Just as the title say I am looking for a fic, here is what i remember:
When Odin brings Loki, him and Frigga discover that he is blind and are arguing. While that is happening a younger Thor is confused by what they are saying about his new brother and goes to Loki who is crying. Thor makes a promise to always protect him and while his hand is near Loki's, Loki grabs Thor's finger and finally stops crying. Its mentioned that all throughout their childhood Thor is one of the few people who can soothe Loki. At some point Loki comes down to earth to see Thor and encounter the Avengers Team, clearly not a villain and such. It was a one shot I believe. Thanks in advance!
When I read fanfic of @horns-of-mischief for a first time, I wanted to draw this so much, but there was a time, when I just learned to draw. Now I can do it. And I still love fanfic "Let me see you anew".
The floor of the cell was cool on his cheek, it helped him relax for the first time. Muscles sore from being strapped down for so long. But now that his true punishment had taken effect he was left to his own devices. Locked away in an empty cell to be forgotten about.
They wouldn’t even listen. They didn’t want to listen. Of all the times he tried to tell them of the dangers that awaited him they would put his muzzle back on. It also helped to muffle his screams as the serpent above him dripped its cruel venom onto his face. It burned into and round his eyes. Unrelenting and so infused with magic it was something he could not heal.
White eyes gazed unseeing at the wall, his back turned from the force field he could hear humming behind him. Some of his pride remained and he wouldn’t give onlookers the satisfaction of seeing him like this. Pathetic and crippled.
Hearing footsteps he curled his legs up to his chest as they stopped in front of his cell. “I’m not taking any visitors.. Go away..” He called out to them. Feeling their eyes on his back.
Chapters: 31/?
Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark, Happy Hogan/Pepper Potts (in the background)
Characters: Loki (Marvel), Tony Stark, Thor (Marvel), Bruce Banner, Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov, Pepper Potts, Nick Fury, Steven Strange, Happy Hogan, Doctor Doom, Victor von Doom, Sif
Additional Tags: Blindness, Aftermath of Torture, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Nightmares, Tony tries to make things better, Odin's A+ Parenting, Magic and Science, Drama, Lots of drama, PTSD, Slow Build, long fic, Tony still has his arc reactor, FrostIron - Freeform, Blind!Loki
Summary: When the Avengers let Thor take Loki back to Asgard to receive his punishment they never really thought about how it would be done. So, when after two years of silence the Thunderer suddenly comes back with his brother desperately clinging to him, Tony wonders how the justice system works in the Fairy Land. But what he imagines pales in comparison to the harsh reality he's faced with.
TITLE: Theory of the Ethereal Body
ONESHOT/CHAPTER NUMBER: Oneshot/Prequel
RATING: M
GENRE(S): Romance, Victorian Alternate Universe, Blind!Loki, Drama
SUMMARY: This house wrests such wickedness from her bones.
NOTES/WARNINGS: As a gift to my absolute bestie, startraveller776, this is a prequel to an AU drabble I wrote some time ago, also as a gift--to audreyii-fic. Reading the drabble, Well Read, is recommended, but not required. Twisted and wrong, like Lokane should be.
Huge thank you to thereallimegreenandloki for looking this over for me!!
Original story inspired by this photo:
I'm so sorry.
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“Jane Foster.”
Loki’s greeting is familiar, uttered by rote, and as irritating as it is thrilling. Not thrilling; unsettling. Not thrilling.
“It’s Odinson, now, brother.”
Jane tries, oh how she tries, to match his derision with her words. He always greets her with such cool insouciance, such indifference. He always calls her by her maiden name, and indeed, makes her feel a maid. “Foster.” Such a girlish concept, to kindle and to nurture, when she, a suitably wedded woman of arguable pedigree, has so little inclination to do so. Anymore, at least.
She had no idea that marriage had so dampening an effect on the cultivating of scholarly pursuit. The only pursuits she has time to foster now are the entertaining the unentertainable (her husband’s jaded friends, far too worldly to be wooed by the highest of high teas), impressing the unimpressable (Thor’s stoic father, Odin) and evading the unevadable (Loki.)
No wonder her retort sounds feeble on her lips. Even “brother” rings thin, as if she does not believe the title to be true.
