— Being in a relationship with Loki would include…
— masterlist.
Loki conjuring little illusions to entertain or annoy you; he'll definitely turn your phone into a frog if you don't give him enough attention.
Him occasionally talking in asgardian mid-dreams.
Romantic gestures that come off as theatrical… until you realize he means every single one.
Teaching him how to use a microwave, and him never trusting it.
Loki being insanely protective, but learning to respect your independence (eventually).
The first time you got sick around him, he completely panicked, cause human fragility is horrifying to him.
Him trying to keep his darker tendencies hidden from you, but you seeing them anyway, and gently helping him carry the weight.
Loki casually shapeshifting into you just to mock you. “Look at me. I’m you. I drink lukewarm coffee and forget where I put my keys.”
Mid-fight bickering that ends with intense make-outs and forgetting what you were even arguing about.
Him calling you “my love” or “darling” in ten languages you don’t know, and theb refusing to translate.
Long, lazy mornings where he refuses to let you leave bed; “The world can wait. I can’t.”
Bite marks. Everywhere. But elegant ones; deliberate, perfectly placed, like he’s signing his name on your skin.
You asking if he used magic during that moment, and him giving you that grin: “Darling, I don’t need magic for that.”
That sharp glint in his eyes when someone else makes you laugh; too sharp to be human, too quiet to be innocent.
“Who was that?” he’ll ask softly, almost too casually, but his fingers tighten on your waist.
The temperature in the room subtly dropping when he’s irritated, rising again when you stroke his arm and say his name like a balm.
Loki magically closing every cupboard you leave open… and then opening them all at once just to scare you for fun.
Him being deeply offended by Midgardian alarm clocks. One morning, he hexed it into a chicken. You had to buy a new one.
Lazy sundays curled up on the couch, Loki draped across you like a spoiled cat, purring contentedly while watching crime documentaries he doesn’t understand.
And that moment late at night, curled together under a blanket, when he murmurs, “I could have everything in all the realms… but this - you - is the only thing I truly need.”
synopsis: you're working yourself to the bone in preparation for a big event, unwilling to take a break or de-stress, so Loki takes matters into his own hands.
pairing: Loki x female reader
wc: ~3400
cw: mostly a whole lotta fluff! but some swearing, tickling, and mentions of stress/burnout
minors DNI: this fic does not contain smut, but includes an adult-aged character experiencing attraction towards the reader; I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. thank you for your understanding and respect.
note: a little fluff-bomb palette-cleanser after the intensity of my last couple of Loki fics. if you'd like to read more fics like this i'd love for you to let me know!
The common room of the residential wing of the Avengers Compound wasn’t empty, but it was quiet. The kind of lived-in calm that came after half a morning’s worth of coffee and sleep-laced banter.
A newscast flickered on the television with the volume mostly down, just enough for background noise. Steve was reading something on a tablet with that technology-induced furrowed brow. Bruce sat nearest the windows, flipping through a medical journal with one socked foot tucked under the other knee, looking up only when Natasha approached, all too quietly, and wordlessly refilled his coffee with a small, satisfied smile.
Others were scattered amongst it, all were uncharacteristically peaceful.
Except for you.
You were perched on the edge of the sectional with a stack of reports beside you, laptop open on the coffee table, pen cap clenched between your teeth. Your eyes were sharp, shoulders high with tension, jaw visibly set. You’d been like this for days - edgy, overworked, quiet, insular. Everyone knew why.
There was a summit in two weeks. A UN delegation. An avalanche of new diplomatic threads to untangle, several of which involved countries you’d gone on missions in recently. Your name was on every page of briefing notes and draft statements, and now you’d been snowed under.
"Hey. You good over there?" Sam broke the calm, directing his attention pointedly to the way your leg was bouncing.
You didn’t look up, but some kind of awareness flashed across your face and your leg fell still.
"Yeah. Good. Just focused."
Curt. Efficient. Not unkind, but final.
Loki, from his armchair, eyes appearing focused on the book in his lap, quirked a brow.
Bruce glanced up. "You've been at it for a while. You should really take a break."
"I was at the punching bag this morning."
Steve chimed in, not looking away from his tablet. "That’s training. Not a break."
"Feels like a break; I like training."
"You need to do something that isn’t work," Sam offered gently from his couch, falling easily into counsellor mode. "Take a beat. Do you have a hobby? A creative outlet would help."
You didn't look up. Just exhaled slowly through your nose. It was the kind of breath that meant I’m trying to be polite.
"I appreciate the concern," you said, very diplomatically, "but I have a pile of actual responsibilities in front of me, and knitting or bouldering is not going to rewrite the second paragraph of this response to the Wakandan delegation. If you'll excuse me."
You stood, gathering your laptop and papers, and exited the room with a measured grace that only barely masked how tense you were.
There was a moment of quiet as everyone waited for you to be out of earshot.
"She’s gonna snap," Bruce said, setting his mug down.
Sam sighed, arms crossed. "She’s in pressure mode. Doesn’t mean she’s angry. Just means she thinks stopping will make it worse. But we let it sit too long and it’ll turn into the wrong kind of burnout."
Steve sipped his coffee. "I’m watching it."
"She has been boxing," Natasha pointed out.
"She doesn't need more cortisol," Bruce muttered, "She needs a damn serotonin drip. Or something. Or someone. Honestly, just- someone make her laugh."
Natasha shrugged. "I could try."
Bruce winced. An unspoken: maybe it's best you don't.
"Wilson," Loki said aloud, not looking up from his book.
Sam turned. "Yeah?"
"You fancy yourself a comedian."
Sam's brow furrowed. "I mean... I am funny-"
"Then for Norns’ sake," Loki said, flipping a page with precise disdain, "do your job."
Natasha choked on a laugh.
Steve chuckled under his breath.
Loki felt his chest tighten.
The discussion annoyed him more than he expected. Not because of the concern - no, that part made sense. It was how they discussed it. They were talking in circles, wringing their hands, musing about serotonin and yoga, all while you were in the next room slowly grinding yourself down to the bone doing work that, if Loki wasn’t mistaken, concerned all of them.
Yet... you wouldn't allow a single report to be taken.
"Rogers." Loki snapped the book shut and settled back into his chair, perching his elbows on the upholstered arms. "Might I ask," he drawled, "are you the leader of this team or not?"
Steve’s brow furrowed slowly. "Excuse me?"
"You," Loki said plainly. "Stars and stripes. Human embodiment of a rousing inspirational speech. Are you in charge, or do you all simply loiter in proximity to each other?"
Sam raised his brows.
Loki didn't wait for an answer. "Delegate."
Steve sighed, long and deep.
"I’ve offered. But she’s protective of it; she cares a lot about the work, and her name is all over it. I can't just take it from her."
"Then order her to accept help."
"That's not how we do things," Steve said firmly.
Loki hummed under his breath as the others went back to their own little worlds.
Fascinating.
A room full of soldiers, spies, and scientists...
And yet none of them, not one, had the teeth to intervene.
The following morning, Loki found himself happening across an tiresomely similar scene, this time in the kitchen. The room smelled like toast and bacon and freshly ground coffee and the underlying tension of one person trying very hard to pretend they didn’t have basic human needs.
You sat at the island, dressed in your running tank and leggings, one foot planted on the stool, knee tucked to your chest. The thin veil of control you were clinging to was starting to crack, but you kept working, stubborn and relentless.
Sam leaned against the counter, nursing his coffee like it was a tactical manoeuvre.
"Just saying," he offered gently, "summit’s a couple weeks out. You could afford a break."
"I'll take a break," you said without looking up. "Once this section’s clean. It’s almost there."
Sam glanced over his mug, still trying to be gentle. "You said that yesterday. And the day before that."
