When yours and Loki's paths cross in his brother's auto repair shop, a trip to the mechanic's leaves you with more than just a fixed car.
Written for @thorandlokibingo 2025.
Square filled: Mechanic AU
Pairing: Loki x f!reader
Warnings: AU, mechanic!Loki (past), mechanic!Thor, Loki lowkey trauma dumping if you read between the lines, intern!Peter, shady sandwich deal, Wanda is in love with Loki but he avoids her like the plague, Loki flirting and being unprofessional with a customer (you) but tbf he doesn't actually work there anymore, Loki casually activating praise kink, coffee date (future), no beta, suggestive, MDNI
Wordcount: 1812
A/N: I do not know important car stuff, I only know vroom vroom drive fast. Please don't use this as educational material. Thank you <3
//
You hated going to mechanic shops. The men always made you feel stupid and tried to rip you off.
Well ever since you moved to a different state, you had no choice but to do so. There was no more of the ‘dad, fix my car’ or ‘dad, get my car fixed’ luxury for you.
You were good for the simple stuff like topping up your motor oil, antifreeze and window wiper fluid but anything more complex you had no idea about and could not fix yourself.
Naturally, just before the Christmas holidays, your car started making a weird noise. It usually picked the worst possible time to act up. This time was no different.
The only way you could make the drive to your parents like this would be if you had a death wish, so pushing through the dread, you looked up a new mechanic shop that hasn’t left you with PTSD yet and got on your very much not merry way.
You pulled into the parking lot and stared down the logo of the shop. THOR’S AUTO it said in big bold blue letters. Praying that the mechanics would be nice, you took a deep breath, left your car and walked into the place.
The bell chimed as you entered. Right away you noticed there was no one tending admin. “Hello?” You called at the counter. Tapping your foot nervously, you waited for someone to show up. But nobody did.
Just as you considered leaving, the sound of voices drew you to the open side door that led to the garage. You peeked in.
“Brother, I told you to stop speeding.” A disgruntled male voice grumbled from the side of a shiny black car.
“I do not speed. I drive at an adequate speed for what the circumstances call for.” The other man, standing a few feet from the mechanic, replied, sulkingly. “Perhaps the brakes you put in were faulty.”
“The brakes were not faulty.” The mechanic's face was hidden by the car lifted up in the air so you could not see his expression, if the stern words were paired with one. You only saw the bottom half of his body, covered by blue overalls. The other man's back was turned to you so all you could see of him was his black suit and raven hair falling in curls along his neck. Neither was facing you, so neither noticed you loitering.
“A year, a sole year they lasted! I changed your brakes last December!” The mechanic complained. “Do not tell me you don’t speed. Either that or you tailgate other drivers which is worse.”
The man in the black suit scoffed. A brief silence fell between them which you used as your opening. You cleared your throat.
“Excuse me, sorry,” you said softly. The man in the suit turned to you with a curious expression. “I was wondering if I could get some help?” You asked hopefully.
The man turned to the mechanic. “Brother–” He started.
“Loki, I will not hear the excuses and lies about how you do not speed!” The mechanic protested grumpily. “You treat this car like shit. You’re lucky, you have money to blow on it.”
“That’s not–You oaf! I’m trying to tell you that you have a customer.” Loki – if you heard that correctly – replied.
The mechanic stuck his head out from behind the car to get a look at you.
You were met with a blonde haired, bearded man whose blue eyes showed nothing but confusion. “I don’t have a 10 o’clock.” The mechanic said. “Do I?” He looked to Loki for help.
“Don’t you accept walk-ins?” Loki’s eyebrows knitted together.
“Oh, yes! I do!” He exclaimed happily. “Hi!” He greeted you with a wide grin, waving the ring spanner in his hand in what you assumed was trying to be a friendly wave but his hand was occupied, therefore the whole thing just looked uneasy. “Welcome to Thor’s Auto, I’m Thor!”
Loki facepalmed witnessing the exchange.
You waved back awkwardly. “I’m sorry to just barge in here, there was no one at the front,” you explained.
“Is Peter not tending the desk?” Thor frowned.
“The kid probably took his lunch break.” Loki sighed. “I’ll go help her.”
“Oh, would you?” Thor asked gratefully. “I’ll finish up in a minute here.”
“Yes, yes…” Loki waved his hand, dismissively. “I still remember a thing or two.”
Loki walked to the front with you and stepped behind the desk. “What’s the issue, miss?” He asked after clicking the mouse a few times.
“My car’s making a weird noise.” You played with your fingers nervously, trying not to stare at him too much. Mechanic shops already made you jittery but now the person helping you was drop dead gorgeous… which did not help, at all.
Loki hummed in acknowledgement as he typed away on the keyboard. “When’s the last time it’s had an oil change?” He asked.
“Oh, like three months ago? But I topped it up last week cause the light was on.” You replied hastily.
“Good girl.” He purred, looking at the screen. Your heart leapt in your chest and your eyes widened but he just continued like nothing happened. “And have you been doing that a lot?” His low voice rolled over your spine.
“Sorry, what do you mean?” You stammered, already preparing yourself to be made to feel stupid. You certainly felt like your brain was turning to mush.
“Oh, apologies, I wasn’t clear enough with my question. Have you been doing that multiple times a month?” Loki quirked an eyebrow.
A sense of relief washed over you when he didn't treat you like most mechanics in the past have. You paused thinking it over. It has felt like your oil got used up pretty fast lately.
“Oh yeah… I guess I have been.” You nodded.
Loki smiled softly. “There’s our issue then. A leak. The good news is my brother’s way more competent at repairing cars than he is with social interaction.” Loki assured with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. You couldn’t help but let out a little laugh at his joke. Loki gave a satisfied smile in return.
“You're a family business?” You gathered the courage to ask.
“It used to be, yes. Odin & Son's Auto it was called. Then Thor decided it needed to be named after him.” Loki snickered.
“And that bothers you?”
“I don’t mind. It was my father who insisted I learn the basics of car repairing, I, however, despised it. My favorite part was this.” He gestured to the desk. “Since it didn’t leave my hands greasy. Truthfully, this whole thing was always their thing…” Loki paused, contemplating how much more he should say on the matter.
“Okay, maybe I find it a little cliché that Thor called it after himself.” Loki admitted then the bell chimed, interrupting his tangent and the response on the tip of your tongue.
“Mr. Loki, I am SO sorry! Nobody was in, so I thought I could run to the sandwich shop real fast to get my lunch!” A teen boy rushed behind the desk, all out of breath, waving around a footlong sandwich.
“And then Mrs.Wanda wanted to know if you were back for good and if you still wanted to ‘get with’ Miss Sigyn and I could barely eat in peace cause she was asking so many questions about you–” The boy did quotation marks with his fingers.
“You tell that woman to mind her business.” Loki interrupted, scowling. “And for the love of god, breathe, Peter. Everything's fine.” His expression softened.
“It is? I mean yeah, okay, Mr.Loki…”
Loki nodded. Suddenly it was like a lightbulb went off in Peter's mind and he started talking again.
“Oh! But then, Mr. Loki, THEN she told me she'd make me another sandwich FREE OF CHARGE if I give you her phone number. And at first, I was conflicted because I know how you feel about Mrs.Wanda and she's married anyway! Which like ew? That's not okay, you have a husband Mrs.Wanda, act like it! But then I was like I CAN'T pass up a free sandwich! Either way, I only saw the car parked out front now so I ran back as fast as I could.”
“Peter…” Loki opened and closed his mouth. “Wait. You returned with a sandwich which means…” Loki said accusingly, narrowing his eyes.
“I took the deal?” Peter smiled sheepishly, holding out a card with a number to Loki who sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“She just won't let up. Why can’t she be interested in Thor instead?” Loki grumbled. “Please, put that in the bin, Peter. And stop using that mad woman for free sandwiches, don't you think that's a bit evil?” He scolded Thor’s intern.
Peter gasped. “She offered!” He exclaimed, pouting.
“Go see if Thor needs help, please. We can discuss this further later.” Loki urged him while you stood there still dumbfounded at the conversation that had just occurred.
“What’s the word, brother?” Thor walked into the front room, wiping his hands with a rag.
“Speak of the devil. A leak, dear brother, from what I heard.” Loki answered.
“Oof… Depending on what kind of leak, it might need to stay in until tomorrow. Is that okay? Do you have somewhere to be right now?” Thor looked at you worried.
“Oh, that’s okay, I’ll walk… I just need it done by Thursday so I can make the drive home.” You smiled.
“Thursday’s doable.” Thor nodded. You smiled and handed him your keys, gladly avoiding parking your car into their garage yourself.
“Peter, you need to tell me before you go out.” Thor reminded, clasping Peter’s shoulder as they headed outside to get your car.
“I'm sorry, Mr.Thor. You’ll never guess what happened at the sandwich shop though! So Mrs.Wanda was working…”
The front door shut behind the pair.
“Your number then.” Loki spoke up, interrupting the sudden silence that settled through the room.
“My number…?” You blinked.
