Apr 18, 2025
Isaiah 53:5 (NKJV) - But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; The chastisement for our peace was upon Him, And by His stripes we are healed.
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Isaiah 53:5 (NKJV) - But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; The chastisement for our peace was upon Him, And by His stripes we are healed.
Transgressions:
Chapter 10
*finale*
Words: 10,900 | Chapter List
Everything to say.
And yet nothing.
All at once.
You could have asked so many questions.
But there would be time for that.
Later.
There was no need to talk as you held his hand in yours, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sat in the back of the car, the starched black collar of the driver visible beneath the large leather headrest of his seat. You both maintained your warm silence for around ten minutes until it was broken by your favourite chatty man.
“You know, it is an awfully long round-trip from New York. Meeting me here was completely unnecessary. But….” he turned to you with a smile “incredibly sweet.”
“Sweet?” An eyebrow quirked in playful challenge.
“Mmm. Yes. Thoughtful.” He turned your hand in his, gently circling his thumb in your palm. Expectant eyelids opened to reveal soulful hazel eyes. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And hey, I took three days off and sat by the pool. Never gonna hear me complain about the sun in Phoenix.” You jerked your head towards the window, the heat blazing on in the depths of November.
“It’s freezing in New York, isn’t it.” A chill ran down his spine. The private car’s air conditioning ran cooler than the rehab center, his home for the past three months. He rubbed his bare forearm, hair bristling underneath. “I packed my coat in my suitcase. What an idi – ” He stopped himself, inhaling, long fingers grazing his chin as his eyes searched the leather upholstery in front of him. “W-what I mean to say is, it seems I’ve forgot. Which would stand to reason, given I’ve been away for such a long time. I’m certain I’ll find a solution.”
Group therapy was paying dividends.
“And I must say. It seems almost…. poetic…. to arrive in a different season.”
“It does, doesn’t it,” you uttered huskily, your tone smooth as double chocolate ice cream and filled with adoration.
“It’s alarmingly generous of Stark to loan his jet for our trip home.”
“It’s the fucking least he can do. Anyway, he doesn’t look that closely at his accounts. He’ll never know.”
Your dark-haired lover scoffed a laugh. “And here I was presuming that if he hadn’t offered, you had at least asked permission.”
“I’d rather ask for forgiveness than – oh!”
A strong hand cupped your jawline, pressing his lips to yours. “Thank you, my love. Not only for the jet, but for, well…”
Everything.
For everything.
His eyes settled on different parts of your face. Your hair. Your lips. Your cute little nose. His tummy began fluttering with nerves. He was no longer in the safe bubble of his group in Phoenix. His mentor, a sober aging rock star, was only a phone call away. But his new friend Josh, a former child actor exploited by the industry and his own family, remained in treatment for another month.
It was time for Loki to embark on a new venture. To rebuild. Running away from his problems was no longer an option. He was past hiding inside a caricature he referred to in treatment as Tabloid Loki. The shiny exterior had crumbled. The hands of the Norns reached into his reality and destroyed all that wasn’t real. He couldn’t hide behind branding deals and flashy commercials. The armour was removed. He stood naked. Vulerable. Exposed.
As his mind wandered, his right hand, the one regrettably not holding yours, squeezed itself inside the pocket of his black jeans, fondling the inside. He would have felt more at ease if he had it with him, no matter how many times Steve assured him the item was stowed away safe in the top drawer of his nightstand.
“It was awesome seeing Thor,” the soldier had recanted when Loki granted him a sliver of time during one of his rare telephone breaks during treatment. “It’s too bad you missed him. They all talk about you on Asgard. Fondly, he said. Yeah I know your life’s here and all, but…. I promised Thor I’d pass on the message.”
Asgard. His people were currently in the lengthy process of rebuilding homes and palaces alike, buildings which stood long before his Great Grandfather’s reign. The rebuild began five years ago. They had broken ground and set in the foundations for the palaces and ceremonial buildings. Some of the smaller buildings had basic structures, mere skeletons of what they would become. Towns began to take shape once more, his people living in temporary homes crafted using what the mortals dubbed ‘bush craft,’ remarkably sturdy buildings crafted by hand using the land and basic tools mixed with advanced expertise. The frames no more than narrow branches of ash, secured together with natural twine and bound with a primitive mixture of mud, hay, and warmed river water. The elders were delighted. Teaching the younger Asgardians the ways of old. Their homes resembled something from a middle earth fairytale. They would stand for decades, and with tender loving upkeep they would last much longer.
Asgard would begin to thrive once more. They would all have a hand in rebuilding the palaces, and a shared space within to visit, if they chose it. It would take centuries until the new golden turrets would shine under the Asgardian sun once more. Centuries.
But, Loki thought, anything worth building takes time.
***
Flames licked up the sides of the latticed pit, fire dancing skyward in a flirtation with the stars. You felt a shiver scuttle over your arms. In a heartbeat, his tailored winter coat, fresh from his suitcase, found its home around your shoulders.
“Won’t you be cold, though?”
“You seem to forget I’m part Frost Giant.”
“I still don’t really know what that means. It’s one of your little secrets.”
“I’m hoping we’ll have less of those as time progresses.” The flicker of fire illuminated his features, alight with mischief. He gripped a small white box in his hand.
“We’re burning them all, then? You sure?”
“Well…. yes. We ought to. You don’t agree?”
Tongue lapping the corner of your lip impishly, a freshly manicured hand reached out, thumb and index finger finding one rogue cardstock poking out from the pack like a Queen of Hearts in front of a magician. “I’d like to keep this one,” you held it aloft begin two deft digits, “if that’s okay.”
“The last card,” he purred, warm hands curling inside of his tailored wool coat and around your waist, the backs of his hands grazing the silk lining. “I did not have you marked as a sentimentalist.”
You felt his lips pepper light kisses on your forehead, your cheekbones, the corners of your lips. All you could do was smile, the apples of your cheeks beginning to ache, words once again not needed, and escaping you even if they did.
“Tell you what.” He shuffled the cards, halving them, large hands around one chunk, handing them to you. “You burn one half. I’ll burn another.” He slipped the final one into his coat pocket, the thick fabric enveloping you like a bath after a long winter hike.
He tossed his half of the cards into the fire pit, flames licking up skyward as they devoured the fuel. Strong hands pulled you back from the heat. You reached forward, placing in your section. Loki held you, your back resting against his chest. The cool evening chill of November whipped around your legs and caused you to shiver.
“Let’s go inside, petal. You’re freezing.”
“No, this is important. If you’ve got a blanket or something….”
“Easily done.” A mere flick of his wrist and a fluffy green blanket manifested itself around you. You sat back on the outdoor seating, reserved in warmer months for a bevy of super soldiers and trained killers enjoying a summertime soiree at Stark’s expense. You rested against Loki as he reached into another box of his old ‘business cards,’ tossing another handful on the fire. You sat in the warmth of his old self burning in front of you.
“How many more boxes, baby?”
“Just two more.”
You both watched as flames licked around his logo, enveloping the serpent and his initials, the self-assured ‘With Compliments’ erased by fire. He reached into the final box of one hundred cards, glancing at the umpteen empty boxes strewn around him, also destined for cremation.
A sensation bubbled up within him. A familiar feeling. One he recognised instantly as shame. Once he released it, another emotion replaced it. One he was not nearly as closely acquainted with.
Hope.
***
“Is it strange being back here, baby?” Your hand drew lazy circles around his thigh, your backs pressed against pillows resting between your bodies and the headboard.
He shook his head. “If anything, it feels like home.” His hands intertwined with yours, fingers losing themselves to you.
