sliding down the surface of things @xorpsbane - Tumblr Blog

hi again! can i just req part 2 for mr grinch with loki laufeyson? you can make it however you want, i dont mind. thank you!!! 💕

MR. GRINCH - part II

⤷ LOKI LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.8k

ᯓ★ Summary: just when you thought you and loki were a couple he suddenly starts acting coldly to you, why? what will you do?

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ Part I

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The holidays pass in a blur of laughter, warmth, and stolen moments with Loki. The decorations are taken down, the tree dragged out of the common room, and the Tower returns to its usual rhythm of missions, training sessions, and quiet evenings. But something has shifted between you and Loki—something unspoken yet undeniable.

You’re not exactly a couple. No one has officially asked anything, and there’s been no grand declaration of feelings. But there’s an intimacy between you now, a magnetism that neither of you bothers to resist.

It starts small. His hand brushing yours as you walk past each other in the hallway, a touch so fleeting you’re not sure it was deliberate until it happens again. The way his gaze lingers on you during team briefings, his sharp green eyes softening when they meet yours. The moments of silence when you’re alone together in the common room, the air thick with tension until one of you closes the distance, lips colliding in a kiss that’s anything but chaste.

The first time it happens, you’re both pretending to read—him with one of his leather-bound books, you with your tablet. The room is quiet, save for the occasional hum of Jarvis. Loki is seated in his usual spot on the couch, legs crossed, looking every bit the picture of composure. But you can feel his eyes on you, a subtle heat prickling at the back of your neck.

“You’re staring,” you say without looking up.

“And you’re imagining things,” he counters, his tone smooth, but when you glance at him, there’s a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Am I?” you challenge, setting your tablet down.

In an instant, his book is forgotten, and he’s beside you, his hand slipping behind your neck to pull you closer. The kiss is slow and deliberate, his lips moving against yours with practiced ease. Your fingers find the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric as his other hand settles on your waist, grounding you.

When you finally pull apart, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin. Neither of you says a word, but the look in his eyes tells you everything you need to know.

From that moment on, it becomes a pattern. You’re not sure who starts it most of the time—whether it’s you pulling him into an empty hallway after a meeting, or him catching you by the wrist as you pass his room late at night. What you do know is that you can’t seem to keep your hands off each other.

In public, Loki is subtler, but not by much. His hand is always on you—in the small of your back as you walk into a room, on your thigh during team dinners, or brushing against your arm when no one’s looking. At first, you’re hyper-aware of it, your heart racing every time he touches you, but soon it becomes second nature. You lean into his touch without thinking, and he seems to revel in the silent acknowledgment of your connection.

The others notice, of course. Natasha raises an eyebrow when she catches Loki’s hand resting on your knee during a movie night. Steve clears his throat awkwardly when he walks into the common room to find you and Loki standing a little too close, your cheeks flushed. Even Tony, ever the instigator, can’t resist making a comment.

“Didn’t take you for the touchy-feely type, Reindeer Games,” Tony quips one evening, gesturing to where Loki’s hand is casually resting on your hip.

Loki doesn’t miss a beat. “Perhaps you should try it sometime, Stark. It might improve your charm.”

You stifle a laugh, hiding your face in Loki’s shoulder, and he squeezes your hip in silent amusement.

Despite the teasing, no one questions the arrangement—or whatever it is you and Loki have. If anything, the team seems relieved to see Loki more at ease, less inclined to his usual aloofness.

It’s behind closed doors, though, where the walls between you truly fall away. The nights you spend together are a stark contrast to his controlled demeanor in public. In the privacy of your room—or his—Loki is all-consuming. His hands explore every inch of you with reverence, his lips tracing paths of fire along your skin. He’s both demanding and tender, his touch igniting something in you that you didn’t know was there.

One night, after a particularly grueling mission, you find yourself in his room. You’re still wearing your tactical gear, dirt streaked across your face, but the moment you step inside, Loki is on you. He pulls you into a searing kiss, his hands cradling your face as if he’s afraid you might disappear.

“You were reckless,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and strained.

“I was fine,” you reply, though your breath hitches as his hands slide down to your waist.

“You could have been hurt,” he says, his forehead pressing against yours. “I cannot—” He cuts himself off, his grip tightening.

“I’m here,” you whisper, your hands threading through his hair. “I’m okay.”

His response is wordless, his lips capturing yours again in a kiss that’s more fervent than any before. That night, he doesn’t let you out of his sight, his touch a constant reminder of how deeply he cares, even if he doesn’t say the words out loud.

