You work in the administration department for Stark Industries in their London office, processing a slew of business expenses for everyone connected to The Avengers. One dismal Tuesday morning, you catch an out-of-policy item that you absolutely cannot let slide. A transaction with the label ‘Intimate Services’ by one Loki Laufeyson.
Words: 5,000
Contains: Fluff, flirting and comfort. Arrogant and mildly defensive Loki, if you squint.
Warnings: Strong language throughout. Sexual references. An ending so sweet it’ll give you tooth rot.
A/N: Special special thanks to @lokisgoodgirl, who not only helped birth Expenses!Loki, but also helped me understand how to write Loki out-of-Asgard and what his demeanour would be like and how we could get him to soften. Thank you LGG, I love you!!
***
Intimate Services. Fucking hell. This guy’s literally hiring escorts on the company’s dime.
You closed the spreadsheet with Loki Laufeyson’s transactions for the past month, and reviewed the email in your drafts.
You proof-read your words for what was surely the 46th time, eyes flitting across the screen rapidly from left to right, before returning to the top of the email to once again scrutinize your introduction.
Dear Loki,
No, too romantic.
Loki Laufeyson.
With a full-stop? As an intro? Too aggressive. I’m way too British for that.
Good afternoon Sir,
Too impersonal. And Sir? What is it, 1893?
Hi Mr. Loki,
Fuck it. That’ll do. He’s probably not even awake, it’s the middle of the night in New York.
Right. Fine.
Just fucking send it.
You scanned the body of the email one final time, shrugged an involuntary shoulder, and pressed send. A sigh left your lips as you leaned back in your grey office chair, swiveling round to have a gander at the view. The streets of London were monotone, shades of grey the only palate. Raindrops ran down the windows as your mind raced.
Two months had passed since you started as a Group Administrator for Stark Industries. The London office was largely unknown, existing for the sole purpose of housing the extensive Finance department and the ever-expanding Legal group. Your boss tasked you with processing expense claims for middle management, which bored you to tears, until you were handed files you never imagined you would see – the transactions for a group called Group A. Or as you now internally dubbed them, The A Team.
Your eyes widened, eyebrows raised silently as you leafed through the files, the sound of your bosses footsteps fading as she walked away on the industrial flooring. You read the names of the files.
N.Romanoff
S.Rogers
B.Banner
T.Odinson
L.Laufeyson
The fucking Avengers??? This shite job is about to get a whole lot juicier.
You made a game of it. You built a picture of who each person was beneath the rubber superhero suit. A real person. One who liked chicken Caesar salad. One who loved a hot chocolate with his breakfast. Another who enjoyed a Swedish massage after a particular strenuous mission.
“The costs are personally funded by Tony Stark.” Your manager had explained. “So usual policy doesn’t apply. They’re risking their lives, so the odd bottle of champagne can go through. There are some exceptions, though. I’ll email them.”
The most fascinating expenses by far were by one Loki Laufeyson. He pushed the boundaries frequently, often using his Stark Industries card for a taxi one evening and a return journey the following morning, matching a hotel receipt for a King room booked for two guests – second name Ms. N.E. Body. Plush hotels, bespoke suits, hair salons and manicurists were the norm. You had stopped raising an eyebrow.
But the expense item today was so blatant you had to take action. Missing it would place your role at risk or at least under the fierce scrutiny of your boss.
You read it again.
Intimate Services.
Who does this guy think he is? Paying for hookers on Tony Stark’s dollar. Pompous knob-end.
You sighed again, returning your gaze and your thoughts to your desk, opening a brown manila folder to a neatly written list and itemized receipts organized in date order and stapled to the top left-hand corner. You didn’t even need to look at the name. It belonged to Captain Rogers. You clicked his tab on your spreadsheet and began typing. You saw movement out of the corner of your eye and turned in its direction.
Your pupils dilated at the sight of your colleague pointing to your desk, the direction of his finger followed by the eyes of a tall, devastatingly handsome man with black hair who was looking straight at you, brow furrowed and head cocked.
You gawked at him in disbelief as he walked towards your desk, the sequence happening in both slow motion and at lightning speed.