“So we can call you when your car’s ready,” Loki could barely hold back his amused smile. You felt embarrassment creep up your neck.
Of course, that’s what he meant. Idiot.
“Right… The car, yes…”
You listed off the digits of your number, ready to escape this situation and how you’ve made a fool of yourself.
“Perfect.” Loki concluded. “Now, are you sure you don't have anywhere to be? Because I'm free until my meeting at 2 pm and I'm more than happy to play taxi.” He smirked at you.
“Oh. I– Uhm…” You'd already made a fool of yourself once, once more was nothing. “Coffee shop, maybe?” You suggested.
“Absolutely. Let's go. I'll take you out for coffee. And later we can check with Thor about the progress on your car.”
Hi, my darlings, since we all could use a little (or a lot) of cozy emotional comfort during these difficult times, I wanted to offer you just a bit of Jotun Loki/Lokitty fluff. This does take place in the Stray universe, in the middle of the story, but you don't need to have read that series to read this.
For a quick, tl;dr summary: human lady in 70's Seattle takes in Loki (disguised as a kitty) after his D.B. Cooper stunt, adorable shenanigans ensue.
Here's the series link
Lokitty/Jotun Loki x human shop girl reader
cw: Talk of depression and loneliness (remedied, of course, by our favorite handsome icy boy). The biggest hazard is the tooth-rotting fluff. Enjoy.
“Come on!” you grumble to your elderly space heater, giving it an encouraging pat on the side. Luckily, the coils eventually rouse themselves into a faint orange glow. You breathe a sigh of relief and sit cross-legged on the floor of your apartment, staring daggers at the broken radiator which the landlord never really plans to fix.
The newly-adopted black cat pads towards you and immediately curls into your lap with a graceful slinky twist. You slide your hand gently over his silky fur, feeling the knots of your anger and frustration gradually loosen.
“Sorry, buddy,” you say to the cat, who fixes you with his stunning aquamarine eyes. “It's not usually snowing like this yet, or quite this cold. I guess the whole city is stuck inside.”
Loki gazes up at your face. Bathed in the warm amber glow, the contours of your cheeks, lips, and lashes look like a work of art to him.
She's so lovely. I hope some day I can tell her so...really tell her so.
But beneath your loveliness, he can see the circles under your eyes, the way you rub your temples and slump your shoulders, the way the growing darkness (literal and metaphorical) are weighing on you. You gather him up in your arms and sling an afghan around your shoulders, shuffling towards the window. He watches as a bittersweet grin spreads over your features.
“At least it's kind of pretty, isn't it? And at least I have you, little friend.”
He purrs contentedly as you scratch lightly between his ears on your journey to the couch. Loki watches with concern as your silence gradually turns into the telltale gasps and sniffles of tears. He flinches slightly as the salty drops hit his fur.
“Oh. Sorry, kitten,” you say, sniffing and swiping a hand across your cheek. “I just...god, I'm so tired and...and so alone. It feels like all the cards are stacked against me sometimes. My paycheck barely keeps us here...shitty as the place is. I'm just so frustrated, and tired, and angry, and afraid....and sad...and...”
You shiver. “And cold.”
His paw pats gently but insistently on your hand. You feel crazy even thinking, not for the first time, that it's as if he understands you. Those bright, clear, eyes seem so wise and perceptive. You'd swear he's trying to comfort you.
Sweet human. If only you knew how much I care for you. I'm the god of outcasts. Appropriate, I suppose, as I'm always being cast out...but not by you, my sweet human because you are special...unique. I wish I could hold you. I wish you could understand me.
And then, he considers a way. It's a way he's used cautiously only once before, uncertain of how it might affect his precious human, but desperate times call for desperate measures. He smiles to himself and nuzzles his velvety head against your arm.
Patience, human. Your savior is here, you just don't know it yet.
----
It's an absolutely adorable habit, your little naps in the evening. Or, at least, Loki thinks so. Sometimes, he'll even join you under the tattered old throw blanket to sleep against the undulating warmth of your body.
He joins you today, but not to sleep and not just to use you as a heating pad. The little cat pulls the blanket carefully up and over your shoulders by his teeth, ensuring that you're warm and comfortable (all the while cursing his lack of opposable thumbs). Then he settles himself in between the curve of your neck and shoulder, holding one delicate paw against your temple. A green glow shudders through the little creature and flutters around your head like glitter swirled in water.
----
Your vision is foggy at first as your eyes blink open. Initially, everything is a mass of pearlescent white and a pale aquamarine (a shade you could swear you know from somewhere). As your eyes open wider, and the fog clears, you begin to orient yourself to the sharpening view.
You're standing in the center of a clearing, in a dense snow-covered forest. It's a far cry from the filthy gray slush of downtown Seattle. This snow is a shocking white, glowing, even in twilight. The vast crystalline carpet unfurls beneath you as the sky above dances with northern lights. All you can think, for a long suspended moment, is that this place is ancient. You breathe in and it hits you; the complex aroma of pines and evergreens which have been there long before you were born, and somehow you know, deep in your bones, that this is a magical place.
To your surprise, you don't feel at all cold. Your body is swaddled in rich furs and draped in lush velvet, keeping you warm as you observe it all. Everything is quiet, draped in the muffling blanket of snowfall, and you feel your breathing quiet in kind.
The crunch of footsteps catches your attention as a figure moves gracefully, deliberately, towards you. It glides, back lit, from the inviting amber glow of a wooden lodge where candles sparkle and flicker in every window.
You guess that this mystery person must be over eight feet tall, broad-shouldered and sure-footed, striding through the ice and snow easily as a cape of regal black fur dances around him. As he nears, you see a pair of majestic onyx horns rising from a crown on his noble head.
Closer still, you see his skin; a striking cobalt blue moving against the snow, and his eyes; two crimson rubies cutting through dusk like stars.
Finally, he stands before you, and though you know you should be afraid, you feel only curious and struck by his otherworldly beauty. He acknowledges you with a bow and the sharp lines of his cheeks raise to show a wide, striking, smile. His teeth are as white as the snow itself.
Loki extends his huge hand to cradle yours and you feel your heartbeat kick up with the thrill of it. As it is so often with dreams, it doesn't occur to you to ask where you are, or how you got here, or who he is, or even if he means you harm. You simply trust this beautiful creature of a man before you.
“Come with me,” his deep voice invites, and you accept, taking his offered arm as if you were a princess at a ball.
---
He opens the enormous doors and steps aside for you to enter. The entire cottage (or really, more of a Viking longhouse, if such a thing were made cozy) was perfumed by a roiling fireplace, giving off a toasty, woody incense, like honeydust.
The stranger removes his hooded cloak and impressive crown. He smiles that same charming smile and runs a hand through his long hair, as black and shiny as raven feathers. It occurs to you that this regal being seems nervous, downright boyishly giddy, around you.
“Please. Make yourself comfortable,” he says, gesturing magnanimously to the plush velvet couches with their layers of warm furs and quilts. You nod and gladly obey, lulled and comforted by the heat as if sinking into a warm bath.
The giant returns with two warm mugs (one the size of a pot, and one of normal size) of something delicious and spicy-smelling, then settles beside you in the heat of the crackling fire.
“Thank you,” you say, reaching for the cup and enjoying it's warmth against your palm. Finally, your rational brain kicks in and you ask, “Where...what is this place? I'm...dreaming?”
He laughs, a deep rich baritone chuckle, and you think it might be the most beautiful thing you've ever heard.
“In a sense.” The corners of his crimson eyes crinkle as he smiles and says, “Your body is asleep, yes. But I'm real...this place is real.”
“And...not to seem rude, but you are...?”
He finishes a sip quickly and politely dabs at his lips before speaking, “Oh yes, I suppose this form must be rather...exceptional...to you.”
You sigh and nod with a smile, relieved that he was the one to address the elephant (or rather, the frost giant) in the room. Meanwhile, Loki thinks that this shy smile must be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
“I'm a frost giant...a Jotun. King of Jotunheim, actually...not to brag,” he says with a flirtatious wink.
He chatters on genially, careful not to give you time to ask his name. “I've brought you here because you deserve some kindness. You've taken in a creature quite sacred to us and cared for him diligently, asking nothing in return.”
You're about to speak but you're momentarily distracted by the beverage you've just sipped. It might be the most delicious thing you've ever tasted; sweet and rich and spicy. You make the rather absurd mental note to ask the King of Jotunheim for his mulled wine recipe. That thought alone makes you chuckle.
“What is it, darling?”
“It's just...all so strange and...wait, are you trying to tell me that my stray cat is a sacred creature?”
“Well, yes. All cats are. But that one is very special, in particular. Some day, you'll find out why.”
He sets his mug down with surprising dexterity, considering his size, and continues in a more somber tone. He takes both of your hands in his and scoots closer. He smells subtly of mint and pine, and his mere towering presence sitting beside you, curled around you, makes you feel safe, protected.
“I know that you are in need of some kindness, some hope, and I'm here to tell you there is good yet to come. There are splendid things yet to come. I know you're exhausted, sad, and frighted. It pains me to see it, but I know you're strong.