But it’s not always intense. Some nights, you simply lie together, his arm draped over your waist as you trace idle patterns on his chest. He tells you stories of Asgard, his voice lulling you into a peaceful haze, and you share snippets of your life before the Avengers.

“You’re infuriating, you know,” he says one night, his tone teasing but his eyes soft.

“Why’s that?” you ask, propping yourself up on one elbow to look at him.

“Because you’ve made yourself indispensable,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “And now I find myself… attached.”

You laugh, leaning down to kiss him. “Good. I’d hate to think I’ve been wasting my time.”

The days blur into weeks, the rhythm of your lives falling into an unspoken balance. You’re not quite sure when—or if—you’ll ever define what you are to each other, but for now, it doesn’t seem to matter. The touches, the kisses, the quiet nights spent tangled in each other’s arms—they’re enough.

What surprises you most, though, is how effortlessly Loki becomes a part of your life. He still maintains his sharp wit and dry humor, still manages to irritate Tony and charm Natasha in equal measure, but there’s a warmth to him now that wasn’t there before. And every time he looks at you, his eyes soften in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

One evening, as you’re sitting together in the common room, Loki’s hand resting on your thigh, you realize that somewhere along the way, he’s become more than just a part of your life. He’s become your safe haven, your anchor in a world that’s constantly shifting.

And as his fingers tighten ever so slightly on your leg, you know he feels the same.

Time moves forward, unrelenting as ever, and the quiet rhythm of your life with Loki begins to feel like second nature. The kisses, the touches, the stolen nights together—they become your normal. You don’t question it anymore. You don’t feel the need to define it.

Until, slowly but surely, you do.

At first, the realization sneaks up on you in subtle ways. It’s in the way you automatically make him a cup of tea when you’re in the kitchen, just the way he likes it. The way you save the corner of the couch for him during movie nights because you know he hates sitting anywhere else. It’s in the way your heart flutters when his hand grazes yours in passing, or when his lips brush the top of your head absentmindedly as he passes by.

You start calling him “Loki” less and “Lo” more, a nickname you didn’t realize had slipped into your vocabulary until he raised a bemused eyebrow at you one evening, only to chuckle softly and let it slide.

And it’s not just you. Loki has his own quiet ways of claiming you. His hand is always on you when you’re in the same room—your lower back, your knee, the curve of your shoulder. When you’re talking to the others, his gaze lingers on you, a protective glint in his eyes as though he’s silently reminding everyone that you’re his.

It’s the way he leaves little notes for you to find, written in elegant Asgardian script. “Don’t forget your gloves,” one reads, tucked under your keys on a particularly cold morning. Another, slipped into your book, simply says, “I’m thinking of you.”

You tell yourself it’s silly, but you can’t help it. You start to think of the two of you as a couple. You don’t talk about it explicitly, but in your mind, there’s no question. The way you act, the way he acts—it feels inevitable, like a line you’ve crossed together without even noticing.

You start leaning into it, subtly at first. You joke about him in front of the others—nothing too revealing, just playful remarks that make Clint raise an eyebrow or Natasha smirk knowingly. You stop hiding the way you smile when he’s near, and you let yourself daydream about what it might be like if he asked you to dinner, if he took your hand in front of the team and made it official.

But then something changes.

It starts small, almost imperceptible at first. Loki doesn’t hold your gaze as long as he used to. His touches, once constant and deliberate, become more fleeting, as if he’s pulling away without pulling away entirely. He still kisses you, still touches you when no one’s watching, but there’s a distance now—a hesitation in the way his fingers brush against yours, a tension in the space between you.

You try to ignore it, chalking it up to a mood or a bad day. But as the days turn into weeks, the shift becomes undeniable. He no longer seeks you out as often as he used to. The nights you spend together become fewer and farther between. And though he still smiles at you, still teases you with his sharp wit, there’s something guarded in his expression now, a wall you can’t seem to breach.

It hurts. You don’t understand it, and the not understanding is the worst part.

You try not to dwell on it, throwing yourself into missions and training, but the weight of his absence lingers. You tell yourself you should confront him, demand to know what’s changed—but every time you think about it, your chest tightens with fear. What if he’s changed his mind? What if he’s decided that you aren’t what he wants?

You don’t know if you could bear to hear him say it.

So instead, you retreat into yourself, mirroring his distance with your own. You stop lingering in the common room, avoiding the places where he might find you. You laugh a little too loudly at Clint’s jokes, smile a little too brightly when Tony teases you—anything to keep the ache in your chest from showing.

