Hi I just want to say that I love your writing so much
Could you maybe write a loki mafia fic with "who did this to you" and loads of angst too please. There could maybe be a plot of like she goes out to sort out some random mafia business and gets hurt in the process. Not like really hurt but just a couple of scratches or something. Please don't make him so overprotective that he won't even let her leave the house but protective enough that he gets really mad when he sees she is injured. Sorry if this is way to specific
If you can't I totally get it because I understand that you might not get loki cos most of your mcu fics are stucky but if you cpuld try it would mean so much to me
Thank you
⁀➷ The Warning // Mafia!Loki x F!Reader
Summary: You were supposed to be untouchable, the infamous girl at the side of the most dangerous man alive. But when someone lays hands on you, it ignites something dark in Loki.
Requested by: This was fun to write, thank you for the request! I did make it super angsty so just a warning about that + really intense smut (couldn't help myself!)
Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst (!), minor injuries, threats against reader, possessive loki, body worship, nightmares, anxiety/vunerability, dom/sub, two Lokis, restraints, sir kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, oral, fingering, rough sex, praise kink, orgasming until pain/almost passing out, begging, crying, aftercare
Words: 4.6k
my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link
There’s a certain silence that settles around you when you walk through the city. Not fear – not exactly. Just… space. As if people know not to stand too close. As if your perfume might bite.
You used to think it was strange how doors opened too quickly. How eyes dropped the second yours lifted. How people, grown, hardened people, stepped back when you stepped forward.
But then again, most people don’t have Loki Laufeyson’s name curled like smoke around their own.
Loki’s girl.
You hear it sometimes, behind you, in whispers under their breath, but never to your face.
And yet, they all listen.
Because the name alone is a threat, because you belong to the man who once burned down an entire club because someone made you uncomfortable on the dance floor, the man who shattered a man’s jaw with the base of a class, calm as you please, for touchnig your wrist when you passed him a message.
But to you?
To you, he’s just Loki.
The man who makes you tea when you can’t sleep. Who tugs your legs into his lap while reading through bloodstained contracts? The man who says, “go if you want to” instead of “stay”.
It never felt like a cage. It felt like home, until today.
~~~~~~~~~~
“You sure you don't want one of the guys to go with you?”
Your bodyguard, Emil, is parked against the doorframe like always, arms crossed. You’re standing in front of the mirror fixing the buttons on your coat. A deep green one, Loki’s favourite. Not that he ever said it. But you noticed the way his eyes lingered when you wore it. Like he was seeing something he wasn’t sure he deserved.
You glance at Emil’s reflection. “It’s a cash drop. Two streets over. You think I'm gonna get mugged in broad daylight?”
“No,” Emil confirmed. “I think someone might be stupid.”
He doesn't elaborate. He never does.
“I’ll be fine,” you say gently. “I'm just dropping the envelope and checking in. Ten minutes.”
Emil sighs but follows you out anyway.
~~~~~~~~~~
You’ve never understood the way fear follows you like a ghost.
No one dares touch you. The underworld knows better. You’ve sat in rooms with gun runners, cartel heirs, exiled kings, all of them looked at you with the same flat expression.
Because you are not you. You are his. You are because of association. War, if necessary.
That's why the drop today is simple. Routine.
You walk into the club, still shut during daylight hours, with the brown envelope in hand. You nod to the man at the bar. You say the name you were told. He disappears to get someone. Emil stays just outside the front entrance, per usual, giving you privacy but close enough to act.
You wait. Then he walks in.
You’ve seen him before, part of the Cerdani crew. Mid-tier muscle. Young. Cocky. His name escapes you, but you remember the arrogant smirk. The one that lingered too long last time. The one that made Emil put a hand to the back of your waist and push you behind him.
“Didn’t expect you,” he says, stepping close.
You maintain a flat but polite expression.
“Just dropping off. Where's Arlo?”
The man shrugs. “Late. Got time to talk?”
“No,” you say firmly, placing the envelope on the table. “Tell Arlo it’s been handled.”
He reaches out. His hand brushes your wrist, not a grab, not exactly. But not gently either.
