to make the cuffs known.

You weren't buying it for a second but allowed yourself to look at the cuffs finally with an honest expression, one filled with concern and longing to have them off. ‘’Seriously though.. Do they hurt?”

Loki’s expression became unreadable as he watched you, giving the faintest nod up to gesture for you to come over. ‘’Come investigate them.’’

‘’Loki..’’ you warned, giving him a small look while he gave you an indifferent one.

‘’No tricks darling, this is hardly the right place to take advantage of you.’’ he said innocently and your cheeks heated up.

‘’And here I thought you devoted yourself to being the perfect gentleman,’’ you quietly teased but nevertheless, slowly stood up and made your way over to where he was, having to hunch a little in the not so tall van.

‘’You could hardly blame my wavering patience when you keep looking the way you do,’’ his eyes hinted at looking you over, even if you were in your work uniform.. Then again, it was your tight jumpsuit.

‘’And how do I look?” you questioned, feeding into his teasing while his hands outstretched to meet you half way to take hold of yours, encouraging you to move closer until you now stood between his spread legs.

‘’Like you absolutely want to fall for me..’’ he smirked and you hesitated when you felt the light pull on your hands to indicate for you to lower yourself.

The two of you hadn't done anything necessarily.. Overboard to compromise your job or his trust.. But the growing tension of flirtation, touch and make out sessions were hiring the challenge by not absolutely devouring each other. You could never take on a friend with benefits, but the two of you hinted at loyalties where you'd be absolutely serious on being his partner if the world would have allowed you too.. 

Fury would claim he mind controlled you, getting you closer in hopes to perhaps gain an allie, secrets given and a chance to present escape. Fury knew nothing.. Nor did the team who now and again would often hint at suspicions themselves.. You knew Loki.. Loki would never do such a thing.. And you'd want nothing more than for the two of you to be together than having to just resort to subtle (not so subtle) touches, gestures and whispered words.

‘’We can work it out..’’ Loki whispered, drawing you back in the present as you looked at him, seeing how he continued to hold onto your hands while looking up at you as if he had read your mind. 

‘’You know it’s not that simple..’’ you sighed and felt him nudge your hands again, finally allowing yourself to sink down onto your knees so the two of you were more on eye level.. With Loki taking on a slight hunch as he leaned forward to look at you.

‘’It’s as simple as a disease darling.’’ 

His words made you look at him strangely, knowing he wasn't trying to be insulting but his hands clutched yours tighter to prevent you from pulling away. ‘’Do elaborate so that i do not get further insulted,’’ you half teased and he grinned, raising his hands quickly to catch onto your chin next, keeping you looking at him even amongst the awkward position with his wrists tied.

‘’They are the disease darling, the thing that negatively affects the structure or function of a good thing from happening.’’ he said gently and you studied his face a bit more.

‘’So you're saying.. You and I have a disease?” you almost wanted a laugh at the metaphor the two of you were sharing but that was your relationship wasn't it? All hints towards things that could be easily straightforward and explained. 

Who wants to be boring?

‘’Mmm precisely darling, or at least for as long as we keep living amongst these conditions..’’ he whispered, hinting towards the world amongst you while keeping his eyes on yours as if that was all he could see. His arms raised, being slow and gentle before he suddenly had you in the circle of his arms, his wrists resting just above your hip bones and pulling you closer to rest against his chest. 

You smiled gently at him, scooting all the more closer before raising your arms to wrap around his neck. You knew how you felt for each other, but you’d be lying if you didn't admit your frustrations weren't growing with the limitations you both had to endure because of SHIELD.. No.. because of him..

‘’I regret my actions all those years ago if I would have known it would compromise something I truly wanted.. Someone I truly love.. Our lifestyle right now is because of me.. And i cannot tell you how grateful i am for your patience and-’’

‘’Loki,’’ you stop him, noticing how his desperation and regret began to seep through and you brushed your nose against his to have him pause and look at you. ‘’If you and I are incurable.. To a world that no matter what, wants to keep us separate and stay blind from what they can't see between us.. I will gladly stay infected..’’

It didn't necessarily sound romantic, but the two of you just got each other. The world wouldn't understand, but the world didn't matter to you both. 

Loki’s eyes stayed on you until they began to flutter at the feeling of your looks brushing against his, teasing you at first before he pressed them a bit more firmly against you with his eyes falling closed.

The two of you simultaneously hummed against each other’s mouths, kissing each other over and over and over again with growing passion with each time you reunited. There came a point that you completely abandoned the fact that there was no exact time limit on when your comrades may return and you climbed up onto his lap. He was careful, holding you carefully in the loop of his bound arms until you were finally straddling him, pressing your chest back against his to return to kissing him, this time with his tongue slipping into your mouth. 

Kissing Loki always felt like the first time.. The passion, the intensity and domination, whether he was cuffed or not. The way he growled in your mouth when your fingers slipped into his hair, either tugging to scratch his scalp while his head leaned more into your touch. His own hands kept you firm against his, his fingers flattening enough to grasp at your ass and knead at it. 

If the two of you weren't in the van, your clothes probably would have finally been torn off- but there was always that knacking reminder that the two of you would always have to hold a little back.

Leaning back for air finally, the two of you looked at each other through half lidded eyes and his voice came out nothing more than a whisper.

‘’I wanna take you..’’ 

Your eyes fluttered and your head tilted back when you felt his lips now at your throat. ‘’Not here..’’

‘’I want to break you..’’ he growled, tugging you even closer against him while he nipped at your flesh, the feeling of his bulge twitching below you had you raise noticeable in the air, you almost considered it.

‘’Loki…’’

‘’Stop me before i do it again..’’ he whispered, desperation and need in his voice while you could feel his thighs tense below you and need to buck up.

The feeling between your own legs also was pulsing, the want to rub and hump him causing your legs to squeeze around his hips, you looked down at him with that shared mischievous look he often had when getting into trouble.

‘’Darling..’’ he warned, his jaw tense and you moved your hands to his shoulders now to stabilize yourself, fluttering your eyes when you pushed back a little before dragging your hips back towards his own, rubbing up against his bulge again that not only stimulated you, but had him getting riled up as well.

‘’Not-.. Gods.. not.. Here..’’ he didn't sound convincing much as his head fell back with his eyes shut, swallowing thickly as you repeated your action with the same pace in hopes to tease him. ‘’Darling.. You’re killing me..’’