“I don't feel strong,” you admit, bowing your head toward you lap.
His long finger slides gently beneath your chin, lifting your face to meet his kind ruby eyes.
“Please, meet my gaze. It's a pity to hid that lovely face from my eyes.”
God, he's charming. Are all frost giants just oozing charm like this, or is it only their king?, you wonder, as your cheeks begin to burn brighter than the fireplace.
He wraps one strong arm around you and assures you, “Needing some kindness or help doesn't mean you are no longer strong. Everyone gets lost sometimes. Everyone stumbles and needs some tenderness occasionally.”
You give him a wry smile. “Even you, Your Highness? I find it hard to imagine that the world could make you feel small."
He laughs, then he kisses your hand in a gentlemanly gesture that has chills running down your spine; chills that have nothing to do with his slightly chilly skin.
“Even me,” he whispers as he strokes your cheek. The comforting touch melts you into his arms, into the comfort him, of this place, and you dare to put you head on his shoulder. He strokes your back and pulls a blanket more closely around you, then says lightly, “you know I'm actually a runt, for a Jotun. I often feel small. It's all a matter of perspective.” He breathes deeply and you feel the smooth waves where you rest against him. The sound and feeling join the crackle of the hearth in a sweet lullaby of sensation.
You close your eyes and whisper, “I wish I could just stay here.”
“Ah, but you can't, darling. I'm sorry. But you can visit. You must live your life because there is so much good yet to come. In the meantime, know that I'm your humble guardian, always.”
He sees the sorrow in your eyes and decides to ease it with humor. “Besides, who would feed the cat?”
You laugh, your face lights up, and it utterly melts him.
He moves in very gently and cradles your face as your eyes close in anticipation. Planting a light chilly kiss against your eager lips, he whispers, “Time to wake up, my dear.”
-----
You open your eyes to your lamp lit living room and sigh at the vivid memory of your lingering dream. As you stretch, the cat hops away from you with an indignant little chirp. How dare you remove his warm seat!
As a peace offering, you kiss his velvety head and scratch between his ears before rising to your feet. You know it was only a dream, but it's left you feeling better, more hopeful.
Silly, you think, silly brain...putting me on a date with the King of Jotunheim. At least it made me feel better, anyway, imagining some kind of magical guardian angel.
As you cross the room, still yawning, you stop in your tracks. Right before your eyes, the radiator softly tings and hisses into life, sending warm balmy air into the room after weeks of cold. You step nearer, gingerly, as if it might be possessed. How can it possibly be fixed?
On the coffee table beside it, There's a piece of rather fancy looking antique parchment with a delicate cursive skating across its surface. You hold it up to your face and read the title at the top.
Jotun Mulled Wine (courtesy of His Majesty)
A recipe...for mulled wine...from...
You feel the wheels of your mind trying desperately to gain traction and explain this, but you're interrupted by the cat, begging to be held again.
You oblige him, holding tightly to him like a security blanket. When his blue-green eyes meet yours, you finally say, “Well kitten, this is all pretty weird. I guess I found this earlier and forgot, but it sure did give me some wild dreams.”
As you walk to the kitchen, feline in tow, you say, “Christ, here I go, talking to the cat again.” You pause and smirk playfully to your companion, “Say, kitten...did you know that you're a sacred animal?
Well, obviously, Loki thinks, I'm a god.
You chuckle at his sassy mews as you cut carrots and begin to heat up a skillet.
Formally (Collapsing in the Arms of Chaos) I changed the name. 😬
I know Medieval stories aren't everyone's fav but heck, I hope you like it! It has been brewing in the coffee pot that is in my head for over a year. I feel slightly self-conscious that after my first time with COVID, my brain is not the same. I hope I still have my ability to write! My last story published a few weeks ago was written while I was falling ill and I know it wasn't my best!
Thank you for reading!! If you want to comment I would be so happy and reblogs are like the most precious thing to me. All art is mine, it's a Photoshop-crazed situation.
Summary:
Disenchanted with the Danes' misuse of Norse gods to sanction their brutality, Loki finds himself ostracized. Stripped of his divine powers and bearing a severe injury, he wanders into the realm of the conquered. By a twist of fate, he arrives at your manor, where you await your husband's return. However, destiny has other plans.
Warnings:
Blood.
Words: 2,471
Smut rating: Not yet...but there sure will be!
Posting schedule: Every Saturday! I am going to stick to this!
Chapter 1 The Embroidery of Destiny
Chapter 2 The Stranger
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Before your family settled again, you had been travelers, moving from one darkened patch of earth to the next. Soil on your boots muddied your paths, creating difficulties in finding a home. There were many things to see, some horrors, some things magical and unfounded. Shapes shifted in the forest where you camped at night. One day your father showed you where they lowered men into the bogs, decorated with bronze. These were not the ways of your people. They did not worship like that. It might have been too much for you to know where some ended up when they were no longer living, not in graves or on pyres. Something else.
By the time you reached the northern lands, your family had negotiated your belongings down to just what the pallid horses could carry. Your croft was built into the very earth you had struggled to cross, with bedrooms burrowed into the side of a hill. It was not built for so much rain. Buckets and sluices were not enough to keep out the floods.
So, when your husband came to marry you, you packed your things neatly, placed them in a pack, and left your parents’ home without drawing a breath. You walked a distance far greater than any you had as a child to his family's land, your new home. The way your family had negotiated the marriage remained a blind spot in your mind. You couldn't fathom it. From a croft to a manor.
Over time, nothing in your marriage seemed to flourish. The land, though beautiful, yielded nothing you sowed. Too sandy or too chelated, perhaps unfortunate timing. You became a wife in the loneliest ways. No spinning of yarn would produce a cloth finer than the wool you began with. Hours of practice composing embroidery resulted in nothing more than half completed sea escarpments, knots, and birds with no flight.
The elegant window that surveyed the tenants' labors only deepened your isolation. They carried on with their duties, and you retired to your quarters, curtains drawn. The chill from your childhood followed you here. The stone walls held a dampness no fire could dispel. You knew somewhere across the hills where your parents still sleeping too close to the earth. Rooms still flooded. Though your loyalty never wavered, even as your husband wandered afar, absent for days at a time, his pursuits as obscure as the horizon beyond your room filled with half-finished tasks.
In kindness or disappointment, he had ensured your education extended beyond your lowly beginnings. Through travels and courtly audiences, barons and other titled men and women recounted their lives' poetry over each glass of mead or wine. You listened for moments when they forgot their lines, most days this was more interesting than their images they wanted you to see.
Although had you not met Isolde of Easting, you would not have thought to plant the spiky yellow gorse along the manor's borders. When the proper conversation waned, you had discovered the titled people still spun tales of their lands. The places they had come or been uprooted from. In the best conversations, you gleaned knowledge of the plants, herbs, and tokens from the first peoples, their ways overshadowed by the new cultures but nonetheless seeming to flow from them to you during the quieter moments—the men away hunting, the embroidery thread running low, the teapot empty. These things were spoken of in hushed tones so the servants would not get ideas.
You spoke of the hawthorn tree, the ravens' work, the swords warriors cast into the cold estuary, found along all the lakes' shores. The Roman merchants who brought tales of Jesus and his cross. The god Woden came from the Angles, and Odin, from the North. Their wars and bloodshed filled the spaces between village homes and now the courts. If asked if you prayed to the Christian god, you couldn't say. You longed to speak of the place where they lowered men into the bogs, the place your father once showed you. Later, in the quiet of your room, you would pull out a relic from beneath the blankets in your chest, and it would look unrecognizable. It once held meaning, but that meaning didn't travel with it.
Sometimes when you were awake much too early, the nightingales still singing, you would dip your quill into the small pot of black soot. You would unroll a small piece of parchment, discarded by the cooks, and write down your dreams. Which had room in your sleep since they were so often unimpeded by the presence of your husband. You wrote in the lais of the Frankish people, counting eight sounds to the line, braiding your dreams with your words.
Had I found a small shell, not rope
I would have held it to my ear
The ocean's song would have come to me
Instead, I was swallowed wholly
This was how things proceeded until the day they did not.
As you came to learn, in the void and closeness of life, nothing is reliable enough to expect its continuation the next day. You should allow for change to slip through the crevices of even the dampest chambers. It just had not happened in so long you almost did not recognize it when something remarkable unfolded at your manor.
On this day, as you sipped your tea, with half-finished yards of cloth draped across your lap, and the unopened book of hours on the small, worn table, your gaze was fixed on the wind billowing the emerald curtains—silk from an era long past, traded by hands unknown. Like much of the decor in the manor, these were vestiges of your husband's family's trade in finery, symbols of their stature akin to that of minor kings.
Elinor, your companion for the last 10 years, rapped on your door abruptly, breaking your contemplative gaze.
“My lady, please excuse me,” she croaked, as the door opened before you could arrange a pretext to delay her entry.