“Don’t be rude now,” he insists. “You’re just as pretty in the daylight.”
Something sharp flickers through your chest. Something unwelcome.
You step back. “I’d suggest you reconsider that tone.”
A laugh. “Or what? You gonna pout and run back to your king?”
There it is. Loki. Always hanging in the air like static. You open your mouth, not to threaten but to end it, when the man grabs your elbow.
It's not hard, but his fingers close over your coat and pull until you’re on the floor.
And then it happens fast.
The sound of boots. The blur of Emil is behind you. The crack of bone. A grunt. The man hits the floor with a thud and a wet breath of pain.
Blood trickles from his mouth.
The second man in the room, one of his own, looks terrified.
“I told you not to touch her!” he shoots, backing away. “I told you, you idiot, do you know what you’ve done?”
He's not talking to you. He's not apologising to you. He’s afraid of what your presence represents. He’s scared of Loki.
~~~~~~~~~~
You sit in the back of the car, heart still thudding. Emil drives like a maniac. There’s a bruise forming on your elbow where you hit the edge of the table—a scrape on your knee from the floor. Your lip is bleeding from where you bit it.
“Don't tell him,” you say quietly. “Please. Don't–he’ll make a scene.”
Emil doesn’t answer. You look at him, and he continues to stare straight ahead. Your heart sinks.
“He already knows,” he says.
~~~~~
The house is quiet. Too quiet. You know what that means.
Loki’s estate is rarely loud, but there's always something going on. The rustle of tailored shoes over marble, the clink of crystal in the kitchen, the low rumble of a voice too carefree to laugh too loudly in his presence.
Now? Nothing.
Even Emil slows his steps as he opens the door and ushers you in.
You want to disappear into the walls, to make it to your room and wash the blood from your lip and pretend this never happened. You want to crawl under the silk duvet and lie to yourself.
But you don’t make it two steps before you feel him.
Not hear. Feel like ice flooding the air. The click of his shoes comes from the west corridor—the echo of unimaginable power.
You turn. He steps into view and stops.
His eyes move over you in silence. Once. Twice. You know what he sees. The tear in your coat, the smell of dried blood at your mouth, the way you hold your arm to ease the ache in your wrist.
His gaze lingers there. His face doesn’t change. But something shifts behind his eyes, like a wire snapping under pressure.
“Who,” Loki says, voice lethal. “Did this to you?”
You open your mouth, but no words come out for a breath.
“It wasn’t–”, you try, but the sentence dies.
Loki walks forward. Not fast, not dramatic, controlled.
That's what should scare you the most: he isn’t shouting, he isn’t flustered, he's composed.
He stops in front of you and lifts your chin with two careful fingers. Tilt your face into the light.
You swallow. His eyes track every scratch, every invisible pain.
He speaks with surprising softness,” Was it one of ours?”
You blink, “Loki–”
“Emil, answer me.”
“Verdani crew. One of the younger ones,” your bodyguard answered immediately.
“Emil stopped it before–before it got worse.”
A pause. Loki’s jaw ticks. “I want a name.”
“No,” you say quickly. “It's handled. He knows he crossed a line; it's not worth the blowback.”
“Not worth it?”
He steps back like he's been slapped. Like you've told him, you don't want to be his anymore.
“You walk into my home marked with another man’s hands, and you tell me it’s not worth it?”
His voice is rising now and not yelling, but unravelling—that quiet restraint fraying at the edges.
“I'm fine,” you insist. “It wasn't like that, he grabbed my arm, said some things–”
“He laid a hand on you.”
Loki looks away for the first time, trying to take a steadying breath, then turns to Emil.
“Find him.”
“He’s already being tracked,” Emil answers. “But indeed, your call before anything permanent.”
Loki's smile is thin. “Leave no doubt.”
You flinch, just slightly. Loki sees it.
And just like that, all the rage drains from him. His shoulders sag, jaw unclenches.
“I'm sorry,” he says, voice mellow. “I don't mean to frighten you.”
“You don't,” you say quickly, stepping forward, reaching for him.
He closes the distance, slower this time, being cautious of his actions.