‘’I’m suffering along with you.. But luckily nothing is quite impossible with the right determination..’’ you whispered, the corner of your mouth tugging up and you questioned if the two of you really were going to do this..

A hum left his lips as you began dragging back and forth, tilting your hips enough to stimulate your clit through your tight uniform before dragging your entire center over his bulge, giving him the same simulating pleasure where his hips began to tilt up and meet you.

‘’Fuckkk..’’ he groaned, Midgardian language having rarely left his tongue unless it were times like this- even if this was probably the riskiest thing you’ve ever done..

‘’I want.. Mmm i want too..’’ you mumbled, that coil beginning to wind up in your pelvis as you firmly began to hump him, adding a little bit more speed while his hands gripped onto you and helped drag you forward.

‘’I know darling.. I know.. So do i..’’ he ground out, fluttering his eyes open to watch you while your pupils blew up with lust.

The two of you kept at the rhythm, almost intentionally where you didn't want to finish just yet but to make this moment of pleasure last through touch and passion. Your thighs began to shake, ignoring the slight burn as the pleasure acted as a great distraction and your fingers curled now into his shirt.

He began to pant, watching you as if you were the most beautiful creature he had laid his eyes on before reaching up, cradling the back of your head before pulling you down, capturing your lips in his once more. 

The two of you moaned, your hips growing faster while his hips began to rock up into yours. His tongue explored your mouth, almost shoving deeper if you hadn't pulled back enough to bite at his bottom lip. The tease ran his hands back down to your ass, firmly grinding you back and forth against his hips before you began to feel his bulge pulse way more.

‘’Loki.. I’m.. i’m..’’ you whimpered, your arousal almost there while his pulses seemed to almost vibrate against your clit in the most delicious way.

‘’Go ahead dalring.. Cum for me.. Right here..’’ he whispered, his lips parted in a silent moan while he was nearly there himself.

With one more firm drag, your head throws back and you let out a moan, feeling your empty cunt clench around noticing but pulse and begin to drench a bit through your panties.

It only took a moment after you before Loki’s hands held you down against him, almost as if he were holding you down on his cock had it been inside before he pulsed and groaned, creaming his own pants while the two of you rode your high.

Your limbs shook and you wrapped your arms around him with your chin resting against his shoulder, taking in his sweet scent while he buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply until his hips began to slow down and settle. 

The two of you held each other for awhile, climbing down from your highs while feeling your heart beats against each other’s chests. You squeezed your eyes shut, emotions running through you with the need to squeeze him, kiss him, Hel- even cry with how much you cared for him.. 

His breathing grew even while his hands rose to gently begin rubbing one against your back soothingly, resting his chin against the spot between your shoulder and your neck.

‘’Loki?”

‘’Mmm?” he said quietly, thoroughly relaxed and you could almost hear the smile in his voice.

‘’We’re going to be okay..’’ you said quietly, almost snuggling closer before you felt him lean back, making you lean back as well to let him look at you.

His eyes were gentle, a smile soft on his lips while he looked up at you with as much love as you had in your heart. ‘’I know we will darling, i promise..’’

The sound and feeling of someone hitting the car caused you both to snap your attention towards the window, just enough time to see an enemy agent pass down onto the ground out of sight. Someone must have thrown him.

Raising your eyes to take in the scene, the two of you just discovered the battle happening right outside the van- shield’s flying, blasts firing, Tony darting in and out of your vision while people ran a muck to either evade Cap or throw a useless fist towards him. A battle scene at its finest with the dusk coming up to cover most of the view.

‘’..you think Fury would find out if we go out there and help?” you asked plainly just as the van rumbled and shook before settling again.

The feeling of Loki’s arms pulling you closer, followed by the growing bulge that began to come back below you drew your eyes back to his awaiting ones.

‘’Actually, why not the two of us sit this one out?” he smirked, that mischievous look coming to his eyes again and you knew exactly what he was planning to do.. again.

DM a song for your own Musical Mischief one shot!

Tag List: @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden @kathren1sky-blog @eleniblue @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @queenofstarsign85 @slytherinqueen4life @soulpiercing @westwindrhapsody @lulubelle814 @angelofthorr @lolathecorso @literatureatthebowofnails

[sapphirew3b]

Loki was comfortably settled on his stomach between the plush warmth of your thighs, red bite indents on the inner part of the flesh from his love nips.

His face was hovering over your pulsing heat as his upper body was exposed to you, leaving his muscles to drown under your gaze with tight, black boxers hugging his hips and bulge. The only regal piece of armor cladding him was his golden horned helmet that laid over his silky, raven hair.

His hazy, emerald eyes were dissecting your expressions, paying attention to each little movement and passing emotion on your face.

His chin was grazing against your clit as a devilish smirk tugged at his oral commissure, "I am dying to get a taste of that sweet nectar, lovely. Your juices are more intoxicating than any fine Asgardian mead." He rasped, a slight growl under his words as the vibrations of his voice rattled throughout your flesh.

Your chest felt hot, you could get lost in the way Loki was looking at you. His gaze made a heat pool in your stomach, almost making you instinctively buck your hips against his sharp chin.

"Please taste me, Loki baby" You breathed out almost weakly, your eyebrows furrowing softly. The need on fire in your eyes is very evident to Loki, and that along with your words had his hands gripping your thighs tighter and his resolve slipping.

With a simple, cool blow of air from Loki's lips and a wisp of green magic flowing along your lace panties, they disappeared from your hips.

He growled as he jerked your legs open, his knuckles turning pale from his grip. You swore you saw his pupils blow out at the sight of your leaking cunt before he took a long drag of his hot, heavy tongue across your pulsing bud.

Your head flew back against the mattress instinctively, your fingers flying to grip one of the cold metal horns on his helmet.

You couldn't hold back your cries of ecstasy from the mind-dissolving pleasure from Loki's warm muscle, your eyes rolling in the back of your head as you grind your hips against his working tongue.

He groaned against your wet heat, your juices collecting around his mouth the more he devours you. His eyes would flutter close momentarily, only to savor the taste of you and how wrecked and beautiful you sounded for him, before opening his eyes again to watch your body and face intensely. He examined every movement, every sound and every expression that came from the beautiful woman he was currently feasting upon.

Your breath was ragged and shallow, your chest heaving up and down. Your cheeks and chest flushed red from your dilated blood vessels as the weight of the pleasure threatened to crash down on you.