The memory of burning the cards last night fresh in his mind, he had requested to spend the day in his quarters with you. Eerily reminiscent of his summertime Stark-imposed lockdown, he found a comfort in its familiarity. And more importantly. He wasn’t ready to face the world until he had laid to rest the old parts of him.
And there was still something to take care of.
Loki was quiet. Contemplative. Melancholy would be too strong of a descriptor. But he was certainly subdued. And with Loki, that meant one thing. He was thinking.
“I have an idea for disposing of the bracelets.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmm. What if I were to run a contest of some kind on one of my platforms? I’d like them to understand how much I appreciate their support. Would there be a way to weight it in favour of those who spoke up about me from the beginning?”
“Well…. it might be a bit illegal to rig a competition.”
“Oh.”
His crestfallen tone made your stomach twist.
“No no no, it’s a great idea, I just don’t want you going back in the slammer. Besides, if you dropped the soap you’d be absolutely screwed.” You elbowed him softly and he coughed out a light chuckle, the delicate skin around his eyes creasing. It blew your mind to think over how many years those lines were formed. He was old. Much older than you. You tried not to think about it. “How about this. I’ll run analytics on the accounts that interacted with you most during a specific timeframe, weight it to positive sentiment. And get a list of 20 accounts who supported you from the very start. We can get one of my staff to contact them individually.”
“Yes. Yes, please.” His soft smile and glassy eyes reminded you of your favourite emoji. This alleged Frost Giant was melting your heart.
“What about the rest of the gift bag stuff?”
He shrugged. “Distribute it around the tower, I suppose. Place it in the staff kitchens, perhaps. The foodstuffs, at least.”
You smirked. “You know what I’m going to ask, don’t you.”
His lips curled up despite his better judgement. “The ointment, yes.”
“Who’s the lucky soul who gets the Anusol?”
“Let’s place it in Rogers’ bathroom. He does seem rather constipated.”
Your head raised to the ceiling, a cackle erupting, certain to disturb a flock of crows from their perch had a tree been present.
***
Loki spent the remainder of the week in self-imposed lockdown. Truly, the only person he wanted to be with was you. The only person he felt safe with was you. There would be time for the others. But he remained feeling naked and exposed, his armour discarded back in Phoenix, the tenderness of healing his trauma fresh and raw like a wound. He had covered it up for so long. And now, it was exposed for the world to see.
He wasn’t ready for the world to see it.
Not yet.
He spent his time writing. It was strange to see a quiet Loki. But there was a contentedness you hadn’t witnessed in him before. A softness, almost. A reflective, wise side of him you grew to accept and respect. Playful Loki was still in there, you were sure of it. He simply needed time to let this wise side of him anchor in and become a solidified part of who he is and how he navigates the world.
So you allowed him space. It didn’t feel hard. It felt natural. Peaceful. Ease-filled.
Towards the end of the week, he read sections of his words to you. “It’s rather like handing you a blueprint of my soul, only more exposing” he said in jest, whilst blushing and looking down towards his hands in his lap. His writing was beautiful. His words, truthful.
People would love it. If he chose to share it.
He suggested a group dinner on Saturday night. Initially flirting with the idea of a private section of the bar, and although it was technically located in his home, he later reneged. It was too public. More than most, he knew of the bevvy of Manhattan’s elite littered around his former haunt and pick-up spot, some sprawling their lithe frame across the bar in the crosshairs of the paparazzi, others stalking the perimeter and the prowl for their next conquest, while the remainder observed the pack from booths in silence, hoping to catch a glimpse of the lesser-spotted meal ticket.
He wanted no part in it. They were staying in.
Steve offered to cook. Natasha insisted her culinary skills, like her marksmanship, were superior. “Pot luck?” the solider offered as a compromise, his hands on his hips in Loki’s kitchen. You all agreed, not before you and Loki compared notes about why your North American compadres insisted on such a phrase.
“We just call it Bring Your Own,” you shrugged.
“We don’t even have such a pastime on Asgard. At least not in the palace.”
“Yeah and why pot luck? Like it’s a gamble or something.”
Loki lowered his chin and whispered conspiratorially. “Because it’s pot luck whether or not one contracts food poisoning.”
You both sensed two sets of eyes staring at you. Arms crossed. Nudging each other. Grinning.
“What??” you said in union.
“Nothin’,” Natasha purred.
Steve gestured an open palm towards you, bicep flexing, his hand resting on his jawline, smirking. “I just wondered how long you guys have been married, is all.”
“Hilarious, Rogers,” Loki drawled.
You threw a dry teabag at the blond.
“Hey! Steve protested. “Uncalled for.”
“I’ve seen you peppered with bullets by Hydra soldiers, Steven. I hardly believe that harmed you.” Loki playfully sneered at his friend.
“Yeah, well. If there’s second-helpings of spam and eggs tomorrow, you ain’t gettin’ any.”
Loki pulled an incredulous expression which involved his hands raising in mock offence.
“His eggs are really good.” The Russian narrowed her eyes in challenge at the God, flirtatious eyes casting a gaze towards the 1940’s chef, an unconscious glance everyone seemed to notice but her.
“And pray tell me, for how long has your matrimonial affair developed?”
“We’re just friends, Loki,” Steve assured, blushing.
“Right, Rogers.”
***
“I’m telling you, he’s in love with Nat!”
“For the last time,” he leaned down to push his lips into your jawline, eliciting a squeal from you as the elevator doors opened. “The captain is far too dull for the Russian.” He held you firmly from behind. A strong, protective chest pressed into your back, creasing an otherwise crisp, tailored white shirt. His hips pressed into you, pushing you forwards and onto his floor.
“No but hear me out.” You turned to face him, reaching for his hand and pulling him into the kitchen. “Maybe that’s why it would work. Because they’re so different, they actually compliment each other.”
“Forgive my insistence, but allow me to ensure I understand your logic. You are basing this hypothesis on the cliché of….” He lowered his gaze condescendingly, pushing you against the fridge, one arm resting up near your head in a playful attempt to pin you down. He growled into your ear. “….opposites attract.”
“Yep-p!” You ducked under his arm and scurried into the lounge, jumping onto the sofa. You kneeled, readying yourself for his next barb.
“How…. groundbreaking.” He adjusted the sleeves of his shirt, rolled up many hours prior during your dinner with the aforementioned soldier and assassin. Steve had hosted the gathering on his floor, cooking the promised canned ham and eggs, which were delicious, much to Loki’s chagrin and your amusement. The God’s bounty from his favourite Italian deli replicated Asgardian fayre, he told you, accompanied by numerous dressings, sauces and gratuitous explanations of how everything was bigger and more luxurious in his ancient holy land.
You watched as he adjusted his other sleeve and stared you down. You smirked. “Fun fact. Did you know the sluttiest thing a man can do is roll his sleeves up?”
“Oh, petal….” He stalked forwards. His shadow engulfed you. “I hardly think that’s the most impressive act in my vast repertoire.” He straddled you, knees pressing into the sofa either side of your hips, dark denim stretching over his thighs. Your eyes closed as he cupped your face firmly, lips peppering yours with light kisses. His lips moved to your neck, the heady scent of his cologne taking control of your senses. You tingled. A glimmer of sensation rippled from the base of your neck and down your shoulders, moving like ink through blotting paper. His hand found the back of your hair and caressed it, his fingertips creating more tingles. You felt his hips digging into you, his crotch pressing against your jeans. A moan escaped from his lips like the smoke from an extinguished candle.
