Loki's the type to talk to you with so much disdain in front of others only to be a blabbering mess behind closed doors.
Spewing out curses and spells unknowingly as his mind gets turned to mush, binding the two of you together as he claws at your back. His nails digging in deep as he locks his ankles together with a keening cry.
Oh and the blissed out look of pleasure on his face is so pretty. Tear streaked cheeks, his usually neat and orderly hair surrounding him in a dark twisted halo as if he were a fallen angel.
If not for the way he's still clenching around you, you'd probably think he's had enough but with a weak roll of his hip and breathy sigh he pleads to you so sweetly to ruin him all over again.
SUMMARY: When you’re not ready to face the world all at once, Loki is there to assure you that you can take it step by step, day by day. He makes things more manageable than they have been in days.
NOTES: Depression, numbness, isolation, very gentle Loki, can be read romantic or platonic.
REQUESTED BY: Anonymous.
NAVIGATION | MCU MASTERLIST | KO-FI
It arrives quietly, which feels unfair, considering how loud everything else used to be.
There is no dramatic breaking point, no singular moment you can point to and say, there, that was it, that was when things tipped. It is more like a dimmer switch, slow and insistent, until the world is turned down so low you begin to wonder whether it is worth straining your eyes to see it at all.
You notice it in strange places first. In the way laughter sounds distant even when it leaves your own mouth, in how your favourite songs feel like they are playing through a wall, in how time stretches thin and brittle until hours pass without leaving any impression at all. You wake, you exist, you sleep, and somewhere in between you are supposed to feel something that never quite arrives.
Getting out of bed becomes a negotiation. Not a dramatic battle, not even a reluctant sigh, just a dull, heavy question that sits in your chest and asks, for what. You do not always have an answer. Sometimes you stay there longer than you intend, staring at the ceiling, tracing cracks and shadows as if they might rearrange into something meaningful if you look long enough.
It is on one of those mornings, or afternoons, or something in between, that he appears.
Loki does not knock. He never does. The air shifts, cool and faintly sharp, and then he is simply there, leaning against the doorframe as though he has always belonged in the space. You do not startle anymore. You think you should, perhaps, but the feeling does not quite reach you.
“You’re avoiding the day again,” he says, voice soft in a way that would surprise anyone who did not know him well enough to hear it.
You do not respond immediately. There is a stretch of silence that would feel awkward with anyone else. With Loki, it simply exists.
“I’m in the day,” you reply eventually, your voice sounding distant even to your own ears.
Loki’s mouth tilts, not quite a smile, not quite anything. “A technicality,” he murmurs, pushing himself upright and crossing the room with unhurried steps. “You are in your bed, which happens to be located within the day. That is not the same thing.”
You suppose he is right. The thought does not provoke much of a reaction.
He sits on the edge of the mattress, close enough that you can feel the faint shift in weight. His presence is noticeable. Not overwhelming, not intrusive, just there in a way that anchors something in you that has been drifting for too long.
“You haven’t opened the curtains,” he observes, glancing towards the window.
You follow his gaze without moving your head. The fabric looks heavier than it should.
“They’ll still be there later,” you say.
“Yes,” Loki agrees easily, folding his hands in his lap. “So will you, I should hope. Yet I suspect neither of you will have improved much by waiting.”
A pause. Then, quieter, “May I?”
You shrug, which is as close to permission as you can manage.
He rises with a soft rustle of fabric and crosses to the window. There is something deliberate in the way he draws the curtains back, not abrupt, not forceful, just enough to let the light slip in gradually, as if he understands that too much at once would feel like an intrusion.
The room shifts. It is not brighter in a way that hurts, just less dim. You squint slightly, more out of habit than discomfort.
“There,” he says, almost to himself. “A modest victory.”
You do not feel victorious. You feel exactly the same. That is the problem.
“I know what you are thinking,” he continues, turning back towards you. “That this changes nothing. That the light is simply light, and you are still…” He trails off, searching for a word he does not seem to like.
“Muted,” you supply.
His gaze sharpens, something like understanding flickering behind it. “Yes,” he says softly. “Muted.”
You watch him for a moment. He looks out of place in your room, all sharp lines and quiet intensity against the soft, unremarkable surroundings. He always looks a little out of place, you think, as if the world has never quite decided what to do with him.
“You don’t have to fix it,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “You can’t.”
“I am well aware of my limitations,” Loki replies dryly, though there is no bite to it. He moves back to the bed, sitting closer this time. “I’m not here to fix you.”
The word fix sits strangely in your chest. You are not sure you like it either.
“I am here,” he continues, quieter now, “because you should not have to sit in this alone and convince yourself it is all there is.”
You look at him properly then, searching his face for something you cannot quite name. There is no impatience there, no frustration, no expectation that you will suddenly become something else. Just a steady kind of presence that does not demand anything from you.
“I don’t feel alone,” you say, after a moment.
It is true, in a way. You do not feel much of anything.
Loki’s expression shifts, something softer edging into it. “That isn’t quite the same thing, darling,” he says. You suppose it is not.
Silence settles again, but it is different this time. Less empty, somehow. He does not rush to fill it. He simply sits, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him through the thin layers between you, grounding in a way you cannot fully explain.
Minutes pass. Or longer. Time is strange like this.
Eventually, he speaks again. “Have you eaten?”
You think about it. The answer does not come immediately, which probably tells you everything you need to know.
“I’m not hungry,” you say instead.
“That wasn’t the question,” Loki replies, though his tone remains gentle.
You exhale slowly, the sound catching somewhere on the way out. “I can’t remember.”
He nods once, as if confirming something to himself. There is no lecture, no disappointment. Just a quiet acceptance of the information.
“Then we shall remedy that,” he says.
The idea feels large. Not impossible, not even unpleasant, just bigger than it should be.
“In a moment,” he adds, as though he can see the thought forming. “There’s no urgency here. I am not about to drag you from your bed and force-feed you, tempting as the idea may be.”
A faint huff of something almost like amusement escapes you before you can stop it. It is small, fragile, but real enough that you notice it. Loki notices it too. His lips curve slightly, not triumphant, just midlly pleased.
“There you are,” he murmurs.
You do not know what he means. You are still here, exactly as you were. Even so, something in your chest shifts, just a fraction, like a breath you did not realise you were holding.
