a/n - hi hi hi everyone! sorry for the lng wait. its hard to find motivation out here lol. but i am so so so excited to share this fic with you! i worked quite hard on it (: there will still be some occasional touch ups every now and then. but, other than that, its done! thank you so so much to the person who recommended this topic! unfortunately i think their acc got deactivated so i can’t tag them but they were in my thoughts! ok, ill shut up now! enjoy!
summary - loki and his love look back at his past with the stories of asgard.
❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🤎🖤🤍
A hibernal winter enveloped the land of Midgard. All around, little souls walk around the towns of the wonderous New York City. Couples are seen holding their freezing lovers hands within their own. Bells attached to the doors of little cafes ring as little souls rush inside in hopes for a warm cup of coffee. House lights shine in all different colors around the city, as pairs found their comfort on such an evening in the warm shelter of their homes. More specifically, Loki and y/n.
“What’s this one?”, the mortal asked.
“Ah, that one. Well, I occasionally enjoy a little ‘fiction’ every now and then. I am quite fond of knowing the tales of the place I once called home,” the prince stated. “This one, embraces the entities of Asgard, and the tales that have brought Asgard wonders of their past to life.”
The two were enveloped in one another; legs tangled, arms draped off the dark velvety couch they practically lived on every evening. The night frigid, leaving the two yearning for each other's warmth. The worries of their minds, swayed by the words on the pages of the book that was in the grasp of the pharaoh.
“Do you miss home?”
Ah... home.
“I find my peace with you, darling”, he replied immediately in a reassuring whisper.
It’s almost as if he has answered that exact question hundreds of times.
The smooth-talker moved his hand toward the side of his lover's face. A swift and papercut thumb glides across her ear toward her jaw. Despite the almost tranquilizing gesture, the girl pops up in curiosity, shifting to face her swain.
“Tell me a story”, the angel pried at her demon.
He smiled, gleaming at her eagerness to learn of his origin. He sighed and looked over her head with a curious look on his face. Silence crowded the room for a moment. He appeared to be searching for something.
He moved her hand off to the side and untangled their legs, placing the half finished book on the vanity next to them.
“Going somewhere?”
He chuckled to himself, getting up and shifting towards the back of the room, behind her.
“Loki?”, she tried again.
“Just a moment, dove”, he assures as he wanders even further behind the couch.
She watches as he moves around their living room library, spreading his fingers across every book he crosses by. Finally, he stops. He stands for a moment.
“Found it,” he whispers to himself.
He turns back around in a swift movement, gliding back to the couch where his lover had been sitting tight in curiosity.
“This… this is something I have been wanting to share with you for a while, flower,” be walks over to her with a bright smile on his face.
He makes his way to his spot next to his love. Their eyes meet; one with wonder and the other with a cunning imbue. Loki sits, groaning as he does so.
What an old man.
He looks over to his lover. Lifting his hand, he cups her chin in a riveting manner.
“I trust you, as well as I wish to share my childhood with you, if you’ll allow me to.”
She nods in her keenness. He nods back in compersion and brings the book to her, letting her hold it. She swifts her hand across the cover, taking in the moment.
A treasure within the hold of another.
The book was compact compared to what he had usually indulged himself in. It had a smooth fuzziness to it, most likely due to it's ancient-ness, with a hard rim on each edge. The front side was displayed with the words-
“Glory of Valhalla…”, the angel said in her fever of excitement.
The god took her hands in his own, as she held his youth in her hands.
“The stories my mother, Frigga, would read to my brother and I before we slept every night. Romance, adventure, magic, honor. Anything, you name it.”
“Which one is your favorite?”
That caused the prince to pause. His brows furrowed as his thumb habitually skated across her hand. He hums in recollection.
He daintily removes the book from her hands. His eyes skimmed the book as he reminded himself of his favorite childhood tale. He knew the perfect one to share with her. The only tale that filled his mind with hope for the future as he aged. The tale of a man, slack and tedious, and his goddess, mesmeric yet reticent, and their treacly longing for one another. The trickster still vividly remembers the day he heard his mother read the lovestruck man's words.
“My heart is so full of you I can hardly call it my own.”
How his brother and him tittered and cheered at the man's cheesily loving words.