Loki couldn't get enough of you, he wanted you to feel every ounce of his need for you. He sucked your clit between his lips, stroking his tongue underneath the swollen bud. He could see the way your soul started to descend, every crevice of your being shattering under his hot, needy mouth.

"Oh, Fuck, Loki!" You cried out, arching your back off the mattress. Your other hand went flying to the other horn of his helmet, your fingers gripping the cold metal for dear life.

Loki grinned against you, enjoying the way you used his armor to anchor your spinning head. Your pretty little faces and moans is what got to him most, though. The way your face contorts with each flick of his tongue and the beautiful, melodic cries that strain from your throat, it made him want to lock you both away and consume you like this until the end of all the Nine Realms.

A celebratory feast was held in the Golden Hall of Gladsheim upon the following next day.

You chatted with other Asgardians in the hall, having light conversations as you tried some of the finest and juiciest slabs of meat.

Though, you were painfully aware of the bruising gaze on your flowy, translucent green gown made of soft, Asgardian silk. It was the only gaze that could send tickles down the back of your neck. You turned your head over your shoulder softly, immediately locking your eyes onto his beautiful emerald pools that stared right through your very soul.

Loki was sat in a chair on the raised dais, his back leaned against it while his posture was relaxed and regal. He held up the mask of a Prince, but even his weakest enemies couldn't mistake the burning fire in his eyes.

A knowing smirk tugged at his lips, giving you a suggestive look while his eyes darted up to his golden horned helmet he was wearing and then back to you. The same helmet you held onto so tightly to brace yourself against Loki's ravishing tongue the night before.

A wave of embarrassment crashes throughout you as you realize what he was referring to, your cheeks flushing pink as you suction your lips under your teeth.

I mean, his horns are a good handle.

I found this idea from a Pinterest post that I can’t even find anymore lmaoaoaoa anyways me personally I’d be GRIPPING his horns 😋

Check out my previous Loki pov if you haven’t already!! .𖥔 ݁ ˖

╰┈➤ 💚

[unicorn-of-mischief]

This Shirt...erm...This Morning with Tom Hiddleston

[oswildin]

(Probably incorrect) theory time!

This sequence feels weird to me.

The way Steve is looking at Mjolnir there when he catches it, he lingers on it far longer than is necessary for someone who has already wielded it once before… It looks like he’s thinking: “it worked. I’m wielding Mjolnir.”

And then there’s that little smirk afterwards too… and you know who this mf looks like lowkey?

(Loki is infamous for his one sided smirks/smiles lol).

Classic!Loki said he was able to make an illusion of himself so real, even Thanos himself was fooled. Sylvie has the ability to enchant and take control of other people. Loki had the ability to create duplicates, use shadows and also access people’s memories via touch (Thor Ragnarok)…

Theoretically, our Loki would be deemed ‘worthy’ in the eyes of Odin now to hold Mjolnir after his sacrifice to save the lives of the people on the branches and understanding the weight of what it means to be a ‘King/hero’ now. (I have my own thoughts about Loki being able to wield Mjolnir but that’s beside the point for this theory).

If we are to believe that this shot in the trailer is from Loki being at Steve’s house, then the possibility of Steve and Loki working together in some capacity is there. Perhaps, for some reason that will become clear in the film, Loki disguises himself as Steve to help the others because he may be thinking: “well, who’s gonna believe me? I’m a liar, a trickster, I’ve betrayed them all before…”

Loki is known to have the biggest pet peeve with Steve for his ‘righteousness’, his overly heroic and good nature, so wouldn’t it be ironic that now he’s using that to get the others to trust him? (Whether it be through illusion, projection, enchantment or something). He knows they trust Steve, Steve was one of their leaders. It makes sense why he would choose Steve as a vessel for good.

Plus, we’ve already seen him pretend to be Steve…

The Loki we get in Doomsday isn’t GoS Loki, not yet. These events will take place during S2 EP6 for Loki, where he discovers something much bigger and worse than Kang/He Who Remains is coming… The incursions & Doom. But GoS Loki still exists and is sat in the tree of the multiverse, because Loki still intends to timeslip back to the TVA before the loom implodes to save the branches. Loki knows his fate, he knows what he must do… He knows…

Loki brought the Avengers together once before as the villain, now… He’s bringing them together once again as…

Avenger Prime. (Or ‘The Beyonder’ role for the MCU). In the comics, he wears a mask and unmasks to reveal his identity as Loki before helping the Avengers fight Doom… What if Steve is his mask?

Secret Wars is when we will get GoS Loki (with or without his powers).

(Note: this is just a wild theory that I’ve been thinking about since the trailer dropped lol, it’s unlikely to be true, but I think it would be pretty cool personally. 🤷‍♀️ Yes, I’m a Loki stan, yes I want my man to be very important to the film, duh lol. Also I still think STEVE himself is actually present/involved, Marvel wouldn’t take that away from the fans I fear lol).

EDIT: Also… WHAT IS SHINING ON STEVE IN THAT SHOT WITH THOR?! THE SUN! THE SUN! THE SUN!

[tomlokixarianastanx93]

Loki In Thor 1 gifs 3/4

[mintchao]

He the who ?

Loki looks way too happy in that photo lmao

Who even took it ?

[unicorn-of-mischief]

😆

[insanityclause]

‘Pompeii: Out of Time With Tom Hiddleston’ Review: Uncovering Survivors

One of the questions that may pop up about “Pompeii: Out of Time With Tom Hiddleston” is “Why Tom Hiddleston?” Many celebrities get involved with nonfiction projects as a result of their own curiosity or advocacy, but the actor (“Loki,” “The Avengers,” “Thor”) has credentials: He studied classics at the University of Cambridge, can translate much of the Latin we encounter in this three-part series, and cites an early visit to the so-called Frozen City as inspiring not just his academic pursuits but his acting.

There has been no shortage of attention paid to Pompeii in recent years by archaeologically inclined television, but “Out of Time” takes its own tack: “This is a story / This is a history” reads the opening title to this National Geographic survey of new discoveries, including the progress being made by the Pompeii Survivors Project run by “helpful classicist” Steven Tuck. (Mr. Hiddleston gets ID’d as “amateur classicist.”) The project is designed to take names found in inscriptions collected from across the ancient Roman world and match them to names that appear after the catastrophic eruption of Vesuvius in A.D. 79. Anyone mentioned anywhere following the blast is presumed to have survived it, and perhaps lived through it. One of the phenomena examined in “Out of Time” is why more Pompeiians didn’t flee during or after the foreshadowing earthquakes, and that’s a fascinating area of study all its own.