He does not comment on it further. Instead, he reaches out, slow enough that you have time to pull away if you want to. You do not. His hand comes to rest lightly over yours, the contact warm and steady.
It does not fix anything. It does not make the heaviness disappear or the world snap back into sharp focus. It does, however, give you something to feel.
Even if it is only that. And for now, that seems to be enough.
You do not notice when your eyes close again.
It is not quite sleep. It never really is these days. There is no clean drop into rest, no sense of drifting off. It feels more like slipping sideways into nothing, your thoughts thinning out until they barely resemble thoughts at all.
When you wake, or surface, or whatever it is, Loki is still there.
You know it before you open your eyes properly. There is a steadiness to the room that was not there before he arrived, something quiet and watchful that does not press in on you but refuses to leave either. It is unfamiliar in a way that should make you uneasy. It does not.
“You vanished on me,” he says, not accusing, just observant.
Your gaze drifts towards him. He has not moved far. He is still sitting at the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other now, posture composed in that effortless way he seems to carry even in the most ordinary of spaces.
“I’m still here,” you reply.
“Mm.” His eyes flick over your face, as if assessing something deeper than your words. “So you are.”
You do not ask how long you were gone. It does not feel important. The light in the room has shifted slightly, softer now, less intrusive. You are aware of it in a distant sort of way, like noticing a change in temperature without reacting to it.
“I suppose this is the part where I insist you get up,” Loki continues, tone thoughtful. “Encourage you to engage with the world beyond these four walls, perhaps tempt you with promises of fresh air and movement and all the other things mortals claim are beneficial.”
You blink at him, slow and unhurried. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m not,” he admits. “Not because they are wrong, mind you. I simply suspect that presenting them as obligations will only make them feel heavier to you.”
He tilts his head slightly, studying you. “Tell me, if I were to suggest something far less ambitious, would you humour me?”
You consider the question. It feels distant, like it is being asked of someone else.
“Depends,” you say eventually.
“Okay.” A flicker of something almost like amusement passes through his expression. “Then I shall be specific.”
He gestures vaguely towards the window. “We will not go far. No grand excursions, no forced enthusiasm. Simply…” He pauses, as if choosing the least offensive option. “A brief step outside. Enough to remind you that the world still exists beyond this room, even if it feels muted.”
The thought settles somewhere in your mind, heavy and uncertain. It is not an immediate no. That surprises you.
“I don’t want to see people,” you say.
“Then we shall avoid them,” Loki replies easily. “I have spent centuries doing precisely that when it suits me. I assure you, it is entirely possible.”
That earns another small, involuntary exhale from you. Not quite a laugh, not quite anything, but it feels like movement.
“You make it sound simple,” you murmur.
“It is simple,” he says. “That doesn’t mean it is easy.”
You look at him again, properly this time. There is no impatience in his gaze, no expectation that you will agree immediately. He is offering, not demanding.
“I can come back,” he adds, softer now. “If today feels like too much. I’m not bound to this moment.”
Something tightens faintly in your chest at that. You do not like the idea of him leaving. The feeling is quiet, easy to miss, but it is there.
“You’re already here,” you say, the words slipping out before you can think them through.
His expression shifts, something gentler settling into it. “I am.”
Silence stretches between you again, but it feels less empty than before. There is something threaded through it now, something that makes it easier to sit in.
“Five minutes,” you say eventually, the words slow and uncertain. “Outside.”
Loki’s brows lift slightly, not in surprise exactly, more in quiet acknowledgement. “Five minutes,” he repeats.
You push yourself upright before you can think too much about it. The movement feels heavier than it should, your limbs slow to respond, but you manage it. Sitting up makes the room tilt faintly, like your body is reminding you how long it has been since you last bothered to move properly.
Loki rises immediately, not hovering, not crowding, just present. Ready, if you need him.
You swing your legs over the side of the bed. The floor is colder than you expect. It sends a faint, sharp sensation up through you, enough to make you pause.
“There you are again,” Loki murmurs, almost to himself.
You glance at him, frowning slightly. “What does that mean?”
“That you are still capable of feeling things,” he says, meeting your gaze. “Even if they are small. Even if they are fleeting.”
You do not know how to respond to that. The feeling is already fading, the cold dulling into something indistinct. You stand anyway.
It takes longer than it should to gather what you need. Shoes feel unnecessary until you remember the ground outside will not be as forgiving as your floor. A jacket seems excessive until you imagine the air against your skin. Each decision feels like wading through something thick and slow.
Loki does not rush you. He leans back against the wall, watching with a kind of quiet patience that makes the process feel less like a performance you are failing at.
When you are finally ready, you hesitate by the door. It feels bigger than it should. Heavier.
“You are not stepping into anything unknown,” Loki says softly, as if he can see the thought forming. “You are simply stepping into the next moment. It will not demand anything from you that you cannot give.”
You nod, though you are not entirely convinced.
The door opens with a soft click. The air outside is cooler, fresher, carrying a faint scent of something you cannot quite place. It feels different to the air in your room, less stale, less still.
You step out.
Nothing dramatic happens. The world does not suddenly sharpen into clarity. Colours do not burst back into life. Everything remains slightly distant, slightly muted.
Even so, it is different.
Loki steps out beside you, close enough that you are aware of him without having to look. He does not speak immediately. He lets the moment settle, lets you exist in it without commentary.
A breeze brushes past, light and cool. It catches in your hair, grazes your skin. You notice it. That feels significant, somehow.
“Five minutes,” you remind him quietly.
“If you wish,” he replies.
You stand there, not doing much of anything. Not talking, not moving far, just being. It feels strange. It also feels, in a very small way, like something. After a while, Loki shifts slightly, his shoulder brushing yours. The contact is light, intentional.
“I am still here,” he says, not looking at you.
You swallow, the motion slow. “I know.”
“Good,” he murmurs.
The minutes pass. You do not count them.
When you finally turn back towards the door, it is not with the same heaviness as before. It is still there, of course. It has not disappeared. It probably will not for a while. Even so, there is something else now, threaded through it. Something small. Something quiet. Something that feels, faintly, like the possibility of more.
The five minutes stretch without you noticing.
They do not transform into something bright or miraculous. There is no sudden clarity, no sharp return of feeling that makes everything make sense again. The world remains soft around the edges, like it is wrapped in something you cannot quite peel away.
