#Loki: so we get away with carrying half of the supply weight than we would otherwise. ??

[imagine-loki]

Toxic

TITLE: Toxic

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: One-shot

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki loves telling everyone that he fears nothing and no one. Tony asks him to check in on Character, who has been in a pissy mood all week. Loki chuckles. “Oh, I fear no one, but I’m not suicidal.”

+

The first sign that Loki was a soft boy wasn’t anything big or particularly mushy. He stopped on the street and got down on one knee to help a boy whose laces had come undone and was struggling to do them up himself.

RATING: T

NOTES/WARNINGS: I entirely forgot about this one-shot in my drafts. I kinda lost steam with it and I decided to post it kind of unedited, so there should be errors and boring valleys galore! Language! Reference to suicide.

SUMMARY: Lily is usually a sweetheart, but there’s a bit of poison flowing through her veins, right now. Meanwhile, Loki has a short bout of good conscience. 

=

“Where are you going?”

Lily jumped, startled, immediately grimacing as her left shoulder smarted. Her arm was in a sling, having crash-landed onto it during a mission last week. The medic had said that she had likely torn one of the tendons in her rotator cuff, but that they would not be able to do anything about it until the swelling came down. Now, her whole arm lay useless in its cloth cradle while the other side bore the weight of bags and baskets.

“Um…,” she hesitated in her place, unsure as to why she was feeling a little like a schoolgirl caught out doing something she wasn’t supposed to. Well, maybe it was the fact that Stark had told her I don’t want you doing anything for the next month… “I was just going to the bodega. I’m out of snacks.”

“No.”

For a second, they stood in silence, staring each other down while she waited to see if there was going to be anything added to his sentiment. “That’s it?” He nodded, looking bored. “Yeah, I’m not a child. I’m going to the bodega.”

Loki groaned. “Lilian…”

“Not my name, dude.” She made the mistake of bumping into his shoulder with her injured side. On any other occasion, with any other human, it would have been no issue. Loki, however, seemed to be as dense as the center of a collapsing star, and though he barely swayed from his spot, she let out a sharp hiss and gritted her teeth painfully.

“You humans are so pathetically feeble, I swear,” he remarked, bending at the knees to gently prod at her shoulder. “Give me the list, I’ll collect your supplies.”

“No,” she replied, instantly, imitating his haughty tone, perfectly.

“Don’t be a child. I can go there and back faster than you can.”

Baby blues shot up and hardened at him. “What do you need? What leverage are you trying to get?” Loki frowned, tilting his head minutely to explore her incensed semblance. “You know what? I don’t care. I don’t need to be coddled. I can take care of myself just fine.”

“I didn't–”

“Leave me alone!” With the last shouted syllable, her veins glowed bright green and thorns seemed to sprout from every bit of her skin. Loki held his hands up in surrender, and took a step back for good measure.

With one last withering look, she skirted past his imposing form, and pressed the elevator call button. The doors opened almost instantly, and she slipped in, pressing the button for the ground floor. She did not expect, however, for the elevator to dip slightly under the weight of another person. Despite the fact that she had not seen Loki follow her to the hallway, he was standing there, silently, a few feet between them as they rode the elevator down in silence.

At the lobby, he waited for her to exit the car first, following like a spectre right after. They had made it half a block before Lily could no longer resist the urge to scream, and she turned on her heel to face a calm Loki.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Loki fought the smile creeping onto his lips for a bare minute. “Accompanying you. I thought that much was obvious.”

“I don’t. Need. A babysitter.”

“Never said you did, flower,” he riposted, off-handedly before he gestured her ahead.

Letting out a barely restrained groan, she stomped her way back down the street towards the bodega. Loki, for the most part, followed silently, gently fetching things from the top shelf that he knew she was trying to get to, crowding her side when other people got a little too close, generally treating her like she was a porcelain doll about to shatter.

It was annoying the shit out of her.

The bodega owner had barely reacted when she slammed her basket down and unpacked her groceries to pay for them. Her usually charming, chummy demeanor was extinct and replaced by a surly, snarled lip. Why would he be doing this? Was it just to drive home the point that he thought she was incompetent? Weak? Whatever it was, it was gnawing at her very soul and all she wanted to do was to go back to the tower and hide in her room until her shoulder had recovered.

Snatching her receipt from the bodega owner, she turned away from the counter. “Let’s get moving, Snakeb… Loki?” She glanced left and right, not finding him there, nor could she feel the heaviness of his presence anywhere around her. She glanced out the glass doors and found her missing demigod on the sidewalk. A child of about five or six, who was clearly waiting for his mother to get through with her transaction at the bodega, stood still with a gentle smile. Loki was down on one knee, equally easy grin on his face with a shoelace in either hand.