Loki notices. Of course he does.

One evening, as you’re standing by the window in the common room, staring out at the city lights, he approaches you. You hear his footsteps before you see him, and your heart leaps in a way you wish it wouldn’t.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice low and cautious.

You turn to face him, forcing a smile. “Hey.”

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You laugh, the sound brittle in your own ears. “Avoiding you? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he says, his tone sharper now, though there’s no malice in it.

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to the floor. “I just… figured you needed space,” you say quietly.

His brow furrows, and for a moment, he looks almost guilty. But then his jaw tightens, and he steps back, as if putting more distance between you. “Perhaps that’s for the best.”

The words hit you like a blow, and you feel your smile falter. “Right,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Of course. Whatever you want.”

He doesn’t respond, and you don’t wait for him to. You turn and walk away, your heart pounding in your chest as you disappear down the hallway.

The days that follow are excruciating. You do your best to act like everything is fine, but the truth is, you feel like you’re unraveling. You miss him—miss the way he used to look at you, the way he used to touch you without hesitation. But you can’t bring yourself to ask him what’s wrong, terrified that the answer will shatter you completely.

For his part, Loki seems as conflicted as you are. He watches you from across the room during meetings, his gaze heavy with something you can’t quite place. He still touches you occasionally—a hand on your arm, a brush of his fingers against yours—but the moments are fleeting, and they leave you more confused than ever.

One night, as you lie awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, you wonder how much longer you can go on like this. You feel like you’re walking on a tightrope, suspended between hope and despair, and the tension is slowly pulling you apart.

But even as you consider confronting him, a small voice in the back of your mind whispers the same fear over and over: What if he doesn’t want you anymore?

You don’t know if you can handle the answer.

So you wait, hoping that somehow, some way, the pieces will fall back into place. But deep down, you know that things can’t stay like this forever.

Something has to give.

Natasha is the first to notice something is wrong. You’re not sure how she does it, given how hard you’ve been trying to hide the cracks, but she does. Maybe it’s the way your laughter doesn’t reach your eyes anymore, or the way you’ve started retreating to your room more often than not. Whatever the reason, she corners you one afternoon in the training room, her sharp gaze pinning you in place.

“You’re not okay,” she says simply, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.

You try to wave her off, plastering on the fake smile you’ve perfected over the past few weeks. “I’m fine, Nat. Just tired.”

“Bullshit,” she replies bluntly. “Something’s up, and it’s been up for a while. Spill.”

Her no-nonsense tone is enough to break through the fragile wall you’ve built around yourself. Before you know it, your shoulders are slumping, and the tears you’ve been holding back for what feels like forever begin to pool in your eyes. Natasha’s expression softens immediately, and she steps closer, resting a hand on your arm.

“Hey,” she says gently. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

And just like that, the dam bursts. The words come tumbling out, broken and messy, as you finally let yourself say everything you’ve been bottling up. You tell her about Loki, about how close the two of you had become, about the way he started pulling away and how you don’t understand why. You tell her how much it hurts, how you’ve been trying so hard to keep it together but feel like you’re falling apart.

Natasha listens quietly, her expression unreadable, until you’re finished. When you finally stop, sniffling and wiping at your eyes, she hands you a tissue from her pocket and gives you a moment to collect yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, embarrassed by your outburst. “I didn’t mean to unload all of that.”

“Don’t apologize,” she says firmly. “You needed to get it out. Now, we figure out what to do about it.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know what I did wrong.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow slightly, and she tilts her head as if considering something. “You sure it’s about you? Loki’s… complicated. He’s got more walls up than most people I’ve met, and that’s saying something.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” you say bitterly, though the anger is directed more at yourself than him.

Natasha pauses for a moment, then smirks. It’s the kind of smirk that makes you wary, like she’s already come up with a plan you’re not sure you’ll like.

“Okay,” she says. “If he’s being a coward about whatever this is, let’s give him a little push.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“Make him think you’ve moved on,” she says simply. “If he cares about you, really cares, seeing you with someone else will light a fire under him.”

Your stomach twists at the thought. “I don’t know, Nat…”

“Do you want to sit around waiting for him to make a decision, or do you want to know where you stand?” she asks, her tone matter-of-fact.

You hate that she’s right. As much as the idea makes your heart ache, you can’t keep living in limbo. So you nod reluctantly, and Natasha grins like she’s won a bet.