Even so, when you step back inside, something feels different.
Not better, not fixed, not anything that could be neatly defined. Just altered, slightly, like a shift in weight you cannot quite place.
Loki closes the door behind you with a quiet click. The sound feels louder than it should, or perhaps you are simply more aware of it now.
“You lasted longer than five minutes,” he says, a faint note of something warm threading through his voice.
You shrug out of your jacket slowly, movements still dulled but less resistant than before. “I didn’t time it.”
“No,” he agrees. “I did.”
You glance at him, something almost curious flickering through you. “Of course you did.”
His mouth curves faintly. “I find it useful to measure these things. It allows me to recognise progress, even when it insists on disguising itself as something insignificant.”
Progress. The word sits strangely with you.
“I don’t feel different,” you say.
“I didn’t expect you to,” Loki replies, stepping closer, his voice even and steady. “Change rarely announces itself in ways that are immediately satisfying. Actually, it’s often irritatingly subtle.”
You huff a quiet breath at that, the sound softer than before but still there. “That sounds like something you hate.”
“I despise it,” he says without hesitation, which almost makes you smile. “I prefer grand, undeniable shifts. Transformations worthy of legend. This…” He gestures vaguely between you and the room. “This is far less dramatic.”
You lean back against the door for a moment, grounding yourself in the solidness of it. “Then why bother, Loki?”
His expression stills slightly, something more serious settling into it. He considers you for a moment before answering.
“Because subtle does not mean insignificant,” he says quietly. “It simply means it requires patience to notice.”
Patience. You are not sure you have much of that left.
You push yourself away from the door and move further into the room. The bed is still there, rumpled and familiar, pulling at you in a way that feels both comforting and heavy. Loki notices the way your gaze lingers.
“You may go back to it,” he says, before you can think too hard about whether you should. “Rest is not a crime.”
“It feels like one,” you admit.
He tilts his head slightly. “Only because you have decided it is undeserved.”
You do not argue. The thought feels too large to pick apart. Instead, you sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight. It is easier this time. Not effortless, not light, just easier.
Loki remains standing for a moment, watching you with that same quiet attentiveness. Then he moves, slow and deliberate, and sits beside you again.
“You said you didn’t remember eating,” he reminds you gently.
You sigh, the sound thin but present. “I remember you mentioning it.”
“And now I’m mentioning it again,” he says. “How tiresome for you.”
A faint trace of something almost like amusement flickers through you. “Very.”
“Tragic,” he agrees solemnly.
The silence that follows is softer than the ones before. Less like emptiness, more like space.
“I don’t want anything complicated,” you say after a moment. “Food-wise.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Loki replies. “Complexity is overrated in situations such as these.”
He lifts a hand slightly, a flicker of green magic sparking briefly at his fingertips before settling into something more contained. When it fades, there is a plate in his hand. It is simple. Nothing overwhelming, nothing that demands too much of you.
You stare at it for a moment.
“Sorry that I didn’t ask what you wanted,” he says lightly. “That was intentional. I find too many choices can feel like a burden.”
You nod slowly. That feels true. He sets the plate within easy reach, not pressing it into your hands, not insisting. Just placing it there, an option rather than an obligation.
“You can ignore it, if you wish,” he adds. “It won’t offend me. Much.”
You pick at it after a moment, more out of a vague sense that you probably should than any real hunger. The taste is muted, like everything else, but it is there. You notice that too.
Loki does not watch you too closely. He leans back slightly, giving you space while still remaining near enough that you can feel him there.
“I’m not very good at this,” you say quietly, after a few bites.
“At eating?” he asks.
“At all of it.”
His gaze shifts back to you, something steady and certain in it. “You are still here,” he says. “That seems like a rather impressive start.”
You frown faintly. “That’s the bare minimum.”
“Perhaps,” he allows. “But it is a minimum that many struggle to maintain when everything feels as you have described.”
You do not have a response to that. The words settle somewhere deep, not fixing anything, not changing the weight of it, but staying.
“I do not always know what to say,” Loki continues, quieter now. “This is not a battle I can fight on your behalf, nor a puzzle I can solve with cleverness or force.”
You glance at him. “You do like both of those things.”
“I do,” he admits. “Immensely. This, however, is different.”
He shifts slightly, turning towards you more fully. “So I won’t pretend I can take this from you. I will not offer empty reassurances that it’ll just vanish overnight, or that you can simply will it away.”
His voice softens, something almost fierce beneath the gentleness of it.
“What I can do is remain,” he says. “I can sit with you in the quiet when it feels unbearable, remind you to step outside when the walls begin to close in, ensure you eat something even when you insist you are not hungry.”
Your throat tightens slightly at that, the sensation unfamiliar after so much numbness.
“I can tell you,” he continues, meeting your gaze steadily, “as many times as it takes, that you are not alone in this moment, even when your mind insists otherwise.”
Something in your chest shifts again, sharper this time. Not painful, not entirely, but enough to make you notice.
“I don’t always feel it,” you say, your voice quieter than before. “That I’m not alone.”
“I know,” Loki replies softly. “That doesn’t make it any less true.”
Silence settles again, but it is not empty.
You finish what you can of the food, setting the plate aside when it becomes too much. Loki does not comment on how much or how little you have eaten. He simply acknowledges it with a small nod, as if it is enough.
You shift slightly, your shoulder brushing his. This time, you do not pull away. He notices. Of course he does.
Slowly, giving you every opportunity to change your mind, he reaches out and draws you closer, his arm settling around you in a way that is careful, grounding. Not restrictive, not overwhelming. Just there. You let yourself lean into him.
It feels strange, at first. Then it feels steady. The numbness does not disappear. The heaviness remains, settled deep in your chest where it has been for longer than you can remember. Even so, there is something else now, woven quietly through it.
Warmth. Presence. The faintest suggestion that you are not drifting quite as far as you thought.
Loki’s hand rests against your arm, his thumb moving in slow, absent circles that do not demand attention but offer it all the same.
“I am still here,” he murmurs, the words soft and certain.
You close your eyes, not to disappear this time, but to rest in the moment as it is.
“I know,” you whisper.
It does not fix everything. It does not need to. For now, it is enough that he stays, and that you let him.
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➳ Feb. 7th - "Do You Think I Would Make a Good Parent?"