“I’ll show you again. Pay close attention, alright?” He pulled the strings up taut and made two loops. “Around the trunk of Yggdrasil, the little rabbits go, they twine around the knitted roots and sink deep down below. After they have had their fun they jump up to spring free, but every part of their spirit’s tied to the Great Tree,” he singsonged, knotting the laces easily. “Got that?”

The child nodded, giggling before going off with his mother who was looking at Loki a little too hard to be comfortable.

Loki glanced up, sensing Lily staring and offered her a smile she didn’t return. “Are you ready?”

“You taught him how to tie his shoes.”

He brushed aside her prickly tone, unbothered. “Yes… is that a crime, now?”

“Why?”

“He didn’t know how.” He shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“I thought you didn’t like weak things.”

“You know, at some point you’re going to have to tell me why you’re so cross at me.” He snapped, finally, though he didn’t look angry. Disappointed, maybe? Sometimes it was damn near impossible to place any emotion on his face that wasn’t blind rage.

“I heard you talking to Tony, OK? When I was taken to the medbay, she snapped back with double the fervor.

Loki sighed, counting backwards from ten. He was fond of the mutant and he didn’t want to frighten her by barking at her, as he would anyone else. "Despite what you might think, that doesn’t help explain anything.”

“You told Tony I was weak and didn’t belong in the field!” She shrieked, pushing her index finger into his chest. It hurt her more than it did him, but it was a matter of principle.

“No. I told him it was stupid to send you out to the field to somewhere you’d become weak. Foot-thick steel walls zap your energy and I warned him repeatedly about the repercussions. You got hurt because of it.”

Her anger sputtered and idled at the clarification. “You were looking out for me…?”

Loki laughed, a little mirthlessly. “Imagine that,” he replied, sarcastically. He reached out for her basket, carrying the snack-laden vessel himself to give his hands something to do as he marched stoically down the street. People seemed to sense his mood, as they all parted like the Red Sea for him, though they barely allowed her enough space to squeeze through. Glancing backwards, he caught her eye, slowing his pace considerably to allow her to catch up.

“But… you hate me.”

A little notch formed between his brows as he considered her closely. “When have I ever said that? You’re my friend. I don’t make friends with people I hate… Or people… Or make friends, in general, so you should count yourself very bloody lucky.”

Lily shuffled uncomfortably where she stood, and Loki could have sworn there was a flash of a shadow over features, but it was gone a moment after.

“Can we go back or are you going to stand here and glare at me some more?” He joked easily, gesturing down the street with his chin. The mood seemed to lighten, instantly. He didn’t pay her transient anger any mind.

Perhaps he should have.

The Tower was tense, to put it simply. Laughter, which was commonplace whenever the team was home, was nothing more than a distant memory. It seemed like every little noise and movement set off a chain reaction of unpleasantness from what was usually their most pleasant resident. No one had really expected this side effect. After all, when the mutant decided to tell Tony her secret after having worked for him for five years, she assured that she had it well under control. And it was. Her abilities were second nature at this point. Of course, the pressures of battle are something else, entirely, and little quirks popped up just as little quirks are wont to do.

And pop up, they did.

The first time it happened, the team had come back from mission somewhere in the South Pacific. They were all tired and sun-baked enough that if they never saw the great wide ocean ever again, it would be too soon. Heroes all piled into the kitchen with far too many containers of Chinese food, chatting in quiet hushed tones to give their raw throats and over-sensitive ears a chance to rest.

In the far end of the kitchen, Lily stood on her tip toes. Her small frame strained to reach a mug at the very top of the cabinet so she could make herself some tea. Steve, helpful and gentlemanly as ever, rested a hand on the small of her back to signal her that he was there. Reaching above her, he easily grasped the mug, offering her the handle with a dazzling smile.

Usually, she would beam up at the soldier and give his hand a squeeze. Today, her eyes narrowed dangerously. “What, do you think I can’t fucking get a mug now, Rogers?” She snapped, and the soft murmur of the room cut out immediately.

As if in slow motion, they whole team craned their necks over to where the pair stood. Steve had frozen in well-placed shock, mouth opening and closing to grasp for an appropriate apology that he couldn’t understand why he owed. Guilt flashed for but a second across Lily’s features before she cracked her neck awkwardly. Her veins, which would glow a bright green only when using her abilities, pulsed a sludgy brown. She had barely mumbled an apology before going off to hide in her bedroom.