“You think I'm angry at you?”
You don't answer. He exhales hard. Frustrated with himself.
“I'm furious, yes. But not at you. Never at you, darling.”
His hands reach for yours, gently. He lifts your wrist and runs his thumb lightly over the tender skin. His eyes close as if it physically pains him.
“I could burn this city to the ground,” he says with as much malice as possible. “And it still wouldn't be enough.”
You shake your head, throat tight. “Please don't do anything reckless. I'm okay. I'm just… shaken.”
He leans down and presses his forehead to yours. Breathes.
“Then let me be the one who shakes the world for you.”
You can feel the thunder beneath his skin. The tremble he’s trying to hide, not from rage but from fear. Because something dated to touch what he loves, and it shattered that safety blanket he’d created around you.
He kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth, avoiding the cut.
And in a whisper that sounds more like a vow than a plea: “You're mine. And no one touches what’s mine.”
~~~~~~~~~~
You don't see him for the rest of the night. After he kissed your temple, after he whispered in like it was sacred, and a sentence, Loki disappeared without another word. No dramatic flurry of coats, no slamming doors.
Just gone.
You sit in his study, the one with the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and that ridiculous velvet chair he always insists matches the aesthetic. The fire crackles low behind you. Someone left a steaming cup of tea on the table nearby. You don't drink it.
You stare at your hands instead. They’re shaking.
~~~~~~~~~
It was only a bruise, just a scrape. You've had worse falls off your bike as a kid. But it's not the pain that lingers. It's the look on his face.
The look of a man who had just been handed the first real crack in the fortress he had built around his empire. The first sign that someone believes he could be challenged.
That someone dared lay hands on what was his.
What if he never lets you outside again? What if he doesn’t trust you to continue helping the business? What if you're more trouble than you're worth?
The thoughts give you more anxiety as you sit there and repeatedly overthink and spiral.
You’re still curled on the velvet chair when Emil returns, silent as ever. His gloves are off, which you know means whatever needed to happen… happened.
He stands in the doorway like he doesn't want to interrupt a private moment. Eventually, he clears his throat.
“It’s done.”
You glance at him. “How bad?”
Emil’s eyes flicker. “He’s breathing. Loki made it a point to leave him conscious. Said he wants him to feel everything.”
You close your eyes. Guilt curls in your stomach. “It was just a warning,” you whisper. “He didn’t even hit me. Just grabbed me.”
Emil’s voice is steel. “He touched you. That’s not something people survive in this world.”
You open your mouth, but there’s nothing left to say. A few minutes pass in silence before you hear the door again.
And this time, it's him.
Loki enters with no entourage, his coat now gone. His shirt sleeves are rolled, forearms bare and marred with fresh red streaks where blood was hastily wiped away.
Not his blood. He looks calm, but in a quiet, eerie way, as if he’s settled into the violence.
“Leave us,” he says to Emil.
Without question, Emil goes.
The study door shuts with a quiet finality.
You stand. “Loki–”
“I told them what would happen if anyone ever put their hands on you.”
His voice is low, not angry but tired.
You walk toward him, arms crossed over your ribs. “He didn’t know–”
“He knew,” Loki snaps, eyes flashing. “They do all.”
You look away, but out of the corner of your eye, you can see his expression softening in an instant. “I'm not upset with you. I need you to believe that, love.”
“I know,” you whisper, still glaring into the fire. “But this doesn't feel right.”
He steps closer, tilting his head. “You feel guilty.”
You nod. “Because someone got hurt over me. Because I caused chaos. Again.”
Loki’s mouth twists into something bitter. “You didn’t cause this. You existing peacefully under my name does not warrant being handled.”
You look down at your sock-covered feet. “Still…”
Suddenly, his hands are on your arms, firm but grounding.
“You belong to me,” he says, low and dangerous. “That's not a metaphor. That's not a weakness. It's true. You're the only thing in this world I haven't lied about or twisted for gain. You are mine. And when someone dares to leave a mark on what’s mine, I do not let it slide.”
You look up at him. “And what if I don't want blood in my name?”