“You are the clerk who sent me the electronic letter, yes?” He held up his iPhone, pointing to it, your email staring back at you.
“Y-y-yeah, I, ummm… yeah I-I did, erm…”
Come on brain, work. FUCK.
You shook your head and turned away from him and back to the safety of your screen. Despite his casual attire of black jeans and navy blue hoodie, he oozed power and gravitas. He could break your neck and maintain a steady heartrate and stoic expression, you were certain of it.
He positioned his arms behind his back and tilted his chin upwards. “Tell me the nature of your enquiry, clerk.”
Did he just call me a fucking clerk? Right that’s it. It’s ON.
“It’s YN.” Your tone was flat.
“Well YN, it appears I’ve been somewhat…” He licked at his lips and smiled to himself in mirth, black eyelashes fluttering downwards. “Naughty.”
You felt your stomach flip over.
Fuck.
Is he hot or am I just ovulating?
No. No, he’s an arsehole. An entitled prick who thinks he’s above everyone else.
“Regardless. I am scheduled to attend one of those ghastly long conference meetings you all seem to love so much. So whatever it is, I don’t have all day.” He crossed his arms in front of him. You were sure he pouted.
Whatever it is? Didn’t you read my email? I spent twenty minutes laboring over it.
“Whatever the nature of your enquiry, let us resolve it.” You didn’t move, or respond. He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Today, preferably.”
Rude.
“Well, look – I know it’s kind of beneath you,” you rolled your eyes. “But there’s an expense item that’s against policy.”
“Policy?” He scoffed. “This is absurd.”
“Well, you know, I don’t disagree, but it’s my job.”
“These ridiculous bureaucrats insist on ticking every infernal box, do they not.”
“Yep.” You finished the word with a pop, looking back to your screen. You highlighted a row in yellow on your spreadsheet. Movement in your peripheral vision caused you to turn. He stretched his arms overhead, removing his hoodie to reveal a tight white tshirt clinging to his lean torso, the material ridding up to reveal the lower part of his abs.
God.
He squinted at you, whetting his lips unconsciously. You shook your head and looked down at the crumbs lodged in your keyboard.
“Why must they insist on making these places so hot?” He muttered to himself as he neatly folded his discarded garment.
“Is it uncomfortable for you? I mean, you’re from somewhere cold, right? At least that’s what I heard.”
“Asgard.” He spoke flatly. “The climate is much the same.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You didn’t.”
An uncomfortable silence fell. Your hand, resting over your mouse, began to tremble. Loki cocked his head, furrowing his brow slightly. He spoke, his volume lowering.
“Your electronic letter raised issue with an item I had purchased. Yes?”
You nodded. “Yeah and erm… I emailed you because I… I didn’t expect you to be here. In the office, I mean. I thought you lived in New York, with…. with your brother and the team.” In some kind of cult-ish compound, but that’s above my pay grade and below my sense of wonder.
“I’m visiting London to sign an agreement.” He unfolded his arms, placing them in the pockets of his black jeans. “Must be done in person, allegedly. The laws here are nonsensical. Nevertheless – what is the nature of this item? Are you able to show me on your machine?” He pointed to the screen.
“You, erm… you don’t have computers, right? Where you’re from?”
He shook his head.
“On, erm… Asgard. Did I get that right?” You offered a nervous smile.
His lips twitched up at the corners. “You did.”
“It must be strange being here. Is it?”
He glanced down at the floor, cocking his head in thought. “Sometimes.”
“But you fight for us, though. And you’re away from home. You help us, so… I guess the least we can do is pay for some stuff, right.”
He frowned and pulled his head back. He leaned forward, looking you up and down. “You jest, yes?”
You shook your head rapidly. “No Mr. Loki.”
He let out a puff of air at your terminology. Not quite a laugh. But apparently he wasn’t going to throttle you today, so you filed it away in your mind in a folder mentally marked as ‘progress.’
He raised up an arm in the direction of your screen. “Shall we?” He finished his words with a smile that stopped time. You swallowed hard and turned back to the screen.
“Yeah, so… erm… it’s just this one…” You gestured to the transactions from the bank. “There’s no receipt, which is totally okay because you’re with The A Team, but I looked at the transaction and it just says, well… this.”