That first encounter had been the mildest, by far.

No one had any idea how to remedy the situation. After all, Lily was usually such a bundle of bright, brilliant energy. She was the one who would always wake up to make breakfast for the group, leave them flowers, bake cookies when one of them seemed sad–she was not a dark, angry entity that yelled at her fellow teammates. Or snarled at anyone for entirely arbitrary reasons (that was Loki’s job, after all). The attitude usually waned after a few days and she’d be back to her bubbly self, which was all the more terrifying.

Right now, however, they were in a dark period.

“Are you truly using a children’s game as a selection tool for whom has to go disturb the plant witch from her self-imposed exile?” Loki asked, a little smugly as he happened upon Natasha and Tony playing Rock, Paper, Scissors to take Lily her new uniform. “You’re pathetic.”

“Don’t act like the sudden goth girl phase isn’t weird. I can tell she scares you,” Nat quipped, rolling her eyes.

Loki gave her a withering stare, looking smug as he circled her in a predatory manner that annoyed the hell out of her. “I fear no one and nothing, Miss Romanov.”

Tony snorted, before a glimmer in his eye sparked and left Loki looking weary. “OK, great. How about you go take this to her, then?” Tony held the bundle for Loki to take.

Loki chuckled, knowing full well the terror that the woman could inflict if provoked. “I said I feared nothing. I didn’t say I was suicidal.” He considered a little longer. “Well, not anymore, anyway.” Tony frowned, making a mental note to follow up at a later date.

“Come on! You two seem to be all buddy-buddy the rest of the time, anyway. Why don’t you just look in on her?”

The god rolled his eyes. “Has it ever occurred to you idiots that perhaps she’s protecting us and not herself when she locks herself away?”

“You are absolutely no help. Fine, Nat–” Tony turned around, sweeping his gaze left and right. “Nat? Where the hell did Nat go?” Frowning, he turned back around to glance at Loki and, instead, found himself alone. “Yeah! Great! Let's… er… regroup later! Good… talk…”

=

Loki sat at the kitchen table, poking at the, frankly disgusting, plate of eggs and bacon that Bruce had genuinely put all his effort into making for the crew. Glancing around the table, he found a sea of faces with the same sad expression. They all definitely longed for Lily’s pancakes and bacon breakfasts right about then. Loki was the only one who wasn’t even making an effort to be polite and put down some of the meal down his gullet. He had eaten some pretty grim things in his life, but he was not about to make that conscious decision when he wasn’t under any type of duress.

“It’s been two weeks, Tony,” Clint quipped, oddly undisturbed by the state of breakfast and munching full speed ahead. “She’s never been dark for this long.”

“I know. Is this you volunteering?”

“Last time I volunteered, I nearly got impaled on barbed thorns the size of my arm. I barely made it out without looking like Swiss cheese.”

“Barbs?” Loki asked, tilting his head curiously.

Clint nodded, eyes widening. “Yep. Big ones.”

Tony caught the whiff of an idea brewing in Loki’s mind. “Why? What are you thinking, Reindeer Games?”

Loki frowned, waving off the interest. “Nothing. Making a rather satisfying image in my head,” he replied, earning him a dark look from Clint and an annoyed sigh from the rest of the table. It wouldn’t do well to get their hopes up, after all.

After breakfast, Loki found himself pacing the corridor of their living quarters. Lily was only a few doors down and had not seen much of anyone in the whole two weeks since they had gotten back from mission. His brain continually told him that there was nothing he could do, no way for him to remedy this situation. That whatever this state of being was, he would only make it worse. It was better if he just went back to his room and waited for her to seek him out.

And yet, there was a small little voice in the back of his mind, his conscience, he would begrudgingly admit, that urged him to knock on her door.

She would go to the ends of the earth for you, if you needed it, it soothed.

The thought sparked images of the annoyingly sweet woman keeping his handful of secrets and being genuinely interested in his life. He could admit that his conscience was speaking the truth, but only because he knew the imp had little in the way of common sense and self-preservation. This was not the creature hissing at them all from across the threshold, though. And, why would he willingly put himself in the line of fire?

Out of the corner of his eye, a figure caught his attention. A vase of flowers on the windowsill, one of her creations. They were no longer the fresh white daisies they had been when they were placed there. Now they looked like some sort of Nightshade and he was certain they were not the nice kind.

“Oh, you fucking bleeding heart,” he ground out with a groan just as his conscience won out. Without allowing himself time to think or change his mind, he pounded his fist on her door. “Open up or I’ll break it down, Lilian.”