“What is it, Elinor?” you asked, not wishing to dwell on the trivialities of the manor that day. Clearing her throat, she reported urgently of a man in a bad way, injured and lying on the steps. She hastened to your window, the portal to the land beyond your manor, and pointed to the makeshift courtyard where a man lay seemingly lifeless if not for the faint moan you heard.
“Why have you not sought my husband or some other man of decisions?” you questioned with a twinge of fear edging into your refuge of solitude.
“Lady, your husband has traveled beyond into the land of the Scots, and the aldermen are not present either,” she informed you.
“A household of women only, then? How did I overlook such an event?” you pondered.
“Lady, you are often engrossed in your own pursuits within these walls. How could you have noticed your husband's departure?” Elinor reasoned, her words not easing the panic now fully upon you. The thought that your husband had left you unprotected added another layer of anguish.
“At such a time, Elinor, how shall we defend ourselves?” you barely articulated.
“I suspect he gave little thought to the matter,” Elinor replied, her head bowed even lower than her subdued voice.
“Then it falls to me to act in their absence,” you reasoned. Not wanting this conflict or the talk that may ensue you knew you must act quickly. This man perhaps knew your husband, or perhaps it was only a small political scuffle that may have resulted in his injuries. You thought of the many reasons he could have ended up at the steps of your manor of this day. None of them added up entirely.
As you navigated the long, narrow corridors, your thin morning jacket provided little relief from the chill as Elinor aided you with the heavy door. You both stood in awe of the man at your feet. Having seen men before, chiefly your husband. This man’s appearance was now shocking at close view. He was unlike your husband in all ways you could imagine.
“Holy Jesus save us,” Elinor yelled through her missing teeth.
“He will not assist with this, Elinor,” you responded, your eyes surveying the severe wound from his stomach to his chest, the dark blood pooling around his lean form.
The man’s hair was a shade darker than the darkest night. Had night possessed more depth, it would resemble the hue of his locks. His attire suggested nobility, which only intensified the chill you felt. He had clearly been bested in whatever skirmish he had come from, and with no healer at hand, it seemed likely that a burial might soon follow—until his eyes fluttered open.
A striking blue that drew your own darker gaze, hinting at his foreign language or origins. His hand reached out feebly before falling back to his side.
He whispered faintly, “Ásjá.”
“He's alive!” you declared, as if the statement itself could reverse his fate.
“Yes, lady, he lives, I told you. Now what shall we do?” Elinor asked, concern evident in her voice.
“We save him. It is the right thing to do,” you answered.
“But without a healer, we risk much by sheltering him,” Elinor’s voice trembled.
“Then we shall tend to his needs ourselves,” you declared, your courage unusual, unfounded, drawn from the same well that had seen men saved from death at a distance. An instinct came over you. You directed Elinor to gather wood, cloth, herbs, and other necessities that seemed more from your imagination than any practical experience. You quickly cut away his clothes, exposing the dire wound more fully.
“Lady, he may not survive this,” Elinor observed with a somber tone. The unhinged flesh flapping against the seemingly unended torrent of blood emerging from him. How could there be so much blood.
“Silence, Elinor,” you hushed her. Your hands, though failed in the art of tapestry, were adept with needle and thread. So much failure had given you courage.
“We must stem the bleeding before we can stitch him up,” you instructed, asking for a branch from the fire.
“Lady, you cannot—” Elinor began, but you had already pressed the smoldering wood to the wound. The man awoke suddenly, thrashing in pain.
“Hold him down!” you ordered. Elinor, small but determined, restrained his arms.
You envisioned repairing his injury as if it were the "Galley of the Titan’s Moons," a rare piece of embroidery from the northern lands.
“I shall map the night sky upon your body, sir,” you said, speaking into the silence as he drifted further from this world. You sensed the ancestors gather, ready to welcome him, but you were not ready to let him go.
“No, not yet” you whispered, a soft rebuke to the invisible presence.
Elinor looked at you, puzzled. To whom were you speaking?
You were determined. This man would not die. Though you had sent for a proper healer, your task was to keep him alive until they arrived, hoping they would be sober enough to be of use. Much worse would be a drunk priest should your help not find any healer available.
It was not until you had finished suturing his wound that you noticed how his body appeared in the dim light of the great room. Your loneliness resonated with the landscape of his injury. It was a peculiar reaction, but there was something else broken within this man, beyond the sword wound. It was something familiar to your own. You held you own stomach for a moment, it felt as if you were the one almost slain, not him.
Eventually, his bleeding ceased, and the healer arrived, tended to him with poultices and what looked like grain spirits. You wrapped your furs around his sleeping form. He did not pass away. The stranger in your home survived. You had been told he might still not make the night. You watched him for as long as your eyes could. His faint inhalations mirrored in your own. But the exhaustion took over, and before you could retreat to your own chamber, you found yourself lying at his side.
“How improper, Lady!” Elinor’s voice pierced the quiet as dawn crept in and your eyes, heavy with sleep, opened. You hadn’t realized you had fallen asleep beside the stranger. Startled, you rose, wrapping a blanket around yourself. Quickly finding a reason that you had slept at his side.
“He remains unconscious, Elinor. The healer was unsure if he would wake,” you confided in the servant who had been by your side for so many years. She looked briefly placated. Yet you knew her mind was racing. The healer would tell the burgh folk of this strange man. Your husband was nowhere to be known. Northman had recently been subdued with heavy piles of church silver, and that arrangement was delicate at best. They would be back and this time they would perhaps sack the village since you knew the last of the silver had been promised away to visiting bishops and clergy. The wealth had run its course.
“He must stay until he awakens, until he can speak for himself,” you quickly decided.
It was better to know who he was. He would surely tell you since you saved his life.
“But what if he is a demon, my lady? Have you considered that he may have come from Hell to bring us further misfortune?” Elinor ventured, instantly regretting her words as her face contorted with shame.
“I apologize. I did not mean to imply you are cursed,” she hastily added.
You felt pity for Elinor, she was not as traveled as you had become. Had not the stories you knew, but you also could not see beyond, you had no way to know if it was safe to keep him with you. If your husband should arrive back, there would be no way to convince him that this man had not abused you in some way, but you did know something of him. There was something you did recognize.
“This man is no curse, no demon,” you affirmed, your gaze fixed on his hair, as dark as the ink with which you wrote.
“How can you be certain?” she queried.
“He spoke in the old tongue, asking for aid. Did you not hear him, Elinor?” you questioned, your voice steady.
The woman stepped back, tossing another log onto the fire, her confusion apparent. “I did not recognize the language, nor do I understand how you did,” she admitted.
The language was familiar to you, it was the tongue of your people from so long ago. From the place of your birth. The place that was destroyed till there was nothing but darkness.
Chapter 2 below!
Okay friends, I re-wrote Chapter 2. I was not happy with it after a friend pointed out to me that it needed work. Making me remember I reall
Could you do one of loki in a tattoo parlour with the quote "if you keep moving like that we will have a problem." With smut please? Thought the reader could be getting a tattoo across the shoulders and loki is sat right against her ass and whenever he hits a soft spot she wriggles her ass or even moans, if that's okay. I love your writing by the way! ❤
Well this ruined me. Tattoo artist Loki?!
Thank you so much for your kind request and for bringing tattooed Loki into my life! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did putting it together 🖤
This fic is a part of A Dark Celebration.
Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Loki x fem!Reader
Words: 6,256 (I couldn't stop, okay!)
Summary: After a stroke of luck, you manage land an appointment with the legendary tattoo artist, Loki Laufeyson.
This is work of fiction is 18+!!!!, and contains graphic descriptions of sex, HOURS OF TEASING, fingering, sex (m/f), dirty talk, and it mentions the tattoo process aka needles. Please do not interact if you are a minor or are sensitive towards any of the themes mentioned above.
Tagging: @lokistoriesblog @sineads-art
Thank you so freaking much to my followers for all of the amazing requests for this challenge! Likes, reblogs and comments mean more than you know 🖤
~~~
You scrolled through the instagram page for the tenth time that day. You peered over the intricately laced designs tattooed so delicately on the skin. Each design was unique, beautiful, perfect in an imperfect way.
No one could hold a candle to the way he tattooed. No one could hold a candle to Loki Laufeyson.
~~~
“The guy’s a vampire,” your friend had told you over drinks once. “He only takes appointments at night, alone in his private studio. He refuses to let anyone in his space except the client.”
“Sounds like more of an axe murderer to me,” you mused. “You’ve got to admit he’s talented. I’ve never seen even a hint of blowout on his lines. And those designs- unique and seriously fucking detailed.” You took a sip of your drink, shifting the glass between your fingers. “If I ever got a tattoo it’d be one of his.”
Your friend smiled pitifully at you. “If you ever get an appointment you mean. He is good though. I’ve seen some of his work from over a decade ago and it still holds up. May be worth being drained of all your blood after all. Too bad he rarely takes appointments anymore.”
~~~
You bit your lip, absentmindedly toying with the raw hem of your shorts as you tapped through the familiar photos of his page. You’d almost memorised each post.