➳ Fluff, Angst, xGN!Reader
➳ CW: Loki self-hatred, Loki has nightmares often, Loki is a Frost Giant and doesn't like it/won't accept it, Loki thinks Reader is with him just because he isn't in his true form that often and they can forget what he is (ouch), Loki said he didn't want kids because he's scared of himself, discussion about children, married couple, angst but comfort, Loki needsss a hug, no mention of y/n.
➳ A/N: day 7! This one hurts my heart because poor Loki just needs to understand he's still so loved no matter what <33 so I had to write something with a hopeful ending and with a hint towards Loki working to accept himself (I understand Loki)
➳ (1.6k words)
➳ link to event masterlist!
(I just want to hug him here) (gif by @echo-nova !!)
Something was wrong. You could tell. Usually, when night encompassed your bedchambers, things felt peaceful and warm, and sleep claimed you quickly. Sleep had claimed you tonight, but it eluded you now. You’d not woken with a start, but still, something inside of your heart had pulled you awake with a certain urgency. You turned just enough so you could check on Loki, expecting to see him sleeping on his side. He wasn’t. Even in the darkness, you could tell that he was on his back and awake, his eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling.
“My darling…?” You whispered slowly, not wanting to startle him. “What keeps you awake?”
He startled at your voice, his eyes meeting yours. He seemed contemplative and morose.
“You’ve had another one of your night terrors.” You realized.
“That is why I initially woke up, yes.” He began, voice hoarse. “But now, that is not what keeps me awake.”
“Then what is?” You asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.
He chuckled dryly, placing an arm over his eyes.
“… I cannot believe I am to have this conversation at present.” He whispered to himself. “Do you think… I would be a good parent?” He asked, the words so stilted and hesitant.
His words startled you further awake and you sat up. Never had this been a topic much discussed in your marriage. You were not sure how to approach it.
“This… if we are to discuss this,” You began, words a mere whisper. “We shall need some light, I believe.”
Loki sighed, but fulfilled your request and lit the candle on his nightstand with a flick of his wrist, and sat up against the headboard. Now that you could see him better, he looked sad. Dejected. And entirely uncomfortable.
“What brought this on? Your dreams?” You began cautiously.
“I suppose so. I… dreamt of my childhood. What had gone wrong, how it could have gone, the number of times that secrets about me had been hidden without me even noticing…” He began, all of his usual personality absent from his voice. He was never himself when he discussed his true nature.
“And it caused you to think about how you would be as a parent?” You encouraged him to continue.
He shook his head, looking straight ahead and not at you.
“In truth, it is something I have been asking myself for quite a while now. I did not wish to burden you with it.”
“This topic… the one of children, we… we put it aside a while ago now, my love. You had made it clear enough that you did not wish to discuss it or even consider it. I did not know you had begun to… give it thought.”
“We put it aside because… because of my personal hesitations.”
“Of course we did. One person hesitating is enough of a reason to not go through with something, especially when it is such a big decision.” You comforted him, interlacing your fingers with his.
“And you do not hate me for putting such a thing on hold?” He asked, voice small.
“Hate you? Of course not, my love. This is a decision we must make together. Never apart. And… to have children, that is… a large commitment.”
“My mind is so… so fractured. I cannot settle on a simple opinion to have on this matter.”
“What worries you, then?” You asked simply. “About being a parent?”
“That the child would be a monster, too. Like I. Or worse, that they would feel like a monster.” He chuckled, but there was no mirth in it. His eyes were wet.
“They would not, my love. They would feel loved. And you are not a monster.” You murmured, cupping his cheek.
“No? You always say that. But perhaps it is because you do not see me as I am enough.” His reply was fierce, and his gaze held yours intently as his skin turned colder, and his eyes turned red.
You did not flinch at him in his true form. You scooted closer to him, keeping your hand on his cheek, unbothered.
“You are not a monster.” You repeated confidently. “This is who you are, and I know it. I do not live in ignorance about you, Loki. And nothing about you being Jötunn has ever made me hesitate in my loving you. Never.”
“You say it, but I do not believe you. It is of no fault of your own, however.”
You sighed and focused on the raised markings on his blue skin. They were beautiful, and so very unique.
“You were raised- we both were, with an unfavourable view of Jötunns. I believe that anyone can be cruel, not that it is set upon an entire race as a rule to be followed. There are many Asgardians who have been cruel. We were raised to fear Jötunns. Whyever would it be easy for you to accept yourself as one when you’d been raised hating them and believing you were not one of them? You cannot be blamed for this, my heart. But we know better now, do we not? I personally know that it is quite easy to form positive opinions of Jötunns.” You spoke softly, leaning in to kiss his cheek.
“We know better,” You resumed. “And if ever we choose to have children, they would not be raised on the stories we were brought up on. They would be proud of their parent, and would think no less of you, and no less of themselves, either. You mustn’t…” You took a breath. “If you wish for there to be children in our future, my love, you mustn’t let your… dislike of yourself prevent that from happening. I swear it to you, you will not hurt them, you will not scare them, and they shall not hate you. They would not be any less perfect for being yours. In fact, they would be more than perfect for it. I, for one, have no reservations about you being the parent of my children. If I was to ever have any, it would be with you. No one else. If you do not want them, we will not have them. We are plenty happy on our own, are we not?”
Loki listened to you as you spoke, unmoving. He watched you intently, his eyes on yours, for any signs of deception. A bad habit. He found no lies, naturally. You had no reasons to lie. Your words to him were as true as your love for him. He still seemed uncertain, but it seemed your words had thawed him slightly. He let a few tears fall, not moving to catch them, as if doing so would make them real.
You caught them for him, kissing them away.
“It is alright, my love. There is no need to make any sort of decisions now. We have a long life ahead of us. Do not fret.” You murmured, and he clung to you, finally wrapping his arms around you.
His body was cooler than its usual, but you welcomed it. It grounded you and settled you, helping you bat your own tears away.
“You are my salvation…” He finally whispered. “I do not know where I would be at present without you here, in my life.”
“Then we mustn’t dwell on it, my love. We’ve no need to speak such realities into existence. We are here now, and we are happy, and we are together.”
He nodded, pressing his forehead to yours.
“I love you.” He whispered. A rare thing for him to say, as he usually preferred to show it.