“Fuck off, popsicle!” Her voice was rough and shuddering, like she was trying very hard to keep everything out–or herself in.

Loki swallowed at the venomous retort that brewed at the tip of his tongue on its own accord. Being the bigger person was never quite his forte (nor did it ever get him good results), but he was able to reign himself back in. Rolling his eyes, Loki placed his hand on the door, letting the golden glow of magic envelop it before a satisfactory click let him know that it was open. He had barely crossed the threshold when he jumped back with a yelp.

On the floor, where flowers usually formed a dense, soft carpet, were twisting brambles and thorns. Flytraps and pitcher plants lined the walls, all too large to be considered just houseplants, and blooms burst open, letting out plumes of pollen that Loki dared not to breathe.

This was definitely worse than what he was expecting.

His eyes tore away from the dark forest with a little effort. “Lily,” he tutted softly, watching the woman tucked into a tight ball, tears leaking from her tightly lidded eyes.

It should have been obvious to him. Every living creature had a defense mechanism. Predators had their teeth, prey had their speed, and plants had adapted in similar fashion. Thorns, barbs, poison, giant vats of acid–they had made sure that their lineages survived. It stood to reason that Lily’s mutation, tired of the fighting and the constant worry of missions would also develop some dark effect. Since she wasn’t allowing herself to be dry and acerbic to her friends, her biology had found an alternate solution.

He should have thought of it before.

“Gods, how much pain are you in?” He asked, kneeling beside her on the bed. He ignored the spines digging into his trousers from where he walked through some cacti. There was no response, but rather a whimper and a sigh. “Flower, look at me.”

“Leave me alone, you self-aggrandizing asshole,” she growled, not bothering to open her eyes.

The corner of his mouth twitched, even as he pushed her hair out of her scowling face. It had gone from a bright silver to a dark, smoky grey. “You forgot self-serving and maddeningly good looking.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Agree to disagree.” At his touch her skin erupted in prickers as though they were goosebumps. He swallowed the hiss at getting his fingers skewered, blood pooling at the tips.

Lily’s fists flew in his direction, though he easily caught them in one hand. This time the groan of pain wasn’t silent and blood trickled down his wrists from his palms. “Stop it! Don’t touch me! FRIDAY, he’s hurting me!”

“Disregard that, FRIDAY. Lily, I swear–” She struggled in his grasp, eyes opening and flashing pitch black at him. He was shocked enough that he released her wrists. Her nails grew into sharp wooden talons and just as she reared back to swipe at him, Loki had enough sense to lay his hand on her temple and command, “Sleep.” Her body stiffened and slumped down a second later. “That bloody stings,” he complained, letting her rest back on the bed and bringing the covers over her oddly cool skin.

Loki couldn’t help but compulsively stroke his fingers through her hair, eyebrows pulled together in concern. For all his knowledge of magic and aliens and different realms, he could not figure out for the life of him how to soothe the poison threatening to consume her. In her slumber, she whimpered, shuffling closer to the gentle heat that radiated off of him in waves. Loki convinced himself that he was allowed to dote on her, so long as she wasn’t conscious to remember it. The sludgy brown lines going up and down her exposed skin lightened somewhat under his careful evaluation. Enough that he did not feel threatened when he tapped at her temple and took the sleeping spell off.

He offered a small smile when her eyes blinked up at him in confusion. They were back to their normal baby blue, though her hair still resembled plumes of smoke. “Easy,” he whispered as she jerked away from his touch, all at once. Instead of a hiss or an insult, she frowned, settling back to rest against the pillows, body barely brushing against his. “You’re safe.”

Lily nodded, breathing deeply. This time she didn’t hesitate when he brushed his fingers over her hair. “What are you doing?”

“Tending the garden.”

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “I’m not a garden.”

“Yeah, you are. A few brambles and prickles here and there. Nothing a good prune and a hug won’t fix.” He used his index finger to lift her chin, having essentially buried herself into one of her pillows, cheeks burning. “You don’t have to keep us safe, flower. Sometimes, you’ll need to vent all that ill will and it is not up to you to avoid that.”

“Says the frost giant masquerading as an Asgardian.”

Loki let out a bark of laughter. “I think I liked you more unconscious.” Sadness flashed through her features, eyes downcast. “I was joking. You know I was.”

Lily nodded and the two fell into a tense silence for a long while. The mutant had sat up, fidgeting with her hands on her lap while Loki watched her, expectantly. He wouldn’t press her, of course, but he could tell that there was something on her mind that she wanted to get out in the open. When she didn’t say anything, he simply placed his hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I’m scared,” she blurted out.

