If You Dance With the Devil, You Might As Well Lead (Loki X Reader)
Summary: You’re home alone, studying the Mystic Arts when a mission goes awry. Dr. Strange takes Thor, and Loki begrudgingly per his brother’s request, to check in on the safe haven for Asgard’s people and Loki is injured.
Author’s Note: I saw all of the messages and the replies to the last part and I was pleasantly surprised at all the wonderful feedback, it made me so happy! So I decided to do a next part and satisfy your Loki needs ;) stay tuned for hopefully a third part, if you guys want it (AND THIS GIF THO, I LOVE MY SOFT BOI!!!)
TAGS: @thefaceofroyalty @waxingmoonstone @justacrush @fadetouchedcookies @unknownuserhasjoined @littlemartiangurl @amor67figment-love @aquiffy @lady-loki-ren
You recite a spell, twirling your hand in the air like you know Steven does when he creates his portals, but you come up short, only a few sparks sending from your terrible attempt at magic as good as the Doctor’s. You sigh, slumping down on one of the stairs, bored out of your mind from being in this mansion for hours.
Steven never lets you leave this place, even if you can more than handle yourself in whether it be in a battle of brute strength or wits, perhaps that’s what intrigued Loki so much. Your ability to erase every damsel in distress stereotype and be this wonderfully independent, badass woman, the first to talk to him like that in centuries. You’re all he’s thought about during all of his time here and his trip, they’ve been gone almost a week to see Asgard’s people’s safe haven with his brother and Steven, filling his mind with images of you (not all fully clothed) and how you spoke to him. It excited him to no end, that a mortal like yourself has a silver tongue as quick as his.
From knowing each other more than a few months now, staying here, teasing you to no end, flirting profusely, and making you question everything, you hate to admit it, but he’s been on your mind as well, clouding your every thought like a venomous fog. You’ve been convinced all your life he’s a heartless, mindless, monster because that’s what people have told you and what you thought you knew. But with all that’s happened and the way, he’s been acting towards you is all throwing you for a serious loop.
Because in spite of your hatred for him, you two are very much alike. And that would be both your downfall and your saving grace.
You walk into the marble kitchen, wearing only a fluffy, gold sweater that stopped just below your belly button, and coincidentally, a matching set of green underwear (see, very much alike). You spin around on the granite floor, stepping in time to the music you’re playing all over the house, bored yet content in your solitude. You dance terribly, but you make up for it with the big smile on your face that proves the wall around your heart hasn’t yet affected your easygoing nature.
“Matching my colors, I see,” a smooth voice laced with ulterior motives and insinuations, says behind you. You whip your head around to look Loki Lafeuyson up and down, letting your annoyance be noticeable on your features.
“And what a truly wondrous sight it is, you might even wear them better than me.”
He sees the irritation on your face, smiling, “If I knew this is what I would be missing, I would have much rather stayed with you instead.”
You roll your eyes, not bothering to cover up your lace, olive green panties, his eyes glued to all your revealed skin. You loved it. “And what makes you think I would have allowed it?”
He gulps, still shamelessly looking over your body. The tenderness in his face throws you for a loop when he answers, “If you did not wish for my company, I would leave you alone.”
“Then why don’t you?” you ask, mustering up frustration but coming up short when you catch the look in his blue eyes, similar to his brother’s. And to your surprise, just as equally soft as Thor’s.
What are you thinking, (y/n)?! Letting yourself fall down that rabbit hole will get you nowhere, you scold yourself.
“Because I can see that you do not despise me as much as you wish you do,” he says smugly, stepping closer to you, but you don’t make a show of moving away from him, rooted in place with your hands on the cool marble, contrasting against your warm, (y/s/c) skin.
“You know nothing about me and my emotions, you cannot assume how I feel towards you when you clearly don’t even know me,” you exhale coolly, eyes darting all over his face, falling on his lips: pink, really soft, lips. But he’s a monster. At least you thought he was.
“I’m not the monster you think I am,” he says as if reading your thoughts, setting his hands on top of yours on the counter, his skin just as cold as the stone, making you inhale sharply. His lips edge in a smirk, “New York... what happened there wasn’t me, I can assure you of this. You don’t strike me as someone who is not open to people growing and changing, but perhaps we were both wrong.”
You’re stunned from his words, the anger inside of you simmering like droplets of water onto a fire. He’s getting to you, just by looking in your eyes, you haven’t felt... important since Steven took you in, he’s looking at you like you’re the world, as if he’s seeing it for the very first time.
“How am I supposed to believe you?” you ask him, sincere at last which relaxes him, neither one you making a move to leave.
“You will just have to trust me, darling,” he says softly, taking his time to look at your mouth as you inhale. He bites down on his lips when he sees the slight pout in yours.
He lets his eyes look over your body again, causing you to feel immensely self conscious all of a sudden, like his opinion over you mattered. It shouldn’t, but you know it does because when his eyes fall on the stretch marks by your hips, you immediately flinch. He meets your gaze once again, “Why are you so afraid in front of me, love?” He reaches out to gingerly trace the lines you’ve been trying to hide your whole life when you should be embracing them, and to your evident surprise, all that’s in Loki’s eyes is admiration and raw passion.
And... affection? Something both of you have been deprived of, starved from the touch of someone who truly cares about you.
“A woman as she should be,” he whispers, referring to your marks, flicking his stare up to meet your eyes, your breath hitching again. “Beautiful,” he smiles.