“Gods, love.” He moved back to your lips. Your hands rested over his shoulders, exploring the toned muscle. A rogue hand strayed down his back. It began reaching into the back of his jeans. You squeezed. You didn’t regret it. You began to untuck his shirt from his waistband. He unbuttoned the front.
“Are we doing this?” you whispered.
“Only if you want to.”
“I want to.”
“We do not have to.” He kissed your neck again, chest exposed, his shirt hanging open. “W-we can s-stay like this. I can re-restrain myself.” He didn’t know it, but he was riding you like a mechanical bull, hands gripping the sofa behind your shoulders.
“Loki if you tease me, I swear to God I will kill you.”
He chuckled. His unconscious clumsy rutting ceased. He held your chin lightly between his thumb and index finger. “I don’t wish to tease. Not unless there’s a satisfactory ending to the delay.” He kissed the tip of your nose. Then your cheek. Followed by a light peck on your forehead. He held you close to him. “You know, love. Of all the skills I mastered during rehabilitation. One of them was sexual mastery.”
“You fucking what.”
“We were not permitted to engage in sexual acts.” He cupped your face with one hand, turning it, exposing your jawline to his lips.
“It’s, umm….” You groaned at the nibbles in the sharp edge of your jaw below your ear. “It was sex rehab. So, you know, no sex is sort of essential.”
“Oh I know,” he practically purred. “Even touching oneself is forbidden.”
Jesus fucking christ…..
“Which of course, makes it all the more alluring.”
“And did you?” Your voice trembled. “T-touch yourself?” As if you were melting, you slid down into a horizontal position on the sofa, a dark-haired lover towering above you.
“Oh yes. Twice. And I had to tell the group about it. Incredibly embarrassing. Confessing my thoughts. My ministrations…..”
“But the rest of the time….?”
“I was a very good boy.” He lowered himself, his forearms resting either side of your shoulders.
“Were you really though?”
He whispered his response, so close to your face you could feel his breath on your skin. “Oh yes. So much so, that for the first couple of weeks, I was walking around the center visibly erect.”
You gulped. He removed his shirt as he continued his erotic anecdote. “I recall one particular moment at breakfast. I was pouring myself a fresh coffee, one of the few psychoactive substances permitted during rehabilitation. And one of my fellow inmates looked at me rather strangely.”
“Why?”
“Because….” He stroked your hair and whispered the remaining words in your ear, “he could clearly see I was hard.”
“And…. umm….. w-what did you say?”
“I told him, As you can see, I’m taking this very seriously.”
A laugh burst from your lips. Loki’s digits began nibbling at your sides, tickling you, raising the volume on your mirth. You pushed him from your torso, sitting upright to remove your t-shirt. He was rendered silent for a moment, lips quivering as if to speak. No words came. His eyes rested on the bare skin of your chest. Your stomach. Your……
You lay back down on the sofa. A light tug on his belt pulled him on top of you. You whispered. “Tell me more…..”
“Well, I….”
You began to unbuckle his belt. The tan Hermes leather was soon discarded on the tiled carpet of the common area.
“I…. Gods, love…. my mind was filled with you. Thoughts of you…..” He allowed his lips to caress your décolletage, moaning on impact. “I couldn’t stop thinking of what I would do to you….” His voice trailed off in a whisper. Your hips raised up to meet him, feeling the firmness of his arousal press into you.
“It was…. infuriating….” Light hands held your torso in place as his lips explored the softness of your stomach. “Until…. I learned to master it. Through the breath. Mastering the art of….” Trembling hands unbuttoned your jeans. “….feeling aroused. And not acting. Choosing not to act.” His slid your jeans from you, leaving you exposed to him in your lingerie. You should have felt exposed. But you had never felt more free. More adored. More worshipped.
Careful lips met your inner thigh, a skilled hand holding it in place, angling your leg just so. He closed his eyes in reverence as though he had sipped the finest wine in all of Asgard. He moaned, gravel in his tone laced with want and need.
Desire.
He looked up at you from between your legs, pupils blown wide yet hopeful. “M-may I?” He spoke so gently. You nodded.
He slipped your knickers from you, inhaling the scent of you. A whine slipped from the depths of his throat. You removed your own bra, grateful for a task to distract you from the intensity with which he looked at you.
At all of you.
A skillful finger touched you, sliding up through the slickness of your heat. You gasped.
“I…. I’ve learned to master it.” He assured you, drawing circles around your clit unfairly slowly. You swallowed. The last thing you saw was green eyes looking up at you before his mouth delved between your legs. You closed your eyes. You saw nothing. You only felt.
You felt the swirl of his tongue. The firmness of fingertips pressing into your hips and he held you in place. Deft digits working the most sensitive part of you, causing the heat of pleasure to roll through your body like waves crashing over sand. The sound of your moans. The sound of his moans. The feeling of your head pressing back into the sofa, body writhing, as he rhythmically worked his fingers inside of you, coaxing pleasure from your body expertly, patiently, lovingly. Eyes remaining closed, you would never see how his body moved back and forth as though he was inside of you, his own eyelids fluttering shut, losing himself completely, coming back only when a cry of pleasure tore from your throat as your climax hit you, exploding within every cell of your body. Releasing you. Freeing you.
You felt your heart pounding hard in your chest, hearing it in your ears and feeling it reverberate in your throat. Your eyes opened. You saw his face. Smiling at you, eyes glassy. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb ghosting over the line of your jaw. “Are you alright, my petal?” His voice barely registered as a whisper. You nodded dumbly. He waited until your panting ceased and your breath became steady, helping you up and reaching for your hand.
“Come.”
“I just did.” You smirked as you stood, following his lead, step by step.
“Minx.” You heard the beep of the security pad beside his door as he swiped his watch over it, a symbol of his freedom. You would never tire of seeing him move freely around the tower. Never again would you roll your eyes if you saw him in the bar. Or the meeting room. The gym.
He was free. He deserved to be.
His independence pushed the door open. The second it closed, he pushed you against it, you unbuttoning his jeans with trembling fingers as he kissed you fervently. Ragged breaths and whimpers approached a crescendo as you made your way towards the nearest bed. The backs of his legs touched the mattress. He felt silk sheets on bare skin. “Not here,” he breathed, dissatisfied with his former sex room. He grasped your hand and led you through the wood paneling into his quarters, placing you down on top of the soft shite duvet, the thread count so high the Egyptian cotton felt like silk. You writhed under him as he kissed you, naked skin caressed by soft fabric. His hardened cock pressed into your inner thigh, painfully straining against his black boxer briefs. In half a heartbeat, you pulled his underwear from him. He sat up. And there he was.
If you hadn’t known he was a God, you could reasonably have guessed.
Strong, broad shoulders. A wide expanse of his muscular chest. And abdominals embellishing not only the front of his torso, but also the sides, as though sculpted from marble by the Gods themselves. And a long, thick hard cock standing proud above strong thighs that flexed as he kneeled over you.
Fucking hell.
He’s so….. perfect.
Hang on….
You sat up and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. You whispered. “No more illusions.”
“What do you mean?”
“The scars.”
“O-oh…”
You pulled back and watched as green light shimmered down his naked form and revealed his true self. He cleared his throat and looked down at the bed, picking at his nails. He felt a pounding in his chest. He had taken his clothes off in front of thousands of lovers. But he had never felt this naked.
A small gasp left his lips as he felt your mouth in the dip of his neck. You kissed him tenderly, lips planting sweet caresses over the scars on his chest as loving hands stroked his back. He barely noticed you laying him down on the bed, leaning over him, hands on his chest as you positioned yourself above him.