You highlighted the row in green now, and looked up at him. His expression slackened a little and he leaned down, placing a firm hand on the top of your seat, his face now level with yours as you looked at the computer together.
“Hmmm. Intimate Services. Hardly seems like an appropriate use of Stark’s resources, does it?”
You glanced to the side to see him smirking, looking at you with an expression of pure mirth, his face inches from yours. You smiled back, looking into eyes that were surely hundreds of years old, if not more. Who were you kidding. You knew full-well he was over a thousand. You had Googled him. And now, you ogled him in the flesh.
He stood upright then perched on the edge of your desk, thick thighs spreading across the expanse of wood. You noticed how his jeans and t-shirt felt oddly more intimidating than the black designer suit you had seen in photographs, or even the battle armor from his homeland. He reached down into an opened Ziploc bag of cashews on your desk and grabbed a handful, nestling his stash in one palm as he snacked, one nut at a time.
You frowned in curiosity. “Do you like those?”
“Yes. We have them on Asgard. They’re considered a treat. I understand they are not considered such here.”
“Yeah, they’re more like a healthy snack.”
His eyes roamed your desk ahead of his question. “You do not indulge in those poisonous things in the gaudy little plastics?” He cocked his head in the direction of a box of Quality Street on the side of a spare desk, your colleague desk cracking the lid and fishing out three orange creams.
“I try not to. They’re not good for me. Have you tried chocolate yet?”
“Yes and it gave me a horrific headache, and to be frank a rather delicate tummy.”
You scoffed a laugh, earning a rumbling chuckle from your new guest. He continued to snack on the nuts. “What are we to do about this financial faux pas then, YN?”
He remembered my name. Kind of nice actually. Definitely less dick-ish than I expected.
“I dunno. It’s just… look, what you do on your own time is none of my business. But I’m gonna get into shit with my boss if I don’t query it.”
“Hmm. Well we can’t have that now, can we.” He leaned forward, grinning at you mischievously, strong hands gripping the sides of the desk, looking into your eyes.
Is he trying to hypnotize me?
It’s fucking working.
“Are you hungry?”
“I beg your pardon?” He wore an incredulous expression.
“Well, you’re snacking on things from home. And you said chocolate doesn’t agree with you…. so, I can Google some places for you. We have a Waitrose nearby, it’s a little like Whole Foods, the place you like in New York.”
“How do you – ”
“Oh, sorry – I see your transactions and it seems like you go there a lot. I didn’t mean to be nosy. I just… wanted you to feel welcome, I guess. You’re a guest here, it seems rude not to.”
He nodded wordlessly and remained quiet for a moment. “Well. Though I know how to use the telephone directory on my mobile computer, and search for such locations, it is… rather… generous…. of you to offer.” He paused. “Thank you.” Another silence fell. “You know, I… I seldom eat the food here. It makes me quite unwell. But the market to which you refer, they prepare vegetables with herbs that I recognize. And I am able to consume it without too much trouble.”
“I’m glad. It’s hard when we only eat certain things. Gluten makes me sick, so I get it. And you’ve made a good choice with Whole Foods. I used to go there a lot, when I lived out there.”
“New York?” The bag rustled as he fished out another handful of cashews, smiling at you as he reached into the bag.
“LA.”
“Oh! The western coast, yes?”
“Yeah.” You smiled at him warmly, before sliding from your seat and kneeling down in front of your snack drawer. You pulled out an item and looked up at him. “Would you like a date?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“A date.” You showed him the long plastic box of Medjool dates.
“Oh I see.” He smirked. “A little forward, YN, no?” He looked down at you kneeling in between his legs. You blushed and stood, shaking your head.
“They’re rather good.” He chewed and spoke between mouthfuls of the sweet dried fruit. “I don’t suppose you have any figs?”
“I don’t, but I can go and buy some for you on my lunch break.”
“Thank you, YN.”
“Do you like olives?”
“Very much.”
“Oranges? Apples?”
“I love them.”
“Chicken?”
“Absolutely.”
You started writing the items down in your notebook.
“Bread?”
“Oh… no thank you. No pastries either, please.”
“You got it. What about veggies from the salad bar?”
“Yes please.”