“I love you, too. I always will, nothing could ever change that.” You replied.
“If I ever deserved to be saved, it was by you. The Norns decreed it so, I am certain. No one else could have done it.”
“You could have.” You whispered. “And you have, my love. I am only here, at your side, for when you cannot hold it all anymore.”
He did not answer.
You held one another quietly for a few minutes, before he eventually seemed to settle and calm down, tired enough now to go back to sleep. You both got comfortable again and laid down next to one another, your head on his chest. He was still in his true form, you noticed. You’d never really been given the opportunity to admire him like this. Your eyes were drawn to the markings on his bare chest. More of those unique patterns you were so fond of.
“… Are these unique?” You found yourself whispering, tracing one with your index finger.
“Hmm?” He replied, half-asleep already.
“Your markings. There are so many, and so many different ones, too. Are they only your own? Or do you share them with…” You trailed off, realizing he had no true way of knowing.
He had the dignity of smiling slightly at you, not blaming you for how you’d misspoken.
“I cannot be sure.” He replied simply.
“I… selfishly, I hope they are passed on. If we ever have children, I should like for them have your markings. They are beautiful.”
He flushed and looked away, something he did not much do at all.
“Go to sleep, my love.” He whispered, moving to blow out the candle.
“They say no two snowflakes are one and the same. I would be lucky, I think, to potentially be surrounded by a multitude of them. Each of them unique, but equally beloved by me.” You whispered the words only for him, against his heart, before kissing his chest softly. He did not move for a beat, but then kissed your head. You expected to feel his skin return to a warmer temperature that night, but that feeling did not come. And in the morning, when you woke in his arms and found yourself pleasantly chilled and wrapped in cerulean arms, you could not keep the proud smile off your face. Progress, you thought. No matter where it led you, progress was good. As long as you were with him.
Description: Loki figures out what to do with your mouth after he spoon feeds you.
Tags: mentioned bondage, gagging, deep throat, oral (male receiving), dom!Loki, sub!reader, gn!reader, brief feeding, force feeding if you squint really hard, cum in mouth, cum swallowing
Word count: 931
A/N: never wrote anything for Loki before, but I didn’t have a tv on my flight so why not try now? Also my first time writing something like this so proceed with caution?
You lurched forward as the spoon prodded the back of your throat. As you sputtered out the soft food with a rough cough, the Asgardian before you clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Now, was that really necessary?” He cooed in a low octave.
You wanted to narrow your eyes, but the situation you were in wasn’t exactly ideal. Thick metal chains restrained your legs to the cold floor whilst your hands were held together with zip ties. You were utterly hopeless, and being at the mercy of Loki only furthered your predicament.
“You’re cruel,” you whimpered, as he wiped the drool from your bottom lip with his thumb.
“Now, darling, I was just speeding up the process.” His accent reverberated against the empty walls of your cell. It didn’t take a genius to know that Loki just loved having the chance to terrorize an Avenger.
He scooped up another spoonful of your food and held it up. “Would you like me to go slower?”
Obediently, you opened your mouth as the spoon came closer. Loki’s eyes lingered on your lips as they wrapped around the metal, and suddenly—with a glint in them—he pushed the spoon far into your throat.
You gagged as it triggered your reflex. Squeezing your eyes shut, you shook your head, wanting to pull away—to get it out so you could breathe—but Loki kept the spoon there, watching you writhe before him with a devilish smirk.
As the spoon left your mouth, the god spoke lowly. “Was that better?”
You stayed silent as you watched him set the spoon back into the bowl. He noticed your bitter expression and smirked again. “Don’t look so upset,” his hand moved to grip your chin. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of your place. “I think I could get used to your obedience.”
Your gut flooded with worry. Coming from the god of mischief himself, it could only mean something bad was in store for you. “What are you planning?” You asked, apprehension evident in your voice.
Loki chuckled deeply—evilly—“all the ways I can use your pretty mouth, my dear.” His hand moved to brush a few astray strands of hair from your face. You pressed your lips together, dismay only increasing as he grinned.
He rose to his feet, and you looked up at him like the measly little mortal you were. Eyes wide, beneath him, right were he wanted you.
“Sit up, darling. On your knees.” He snapped his fingers, and you hastily moved to appease him. The chains that were hooked to your feet rattled as they moved along the ground, but once you were on your knees, he let out a hum of approval.
With agonizing slowness, Loki unzipped his pants.
One of his hands grazed your skin, his fingers tracing your jaw before stopping at the back of your neck. It left behind a trail of unwanted cold. His other hand lowered to his pants, where he pulled out his cock.
You watched it with unease—it was slowly going erect with every pulse. Above, his green eyes gleamed down at you.
You knew what was coming.
He tugged you roughly towards him. You fell—face pressed against his leg, leaning helplessly against the god. You found yourself unable to raise yourself because of your restrained limbs—and Loki relished every moment of your suffering.
“Open.”
You did what he asked.
He pressed the tip to your face. “Open wider.” He slipped it in your mouth, letting out a sigh of approval. “Good…”
The Asgardian’s cock left little room in your mouth. He was eager—growing harder with each pump. You squirmed, but it only made him hold you in place firmer.
“There, nice and slow, just what you like.” He stroked the top of your head as he rhythmically moved his hips back and forth. “Is that nice, darling?”
Your voice came out in choked fragments—broken implores—each time interrupted by his cock blocking your airway.
“Hm? Did you say something?”
You glared at him, locking your eyes with his green ones. He grinned in response, “this is awfully boring, don’t you think?” He pushed you against him roughly, your mouth suddenly enveloping his full member. “Let’s pick up the pace.”
A sharp gag threatened to leave your mouth as you felt his tip touch the back of your throat. You let out a muffled whine of discomfort, squeezing your eyes shut as you took in his size. Brimming tears threatened to fall. Loki looked down at you with a pitying look, “aw,” he cooed, “don’t cry, darling.”
Although, he showed no signs of stopping at all. The pace continued—relentless and sadistic. All the while you were roughhoused, blinking out a few tears from the force, Loki watched you with a delicious gleam in his eyes—loving every second of discomfort you felt.
He let out a pleasured hum, placing both his hands on the back of your head. “Yes, yes, just like that,” he breathed raggedly, fully hard in your mouth. His fingers tangled into your hair as he pumped vigorously.