Better than I could ever word it, he thought to himself, starting to feel his lover's moving thumb against his thigh.
Cheesy? yes. True? Undeniably so.
Opening the book, his thumb sped through the pages, until it stopped. The woman beside him pressed herself upwards towards him, in an attempt to get a sneak peek at what he was to present to her. He tilted the book towards her, as if he was proving he wasn’t trying to hide something. She takes the book from his giving hands, and dives in.
His fingers find their way into her mane, twirling within a little piece. His eyes monitor hers as every now and then they move from the right, down, and to the left. Loki could not help himself as he rested his head against hers, along with a tap of his lips against her temple.
Beautiful angel. My beautiful Angel.
The library is filled with nothing but two souls, two hearts, two sets of breaths, and occasional rustles of flipping pages. What more could be needed?
Time flows with the sound embers crackling within the chimney, creating a sweet ambience.
The goddess within Loki's arms turns, receiving a lifted eyebrow and hum of question from her god. She has a pensive look on her face. Her eyes then lift up to meet him.
“Have you ever heard of The Great Gatsby?”
❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🤎🖤🤍
a/n - thank you for reading! please share, like, repost! thank you!
Loki owns every single ounce of soul and my body radiates an overwhelming amount of uwu energy every time I see him it’s unhealthy. In other words, i wanna marry him oeriodt
good news babe, now you can ;)
here it is folks, the wedding of you and Loki.
it’s just the ceremony, i might do something about a reception later and will definitely be doing some honeymoon stuff !! but for now…here’s a very long piece about your wedding! ENJOY.
Everything concerning Loki is complicated; his past, his present, his future, his heritage, his family, his species, his abilities, his ambitions, his reasoning…
The list goes on.
You knew this. You know this, and yet here you are, stepping out from behind an oak tree, giggling and barefoot and arm in arm with your best friend, coming to greet him at the alter.
Nothing has ever been simple. Not when you met him and you each tried your respective times to kill each other, not when he spent a couple years convincing himself he hated you and that’s why you were in his head all the time, not when he had to somehow win your trust.
It’s been complicated. Complicated fights, complicated dates, complicated forgiveness.
A complicated wedding, too, which is why you’d agreed to just have a tiny little wedding in an Asgardian forest, miles out from the border, with barely ten people invited to attend.
The bigger ceremony can happen later. Right now, with the setting sun glowing off Loki’s pale skin, all that matters is making him yours.
It’s surprisingly simple, actually. Loki’s surprised. A couple chairs were set up in a little clearing of trees, shrouded by the oak branches with only a few rays of evening sunlight seeping through, and a walkway of smooth stones had been laid as a kind of alter.
No giant centrepieces to decide on, no music to choose, no kingdoms you have to invite so they don’t get offended, no sacrificial goat to find. Tonight, all you have to worry about is that Thor doesn’t cry too much while he officiates, thus setting the wedding back an hour.
And that you don’t completely lose your shit.
He looks so good.
You’ve never seen Loki looking so…so relaxed, so casual, so sure of himself. He looks confident, for once, genuinely confident in what he’s doing—or about to do.
On the inside, though, he’s a wreck. A nervous, giddy wreck, positive that you’re going to turn on your heel and run away, going to look once at him and find him disgusting, just as you should have since the moment he fell for you, just as you did the moment you met.
His hands shake and he shoves them in his pockets, swallowing hard when you step out from behind the tree.
Your friend insisted on that—“you still need a grand entrance, I wanna see if he cries”—and since there’s only an archway of tree branches tied together with fairy lights for you to walk through, the tree trunk will have to do as a cover.
You’re just as nervous as Loki, if you’re being completely honest. Just…marrying him.
This is kind of a big deal.
A little bit life changing, really, and when you think back to all that had to happen to get you to this point, the nervousness just multiples.
But, the smile that paints your face is in every way childish. Ridden by giggles, a nervous, anxious, excited mess of emotions and then you see him, waiting for you, and the space between you seems infinite and nonexistent at the same time.
Loki’s breath catches.
A sniffle is heard from the make-shift alter—not from the groom. Thor rubs his eyes and stands up straighter, trying his absolute hardest not to pull his brother into a bone-crushing hug.