“You are so beautiful, Loki,” you assured softly as you lowered yourself down and allowed him inside of you, both of you sighing in unison. You rode him languidly, savouring the sensation within you and the sight in front of you. He was art. He was majestic. He was physically perfect. And despite his trepidation at revealing the marks of his past, he allowed his eyes to close.
Relaxing.
Enjoying.
Receiving.
You continued rolling your hips over him, regarding him with adoration, heart fluttering when he opened his eyes and held his gaze with yours, biting his lip in approval at your quickened pace. Your breath came in uneven pants, heartbeat reverberating throughout your body, feeling heat rise up from the base of your legs up to your face. His hands flexed, thick veins in the backs of his hands bulging under the force of holding back. He breathed in deeply and exhaled fully, controlling his own pleasure. You came hard, crying out his name as your head fell back in bliss. You leaned over him, head on his chest, his hands in your hair.
“That was…. incredible.”
“It was.” He tucked a stray hair behind your eye and smiled softly. “Though I dare say we’re not done yet, petal.”
You turned to look at him. He was smirking.
He hadn’t come yet.
“Do you need a moment, flower?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course.”
He pulled you tight to his chest and held you. His lips kissed the crown of your head.
He was still inside you.
He was still hard.
Mere minutes later you pushed yourself up, determined to maintain the pace of your Godly lover. You rode him hard, slowing down when he began to use his breathing techniques, a sign he was close. Repeating this sweet torture for long enough, you quickened your pace. His lips were pursed. His stomach flexed. Air puffed through gritted teeth, torment in his eyes as he flirted with the possibility of continuing to hold back. He could have. He had the strength. The skill. But he simply didn’t want to. He allowed himself over the edge, growling as he reached the summit of his climax and cried out your name.
***
“You know you’re the only one who could come back from sex rehab even better in bed.”
You weren’t sure if you had completed sex session number four. Or five. But you lay under the covers, hands tracing shapes on his chest, feeling the same type of satiation you only feel after having a hearty meal.
Asgardian meat.
You almost made yourself chuckle.
“I do seem to be lasting longer.” He held a hand up in protest, “And make no mistake, I could last quite some time previously.”
“Before rehab?”
“Mmmm.”
“So having to abstain from sex, and learning how to control it through breathing, it’s….”
“It appears it has transformed me into some type of sex God, yes.” He paused for effect before laughing at his own ridiculousness.
“You know that’s magical, and not to sound ungrateful but I will be absolutely pissed if there’s no gift bag waiting for me when I leave later.”
“Who said anything about you leaving?” A protective arm around your back pulled you in tighter. Another kiss pressed to your crown. “Besides, that would be absurd. It would be equally ludicrous….” Slowly, he slipped out of the bed, hands gently moving your head from his chest to the pillow. “…if I had thought ahead and already prepared this for you.” He kneeled on his haunches in front of his nightstand and pulled out a large, white, completely full….
Gift bag.
“No.”
“Oh yes.” Dark eyebrows wiggled on a face so full of mirth and mischief. Still naked, his scars still on display, he held out the large gift bag to you. Suspicious side eye aside, you accepted the offering and sat up, placing it between you both as he shuffled back into bed. “I hope this isn’t too much of a spoiler, petal. But it’s bespoke.”
One by one, you pulled out the items and placed them down on the duvet.
Your favourite English tea.
The Scottish shortbread biscuits you loved so much and could never find in the US.
Some loose leaf linden tea in an ornate caddy, reminiscent of the first moment you truly spent time together.
A card marked Gino’s in a charcoal embellished font. He’d opened a tab for you at your favourite deli so you can have lunch on him anytime you wanted.
The next item was brand new gym leggings and trainers. He knew you loved to workout.
A gift card for a spa weekend for you and your friends in the natural beauty of upstate New York. “You’re always taking care of others,” he affirmed. “It feels important you should take some time for yourself.”
You continued to empty the bag, delighted he had included the infamous diamond bracelet. Months later, you would take it to Loki’s jeweler and transform it into a necklace.
Finally, you removed the last item.
An enormous, gratuitous, 500ml tub of the iconic ointment.
Anusol.
A raucous laugh filled the air, your hand gripping his shoulder in uncontrollable delight. Through your laughter, he attempted to explain.
“No, no you must listen – it’s supposed to be symbolic. I actually thought it was rather romantic…. that others should receive a sample size, and you receive – ”
“A LIFETIME’S SUPPLY OF ANUSOL!” you cackled. Loki rolled his eyes, smiling. You wiped tears from your eyes, the laughter finally subsiding. “No no, I get it! It’s just fucking classic is all. Iconic.”
“I’m incredibly relieved you see the funny side,” he beamed.
Loki wasn’t quite done. He would make love to you twice more before he revealed the final gift. It was around midnight. It must have been. You couldn’t be sure in your sex haze. You vaguely recall him retrieving a small jewelry box from his nightstand. You didn’t know, but it was the one Rogers placed there weeks prior.
He opened the box. A delicate gold signet ring glinted in the soft lighting from the lamp on his nightstand.
It was two-toned. A brushed antique gold blending into a lighter metal, polished and shining. The top of the ring held an engraved logo. Doves. And your initials.
With trembling fingers, he removed the ring from its velvet green casing.
“It’s made from two metals. The first is some of the remaining gold from the old Palace, which stood for around twenty thousand years. And the second, the new material we’re using to rebuild. It symbolizes the old and the new. It felt…. fitting, somehow. And, I trust you do not object, but I took the liberty of having your crest designed. We all have them on Asgard. The…. the family.” He looked away wistfully. “What’s left of them, anyway.”
Your hand rested over his. His entire body relaxed in an instant. You began to trace the logo with the pad of your finger. “Your crest – is it the one you had on the business cards?”
He cast his head down, squeezing his eyes closed in shame. “Yes. I used my family’s name and muddied their legacy due to my addiction.”
“That’s behind us now.” You covered his hand with yours. “We can look forward.”
Tears rimmed ancient eyes. “Yes. Yes, we can.” He sniffed, and cleared his throat. “If you do not mind, I would feel honoured for you to wear it on this finger.” He gestured to the ring finger of your right hand. “I understand it is customary to wear another type of ring on your opposite hand. So this is a symbol. A promise to the future. To our future. If you will have me.”
You smiled as he hovered the ring around the end of your digit. “I will.” He slid it on.
“Well then. You’re stuck with me.”
You lay down in bed, snuggling into him. You whispered groggily as you closed your eyes, nestling your head into the soft pillow. “Tell me more about your crest.”
He looked at you adoringly, and even with your eyes closed, you could feel him looking at you. He lay on his side and wrapped his arm around your tummy, resting it there gently. “My crest is comprised of my initials, surname Laufeyson to represent my Jotun heritage. It was decided for me, my symbol would be two snakes. To symbolize trickery – the snake in – ”
“The Garden of Eden.” Your voice was soft, sleep drawing you into its grasp with invisible hands.
“Exactly, yes.” You didn’t see the way he looked at you. Eyes full of pride. Respect. Love.
He lowered his tone to a whisper, as though he was telling you a bedtime fable. Perhaps he was. “And… to have the serpents intertwining in a symbol of….” he stroked your hair, “of infinity. It represents my longevity. On earth, intertwining snakes symbolize healing. Your crest isn’t snakes, though perhaps it should be given how you helped me to heal,” he confessed quietly, a light shake in his voice. “I know the feeling to have…. to have a symbol chosen for you. So the one I chose for you is doves. A symbol of freedom.” He interlaced his hands with yours. “Which is what you offered to me.”