With a few more thrusts, Loki spilled his warm cum into your throat with a guttural moan. As his cock pulled out of your mouth, droplets of the fluid trickled down your chin.
He panted with satisfaction, his pleasure-stricken face quickly morphing into one of pride. “Does it taste good?” He asked cockily, kneeling down to your level.
“No.”
Loki gave you a disbelieving smirk, wiping the trail of cum off your chin and putting it in your mouth. “And yet you swallowed every last drop.”
*btw I stole this idea from Guardians of the Galaxy iykyk*
“You halted our departure for… this?” Loki’s eyebrow quirks up and he points to the iPod in your hand. It’s only about the size of a thumb and green with a metal clip on the back. It has one button and technically, it a toggle. You nod and put one earbud in your ear as Fooled Around and Fell in Love plays through the auxiliary earbuds.
“What does this device do?” He asks and you place it into his hand. “It plays music. Right now it’s holding around 250 songs,” you say and his eyebrows raise.
Slowly, you take the other earbud and put it up to his ear, hands almost moving without your own permission. You watch his face as you do and he makes no move to stop the motion.
You gently lodge it into his ear canal and watch his face as he listens to the song. “Ah, I see,” he says as you nod and smile.
“Music is very important to you?”
He tilts his head downwards, blue eyes meeting yours.
“Everything I do, I do with music playing somehow,” you say, unable to stop the smile that takes over your face.
“You like it?”
Loki nods very subtly, “it is not unpleasant.”
His tone is matter of fact but you have yet to see him so agreeable so you continue despite your own growing anxiety.
“Do you have music on Asgard?” You ask and he nods. “String quartets and symphonies, yes,” he says and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. Of course he probably thinks orchestral sounds are more refined.
“But this is very nice, I like this a great deal.”
You meet his eyes again and nod, feeling that tightening in your stomach intensifying at his gaze on you.
“What is the name of this song?”
“It’s called Fooled Around and Fell in Love,” he nods and flips the iPod around in his hand. “I quite like it.”
He leans in even closer and your lungs stutter, holding your breath as he brings his face into yours, eyes slowly fluttering closed. You can feel his warm breath on your lips.
Just before contact can be made, Thor pulls the sliding glass door open and stomps out. Loki backs away quickly, pulling out the earbud and looking to his brother.
“Brother! They have finished their work on the ship that can take us back home!” Thor says and you feel your chest nearly cramping.
Home.
Loki looks back to you, now with fondness in his eyes, lips parted before looking back to his brother as if not knowing quite what to say.
“I will be inside in a moment, brother.”
Thor nods with apprehension, looking between the two of you as if trying to decipher the nature of what is going on before he reluctantly walks back inside.
“Back to Asgard then?” You ask and he nods, looking down at the iPod now in your hand before looking back up at you.
You pause the song and wrap the earbuds around the the device before handing them to him. “Here, keep it,” you say and he shakes his head.
“You put yourself in danger for this device, I cannot possibly-“
You interrupt him before he can finish, shaking your head. “It’s okay, the music is also saved on another device. I can buy a new one, Loki. Keep it,” you push his hand back with the device and the earbuds in it.
Maybe if he listens to music from Earth he won’t think we’re so inferior.
“Are you certain?” He asks.
“Yeah of course. And if you ever come back, I can put new songs on it too,” you say with a shrug.
Stupid, he’s going to think you’re doing this so he will come back.
“Good, that will give me an excuse to return.” Your shoulders relax at that. “You have been much kinder to me than I deserve,” he says solemnly, looking between the iPod and your eyes.
“Everyone deserves kindness,” is all you can manage to say and his eyes soften. You watch as he struggles to respond. As if there is something he wants to say that he decides against at the last minute.
“Until we meet again,” he says with a nod and looks between you and the sliding glass door. You nod and watch him leave the balcony.
Loki, a new resident in the compound, sparks your interest. You decide to give him a gift in secret, hoping he might cheer up just a little bit. Well, it didn't work out that way.
Pairing: Loki x neurodivergent!reader
Word count: 2200
A/N: Look, I really wanted to read a fanfic about an autistic reader but alas, there are so few. So I made one myself. Yes, this might just be a self-insert, but everyone's experience with neurodivergence is different, and it felt simpler just to make the reader's neurodivergence similar to mine. This series will mostly be exploring neurodiversity and Loki's reactions towards it, hopefully fluffy?
Masterlist | Next
I think he's gone, now's my chance!
You peek around the corner, hugging the little terracotta pot to your chest. Nestled inside is a tiny little staghorn fern, tucked gently inside some damp moss. You wait for a moment, listening for footsteps or voices.
Boisterous laughter echoes down the hall, forcing you to freeze with your back against the cold wall. The voices subside, and you dare to dart from around the corner and toward the door just in front of you.
Quiet as a mouse, you reach his door. After another quick look, just to be sure no one is watching, you place the fern carefully on the floor, and a card beside it. You'd handwritten detailed care instructions, ensuring that even the most notorious plant-killer could still keep the little thing alive.
Well, maybe.
You twist the pot just a little. There. He will love this… right?
You bought him this fern as a sort of housewarming gift. Or maybe a "welcome to the compound" gift or… a "be my friend, please" gift. Most likely the latter.
Often, you trail behind him on his escorted walks outside. He likes to stop and stare at the trees, or sit down on the bench and watch the undergrowth. You hope this gift isn't too far off the mark, but since you were so uncertain, you intentionally left your name off the card. Afterall, you don't want him to think you're too desperate to be his friend, even though you definitely are.
When you first moved in, you were just the same as he is. Self-isolating, restless, temperamental, and just downright rude. His reasons seem more concrete than yours did, though.
Loki is forced to stay. His magic is restricted, and he isn't allowed to leave without either Thor or an armed escort. No one trusts him, but at least Thor trusts in whomever decided Loki should be punished in this way. You aren't privy to that sort of information, so you only have your assumptions for now.
Your excuses for your behavior are based on just… who you are. Different. Change is hard, and moving to the compound to live with some very intimidating people and surrounded by people at all times was devastating.
You'd gotten more comfortable in the time since, but it's still challenging. At least you're not a total jerk anymore. You still ask, sometimes, if it appears like someone is ignoring you on purpose or they get an attitude. Did I say something wrong?
Or maybe that was just all in your head.