Loki looks different.
Different than when you first met him. His hair is different, a little longer, cleaner, not so messy and untamed, tied half-up with a couple braids hidden in his almost curls. The thin gold cuffs at the ends of each braid glint in the sun when he moves.
He’s not covered in blood and rubble like he was when you met him, either. He’s not so pale, not so thin, so gaunt, and his eyes are much closer to green than blue when you meet his gaze and give him an excited, scrunched-up little smile.
Loki smiles back and that’s when it hits him: his eyes are swimming in seconds and he chews his lip, casting his gaze to the trees above and praying the tears don’t fall.
Things like this…don’t happen to Loki Laufeyson.
He doesn’t get the girl, doesn’t get to have a beautiful wife. An intimate, beautiful wedding is just something he dreamt of as a child, something that helped him fall asleep, just like that immature dream of having someone to hold close every night, lured to sleep by their warmth.
A few steps closer, he has to swipe a hurried hand over his cheek, and you bite back another excited laugh—there. You got him to cry.
You never thought you’d be the person to make someone cry tears of joy on their wedding day, much less someone who cries so beautifully.
This isn’t the first time you’ve seen Loki cry, but it’s definitely your favourite.
Your hands meet before you’ve even noticed covering the distance. The coldness of his skin is normal now, for whatever the reason you’ve stopped caring, and you wind your fingers through his and grin at his teary face before turning to Thor.
“Hey,” Thor chokes out with a smile, “are you two ready?”
You nod, Loki wonders if no is even an option.
He’s not ready at all, because as soon as this starts, it’ll be over, and this beautiful little ceremony is an end he doesn’t want to face. He’s not done marvelling at you, his soon-to-be wife, he hasn’t fully memorised what you look like this evening, he isn’t ready to let it end and lose this dreamlike trance where no past can intrude.
But Thor starts talking anyways, interrupted by an occasional sniff, and Loki’s left grasping at the moment.
He hasn’t even gotten to look at you, to truly ingrain your image in his mind, so as Thor begins to recite the service he’s read over time after time again, Loki’s gaze turns to you and everything else seems to fall silent.
Blue.
He’d expected green, to be completely honest, you know what you do to him when you wear his colour, but you’d surprised him with the pale blue dress.
A wonderful decision he could never thank you enough for.
You’re…a dream. You could be a light elf, with the way the setting sun beams down on you, but no, actually, no light elf could even come close to comparing with your beauty.
The dress floats over you, thin straps keeping it secured over your shoulders, that pale blue fabric softer than silk when his hand slips helplessly to the small of your back.
You’re real, solid flesh and bone under his hand. Breathing, living, a bouquet of white roses and sparse, leafy twigs in one hand, the other finding its way to his back and rubbing soothing little circles.
He’s staring and doesn’t plan on stopping. You catch his eye and send him a comforting wink.
It’s a simple dress, nothing to distract from the wearer. His gaze travels the length of it, from your bare feet to the thin gold chains around your ankles, to the smile dusting your lips, to the crown of olive branches and tiny white flowers his brother just placed on your head.
You nudge him in the side.
“Hm?”
Your crown, you mouth, nodding at Thor. You okay?
Shaking himself out of his daze, Loki blinks and looks back at Thor.
“…sorry. Where are we?”
“I’m crowning you,” Thor whispers, holding up the other crown of olive leaves and flowers, the connecting satin ribbon tugging on yours as he does. “Remember? ‘With these crowns, your power becomes shared, and with these crowns, your rule becomes one, to grow only in unity and to prosper as—’”
“Alright, yes, yes, I remember.”
You bite back a laugh as Loki runs an exasperated hand over his face, then bows his head to allow Thor to place the other crown over his head.
“Hey, sunshine,” you whisper when you duck your head as well, taking his hand between the two of you. “Are you okay?”
“Never better.” He squeezes your hand, a sideways smile flashing your way. “You look beautiful.”
“So do you,” you laugh quietly. “Now shush, this is important.”
“No, it’s not.” He knows he’s not necessarily supposed to touch you more than just holding your hand, but he strokes the backs of his fingers along your cheek anyways, smiling softly at you. “It’s not.”
“Shh.”