Mr. Hiddleston connects the survivor accounts to the creative arts through a necessary use of imagination. Only so much about the subjects who are made the focus of the program can be discerned from flimsy data that’s some 2,000 years old. But plausible profiles can be constructed through circumstantial evidence, what we know about both nature and the lifestyle of Pompeiians, and where a survivor might have turned up later. Is it concrete? No, nor ash. But it makes sense. One example: Over the course of two generations, as determined through financial records, the family of a teenager named Avianius went from being upper class (grandpa paid for the paving of the streets) to being among its neediest, the young fellow apprenticed to a blacksmith and his single mother desperate. The tracking of his progress might be called speculative history.

Dramatizations of the several lives studied put figurative flesh on the petrified bodies of the volcano victims, and those who escaped such a fate. Why didn’t they all head for other hills when the big one nearby (still about 10 miles away) started making the sounds of indigestion? Someone like Cornell’s Caitie Barrett (“helpful archaeologist”) can disabuse Mr. Hiddleston (and us) of some of the presumptions held about Roman culture and its variations in Pompeii. But Sarita Robinson (“helpful disaster psychologist”) gets to the heart of one of the big Pompeii questions: “I don’t think people have changed that much in 2,000 years,” she says. Even under the worst kind of duress, they don’t want to flee their homes, their belongings, certainly not their families, despite the threatening burps of Vesuvius. Or, we see today, incipient floods, tornadoes and hurricanes. Mr. Hiddleston may be practicing speculative archaeology here and there. But the hard truths of human nature bring us closer to the people who perished in Pompeii.

Pompeii: Out of Time With Tom Hiddleston

Wednesday, 8 p.m., National Geographic

Mr. Anderson is the Journal’s TV critic.

[unicorn-of-mischief]

Fornica nullam querelam caliga habet.

[no-fudge-left-to-buy]

Honor Among Thieves ll Loki Laufeyson

pairing : loki laufeyson x valkyrie!reader synopsis: when your sorta-not bff is too busy to commit crimes with you so you try to murder them. cw: sorry if the prose is bad. i don’t speak british | loki's a toxic attention ho but what’s new | i in no way condone the relationship in this fic. if a man treats you like this irl kill him | some thor hate. does not reflect the author's true feelings towards thor. | loki being too stressed to do his hair flip thing | reader calls loki ‘your highness’ twice (mockingly?) | it starts out cringe but I swear it gets better | no beta we die like loki notes: the fic is finally here and it only took three months of me crying at 3 am whenever i got stuck. i hate hate hate writing fight scenes. but pls enjoy. word count : ~6k

♫ from eden - hozier

Prologue: The Beginning 

Loki has been accused of being a lot of things. ‘Thief’ is one that comes up often but this is his father’s armory. Everything in here will be his when he ascends the throne of Asgard. Moreover, he’s only borrowing. Once he gets bored with his new acquisitions, he’ll return them all, unscathed, and no one would be the wiser.

Somebody else must have thought the same thing as him, for as he enters the vast armory he finds a shadowy figure by one of the shelves. 

You’re examining the intricate carvings on a small ceremonial dagger— admiring the meticulous dwarven craftsmanship of it— when you feel a change in the air and the presence of someone in the room with you. You spring into a defensive stance, the dagger held in front of you. It might only be ceremonial but it is sharp. 

Loki stands at the entrance watching you, pale in the moonlight. You’re startled by his presence but not enough to lower your weapon. 

Something curious flickers in Loki’s green eyes as the two of you continue to regard each other. "You're not bowing," he finally says, voice echoing in the vast armory.

"Neither are you," you reply.

Loki’s thin lips curl up into a mockery of a smile. “I could have your tongue removed for that.” he hisses. 

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, your highness.” You adjust your grip on the dagger. “But I have a feeling you shouldn’t be down here either.”

“Well, you’ve given me the perfect excuse for being here now.” Loki drawls. He stalks further into the room, his eyes fixed on your every move. “And honor demands I defend my father’s house from a thieve.” He flicks his wrists and twin blades appear in his hands, their fine handles curved and molding to his palms like affectionate snakes. 

You drop the small dagger and pick up a sword instead— running a hand along the long slender blade before holding it out in front of you. “Rumor has it you’re not much for honor.”

“Someone ought to teach you some respect.” Loki rushes you without warning and metal grates against metal as you raise your sword just in time to block his daggers. 

Loki doesn't miss a single move, memorizing all of your tells in record time and making it impossible to use any of your reliable moves more than once for fear of predictability. But growing up in the dark corners of Asgard has thought you a thousand different ways to take down opponents, even those twice your size. You were in no real danger of running out of tricks anytime soon. With Loki's next strike you use the flat side of your sword to knock one of his daggers out of his hand.

Loki flexes his now empty right hand before passing the remaining dagger to it. “Now we’re evenly matched.” he says.

“Oh, don’t insult me.” you answer.

The loss of the dagger doesn’t slow Loki down by any noticeable amount. He’s still a formidable foe. And you find yourself infuriatingly impressed by his performance. Growing up in the palace, he must have had the best instructors and it shows in how easily he wields the smaller weapon to his fullest advantage.

With a flick of his dagger, he knocks your sword aside and his free hand shoots out and closes around your wrist. His grip is firm and cold. Too cold.

You kick out instinctively and your boot connects with Loki's shin. He doesn’t flinch. Instead his eyes slide to yours, glittering with something that isn’t quite anger. “You fight dirty.” he remarks. 

“Let go,” you grunt, heart hammering.

“Make me.” Loki says, one elegant eyebrow lifting.

You twist yourself out of his hold and elbow him in the jaw. He stumbles back and you adjust your sword in your newly freed arm. “How’s that for dirty?”

Loki’s fingers come up to his jaw, delicately feeling where your elbow struck him. “You’re infuriating.”

“You’re just mad I’m better than you.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“You have it.”

Loki laughs. 

The fight changes after that. It becomes less about killing and more of an exchange— a conversation conducted in steel and footwork, in near-misses and sudden pauses. He would feint left, and you would shift right, and your swords would cross, and for a second you would be frozen there, face to face, breathing the same air.

“There are plenty of other armoires for you to rob.” Loki says during one such pause. “Why the royal one?”

Your blades are locked at the hilt, your faces inches apart. So close you can see the veins on his eyelids and every flyaway strand of hair. “The thrill.” you breathe. 