He pressed a kiss to your temple.
It’s the last thing you remember before you surrendered to the warm embrace of sleep.
***
Thick thighs flexed as Loki reared his hips slightly upwards, adjusting the leather of his Dior belt. A minute movement. One nobody else in the limousine even registered. Not even the professional assassin. Though, her eyes were occupied on her centenarian companion.
“You okay baby?” Your hand rested over his as you leaned over and whispered to him.
He exhaled, eyes dropping shut. Slowly, he nodded. “Mmm. Thank you.” His tone was soft as he lay his head on your shoulder, reaching for your hand and squeezing it. You leaned your head on his and caught the scent of bergamot bleeding through the air from the cologne on his neck.
You heard chuckling.
He looked up, dark eyebrows frowning. “Something comedic, Natasha?” he gruffed.
The Russian smirked sweetly, fair cheeks dimpling. “You guys are cute, that’s all.”
“Hey. We’re cute.” Steve’s eyebrow quirked cockily.
“No, Rogers.” Straight red hair shone as she flicked it to punctuate her point. “We’re sleeping together. There’s a difference.”
“Well, jeez Natasha. Talk about keepin’ a low profile.” Steve displayed his very best ‘incredulous Loki’ expression. It was like watching a dog try to meow.
Loki rolled his eyes. The Captain wouldn’t let that slide.
“Hey, you sure people’ll recognize ya out there, Loki. You’re not in uniform,” the captain smiled at his little quip, gesturing to the God’s blue suit, free from his customary black and forest green palate.
“Hilarious Steven, truly.” Though he shook his head, his cheeks dimpled into a grin.
You crossed your legs, the slit in your black dress falling to reveal smooth bare skin. His fingers ran up your shinbone, up over your knee, and trailing along your thigh, flames dancing in the wake of his touch. You turned towards him. A rogue hand found his thigh, squeezing. He hissed. You continued smoothing your hand over the fabric of his bespoke Dior trousers, alternating between your fingertips and the tips of your nails, raking them over his thigh. He bucked his hips. He actually bucked his hips. You almost groaned.
“I’ll be hard on arrival, petal.”
“You won’t, Lokes. Just breathe.”
A muscular neck exposed itself to you indecently as he pressed his head back into the leather headrest, chest rising to to the roof of the private car before he righted himself and looked at you. “I’m certain my techniques will be rendered useless tonight.”
Whether he was simply nervous or especially horny, you couldn’t be sure.
“And if you don’t stop teasing me, you little minx,” his lowered his volume further, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I shall be forced to hold you in place by force.”
“Oh god…. oh…. oh no….” You snickered at your own comedic fake shock, your hands determined and continuing to blaze a trail of fire up his thigh.
“Right!”
You squealed as he hauled you into his lap. Strong hands held you down. He bucked his hips once more, his arousal pressing into your buttocks.
God, Loki.
“Are you going to behave petal,” he brushed a swoop of hair from your neck, gentle fingertips grazing your neck. “Unless you would like to be hauled over my lap when we arrive home.”
Your private car hadn’t even pulled up outside at the Dior holiday party. And you were ready to knock on the driver’s glass, make a circular movement with your finger in the air, and give extremely clear directions to Stark Tower.
Strong arms wrapped around you, desire melting into tenderness, soft kisses dusting your neck like icing sugar. “Thank you for coming with me, love.”
The white envelope had dropped onto his kitchen table weeks earlier, his name handwritten in black ink on the front, the logo of the fashion house in rising up through thick card on the reverse.
Loki stared at it for days.
Then he opened it. And discarded it without further thought or discussion. It was you who pulled it from the chrome waste paper basket in the common area. He wasn’t going, he told you emphatically. It was too soon. He wasn’t ready. And why would he patronize them, anyway, when they had abandoned him during the crisis?
No. He wouldn’t go.
It was decided.
You offered a different perspective. It was a holiday party. A chance to have fun, spend time with friends, to go out and enjoy himself. You told him you could keep it low key. He groaned at the pun.
And here you were, sat on his lap and grinding creases into the Dior suit you photographed him in during his summertime lockdown.
“I always knew you guys would end up together.” The Russian was staring at you again.
“Really?” Her blond lover squinted. “Tell ya the truth, I thought I was gonna be with her, sure as eggs are eggs.”
You spoke up. “Well I thought I was gonna end up with her.” You pointed at Nat.
“Darling I would pay good money,” Loki drawled.
“Oh I’m sure.”
“Gonna break some hearts, Loki,” the Captain continued. “Ya know, now you’re spoken for, The Avengers are gonna need a new lothario.”
“Lothario? Really, Steven.” He was stunned into incredulity. “You will have to come up with a better name for yourself than that.”
The smug solider ceased adjusting his rolled up shirt sleeves and frowned. “You knew?”
“Please. The black shirt. The impeccably tailored – and rather snug, I may add – suit trousers. You may as well introduce yourself as Asgardian.”
“How do you even wear these things. So tight.” The soldier bucked his hips now. Natasha Romanoff bit her lip.
“You have put on a little weight, Rogers.”
“Hey.”
“It will be the spam, I suspect,” Loki retorted.
Steve smarmed, “Actually it’s Nat’s skills in the kitchen.”
“Yeah that’s what everyone loves about Agent Romanoff,” you chimed in. “That’s why everyone loves her TikTok thirst traps. Why she’s on the cover of every lads mag. Why she would absolutely kill it on Only Fans. Because of her great kitchen skills. Give you a clue Rogers, it rhymes with cooking.”
The Russian simply grinned in agreement.
“Alright alright.” He waved off a hand dismissively, theatrically nonchalant. He didn’t realise you could see him blush. He winced and grabbed a fistful of material around his crotch, pulling sharply downwards. His thighs did fill out the material, or was that his…..
“Christ, Rogers.” You weren’t sure if you spoke the words aloud.
“Your fan base will not stomach it. Mark my words. It’s quite an abrupt departure from America’s wartime sweetheart.”
The white, green and red lights outside of the blacked-out windows stole Natasha’s attention. She leaned towards the glass, starry eyed at the early December décor in Manhattan. She didn’t have many holidays. Only the ones prior to the Red Room. Since she moved to New York, the city’s holiday displays filled her with childlike wonder.
“What are you doing for Christmas?” she asked you both. Loki jerked a head towards you.
You remained in his lap, back facing him. “You just pointed at me, didn’t you.”
“Perhaps.” His muscular neck craned to view a billboard in the theatre district. Chicago. A smirk formed on mischievous pink lips. “Just think, Steven. You were only one choice away from Rogers: The Musical.”
Romanoff almost choked on air.
“Ah jeez. Here we go again. But ya know…” The soldier toyed with a rolled-up sleeve in a manner he hoped was coolly indifferent. “…it never woulda worked anyways. I’m no singer or dancer.”
You jostled in Loki’s lap as your raven-haired lover lost control of his laughter.
“Tell me you’re not serious,” Natasha drolled.
“Rogers!” Loki slapped his thigh. Or to be technical – your thigh. “They hire actors, Steven darling. ACTORS!” Steve blushed so fiercely he could have done a shift for Rudolph.
“We’re almost here!” You squeezed Loki’s knee as Steve muttered thank god under his breath. You shuffled off your partner’s thighs and smoothed down his blue tailored trousers as he straightened his shirt. “It’s gonna be okay, baby. They’re going to be happy to see you.” He felt your nose brush his ear, soft breath on his neck.
Impossibly sexy brows furrowed. “It was you I was rather more concerned about.”