With a teasing roll of his eyes he turns his gaze back to the ground, hand dropping from your cheek back to hold your hand tightly between the two of you.
You do look beautiful in blue. Absolutely breathtaking, jaw dropping, stunning.
The longer he stands there, slowly forgetting who he is and focusing on who he’s going to become for you, the more he wishes he had told you his only secret.
Half of him thinks you might already know about his true heritage—the blue dress, the fact that you don’t ask why he’s so cold anymore. But…if you knew, you wouldn’t be standing next to him today, marrying him.
He wishes he had told you from the beginning.
“No good marriages begin with secrets.”
Frigga was an absolute hypocrite for telling him that, but that doesn’t make it any less true.
He’ll tell you soon. He knows he will, or, honestly, he might just bury that monstrous part of himself so deep that you never have to know. It wouldn’t be living a lie if he forgets it’s part of his truth, right?
“I will.”
Damn it, he missed it.
“Wait—no, can you repeat that part?” He quickly blinks back to reality, cursing himself for being so consumed in his thoughts that he’s missing his actual wedding. “Sorry, sorry.”
Thor gives a knowing smile. “Of course. Will you have this man to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold, to cherish and honour, to treasure and love until death do you part?”
“I will,” you repeat, the grin evident in your voice. “I will.”
Loki swallows thickly, eyes burning. You accepted him again. To have him, to keep him, to love him and allow him to be your husband.
People don’t…want him, Loki knows that.
Not his birth parents, not even his adoptive parents, not your world nor his own, everywhere he’s gone has rejected him. No one wants Loki.
You, though, seemed to have skipped right over wanting him and decided to love him.
Husband.
He likes the title more than he ever liked prince, and much more than he ever liked king.
“And will you, Loki, have this woman to be your wedded wife, to have and to hold, to cherish and honour, to treasure and love until death do you part?”
A couple birds chirp overhead.
“Loki?”
His eyes have glazed over, dewy skin glowing in the rays of sunlight, a strand of hair fluttering over his face every time the wind blows.
“Loki.” You nudge him in the arm, an amused smile playing at your lips. “Can you answer him? I’d really like to kiss you already.”
He chokes out a laugh at that, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, sheepishly trying to get a hold of himself. “Of course I will,” he laughs, looking up at the trees and letting out a long breath. “I will.”
Beaming at him, you give his hand another reassuring squeeze and nudge him again.
“I will,” he whispers once more, staring at you. “For all eternity.”
Ohhhh goodness.
Why does his softness make your heart ache like this, how did he become so gentle??
“Hurry up and finish,” you laugh to Thor, heart pounding. “I’m not gonna last much longer, he’s…god, he’s just…hurry.”
Loki’s heart sinks a little, he can’t help it. This is nice, standing here with you, his brother bringing you together, your closest friends and family sharing the moment. It’s nice and warm, and Loki feels surrounded by a strange sense of home, for once.
Don’t hurry. He closes his eyes to focus in on the feeling of your hand in his. Don’t hurry, don’t end this moment.
Warm skin, soft skin, gentle fingers. Only one ring on your ring finger so far, bringing him back to reality right as Thor hands him the small box holding the rings.
He lets out a shaky breath and you turn to him—this time, it’s your breath that catches.
You hadn’t quite fully taken in all of…him.
Loki smiles, turning to face you and holding out the rings in an open palm. “Shall we?”
“Wait,” you breathe, clutching his ring in a tight fist. “Give me a second, I-I need to memorise how…perfect my life is right now.”
His heart twists as you look around, an uncontrollable smile growing over your face as you take in the little clearing amidst the trees, the sun rays cutting through their canopies, the couple people watching, until your gaze lands back on Loki.
Your eyes burn as you look at him, your husband, with his anxious little shrug of did I do alright? in his navy trousers and loose white shirt, top buttons undone and sleeves rolled to his elbows; a perfectly informal ensemble to hoist a middle finger to the attire the other wedding wanted him to wear.
He looks comfortable here. A little nervous, maybe, a little anxious and kind of like he’s worried you’ll run away any second, but it’s an endearing, comfortable look.