"And when you said it Monday, it was 'just a few more paragraphs.'" Steve was crouched by the oven, checking on the bacon.
"I finally got a response I've been waiting for just before I was about to go for a run," you muttered, tapping a line of text and deleting it without mercy. "I'll go outside once I edit this section with this new info."
"Running is training. Training is work," Sam said. "You need something that’s not work. Something for you."
You sighed, long-suffering. "Something for me - something that'll make me feel better - is having this done."
"You know this is how burnout starts, right?" Sam’s voice was calm, but not soft. The therapist was peeking through. "You run hot for too long, you crash hard. You'll think better when your brain’s had room to breathe."
You gave him a look. It wasn’t angry. Just tired.
"And you think a watercolour landscape will clear my head?"
"You need fun. Your body needs endorphins."
"Exercise gives me endorphins."
"And cortisol. Which you've been running high on for almost a week. You need to let loose. Laugh. Give your body a break from the tension."
"I laugh," you said, with the driest tone possible. "You’re all very funny."
"Nope," Sam shook his head. "That’s not real laughter. That’s the social ‘ha.’"
"My ha is perfectly adequate," you snapped, deadpan, looking back to the screen.
Steve snorted.
From the other side of the kitchen, as his coffee trickled through the filter, Loki’s gaze narrowed on you, his eyes sharp as he observed the exchange. It didn’t escape him - your composure had cracks in it, the way your shoulders were wound tight, the way you barely breathed between sentences. His lips curled into a faint, knowing, endeared smile.
So stubborn.
Sam leaned his elbows on the island across from you, clasping his hands together. "What can I do?"
You raised a brow. "I’m not your responsibility, Sam."
"You’re my teammate."
You looked up. And to your credit, there was no venom in your eyes. Just that same brittle exhaustion that’d been following you like a shadow for days. You blew out a breath.
"I’m fine."
"You’ll think better with food," Sam coaxed.
Your jaw tensed. "I know. I'll eat in a bit."
"C'mon," Sam pressed, his voice light but serious. "Sit with us for half an hour, eat something, then you can get back to your 'almost done' report, and we'll all leave you alone."
You looked back at your screen. "I can’t tell if that’s a bribe or a threat."
"Bruce says the stress will kill you," Sam said, half-joking.
"Your jokes might beat it to the punch," you muttered back.
"Wow."
You resumed typing. "I promise, once this summit is over, I'll watch a Netflix special of your choosing and get more than my fill of endorphins."
Loki uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, smooth and deliberate. Unhurried, but with the weight of purpose behind them. He could feel the tension rolling off you, and for reasons he wouldn’t fully admit - couldn’t fully understand... he couldn’t stand it.
"Why," he began, his voice calm but with undeniable mischief laced beneath, "do you all insist on doing this the hard way?"
He rounded the island and approached you from the side, calm, not rushed, but without delay.
He had nothing to do with this - he told himself. This wasn’t about you or your exhaustion. This was just him solving a problem. A problem they were clearly too inept to fix.
Your shoulders didn’t move. You didn’t acknowledge him. You kept typing as he stood behind you.
His hands were on you before you registered the intent.
Loki’s fingers dug into your ribs, pressing and wiggling into the soft spots just beneath your arms with an expert precision.
You jerked, hands flying off the keys with a sharp sound of protest, an involuntary giggle bursting from your throat as you half-twisted, elbows snapping protectively to your sides.
Loki dropped his tickling hands, looming behind you like an impending storm, and let out a sharp and satisfied puff of air. "Thank the Norns."
And then, before you could gather your wits and react, he grabbed you around the waist and hauled you effortlessly off the stool.
You kicked and cursed in wild shock, flailing against the solid vice of his arm around your middle. "HEY!"
Loki looked to the others - their faces painted in quiet hesitance.
"Oh, don’t look at me like that," the god said with cool amusement, adjusting his grip as you writhed in his arms. “You’re all too bloody soft. Someone has to be the villain, and I rather enjoy the role." He then shot a sharp glance to Rogers. "You’re welcome."
He turned and started walking towards the living room.
"LOKI!" You snarled through gritted teeth, pushing at his forearm.
You were squirming like a snared hellcat in his arms, but your body gave you away. You were tired. Overextended. Tied in so many knots you couldn't tell where your own edges begin anymore.
"Let me go!"
"Yes, yes…" he sighed, striding into the large common room. "Once this matter is dealt with."
Bruce glanced up from his usual armchair, blinking behind his glasses. He took in the scene - you writhing in Loki’s arms, Loki’s expression impassive and focused, the faint storm in his stride.
From the threshold, Sam and Steve peered out with matching expressions of amused disbelief.
"Uh…" Bruce looked to the others, eyes wary and uncertain, coffee half-raised to his lips. "So we’re all just cool with whatever this is?"
Loki looked at the doctor briefly. "You said she needed endorphins. Laughter. Yes?"
"Well yeah but-"
"Lovely."
And then he threw you onto the couch.
It wasn't a gentle toss, but not cruel either. It was precise. Designed to disorient, and it did a hell of a job.
You landed on your side with a sharp bounce, half-seething, pushing yourself up with both murder and a giddy sort of nervousness in your eyes. You twisted and moved to scramble away, but he was already there - moving fast and smooth, settling down beside you.
He sat side-on, one knee on the cushion, the other foot braced on the floor. His hip pressed flush to yours, caging you in where you lay half-twisted against the backrest of the couch. His torso leaned across your waist, the angle perfect for blocking your every attempt to curl or wriggle away.
"You son of a-"
You reached up, maybe to push, maybe to slap, maybe to claw his face off - but it didn't matter. He caught your wrist easily, trapping it in mid-air.
"Easy," he said, voice low and warm. "Let’s not make a scene."
"Don’t you dare."
You didn't stand a chance.
He released your wrist and his hands darted fast - intentional, no wasted movement - his fingers dragging and digging into the sensitive space between your ribs and waist, thumbs pressing with precision.
You slapped at his hands, trying to hold back your giggles, still trying to fight, but he already had you.
Fingers spidered across your sides, precise and ticklish, pressing into the spaces between your ribs, the grooves of your waist. You jolted like a live wire. And then-
"Nnn-shit!"
You broke.
Giggling laughter exploded out of you, bright and helpless, like it had been waiting days to claw its way free. You bucked against him, hands slapping at his chest, knees curling up against his back.
He smirked, not even looking up at you, just watching his own hands move, thumbs circling, working the lines of your waist like a musician playing a their attuned instrument.
"Gods above," he muttered with an exhale, actually smiling. "You’re so ticklish."
"Asshole," you managed an adorable little snarl between breaths, but the laughter didn't stop. You were so consumed by the giggles that your protest didn’t sound as defiant as it should. "I ha-hate you!"
He chuckled, low and dark, his voice so teasing. "Oh, you’re going to have to try harder than that."
You let out a squeal when his fingers dug under your arms for half a second - then lower, finding the softest edge of your waist. You shrieked, bucking again, and Loki's grin deepened. His hands settled there with ominous precision.
Oh, he’d found something.
The spot just under your ribs, where nerves tangled and skin jumped at the slightest pressure. He focused there, thumbs pressing maddening circles, fingertips dragging with infuriating care.
You gasped, laughed, cursed - tried to twist, tried to curl - but it was useless. Your muscles had gone soft with the laughing. Your hands pushed at his chest, but there was no strength in them anymore. You were melting under him. And gods, he liked it.
"That’s it," he murmured, low and amused.
You didn't respond. You couldn't. Instead, you started going boneless beneath him.
He tilted his head, fascinated.
So expressive, mortals. All heat and breath and sudden collapse.