Loki’s eyebrows pinch. “The thrill, huh?” He suddenly breaks off, shoves you back, and throws his remaining dagger. It embeds itself in the ground where your foot had been. “I call a truce.”

You glance down at the blade then back at Loki, standing there completely unarmed now. “Why should I trust you?” you ask, trying to figure out what trick this might be. 

“You shouldn’t if you’re smart.” he says, and there is no jest in his voice. “But I would like to make you a deal.”

You consider your options. You’re equally matched and the fight is going nowhere, both of you unable to best the other. The odds of you getting out now without him alerting the guards is also slim. You decide to entertain the offer. It could buy you time if nothing else. “On what grounds?”

"You're competent,” he says. “I could use competent.” 

You loosen your defensive stance as you regard him. “What’s in it for me?”

Loki smirks. “The whole of the castle.”

The Fall

Your fate changed forever under the canopy of Idunn’s Apple tree. You’d just touched the smooth skin of one of the golden beauties, a faint tendril of its legendary power and sweet scent wrapping around you, when you’d been caught. 

Odin was impressed you got as far as you did before getting caught and in his mercy, offered you a choice— join his Valkyries or suffer death for your crimes against the throne. You went for the infinitely more appealing choice even though it meant you had to learn to walk the straight and narrow path from then on. No more stealing, no more elaborate pranks on the castle guards, no more replacing the kitchen wines with vinegar before a feast. No more of the things you used to do with Loki. 

But you built a life and a name for yourself. No longer the street urchin breaking into villas in the dead of the night. You’re the protector of the realm’s peace now. People rest easier for your work. Honorable work. 

It’s a slow night for you as after a long day of drills, you’d been assigned the low effort task of patrolling Odin's treasure room, a vast hall filled with his spoils of war from all over the nine realms and gifts given to him by gods desperate to curry his favor. If only they knew they sit on piles of gold coins, forgotten after never even having reached the All-Father’s hands. 

You’re broken out of your musings by a clumsy clutter from a little ways off followed by a string of colorful curses hissed in a voice you’d recognize in your sleep. “Dammit, Loki.” you mutter, changing course to where you heard the commotion from. You find him desperately trying to shove a set of wyrm-bone arrows back into their large quiver.

Loki turns around, sensing your approach. He kicks the remainng arrows aside and smiles at you as if you’d just run into him at the market square. "Well, look what the cat dragged in." he says, still smiling. "I havent seen you in forever. How have you been?"

It has been quite a while seen you’ve seen Loki in any capacity more than passing him in the halls or at Odin’s left hand during war councils. But there had been a time when you’d spent almost every waking moment of your days exploring the ins-and-outs of the vast castle with him, causing mischeif and whatever else you can get away with. Even though you never stopped regarding each other with a healthy amount of suspicion, you had formed some form of camaraderie. Maybe even friendship, although you never called it that. But that was before the apple and you becoming a Valkyrie.

"Busy." you answer, crossing your arms over your chest. "You know I’m going to have to report you now, right?"

“Come on.” Loki says, holding up his hands. “You don’t want to do that. Let’s talk it over.” 

“Your silver tongue doesn’t work on me, Loki.”

Loki huffs a resigned laugh. “Believe me, I know.” He flicks his wrists and his daggers materialize in his hands. “How about a duel then? For old times' sake.”

You sigh before pulling out your valkyrie sword— a plain, well-balanced blade that’s the standard. In three simple strokes, you send both of Loki’s daggers flying off to skid under shelves and disappear. 

“How…?” Loki stammers, still staring at his suddenly empty hands. 

You sheath your sword, trying not to let the easy victory get to you. “I was studying the blade in all the time you spent in Madam Sjofn’s hall.” 

Loki’s ears crimson. “Oh, you misunderstand.” he says, laughing nervously. “I only go to fetch my brother.”

“And that takes you half the night?” you ask.

His discomfort melts away to be replaced by that infuriating smirk. “Have you been watching me?” Loki drawls. 

It’s your turn to blush. “No. Not me.” you say, trying to keep your tone even. “But word travels fast. Especially when it concerns the second prince. Especially when he’s seen doing things unbecoming of a prince.”

Loki scoffs. “You used to be fun. What happened to you?” 

Your smile fades. “I outgrew you, Loki.” you say. “I have responsibilities now and I can’t afford to have you ruin it for me just because you’re bored—”

“I’m not bored.”

“— or because you believe you have some sort of binding claim on me.”

“You owe me your life.” Loki interrupts.

“Then let me repay my debt the only way I can. Leave now and no one need know you were stealing from the treasure room again.” He starts to say your name but you cut him off. “Go.” you say. “Your highness.” you add, hoping to soften the blow. 

Loki knits his brows. “This isn’t over.” he spits and turns on his heels to storm out. 

“It never is with you.” you mutter to the empty room. 

The Trial

Loki, Prince of Asgard, has just accused you of treason in front of the entire court.

"I saw her myself," Loki says, voice silken and unhurried. He stands beside Odin's throne, dressed in his formal robes and gold filigree, radiating smug righteousness. "Passing intelligence to a Jotunn operative in the Nidavellir trade district."

The throne room is silent. Three hundred courtiers hold their breath. And you, standing in the center of the marble floor with your hands cuffed in front of you, feel your blood turn to molten iron.

"That is a lie," you say, your voice steady despite the fury coiled in your chest. "And the prince knows it."

Loki tilts his head, a parody of curiosity. "Does she call the prince of Asgard a liar in your presence, Father? In front of the entire court? How very treasonous of her."

“I wouldn’t dare.” you reiterate, jaw clenched so tight you feel your molars crack. “But there must be a misunderstanding here—”

“There is no misunderstanding.” Loki interrupts. He turns to Odin. “She’s stood here before your judgment once already, Father. This is not out of character for her.”

Murmurs of assent ring through the hall at the memory of your last trial. 

Odin raises Gungnir and taps it once. The sound cracks through the hall like thunder and the murmur ceases. "Enough.” voice calm but carrying. “Valkyrie, you stand accused of a grave offense. Do you have evidence to refute the prince's testimony?"

You look at Loki. He looks back at you, and beneath the mask of courtly arrogance, you see it— anticipation. The glee of a cat who had cornered a mouse.