He pauses. Something flickers through his expression. “I'm trying,” he says carefully. “To find a way to protect you without destroying everything around us. But I don't know how else to show the world what you are to me.”
You bite your lip, refraining from tucking a stray black hair behind his ear that had fallen out of place. “Just… be you. Not the man they fear. Be the man I know.”
For a long second, neither of you moves. Then he exhales. “I’ll try,” he says finally. “But you have to promise me something in return.”
You arch a brow. He cups your cheek. “Don't ever hide pain from me again.”
Your throat tightens.
“Even if it's just a scrape,” he continues. “Even if you think it's nothing. Let me decide what matters. Because if I lose you–”
He stops himself. But you hear what he doesn't say. If I lose you, I won't survive it.
That night, he doesn't leave your side. He bathes you in silence, dressing your bruise himself with practised fingers. His touch is worshipful as if he's trying to erase what someone else left behind.
He doesnt kiss you, he doesnt fuck you, just holds you, abnd it's just what you needed.
~~~~~~~~
The darkness doesn't come quietly. It crashes down in waves, sharp breaths that catch your throat, shadows that thin into shapes you wish you could forget.
The feeling of his hand roughly grabbing you, his smirk ever imprinted into your brain.
You wake, choking, heart pounding, limbs tangled in cold sheets.
At first, the silence is almost worse than the nightmare, the echo of emptiness in the room where Loki’s presence should be.
You reach out instinctively, fingers grasping at the empty space beside you. There’s nothing but the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air.
A shiver runs down your spine. You need him not just for the safety his name commands, but because without him, the world feels like it's collapsing.
Minutes later, you hear the soft click of the door, followed by the subtle weight of footsteps. Loki slips inside without a word, shedding the coldness of the outside world like a second skin.
His eyes find yours in the dark.
“No need to pretend you're alright,” he reassures, his voice a low rumble meant only for you.
You swallow past the lump in your throat and, with a shaky breath, say, “I'm scared.”
He moves closer, settling beside you, the heat from his body chasing away the chill. For a moment, he says nothing. Then, in that rare stillness where all the walls drop away, he admits, “I'm struggling, too.”
Struggling not to overwhelm you. Not to cage you. Not to lose himself in his desire to keep you safe. His hand finds yours beneath the sheets, fingers intertwining like a lifeline.
“Tell me,” he whispers, “how do you want to be protected? How can I make you feel safe without breaking you?”
The vulnerability in his voice makes your heart ache. You draw a shaky breath and grip his hand tighter, the steady pressure grounding you.
“I want to feel like I'm choosing this,” you say, voice hesitating. “Not trapped. Not silenced.”
He nods slowly, his eyes dark and fierce with a promise. “Then I’ll listen,” he agrees. “And I’ll follow your lead. Whatever you want. Whatever you need, consider it done.”
You lean into him, pressing your forehead against his chest, breathing in the steady beat of his heart.
For the first time since the attack, you feel a flicker of peace. Here, wrapped in his arms, you know you're not just his shielded girl. You're his partner. His queen. And together, you will face whatever storms come.
It took some time, but eventually you both seemed to sigh in relief, melting further into each other's arms until Loki stood and began to remove his nightrobe.
The room is dim, lit only by the flicker of candles casting dancing shadows on the wall. Silk sheets pool around your bare skin, cool against the heat simmering inside you.
Loki watches you from the edge of the bed, his head tilting to kiss your temple, savouring your warmth, scent and taste. You lean into the touch, tilting your face back to kiss the tip of his chin.
Loki’s darkening eyes dance across your face, memorising every pore before kissing you carefully, breathing you in completely.
You mewl at the touch of his lips, nose pressing to his cheek as you raise onto your knees to push your body closer to his, arms circling his shoulders. His hands cupped your jaw, holding you in place as he delved deeper.
Tongues clashing together in a dance of lust, you both release a moan, breathing as one. He tasted of whiskey. And Loki.
A hand of his lowered, over your spine and to your hip and with ease, pushed you back into the centre of the bed, his body covering yours. You wiggle beneath him, legs moving to tuck around his waist, needing him closer.