You could be a fury incarnate at any waking moment - sharp-tongued, iron-willed, as comfortable with a combat knife as you were in geopolitical briefings. And just as precise.
You’d spent the last week grinding yourself into steel and silence, undereyes shadowed with exhaustion, soaked in irritation, swatting away gentle jokes and light-hearted concern.
And now - reduced to this. Caught somewhere between defiance and surrender. Giggling, shaking, flushed and boneless beneath his hands.
Adorable.
He narrowed his eyes.
When had that word started surfacing in his brain so often?
God of Mischief, he reminded himself. This was simply the application of chaos toward emotional regulation. A necessary correction. Nothing more.
And yet, he could not look away.
He was a trickster, schemer, a thousand-year-old weapon of mass destruction. He had absolutely no business finding a mortal this... this charming.
And yet, he did not want to look away.
What a ruinous little thing you were becoming.
Your slaps were weaker now, your kicks barely jostled him. Your body had given up trying to fight and was just reacting, all frantic little spasms and helpless gasps. Your hands swatted for a second more- then simply curled around his wrists.
Not to push him away.
Just… to hold.
Your knuckles pressed into his sleeves, clinging without purpose, your palms warm against his skin. You were laughing, really laughing now - wild and breathless and beautiful, the sound pouring out of you with no control, like your body had finally found a way to purge the stress.
He watched you unravel under his hands, and it did something to him. Bended something inside him.
The laughter had knocked the fight out of your limbs. You were still squirming, yes, but without aim now. Pure reflex. He could feel the tension in you - the pressure that had been building for days - finally start to release.
He slowed his fingers, letting them glide lightly now, teasing, drawing out that helpless warmth until your laughter turned soft. Sweet. Still squirming, but relaxed.
When you went completely pliant, Loki stilled.
He watched your chest rise and fall, fast but looser. He'd felt the fight seep out of your shoulders, the weight in your brow gone. Your laughter trailed off into a breathless smile, your lips parted, eyes dazed with that post-laughter glow.
"There you are," he murmured, low and quiet, brushing his thumbs gently over your sides, not tickling anymore.
Something knotted tight in his chest as he looked at you - you, who could break bones and weaponise words. You, who had glared at the others like you wanted to bite them for suggesting a break. You, who hadn’t smiled in days, eyes heavy and sleepless with the unbearable weight of caring so very much.
Now a flushed, giggling heap on the couch. Under him. His body curved over yours, his hands still warm at your waist. Your fingers still wrapped loose around his wrists like you didn’t even realise it.
He swallowed.
This had been about endorphins. About tricking your nervous system into resetting. That was all.
Just… good strategy.
Right?
He kept his weight over you, hands still in place, but his voice dipped - lower, closer, with that subtle edge.
"I think your teammates are perfectly capable of helping you finish off those reports," he said. "Wouldn’t you agree?"
You nod without thinking, eyes unfocused. "Yeah."
Loki glanced up. Met Rogers’ gaze. Held it.
Steve was standing there in the kitchen archway, arms crossed, brow lifted. Loki didn't say a word - but the look was pointed.
"Captain Rogers will have Sergeant Barnes review the response to the Wakandan delegation," Loki continued, speaking to you but keeping his eyes on the one apparently in charge. "The others can proofread the rest, and deliver you notes... tomorrow."
"Yeah okay," you sniffed, still dazed, still sputtering residual giggles, but fully aware of your defeat.
Steve's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.
Loki turned towards the good doctor.
Bruce was still watching from his chair, coffee in hand, one brow raised. Loki cocked his head, gesturing to your giggling form.
"Well, Bruce? What’s your diagnosis?"
Bruce watched you for a long second - your loose limbs, your lazy grin, the visible ease now where tightness had controlled your frame just minutes before. The corners of his mouth turned down in an analytical frown.
"Tension’s down. Endorphins kicked in. She looks lighter. I’d say she could use... another minute or so."
Loki’s smirk turned feral.
You didn't even protest.
You barely registered it, not until his fingers at to your sides started tickling with that same precision, but just a little gentler now, and your body danced with a squealing giggle you didn’t know you had in you.
The couch shook with your laughter again, the sound of your heels thudding against the cushion. You were completely wrecked. And you let it happen. You let him ruin you with laughter, your body betraying you, all your sharpness and strength replaced by unguarded sound and colour and heat.
And Loki...
He was half-smiling down at you like you were dangerous.
Like he was just realising you might be the only thing on this wretched planet that could bring him to heel. That could... soften him. That could make him enjoy softening.
And that, in itself, was terrifying.
But your laughter hit that beautiful, breathless pitch - and he knew he’d be doing this again.
.
.
.
end note:
i need to be clear that the tickle fluff in this fic is not meant to present as the solution to the reader's stress; the delegation of work is. tickling can be fun and sweet and help with relaxation, but it does not fix systemic issues or mental health concerns. this may seem like a weirdly intense note to end on for a fun and fluffy fic, but it wouldn't sit right with me to leave this up to interpretation. lots of love xo
it's hot out , but domestic!boyfriend!loki is even hotter. hey it's been a while since i wrote and i'm glad to be back. please excuse any mistakes. english is not my first language and it's not checked by a beta reader.
warnings: pure domestic bliss, they are both so in love (gag), fluff, fluff and more fluff, alusions to smut.
A small groan escaped you as you were brought out of your sleep. A bit of pesky morning sun had managed to sneak in through a crack in the blinds and had been shining in your eyes, bringing out of your slumber.
It was then when you decided that scolding Loki was in order. You had asked him multiple to check that all blinds were closed.
You had already laid in bed and felt lazy to even get up and you had taken his word when he had assured you that they were perfectly closed.
You were sure he had no bad intentions, it was a simple mistake after all.
However it was the first time in a while, where you didn’t have to wake up early to go into office to fill out paperwork, or train or even go in a mission and you wanted to enjoy it.
You put the rising need to nag at bay. Your need for sleep surpassed any annoyance.
Once you were awake enough, you had quickly realized that you had rolled off from his embrace by the uncomfortable feeling of sweat, making your night dress stick to your skin.
You were quick to look for his embrace, during the hot summer months. His body seemed to always run cooler and it made sleeping with him unlike anything you have experienced before.
It could be a torture for the cold nights of New York. However he was ready to quickly remedy that with a rune which would allow you be toasty and comfortable, as you slept by his side.
However the summer time, seemed to melt away any desire for any tricks that would bring you relief.
A small theory had been growing like a seed in your mind, taking root. You thought that he rather enjoyed that you you sought him out. That he could be a source of comfort just by being by your side.
You turned on the other side to face him and found him almost sprawled out, taking over the majority of the king size bed. You watched his chest rise and fall with every breath, with every almost silent snore. His tummy was peaking out of the shirt that he had wore to sleep.
You tried to snuff the smile that was growing on your face. He was… adorable.
A sentiment you were certain that he would abhor, if he were to caught wind of it.
Yet, it was cute seeing old tendencies coming up to the surface once in a while.
After all, you could not blame him. He was a god whose chambers, you were willing to bet, were bigger than your shoebox of an apartment.
A god, which of his own admission, had never had to share his space nor his bed with another being, prior to the beginning of your co-habitation.
No wonder he had turned to become a bit of a bed hog.
You rolled to him, finding enough space to fit into his embrace. Your face was quick to find his chest, your leg hiking up his waist.
The movement seemed to bring him out unconsciousness as well. He could not form a complain in his sleep ridden mind.
He only tried to bring you closer to him, as if the time spent further than you had to, was an insult of great importance.
His lips found your forehead, which to his credit succeeded in dispelling any idea of being cross with him. However not the teasing mood, you found yourself in.
“As soon as I wake up properly, your ass is grass, Loki.” you grumbled sleepily and you can feel his chest rumble with a groggy kind of laughter, not particularly threatened.