You swiped up to the one you saw by chance a few weeks back. Your heart raced as you remembered seeing it mere seconds after it was posted. He had a cancellation for an appointment at the end of the month. You could book via email.
You immediately shot off an email to the address provided, assuming nothing would come of it. Then the unthinkable happened. You got a response about a minute later, asking for a deposit to hold a spot for you.
You had the money saved for a few years now and forwarded it off immediately. It wasn’t real until you got the scheduling email from his assistant, telling you that “he’d love to freehand something like that on you.”
He’d never posted a photo of himself, and there weren’t any snapshots in the range of magazines he’d been interviewed in. The only posts on his page were of the work he’d done on clients, and the odd text post update presumably posted by his assistant. There was one particularly good shot of his hands in Inked Mag a few months back, the black gloves straining against his long fingers as he held a tattoo gun.
You took a deep breath, checking the time again. You could probably head over now.
Zipping up your knee-high boots and sliding on your jacket, you left your apartment, your stomach full of butterflies.
~~~
You made it to the painted brick building five minutes before your appointment. It was a stand-alone, one-floor building painted black. The tinted windows and lack of sign made for a stylish, discrete shop.
Double checking the lengthy email his assistant had sent you a week ago, you typed in the code on the keypad and were met with a loud buzz. Gripping the door handle, you stepped inside, greeted by a space that was breathtakingly well designed.
The cool concrete floors were accented by various sculptures, photographs, and expensive-looking plants. You could hear the distant sound of Joy Division’s “Disorder” echoing through the space. There was a dark brown couch by the front door, which you remembered was the area you were instructed to wait in.
You slid onto the leather, your hands clammy. You tried to calm yourself, nervous for both your first tattoo and finally meeting the elusive Loki Laufeyson. You took a deep breath. God you hoped you didn’t faint.
Before you could spin out any further you heard footsteps coming around the corner. Looking up, you swallowed hard at the man in front of you. He was tall, lithe, and dark-haired, his black trousers and pointed leather boots making his legs look endless, his crisp white shirt tucked in perfectly. His sleeves were rolled up to expose forearms covered in tattoos, all in black ink. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing a fair amount of his chest, littered with more black designs that ran up to his neck, stopping just below his sharp jaw. You could make out the tip of a green tattoo at the base of his sternum though you didn’t dare to linger your gaze there long. His hair was slicked back into a low bun, the dark black of it a sharp contrast against his pale skin. His cheekbones were pronounced, his dark brows accenting his clear, blue-green eyes.
“Are you my seven o’clock?” His voice was deep velvet, his accent crisp. He held his hands in his pockets, forearms flexing as he looked down at you with bright eyes and a hint of a smirk. Fuck. You were in trouble.
“I think so,” you smiled, losing yourself in his gaze.
“Loki,” he offered a hand and you stood to take it. You stumbled over your name as your hand slid into his, the feel of his warm, calloused hands against yours made your heart race.
“Nervous?” He asked, his eyes running up from where he held your hand steady.
Fuck.
“A bit,” you smiled. “This is my first time.”
His eyes widened at that. “I’m honoured. It’s not often someone asks for such a big piece for their first tattoo.”
He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it from his grip. “This way, darling. Promise I’ll be gentle.” He gave you a grin before leading you towards the back of the building behind the large wall separating the shop.
You took in the room before you, the open space well-decorated with modern, comfortable-looking furniture. There was a sturdy, sleek tattoo bed in the middle, with a large trifold mirror against the side wall. Your eyes fell onto the record player, the antique thing holding a stack of vinyl discs above the turntable as it spun. The large speakers were playing “Candidate” off the same album. There was a Japanese style garden through the back window, a warm light illuminating the few plants immaculately kept before a dark concrete wall.
“You’ve eaten recently, right?” He asked from behind you.
You turned to him and nodded, remembering the advice your friends had given you to prepare for the process. “I’ve kept hydrated too.”
He smiled. “Good girl.”
You did your best to ignore the way those two words made your heart race. You made your way to the centre of the room where a sleek tattoo bed was set up. The black padded leather of it looked soft and comfortable, covered in a dark sheet.
“Take off your top half and lay down on the table. Leave those boots on if you want,” he paused. “I’ve got a sheet there for you. I’ll give you a moment to get undressed, okay?”
You turned towards him and noticed his eyes flickered up to your face. Had you just caught him checking you out? You quickly shook it off as you gave him a small smile and a nod.
He spun on his heel and his footsteps followed him out of the room. You slipped off your jacket, your top and bra quickly following, placing them with your bag on the seat by the wall. You laid down on the sheet covering the bed and perched your head atop your folded arms, angling it to look out the window towards the garden. You took a breath, feeling your muscles loosen on the exhale.
After a minute you heard his footsteps approaching. “Are you decent, darling?” He called.
“You’re clear.” You watched him approach from the reflection in the glass. You could see his eyes moving over your form and wondered once again if his gaze had lingered a little over you.
He came to your side, pulling on some black surgical gloves. You looked up at his hands, straining against the nitrile of the gloves. Just like the picture. You squirmed a little at the thought.
You didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered down to your waist momentarily before he sat in the stool facing you.
“I’m going to have to shave the area first. Is that alright with you?”
You nodded. “Sounds good.”
You heard a cap snap a few seconds before you felt his hands rubbing over your shoulders, covering your skin with shaving cream. It took you every bit of will not to moan at his touch. His hands felt like heaven on you. You felt yourself grow wet at the idea of his sinking his hands lower, or having you turn over and-
“Okay, so you mentioned in your email that you wanted some snakes and peonies. Do you have colour preferences? Any type of snake in mind?” His hands were gone, replaced by the feeling of a safety razor dragging across your back.
You licked your dry lips. “I was thinking of a deep red for the peonies. As for the snakes, I don’t know- really anything but a garden snake I suppose.”
He chuckled. “I was thinking of something a little more dangerous.” The movement of the razor stopped. “How’s this?” He showed you a photo on his phone, a brown snake with black stripes going from its wide, flat head to its skinny tail.
“She’s a beauty,” you angled yourself up slightly to get a better look, your front still mostly covered. “What species?”
“A death adder. Nocturnal,” he put his phone down then rubbed your back lightly with a cloth. “Quick to strike, it’s one of the most venomous snakes in the world.”
You looked up to give him a curious grin. “What made you choose this snake?”
“You seem like trouble.” He met your gaze momentarily and smirked.
You bit the inside of your cheek. “Tough talk from the guy who’s about to jab me with a needle for four hours.”
He smiled, shaking his head. “You’ve got me there.”
He stepped around to the other side of you and you heard him uncap a marker. You could feel him start to mark up your back, one gloved hand firm against you. You could smell the slightest hint of him, a combination of something peppery and deep, almost cool.
“So what made you decide to get a tattoo?”
“I’ve always wanted one,” you closed your eyes, focusing on his movements. “But I wanted to find the right artist and commit, you know? Let them run with something.”
“A purist,” he commented, sweeping a line across your shoulder blade.
You smiled against your hand. “I guess I like what you do, and I like how you do it.”
“So,” he guided one of your hands from under your chin, laying it by your side. “How does it feel to be the ideal client?”
“Hmm, pretty much the same. Do you have any gold stars?”
He chuckled, sketching more lines on you, these ones felt curved. He sighed, “that’s why I stopped taking so many appointments.” He came over to the other side of you. “I love tattooing,” another stroke, his other hand smoothing down your spine, “but I don’t love customer service.” He swapped your arms, bringing your left down by your side.
“I get it,” you suppressed a shiver from the feel of his hands running over your back. “And now?”
“Much calmer. I take a maximum of four clients a week,” you stilled at the feel of his breath over your shoulder, his pen stroked focused. In the reflection of the glass you could see his form bent over you. You swallowed hard. “I can take my time with it and do things right. Speaking of which,” you heard him cap the marker, “time to take a look.”
You sat up, holding the sheet to your front as you followed him over to the set of mirrors. He guided you onto a wooden step in the middle, and you caught a glimpse of the lines he’d drawn on you. He angled one slightly and your mouth fell open at the sketch of the two snakes, one over either shoulder, their tails intertwining between your shoulder blades. He’d drawn rough peonies and leaves to accent their shape, already beautiful and complimentary to your form.
“Wow.” You turned, catching his eye. He was leaning up against the mirror, hands in his pockets as he watched you, the tiniest hint of something simmering behind his gaze. “I love it, Loki.” You found it hard to keep your cool as you faced him, knowing he’d just sketched out an insanely beautiful design in under 10 minutes.
“Thank you, darling. Are you ready to start?” He held out a hand for yours, helping you off the polished step.
“More than.”
He led you back to the table, bringing an angular pillow wrapped in black silk for your front. He helped you prop yourself up so you could lay comfortably.
He pulled a stool over to your side, adjusting it before pulling on a new pair of gloves and turning to squeeze out some blank ink into a little cup on his side table. He picked up the tattoo gun, adjusting his setup so the cord would allow him more reach.
His eyes searched yours. “Take a deep breath for me, okay?”