Regardless, you see a kindred spirit in Loki. There are so many things you do differently because of your neurodivergence, and he seems to do them, too. Like masking, for one. Your masking is for the purpose of looking normal, to hide everything that makes you stand out, and from your perspective, it seems like he is also trying to hide himself away behind indifference and snark.
You really, really hope the fern will work.
Tiptoeing away, you make it all the way down the hall to your assigned quarters, and close the door shut quietly behind you. You're tempted to peer out from your door and keep an eye on it. You could just barely see his door if you poked your head out from yours. That'd be too obvious, though, and he might think you're a creep.
You pick up your plushie, hoping that if you squeeze something tight, your anxiety might just ebb away and you can go about your day as normal without constantly ruminating on Loki and whether he likes the fern or not.
It doesn't work. Now you're just pacing, second-guessing and triple-guessing yourself, new thoughts popping into your head with each stride down the length of your bedroom.
What if he thinks it's weird? What if he thinks I'M weird?
So? He doesn't know I left it, right?
But what if he does? What if I accidentally wrote my name on the little card?
What if he realizes it's me because I like my plants and I talk about them all the time?
What if he saw me walk in with it?
What if someone else did and they tell him?
But how would he know it's from me otherwise?
He won't be angry with me, right? Right?
What if he actually likes it and tries to figure out who left it but he finds out it's from me and then he gets upset because it's me?
You toss your plushie onto your bed, and then yourself right after it. With a deep groan, you smash your face against the comforter, trying to release some of the tension.
You hope he's at least a little bit like Thor when it comes to receiving gifts, polite and gracious even if the gift is really weird or random. You're horrendously terrible at figuring out what people want or like, and figuring out Thor is still something on your to-do list.
Giving gifts is one of the few ways you know of to get people to notice you, so it stings a bit when gift after gift is ignored or set aside, even the things that don't really seem like gifts. Like for Thor, you noticed he developed a craving for sugary, processed foods shortly after joining the Avengers. So, you got him a variety pack of the most unhealthy types of cereal. You knew it was a stupid idea the second he patted your head and placed it on the counter without really looking at it. It hurt it a bit when you saw others eat it, but at least that gift was used by someone you know, which you can't say for everything else you'd gotten others for birthdays or holidays or "I just like you" days.
Your gifts are always ending up in junk piles or in the trash.
Maybe the fern would break that pattern?
After what felt like years of waiting, you get up and open your door as casually as you could make it look. You walk down the hall and around the little corner you were hiding behind before, and face Loki's door.
You try not to make it obvious when you look down, so you turn and keep walking by and just barely glance downwards.
It's gone! That means he saw it, right? Does he like it?
You can't help the smile that breaks your mask. He likes it, right? Just the thought of him smiling sent unfamiliar giddiness up from your belly to your chest. If you saw him smile in real life, your heart might just fly away.
But, instead of flying away, it breaks. Just as you enter the common room, you see the bottom of the terracotta pot sticking out from the garbage bin in the corner, the orange color drawing your eye towards it.
Oh.
The room is empty, so he probably just tossed it the second he saw it. Hearing laughter again, you walk towards the window and see a few people outside, enjoying the sunshine. Thor is the one laughing, chatting with Steve about something you couldn't make out. Loki is there, too, standing to the side with his arms crossed and his brows knit together so tightly they might snap off.
He glances briefly in your direction. You swear he's making eye contact, but there's no way he can see you through the dark tint of the glass.
You sigh, shuffling your feet a bit as you turn back around. Plucking the fern from the trash, you gently shake it to get the plastic off that stuck to one of the leaves. You carry it back to your room with you, berating yourself for getting teary-eyed and for the too-much bad feeling that fills your belly like lead.
After finding the fern a home next to your already mature staghorn fern, you sit and wait for dinner. If your memory is correct, the chef who makes all the meals for everyone is making something familiar to you tonight, so at least there is something to look forward to.
Loki glares at you as you take your seat across from him. Months ago, you claimed a chair where no one sat across from you on the long dining table purposefully. You hate when people watch you eat, or try to engage you in conversation when you have food in your mouth. Then Loki moved in and claimed the opposite chair.
The dining table was never packed, since there were always at least a few people absent for various reasons, so it was quite alarming when Loki chose that seat and stared at you with his icy eyes until you finished your meal. It was like he wanted you to get up and move, even though you sat down that day before he did.
Since then, he's given up on intimidating you into moving. He still sits there, of course, so it's extra awkward now that he's back to glaring at you after your failed attempt at friendship.
He knows, doesn't he? Why else would he be looking at me like he's trying to make me explode through the force of his glare alone?
Thor sat down to the left of Loki, his plate already mostly empty. He makes some comments about how the dish tastes like something from Asgard, but it's hard for you to make out with everyone else talking and scraping cutlery on their dishes.
Unfortunately, Thor must've asked you something, since he's looking at you like, "well?"
Even worse, Loki looks interested in your answer.
You swallow your bite. "Uhm… could you repeat that?"
Thor repeats himself, "I asked if you enjoyed the sunshine today. It has been such a welcome reprieve from the storms as of late." He winks, as if he had something to do with the storms, though you know he doesn't care enough to mess with the weather here. After elbowing Loki, he continues, "Even Loki basked in the sunlight this afternoon."
Loki doesn't seem to care enough to retort. He just keeps…. staring.
"Uhm… I went out this morning before the clouds parted. So… no, I didn't really enjoy the sunshine…"
Thor's eyes dart to Loki quickly before he looks back at you. "Oh? Where did you go?"
"Uhm… to town. For some shopping." You hope that's enough of an answer, but with the way the brothers just keep staring, you know it's not. "I bought some stuff for my room."
Thor brightly smiles. "Perhaps Loki could join you on your next shopping adventure. His room is still bare."
You hope you hide your disappointment well enough. Since you tried to get something for Loki's room, it hurts all the more knowing that he's actively looking for things and he rejected your gift. "Yeah. Maybe next time…"
Loki looks at you oddly. It's a subtle expression, one you hadn't seen on him before. Your mind ran through every instance you've seen an expression like that on someone else, but there was nothing. You hope it isn't disgust.