“Perfect,” you whisper again, smile damp with tears, and you grab his left hand. “Perfect, okay, let’s finish this, I can’t wait anymore…”
The ring slips easily onto his ring finger, somehow still warm against his skin, the gold band glinting in the remaining sunlight as he looks at it.
There. He grins, that little gold ring changing everything.
He’s yours.
Loki Laufeyson belongs to someone.
Someone who actually wants him, someone who loves him.
Taking your left hand in his, his eyes flit up to meet your grin as he brings it to his lips; a royal gesture for the only queen he’ll ever know. He guides the wedding ring onto your finger, caressing your hand with a gentleness you remember knowing he didn’t possess when you met.
His slender fingers close around your hand, cool as always and promising to never let you go.
Breathe.
Once he moves his hand, you look at the ring, shining against your skin—oh god…now you belong to someone, too.
And it’s someone who wants you, and—
“No,” Loki whispers, shaking you out of your thoughts, “I love you.”
Damn, you were doing so good with not crying.
Your husband—yeah, let’s say that again, your husband—starts chuckling, that beautiful rolling laughter cutting right over Thor’s recitations and prayers.
Hand in hand under the trees, Loki laughs, you try to stop the tears rolling down your grinning cheeks, and Thor skips over a few lines, his own laughter starting to cut through the recitations.
He’s speeding up the ceremony, clearly, mumbling through probably important prayers and vows, but you figure that’s probably best—if it lasts any longer, you’re going to combust.
Your husband’s lips seem to be in need of a good kissing.
Finally, finally, after what felt like an eternity of not being able to wrap your husband in your arms, Thor closes his giant old ceremonial book with a snap.
You glance at Loki, then to Thor.
The two arguably strongest men you know, and both of them have tears pooling in their beautiful eyes.
“Thank you,” Thor whispers, laying his hand over you and Loki’s entwined hands and giving them both a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you for letting me be a part of this, brother.”
Loki just nods, bottom lip disappearing between his teeth in an attempt to keep the tears from falling.
“Never doubt—” his voice cracks. “—th-that I love you.”
“I won’t.”
You can’t help but grin at them, the two brothers in their rare moments of softness, when all the warrior-guises, murky bloodlines, and pressures over a throne have worn away.
It’s…refreshing.
And to Loki, more than he ever could have hoped for.
“Alright,” Thor laughs, rubbing his damp eyes with two fingers. “Enough of that. You have a wife to tend to, brother, I’ve made you wait long enough.”
Loki’s hand tightens around yours and he catches your eye, an inevitable smile spreading over his face at the sight of you.
“I pronounce you husband and wife,” Thor announces, smiling broadly. “Now get on with it and kiss.”
It takes barely a single second before you’re dipped backwards, Loki’s arm around your waist as the other trails up to cradle your cheek, kissing you with the fervour of a man starved.
Kissing you like it’s the last thing in his life that he’ll ever, ever do, kissing you as if he just got to make you his and his alone.
Like he’s yours.
People have warned you about Loki’s “possessiveness.”
But right here, right now, with your fingers tangled in his hair, gently tugging to keep him from completely frenching you in front of his brother and your couple friends and family, you know you were right; he was never really a possessive lover.
He’s terrified, and you know this. Not possessive, just scared. And if any possession is playing a part in your relationship—no, marriage…
It’ll be the fact that Loki gets to consider himself officially, undeniably, forever yours.
See, Loki never needed a second chance.
You weren’t his redemption story, weren’t the kind one who “gave him a chance.”
You just…love the right parts of him.
It’s a beautiful thing, really.
To see someone grow from a pure, innocent child into a tortured soul who’s been beaten by the universe, convinced they have no place in this life, then to transform into the person of your dreams?
It’s simple.
Just find the bit of love that everyone holds somewhere in them, no matter how deeply buried it might be, and love that part of them until someday, they can love it, too.
Just a simple grey zip-up hoodie that he stole from the compound (you’re pretty sure it had the Avengers logo on the back but Loki had of course removed that—“what do they think I am, a walking unpaid advertisement?”) but you swear, that thing could walk on its own by now.
It’s all he wears when he’s at your place; off comes the button up or leather and ziiiiip, on goes the hoodie, hands shoved in the pockets, up come the sleeves. Maximum comfort.