You have no evidence. The meeting he describes never happened. But Loki is the God of Lies, the master of illusion. If he had fabricated a memory or created false witnesses, you would never prove your innocence in time. Moreover, he is a prince of Asgard. You are but a common thief who rose to Valkyrie status after getting caught stealing from the Allfather himself. Your word alone would mean nothing against his.

"Allfather," you say slowly, "I ask only for a trial by combat. Let the gods judge between my word and the prince's."

A fresh wave of murmurs ripple through the crowd. Trial by combat is rarely invoked, undeniable justice: if you win, your innocence is proven by the divine will of the Norns. If you lose, you die a traitor's death.

Odin's single eye narrows. He looks between you and his son, and for just a moment, a weary look crosses his weathered face. "Loki. Do you accept this challenge?"

Loki smiles, his glee palpable from across the vast hall. "Gladly."

———

The training yard is cold. A thin layer of frost has settled over the cobblestones, and the braziers along the walls cast dancing orange shadows across the combat circle. A small crowd had gathered; Valkyries, nobles who had heard the news, even a few of Thor's companions, though he himself is off-world.

You stand on one side of the circle, dressed in your Valkyrie leathers and your sword in your hand. No shield. You had never fought with one. You hadn’t slept a wink all night with the threat of the trial hanging over you, and you pay for it with the subtle fatigue you’re already feeling. 

Loki, on the other hand, stands opposite you looking well-rested and utterly unbothered. He’s changed into his battle leathers too, dark green and black, and he holds his daggers with a casual ease. His dark hair is pulled back from his face, and in the firelight, his features look sharper than usual.

"Last chance to confess," he calls across the circle. His voice is conversational as if your life doesn’t depend on the outcome of this duel.  "I can be merciful. A quick death, perhaps. None of the screaming."

"Last chance to tell the truth," you reply, settling into your stance. "But I suspect that's anatomically impossible for you."

The crowd laughs nervously and Loki’s eyes flash. He doesn’t seem to be enjoying this as much anymore. 

A deep rumbling horn is blown and the crowd quietens— the signal has been given.

Loki moves first— not toward you, but sideways, circling like a wolf. His footsteps make no sound on the frost. You track him, turning to keep him in front of you, your sword held low and ready.

He lunges.

The first dagger comes high, aimed at your throat. You parry, and step into his guard, too close for his second dagger to find purchase. Your shoulder slams into his chest, and for a heartbeat, you’re pressed against him, close enough to smell leather and something cold, like winter air over a frozen lake. “Why are you doing this, Loki?” you ask. “I thought we were friends.”

His eyes widen just a fraction. Instead of answering he twists away, graceful as water, and you feel the edge of his second dagger whisper across your ribs— not too deep thanks to your armor, but enough to draw blood.

"First blood to me," he murmurs, retreating to the edge of the circle.

You touch your side. Your fingers came away red. Your breathing quickens as it finally dawns on you that he means to go through with this to the end. You wipe the blood off on your leg and grip your sword tighter. "It's not over until one of us yields or dies."

"That can be arranged."

He comes at you again, faster this time, a blur of steel and green. His fighting style is fluid, deceptive, full of feints and sudden shifts. One moment he’s low, the next high, his daggers spinning in patterns designed to confuse the eye.

But you had not survived this long by being easily confused. You stop trying to track his blades and start watching his shoulders. The way he shifts his weight. The tells of his face a fraction of a second before each attack. Loki lies with his tongue, but his body is honest.

You catch his next lunge on your crossguard, shove his arm wide, and bring the pommel of your sword up into his jaw.

The crack echoes across the yard. Loki staggers back, one hand flying to his face where a dark bruise begins blooming across his cheekbone. 

For a long moment, he just stares at you, his chest heaving. Then his eyes turn wild and fill with what looks almost like delight. "Yes," he says, licking blood from his split lip. “This is much better.”

Loki returns with renewed vigor and it's all you can do to keep up, every move you make reduced to nothing but a desperate attempt to keep his attacks away. Your longer blade gives you more reach but Loki is fast and gracefully darts past your guard with almost no effort. 

The crowd watches with batted breath, gasping every time a fatal looking blow is delivered. 

But you stand your ground, refusing to die by a liar's hand under false accusations. 

He strong-arms you off balance and the crowd groans, thinking it’s over for you. But you see an opportunity. You roll, come up, and kick his legs out from under him.

Loki hits the frost hard, flat on his back in an instant, and you’re on him before he can move— one knee pinning his sword arm, your blade at his throat. You press the edge against his skin, just shy of drawing blood. Your hands tremble a little.

"Yield," you say.

He looks up at you. The firelight catches the green of his eyes, turning them into deep and unfathomable pools of gold. His chest rises and falls beneath your knee. His free hand comes up slowly and he brushes his fingers against your wrist, feather-light. "I yield," he murmurs, so quietly that only you could hear. "I yield everything. I always have to you."

The crowd erupts in cheers. Someone’s calling your name. Hands reach down to pull you to your feet, to clap you on the back, to declare you innocent by the will of the gods.

But you don’t hear any of it. You’re still looking at Loki, still feeling the ghost of his fingers on your wrist, still trying to understand what he said.

He rises slowly, brushing frost from his armor. His jaw is already purpling. His hair has fallen across his face but he doesn’t bother with fixing it. And as the guards move in to lead him away— for even a prince could not level false accusations without consequence— he turns to you one last time.

"This isn't over," he says.

"No," you agree, your heart pounding. "It isn't."

Revelations

Loki is confined to the palace under house arrest, stripped of his council seat and his ceremonial duties. 

You returned to your post, promoted— as a gesture of apology from Odin— to command of a cohort of Valkyries. Your days are filled with drills and briefings and the thousand small monotonies of military administration.

Your nights— when you can sleep— are filled with dreams of green eyes and a split lip and fingers on your wrist.

You tell yourself it’s hatred. The natural fixation of someone who had nearly died at the hands of a liar. You have every right to despise Loki. In his childish whims, he almost had you executed. He had called you a traitor and done everything in his considerable power to ruin you and your reputation.

And yet… And yet, when you walk the palace corridors at night, you find yourself detouring past the library. Past the observatory. Past the small, disused solar where you had once seen him sitting alone, reading, his face soft and unguarded in the pale moonlight.

You’re not looking for him. You’re... patrolling. Simply attending to your duties. 

One night, months into his confinement, Loki finds you.

You’re in the weapons vault, inspecting a new shipment of blades from Nidavellir, when the torches suddenly flicker and dim. The air grows cold and tendrils of frost start curling along the blade you’re holding, blurring your reflection in it. You turn, sword already half-drawn, and find Loki standing in the doorway— pale and gaunt, dressed in simple gray, his wrists free of shackles.