A couple of days later, you put the plan into action. You stand in front of your mirror, staring at your reflection in the dress Natasha picked out for you. It’s short, clingy, and far more revealing than anything you’d normally wear, but Natasha insisted it was perfect for making a statement.

“This feels ridiculous,” you mutter as you adjust the straps.

“You look amazing,” Natasha says from where she’s lounging on your bed. “Trust me, this’ll work.”

You hesitate for a moment longer, then square your shoulders and head out of your room. Loki is sitting in the common room when you walk in, a book in his hands. At the sound of your heels clicking against the floor, his gaze lifts—and freezes.

For a moment, you see something flash in his eyes: surprise, maybe even something like jealousy. But then it’s gone, replaced by a mask of indifference. He raises an eyebrow, his lips curving into a faint smirk.

“Going somewhere?” he asks, his tone casual.

You force yourself to smile, even though your chest feels tight. “Yeah. Got a date.”

Loki’s expression doesn’t change. He simply nods, returning his attention to his book as if your words mean nothing. “Enjoy yourself,” he says, his voice cool and detached.

His lack of reaction feels like a punch to the gut. You manage to keep your composure until you’re out of the room, but as soon as the elevator doors close behind you and Natasha, the tears spill over.

“He didn’t even care,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “I thought—”

Natasha pulls you into a hug, letting you cry against her shoulder. “Hey, don’t jump to conclusions. He’s Loki. He hides everything.”

You end up spending the “date” at a quiet restaurant with Natasha, who orders your favorite dishes and lets you vent between bites. But no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, you can’t shake the image of Loki’s indifferent expression. It feels like confirmation of your worst fear: that you’ve been fooling yourself this entire time.

When you return to the Tower, your resolve is paper-thin. Natasha notices and gives you a look as you step out of the elevator.

“I still think there’s more going on here,” she says. “But if you’re not ready to talk to him, there’s someone else who might be able to help.”

“Who?” you ask, though you already have a sinking suspicion of the answer.

“Thor,” she says. “If anyone knows what’s going on in Loki’s head, it’s him.”

The idea makes you nervous, but at this point, you’re desperate for answers. So the next morning, you find yourself knocking on Thor’s door, fidgeting anxiously as you wait for him to answer.

When the door opens, Thor greets you with his usual boisterous enthusiasm, though his expression quickly softens when he sees the look on your face.

“What troubles you, my friend?” he asks, gesturing for you to come in.

You take a deep breath, then launch into an explanation, doing your best to summarize everything without breaking down. Thor listens attentively, his brow furrowing as you speak.

When you’re finished, he nods slowly. “I see,” he says. “My brother has always been… difficult when it comes to matters of the heart.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair. “I just don’t get it. One minute, everything was fine, and then he just… pulled away.”

Thor’s expression is thoughtful. “Loki has been hurt many times in his life. He does not trust easily, and when he feels vulnerable, his first instinct is often to push others away.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up. “But why? I haven’t done anything to hurt him.”

“No,” Thor agrees. “But his fear is not rational. It is rooted in his past, in wounds that have not yet healed.”

The words hit you like a revelation, and you suddenly feel a mix of anger and sadness—not at Loki, but for him. You’ve always known he carried a heavy burden, but you hadn’t realized how deeply it affected him.

“So what do I do?” you ask quietly. “How do I fix this?”

Thor’s gaze is kind but serious. “That is something only you can decide. But if you truly care for him, you must be patient. He may not say it, but he cares for you as well. I am certain of it.”

His words give you a glimmer of hope, though the path forward still feels uncertain. But as you leave Thor’s room, you feel a renewed sense of determination. If Loki is worth anything—and you know he is—then he’s worth fighting for.

Now all you have to do is figure out how to reach him.

You’re tired of avoiding him. You’re tired of the distance, the misunderstandings, and the ache that’s been gnawing at you for weeks. After your conversation with Thor, you realize you can’t let this linger any longer. If Loki is too stubborn or scared to face whatever’s going on between you, then you’ll have to be the one to break through his walls.

The opportunity presents itself later that evening when you find Loki in the hallway, heading toward his room. He sees you coming and immediately averts his gaze, his shoulders stiffening as he quickens his pace.

“Loki,” you call after him, your voice firm.

He doesn’t stop.

“Loki, stop!” you say more insistently, jogging to catch up to him.

He ignores you, pushing open the door to his room and stepping inside. Before he can close it, you wedge your hand against the frame and slip in after him.

“What are you doing?” he asks sharply, turning to face you with a scowl.