“How about that pre-sliced fruit stuff – melon, mango, kiwi, that sort of thing?”
“Mmmm Norns yes.” His eyes rolled back as he recalled the first time he tried the Midgardian fruits, sweet and delicious, and completely exotic to his palate.
“Blueberries, raspberries… those are pretty good. Easy to eat in a meeting too.”
“Yes I like those.”
“Big bag o’nuts?”
He scoffed incredulously. “Excuse me, YN?”
You didn’t mean to glance at his crotch. But apparently your subconscious mind was a thirsty bitch today. And to be fair, the large bulge in his jeans was almost directly in your sightline. You blushed and began to stutter. This elicited a raucous sound from Loki, his head tilting back and his hearty belly laugh echoing out and over the office cubicles. His chortles subsided and he dabbed the corner of his eye with his middle finger, groaning quietly to himself with glee. You added some wildcards to your handwritten list:
Potato wedges?
Green juice?
Kombucha?
“You write with paper, not on your pocket telephone like the others. You are old fashioned.” He watched you curiously.
“Yeah. I guess so.” You tore the sheet out of your notepad and folded it over. “If there’s anything else you like to eat, just let me know, okay?”
His face softened, lips pulled up at the corner. “I will.”
“So, erm… what we gonna do about this whole situation.” You held up a hand and motioned towards your screen.
Loki shrugged. “I will face the consequences, I suppose. Quick slap on the wrist, in all likelihood. I will ensure they are aware it was my doing, and that you have satisfied their criteria.”
“Thank you, Mr. Loki.”
“It’s simply Loki.”
“Okay.” You paused, standing to place a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be right back, okay?” You returned and handed him a glass. “It’s out of the water cooler, so it’s filtered. No chemicals. It should be okay for you.”
“Thank you.” Another smile. Tentative. Sweet. Bashful, almost.
Hmmm. Maybe he’s not such a bell-end after all.
Maybe.
You spoke as he drank. “You know, it was weird, the whole intimate services thing.” You whispered the phrase. “Because I checked the mission sheets, and it was just after you got back from Asgard with Thor. The same day, actually.” You didn’t notice the colour drain from his face. You continued. “It’s okay though. They’ll probably just trace the transaction back to the vendor.” You looked up to see a pale-faced Loki.
“T-trace it back? You mean, they will know exactly who I purchased from? And what I purchased?”
“Yeah. But like you said, slap on the wrist, right?”
He swallowed. “YN. I…” he glanced furtively over his shoulder, then leaned forward. “I wish to speak with you in private.” His bottom lip trembled. “Please.”
You gave a quick and subtle nod, collecting Loki’s manilla file, plus your pen and notepad. You jerked your head in the direction of a meeting room. You began to walk through the gangway between the clusters of office cubicles, Loki following you. You purposely spoke within earshot of your colleagues. “Yeah it won’t take long. We’ll just get them signed off. Is that alright?”
He responded cordially, continuing the charade. “Of course, Miss. Thank you.”
You reached an empty meeting room, sliding the door sign to “IN USE” and closed the door behind you both. You looked at him expectantly.
“They cannot trace this back. What I mean to say is, they mustn’t. We must not allow it. Because it’s… well. It’s not what you think.”
“Go on.”
He squared his jaw, casting his gaze to the floor as he reached into his back jeans pocket. He typed on his phone, seeming to find what he was looking for. He lifted his phone up, almost turning it towards you, then stopped. He allowed his hand to hang down beside his hip, phone clutched tightly. “For context, I… I had spent two weeks on Asgard. And I… my family are… well, they’re rather difficult. I wasn’t at my best.”
“I know that feeling.” You smiled in understanding.
He looked down at his phone, cocking his head, hesitating. He placed his phone down on the conference room table and walked away, hands in his back pockets, pacing towards the door and back. You took a couple steps forward and peered over a high-backed black leather chair, reaching over and picking up the phone. You stared at the website.
Of all the perverse, strange things it could have been, the odd services this well-resourced man required... you didn’t think it was this.
This was the very last thing you would have imagined.
“It’s… not a service we have on Asgard. I… well, it was something I need- well. I chose to purchase it.”