Or worse, that she wishes it were not.
“Forgive me, sister-mine. I keep forgetting.”
Jane doubts he has forgotten anything in his miserable existence.
She turns back to attend her original, embarking on two of the insurmountable tasks she’s been given since her marriage to Thor: finding stolen moments, like this one, to secret away another book to her room, and ignoring Loki.
The latter succinctly extinguishes the hope for either with, “Are you quite sure you are in the right section?”
“Are you quite sure that you are?” Her retort is petty, unkind. Jane does not make a habit of mocking the disabled, and her cold ridicule of his blindness is a cruelty as foreign to her as the Norwegian Odin’s orchestrated dinners always dissolve into.
This house wrests such wickedness from her bones.
And like a viper, the vessel of poison rather than the victim, Loki smiles. The gesture is more akin to a wound than to happiness, the action slicing open his face in a bestial show of utter satisfaction at her petulance. From the edges of the smoked glass of his spectacles, Jane can see the corners of his ruined eyes crinkle in mirth.
“Oh, quite sure,” he says, his voice low and his chin high. “It just seems curious that you would be perusing Lodge’s Theory of the Ethereal Body when Thor has gone to such great lengths to procure the latest Dickens for you.”
“I have little interest in fiction and--” Jane stops short, realizing. “How did you know what book I selected?”
He steps closer to her and she bumps into the bookshelf at her back. With spindly fingers, he plucks the tome from her hands. He nimbly caresses the lovely leather binding, and Jane suddenly feels as if she were witness to a very intimate act. He lifts the book to his face and reverently presses his parted lips to the spine before answering.
"I know every inch of this room, this room above all others," he whispers into the spine.
The movement of his mouth on the leather and the slow stroke of his fingers on the binding hypnotizes Jane. To coerce such revelations with only his hands--to have such perception of his world based solely on the weight of the book in his grasp and the number of steps taken--this unlocking of a darkened world has been a fascination of Jane’s since the moment she met Thor’s younger brother.
She wanted to believe that the deference with which he held her book tugged at the academic side of her pneuma, how she too respected these bound tomes as the keepers of the ages of intellect. But the slow stroke of his fingers and the drag of his lips over the gold words of the spine--perhaps that is how he reads, through the touch of the delicate thin-ness of the skin of his lips--tugged at a much more base facet of her consciousness.
And quite suddenly, Jane wishes to just have her book back so she may flee this sudden and unwelcome arousal.
This is when Loki steps closer still
“I seem to have underestimated you, little Jane.”
His words are still whispered dagger-sharp and feather-soft into the spine of her book. The sweet lull of it calls her to lay her hands upon his on the book, to try to sort the world out through the tips of her fingers like he.
She resists.
“Underestimated me in what way?” Her words sound drowsy.
He smiles, though it is a much pleasanter gesture than before. “I had thought Thor only picked you because you were comely.”
She realizes the words are cruel, but something in the thrall he is spinning keeps her indignation at bay. Instead, it coaxes an invitation from her.
“And how do you know I am comely?”
He chuckles darkly. “By science, you must be.”
His tongue darts out, the tip lightly brushing the leather of the book. Jane very nearly moans.
“Your voice is of the optimum pitch, not so high that it grates upon a man’s patience. Low enough that he might imagine how your sighs of contentment would vibrate across his skin. Not flat and monotone, but nearly musical, and so inviting of cajoling his name from your lips in every pitch you possess.”
He’s even closer now, and Jane’s eyes have fallen closed. Hearing his voice is stimulation enough.
“You are petite in stature.” Jane can hear him place the book high up on the shelf, and suddenly his hands are at her waist. “And small in the waist. Both fashionable traits to have.”
She can feel, so acutely, the surprising heat of his hands that settle so purposefully at her middle. She can smell the sandlewood of his soap, something she is sure she would have noticed before. She should open her eyes. She should see where she is falling.
“And your hair.” His fingers grip a measure more tightly at her. “Your hair is heavy, thick and long. It was down, that morning before the wedding, when I came to offer my congratulations. You were so scarcely dressed, I thought your lady’s maid would die of fright from my coming in the room. Do you remember?”