“Talking to you,” you reply, your tone unwavering. “Something we should have done weeks ago.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says curtly, moving toward the desk on the far side of the room.

“Bullshit,” you say, anger sparking in your chest. “You’ve been avoiding me, pulling away for no reason, and I deserve to know why.”

Loki doesn’t respond, his back to you as he fiddles with a book on the desk.

“Loki, look at me,” you demand, your voice softening despite your frustration.

He doesn’t.

“Fine,” you say, stepping closer. “If you won’t look at me, then I’ll keep talking until you do. I know something’s wrong, and I know it’s not just in my head. So whatever it is, just say it. Please.”

For a moment, the room is silent except for the sound of your breathing. Then, finally, Loki turns to face you, his jaw clenched, his eyes darker than usual.

“You want to know what’s wrong?” he says, his voice low and tight. “Fine. I know about your little rendezvous with Thor.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“Don’t play coy,” he snaps, his voice dripping with bitterness. “I saw you leaving his room this morning.”

Realization dawns on you, and you feel a laugh bubble up despite the tension in the room.

“Are you serious?” you say, incredulous.

Loki’s expression darkens further, his gaze narrowing. “Do you find this amusing?”

“Yes,” you admit, crossing your arms. “Because you’re jumping to conclusions. Thor wasn’t my date, Loki. Natasha was.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “Natasha?”

“Yes,” you say, shaking your head. “We went out for dinner last night, and I spent half the evening crying to her about you. And as for this morning, I went to talk to Thor because Nat suggested he might be able to help me figure out what’s been going on with you.”

Loki’s lips part slightly, as if he’s about to say something, but no words come.

“I can’t believe this,” you continue, your voice cracking slightly. “You thought I was with Thor, and instead of talking to me about it, you just shut me out? Do you have any idea how much that’s hurt?”

He flinches at your words, guilt flickering across his face.

“I thought—” he begins, then stops, running a hand through his hair. “I thought you’d moved on.”

“Moved on?” you repeat, your voice rising. “Loki, how could I move on when I—” You cut yourself off, the words catching in your throat.

“When you what?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitate, your heart pounding. Then, summoning all your courage, you take a step closer to him.

“When I’m in love with you,” you say quietly.

The silence that follows feels deafening. Loki stares at you, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve made a terrible mistake.

But then he speaks, his voice trembling slightly. “You… love me?”

“Yes,” you say, tears welling up in your eyes. “I do. And it’s been killing me to watch you pull away without knowing why.”

Loki closes his eyes, exhaling shakily. When he opens them again, they’re filled with something raw and vulnerable.

“I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved,” he says, his voice breaking. “My mother, my father, my home… And every time, it’s been because they were taken from me or because they chose someone else over me.” He looks away, his jaw tightening. “I thought if I distanced myself from you, I could protect myself from losing you, too. But I’ve only made things worse, haven’t I?”

Your heart aches at his confession, and you step closer, reaching out to take his hands in yours. He tenses at first but doesn’t pull away.

“Loki,” you say softly, “I’m not going anywhere. And I’m certainly not choosing anyone over you. But you have to let me in. You have to trust me.”

He looks down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as if testing the reality of your touch.

“I do trust you,” he says finally, his voice barely audible. “More than anyone. That’s why it scares me so much.”

“Then stop running,” you say gently. “Stop pushing me away.”

Loki meets your gaze, and for the first time in weeks, you see a glimmer of the man you fell for—the man who once made you laugh so effortlessly, who kissed you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For everything.”

You shake your head, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Just don’t do it again, okay?”

“I won’t,” he promises, his voice firm.

For a moment, neither of you move. Then, slowly, he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs.

“Yes, you do,” you reply, closing the distance between you and capturing his lips in a soft, tender kiss.

It’s not the heated, desperate kind of kiss you’ve shared before. It’s something deeper, something that feels like a promise—a beginning rather than an end.

When you finally pull back, Loki rests his hands on your waist, his touch warm and steady.

“I love you,” he says, the words tentative but sincere.

A smile breaks through your tears, and you reach up to cup his face. “I love you, too.”

And for the first time in weeks, the ache in your chest begins to fade, replaced by something far more powerful: hope.

That night, everything changes.

After weeks of longing and misunderstandings, being in Loki's arms again feels like a balm to your soul. The vulnerability you’d both laid bare had pulled you closer than ever, and now there’s nothing holding either of you back.