“Me?” You punctuated the sentiment with an incredulous hand spread over your décolletage, shimmering with whatever body powder Natasha forced upon you earlier. “Loki I’ve done an event or two before.”
He whispered, eyes deep and sympathetic. “It’s different in front of the cameras. Trust me.” He swallowed, gaze falling indiscriminately to your lap. “I was rather used to public attention after my role on Asgard, but this…” his head turned towards the scene crawling into view outside blacked-out windows, “…is something else entirely. I used to feel rather panicked. Not to say you will. But if you do.” His large hand cupped your shoulder firmly. “I’m here.”
“Right, that’s our cue!” The solider scrambled off his leather seat, chasing Natasha as the limousine rolled to a stop. The assassin was already at the door. “Don’t leave it too long, divert the attention, remember.” Steve gave Loki one sage nod, hoping the two of you would be the main event and distract onlookers from his budding relationship with the Black Widow.
The two of you alone in the car now, Loki gazed at you adoringly, though you were too busy using your phone as a mirror, touching up the matte red lip you were sure was too much despite Nat’s insistence.
“You’re radiant, love.” Your eyes fell closed as he pressed his lips to your collarbone. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah.” When you swallowed, it felt like razorblades.
The last thing you were saw were the veins bulging over the backs of his hands as he pushed the door open from the inside, climbing out first and pulling you with him. The murmurs previously muffled behind glass now hit you in a tsunami of sound as lights flashed. All you saw was bright, white, blinding lights. Desperate photographers clamored, calling out his name with increasing urgency. You heard cheers, yelps, screams of excitement from a wall of Loki devotees. You hadn’t registered that the soles of your stilettos now touched the red carpet, guided forward by him. You were unaware of any sensation in your body at all. You stared straight ahead, mouth opening as though gasping for air, or words. You didn’t know it, but all he saw was you. His hand hadn’t left yours.
“Are you okay?”
You couldn’t hear him over the dull roar of the photographers calling out to you now, hundreds of shutter clicks ricocheting off the Dior vinyl backdrops, the sound mingling with the screams of his adoring fans. Your heart pounded in your throat. You couldn’t be sure who initiated the embrace, but the next thing you felt was your head against his chest. He embraced you, protecting you, shutting it out. Shutting it all out. Cameras flashed with the intensity of a nuclear bomb, long lenses frantically capturing the rare sight of Loki Laufeyson embracing a woman.
Was this the woman from the treatment center?
Who was she?
Was Lothario Loki a new man?
They asked themselves the questions as they snapped, headlines brewing like fresh coffee on a cold morning. Your eyes remained closed, yet you could see eager flickers behind closed eyelids, cameras continuing to flash like strobe lighting.
“Just breathe. Breathe for me, darling.” He held you firmly, fingertips pressing into your back hard enough to leave a mark. “Come on. Let’s go home. The car won’t have gotten far.”
“NO,” you mumbled into his shoulder. “This is your night.”
“It isn’t.”
You pulled away to see glassy green eyes boring into your soul. He brushed a strand of your hair, thick with event-strength product, behind your ear. “It doesn’t matter. I just want you to be okay.”
You smiled. Your eyes closed as his lips met your forehead. Lights flashed wildly.
Tomorrow, you would see this image on the front page of every newspaper at home and overseas.
Right now, in this moment, all you knew was him.
All you felt was him.
All you needed was him.
You squeezed his hand. You gave him one firm nod. Silently, he understood. He held your hand and didn’t let go as he led you through the bank of photographers and towards the awaiting press, ready for his interviews.
“Wait, Loki…. we should stop and let them get their shot.”
“Oh I think they have it,” he winked, squeezing your hand.
His arm tightened around your waist as you stood in front of the first reporter, pulling you into his side whilst he answered questions like a pro as though no time had passed at all. You recognised every interview technique he used so masterfully. Bridging from the question the journalist asked to the topic he actually wanted to talk about. Peppering in his key messages and teasing the release of his book by describing how he spent months in solitude, writing. A crafty call to action, hinting new information would be released about the book on his Instagram. He concluded each interview by flagging the points he wanted us remember, all while creating witty repartee and flashing a smile so perfect it would surely put dentists the world over out of business.
And you felt like a spare part.
Smiling.
Nodding.
Agreeing sweetly when Loki praised your support and credited you as the reason he’s the man he is today.
Acting coy when the interviewer pushed a little too hard in the direction of your relationship….
“Hey man! How long’s it been, like six years or what?”
You recognised the voice instantly from your phone call months earlier during the depths of your guerilla PR campaign.
“Bruce! My friend!” The sorcerer embraced the scientist, chatting briefly before turning to the camera and flattering Banner with a rare and poignant finger point, a gesture ordinarily reserved for private selfies in the tower with his friends.
Bruce made his excuses and left the interview, waving towards you unsubtly from the sidelines, accompanied by a stage whisper that turned heads. Cheeks flushed beneath foundation, and you squeezed Loki’s forearm and followed Bruce towards a quiet pocket at the end of the bank of reporters. “Nobody wants to interview the smart guy,” he shrugged. “You get pretty good at knowing where to hide. Anyway. How you been?”
You lost track of time in conversation with the affable academic, the camera clicks and red carpet cries seeming more like an ambient backing track on low volume than the overwhelming surround sound of earlier. You and Bruce watched the guests arriving and talking to their admirers, your gazes resting on Steve Rogers schmoozing with his new fan base. The soldier dropped to one knee as he signed a black-and-white photograph for an elderly lady positioned at the front of the bank of fans, a chic scarf around her neck juxtaposed by a cozy blanket over her lap.
“You think they watched the Facebook Live or what?” Bruce’s deadpan tone made you snicker, hinting at Rogers’ infamous lag in the technological advances of social media, appealing to the older demographic who also struggled to keep up.
From your vantage point fifty meters back, you could see Natasha roll her eyes at the scene, though her lips tugged into an affectionate smile. Despite her blushing, her tight black dress and red lips emitted the aura of bombshell-starlet-assassin.
“Should we tell him?” You didn’t take your eyes off the scene.
“That his fan base is the elderly?” Bruce’s cheeks dimpled with a smile. “Why ruin his fun.”
Steve knelt in front of the next salt-and-pepper haired fan, taking her hand and singing.
“Bruce, he thinks he’s gonna be the next Loki. You know, a lady’s man.”
“The ice did something to his brain.”
“Is that backed by science, Dr. Banner?”
He grinned. “Just a hunch.”
In a heartbeat, a figure came into view. Loki walked towards you, posture poised and gaze soft. A fellow dark-haired man followed him. But he didn’t share Loki’s gift of height.
He said he wouldn’t be here.
Motherf-
Whether it was extra sensory perception, one of his powers, or simply a very human gut feeling, you weren’t certain. But at that moment Loki glanced over his shoulder. And broke into a very public smile.
“Looking well, Morticia.” Tony Stark removed his sunglasses to punctuate his quip. He turned to you. “Good to see you out and about, Florence.”
You opened your mouth. Before you could respond, Tony cut in.
“You’re on the payroll now, so let’s keep it polite. And,” he opened his arms with the arrogance all wealthy men share, regardless of their looks, background or intellect – or lack thereof. “this too good to miss. The old team back together, talk about a perfect shot.” Two chunky fingers beckoned over a rogue photographer. His digits reminded you of chipolatas.
A young gangly paparazzo shuffled forwards, adjusting his large-rimmed brown glasses.
“Kid you’re about to bag the scoop of your career. Or at least tonight’s money shot.” As he talked shit, his authoritative hands commanded that you, Loki and Bruce gather around him and ready yourselves for the shot. You positioned yourself between Loki and Bruce. Poetically, the billionaire got in between you and your partner.