“Whatever for, my darling?” his voice was husky, sleepiness laced in voice.
“I told you to close the blinds properly and you didn’t” you grumbled. “The sun woke me up”
“Please accept my sincere apologies” he sounded solemn, but he could not hide the teasing lilt. “Whatever can I do to make it up to you?”
“You can shut it and hold me.” you ordered. “It’s hot and I want to sleep.”
“You are bossy when you are sleepy.” he mocked.
“Are you sure that there isn’t anything else I can do to make it up to you?” he suggested, his voice dropping full of suggestion.
“Perhaps.” You mused ignoring another type of heat that seemed to crawl up your body at his words. “But first sleep.”
You felt Loki move, turning you so your back found the bed and he found home between your thighs.
The weight of his body was familiar on top of yours. The kisses that he peppered on your jaw and throat were definitely welcomed.
“My Prince, you have to learn patience.” You grinned at the groan that left his mouth having long learned what it does to him.
“This is unfair” he whined.
“Consider it part of your punishment” you decided. “Now cuddle me, and let me go to sleep and perhaps if you behave I’ll give you a treat.”
His hands caged your head as he rose just enough for his gaze found yours.
“It is ironic to ask the God of Tricks to behave himself, don’t you think so?”
”But he will if he wants to get his reward.”
“Playing dirty…” he narrowed his eyes “I knew that you were the one for me.”
A tender smile crossed your face.
“Shush now. I want to sleep”
He didn’t reply only content to bring you into back into his embrace.
.
.
.
Your breathing had gotten deeper, sleep having found you once again. It was only the that Loki muttered to you, that he loved you for the first time.
The way you tightened your grip on him, was enough of a response for him, at least until he got brave enough to say it when he was certain that you could answer him too.
A Link to my Masterlist is HERE
Summary: Captain Rogers insists you master skydiving for...reasons. His choice of teacher is unfortunate.
Warnings: Mild language. Self delulu. Mutual pining. Descriptions of skydiving. Loki being a mischievous SOB. Fluff. (w/c 3.1k)
The harness loosened in your hand, excitement forgotten.
“Steve. No. Is this a joke?”
You grabbed the Captain’s arm and yanked him away from prying ears, and those sharp, cruel, inconveniently smouldering eyes.
“Someone better be about to jump out with a camera because if this isn’t a set up I fucking quit.”
Steve’s eyebrows slanted. “Oh jeez, don’t quit! You’re the only new Agent who’s made it through the—”
“You said I’d be jumping with Natasha.”
“Laufeyson’s the best of any of us…really took to it.” He brushed the back of his hair, eyeing Loki warily.
The god was standing at the other side of the hanger, his black flysuit tight and buckled. He gave the front of his harness a decisive yank, posturing, and Steve sighed.
“Look, he dropped tandem with Bruce the first few times. And Wanda. He's good at it. More than good. The best, as much as I hate to admit it.”
“Fucking...Wanda?!” You hissed. “She can levitate, Steve. Bruce can hulk himself and survive a fall from ten thousand feet…I can’t. It doesn’t even make sense that they need to learn to skydive—”
“New regulations,” Steve said, serious. “Everyone has to—”
“Are we doing this or not?” Loki drawled across the hanger.
You took a deep breath, grip tight on the harness dangling from your fist. “Please jump with me Steve. I don’t trust him..."
You opened your eyes to the sight of Captain America with one of those smug, saccharine looks that told you this really was a set up after all. Just without the TV crew.
“You’ve got to be kidding me…”
“I trust Laufeyson. He’s proved himself to all of us, and we know how far he’d go to keep his teammates safe.”
Steve shifted you abruptly to face Loki who was now draped over a plastic chair on the far side of the hanger, long legs languishing. “If you’re going to be a part of our team, there’s no room for doubt,'" Steve said. "You gotta trust him, Agent. You gotta trust yourself.”
It would be so easy to knee him in the balls.
You turned fractionally over your shoulder. “I’m reporting this to HR,” you mouthed, but Steve only chuckled and nudged you forward. Loki rolled his eyes and unfurled from the chair.
“Step in,” he ordered, gesturing to the harness in your white-knuckled hand. “Unless you’d like me to hold you to my chest all the way down. Your choice.” He released a dazzling—fake—smile.
You grimaced, threw the harness on the floor, kicked the thigh loops wider, and pulled it roughly over your arms.
Loki’s voice curled into your ear. “Allow me,” he purred. You hadn't even seen him move behind you.
It was followed by a yank as he tightened the straps on your shoulders, your back, your thighs. Loki’s hair was gathered back from his face in a low knot exposing the sharp lines of his face. Fading sunlight leaked over the hanger floor in long shadows, licking up the length of his legs like tar.
He straightened, and an ugly leather cap manifested in his hands.
“No,” you said. He jammed it over your ears and his long fingers made quick work of the fastening.
“For your protection, Agent.” His palm glowed green again and a pair of heinous goggles appeared.
You snatched them. “Where are your goggles?”
“I am a god. I need no goggles. Besides, they're hideous. You’re far more…perishable.”
You sighed, grabbing the long strap running across your chest. It was suffocating. “Let’s get this over with,” you muttered, and Loki gestured to the tiny plane waiting outside with a smirk. Your stomach dropped. “Where’s the pilot?”
“We don’t need a pilot.” He waved his fingers and the propellor at the nose of the aircraft whirred to life in a haze of emerald mist.
“I’m going to die,” you muttered, resigned.
Steve whistled from somewhere above. You glanced at him, America’s golden boy with a heart of coal, leaning over the balcony of the adjoining building. He gave you both a cheery salute. You began to unfold a middle finger before Loki grabbed your elbow and manoeuvred you towards the plane.
He climbed inside and stretched himself across the back of the tiny, vertical cabin.
“Where am I supposed to sit?” Despite the bite of encroaching sunset, your cheeks began to heat. You knew exactly where you were supposed to sit.
One of Loki’s brows twitched upward, and he gave his thighs two, short, slaps.
The world slowed, and the hum of the propeller seemed very far away. Loki’s other brow rose to join the first. “Let’s—what was the parlance?—get it over with, shall we?”
You cursed under your breath, ignoring the syrupy thump of your pulse, and crawled into the back of the plane. After a brief, humiliating fumble, you settled on top of the god’s thighs and tried not to think about how hard they were and how good he smelled. How his breath felt on your neck. How you wanted him to graze his teeth over the slash of exposed skin beneath your ear under the ugly leather cap.
With a flick of his hand, the plane door slammed.
“Loki…”
But his fingers clenched, and you watched in horror as the dashboard lit up. The airfield began to slide past the window.
“Don’t be nervous, Agent,” Loki said as the engine roared and your stomach lurched. His thighs shifted beneath you.
There was something different in his voice, or rather, absent: snark.
“We’ll be rising to ten thousand feet, which I can measure on this watch.” He moved his wrist in front of your face. “I can, of course, sense such things. But Satchel’s frigid regulations state I must wear this contraption.”
“Why do you call him Satchel?”
A small puff of amusement erupted against your neck. “It’s a long story. And not one he’d thank me for telling you.”
You shifted, hyper-aware of the slip between your thighs beneath the jumpsuit. “What happens when we get to the right height?”
“You know what happens. You’ve done everything but the act itself.”
“I know…I want to hear you say it.”
“Do you think I’ll abandon you and summon Heimdall to suck me through the Bifrost?”
Your stomach lurched higher. “I do now…”
Loki laughed again—but it was softer, sweeter. “At the risk of sounding cliché, Agent, you’ll just have to take my word I won’t.”