You blush intensely and your chest is on fire, lungs forgetting how to give you your breath, making you gasp which pleases him to see his affect on you.
You finally look down and notice blood seeping in through his armor, making your eyes widen, “What happened? Were you three attacked?”
He shakes his head, not once straying from your eyes, and you, despite your best efforts, do the same, drowning in those blue orbs, “Only me. They sent me back because I was wounded, I-”
“Couldn’t you have just healed yourself there?” you ask him incredulously. “You have that ability, don’t you?”
A soft smile graces his lips and it almost makes you forget everything except for him. “I suppose you’re right,” he sighs. “Normally I’m very good at lying. Especially to mortals.”
“Lying? What do you mean?” you ask.
“I could have healed myself quickly, but I stressed to the Doctor that I needed to come here immediately because it takes time to do it when it really does not,” he has on this smug smile, and it’s so cocky that you want to punch him in the face.
“Why would you do that?” you ask, breath quickening.
He rolls his eyes, “I thought you were smarter than this.”
“Don’t insult me,” you frown. “You’re being extremely vague and avoiding my question, I’m not psychic.”
“You,” he says, smiling widening at the shocked look on your face. “I wanted to come back for you.”
“I- I have no idea why...” you play it off coolly as you possibly can, tightening your grip on the edge of the marble. There goes my heart doing that thing again.
He rolls his shoulder back, wincing slightly from the movement, and your eyes are drawn to his side where his wound still stays, “How can you not know that I-”
“You need to heal yourself,” you interrupt him. This is much more important. “Now. Before-”
“I’m fine,” he says through gritted teeth, frowning at your flat, unconvinced expression. “Really, darling,” he winks, and it’s a lot quicker, smoother, and sexier than Thor’s. Loki? Sexy? Really? “But your concerns are very sweet, little one.”
“Do not call me ‘little one’,” you warn him, gripping his arm in your hand, dragging him to your bedroom with all of your medical supplies. Steven has come home countless times in need of first aid, the task has fallen onto you numerous times. This time, however, you aren’t sure if you want to do this for him or let him do it himself, possibly worsening the injury.
Maybe it’s the voice or the hair or the eyes or the kindness in his eyes you’ve never seen before or the way you see him look at you when he thinks you aren’t looking, but you want to help him.
“What are you doing?” he asks, quickly walking up the stairs behind you, expertly slipping his hand into yours instead of you holding him by the arm. This is far more intimate and you shiver at the contact, but don’t protest when he threads your fingers together, in fact you smile slightly.
“Fixing you myself, since you’re going to be a toddler about it,” you tell him and he laughs softly at your teasing, following you into your room, taking in the books everywhere but on the designated shelves. So many pens, a computer on your cedar desk, journals open and filled to the brim with midnight scribbles when you couldn’t sleep, needless to say is that you rarely have company and you weren’t expecting anyone.
Loki looks around your bedroom, admiring the controlled chaos of it all, smiling at your taste in literature that is similar to his.
“I take it you read a lot,” he says, looking at you.
“You could say that,” you sigh, motioning for him to sit down on the bed. He sits down beside you, taking up almost your entire bed, with you being on the shorter side and not needing much room. You reach over and look him in the eyes for permission, “May I?” you ask him.
He nods, exhaling through gritted teeth when you lift his blood stained shirt, wondering how he stood upright for so long to talk to you. You grab a sterilized cloth and soak up all the blood, wiping away the rest of it to see the extent of his cut. You feel yourself release a small sigh of relief when you see that the cut isn’t deep or life-threatening, just... lots of blood which you sometimes are overwhelmed by.
He watches you while you work, smiling softly at the way you dart your tongue to lick your bottom lip while you concentrate.
You finish bandaging him up, eyes only now taking in the v-line of his lean, muscular torso, filthy thoughts running through your mind,
Because the realization hits you.
You don’t hate him. You don’t hate him at all.
But that still doesn’t erase what he did. Even if it was Thano’s fault... Wasn’t it? You’re head is spinning, but you’re listening to your heart, yelling for to do something, anything, when he continues to stare back at you, wondering what you’re going to do next.
“Feeling better now?” you say quietly, hugging your knees to your chest when you meet his eyes.
It’s supposed to be so easy to hate him, it was supposed to be simple.
He smirks, “Much,” he whispers deeply, looking in your eyes. He’s making this so difficult.
“You should probably leave then, if you’re feeling alright now,” you say, getting off the bed and standing up to open the door for him.
He nods, standing up and dusting off clothes, struggling momentarily to pull himself up, falling. You run over and catch him, hands around his waist to steady him, he rests his own hands on your hips.
“Are you okay?” you ask, a bit breathless, absentmindedly now resting your hands against his chest.
He nods and smiles, which kind of makes you smile as well, because for the first time, the god of mischief is at a loss for words. What is (y/n) doing to me?
“You should leave now,” you say as his hand slides up your waist resting on the back of your neck, tilting your head up so you’re forced to look him in the eye, unable to breathe again. “Loki...” you whisper as a warning.
He can’t help but smirk, “Do you really want me to?”
No. You don’t answer because silence is supposed to speak volumes and it does, between the two of you right now, it’s impalpable.
“Do you trust me, love?” he whispers into your ear, his other hand sliding up to rest on your cheek, you don’t have time to process your actions before you nod your head.
Then his lips capture yours.