“Well, you’re very scary so that makes sense.” The look she gave him told him that was not the answer she wanted and before she could look even more dejected, he added. “And that’s good. You’re powerful. You should be scary. Scary keeps you safe. Fear is a great motivator.”

Loki was starting to panic. It didn’t seem like any of what he was saying was helping her, though it was possibly the most honest and candid he had ever been. If anything, the quickly gathering tears in her eyes told him that he was making it leaps and bounds worse. Shouldn’t she be ecstatic that she could make anyone bend to their will by looking a little ominous? She certainly had the whole of the Avengers acting like she was some sort of displeased deity.

Except she wasn’t. She was gentle and giving and cared. It was becoming very apparent that this was her own personal hell.

“I don’t fear you,” he muttered, brushing hair away from her face. This time there were no barbs to prick him. “And honestly, the rest of these idiots don’t, either. They’re just worried for you.”

“I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Maybe because there’s nothing to fix. I’m guessing that with a little training you can learn to use… whatever the hell this is to your advantage.” His mouth twitched in a small smile. “Sometimes you must learn to embrace the darkness, dear.”

Lily was quiet for another long while, picking at her nails while she thought hard. “Loki?”

“Yes, pet?”

“Can I have a hug if I promise not to tell anyone?”

Loki barked out a laugh, pulling Lily into his arms and squeezing her tightly. “I don’t give a shit if you tell anyone. They probably won’t believe you, anyway,” he murmured into her hair, noting the soot-like material that clung to his fingers as he stroked her hair, turning it back to silver. “Don’t suppose you know if this is dangerous or not?” Lily shook her head against his chest. “Of course you don’t. Why would you?” The mutant giggled against him when he squeezed her a little tighter.

“Loki?” The Prince hummed his recognition against her crown. “Thank you for being a good friend.”

It took Loki supreme effort to blink away the tears that for some reason had sparked to his eyes, unbidden, at the sentiment. “It is my distinct honor, flower.” Comfortable silence filled the room for a moment longer. “I also couldn’t take Bruce’s cooking for another day.”

Lily scoffed, pushing away from his chest with a glare. “Why? Why do you ruin it?”

“Have you met me? Come on!”

“I hate you. Next time I’m poisoning you,” she whined, pulling Loki after her.

“Where are we going?”

“I can tell you haven’t eaten because you’re a child. We’re going to the kitchen.”

Loki grinned, following dutifully after her, as if the imp had any physical means to drag him anywhere. “Do I get pancakes?”

“No!”

“Please?”

“…fine.”

#Loki #Angst #Others #Submitted one shot #submission #Toxic #Fanfictrashdump

[imperialstark]

choke on me—chapter one

breathe me in (prequel fic)

chapter two

a/n: you all liked breathe me in so much that i got inspired to write a sequel! read breathe me in first before reading this fic. enjoy!

summary: After fending off an alien invasion, Tony Stark has one more obstacle to face; Steve Rogers. Steve believes that they have a connection which Tony is trying hard to ignore. After a moment of passion aboard the helicarrier, Tony can't seem to stay away from Steve as their lives grow ever more intertwined.

rating: Explicit, so explicit

warning(s):  tony has self confidence issues but what else is new, heavy smut

—————

Romanov’s eyes narrow when Tony and Steve enter the briefing room. 

The fact that they’re even having a meeting after a literal alien invasion makes Tony seethe. Bureaucracy never sleeps, he guesses. (He’s not pissed because SHIELD commandeered one of the rooms in his tower. Honest.) 

Tony arches a brow at Romanov. She’s a clever one, she has to be for her line of work, but Tony’s clever, too. He knows that to beat her at her own game, he has to play into it. 

“You’re late,” she says, in lieu of a greeting. Compared to the rest of them, she looks quite put together. Not a hair out of place, the cut on her forehead cleaned and bandaged. The archer—Barton, his brain supplies—sits with his feet propped on the table like a goddamn heathen. Tony doesn’t say anything, though. Barton’s eyes have a faraway look; the archer’s mind is on anything but social etiquette right now. Even Thor, who’s a supposed god, looks a bit winded with one hand on his hammer and the other propping up his face. Bruce is full-on asleep, not that Tony blames him, with a shock blanket strewn about his shoulders. 

“Fury isn’t here yet,” Tony says, sounding like a little kid arguing with his sister. 

Natasha hums, and her eyes flit over to Steve. “You two look friendly.” 