He looks pretty damn huggable.
“Are you really that cold, Loki?” You ask one day when he walks in the door and immediately magics out of stained armour into simple pants and the ever-present hoodie, not even bothering to put a shirt on underneath.
“I’m always cold,” he groans and falls face-first onto the couch. “Would you mind, um, just…c’mere.”
He lifts a tired hand and waves you over. Poor guy looks exhausted, his face more gaunt than normal and his hair’s a little matted, and there’s a dark streak of dirt or something along his cheekbone. You grab a washcloth from the kitchen and go crouch by his head—still buried in a pillow—carefully pushing his head to the side so you can wipe the dirt off his face.
“Rough day?”
“What gave it away?” His face scrunches up in disgust when you touch the damp washcloth to his cheek, so you drop it and just lick your thumb, rubbing at the stubborn mark until it starts fading.
“You said ‘c’mere,’” you point out, just running your thumb over his cheek now, the mark gone. “And for a second there I thought you were gonna ask for a hug.”
Loki falls silent, his eyelids drooping under your soothing fingers.
You stand up with a sigh and plant a quick kiss on his forehead, stroking your hand one last time along his cheek and start to walk away. “Get some sleep, okay? I’ll make us something to eat when you wake up.”
“Wait, darling, no—” he shoots a hand out and grabs your wrist, pulling you back over. His eyes squeeze shut with a groan and he lets go of you, leaving you concerned and leaning over him. “Please stay.”
“Okay…you alright, snowflake?”
He swallows hard and his eyes flit up to meet yours from behind the pillow. “Could I have—what I mean to say is…I would love a-a…could you just—hmm.”
You’ve never heard the god lost for words before. Something isn’t coming out of his throat easily, he’s struggling to just get a full sentence out without giving up and burying his face in the pillow.
“A huuh—argh, no, can you give me a huuuh—please, I want a…a…well, you know.”
Oh.
Yes, you do know.
“Sorry, babe, a what?” You kneel back down by his head and he frowns at your playful smile.
“I…I want—” he rolls over and gestures at all of you, struggling with his words. “You? All…everything. Oh, come now, you know what I mean.”
“No…” you lean against the edge of the couch to rest your chin in your hands, smiling sweetly at your boyfriend. “I really don’t. What do you want from me, Loki?”
He’s scowling now, his eyes narrowed dangerously and he crosses his arms tightly over his chest. “Please don’t make me ask for affection.”
“Say it, doofus.” You lean forward and bump the tip of your nose into his, heart swelling when the corners of his eyes crinkle up in an obvious grin.
“I would like a-ah…a hug.” His cheeks are burning adorably pink, and he casts his gaze straight to the ceiling to avoid looking at you. “Please. If you wouldn’t mind.”
“That was painful,” you laugh and nudge him to scoot over. “C’mon, make some room.”
He quickly moves over so you have room to climb on the couch next to him, throwing a leg over his hips and laying your head on his chest. When he sighs and wraps his arms around you, running a distracted hand along your back, your heart melts—but he is cold.
Really cold, so cold you don’t think you can keep your cheek against his chest much longer.
“You’re freezing,” you murmur, sitting up and reaching down to zip up his hoodie to cover his bare torso. His face falls and he moves to sit up, but you push him back down. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting up. We’re done here, I-I’m too cold.”
“Uh, yeah, I don’t think so.” You lay back down next to him, locking one leg around his hips, your arms around his chest, and bury your face in the curve of his neck, squeezing him so tightly you don’t think he could move if he tried. “Just let me give you a proper hug. Enjoy it.”
“You are—an actual leech—” he mutters and struggles to free an arm from your grip, finally succeeding and draping it around your shoulders. “You are a parasite, norns. Could you possibly hug me any gentler?”
“Not really,” you chirp, your voice muffled in his neck. “If I’m close enough to you I can sometimes feel a little tiny bit of body heat under all your iciness.”
Loki’s quiet for a moment; you’re too good to him. He knows how much more susceptible humans are to cold temperatures than beings such as himself, yet here you are refusing to let go of his frozen, corpse-like body.