“C’mon kid,” Tony made an impatient circular motion with his finger. “time is money yada yada yada.”
The young photographer’s face disappeared behind a large black camera as he snapped the four of you. Tony’s hands rested on your shoulders. You continued to smile like a polished professional. Loki remained poised despite Tony’s proximity. He whispered something smug and vaguely menacing to your lover. You couldn’t quite hear what it was.
The tycoon clapped his hands together. “Alright, congrats, you got the money shot.” His tone was deadpan.
You all saw it at the same time. Steve and Natasha striding over to the group purposefully. Arrogance clouding his cognition, Stark would assume they were bound by duty to him, joining the throng like good little soldiers. You knew by Natasha’s steely glare that it was something different.
An intervention.
Protection.
For Loki.
For all of you.
“Kid, I swear on Bucky’s left arm, you better call your Mom to put a dollar on the Lotto. I’ve literally never seen luck like this.” He turned to you all. “Have you ever seen luck like this?”
Natasha took Tony’s hand with a honeyed smile. “Couples together, boss.” She winked at him, laying it on thicker than gravy on a dry Christmas dinner.
“Move over Banner, I’m bunking with you tonight.” He pointed at the junior photographer with mock seriousness. “That was a joke, Leibovitz.”
“God, Tony. He knew that.” Even Steve rolled his eyes. He looked at the young chap kindly. “I knew you knew that buddy.”
“Umm, Rogers.” Tony took on the tone of a teenage girl in a film from the early 2000’s. He waved his head in time with a circled finger. “The paparazzi are here.”
He looked up from his camera. “I-I’m a photojournalist.”
“Course you are. C’mon, get the shot. It’s like a nerd’s wet dream out here.”
“Stark, give the kid a break,” Natasha drawled as the flashes started.
Left to right, it would be Banner, Stark, you, Loki, Natasha and Steve. The image would reach page 6 on a handful of papers, and floated around online for a day before the image largely faded from collective consciousness. The candid image of you and your Loki, however, would remain timeless. An instant classic.
As the group broke apart, Natasha approached your new shutterbug friend and handed her card to him. She wanted some photos done, she told him. Tasteful. Classy. For a story she’d be releasing. It’d be an exclusive.
The budding photojournalist looked as though he was about to cum in his pants.
Steve stepped in. “I’ll be there. To be clear.”
“Y-yes Sir.” He cleared his throat as his voice cracked, stuffing the card into his pocket, thankful he had secured all he needed for this evening and he could leave the event that was every introvert’s worst nightmare.
“Looks like I’ve done my civic duty, first public outing and all.” He adjusted his cuffs as he awaited an answer. “No no, really, don’t all thank me at once.”
He walked away with an arrogance that made your blood boil.
“One shot, Laufeyson.” Natasha’s rich tones were like warm honey over bare skin. “One shot and he’s out. Wouldn’t even have time to put his suit on.”
“That’s very sweet, Natasha. But it will be unnecessary.” He smiled, and leaned in to whisper, “For today, at least.”
Minus Tony, or perhaps because of him, you all naturally gravitated towards the bar. “Apple juice in a wine glass, please,” you asked.
Loki’s arms snaked around you from behind. “May we make that two.” You felt hot breath on your ear. Away from the prying press and paparazzi, Loki melted into you. One step away from kissing your neck, he nuzzled into you like a cat on his favourite human.
You were Loki’s favourite human.
Of all the beings. In all the realms. You were his favourite.
Two glasses clinked on the acrylic bar, red and gold baubles fused permanently into translucent resin.
And then you heard it.
It was far away.
But it was clear as day.
As the barman swiped your card, you could hear the chants from outside.
BURN JADE WINTERS!
BURN JADE WINTERS!
BURN JADE WINTERS!
He felt your back muscles tense up. His caramel tones tickled the fine hairs inside your ears. “I’ll return shortly, darling.”
He wasn’t concerned about leaving you this time. You wouldn’t be alone. And with an assassin, a soldier and a scientist for company, there was plenty to talk about. You would have remained engaged in the conversation if it wasn’t for the glint of jewelry across the room. Its owner was walking towards you, her long blond hair flawless. Sleek black trousers set off enormous starched white sleeves, the top looking more celestial in original than your usual company.
As she approached the bar, graceful as a model and powerful as a gazelle, her wrist came into view. The sparkling jewelry was visible at this distance.
A diamond bracelet.
The diamond bracelet.
You looked up.
“It’s me, you fucking idiot!”
“Christ, Jessie!” You flung your arms around the starched fabric.
“I did say I’d be here, you plank.”
“You didn’t say you’d gone blonde! It looks amazing by the w– ”
“Yeah well, I ‘spose we can both have a dramatic entrance.” She winked warmly.
“Oh, me?”
“Yeah. You.” Jessie had been the definition of a good friend while Loki was in Phoenix. You had shared it all with her. From the tears to the misunderstandings to the deep conversations. She knew it all. The good. The bad. The Loki. “You, err…. you prepared?”
“For wh– ”
“For that image spreading faster than a tart’s legs on Deansgate.”
You almost choked on your apple juice.
Manicured hands slipped into a sleek black clutch, fishing out her phone. She found her most recent photo, holding up the screen to show the forehead kiss from her earlier vantage point. “You looked amazing. Two proper idiots in love.” She beamed.
The waft of bergamot invaded your senses, the scent of raw sexuality walking back towards you. The last time you stood at a bar with Loki in Jessie’s presence was a hot July evening back in Stark Tower. Only this time, at this bar, he wasn’t quite so repulsive to you.
He cocked a curious head. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“We have, actually,” she grinned. Her diamond infinity symbol caught the light.
“Oh. I can see that.”
“Actually Loki, this is Jessie.”
“Oh! Goodness! Jessie, I must apologise unreservedly.” He held out her hand and shook it. “I must thank you for being such a wonderful friend, she truly does talk about you all the time.”
“Aw, that’s nice,” she grinned. She nodded her head towards him animatedly while mouthing, “Now, yeah?”
You nodded. You could barely contain yourself.
“Alright. Alright fine.” She whet her lips in preparation for her short monologue. “So this blonde barnet here, it’s for a new film. I’m working with Gal Gadot – ”
“She’s lovely,” You interjected with a playful smile.
“No, she really is. Anyway, when we met, I looked a bit different. Dark hair. Just finished working on WonderWoman.” Jessie raised her eyebrows for dramatic effect.
Loki squinted. “I’m not quite sure I follow.”
“Well. We met at the premier.”
“I’m not certain we did.”
“You slept with Gal that night, didn’t you.”
“She told you?”
“No.” She cleared her throat. “I’m Gal.” She paused. “It was me.”
There wasn’t much that rendered him speechless. But Loki took a solid twenty seconds to formulate a response.
“You’re telling me you convinced me of this, and since then, I have–” he looked at you nervously, “may have – bragged about bedding the legendary Ms. Gadot when in actuality it was your good self.”
“Yep.” You better believe Jessie popped the P. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you that Gal Gadot’s not on your hit list.”
Loki shrugged. “And she never will be.” He looked to you. “I’m sorry, that was terribly crude of me – ”
“Is the Harry Styles rumour true though?” Jessie leaned in and attempted to lower her tone. Steve still turned around. Nat smirked. Without missing a beat, you handed Loki his wine glass. He sipped purposefully, wishing it was a little stronger.
“That was a long time ago.”
You gasped.