Steve, bless his heart, blushes but doesn’t say anything, and Tony’s just reminded of how he looked when he came down Tony’s throat; head thrown back, mouth open, and skin flushed.

Tony swallows down the sudden lump that arose in his throat and scrambles to come up with something, anything, to not blow their cover. He doesn’t want it to get out that he and Steve had got up to something.

“I was being a good host,” Tony says. “Steve wanted to see the tower. Or...what’s left of it.”

“It’s ‘Steve’ now?” she says with interest, and Tony curses her. He walked right into that one. 

Fortunately, Tony’s good at thinking on his toes. “Alright, you caught me, Romanov. I just spent the last half hour rocking Rogers’ world.” 

Steve chokes, and Tony jams his elbow into his side. Steve coughs into his arm and clears his throat. 

It’s got Romanov’s attention. And everyone else’s, apparently. Bruce is still sleeping, but Barton’s turned his eyes onto them, that faraway look receding slightly. Thor’s sitting up now, his arms crossed in front of his broad chest. 

Romanov’s eyes roam from him to Steve and back again before she snorts. 

Tony’s surprised she can even make such a noise. 

“Fine,” she says. “Keep your secrets.” Somehow she makes it sound like a threat. 

“You’re seriously gonna leave it, Nat?” Barton asks.

“You didn’t see them before,” Romanov says, leaning back into her seat. “Rogers wouldn’t touch Stark with a ten-foot pole.”

Okay, that fucking hurts, but before Tony can even open his mouth to argue, because what the fuck Romanov, Fury stalks into the room with his duster flapping behind him. 

If Tony weren’t so pissed, he’d make a snide comment about Severus Snape. 

“Are you two going to sit down, or should I reschedule this meeting?” Fury says. 

Tony grits his teeth but sits down (far away from Romanov), and Steve sits next to him. 

They elect Thor to nudge Bruce awake, who looks at them with bleary eyes and his hair askew.

Steve places a big hand on Tony’s thigh underneath the table. It feels like a brand. 

The meeting is agonizingly slow and painful, and Tony wishes they all would leave. Barton and Thor almost come to blows over what they’re to do with Loki, but in the end, they decide to let the Asgardian face punishment in his own land, far, far away from Earth. 

“It’s not fair,” Barton hisses, his hand balling into a fist when Fury leaves the room with Thor on his coattails to collect his brother. “His daddy,” Barton spits out the word like a curse, “won’t punish him.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Bruce says, stifling a yawn. “Odin exiled Thor to earth when he disappointed him.”

“Banner’s got a point,” Romanov says. “I want him to pay, just as much as you,” she admits. “But how would we even go about punishing a god?” 

“I have ideas,” Barton says, and Tony flashes back to Afghanistan, to three months of darkness and dampness and death, and he understands Barton’s rage. 

“I’m sure you do,” Romanov says. “Pass them along to Thor and see how he takes them.”

“Or better yet, tell me,” Tony finds himself saying. Four pairs of eyes shoot to him. If he were a lesser man, he would have wilted under the sudden attention. “I’ve got a bone to pick with Reindeer Games, too.” 

“Yeah?” Barton says, crossing his arms. 

“Seriously,” Tony says. “Now that we know that beings like Loki and Thor exist, shouldn’t we be prepared for others like them?”

“Stark’s right,” Steve says. Tony tries to hide the surprise on his face. Were his blowjob skills that good? Steve squeezes his thigh in response. “Who’s to say that Loki was the last of them?” 

Tony’s skin prickles. The others may have fought the Chitauri, but Tony had seen them and what lay beyond them. He had always been good at seeing the forest behind the trees. He had a feeling that they had barely scraped the surface with the Chitauri. There was something or someone more vicious, more bloodthirsty than any other foe they had fought combined. 

All of the Avengers seemed to sober at that thought. 

“Well, we’ll just have to be ready, won’t we?” Romanov says, her voice cutting through the silence.

“We also deserve a day off,” Barton says. “At least I do. I don’t know about the rest of you slackers.” 

That defuses the tension in the room, just a bit. Bruce lets out a light chuckle while Natasha just rolls her eyes. 

“Oh, please, if anybody carried this team, it was me,” Natasha says. 

Steve’s hand leaves Tony’s thigh and slides up to the small of his back. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders as he leans back into Steve’s touch. Tony doesn’t know what Steve wants. He doesn’t know if their little triste was just that or if there was room for more. Tony doesn’t like not knowing things. But he’ll let Steve have this, for now.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I didn’t see anybody else carry a nuke on their shoulders into an interdimensional wormhole.” 