You trip your way through the rest of Thor's agonizing small talk then bring your plate to the dishwasher. Loki follows you, scraping his plate off into the compost bin. His elbow brushes your side ever so slightly, making your eyes widen. "Uhm, excuse me…" you say, as if you had bumped into him. You slot your dishes in the washer and walk away, feeling heat creep up your cheeks and your ears.
As you're walking to your quarters, a thought comes to mind.
Maybe he's just picky. Maybe a plant was the wrong gift. Books? He likes books, right? I've got hundreds stacked on my floor, at least one has to be interesting to him…
With a new goal, you quicken your pace and head directly to the stacks leaning precariously every which way against one of the walls.
Ah hah!
Without toppling anything over, you manage to snag the complete Lord of the Rings trilogy. This one is a cheap copy, one that you'd dog-eared and written in and highlighted. You think about buying him a new copy, but your impatience is winning.
If I put this in front of his door now, it'll be less obvious than giving it to him after another shopping trip.
Similar to earlier that day, you made sure everyone was still in the dining room before placing the book against the wall. You stick a little heart-shaped sticky note on the cover:
"I know you don't like it here much. I know what it's like to feel like everyone hates you. Maybe this might take your mind off it? Anyway, please don't throw this one away. It's actually mine, but you can keep it if you promise you won't damage it further. If you don't want it, maybe just put it in the common room?"
Like before, you leave off your name, hoping it might save you a sliver of embarrassment later if you find the book lying about elsewhere or in the trash.
You go to bed shortly after, forcing your anxiety to settle down as you anticipate the morning.
warnings: i dont know if this is necessarily a warning but it might not be ideal if you are lactose intolerant, its mainly just fluff with a bit of angst because of mentions of stress and high expectations from bosses
summary: loki comes over to cook dinner for reader after a long day
a/n: i love to pretend he's a great cook. i also feel like once someone is nice to him, he’s extremely dependent loyal
✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏
you enter your apartment lethargically, kicking off your shoes and dropping your bag and keys somewhere. to say that your day was difficult was an understatement; tony stark was at some healing retreat, good for him, while every one of his employees were running around making sure everything was perfect for the upcoming expo, which would present both his personal projects, and new avengers technology. your job was to make sure the technology was ready to be presented, meaning tweaking tiny details in wiring and coding; two things you weren’t exactly trained in, so your supervisor was not pleased despite knowing this. the whole day, week even, was a septic tank of stress.
your train of thought was interrupted by the smell of garlic and yeast in the air. stepping further into your home, you come to realize the scent could be traced back to the god pacing around your kitchen. observing the source further, you concluded that he was making dinner. in your kitchen.
“ah, welcome home, earthling,” he doesn't even turn to look at you, he holds his focus on the pan on the stove, keeping an eye on the sauce simmering in the pot.
“hey there,” you replied, your voice holding a bit of confusion in it, but who wouldn't be at least a little weirded out? anyone coming home to find a 6'2 god in their kitchen would probably be confused too. it's not like you never interacted with him, but your interactions mostly consist of witty banter, and that one moment of a deep, heartfelt conversation. that one only happened because you found him up late one night, his face stained with tears and his hair tangled and wild. you sat with him for some time, just listening to either his slow, deep breaths, or his words. things had been a bit different since that night. his gaze had become ever so slightly less unwavering.
maybe this was his way of repaying the kindness.
a timer went off and he grabbed an oven mitt. he opened the oven door and pulled out the most delicious-looking garlic bread. your mouth instantly began to water as you stepped closer to the counter where he placed the baking sheet.
“you made garlic bread?” you asked, working hard to restrain yourself from grabbing the piping hot loaf.
“it would appear so, i hope it’s to your liking.”
“it very much is to my liking.”
he stepped aside from the stove, gesturing for your presence. “how does this taste,” he asked, taking a spoon from the pan and guiding it towards your mouth. you allowed him to feed it to you. the sauce tasted heavenly.
“absolutely delicious,” you couldn't help yourself, it didn’t matter how much the answer would feed his ego, that sauce was amazing.
“wonderful,” he replied. he turned the flame off and turned to the sink where he had been draining fettuccine noodles. he picked up the strainer and poured the noodles into the sauce pan. you hopped up onto the counter, claiming a front row seat as you watched him mix the pasta and make his last minute touches onto the meal.
he plated the pasta with michelin star level precision and ushered you over to the table. you sat down as he turned to grab a plate for himself. by the time he returned, you had almost devoured the entire plate.
“someone’s hungry,” he joked.
“you have no idea what kind of week i’ve had, this is so great.”
“i might have some idea, i’ve seen you running around the compound like a madperson.”
his words, although simple, reached your heart. one thing you truly valued was feeling seen by others, so his words and actions meant more than he may realize.
you only hummed in response. he smiled at you as you got up and nearly ran to the kitchen to grab more of everything.
as you sat back down to begin eating again, you couldn't help but point out the flour in his hair, to which he replied that it was a natural dry shampoo, a good save, you thought.
A/N: Written for January Jumble Scribbles. Prompt: “You let me do this every time.”
Word Count: 283
A/N2: Reader is 40+. No other physical descriptors used.
You open your eyes and immediately regret doing so. Even with blackout curtains everything is too bright. Even if it's just you in the room, everything is too loud. At least if your massive headache is to be believed.
"Loki," you growl, voice hoarse because of how dry your mouth is.
The mischief deity is immediately at your side, a knowing grin on his face.
"Ah, you've finally woken up," he whispers. "I have some water and some of those Midgardian pain killers I know you prefer."
"You let me do this every time," you gripe. "I asked you to not let me overdo it on the drinking."
"You did. But, when you were inebriated, you were begging me to let you drink some more. How could I possible deny my beautiful partner? You know I am weak to your puppy dog eyes."
"You should be more reliable," you grouse. "If you wanted to actually be a good partner, you need to be able to keep me from hurting myself like this."
"But we're having so much fun in the moment," he argues.
"Loki! I'm being serious! I'm getting too old for these kinds of indulgences. It takes me too long to recover form them anymore."
His face goes serious at the reminder of your mortality. The silvers that had started showing in your hair, the wrinkles around your eyes. He had hoped, foolishly he now realizes, that an indulgence like this would keep you young in spirit if nothing else.
"I...I understand," he sighs. "I vow to do better in the future."
"Thank you," you smile softly as you rub his hand against your cheek. "Now please get me some breakfast."