Loki kisses you again, this time with a hunger that ignites something deep within you. His hands cup your face, his long fingers threading into your hair, as if he’s trying to make up for all the time he wasted keeping himself away from you. You respond with equal fervor, your hands exploring the familiar lines of his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

He pulls back for a moment, his emerald eyes searching yours. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice low and hoarse, laced with an unspoken need.

You answer by pulling him back to you, your lips brushing his as you murmur, “More than anything.”

The passion between you builds, spilling over as Loki sweeps you into his arms. You barely notice him guiding you toward the bed until your back meets the soft mattress. He hovers over you, his gaze drinking you in as if you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“Gods,” he breathes, his voice reverent. “You are exquisite.”

Heat blooms across your skin at the way he looks at you, like you’re something sacred. His hands are gentle yet firm as he trails them down your body, his lips following their path with a devotion that leaves you breathless.

That night is a blur of whispered promises, stolen breaths, and tangled sheets. You lose yourself in Loki completely, feeling the depth of his love in every kiss, every touch. It’s not just passion—it’s something far more profound, something that makes you feel whole in a way you never have before.

When it’s over, you lie tangled together, your head resting on his chest as his fingers trace lazy patterns along your back. For the first time in weeks, the ache that had settled in your chest is gone, replaced by a warmth that feels like home.

“I’ve missed this,” you murmur sleepily, your fingers brushing over the cool metal of his necklace.

“As have I,” Loki replies, his voice soft and filled with emotion. “And I swear to you, I will never let my fears come between us again.”

You smile against his skin, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go.”

His arms tighten around you, and as sleep claims you, you know you’ve finally found something real, something that won’t break so easily.

The next morning, everything feels different, though it’s a welcome kind of different. When you wake, Loki is still there, his arm draped over your waist as he sleeps peacefully beside you. You take a moment to admire him, your heart swelling with affection as you brush a strand of hair from his face.

His eyes flutter open at your touch, and a small smile curves his lips. “Good morning, my love,” he murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep.

“Good morning,” you reply, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips.

It’s the kind of moment you’ve dreamed about for weeks, and now that it’s real, you never want it to end.

As the days pass, it becomes clear to everyone in the Tower that things between you and Loki have changed. This time, there’s no ambiguity, no games. You’re together, and you’re not hiding it.

Natasha is the first to notice, of course. She corners you in the kitchen one morning, her arms crossed and a smug grin on her face.

“So,” she says, leaning against the counter. “You and Loki, huh?”

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “Yeah,” you admit, feeling a warmth rise in your cheeks.

“About time,” she teases, giving you a playful nudge. “I’m happy for you. And, for the record, I knew he’d come around.”

“Thanks, Nat,” you say, rolling your eyes but unable to keep the grin off your face.

Thor is equally pleased, though far less subtle about it. He claps Loki on the back so hard it nearly sends him stumbling, his booming laugh echoing through the common room.

“Finally, brother!” Thor exclaims, beaming at the two of you. “I was beginning to think I’d have to intervene!”

Loki groans, muttering something under his breath, but you catch the faint smile on his lips.

The other Avengers, however, are a bit more… affected by your newfound affection.

It starts small—a hand on Loki’s arm, his fingers brushing yours as you pass in the hallway—but it quickly escalates. Loki, it seems, has no intention of keeping his hands to himself. Whether it’s a hand on your lower back as you walk into the room, his arm draped casually over your shoulders during team meetings, or the way he pulls you into his lap when you’re sitting on the couch, he makes it clear to everyone that you’re his.

At first, the team just exchanges knowing looks, but it doesn’t take long before the comments start.

“Get a room,” Tony quips one afternoon, waving a hand at you and Loki as the two of you share a quick kiss in the common room.

“We have one,” Loki replies smoothly, not even bothering to look up.

Tony groans, throwing his hands in the air. “Why did we ever let him stay here?”

Steve, ever the gentleman, tries to be polite about it, though his awkwardness is obvious. “It’s… nice to see you two happy,” he says one evening, though he pointedly avoids looking at you as Loki’s hand rests on your thigh.

Clint, on the other hand, takes every opportunity to make a joke. “You guys are worse than teenagers,” he says with a grin, dodging the pillow you throw at him.

Despite their teasing, it’s clear that the team is happy for you—though they might wish you’d tone down the PDA just a little.

But you don’t care. After everything you and Loki have been through, you’re done hiding. You’re done holding back.

And as Loki pulls you into his arms one evening, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs something only for you to hear, you know you wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.

Because this—Loki, the Avengers, the life you’ve built together—is everything you’ve ever wanted. And this time, you’re not letting go.