You nodded and filled your lungs with air.
He turned and the gun started to buzz. In your periphery you could see he’d brought it closer to your skin. “Breathe out.”
You did as you were told and felt a vibrating little scratch on your shoulder, almost as if a cat was scratching your skin. It got a bit harder but it wasn’t unbearable, more annoying than painful.
“Good girl.”
You took in another deep breath at that, the velvet of his voice pushing the feeling further away. You could feel him leaning over you, one hand firm on your back.
“You’re doing so well,” he spoke by your ear, eliciting goosebumps. With that voice, he could talk you into anything. “It doesn’t hurt too much, does it darling?”
You shifted a little. “No,” the distant pain and his voice drawling in your ear had your breath uneven. You bit your lip, feeling yourself grow wet from the combined sensations. “It doesn’t really hurt at all.” Your voice sounded small in your ears.
“I promised I’d be gentle,” you could hear the smile in his voice. “Try to relax a little more, and keep your eyes forward for me. That’s it, right there. Perfect.” He whispered that last word and you held in a little whine.
You let your eyes slip closed, trying to focus on something other than him- his hands, his scent, the warmth of his body radiating against you.
You fell into an easy conversation through the outlining process, though every now and then he’d come a little closer to tell you something, his breath on your shoulder forcing you to grip the pillow harder. Each time he whispered a word of encouragement in your ear you could hear a hint of a smirk in his voice, as if his comments weren’t entirely innocent.
“And,” he added another long line above your shoulder blade, “there we are. Lovely.” He looked at you from his stool, smiling and nodding. “Let’s take a break.”
He got up, stretching as he went, discarding his gloves, massaging his hands. He stepped over to the record player, the stack once elevated now fully on the turntable as it spun. “What kind of music do you like?” He asked, flipping through the shelves full of records in the back.
“A little bit of everything, really. Wait, is this a test?” You asked, rolling your neck to relieve some tension. You took a few deep breaths, attempting to calm yourself after the past hour or so. You could feel how wet you were as you rolled your hips a bit, working out one of the many knots your body had formed while trying to hold yourself still. You sighed.
You looked back over to him, he was leaning against the shelves, the stack in his hand frozen in place as his gaze slid along your body. You gripped the pillow a bit, your heart beating fast. His eyes met yours and he smirked, his forearms flexing as he continued to flip through the catalogues. “No test, just wondering if you’d like to hear something specific.” He kept flipping through records, choosing one every now and then to rest on top of the growing stack elevated above the turntable.
“I guess if I could put in a request with the management, I’d ask for a little Warpaint.”
He smiled before he turned to pull out a record, flashing the cover at you. “Management says good choice.”
He placed the vinyl on top of the stack then flipped the switch, the machine dropping the bottom record onto the turntable. He came back over to you. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine, a little stiff,” you stretched your shoulders back, feeling your muscles loosen a bit.
“Let’s move you,” he nodded towards an angled chair, and your rolled up off the bed, wincing at the distant ache in your body. You loosely held the sheet to your chest, still rolling your shoulders as you settled into the seat, your chest supported by the leather platform in front. The new position definitely felt more comfortable, and you felt your muscles relax into the support of the chair.
Loki came up behind you, lowering his stool to be level with the seat. “Here,” he handed you a glass of orange juice. “Drink this. I’m going to put some numbing cream on you before I start the colour.” He carefully rubbed some cream onto your skin with his gloved hands. You shivered lightly, the pain fading almost immediately as you drank the juice.
“Good girl,” he nodded, taking your empty glass from you. “I won’t lie to you,” he got to work assembling reds, greens, browns, and orange inks from a cabinet. “Shading and colour usually hurts a bit more.” He brought over a sterile package, opening it and holding it up between you. “I need to use a few more needles.” The cluster looked menacing but you nodded. How bad could it be?
He gave you a reassuring smile once you met his gaze. He turned to assemble the dyes in more small cups, and swapped out the head of the tattoo gun with the needle he’d shown you. He wrapped everything back up in sterile cloth and tape. Before moving his setup closer to your new position and settling in his seat by your side.
He turned to you, his face level with yours. He was close, his gaze travelling up from your lips. “Tell me if I need to stop, okay?” His brows were drawn together, eyes serious.
“Okay,” you whispered, suddenly finding it a bit hard to breathe.
“Try to relax,” he rested his hand on your leg. You nodded gently, holding your breath as you kept your eyes on his. “No shame in coming back again to finish things up.” He brought his hand away, rolling his shoulders back as he shot you a grin. “I wouldn’t say no to seeing you again, darling.”
You smiled at him and nodded. You took a deep breath and straightened your posture as he moved behind you, his knees warm on either side of you.
“Ready?” His voice drawled in your ear once more.
“Yes,” you breathed, leaning into the leather a little more. You heard the telltale buzz of the needle and winced as it hit your skin, letting out the breath you’d unknowingly held. Okay, you thought, fuck this hurt a lot more.
“How’s the pain?” You distantly felt his free hand wiping away gently at your skin between strokes.
“It’s definitely worse,” you bit your lip, squirming a bit.
“Don’t focus on it. Relax,” he came up a bit closer to you. You could feel his legs against your own, his trousers soft against the bare skin of your lower thighs. “That’s it, good girl. Relax, just listen to my voice. You’re doing so well.”
You felt him stiffen- and you realised you’d absentmindedly moved your hips back against him. You shifted forward and gripped the leather, taking deep breaths.
“There we go,” he spoke by your ear, “just breathe through it.”
You focused on your breath, but couldn’t help letting out a little whimper. You felt absolutely overwhelmed. The pain was one thing, but the feel of him behind you, so very close, had your heart racing.
He stopped to pick up more ink before coming back over to you. “It’s looking good,” he felt closer to you now.
You moved your hips again, half out of discomfort, the other half out of most of your thoughts slipping away as you felt him against you.
This time he kept going, though you could feel his strained breath against you.
He kept on for a few minutes, before stopping to pick up more ink. Coming back, he drew some repetitive circles and you gasped, gripping the leather tight between your fingers, your hips pressing back farther.
“Fuck,” he sighed, pulling back the needle. “If you keep moving like that we will have a problem.” His voice was rough against your ear.
You could hear the exasperation in his voice. You felt high- the pain, the heat between you two finally too much. You kept your hips angled back against him. You were keenly aware of your situation, essentially naked except for your leather boots and shorts. Pushing your hips back farther, you turned to the side, looking him up and down. “Like this?” You moved a little more against him.
The buzzing stopped and he set the tattoo gun down on the side table. He pulled off his gloves and ran his hands down your sides before stopping at your hips and pulling them back against him. “You are playing a very dangerous game, darling.” His voice was low, full of warning.
You could feel how hard he was behind you and instinctively rocked yourself back against him. “I’m sorry,” you gasped.
“I don’t think you are,” he brushed his fingers down your exposed thighs.
“You’re right,” you gripped his knees through his trousers. “I’m not.”
“Wicked little thing,” he hissed then backed up and helped you out of the chair, his eyes hungrily taking in your exposed chest. “I knew you were going to be trouble.”
“Likewise,” you eyed him up and down, before he pulled you to him, sliding one hand along your hip to press against your lower back. He brought the other up to graze your cheekbone lightly, fingers slipping down towards your jaw. He angled your chin so your lips were inches away from his. He held you there, his chest heavy against you as his eyes searched your own, his expression dark.
“Is this what you wanted?” He slid a leg between yours and you whined at the sensation.
You swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Do you want me to fuck you, darling? Right here?”
“Please,” you breathed.
He quickly closed the gap between you, kissing you hard, your hips rolling against his. He swallowed your moans, his teeth dragging across your bottom lip. He pulled away, breathing hard against your lips. “Take off everything but the boots and lie on the table. Face down. Like before.”
You let out a shaky breath and did as you were told, sliding the shorts off before your damp panties. He kept his eyes on you the entire time, watching you darkly as he leant against the side table, one arm over his midsection, the other angled up as he rested his thumb against his lips.
You laid over your hands, letting out a little gasp as your skin stretched and moved. You were faced away from him, but watched in the reflection as he put on another pair of gloves and brought a bottle over. You felt him spray your shoulders with something, gently wiping it away before he returned with a little tub. You could feel him smearing something over your sensitive skin.
“Apologies darling,” he rasped into your ear and you whined. “But I couldn’t fuck you properly without covering this up.” He covered the area with a bandage then some medical tape, securing it to your skin before peeling off his gloves.
“Now,” he was back beside you, “be a good girl and stay still for me.”
“Okay,” you whispered, your thighs pressing together.
“Relax.” He let his fingertips trail up and down your spine, eliciting a shiver from you. You relaxed your muscles, consciously letting yourself melt into the bed below you. You let out a little hum at the feeling, most of the tension you’d built up slipping away.