It’s almost like you’re trying to prove something by not letting go, trying to give him something or convince him of something—
His breathing catches when you slip a hand under his hoodie and start rubbing quick little circles over his chest, your eyes closed and breathing softly onto his neck, trying to create some kind of frictional heat between your skin and his.
Oh.
You’re trying to warm him.
“Darling…” he turns his head to try and see you, but you’re nestled against his neck. “You know I’m not actually cold, right?”
“What?”
A smile tugs at his lips and he puts his hand on top of yours, stopping your movements. “I don’t actually feel the cold, rather it’s my skin, my body that affects the air around me.” He squeezes your hand and presses his lips to the top of your head. “I appreciate the effort though.”
“Oh, fine then,” you huff, trying to go back to warming his chest, but he holds your hand still. “Well, for the record, I tried.”
Loki chuckles, taking your hand in his and slipping his fingers through yours. “In all honesty, darling, I don’t understand how someone as warm as you could be a part of my life.”
“Cause I’m too hot, right?” You grin into his neck and poke him in the side.
His hand slips down to give your ass a playful squeeze. “Obviously.”
The two of you slip into a comfortable silence, arms around each other as Loki’s hand rests lazily on the curve of your ass, enjoying your embrace until he feels you shaking—shivering.
His heart twists and nearly breaks; your eyes are tightly shut and of course, you won’t admit that he’s too cold, or that you’re freezing in his arms…he runs the back of his hand along your cheek to rouse you from your almost-sleep.
“Sit up for a moment, my love,” he murmurs as you blink, gently lifting you off of him. Rubbing your arms in a subtle attempt to warm yourself, you watch Loki unzip his hoodie and tug it off, leaving him shirtless and holding the jacket out to you.
Oh, hell yes.
You try not to squeal in excitement as you immediately slip your arms into the sleeves, nestling into the slightly too large, fleecy fabric, and Loki tugs it closed around your chest to zip it up to your chin.
“There, that should help.” He lifts the hood up and over your head, biting back a smile when the too-big hood slips down to cover your eyes. When he nudges the hood back and out of your eyes, revealing you beaming up at him, he lets his hand linger against your cheek before pulling away. “Well…this suits you better than it ever did me.”
There’s a long strand of his hair stuck to the sleeve and you pick it off, dropping it on his lap. “Damn right,” you grin, pulling your hands into the too-long sleeves and waving the extra fabric in his face. “You’re never getting this back, I hope you understand that.”
He sighs and shakes his head at you, a tiny grin hinting at the corners of his lips, but it’s laced with adoration and amusement and…almost…almost some kind of pride.
Possessiveness.
You’re in his jacket, sitting in front of him with your legs over his, playing with the drawstrings, and occasionally the hood slips over your eyes again so you give the tiniest shake of your head before pushing the hood back.
Such a simple movement, yet Loki can’t help but smile every time it happens—it’s strangely adorable, to see you in his clothes, something of his, something claiming you so rightfully his.
“Thanks, snowflake.” You scoot forward and press a sweet kiss to his lips, and he swears he can hear his heart pounding. Your kiss is addicting, to say the least, and he slowly lowers himself back onto the couch, arms around your back bringing you down with him.
He trails his lips up the side of your face as he tucks you under his chin against his heart, landing one last gentle kiss on your forehead and staying there. His heartbeat against your cheek is steady, soothing; you nuzzle deeper into his hoodie, a content little smile lingering on your face.
“Smells like you,” you mumble, voice muffled by the jacket and his chest, and you feel his lips curl into a grin against your skin.
“Is that a good thing?”
You tilt your head up to plant a soft, smiling kiss on the underside of his jaw. “Hell yeah. You smell like…like…I don’t even know. I’m gonna call it heaven.”
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“You do realise I am over a thousand years old, don’t you?”
Your fingertips lightly scratch against his scalp as you separate the next chunk of hair to cross over the rest. “Yeah, of course I do, babe. I don’t care though. You’re my baby.”
Loki whips his head around to glare at you, and the intricate Dutch braid you had been weaving in his hair for the past fifteen minutes promptly falls apart. “I am the furthest thing from a child.”
“Loki! You ruined it!”
He doesn’t look all that apologetic, so you sling a leg over his shoulder and push him to face forward again, keeping him in place with your bent knee. “Hold still this time, baby.”