It was always like this with Loki, from vulnerability and emotions to devouring each other with lust. From the moment you met at a gala, the chemistry had been off the charts. Overwhelming to you both.
This is why you are always so willing to submit to him. He may treat you as the queen to his mafia kingdom, but the moment you’re both alone, you’re melting into a puddle with a “yes, sir,” feebly from your mouth.
“Tonight,” he says between kisses, “I'm going to remind you exactly who you belong to. Why, you are mine.”
His fingers find yours, locking together until you’re palm to palm, and he’s pushing your hands above your head. “Remember your safe words, love?” he asks as he moves his mouth to your throat, nipping and licking idle paths.
“Yes, sir. Red, yellow or green.”
“Good girl,” he praises sincerely, rocking his hips against yours so that you’re able to feel the hardness throbbing beneath his only item of clothing, his boxers.
You tip your head back as you feel a tickle against your inner wrist and watch in amazement as Loki uses a form of magic to create restraints made of green silk. The material attaches to the bed post and encircles your hands and wrists, tugging them until they’re spread out and pinned.
Loki’s fingers tug on your chin, forcing your eyes back to him, but you’re welcomed with the sight of not just one Loki, but two.
Two Lokis. One is still hovering over your body, and the other is smirking down over his shoulder.
God, you loved his magic.
You’re a whimpering mess already. Hips rising off the bed to try and grind against him, but Loki is already lowering himself down onto his knees.
Green eyes are locked on yours with feral intensity, lips parting as your clothes suddenly vanish away in the blink of an eye.
Both Loki’s groan at the sight of you naked, your arousal already gleaming between your legs.
The other Loki finally lowers himself, kissing along your collarbones, your shoulders, your throat as your body trembles, aching with need.
“Beg for me,” one Loki drawled.
Your lips part, breath shaky. “Please… I need you.”
They share a knowing glance, a silent command.
The Loki between your spread legs lowers his mouth, his fingers spreading your labia as his lips seal around your clit, sucking harshly until you’re arching off the bed, trying to wiggle away from the quick burst of sensation.
But his arms hook around your thighs, keeping your lower half down on the bed.
The second, Loki’s hand then roam your body, pinching your nipples, massaging your breasts. That wicked tongue of his then followed with licks and bites, every touch designed to push you closer to the edge.
“Loki–Sir–Please–”
The Loki between your legs hums at your whimpers, always loving to hear you beg.
His tongue is skilled, hardening to apply firm massages to your clit, before licking softly up the length of your cunt, needing to drink all of your juices.
Your body clenches, spiralling toward release, and then breaks apart in the first of many shattering orgasms, moans spilling from your lips as Loki’s name falls in desperate pleas.
But they don’t stop. One Loki is devouring your upper body, from your mouth, to your throat, to your breasts and hips. The other Loki, your lower half, biting your inner thighs, tongue touching every inch between your legs.
Two thick fingers then push inside of you as he doesn’t relent with his target on your clit, even though it was throbbing.
“Such a good girl,” one Loki whispers, voice thick with praise. “You take it so well, darling, my beautiful, perfect girl.”
“Please–more,” you beg, trembling, breathless and already delirious. “I need more… please don’t stop…”
Loki’s eyes darken with possessive fire as he answers, voice firm yet full of adoration, “You’re mine to break and heal. But be careful, love– too much and you’ll lose yourself.”
His hands never falter. Fingers curl deeper inside you as the other Loki’s tongue flicks teasingly over your most sensitive spots, driving you higher.
Your hips buck uncontrollably, your body shaking with the next orgasm. Your arms pulling relentlessly at the restaints as the waves of pleasure pulse through your cunt.
You sob through your second. Your third has you clawing at your restraints, your body arching off he bed, slick and shaking and undone.
“Please,” you continue to beg, voice hoarse. “I need–Ii need more, Loki, please fuck me…”
“Yeah? My sweet girl wants me to fuck her?” one of them growls, voice low. “Greedy little thing. You don't even know your limits, do you?”
You shake your head, delirious. You can't see anymore. Just feel, heat, hands, mouths, voices. Trust.