“That’s it, good girl.” His lips ghosted against the shell of your ear and you felt an electric warmth spreading through you. “You don’t know how hard it’s been to keep my hands off of you, darling. Every little whine,” his fingers moved down your spine, this time trailing them lower. “Every little gasp,” he brought his fingers even lower, curving them along the inside of your thigh, inches from your dripping heat. “Every little tremble had me wanting to hear more. To see more. It made me curious,” he lightly trailed a finger up your slit and you inhaled sharply. “Will you let out those lovely little gasps as you come undone on my fingers?” Quickly finding your clit, he gently rubbed it in small circles as he took your earlobe between his teeth, flicking his tongue against it. You moaned, the sound loud in the empty room. He drew back, “I wonder, darling, what you’ll look like when I make you cum on my cock.”
Your breath was heavy, and you were whimpering, already so close.
“Loki I’m-“
“I know. You’re fucking dripping.” His voice was making your head spin, and when he dipped a finger within you you saw stars. “All for me?”
You swallowed and nodded, your fingertips diffing into the leather as you held yourself still.
“And how long has this pretty cunt been wet and ready for me?” He traced his tongue along the shell of your ear as he added another finger to lightly tease your dripping hole.
You tried to answer, you really did. But you found yourself completely overwhelmed, every coherent thought gone.
He slowly moved his fingers within you, curling the digits as he went. You were mewling, your hips absentmindedly angling up to meet him. “Oh, pet. Has it been hours?”
You whined in response and he chuckled darkly. “Don’t worry, darling. I won’t make you wait much longer.” With that he picked up the pace, and hit that sweet spot deep within you repeatedly. You were moaning, the frantic sound of your breath and his movements filling the air.
He angled your legs apart a little more and brought his other hand under you to lightly tease your clit. You cried out at the sensation, your fingers aching from their grip on the bed. “That’s it- fuck. You’re gripping my fingers so tightly. Come on, be a good girl for me and cum.”
His words sent you so far over the edge, your vision went black as you froze, the pleasure hitting you hard. You were crying out a mixture of curse words and his name over and over, your hips eventually riding it out against his hand.
As your breath returned to normal, you turned to look up at him. He smirked down at you, bringing his fingers to your lips. You quickly took them in your mouth, swirling your tongue over them as you held his gaze.
His smirk fell at that, brows knitting together. His jaw was hard as he watched you suck his fingers. He pulled them from your lips, and helped you sit up.
“How are you feeling?” He asked, restrained. You could see the bulge in his pants and felt a shiver run through you.
“Pretty fucking excellent.” You were surprised at the gravel in your voice. “But I don’t think we’re done here.”
“Oh?” He raised a brow.
“No.” You stood, stepping closer to him to press your chest against his. He was still fully clothed, his shirt still perfectly pressed.
“Tell me, darling. What else do you need?” He kept still, his expression daring.
“I need you to fuck me.”
He tilted his head, a slow, filthy grin spreading across his lips.
“Please.” You finished.
In a flash he’d captured your lips, his fingers holding your jaw as he held you to him. He teased you with his lips and tongue, making you whimper against him, your hands gripping the thin cotton of his shirt.
Still holding your jaw, he pulled away to kiss your neck, nipping and biting at the skin between kisses. Moving away, he led you over to a couch on the far side of the room, sitting down before pulling you on top of his lap. You held yourself above him, admiring him.
“Come here.” Hand sliding from your knees on either side of him up to your waist, he brought you down to settle over him, your hands smoothing against his chest. Holding his gaze, you slowly unbuttoned his shirt before undoing his belt and pants. He was watching you closely, his chest heaving with his slow breath.
You took him out, breaking eye contact to look at his cock. “Fuck,” you whispered. His skin felt like silk under your fingers, the hardened length of him heavy and hot in your hand. Your eyes traced up to his abdomen, finally seeing his chest piece, a green snake coiled around itself surrounded by the black ink of his other tattoos.
Raising your gaze to his face, you were struck at the sight of him, his eyes heavy lidded, bright blue-green now darkening with your touch. Although his body was covered in ink, you could still see the fine, long musculature under his skin. His jaw clenched as he leant back against the couch, eyes burning a cool flame as he watched you.
He slid a condom out of his pocket, pinching the package between two fingers. You took it from him, unwrapped it and rolled it onto him, his length twitching in your hands as you did so. You licked your lips before looking back up to him.
Gripping your ass, he guided you over him. God, those fucking hands felt so warm against you, his long fingers pressing into your flesh.
Not wanting to wait another second, you slowly slid onto his cock, shuddering in pleasure. Taking him inch by inch, he stretched you, eventually filling you completely. You groaned and took a moment to adjust, your fingertips digging into his shoulder.
“Christ,” he breathed, his mouth hanging open to accommodate his quickened breath. He shook his head at you, his eyes flickering over your chest. “You’re too fucking lovely.”
You twitched a little around him, bending to kiss him. He slid his hand onto your lower back and shifted to press you flush against him, your clit hitting the base of his cock. You inhaled sharply, your hips angling themselves to get more contact.
You had your hand splayed across the side of his neck, your thumb just under his jaw. Holding you tight against him, he broke the kiss to lick against your lips briefly before he started moving his hips up into yours.
You could feel your eyes roll back at the sensation, the angle he held you in somehow hitting you in places you’d never felt. “Loki, fuck-“ you breathed, pulling back to find him darkly staring up at you, his expression hard. You held one hand on his shoulder, the other flat against his chest as you took each thrust he gave you.
He brought one hand up against your breast, his eyes not leaving yours as he pinched your nipple between his fingers, causing you to squirm harder against him. “That pretty cunt is so wet for me, darling. Is this what you needed?”
You nodded, your chest heaving as you arched your back to press harder against his hand.
He let out a breath. “You’re gripping me so fucking tightly. Are you going to cum again?”
“Yes- please,” you breathed, “please don’t stop.”
“Not until you cum. I need you to cum on this cock. I need you to come undone for me.”
You whined, so very close. You cried out when he lightly rubbed his thumb against your clit.
“Be my good girl,” he growled, “and cum for me again.”
You moved your hips with his once, twice, three times before you were screaming, an intense pleasure hitting you so hard that your fingers went numb as they clawed weakly at his chest.
“That’s it, fuck-“ he groaned, holding you hard against him as he came with you.
You fell forward against his chest, the both of you out of breath, still twitching from the aftershocks.
You distantly heard Warpaint’s “Whiteout” in the background, the record just hitting the needle. He was running his fingers lightly up your spine, the feeling comforting you.
“Darling,” he spoke, his voice rumbling against your chest, sending a tremble through you.
You leant backwards, wincing a little as you did so, your muscles weak. He held you steady, smirking up at you.
“Don’t you want to see your tattoo?”
Your eyes widened, realising you’d never gotten the chance to see what he’d done. “Shit- I really, really do.” You slowly got up from his lap, his strong hands supporting you.
You walked over to your panties and shorts and slid them on over your boots. You turned to find him waiting by the mirrors, his pants on but his shirt still unbuttoned. He had one arm up against the side as he leant on them, his other hand in his pocket.
“Come here,” he smiled, his eyes running over your still topless form.
You strode over to him and he nodded to the little step. You stepped up and stood still as he peeled off the bandage.
“It isn’t quite finished- there’s still a lot of shading and colour to be done,” he warned. You could sense a bit of nerves in his voice.
You smiled at him through the mirror as he angled the one on the side so you could get a good look of your shoulders. When you caught sight of it your mouth fell open. “Holy shit.”
It was the most intricate work you’d ever seen. A snake on either shoulder, both done in such a beautifully artistic way, so detailed yet they held a hint of abstraction. Their bodies were posed similarly, but you could see he’d added little differences in their scales, eyes and heads. One’s tongue was flicked out slightly, the dainty pointed fork just peeking out from its lips. Their positioning was also altered slightly so it almost looked natural but still remained beautifully symmetrical, their curved bodies accenting your shoulders perfectly. You could make out a branch that he’d added in, the delicate peonies blooming from it as it held the bodies of the twisting serpents. You could see where he’d reached with the shading, the body of one snake partially filled.
“Loki, I-“ you shook your head. “I don’t know what to say. This is more than I could have ever imagined.”
He was smiling from the edge of the mirror, one long leg crossed over the other.
“I absolutely love it.” You turned to him, your eyes searching his, the swirling blue-greens bright once more. “Thank you.”
He tilted his head down, a wide grin across his lips. “You’re more than welcome.”
He helped you off the step and covered you back up. You put on your shirt, not risking the band of your bra rubbing up against your sensitive skin.
He walked with you back to the front of the space, helping you into your coat.
“So, I guess I should book a follow up. Maybe 2 or 3 weeks?” You asked, holding your purse in your hands. You wanted to see him again, but you kept your expectations low. You knew from your friends that a second session couldn’t start until you’d sufficiently healed from the first.
“Here’s my personal number,” he picked a card and pen up off the coffee table, writing on it before handing it to you. “Why don’t you come back tomorrow, darling? We can sort it all out then. Same time, around 7?”
You raised an eyebrow at him, smirking. “Are you asking me on a date?”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation.
You stepped forward and kissed him, your hands snaking up to his shoulders to hold him close. He gripped your hip, his other hand caressing your cheek as he held you to him, his lips still teasingly slow against yours.