The words glared back at you.
Professional Cuddlers.
Private. Discreet. Compassionate.
“Loki…”
“Please. Don’t.”
You walked up to him, whispering to the back of his white t-shirt. “Don’t what?”
“Pity me.”
“I’m not.”
“I…” He turned. “I did not have an enjoyable visit to my homeland. When I searched for private compassionate escorts… I found this.”
“And you don’t want anyone to know.”
“Precisely.”
“Okay. I won’t tell anyone.”
He swallowed, looking at the floor. “What will you do now? To prevent them from investigating.”
“There are some forms I’ll get you to sign. Basically you admit to wrong-doing, you say what it was… and they’ll let it go. They won’t need to do an internal investigation, because you’ve already confessed.”
“Right. And we say it was a prostitute. Yes?” Wide, green eyes burned their way into your soul.
“Mmm hmmm.”
“You don’t sound certain.”
“I’m just… curious.”
“How so?”
“Why are you so keen to cover it up? I mean… I guess I just want to understand why you’d rather say you paid for a hooker.”
He tilted his chin up, Prince mode activated. “I care not who harbors knowledge of my indulgence in the pleasures of the flesh. I do concern myself with others knowing of…” his voice caught in his throat. “…my need to be held.”
You smiled softly, words no longer mattering. “That makes sense.”
His tone became suddenly buoyant, his actions animated as he stepped forward and swiped his phone from the conference table. “But I do need to uncover why you saw it on the Stark listings. I was certain I used the correct plastic pass. Would you – would you show me?” He gestured to the seats and you sat down at the table with him. He presented his wallet to you, handing it over.
“Oh! I mean, you wouldn’t just give someone your wallet, usually.”
“But you’re not simply someone. You work for Stark.”
You smirked. “That doesn’t mean I’m trustworthy.”
“Well. Quite.” He slid his credit cards out of his wallet. “They look identical, do they not?”
Two black cards. Same bank. Both marked L. Laufeyson. “To be fair they are pretty similar.”
He leaned in, voice hushed. “How does it work, exactly?”
“What, credit cards? Or the banking system?”
“Both.” He paused. “Please.”
“Erm… hang on, has nobody explained this to you? They should have done. Especially because you’re a visitor.”
“There was an incredibly dull mortal who – ”
You pointed, grinning. “Okay first of all, don’t call us mortals.”
“I accept your terms, YN.” He smirked. “Anyway, this man, he yabbered on for hours about the terms of my time on Midgard and the arrangements with your government. To be frank, I switched off.”
“So they did tell you, but you didn’t listen.” Your lips curled up into a genuine smile.
This guy. This fucking guy.
“Yes. Guilty.” He raised up a palm earnestly whilst smirking. You reached for his hand and placed it down.
“Okay. So I actually asked my manager about this, because I’m nosy.”
He frowned. “You assured me you were not prying into my affairs when you worked on my files.”
“I lied. So. My manager said, you and Thor have a deal with our governments as a condition of your time here on earth. It’s through Stark Industries. They pay your salary. The idea is, if we give you a salary you’ll be a functioning member of society because you’ll have the means to get an apartment and such, and not like, I dunno, blow things up and kill some people to get your own way.”
Loki rolled his eyes.
“So basically Tony gave you two cards. One is a company credit card. This one.” You pointed to it. “The other is a personal debit card. This one here. Your salary is paid into your bank account, and you can spend what you earn using this card. Easiest way to remember it is this – the card with the number ending in 1177 is your own personal money.”
“I see. So I have resources that are available to me, using this pass. A debit card, you say?”
“Yeah.”
“Ah. And my salary, what is that exactly?”
You lingered for a moment, unsure if he was serious. Apparently he was. Perhaps they don’t have that where he’s from. “Okay, so… because you work for The Avengers and you do missions and stuff – plus all that other publicity bullshit they force you to do, shaking hands, kissing babies, all of that – they pay you a set amount of money per year. And it’s paid into your bank account regularly. In America, I think it’s every two weeks.”
“They give me money every two weeks?”
“Yep.”
“How much?”
“I shouldn’t know this, it’s supposed to be private, but I have a friend in HR. You’re on $250k a year.”