He waits for the snide comments, the jeers, the disgust to cross their faces but instead...instead they laugh. And it’s not a laugh of derision; Tony’s heard enough of those to recognize them. These are real, genuine laughs. 

“Fair,” Barton says, the corners of his lips quirking up. 

“No, not fair! Only two of us can fly,” Romanov says. 

“Can Thor really fly?” Bruce says. “I feel like it’s more of a controlled fall. He throws his hammer and lets the weight of it take him where he needs to go.” 

“He’s in the air, he’s moving, as far as I’m concerned, it’s flying,” Barton says. 

Tony and Barton end up arguing the semantics of flying over a finger of Tony’s best scotch, Bruce occasionally chiming in, Romanov and Steve looking on in amusement. 

They’re annoying, Tony thinks. They’re annoying and loud and destructive and—

Tony is starting to like them. His feelings had always crept up on him like a lion stalking its prey, only pouncing when he least expected it. He was starting to like them, even Romanov, who he was still kind of pissed at for her earlier comment. But he didn’t blame her. Why would Steve want to touch him? Tony had practically thrown himself at him.

“He pulled you in,” his mind supplies, trying to be helpful. “He pulled you in, and he kissed the living daylights out of you.”

But maybe Steve had been desperate? Desperation drove men to crazy lengths, including sleeping with your...enemies? That wasn’t right. It held too many negative connotations, and despite their rough start, Tony didn’t think he would ever fight against Steve. Rivals? Or was that too petty? Just what the hell were they? 

The state of his and Steve’s relationship (if he can even call it that) nags at him. The others start making their leave until Steve and Tony are the only ones left. 

The boardroom feels like a matchbox with Steve so close to him with no buffer. Steve’s making himself useful and tidying up the papers and glasses strewn about the table. Tony pours himself another finger of scotch, lets the whiskey burn his throat on the way down. He needed something to ground himself. His eyes follow Steve’s every movement like magnets. Heat blossoms low in his belly when he remembers how Steve had touched him like he was nothing but a toy for Steve’s pleasure. The thought shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. 

Tony clears his throat, catching Steve’s attention. 

“Some meeting,” Tony starts and immediately wants to slap himself. He should just get to the point. Why even bother with small talk? 

“You’re telling me,” Steve says carefully. Always so careful. Except for when his hands are shoved down Tony’s pants. 

Tony shifts in his seat and hopes that Steve won’t notice, but of course, when do things ever work out the way Tony wants them to? Steve’s eyes track his movements with all the purpose of someone used to analyzing situations. Is that what Steve thinks is about to happen? A battle? 

“How are you feeling?” Steve asks, setting down a stack of papers. 

“Sticky,” Tony says, deadpan. They hadn’t gotten the chance to clean off after their little...excursion on the helicarrier. 

Tony expects for him to blush like he did earlier after his standoff with Romanov. But instead, the bastard grins at him. 

“My bad,” Steve says. “Any other time, I’m pretty good at uh, cleaning up.” 

Tony throws back the last of his scotch and tries not to think of Steve on his knees licking at Tony’s thighs and groin and—

It’s not working. But then Tony remembers Romanov; “Steve wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole,” and any desire he had dies. He should nip this in the bud now. They are absolutely not having a repeat performance. 

“Good thing it was a one-off,” Tony says, hoping his voice comes off light and airy. “Otherwise, I’d be pissed.” 

Steve’s smile falls, and if Tony didn’t feel like an asshole before, he sure as hell does now. 

“Oh.” 

“Just a little favor between two pals, right?” Tony says just to dig the knife in a little deeper. “Let him hate me,” he thinks. “It’s easier that way.” 

“Right.” Steve clears his throat. “I, uh, guess I’ll get going.” 

Part of Tony wants to latch onto his arm, pull him through the glass and the rubble of his penthouse suite, and into his bedroom and never let him go. He stomps that urge down with steel-toes boots. 

“See you around, Steve,” he says as Steve makes for the door. 

Steve pauses at the threshold and doesn’t look at him when he replies, “See you around, Tony.”

*** 

Life goes on. Tony reunites with Pepper. Tony’s mansion gets blown up. He loses Pepper for the final time. 

And it’s fine, really. Being cool with terrorists blowing up your home and experimenting on you without your consent is a lot to ask of anyone, even if that person is Pepper Potts. 

Pepper kisses him on the cheek, and Tony knows it’s the end. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. 

“It’s okay,” he says, and he means it. Because Pepper is still his and he’s still hers, just not in the way they had originally wanted. 

So, he’s single and homeless, technically, but overall it’s not the worst year of Tony’s life. 