His word. His word was turning your cereal into sawdust. His word was positioning it so that in every paparazzi shot taken of your leaving Avengers training over the past six months it looked like he was grabbing your ass. His word was the thinly veiled jibes that made you feel like you might explode; the way his dimples flashed at the most inopportune times, and the way you were desperate to feel the texture of his black curls with your fingertips.
Focus.
There was a clunk as Loki fastened one of his harness buckles to yours.
“Seven thousand,” he murmured after several minutes, and cleared his throat. He shifted beneath you, hips lifting. It made a lance of arousal flash through your insides.
“The door will open at ten thousand feet, and you will shuffle ever-so-elegantly towards it.” You turned fractionally, catching the back end of his smirk. “Hang your legs over the side, cross your arms, arch your back, press your feet to the underside of the plane. You’ll feel my hand press against your forehead. And remember, Agent, keep your eyes open.”
“Why?”
“So you can take one last look at my impossibly handsome face before plummeting to your death, of course.”
“I hate you.”
“You don’t.” The words were velvet dipped in wine, and you didn’t correct him. If this was one of your last moments, you didn’t want to spend it with Loki knowing he was right.
“Nine thousand,” Loki said quietly.
“Why did you agree to this? What happened to Natasha?”
“Agree? Agent, I volunteered.”
Despite the sweetness in his voice, your nerves flared. “Uh—why?”
“Because you don’t trust me. And nothing irks me more than that.”
You twisted to catch his eyes; buckles on your conjoined harnesses straining. “No, it doesn’t. You love that shit.”
Loki’s brows slanted. “Do I?” he asked, the picture of innocence. “Goodness. Well… who knows why I’m doing it, then. Put those heinous goggles on. Ten thousand.”
“Loki, I swear to—”
The plane door snapped open, and you screamed.
“Goggles. Time to go.”
You fumbled with the goggles. “Loki…”
“Go. Now. Shuffle that lovely arse out of this plane, Agent, or so help me—”
“Fine!”
You scraped yourself over the small section of floor and stared out at the cloudless amber sky. It was a beautiful evening. It would be your last. You could barely breathe against the frigid air as your legs fell over the side and all other thoughts blurred.
“I have you, Agent,” Loki murmured behind you, barely audible over the thick roar of air, and out of the corner of your eye you saw his long fingers tighten around the doorframe. “Now get into position for me…that’s it.”
Your stomach dropped; heart hammering and pulse crawling in your throat like it was alive. You did as he asked, and in seconds, the flat of your feet were pressed to the underside of the plane.
I’m going to die, you thought. And then another in the backwind. I’m going to die with Loki holding me. That wasn’t quite so bad.
Not ideal, sure.
But not as bad.
Any second now, you’d be in freefall. Moments dragged past as Loki’s hard body pressed against your back, his thighs slotted at your sides, his hand cupping your forehead, pulling it back, and then….
All the breath left your lungs in one desperate gasp.
The world spun in shades of orange and fading blue and white and shards of Loki’s dark hair falling across your vision. And then, you were facing down and screaming, and screaming.
One, two, three…
Virginian fields stretching around the complex for miles stared back at you. They didn’t appear to be getting any closer as pressure forced up against your cheeks, your stomach, your soul.
Seven, eight, nine….
The compound was a dot.
Loki’s touch jabbed into your shoulder and you spread your arms; hurtling further into the vast everything below. It tasted like salt, and winter frosted mornings, and somehow the unmistakeable hint of Loki’s custom cologne bit through the brittle air.
Twelve, thirteen, fourteen…
Something inside you thrashed.
The parachute should have deployed by now.
You grasped for Loki’s hand to check if he was still there—that the Bifrost hadn’t taken him—but he was, and over the howl of hurtling air, you could swear he was laughing.
Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen…
The parachute should have opened at eleven.
Twenty-one…
“Lo—” you howled against the weight of wind as the compound grew closer, and bigger. And then, you were yanked upwards.
His name strangled in your throat, and his lips brushed the tip of your ear.
“I always knew you’d be a screamer,” he said, and wrenched the parachute handle to the side. The world lurched to the right, the horizon spinning. “You can’t blame me for wanting to enjoy it a little longer.”
You kicked backward and hit his shin. “Ow,” he said, but you could hear the smile in his voice.
“You think I’m going to trust you after this? You absolute wanker.”
“Wanker? That’s a new one. I must add it to my growing litany.”
Despite yourself, you laughed. “I hate you.” Your heartrate slowed, and the countryside was bathed in shades of molten gold.
“You don’t,” Loki said, and tipped the parachute towards the compound’s inner fields.
The two of you slid to the grass and scraped to a halt in a heap with Loki’s legs spread on either side of your body. You unfastened the leather cap and goggles, and tossed them to the ground. He was smiling, one brow cocked.
“I’m waiting,” he said, and unclasped his harness from yours.
Your cheeks burned as you sat up from his chest. “Thank you, I guess.”
“For?”
“Keeping me alive.”
Loki’s smile widened. “A pleasure, Agent. You were never in any danger. And if it makes you feel any better, should disaster have struck, I would have ensured Heimdall took you too.”
He looked so beautiful like this: propped up on his elbows as the emerald green parachute swirled and settled behind him, his milky skin bathed in pink and gold, and the rumpled waves of black surrounding his perfect face like a wreath.
Oh no.
The truth smacked you in the face with sudden, pummelling clarity.
It wasn’t Loki you didn’t trust.
You didn’t trust yourself with Loki.
It wasn’t until a finger curled beneath your chin and nudged it up that you’d realised you’d been staring at his thighs. “Agent…” he murmured, like the ripple of grass.
Your breath caught as you asked, “Why did you really volunteer?”
Loki frowned faintly, his hand falling to his side and his gaze dropping momentarily to your lips. “Because,” he said, measuring himself. “I didn’t trust anyone else to keep you safe.”
You opened your mouth and closed it again, stunned.
“Oh look…” Loki observed bitterly, “Here comes Satchel.” He gave the meaty dot which was Steve jogging from the compound a cheerless wave.
And then a hand was hooked under Loki’s harness. A hand which looked very much like yours but couldn’t possibly be.
His eyes widened for a moment before your lips crushed together and he fell backwards to the grass with a muted sigh of surprise. The kiss slid into urgency; one breathless murmur to the next. Your fingers slid into his tangled hair, memorising the texture of each strand, memorising the taste of his tongue and the warmth of his need.
“Agent…” he murmured into your mouth, before nudging you upright just as Steve crested the hill.
“Golly—that was a tight drop, Laufeyson. Great for stealth ops, but I sure imagine your partner didn’t appreciate it, huh?” He eyed you nervously, forcing a chuckle.
Loki’s saliva was still wet on your lips.
“I trusted him,” you said, meeting Loki’s smile with your own. And beside him, Steve beamed. He extended a hand and helped you up from between Loki’s legs with a wobble. “I’ll stay and help with the chute,” you added, brushing yourself off. “It’s fine, honestly.”
Steve looked dubious.
As he disappeared down the hill towards the compound, Loki rose.
“Audacious, Agent. You must truly trust me after all—how do you know I won’t ravish you under the gathering dark?”
His eyes were spreading pools of mischievous darkness; only slim sapphire rings on the edge of black.
“I’m counting on it,” you said, before the two of your stumbled backwards into a sea of rippling green.
Guess who’s gona break up with her boyfriend/ be broken up with! Yk what this means?
GUESS WHOS GONA COME BACK TO WRITING FAN FICTION!!!!!
I wana come back to writing again so I’m taking like suggestions at the moment and might continue some stories that i had previously written and not posted about
I really likeyour writing! I was hoping you still take requests. I was thinking like a best friends to lovers angst between loki and female reader somehow? I dont really have an idea just a vibe.