He squinted. “Is that good?”
“Yeah. Very good.”
“Who is the richest man on Midgard?”
“Erm… I dunno, probably the guy who owns Amazon.”
“He owns the rainforest?”
“No… well, maybe. Why’d you ask?”
“I suppose I want to know how I fit into the grand scheme of things here.”
“Well, you’re doing good. And it’s great, right? They give you money for being here.”
“It’s largely disappointing.”
“How come?”
“You mean to say I have a finite amount of resources?”
“As opposed to what… infinite amounts?”
“Well… yes.”
“You’re not serious.”
“On Asgard, I have access to the wealth of the entire realm.”
“Ohhhhhh. Shit. You’re from the royal family there. Right?”
He straightened up proudly. “Yes. Crown Prince of Asgard.”
You nodded respectfully. “Your Highness…”
He nodded back, impossibly regal. “Thank you, Miss.”
You smiled at each other with mirth.
“But… it doesn’t quite work like that here. You know that, right? You can’t just have… anything you want.”
“Why not?”
“Well. You…”
“I jest. I am as you say, pulling a leg.” He toyed with the edge of his debit card. He picked it up. “So when I wish to purchase an item, what do I do?” He grinned playfully.
He’s been here a year and he’s bought stuff, he knows full well.
You picked up his hand – which had been resting on his thigh – and held it upright, palm facing you. “So you just hold it up to the card machine… your hand’s the card machine in this scenario, and you just go….” You hovered the card over his palm. “BOOP!”
“Ehehehehe… what do I do??”
You tapped the card against his skin. “BOOP!”
He moved his hand to rest over his belly, fingers spread, laughing again. His eyes creased at the corners, crinkled in glee, as the whitest, brightest, most wonderful smile shone in front of you.
God he’s gorgeous.
Shit.
OH SHIT.
Not ideal.
Not fucking ideal at all.
“Mr. Laufeyson?” A cautious female voice called from behind the door, knocking lightly. “The legal team have gathered. We are ready when you are, Sir.”
Loki rolled his eyes at the voice. “I’ll be right there!” He called out, smiling at you.
You stood, feeling an odd sensation in your belly at the thought of returning to your desk and away from the banter with your new friend.
“Come with me please, YN.”
“I’m sorry?”
“To this infernal meeting. I…” He looked to the side, smirking. “I require assistance, you see. Someone to make a note of words and phrases that I do not understand, because I am not from here.”
“Loki.” You crossed your arms and tilted your head down. “We both know that’s bullshit.”
“Perhaps. But it will be marginally less idiotic with you there.”
“That’s a back-handed compliment if ever I heard one, sir.”
“Fine.” He huffed and crossed his arms. He tilted his chin downwards and spoke softly. “Please?”
You sighed.
“Or shall I beg?”
“Okay fine.”
He dropped to one knee and looked up at you, smirking, arms outstretched.
“NO! I meant, fine I’ll go with you! Not yes please beg.”
He crinkled his nose as he stood. “Good. You shall join me, then”
“And after that, I’ll go buy that food for you. On your card, just so you’re aware. Given you’re minted.”
He scoffed, still smiling, and pushed his chair back under the table before taking leisurely strides towards the door. You had an urge. You decided to take the risk. You rushed up to him from behind, stopping right behind him and softly, unhurriedly, snaking your arms around his waist. You rested your head on his back, breathing in his scent. His cologne smelled rich and expensive, no doubt paid for by Tony Stark’s generous credit cards. This man certainly had good taste. You nuzzled your head into him, much like a cat. Until he turned around.
“What are you doing?”
You stood up straight. Eyes wide. “Erm… sorry.”
He grinned. “Well, I didn’t say stop.” His large arms wrapped around you and pressed your face into his chest. You found yourself nuzzling again, breathing him in. You felt a hand rest on the back of your head with trepidation, before stroking your hair lightly. “So soft…” He didn’t realise he said it out loud. Reluctantly, he pulled away, looking down at you softly. “The meeting, YN.”
You nodded reluctantly and walked with him towards the door.
“Loki?”
“Hmmm?”
“Your invoice is in the post, by the way.”
He frowned.