"You're supposed to be confined to your chambers," you say.

"I am," Loki says. "These are my chambers."

You look around at the racks of spears, the mounted shields, the bust of some long-dead warrior. "This is a weapons vault."

"This is my favorite weapons vault." He steps inside, and the torches flare back to life. "I used to hide here as a child. Thor would search for hours and never think to look among the axes."

"Your brother is a fool," you say, leaning against a shelf.

"My brother is the only person in the Nine Realms who has never stopped believing in me." Loki's voice is quiet, thoughtful. "Even when I gave him every reason to stop."

"That must be exhausting."

He smiles— small, tired and unexpectedly genuine. "You're still angry with me." he says, and there’s a faint hint of guilt in his voice. 

You turn away from him and replace the sword on the rack. "I'm still deciding whether to report you for violating your confinement."

"You won't."

You look back at him and his infuriatingly smug smirk greets you. "And why not?"

"Because you're curious." He moves closer, slowly, like a man approaching a wild animal. "You've been walking past my door for months, I know. You want to know why I did it."

"I know why you did it.” you say. “You're petty and cruel." You go to move past him and he locks his hand around your arm to stop you. 

"True," he agrees. "But not the whole truth."

You wretch out of his hold but don’t walk away, taken aback by what you see now that you’re standing close to him. The torchlight pools in the hollows of his cheeks, creating shadows under his eyes. He looks thinner than before. Weaker. But his gaze is the same— sharp and searching and uncomfortably perceptive.

"Tell me," you say, against your better judgment.

Loki’s silent for a long moment. "Do you know what it's like?” he starts. “To be the second son. The spare. The monster that Odin found in a temple and decided to keep as a pet?" 

You roll your eyes. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Loki. You're not a monster."

"Aren't I?" He looks up, his eyes wet. "I tried to have you killed because I couldn't stand the thought of you being happy without me. I couldn't stand that you had earned everything you had— your rank, your reputation, the love of your fellow Valkyries— while I remain the reviled beast the realm only tolerates because I’m Odin’s over glorified shame.”

The confession hangs in the air between you, raw and bleeding.

"You're telling me you framed me for treason," you say slowly, "because you were jealous?"

"No." He steps closer. "I framed you for treason because I wanted to see you break. And when you didn't— when you stood in that throne room with your head high and your voice steady and asked for trial by combat— I wanted to see you fight. And when you fought—" His voice cracks. "When you fought, I wanted you to put your blade to my throat and look at me the way you looked at me before. When I was still worth your time."

You stand frozen. Your heart is pounding so hard you’re certain he could hear it. "You could have just asked," you whisper. 

"And would you have said yes?" His smile is bitter as he points back at himself. "Would you really have willingly kept associating with me?"

Somewhere in the distance, a guard's boots echo on stone, carrying over to you on the complete silence as you stand there trying to form an answer. The torches flicker. Slowly, carefully, you raise your hand and cover his where it rests against his chest.

His breath stutters.

"You tried to have me executed," you say.

"Yes."

"You called me a traitor. You made the court believe I had sold secrets to our enemies."

"I really am sorry."

"You're a liar and you have no honor."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "You might have said something similar before."

"And yet," you say, and the word comes out softer than you intend, "here I am. Still talking to you. Still indulging you. Still—" You stop before you say something dangerous you won’t be able to take back.

But Loki has always been too clever for his own good. "Still what?" he breathes.

You pull your hand away— in self-preservation though it looks like rejection. "Still deciding whether to report you."

He catches your wrist before you can retreat. His grip is gentle this time, as if he’s assured himself you won’t shrug him off again. His thumb brushes the inside of your palm, tracing the calluses left by a lifetime of sword work. "Stay," he says. Almost a plea. "This is me asking. Stay with me. Just for a little while. I've been alone for three months, and the walls are starting to whisper."

"You're a grown man, Loki.” you say, still seeking to put some distance between you. “You can handle silence."

"I don't mean the silence." He pulls you toward a low bench against the vault wall, and you let him. "The walls here are old.” he says, voice trembling slightly. “They remember things. They remember the last time a frost giant walked these halls. They remember the way Odin's voice sounded when he told me the truth about who I am."

You concede and sit beside him, close enough that your shoulders almost touch. “No one blames you for that, Loki. It’s your own mind that’s playing tricks on you.”

“Odin said the same thing.” His voice is flat. "He said the only reason the truth was kept from me for so long was because he had meant to tell me when I was older. That he had been waiting for the right moment. That he loved me as a son, regardless of my blood."

You look into his eyes, the anguish in them, the betrayal he feels. "But you don't believe him."

Loki laughs without humor. "I’m the god of lies. I know a lie when I hear one. The Allfather didn't tell me because he loved me. He told me because Thor will become king one day, and he needed me to know my place. To know that I could never inherit the throne, that I would always be second, always lesser."

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask. 

He turns to look at you, and his eyes are ancient and exhausted. "Even when my own father treated me like a beast that must be kept on a leash indefinitely, you never made me feel like the villain.” He pauses. “Not until you got your cushy seat with father’s prized worriers anyway."

The weight of his words settle over you like a shroud. You realize now that in your efforts to prove your reformation, you’ve been neglectful of Loki. "You're not a villain," you say after the long pause.

"Then what am I?"

You reach out and take his hand, lace your fingers through his. His skin is cold, always cold, but his grip tightens around yours like a drowning man grasping a rope. "Misguided," you say. "Angry. Lonely. Hurt." You squeeze his hand. "But not a villain. Villains don't realize their mistakes and come clean."

He stares at your joined hands. “I almost got you killed.” His voice is rough. "You should hate me."

"I do hate you."

"Then why are you holding my hand?"

You turn on the bench to face him fully. The torches gutter low, throwing his features into sharp relief— the bruise long faded, the split lip healed and the unnaturally fragile expression on his face. 

"Because," you say, "I’m only really me when I’m with you. These past few months I’ve felt more myself than I did in all the years I’ve tried to be good. And… I dont know, but maybe we’re not that different, Loki.”

The words hang between you as Loki goes very still. His eyes search your face, looking for the lie, the trick. He finds nothing. "You can't possibly mean that," he whispers.