Thank you in advance!
Always Has (Oneshot)
Summary: On the day of your best friend Prince Loki's debut to a ballroom of eligible suitors, you're fixing the last seams of his outfit before you let him go. It's proving harder than you thought. Angst with fluff at the end. 2.4k words. Gets a bit steamy but nothing nsfw. No warnings.
Pairing: Prince Loki x royal seamstress!Reader
A/N: Thank you for the request!!! I'm so sorry this took so long ;-; I rewrote so many versions before smashing this one out tonight. I'm posting it before I rethink it again. I hope you like it! Requests still open for Loki, Bucky Barnes, Mr. Terrific!
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“How far do you think I could go before they find me?” He murmurs above you.
His voice is low, with the mischievous lilt that it always has. When you glance up at him in the mirror, silver pins gleaming from your mouth, you find him staring wistfully out the turret window. He would almost look crestfallen if not for the smirk playing on the corner of his lips. You roll your eyes and look back down at the hem of his pants, adjusting your measurements.
“I think Odin would be mad enough to hunt you across the universe if you were to leave right now.”
“Oh, that would be fun to see.” You glance up at him again. The smirk is now a smile, as if he’s relishing the idea.
You stick a pin in his leg. He yelps and jumps away a little, laughing. It’s easy, breathy, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
And why would he? He’s almost married, after all.
Well, almost bethrothed. Coupled. Shown off to any eligible single royal in the Nine Realms that want a piece of Odin’s kingdom.
As you work on your measurements, you can almost hear the cacophony of tonight’s ball already happening in the courtyard below. Hundreds of choices will be mingling under your window, and you’ll have to see them all as you wait, alone, up here, for him to tell you every detail.
Like you always have.
“By the Norns, I didn’t even say anything that time!” He yelps from above as you catch him again with a pin, this time accidental and deep in his ankle. You sigh, rubbing the spot and mumble the one healing spell you know. The blood stops flowing but you keep rubbing absentmindedly.
“Are you alright?”
“Sorry. Just thinking.” You groan as you push yourself up to your feet, back cramped from bending over. Setting aside the maddening fact that Loki is getting married, the work put into making royal families court attire was an exhausting feat. Weeks of measuring, cutting, sewing, and cursing leading into this one painful day.
But you’re good at what you do. You always have been.
As you lean back to take him in fully, he poses. His outfit was mostly complete, save for last-minute hems that you can’t stop yourself from giving him. The silver trim along a green silk shirt to accentuate the soft blue undertone of his skin. The high collar to highlight his long neck. A form-fitting jacket with tails that ended in razor-sharp points, the fangs of the royal snake becoming a statement rather than a whisper behind his back.
You let yourself look up at his face, taking him fully in. He catches your eye and smiles, a tooth glittering in the sunlight streamed into the room. With his black hair tucked behind his ears and his high cheekbones, he almost looks like a mannequin. Perfect, poised, the perfect salesman for whatever he has on. Or whatever idea he has. You’ve been sold on enough from him before.
You let out a sigh you didn’t realize you’ve been holding.
It was finally almost done. The outfit you’ve spent weeks making after years of preparing for it. Every moment with him adding a stitch in your side, a reminder of what you can’t have.
The fabric glitters nicely. You knew it would from when you picked it out, with Loki and under his magic. He had disguised you both as an old couple, shopping in the market like it was any other day. You held scraps of textiles up to his skin while he offered his opinions, his wants. Asked banal questions and chatted about nothing. Another day together, like all the other days over the years of friendship you shared.
But you were together, close. His arm was in yours as you walked through the crowd. To keep you close for the spell, of course. But the heat from his body left the same warmth as if it was an embrace.
And the green silk shines on his skin like scales, just in the same way it did under that damned days’ sun.
“You’re quiet. Am I that ugly?” His head cocks to one side, catching your eye and bringing you back to the reality in your workshop.
“I’m fine. Just have to make sure this is right.”
“Do you ever make something wrong?” He murmurs with a playful smile as he magically turns the pedestal beneath his feet with a lazy finger. He barely even looks at himself, instead twisting slowly so you can get your full view, per usual.
“I know you don’t care, but it’s my head on the line.” You mutter, catching him by the elbow to stop him and snipping a stray thread on his neckline.
“Your head? Don’t be so dramatic. It’s a ball.”
“Don’t be stupid. You and I both know this isn’t just a ball.” You roll your eyes as you back away, which he doesn’t miss. He never misses the things you want him to miss.
He cocks his head to the side, brow furrowed in the way it does when he latches onto something. A tell, a quirk, a weakness. Your breath hitches in your throat; you’ve seen this face. It was cute when you were small and his obsession was about child’s play.
But your heart is not child’s play. Or available to him at all.
You drop back down to your knees, taking his ankle in one hand and nudging him forward, beginning to stitch his pant hem in silence.
A silence that seemed to grow heavier by the minute.
“It is just a ball, you know.” He says from above you. “Surely you don’t think I’ll actually marry anyone down there.”
As if he magicked them himself, voices from the courtyard below start to drift into the room. You pause before you accidentally stick him with another needle.
“Why should you not? I’m sure most are good matches.” You try and keep your voice clear though your heartbeat wavers.
“What constitutes a good match, friend?” He asks, casually. As if asking for advice.
“Someone in good royal standing. Attractive. Skilled in something. Able to handle your ego.”
He gasps in mock outrage, though when you look up, he’s smiling down at you wolfishly.
“I do not have an ego. You’re confusing me with Thor.”
“Thor’s ego has you beat by a beard hair, and that’s all. Pick someone down there that can handle both of you. I don’t know how I’ve survived all these years myself.” You mutter.
A moment. Your heart skips a beat again. Will you still be able to be with them, after this? After they have their someones? What place do you have here, other than the faceless tailor and seamstress?
You sink back on your ankles, looking absentmindedly at his. Your final stitches. As good as they were for the past few days, before you undid them for unseen flaws. But as more voices spill into the grounds below, you know you can’t hold onto him any further.
“You’re gone again.” He murmurs from above you, but in your dazed state, you can’t look up.
“What?”
“For weeks now, you keep disappearing. Thinking things that you don’t say out loud.”
“You don’t need to have my running monologue, Loki.”
“I don’t. But it’s a privilege you’ve shared with me in the past. Have I done something to upset you?”
“No.”
“Are you leaving Asgard?”
“What?” You look up at him again, this time locking eyes with the stone-faced prince. His hair has fallen from behind his ears, casting his face in shadow. It takes all of you not to tuck it again, to let his face see the sun.
“You’ve been fussing about this damned night for months now. Forget the clothing, every conversation we’ve had ends in what happens today.”
“It’s an important-”
“Save it. I know your lines now. It’s an important night for some, it’s a meaningless frivolity for others. I know my stance. But I don’t know yours.”
“I’m not trying to trick you, Loki.”
“I know. You’re better at tricking me. No, you’re just lying to me.” He points down at you with one finger, shaking it slightly as he chuckles and leans back. “You’re showing off your skills so you can impress someone down there, hmm? I’m a walking resume so you can get out of this damned castle.”
You spring up to your feet, scowling your way to your workbench, hurriedly putting up various needles and thread. Sharp points prick your fingers and you attribute your new tears to that, instead of him.
“After all of these years, you can’t afford me the respect of a goodbye?” His voice is even and low, but you still can’t look at him.
“I’m not leaving Asgard.” You force out through gritted teeth.
“Then you are leaving?”
“You are the one that’s leaving, Prince.”
“Don’t call me that. You, of all people, do not call me that.”
“I’m calling you what you are.”
“I called you friend.”