Half-heartedly scowling at you, he leans back against the foot of the couch and once again settles between your knees. He had finally agreed to let you braid his hair—well, you hadn’t really asked. You had snuck up behind him while he was reading on the couch, pushed him to the floor, and thrown your legs over his shoulders, effectively pinning him despite his protests…
…protests that quickly quieted and faded into barely audible groans when you started running your fingers through his hair, leaning down to kiss his forehead and smugly noting how his eyes had fluttered shut with a content smile on his lips.
“Don’t you dare stop this, darling.”
You had wanted to laugh so badly and rub it in his face that he likes this, but you bit it back and he kept talking. “This isn’t completely terrible. But I am not happy about it.”
Now fifteen minutes later, he’s still on the floor in front of you, and you’re fairly certain he had ruined the last braid just to get you to start over. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” You separate the top half of his hair into three sections. “Cause you, Loki, the mighty god of mischief…” you give his hair a good yank. “You like this, baby.”
“Ow! Norns, love, easy with the pulling,” he yelps, reaching a hand up to grab yours. You tug his hair again and tilt his head back, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose.
“See what I mean? A baby.”
“Awfully bold, coming from a lowly mortal.”
You give a hearty laugh and reach down to pat his cheek. “You’ll have to do better than that, sunshine.” He scowls at your other dreaded (but definitely secretly loved) pet name for him, but you ignore him. “‘Mortal’ doesn’t exactly offend me.”
Fingers tight in his hair, you cross and weave strand over strand, pulling his head this way and that with your movements. He grabs your leg over his shoulder to try and steady himself, and an unfortunate, completely uncontrollable chill rushes to your skin under his touch.
“‘Mortal’ doesn’t sting, hm? I can do better.” He doesn’t miss how your leg twitches at his touch, starting to slowly trace his fingers up your calf. “Perhaps…perhaps I will call you a headache,” he drawls, at this point just trying to get back at you for taking advantage of his “softness.”
“I’m a headache?” You laugh and lightly flick the back of his head. “You can be more original than that, come on.”
He leans his head back to look up at you, a devious grin on his face. “Yes, a headache. Because you are a pain in the arse, and I just can’t seem to get rid of you.”
“Hey!”
“Only teasing, I’m only teasing, love!” He laughs and squeezes your leg, turning his head to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “I can’t and would never want to get rid of you, darling.”
That barely-there kiss on your thigh makes you freeze, fisting your hands in his hair. “You know, I like that one a lot better,” you sigh, tying off the troublesome braid and resting your chin on his head.
“Which one? Darling?”
“Mmhm, ‘darling,’” you hum, sliding your hands down his chest. “That one is so…classy. Makes us sound like sophisticated lovers.”
He’s back to drawing cold lines and patterns over your leg, and he turns—this time careful not to mess up the braid—to look up at you with a soft smile. “Sophisticated lovers…is that not us?”
You just grin and lean down to kiss him, a hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Sure is, snowflake.”
Loki rolls his eyes and sits up straighter, wrapping an arm up around your neck as he meets your lips with his. You’re expecting him to try and slip his tongue into your mouth as usual, but instead he kisses you softly, gently, treasuring every little movement of your lips against his. A kiss like this…one so rare that you’re left breathless and desperately trying to memorise exactly how he feels in this precious moment.
“Darling,” he whispers into the kiss, “my love…my queen.”
Your neck is starting to ache from leaning down to him, but you’re sure as hell not going to be the one to pull away from the sweet musings being whispered against your lips. Luckily he does first, the smile on his face brighter and gentler than the rising sun. “My saviour,” he continues, turning back around and resting his head on your thigh. “My eternal light, the joy of my life…”
He turns his head again to just barely brush his lips along the inside of your thigh, grinning into your skin when he feels your muscles tensing under his touch. His voice drops to a much huskier, fairly worrisome, guttural sound, more of a growl than anything. “My tempting minx, my needy little wh—”
“Watch it, snowflake.”
The god chuckles, squeezing your leg softly. “I haven’t even told you my favourite yet.”
You gently tug his frankly quite beautiful braid until he tips his head back to look up at you, and you dip your head once again for another this time upside-down kiss. “And what might that be?”