“Yes.” Jane licks her lips, dry from the shuddering breaths his proximity is eliciting. “I told her you couldn’t see me.”
“Oh, but what is seeing, Jane? What do I know of sight? Of color, or pattern? These seemingly simple concepts so thoughtlessly referenced in every book I manage to consume. What is that to me?”
His hands trail to her hips and Jane’s fingers twitch with wanting to touch him.
“The brush of your loose hair on the naked skin of your back, that I know. The soft padding of your tiny feet on the carpet, unshod. The quiet left in the absence of your fussy gowns, replaced with the intimate, thin brush of the muslin of your shift. You stood more naked to me than you knew.”
“Loki--” Jane warns, her words choked.
“Your hair, I know it to be long and heavy and thick. Were I a gambler like my brother, I would wager it is also soft. But I am rather a man of science, and I test my hypotheses.”
He does, his hands in her hair, loosing it from her combs. Raking those keen fingers through the lot of it, roots to ends. Jane does moan, then.
“Like spun silk,” he says, his hypothesis spoken into law.
He tilts her head up, and she lets him, as he brings his mouth to hover over hers. “You are indeed comely, exquisite even, by the standards and measure of beauty those sighted fools find so important.”
She brings her hands to his lapels, finally giving into the urge to reciprocate contact. He steps bodily into her then, crushing her into the bookcase at her back.
She understands now, as her eyes fly open, reclaiming the sanity that exists in sight, why she always felt as if she should not find herself alone with Loki, the saturnine son of Odin. Why some part of her always warned against engaging him. The name Silvertongue, which whispers between the servants like the ripples on a lake, seems now more a warning than a sobriquet as her hands reach to test her own hypothesis that his hair is also silken. To say Loki is trouble is to say the night sky is vast; he is so much more than trouble and the night sky is infinite.
“It is the finest collection of published works on modern physics that bite into your back, Jane.” He is speaking against the skin of her neck, not kisses but something equally as igniting. “And I know it to be incomplete, the rest of the tomes secreted away in your chamber. This is why I cannot name you only comely, exquisite.”
Her eyes dart around the library, willing herself to see as much as possible, to stop hearing, to stop feeling.
“You are also clever.” His teeth nip at her jaw. “I like clever.”
“My book!” Her whisper is sharp, biting. “Kindly unhand me and give me my book!” She still holds him tightly.
His fingers nimbly pluck at the embroidery of her bodice, as if he could gather the sewn flowers into a bouquet, undo her petal by petal. “For a token, sister-mine, I will release you.”
Her eyes search his face, willing that damnable grin to divulge his intent. “A token?” She scoffs. “Are we children?”
“You are no child, clever Jane, and I’m sure you can suppose what I would require of you.”
His smile, so persistent. So cruel.
“In exchange for a book from my own library? I couldn’t begin to guess.”
“My father’s library, and only a kiss.”
“A kiss?” She drops her hands from their deathly grip at his jacket, her voice bewildered though she knows she has no right to claim disillusionment. Her fingers ache from clinging to him.
“Does this honestly scandalize you?” He rolls his hips more firmly into her, and indeed, a kiss seems very much a token in light of the dragon’s horde that is his desire.
“No,” she admits, straightening. She has lost so much ground since the search for a new book began. She needs some measure of it back. “Though it surprises me. You think me clever, but I now think you droll and predictable.”
His smiling mouth purses, and he absently fingers a lock of her still fallen hair. “I have been thought worse.” His hand falls to her neck and the indifferent tilt to his head quickens her pulse. His voice is dead when he asks, “My token, might I have it?”
Jane should not. Jane knows she should not.
“Only a kiss?” The words sound like her last. “Very well.”
Slowly, so slowly, the displeasure drains from his face, his mouth loosening. His lupine curl of lips is returned as he reaches to remove his smoked glass spectacles, head bowed. He places the glasses in her hand and turns his face back on her.
Jane cannot help but to gasp at the first sight of his eyes. Horrible and beautiful, like milky opals placed askew in a silver setting. If he looked a daunting specter before, the opaque stillness of his eyes places him atop a mountain in Delphi, foretelling the doom of kings.