“And that’s not enough, is it?” You turn to face him, “I’m many things to you, Prince. A friend. A confidant. A childhood playmate turned into what? The help. Your help. Here to stitch you together into a Prince Charming for someone elses’ fairy tale. And that someone is down there. I’m just here, doing my job. Maybe we should have remembered that sooner than now.” You spit out the words, letting them fall like acid on the floor between you. Every word lowers your resolve more, especially as his jaw clenches more and more.
He stays silent for a long while, long enough for you to hear your heartbeat in your throat and the band start to play.
“Loki, I think they’re-”
“You’re not the help. You have never been the help.” He scowls, chest heaving once before he rips his eyes away from yours, turning towards the window and running a hand through his hair.
“Realistically, I-”
“Do the years we’ve shared mean nothing to you? Am I just some coddled man-child that’s been ignorant of your resentment this entire time?”
“I have not been resentful.”
“You have been. You just said it yourself. You’re just ‘doing your job.’”
“I am just doing my job.”
“Has your job been to babysit me? To talk with me? Sit with me through nights I couldn’t be alone, and to call me when you find vermin in the dark corners of your room?”
“No. My job is-”
“Hel, I can’t even count how many times we have walked the castle together. How many jokes we’ve made. How many times I’ve fallen asleep next to you, and still had dreams of your laugh. Your face consumes my thoughts, and I am just a job to you.”
“My face does what?”
“Haunts me! I am constantly thinking about you, and what you’re doing, and what you’re thinking about, and things to do with you. You have me walking like a dog by your side, and yet, I am just a job.” He’s evolved into pacing now, gripping his scalp as he rambles. He kicks a few bolts of fabric over by accident and curses, righting them with a wave of his hand.
Your body however, stills completely.
“A...dog.” You mutter dumbly, causing him jerk his face back towards you.
“I always have been. Yours.”
Footsteps run down the hall, past your door. The voices have all left the courtyard, having all entered the ballroom below. You never meant to keep him this long. But it feels so good to have him here, even with all of his anger burning a hole in your floor and heart.
He’s ‘your’ anything?
“My problem is that the thought of you getting married to someone else makes me sick.” You say finally and he blinks, brow furrowing.
“...What?” It’s his turn to be confused.
“Every time I think about you going down there, getting looked at and felt up and whispered to, Because it’s not my hand on yours.”
He turns towards you, face flickering orange in the setting sun that threatens to throw you both in darkness. You take a deep breath, two, before steeling enough nerves to continue.
“I think I fell in love with you so quietly that I didn’t know until the thought of today made me not want to leave my bed in the morning. It made every moment with you painful because I know it’s the some of the last ones I’ll have with you. The clock ticks so slowly when you’re away. The rest of my life is too long to live without you.” You say it all before you think it, leaving you breathless and propping yourself up on your workbench in order to stay upright.
The look he’s giving you is unreadable at best, unknowable at worst, but the intensity of his eyes never wavers, pinning you to your tenuous position. It still doesn’t waver as he steps towards you, slowly then quickly, lithe fingers reaching your waist and catching you before you fall.
It doesn’t waver until he closes his eyes, one hand sliding up to cradle the nape of your neck and jaw and drawing your head back as he pulls you into his embrace. He ghosts his lips above yours and your breath hitches before you close the distance, pressing into his kiss with an urgency you’ve been holding back. Your fingers crease his newly-made clothes as you grip onto his chest, his ribs, any part of him with the sole purpose of pulling him closer. He kisses you back with the same fervour you’re giving him, hot lips burning his brand onto your mouth and your thoughts cease to exist other than,
Wow. It’s really happening.
It must be forever before you disconnect, breathless and hot, but he only takes a second before kissing the corner of your lips, your cheek, your temple.
“I must be dreaming.” He mumbles against your skin, and you let loose a wry little laugh.
“I could say the same thing.” You barely get the words out before he kisses you again, slower this time, taking his time. His hands travel up, cupping your face gently, thumb swiping away at a tear you didn’t realize made its way out.
When he finally pulls away, he has a gentle smile on his face, as if he was wholly at peace.
It makes you pull him in again, sounds of a long-forgotten ball echoing from below.
Reader and Loki get rough housing a little too much <3
﹛"Hey okay do i have an idea for you play fighting with loki he accidently hurts you then freaks out thaaaank you. Like he acts all big and mighty UNTIL he accidently hurts then he is a small worm trying to apoglize."﹜
I kinda sorta turned this into a mini oneshot since I liked the idea so much lol. Thank you, requester!
TW: none
Fluff ☁️
Word count: 1,673
Requested ♡
I'm currently taking headcanon requests!
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You know, Loki, being a 1,048 year old nordic god, wouldn't make you think that he could have so much energy all at once, but that is a terribly inaccurate assumption. You see, he tends to get these random bursts of seemingly endless energy from time to time throughout the day. One moment, he could be peacefully sitting on the balcony reading a book in silence, and the next, he could be an absolute terror.
He's basically a cat prone to zoomies.
It was a random Wednesday at 2:47 in the afternoon when it hit him, that familiar feeling when he just can't sit still to save his life, and, naturally, you were his target.
Next thing you knew, you're in a wild sprint for your life, dodging furniture, and even other people, as he chased you throughout the gilded palace walls. He was hot on your tail. He could have caught you with ease or even used his magic to make you stop, but where would the fun in that be? He loves a good chase, especially when you're the prize at the end of it.
"You know you can't escape me, darling!" He called out in full confidence, a devilish smirk clear in that silken voice of his,
"If you give up now, I might grant you mercy... if you beg for it!"
Gods, he's head over heels for you. He never imagined himself, Loki, the god of mischief, to actually feel something so real for anyone. Even more than that, he never imagined anyone could feel something so real for him. All his life, he lived within his elder brother's shadow. For centuries, he searched and searched for anything or anyone that could make him feel...worthy. Seen. Important. Give him the love and care and attention he so desperately craved. Of course, that someone turned out to be you.
There is nothing he wouldn't do for you. If he could hold the entire universe in the palm of his hand, he would wrap it up and give it to you as a present just to see your eyes light up at the sight of it.
A shiver of nerves mixed with excitement traveled down your spine at his words that echoed behind you. Your heart thumped harshly against your chest.
Being chased by Loki whenever he was in the midst of one of his energy bursts was always a thrill, to say the least. He spoke as though he might either kill you, or devour you by the end of it, yet the result was always the same: a bit of rough housing, a couple (a lot) of stolen kisses, and ending up sprawled out on the floor in a mess of giggles and soft panting.
You didn't dare look back, knowing that if you did, you very well might trip and be forced to face the god's empty threats. No, you kept on going and going, which only served to motivate Loki to move faster yet, his long legs carrying him swiftly over the stone floors, almost as though he were gliding rather than sprinting.
It wasn't long until he had you cornered. You made the foolish mistake of running straight into his chambers, which he immediately followed you into and slammed the door shut behind him, locking it with a flick of his wrist and a small puff of green smoke.
You idiot.
"Well, it appears you've no escape now, my little vixen," he flashed a sharp grin as he strode over to where you were at the other side of the room, as though he were coming to collect what was his. Which... wasn't far from the truth.
You attempted to make an escape and slip past him, but that didn't slide. He instantly reached out and caught you by your waist and snatched you right off of your feet with a victorious "gotcha!", causing you to yelp as he pulled you back against his firm chest.
"Loki! Let go!!" You protested in a playful manner, squirming against his tight grasp. You pounded a fist against his hands that gripped your waist, not hurting or deterring him even a little. In fact, your actions only made him laugh.
"Ah! Trying to get away from me, are you??" He teased. Just then, he shifted and threw you down over the side of the bed, making you land and bounce on your back with an "oof!"