“Good girl,” the Loki between your legs purrs against your soaked pussy. “Take every bit of it. That’s it. Give yourself to me.”
When your fourth orgasm rips through you, you scream his name. The restraint magic tightens to keep you from hurting yourself. Your body is boneless, but your mind is gone, floating in subspace.
Everything is muffled. Your lips move but make no sound. Your thighs twitch with aftershocks, clenching around nothing. And still, you're begging.
“Loki…” you whimper, barely aware of the words. “More, please, more!”
The Loki currently sucking on your nipple disappars, leaving just the Loki between your legs as he rises to his knees, looking down at your wrecked body.
“Begging when you’re barely conscious,” he grunts as he slowly crawls over your body, the weight of him making you feel anchored for the first time all night. “My poor, desperate darling. You’re gone, aren’t you? Floating away in that head of yours. But you can take more, can’t you?”
You whine, nodding your head desperately, wrists flexing against the restraints as he settled between your legs, cock pressing against your overstimulated entrance.
“Do you want my cock now,?” he teases. “After everything I've given you?”
You nod pathetically, tears now streaking down your cheeks, lips parted and shaking. “Please, sir…”
That does it.
He thrusts into you hard, one deep, punishing stroke that knocks the air from your lungs. Your pussy clamps down around him, still pulsing from the orgasms you’ve already had. You scream his name again, broken and raw.
“Fuck, you’re always so tight. So perfect,” Loki growls, panting into your neck. “Your body doesn't know when to stop, does it? So wet for me.”
He fucks you hard and merciless.
The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room. Your thighs tremble, clenching together, too tight, your body struggling to keep up, but you don't care.
“Hurts so good…” You whisper, though you don't want him to stop.
Loki curses under his breath, eyes dark with something feral.
“Oh darling, you’re ready gone, aren’t you?” he says softly, slowing just slightly, fingers bruising tears from your cheeks, “too deep in it to even think. All because of me.”
You nod, choking on a breathless moan. Another orgasm builds, unwanted but unstoppable, your body clenching around him as you spiral into a place where nothing else exists: just heat and breath and him.
When you cum again, it rips the world away from you.
You go limp, boneless beneath him. Your arms twitch in their bindings but barely move. Your lips are parted, eyes glazed, murmuring half words through the high.
He stops instantly. The restraints fall away.
“Shh, darling,” Loki whispers, catching your head in his hands. “Come back to me,” you barely hear him.
He pulls out gently, magic already flicking warm towels and water into the air. He cradles you in his lap, rocking slightly, brushing your damp hair from your face.
“You did so well,” he praised, kissing your temple. “You took everything I gave you. So perfect. My good girl.”
You whimper, pressing your face into his chest. “I've got you now. You’re safe. Let go. Breath with me.”
Your body shudders again, this time from the come down, the fragility of it all. But Loki just holds you tighter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You don't remember when the trembling stopped.
You're cradled in Loki’s lap now, wrapped in the warmth of one of his shirts, the scent of him soaking into your skin. His heartbeat thumps steadily beneath your ear, the only rhythm you can focus on.
He whispers against your hair. “You did so well for me.”
Your fingers curl against his chest, barely able to lift your head.
“I couldn’t stop,” you croak. “Even when it hurt, I just… needed you.”
He hushes you gently, cupping your cheek and kissing the corner of your mouth.
“That wasn’t weakness,” he says. “That was trust. You gave yourself to me, and I will never take that lightly.”
He shifts, reaching for a glass of water and holding it to your lips.
“Drink for me, love.”
You do, slow, small sips, and he whispers praise with each one. Then he lifts you again, carrying you to the bathroom with effortless strength for a god. You don't fight it. You can't. He sets you in a warm bath, magic already at work, softening the water with calming herbs.
Loki washes your body with quiet calm. No teasing or dominance remains.
Just love.
Once he’s dried you off and you're back in bed, curled into his side beneath a mountain of covers, you finally speak again. “I feel like I belong here.”
Loki turns to look at you, and like the beginning of the night, there's something guarded in his expression.
“You always have.”
And when he kisses you again, it's not a claim or a demand. It's a promise.