“May you find this clever,” he says, before dropping to his knees.
She is so disarmed by his eyes that, even before she can register his movement, he swoops beneath the flounces of her skirts. She bites back a shriek when his large hands find crushing hold at her hips.
“L-Loki!” she pants, her hands gripping the shelves behind her for support. His thumbs hook into the waistband of her pantalettes, dragging them down an inch. “Loki…”
He places a searing, wet and probing kiss at the hollow inside her hipbone, employing teeth, tongue and lips. A warbling, gurgled sound bursts from Jane and Loki stills. His lips lay along the ridge of her hipbone and he speaks against it, like she were the spine of a book.
“Tell me to stop, Jane.” His voice is soft from beneath the layers of her gown. She would laugh at the absurdity of it if she were not so taken by her pantalettes dragging down another inch. “My token is won.”
His tongue slices across her abdomen, wetly caressing her in places even her husband has not traveled.
“You must tell me to stop, woman, or I will teach you the meaning of Silvertongue,” he says louder, in warning.
She shuts her eyes again, a dangerous tactic. To feel rather than see. To feel rather than think.
“Don’t--” her pantalettes slide lower. “Don’t stop.”
And as he sets his mouth on her, hungrily devouring her surrender, she thinks she may never open her eyes again. If only feeling his mouth is so sublime, if only hearing his obscene sounds of appreciation is so gratifying, why should she look upon anything ever again. To be at the same plane as this man who thinks her clever first, comely by science, second. If she could live like this, just like this, why must she see?
And when his deep, damp, brutal kisses bring her to peak among the stars, she remembers.
Her book, still on the top shelf. Her husband, in his study. And his brother, on his knees coaxing her to come again using only his mouth.
She thinks she would rather never see anything again, but only because she might see their accusation, or her own guilt.
Loki wrests another crest from her, and Jane opens her eyes.
A: Okay, so, basically there's nothing too exciting for me to say. Just a fair warning, there's a brief mention of self-harm in this chapter right at the beginning and really I'm just dancing around the topic now. One day I'll face it.
Summary: Feels and a movie.
Part Seventeen: (previous | next) now on AO3 and FFN for your reading discretion.
Loki stood when Tony was asleep, but only for putting on something that would cover those scars. Since he couldn't find his own shirt, he borrowed Tony's long sleeved one and put it on, returning to the bed then, and curling up against the man, his fingertips lazily tracing lines on the man's body until he woke up again.
He didn't sleep, though, he was not tired enough.
Tony awakes a short time later, feeling refreshed with his short nap. He smiles and snuggles into the warmish body beside him, his knee slotting between Loki's.
"Good morning," he murmurs despite the fact that he knows it's far from morning. "Didn't mean to fall asleep on ya." He presses his nose into Loki's hair and takes a deep breath.
Tony smiles back. "You're wearing my shirt," he points out tugging on the fabric.
"I am. I couldn't find mine." He chuckled. Even if he was not about to sleep, and he was just relaxing there, it was rather comfortable, and he didn't feel like he should move away or anything.
A sudden thought blossoms, and Tony slides the sleeve up. He hadn't been paying attention enough earlier, finding himself more about trying to pleasure Loki than anything else, to see.
He wasn't entirely sure those scars from the days earlier would still be there, and most certainly not where they came from, but there they were just hidden by his shirt, a sharp contrast to Loki's pale, alabaster skin. He brings Loki's wrist to his lips and presses a kiss there.
Despite that kiss, Loki quickly took his hand back, pulled down the sleeve again, pushed away the blankets and sat up on the edge of the bed, looking around for his clothes.
Tony frowned as Loki pulled away. He sits up as well, moving closer.
"Hey," he says softly, reaching for the god. "Don't go." His fingers wrap around the top of Loki's arm gently. "What did I do?"
He couldn't have ruined this already. It wasn't possible.
"Loki, I-I'm sorry, whatever I did, I'm sorry." His voice was gentle, soft, concerned.
Okay, so no scars. He was supposed to ignore them. He could do that.
Loki heaves a sigh, dropping his head.
"Not a question, Anthony. Not one," he said before he lay back down on the bed.