Loki then boxed you in with his body before you could move and held onto your shoulders, bouncing you on the bed while proudly announcing that 'he got you' in a tone that was almost hushed, yet excited like a child that's had too many sweets. He wasn't necessarily being rough with you, but his actions were a bit dizzying.
He then began to pepper chaste kisses over your face, starting with your cheeks, your temples, your nose, your lips-- just everywhere.
"You aren't so tough now, are you?! Look at you, you're like a pathetic little bug under me!"
The air was filled with giddy giggles and chuckles that were emitted from both his and your lips. It was a scene he wouldn't DREAM of allowing anyone else but you to be a part of. Heck, he wouldn't want anyone else to even have the knowledge of the fact that he's even capable of participating in such tender and wholesome activities.
Nope, these things strictly stay between you and him.
"Okay! Okay, You got me! I give up!" You finally gave in, raising your hands above your head in surrender. Loki paused for a moment, still panting and smiling like a idiot.
"Do you truly??"
"Yes!"
"I don't believe you!" He then roughly pulled you up to your feet by the fabric of your shirt and backed you up against the wall, not realizing how rough he was getting until...
Thud!
...your head bumped the wall behind you.
Ohhhh no. Oh no... What had he done??
"Ah...oh, Loki!" You hissed, playful demeanor now gone as you gingerly held a hand to the back of your head. You didn't want to be upset with him, but that hurt like Hel. He had quite the tendency to get carried away with this stuff sometimes without even realizing it.
His emerald eyes widened, and his heart sank at the sight. No, no, no, he didn't mean to actually hurt you. He was just playing around-- that wasn't supposed to happen! He immediately let go of you, body language shifting in an instant.
"Damn it..."
Loki reached out a hand to carefully touch your head, feeling the need to check you over and make sure you were alright, silently cursing himself for getting so carried away.
"Let me see, let me see..." he muttered, a sharp pang of guilt stabbing his side when his fingers brushed against the mildly sensitive spot and you winced slightly. He cursed under his breath and pulled your body a little closer so he could get a better look and make sure it was nothing too serious. It most certainly wasn't, but he wanted to make sure. He's a literal god, and you're just his fragile little Midgardian. It wouldn't take much for him to accidentally hurt you, as this recent event proved.
He continued to fuss over you, whispering reverent apologies as he took you into his arms and held you close to his chest, as if to protect you from any further harm.
The pain wasn't really that bad now. It had only lasted a few moments, but when he still continued to coddle you, you couldn't help but roll your eyes with a softened smile, knowing this was now your fate, sealed in his arms with no escape. Which, by the way, is not a bad fate, really.
"I'm sorry, love," he murmured as his lips brushed against your hairline, placing a feathery peck there. He was completely calm now, his previous burst of energy hibernating deep down inside for another day. He made a mental note not to let himself get so out of hand next time, as this resulted in a less than pleasant experience for you and a rather large case of embarrassment for him.
"You're sure you're alright? Because if the pain resum-
You abruptly cut him off by shushing him and pressing the tip of your finger to his lips, to which he was unsure if he should be slightly surprised or mildly offended. Either way, it made you chuckle.
"I'm fine, Loki, I promise," you reassured him with a small, almost teasing smile, "you just... need to learn how to be a little more gentle, that's all. It's alright..."
Loki couldn't help but be put a little more at ease by the lack of a grudge in your voice. He was honestly embarrassed that any of this happened in the first place, as well as for freaking out so much when your 'injury' was pretty much nonexistent, but he just couldn't help it. He's pathetic when it comes to you.
It had taken him many, many years to face that fact without letting his pride flare up, and he still struggles it from time to time, although that makes it no less true. You're his weakness, and that's just the truth.
He sighed and rested his forehead against yours, "yes, yes, I know... I'm sorry, darling..."
There were those words again. Those soft, genuine words.
A short silence stretched on as you both stood there, his strong arms enveloping you entirely. He soaked up all of the warmth and comfort that your presence could offer him, which is quite a lot. Tender words in an ancient translation of Norwegian fell from his lips and skimmed over your skin, sending gentle shivers down your spine...
"Tilgi meg, kjære... vær så snill, frykt ikke meg og mine lidenskaper..."
Summary: What’s it like dating the god of mischief? Here’s what I think it’s like :3
Pairing: Loki x Gender Neutral! Reader
A/N: suddenly got the motivation to write this so im comin’ outta the woodworks, hope y’all like it and I’d love any thoughts y’all would have! Likes, comments and reblogs are all very much appreciated :3
Masterlist (Menu)
Loki’s not the easiest person to get along with, but if you manage to steal his heart, you’re sure to be in for an experience.
He’s a charmer and he has a silver tongue, that’s something every version of him has in common, but this loki will use his power with words to woo you and make you feel like the most special person in all the nine worlds.
He’s a prince and he’s got prince money, so expect him to spoil you with things he knows you’ll like. Loki’s the silent watchful type so expect him to notice little things about you.
When you yap, he remembers, most of the time, and you’re re honestly shocked at how good his memory is.
But when he gets into icy moods, your good intentions get lost in translation and your attempts at trying to figure out whats wrong might trigger him to lash out. Give him space and he’ll apologize when he calms down.
Oh! Youre one of the few people he willingly apologizes to, without pride (okay maybe a little pride) he accepts his mistakes and wants to show you he isnt the monster they all say he is.
When he does need comfort, youre the first person he seeks out. He comes into your room silently and when not even a tiny witty remark leaves his lips, you know he just needs an anchor to ground him. He’ll curl upto you and let you card your fingers through his raven black hair and on rare occasions when he actually does want to vent, he’ll talk in the softest voice youve heard him use. He’s secretly terrified youll think he’s weak and be disgusted by him, but the way you reassure him and kiss him on his forehead reminds him otherwise.
When he told you he was a frost giant, he expected you to be repulsed but when you say his species doesn’t affect how much you love him, his mind freezes. He’d been anticipating a negative reaction, and he’d rehearsed how to handle them but this immediate acceptance left him so shocked and relieved he cried as he hugged you tight, whispering a small yet meaningful ‘Thank You’.
He has a lot of trust issues you’ll have to work through together. He knows it’s unfair to you, but he’s trying. For you he’s trying to be better.
I feel like he’s someone who usually lets people leave if they want, he’s used to being the dispensable one or the one who gets left behind so he’s learned to not attach himself to even those he cares most about, handling the loss of companions and friends with a cold and logical view. But if you manage to show him you’re not leaving, that you aren’t going to abandon him, then he’ll love you with all he has, itll take him a while to learn to though.
His magic is hella strong and he loves that you’re fascinated with it. He’ll do little tricks to cheer you up when you’re down and if you have magic in you, he’ll teach you himself.
The dates he takes you on can be both luxurious and even cozy. He used to look down on simple cafe dates and library hang-outs, but once he learned to see the subtle charm in them, he began to love them as much as the fancy restaurants. He’s a classy guy and you cant blame him for living like he did in asgard.
Believes that hi partner must be respected, protected and treated like royalty,regardless of their gender. His mama raised him well and he sure as hell knows how to treat his partner. If anyone disrespects you? HEXED. If a man cat calls you while you’re out on a walk, he turns them into pigs or curses their tongues to shrivel up and fall out. No one gets to disrespect his Love, No one.
He’s got a keen eye for fashion, and if you arent a particularly fashion-savvy person he’ll help you style outfits and would love to coordinate outfits, not in the traditional matchy-matchy way, but in a way where you both look distinct in your own way while also complimenting each other perfectly.
He also likes seeing you in gold, but if you’re more a silver person he wont force you, but he mightt get something with both gold and silver as a compromise.
I think that Loki would love his partner regardless of their height , weight, size or gender. He loves you for who you are, not what you look like.