You moved to rest your forehead against his, your breath mingling.
“Tomorrow then,” you whispered, licking and biting his lower lip before pulling away. You stepped back, sliding one hand along his forearm as you moved towards the door.
He licked his lips, shaking his head at you. “Trouble.”
“Likewise.” You gave him one last smile before slipping out into the cool night air.
Part II here.
Author's Note: Serious question- do we think Loki kept slipping in "good girl" to fuck with the reader? Cause I think yes.
I like to think his snake tattoo is a green adder (which is also venomous af) and he chose the death adder so reader would match.
I drew on a lot of my personal experience with my first tattoo for this. Especially the part about shading/colouring hurting a lot more than the outline. No one told me this and holy fuck it hurt! Especially after the outline.
A/N: Just an idea I had, thanks to some friends. All mistakes are my own. Have fun.
Pairings: Father Laufeyson x Fem Reader
Summary: It is your first time back at church after a long time. But something seems off with this new Priest, but what is it?
Warnings: Smut 18+, mature language
Word Count: 1.7k
Cover art by @enstatia
You wake up to the blaring sound of your phone’s alarm going off at 7:00am. “Ugh why does it have to be Sunday already?” You begrudgingly ask yourself. Knowing it was the first Sunday of the month made it harder because, you knew without a doubt, there would be no getting out of church today. Deciding to stay in bed until the last minute, your mother called out.
“Y/N! Are you up yet? We leave in fifteen!”
Shit
“Yeah, I’ll be down in a minute!”
Why the hell did I choose to move back in with my family
You jump out of bed, nearly tripping on your throw rug, and race to your closet to pull out your favorite grey v-neck and jeans that fit you just right in ALL the right places. Doing your hair was a breeze since you had it in braids last night so all you had to do was run your fingers through it to call it good. Right before you walked out the door to go downstairs, you grab your white gold necklace with the heart pendant and fasten it around your neck. One last look in your vanity mirror confirmed you were ready to leave. With a final deep breath, you walk out of your room and down the stairs to your family waiting to leave for church.
Why am I so nervous? That’s right, I don’t go to church. I’ll probably spontaneously combust when I walk through the door!
“You ok?” your younger brother, Nolan, asks you, noticing the distress on your face.
“Yeah, it’s just been a while since I’ve stepped foot in a church building is all,” replying with a small smile. Who were you kidding, you were terrified.
Your mother pulls into a parking spot at the church, and everyone bails out of the black SUV. Nolan shoots you a concerned look and touches your left shoulder while whispering, “you’ve got this.” Your brother has always been your biggest fan and supporter throughout your life. When your boyfriend cheated on you? Nolan was there. When you overdosed last year? Nolan stayed at the hospital with you. When you were evicted out of your apartment? Nolan convinced your mother to let you stay until you find a new place. Even though he was a few years younger than you, he turned into your security blanket.
“C’mon you two!” your mother yells out as she power walks her way to the front doors. She was kind enough NOT to sit toward the front of the congregation this time and chose to sit more toward the middle to help you feel a little more comfortable. Glancing over to the left of the stage, you see who you assumed was the priest sitting next to a few nuns. There was something so mesmerizing about this perfectly sculpted man with cheekbones that could cut diamonds which caused you to completely forget who you were and what you were doing there. As he walks up to the pulpit, he sees you eyeing him, then looks down with a smirk. His raven black hair was pushed back and his emerald green eyes scanned the congregation.
“Good morning, everyone. Let us rise to pray.”
You stand up and close your eyes, but instead of praying, all your mind can think of is this god of a priest and the things you would let him do to you.
Damnit, this is church, knock it off!
Hearing everyone say amen, you followed suit, not having a single clue what the prayer was even about. Nolan leans over and whispers, “That’s Father Laufeyson. He just started here about a year ago. He’s pretty charismatic, I think you’ll like him.”
You can’t take your eyes off him. So captivating, so intoxicating, soooo...
What the hell is wrong with me? He’s a fucking priest!
Throughout his sermon, you see that he makes eye contact with you. A little smirk curling at the corner of his lips. Every time he looks at you, you see a quick flash in your mind of Father Laufeyson behind you. At first, it was him lacing his long fingers through your hair and pulling you back toward him by your roots. But as fast as the vision appeared, it was gone. You could feel your heat begin that faint throbbing feeling you know so well and adjust in your seat. He takes notice of your movements out of the corner of his eye and smiles at your mother. Little did you know what was about to happen.
As the sermon continued, he made eye contact again. This time he is behind you, his left hand in your hair, and his right arm around you while cupping your breast. Squeezing it with enough force for the pain to cause pleasure. His head bent down and bit that sweet spot just below your ear as he growls your name. Then *poof* it was gone. Your face showing obvious signs of distress as you excuse yourself to the lady’s room.
With cold water splashed against your face, you try to recenter yourself with some deep breathing. “Pull yourself together, Y/N. You are strong, you are independent, you are…having insane thoughts about a priest that you know will never happen.” One last deep breath in……out. You walk back out into the lobby and reach for the large door leading into the sanctuary. Right before you grab the gold handle, an icy cold wave washes over you. Hesitating for a moment and blowing the feeling off as nerves, you open the door and slide in the sanctuary trying not to make too much noise. As you sit down next to your family and make yourself comfortable, that same icy cold sensation builds at your core, and with a flash you envision him behind you again. This time you are in front of the congregation, bent over the pulpit with his left hand pulling you toward him, while his right hand is wrapped around below circling your small bundle of nerves. He whispers in your ear, “Is this what my little kitten wants? Careful, this might be a little….cold,” as he pushes his hardened bulge into your back.
Your breath hitches in your throat. How can you physically feel everything that you are seeing in your mind? You check your phone to see how much more time is left and thankfully, mass is almost done.
Did his eyes just flash? Nooooo….
The sermon continues and you glance over to your family with a questioning look, wondering if they saw the flash too or you were simply going crazy. Nolan smiles and continues to listen. Once again he meets your gaze, but this time your vision returns with full force. You are, once again standing at the front, bent over the pulpit with Father Laufeyson behind you, but this time you can feel him align himself with your folds. Teasing you with his massive member.
“Are you ready for this, pet?” he says in a mix of a growl and a whisper.
Suddenly you feel him thrust his way inside you, filling you completely. The sound that escaped his lips causing you to quiver even more. You feel his hands on your shoulder and waist pulling you to him so he can get deeper inside you.
“You’re being such a good girl for me,” he states in between grunts.
The knot is building inside of you moment by moment, but right before you are about to cum, he pulls out, turns you around, and places you on the altar while tightly grabbing your jaw in his hand to hold your head up and bite your neck in your sweet spot.
What the actual fuck. Why did his hand feel like ice? Maybe I need to come to church more often…
What broke you out of this trance was everyone standing to take communion. It was your family’s turn to line up and you slowly made your way to the front. Your mother first, then Nolan, then you. As Nolan received his sacrament and his blessing, he walked back to his seat. Leaving you face to face with Father Laufeyson. You didn’t know what to do, his eyes bore deep into your soul and you felt as though you could not move. Instead of a blessing spoken over you, he placed the tasteless wafer on your tongue.
“Careful, this might be a little….cold,” he drug his finger along your bottom lip with a smirk that caused you to tingle in all the right places.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Your eyes widened with realization. It was him. He was the one placing those thoughts in your mind. You slowly made your way back to your seat like you’ve seen a ghost; pale white. Sitting down, Nolen tells you to get up so the prayer can be said and everyone can be excused. Once everyone was back to their places, the prayer began, and that was felt like it was never going to end.
The organist began playing and that was the sign that mass was over. As you and your family walked to the church entrance, you notice Father Laufeyson standing at the door speaking with some members of the congregation as they walked to their vehicles. As you watched him, you see he keeps looking up as if he was looking for someone. Then his eyes found you; like a predator zeroed in on his prey, he made his way to you and your family.
“Father Laufeyson! Great message this morning, thank you for all you do,” your mother smiles and…was she trying to flirt?
“Anything I can do to help my flock,” he replied, but keeping his eyes on you. “And who might this be?”
Nolan pipes up, “This is my older sister, Y/N. She’s gonna be staying with us for a little while.”
“Mmmm, Mrs. Davis,” looking over to your mother, “do you mind if I speak to your daughter in my chamber for a moment before you leave?” you sense the slyness.
“Of course not, Father, go right ahead!”
“Thank you.” His eyes focus on you darkly, “Follow me, pet.”
Loki holding you in bed after a long day in the office, filling out paperwork after a big mission. Due to your powers (Super Hearing/controlling the elements) days like this stressed you out. You could hear everything that was going on in the office, which caused an overwhelming ache in your temples. Medicine had stopped working a long time ago so the best you could do was sit in a dark room and try to go to sleep.
He pulled you in closer, rubbing your back. You snuggled in closer to his chest, listening to his heartbeat. The steady beat soothes you to sleep. But as you drift off you hear his whispered words.