Jessie squealed. “I fucking knew it!!!” In one swift motion, she knocked back her wine. “Is that what’s in the book, by the way? Are you kissing and telling? Like Lizzo says, are all the rumours true?” She drew in an animated breath. “Did you fuck Lizzo??”
If laughter was a possible cause of death, you would have sworn your life was in danger.
Loki groaned. “The pair of two are insufferable, you do realise.”
You both cackled in chorus.
Jessie slipped off her bracelet and handed it to you, as agreed. She whispered. “Thank you for letting me do that, hope it was okay and not too far.”
“Jessie, as always, you were absolutely iconic.”
“Hey is that a Manchester accent I hear?” Banner’s dulcet tones, already slurring after a beer, rang through the air like sleigh bells as he rounded the bar. In a heartbeat, he was talking Jessie’s ear off about his local pub “back home” in Manchester, located opposite the University of Manchester where he lectured.
“Was that you?” Your feather light touch of your fingertips tickled the back of Loki’s hand, digits grazing the cuff of his white shirt sleeve buttoned up tightly around his wrist.
“Hmm?”
“The chanting about Jade, baby. It’s stopped.”
“Oh. Yes. I, umm…. I had a word. And took a couple of photographs in return.”
“You asked them to stop chanting about Jade?”
“Is that so surprising?”
“I suppose… I guess I just want to – ”
“Understand.”
“Yeah.”
“Alright.” He leaned against the bar, turning to you, holding your hand in front of him as he spoke. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over your gold signet ring. “There’s a phrase we have on Asgard. Wyrd & Orlog. It’s Old Norse, loosely translating to cause and effect. What we do, impacts what we experience. It’s similar to the earthly notion of karma.”
“So Jade will get her justice. And you trust in your Gods to deliver it.”
“More or less, yes. And in return, I must ensure I act with integrity.”
“Loki Laufeyson.” You shook your head, not quite believing how in six months, you found yourself in a completely different reality. “You, a man of integrity.”
“Well if you insist on wearing such scandalous garments in public, my newfound principles may become compromised.” A fresh wave of his scent washed over you as he placed his lips to your collarbone in full view of the Dior holiday party guests. “Now. Where was I, in the car earlier? Oh yes.” He assumed his position behind you, arm snaked around your hips, pressing his body into yours, holding you, enveloping you, dominating and protecting you all at once.
Your tummy pressed into the edge of the bar as you glanced around the room to see Natasha looking up at Steve with adoration, his rolled up sleeves back in their more wholesome position, buttoned loosely at his wrist. You noticed Jessie talking to Bruce. You turned in Loki’s arms and looked up to see him. Sensing your pensive state, he smiled softly, eyes lightly glazing over with emotion. He placed his arms around your back and you rested your head against his chest.
All you could smell was bergamot.
And all you could feel was him.
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Transgressions Blotted Out
I have blotted out, as a thick cloud, thy transgressions, and, as a cloud, thy sins: return unto me; for I have redeemed thee. — Isaiah 44:22 | Authorized King James Version (AKJV) The Holy Bible: Authorized King James Version; Cambridge University Press, the Crown’s patentee in the UK. All rights reserved. Cross References: 2 Chronicles 6:21; Psalm 51:1; Psalm 51:9; Isaiah 1:18; Isaiah 31:6; Isaiah 33:24; Isaiah 41:14; Isaiah 43:1; Isaiah 43:25; Isaiah 48:20; Isaiah 55:7; Jeremiah 33:8; Zechariah 1:3; Acts 3:19; 1 Corinthians 6:20; 1 Peter 1:18-19
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Notes: This verse calls us to turn to God. By faith in Christ, when He sees us He doesn't see our sin. He sees the very righteousness of Jesus. This is what redemption means, that when we stand before our holy God, the price for our sins have been paid, and they are wiped away. They're gone like mist.
It's Not Too Late
Do you get frustrated because it seems no matter how hard you try you keep making the same bad choices over and over again? the problem is this: anytime you take your eyes off Christ, you are lost! Unless you are walking with Jesus and holding His hand, failure is certain. Without Holy Spirit guidance, you’ll make bad choices and mistakes and because of human tendency to sin, it WILL happen. You simply cannot live a godly life without a close relationship with Jesus Christ! If you’ve drifted so far away from God that you think it’s too late, think again! God is a God of forgiveness and a God of second chances! All you need to do is cry out, “Jesus, save me!” Those three words are the most powerful prayer you can pray. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done - it’s not too late! If you have hurt your loved ones, destroyed your marriage, stole from your co-worker, fell off the wagon after being clean and sober, or any other wrongful act reach out and take God’s outstretched hand, and start over again! The Bible says in Daniel 9:9, “The Lord our God is merciful and forgiving, even though we have rebelled against him.” It doesn’t matter your transgression, or how low you have fallen, it’s not too late! Jesus paid the price for your sins on Calvary and He forgives. He loves you unconditionally and will welcome you back into His arms of safety. The Bible says in Ephesians 1:7, “In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace.” Starting over may seem impossible, but with God “all things are possible” (Matthew 19:26). If you have drifted away from God, make the choice today to start over by confessing your sins and accepting God’s forgiveness. It’s not too late. Text: Ephesians 2:4-6, Psalm 6:4, Hebrews 10:17, Acts 3:19
Bible Texts:
Ephesians 2:4-6 KJV - But God, who is rich in mercy, for his great love wherewith he loved us, Even when we were dead in sins, hath quickened us together with Christ, (by grace ye are saved;) And hath raised [us] up together, and made [us] sit together in heavenly [places] in Christ Jesus:
Psalm 6:4 KJV - Return, O LORD, deliver my soul: oh save me for thy mercies' sake.
Hebrews 10:17 KJV - And their sins and iniquities will I remember no more.
Acts 3:19 KJV - Repent ye therefore, and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out, when the times of refreshing shall come from the presence of the Lord;
Verse of the Day - Isaiah 53:5
looking up in the mirror and i can't say that i’m seeing much, maybe this diamond chain will hide the fact i’ll never be enough
🖤 I'll take my time, it's called fucking patience (Patience)
One day I'll take pride in who I am, and feel the pain less (Grr)
Without the word "Grey", you can't spell the word "greatness" (Greatness)
Put my heart in the box and give you the key hoping we'll share the same chest🖤
Ed Sinclair & Olivia Colman's South of the River Pictures and Sister have announced the winner of their Screenshot 2023 competition that seeks out emerging comedy writer-performers.The scheme provides successful applicants with the opportunity to develop their original idea from stage to screen.
The winner was Chris Nelson, whose alter ego Sue Gives a F**k, grew out of the London club and ball scenes, took to the stage as professional escort and dominatrix Chrissie to perform Transgressions; a “whip-smart, disarmingly grounded confessional comedy about cross dressing, sex work and knowing ‘when a dick is just a dick’ with Olivia Colman saying “Chris’s unique talent is finding gentleness and humanity in every aspect of her comedy, and making the specific supremely accessible – hilarious, expectation-defying and utterly joyous!” Nelson will now be brought onto the Sister/South of the River development slates and commissioned to write a pilot episode of Transgressions.
Chris Nelson says “ Without giving too much away, I don’t know how many production companies would have the balls for my project so I’m extraordinarily grateful to Sister and SOTR for taking a chance on this cross-dressing dominatrix. It often feels like you need an agent to get work and work to get an agent so the way this competition creates a route into the industry feels really special. That said, no one in my office seems to understand that Olivia Colman gave me a trophy and that it isn’t appropriate to treat me like an administrator when actually, I am Beyonce.”