"Wasn't planning on it," he says as he pulls Loki back towards him. "It's not any of my business."
He burrows his face into Loki's hair once more. It's a long moment before he decides to speak.
"I do have one question though, not about that. But I wanted to know what changed. What happened between us...?" And he meant more than the sex, he meant the sudden nicety between them. "I mean, I'm gone for a month, and then suddenly we're wrapped in a cocoon of emotion. It's different. A good different, though," he says as an afterthought.
"If you don't know, why should I?"
Tony gave a lazy shrug. "I don't know. Just thought I'd ask." He tightens his arms around Loki's waist, pulling the god closer to him. "But you noticed too, yeah? It wasn't just me."
"It wasn't just you," he confirmed with a nod.
He presses a kiss to Loki's neck and Loki purrs. "You're still wearing my shirt," he says slipping one of his hands beneath the hem and splaying his fingers out on the toned flesh he found beneath. "I kinda want it back."
"If you want it, you will have to take it off of me," he responded, casually throwing his long leg across the man's waist while he absently drew some abstract figure on his chest.
Tony chuckles as he seals their lips with a kiss. Grabbing the bottom of his shirt, he lifts it up and over Loki's head, breaking the kiss to do so.
"Thanks," he says rolling away from the trickster.
He holds the clothing close to his chest as he does. Shaking the shirt out, he fixes it so it's right side out and pulled it over his head.
"I was getting a little chilly there," he says teasingly with a small smile spreading over his lips.
As soon as Tony was dressed again, Loki leaned over, grabbing his arm and pulled him back down on the bed, so that he could have back his comfortable position.
"Is it because of my skin?"
Tony smiles a little bit.
"Partly," he admits. "But I also don't have the heat on as high as I usually would. So it's already cold. Plus it's snowing. Or at least cold enough to snow. But I like how your skin is colder than normal." He was rambling, he knew, but he often did.
"Is my skin hot to you?" he wonders.
"Incredibly hot. Not enough to be a torture, though."
It was a pleasant warmth, actually. He was just like a fireplace in winter, and being always so cold, some warmth was pleasant. Not at all like that warmth Thanos used to 'persuade' him to follow his orders, that hadn't been pleasant at all.
"Oh. Well, that's good to know. That it's not torturous, I mean."
Kinda like how Tony felt about Loki's skin though. It was jumping in the pool on a hot summer's day; cold at first but the longer you're in it, the better it feels. And after a week of nightmares featuring that cave in Afghanistan, cuddling up to Loki felt amazing. His thumb rubs little circles into the God's flesh and he hums softly.
Loki sighed, his eyes closing again as he relaxed against the man.
Tony snuggles closer and pulls the blanket up further so it would cover their shoulders, or at least his. It was still cold.
The last time he'd spent time after like this... Well it had been a while. He and Pepper had long lost this before they had split. He missed it.
And maybe he enjoyed this more because it was less complicated. More intimate than a one night stand, but simpler than a full time relationship. But maybe he didn't enjoy it as much because it was more intimate than a one night stand but simpler than a full time relationship.
Not like it really matters, he thinks as he closes his eyes again.
And besides, Loki was a fantastic lover.
Loki was feeling cuddly. It was something he had always enjoyed by staying in bed all the time with his lover, having the chance to relax and go for a silly behavior, almost superficial. Just relax and enjoy some time together.
His hand moved from Tony's chest to his shoulder and up his neck, moving then through short, wild locks. He liked Tony's hair. He didn't know why, but he liked it.
Tony hummed at the feeling of Loki's hand ghosting across him until his fingers were on his scalp, playing with his hair. A tiny grin forms on his lips, his eyes still closed. It felt nice.
Wonderful, if he had to choose a word, it would certainly be wonderful. It wasn't the first time that evening he noticed Loki playing with his hair.
"Now look who has a thing for hair." He blinks his eyes opened and tilts his head so he can stare down to Loki and still have the god play with his hair.
"I have a thing for your hair. It's soft and it has a nice smell," Loki responded, not even looking at Tony while he spoke, he just looked at his own hand while playing with the man's hair.