“For the hug.” You couldn’t have stopped your grin if you tried.
Loki’s eyes almost rolled out of his head. He couldn’t stop smiling either.
***
Epilogue
A meeting invite flashed up in the bottom right of your screen the following morning. You opened it. “New Opportunity.” The invitees…. You, the HR Director, and a certain Loki Laufeyson.
Your office chat pinged. It was your friend from HR, who had scheduled the meeting on behalf of her director.
Had to keep it professional in the invite.
But…..
He wants you to be his personal assistant!!
Literally cannot believe what he wants to pay you.
4x the normal salary of a PA.
Says he doesn’t care – that’s what he’s paying you. He’s insistent.
Says he wants only you.
Anyway. Congrats!!!!
You replied to your friend and picked up Steve Rogers’ file from your desk. Nothing like a bit of Captain Serious to get your day off to a righteous start.
A new chat flashed up on your screen.
I do hope this won’t mean an end to those hugs.
(did I get it right?)
L x
You grinned as you remembered your tutorial yesterday afternoon, showing him how to use instant messenger via his phone. You typed back:
There are laws against that kind of workplace behaviour, you know. Though I have no objections.
Besides, you’re my boss now. Gotta do what you say.
( and yes, you got it right )
Three dots appeared. Another message:
No, pet. You’re on The A Team now. We are above the law, or so I’ve heard.
You could almost see his smug grin as he pressed send on his final set of self-assured words.
And I was always in charge. As you well know.
You placed both hands around your white ceramic mug, looking out into London’s winter sunshine, your cheeks aching from unrelenting grinning.
You sipped your tea.
Always in charge?
We’ll see about that.
Tag List: @lokisgoodgirl @ladykotoko @lokiprompts @xoxoloverb @purplekitten30 @lokiswildheartcantbebroken @morphoportis @sinsandguilt @maevetriesart @tommyshawawesome1976 @lokisninerealms @homesickasgardian @nonsensicalobsessions @thomase1 @trustmyragee @silverfire475 @sititran @claireeragy @peacefulpianist @peaches1958 @lunarnights95
Loki in Marvel’s What If...? had me hooked until the end. Here’s why:
I actually completely disagree with the ending, when Loki supposedly took over the world in one day. I only say this because he already had his throne in this timeline.
In Thor 1 and Avengers, he came down to rule Midgard because he was promised a throne (from Odin, his birthright, however, he was adopted) that he did not receive. After letting go on the Bifrost, Thanos and the Chitauri gave him some form of “hope” to fulfill that supposed destiny. In addition to being under the influence of mind control from the sceptre, he was promise an army, a throne, and some kind of authoritative role, as long as he successfully took Midgard. This was his attempt at redirecting his desires for what he was promised through another source. Again his only reason for this entire show of power was because he didn’t have that throne in the first place.
In Marvel’s What If...? timeline, however, with both the Allfather in the all-sleep and Thor dead in this episode... Loki would have been king either way. It was a nice touch, him coming down to Midgard to avenge his brother’s death, but either way he would have been king of Asgard… There would have been no need to “take over Midgard” when he’s already got Asgard. His ambition had no reason to grow because he already had what he was promised. I only think his ambition grew in the Loki Series because, again, he didn’t have that throne in this timeline. (i.e. “Loki, King of Space,” Mobius says, before adding, “Why does someone with so much range just wanna rule?”.)
I honestly think Loki taking over was a lame attempt from Marvel to pin him as the bad guy again, despite the fact that his motive theoretically doesn’t add up anymore. This isn’t Loki negativity, by the way; I loved the episode, but I simply didn’t agree with one of their plot points, because I think it was a bit flawed.
I did genuinely think the show was brilliant. It was witty, funny, courageous, daring, and a mystery in many ways. The build up was phenomenal, as were the callbacks and the team-ups. Each unexpected turn had me on the edge of my seat. I certainly enjoyed most of Loki’s lines too, that is up until the end. I do think they could have done better, but I will accept the episode for what it is, nevertheless.
But also, side note? Marvel’s What If...? Loki would have absolutely tormented TVA Loki. Just a thought.
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⠀MR. MORTE ⸺ any⠀&⠀all, null⠀&⠀void.
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