"I can and I do. And I hate that I do. I hate that you tried to destroy my life and I still—" You stop, steeling yourself to force the words out. "I still think about you. At night. When I'm alone. I think about the way you looked at me in the training yard, and I don't know whether I want to kill you or kiss you, and both options terrify me."

Something flickers behind Loki's eyes. The mask he’s worn like a second skin for so long slides away. Underneath is just a man. A strange man in a strange land who had spent his entire life reaching for something that looks like him, reflects him.

"Kiss me," he says. "If you're going to kill me, kiss me first. I want to die knowing what it feels like."

"You're being dramatic." You try to let go of his hand but he holds on tighter. “Loki…”

"I'm always dramatic.” Loki says, growing bolder, inching closer to you. “It's part of my charm."

A laugh escapes you and Loki's face breaks out in a smile that’s nothing like his usual smirks and sneers. 

Next thing you know, you’re kissing him. And he’s kissing you back, careful at first, then deeper, more desperate. Your free hand goes up to thread your fingers through his hair, and he makes a sound against your mouth as you pull him closer. Unlike his hands, his lips are warm. 

You pull back just far enough to breathe. His forehead rested against yours. His eyes are closed, his lashes dark against his pale cheeks. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time now.” Loki whispers, soft as a prayer. 

Epilogue: The Garden

Three weeks later, Odin lifts Loki's house arrest. The official reason is good behavior. The real reason is that you had implored the Allfather to show his son some measure of mercy by claiming a desire to be the bigger person. Odin only smiled one of his smiles before agreeing to grant your request. 

Of course, you don’t tell Loki that part. He would have been insufferable about it.

The first time you see each other in public after the duel, is at a feast celebrating the end of the Vanaheim trade negotiations. 

Loki arrives late, as is his habit, and finds you standing in a small cluster with your fellow Valkyries. Off duty for the night, your group shine like jewels in shimmering gowns of every color but Loki has eyes only for you— disarming in emerald green. He wonders if you are doing it to torment him. 

He makes his way over and the Valkyries scatter, leaving you alone with him. 

Loki brushes his lips delicately against your knuckles. “It’s nice to see you out of armor.” he murmurs against your skin. 

“Well, no one’s trying to stab me, so I can afford to have a little less coverage.” you answer, in the tone of someone making a neutral observation. 

Loki straightens up, smirk firmly in place. “Ah, but of course.” 

“Where’s your helmet?”

Loki's hand goes up to touch it out of habit before he remembers it’s not there and drops his hand. “Didn’t seem occasion appropriate.”

Murmurs erupt in the hall when people notice the prince and the Valkyrie he accused of treason not long ago talking. Gossip doesn’t die easily in the halls of Asgard but in time the novelty of it all will fade. You just have to give it time.

“I’ll find you later,” you whisper to Loki. 

Loki doesn’t let go of your hand immediately, choosing to instead run his thumb over your knuckles once more before finally letting your fingers slip from his. 

Later, after the feast had dissolved into drunken chaos and Thor had challenged a Vanaheim noble to an arm-wrestling contest, you find Loki on the rooftop garden overlooking the city. The stars spread out above, cold and distant, and the lights of the palace glowing warm below.

“Had enough of the festivities?” you ask. 

Loki turns to you. “Just needed somewhere I can hear my thoughts over Thor’s blustering.”

“Yeah. He’s really enjoying himself.” You come and stand next to him, leaning your elbows on the parapet and fixing your eyes where Loki’s had been a second ago.

"I got you something." Loki says after a pause, his hand going to a hidden pocket of his suit. "An apology gift." He pulls out a sheathed dagger and places it into your hand.

You recognize the triangular blade. It was the same one you'd been holding the day you met him. With an addition to the handle— your initials carved in with a delicate hand. “Loki—“

“It’s lawfully obtained.” he says, guessing what you were about to ask. “You have my word.” He carefully takes the sheathed dagger form you and fixes the handle into a loop in your belt. The gold is striking against the emerald green of your gown as it shimmers in the starlight.

"It's going to take more than this to get back into my good graces," you say, only half joking.

“I’ve heard a rumor that you had a hand in my being here tonight." He glances at you sideways. "Does that mean you believe in me now?"

You run your fingers against the cold edge of the dagger, feeling it warm with every pass of your skin over the blade. "I believe you're capable of being better.” you say, quietly as if in reverence of the still air. “There's a difference."

He considers this. A breeze stirs his dark hair, and in the starlight, he looks almost peaceful. He turns to face you fully. The city glitters behind him, a thousand tiny lights reflecting in his eyes. He reaches out and takes your hand slowly, giving you time to pull away. You don’t.

"I'm not good at being honest,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on where your hands are joined, “or kind, or any of the things you deserve. I will probably hurt you again. I will probably lie to you again, not because I want to, but because lying is the only language I know."

You look into his eyes and they have more sincerity in them than you’ve ever seen there before. "I know."

"And you're staying anyway?"

"I'm staying," you say, squeezing his hand. "Not because I trust you— I don't. Not because I've forgiven you— I haven't. I'm staying because I want to see what happens next. I want to see if the God of Lies can learn to tell the truth." You step closer and his breath hitches. The scent of frost and pine wraps around you, familiar, comforting. “Can you do that?”

“I can try.” Loki kisses you, soft and slow, no hesitation this time. His lips move against yours like he’s trying to memorize the shape of them, the way you sigh when his hand settles on your hip.

When you finally pull apart, the stars have shifted and the music from the feast has faded to a distant buzz.

“Good.” You thread your fingers into the collar of his suit and yank him down. “But cross me again, Loki, and there will be deadly consequences.”

Loki's startled but he recovers quickly. "Good." His smile is genuine and utterly devastating. "I'd hate for things to get boring."

Lily's Masterlist Marvel Masterlist

The screenshot that started it all btw. Pinterest did this and I thought “wouldn’t it be fun to write a Loki fic inspired by a hozier song”.

[hadesisqueer]

Two World Cup finalists from opposing teams in this fucking picture, this sport isn't real

[hadesisqueer]

Context for anyone who is wondering: Lamine Yamal's parents won an UNICEF raffle for a charity photoshoot in which Barça players posed with kids, and 5 month old Lamine happened to get 20yo Messi. Which is like. Literally insane

[joyflameball]

[onyxbird]

Uh oh, buddy, did you dip the entire baby in the good-at-soccer water? You didn't think ahead and leave, e.g., his heel, mediocre at soccer just in case?

[unicorn-of-mischief]

Baker Tom of Pompeii