"We will have to stand sooner or later," Loki muttered absently after a silent moment, though not really in the mood for moving, less than ever when they were so covered, and there was so much snow outside. He liked snow. They could go out if they didn't know what to do.
"I'm too comfortable to stand," Tony mock complains.
And I'm afraid this will go away if I do, he thinks to himself. It was uncanny but true.
"Besides, there's not much to do out there." Not together at least. "Nothing fun. You don't want to watch movies or build a snowman and a snowball fight is off the table."
It might (ha!), probably was, quite presumptuous of him to assume they'd continue to spend their time together outside of the bedroom. They hadn't before. Why would they start now?
"Mh," Loki responded.
Moving his hand back to Tony's chest, he tapped absently on his skin while thinking to what they could do. If he agreed with the snowman, he would cheat. He knew he would. He was a Frost Giant, it would be as easy as a snow fight.
"I could take watching a movie, if you pick a very good one." Loki looks up at him with a questioning look. He didn't really know Tony's tastes, after all.
Tony's eyes brighten because (ha!) it's a small victory.
"Well, your definition of good might be completely different from my definition of good." He takes his hand and lays it on top of Loki's on his own chest. "But I could show you my movie collection and you can pick out one that appeals to your tastes," he says as he twists their fingers together.
"I have never seen a movie, Anthony. I wouldn't really know what to pick. Though, for as long as it is not some silly love story, it should be okay." He shrugged.
"The only silly romances would be left over from Pepper," he tells. He tilts his head slightly away from Loki. "We don't have to leave the bed, if you don't want to." Tony didn't want to himself. He brings their hands up to rest beside his head. "We could lay right here and watch it on the screen over there," he offers.
Loki pouted slightly and leaned over as well for reaching him once more, his teeth returning to nibbling softly on warm skin.
"Yes, please. I don't really want to move." He agreed. It sounded nice, laying there, in the warmth, while watching a movie and the snow falling out of the window.
Tony smiles and snuggles closer to the god, enjoying the little nibbling that he was doing. He calls out to JARVIS to start a movie. He didn't really have a particular one in mind. He simply wanted to enjoy the time spent cuddling close to Loki, and not having to deal with responsibilities.
Loki didn't really care about the movie. It was just an excuse to keep on staying together in such a peaceful way. If they didn't have to move from the bed, better. He didn't look at the screen or what was upon it, he kept his eyes closed, or he looked at Tony, and closed them again then.
"Tony?" he called, looking back up at him.
"Hmm?"
Tony. It sounded terrible. Cutting off names like that was so disrespectful... And yet it came spontaneous calling him like that. When he turned and looked at him, Loki gave him a light smile.
"Kiss me."
Tony smiles back at Loki. He raises his brow at Loki but doesn't say anything. Who was he to argue if the god wanted a kiss?
When Tony leaned towards him, Loki leaned as well, his hand returning to hold the mortal's hair. When their lips met softly for a slow and gentle kiss, he smiled and pulled Tony closer.
He didn't know why, but he liked kissing him. His lips were warm and soft. Maybe it was because of that.
Tony smiles into the kiss. He enjoyed kissing Loki too. Or maybe he just enjoyed Loki.
Either way, he pulls the trickster on top of himself as he deepens the kiss, less because he wanted to take the kiss further, and more because he wanted the god as close to him as he could.
The god slipped one of his legs between Tony's for being more comfortable, and pushed his long hair on one side to not have it in the way. He nibbled playfully on the mortal's bottom lip, moving closer to him.
Tony hummed with enjoyment, his fingers flexing on the pale alabaster skin of the Asgardian. He smiles again as he pulls away to look at the god fully. A calloused hand cups Loki's cheek and his thumb strokes absently.
"You're beautiful," he murmurs.
He grinned at the compliment and lay his head back on Tony's shoulder.
"I am totally aware of that.”
Tony laughs softly and rolls his eyes.
"Of course you'd say that. Although, you have every reason to." Absently he runs his fingers through Loki's hair as he return to pretending to pay attention to the movie.
Loki grinned and closed his eyes again. He knew he was good looking, often it had been proved to be a powerful weapon for him to use, but Tony was not bad at all to look at either.