He thinks about rebuilding his mansion in Malibu, but something stops him. 

“New York?” Rhodey asks him over Skype, curiosity twisting his features. 

“Yeah,” Tony says, clutching a pillow to his chest. He’s currently staying at one of his vacation homes on the Amalfi coast. His bedroom has a perfect view of the sea. Every evening, he sits out on his balcony and tries not to think about how Steve’s eyes are the exact color of the Mediterranean at sunset. 

“Malibu feels like an old chapter of my life. I think I’m ready for something new.” 

Italy is lovely, but Tony is so lonely. He’s never been good by himself. 

Within a month, the renovations on Stark Tower are completed, and Tony makes his move to New York. 

It’s odd, living by himself again. Of course, Tony brought his bots with him, and he integrated JARVIS into all of his personal residences. Still, there was no Pepper to remind him of some upcoming awards ceremony, no Rhodey to get into trouble with. Happy went with him because wherever Tony went, Happy followed. Tony’s sure Happy would have followed him into battle if he could. But Happy doesn’t stay in the tower, and Tony doesn’t expect him to. He knows Happy has a life outside of chauffeuring (and he hasn’t missed the looks between Happy and Pepper whenever she’s in town. He’s happy for them.) 

That’s when he starts collecting Avengers like a kid collecting those little trading cards when Tony was in college. Digimon? Pokémon? It was something that ended in -mon, he was sure of that. 

Bruce shows up first, drawn to the idea of a bed to sleep in, a constant food source, and a (relative) lack of people shooting at him.  

Bruce brings warmth to his tower, where there had been nothing but the coldness of electricity and steel. Sometimes when their research aligns, they’ll spend hours together in Bruce’s workshop. They’re good for each other, he thinks. Bruce gets him to eat a real meal and even stops DUM-E from putting motor oil in his smoothies. Tony gets him to open up. He wants to get to know the man behind the Hulk. For a moment, they’re at peace. 

Then SHIELD falls. 

Things get more complicated after that. 

Steve and Natasha show up with Clint right behind them. They’re still healing from their injuries, but overall they’re okay. Aside from dumping hundreds of SHIELD/HYDRA’s secrets onto the world wide web. 

Tony takes them in because, despite everything that happened between him and Steve, he did offer him a place to stay. Tony’s not that much of an asshole. He’s not going to retract on that offer.

Besides, his tower is enormous, and he knows it like the back of his hand; it takes nothing for him to avoid Steve without making it obvious. 

However, Tony didn’t account for the sudden friendship between Steve and Natasha, the traitor. (He doesn’t know when she stopped being just Romanov in his head.) 

Natasha must have been trailing him to learn his schedule because Steve corners him right as he’s leaving his workshop to head up to Bruce’s floor. His fellow scientist was making curry, and Tony didn’t want to miss out before the other Avengers (vultures) devoured it. 

“Can we talk?” Steve asks, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved into his pockets. 

Tony stops in his tracks and immediately wants to do a full 180 back to his workshop and not come out for a good ten, twenty years. Stark Industries is in good hands, and Rhodey can take over for him the team, and he can live in his workshop like Gollum in his cave—

“Tony?” 

His eyes snap up to Steve. Right. They were having a conversation. Tony’s self-loathing can kick in later. 

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Sure. Let’s head up here,” he gestures to the living area situated by the staircase. This floor of the tower serves as Tony’s second home, an escape from all of his penthouse suite’s showy glamour and the lack of privacy on the communal floors. The penthouse suite reminds him too much of Pepper, anyway.

There’s a small but up to date kitchenette off to their right done up in polished mahogany, tan stone, and black appliances for whenever hunger strikes. Tony heads to the left with Steve following behind him. His living area also functions as a bedroom of sorts. Tony had invested in a plush brown leather sofa from a high-end Italian furniture manufacturer. Sinfully soft and draped in luxurious throw blankets, it served as both a sofa and his bed when he couldn’t be bothered to take the elevator to his penthouse suite.

In a strange role reversal of the last time the two of them had been alone, Steve grabs onto his wrist and pins Tony down with his stare. 

“We can talk right here.”

Tony swallows. “Okay. Sure. That works, too.” He looks down pointedly at Steve’s hand. 

Steve flushes but lets Tony go. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve starts. 

“No harm done,” Tony says coolly. On the inside, he’s trying not to scream. He had forgotten that Steve’s hands were so big. 

“I just needed to know…” Steve hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Did I...did I do something wrong?”

And that, that makes Tony blink. 

Steve pushes on. “On the helicarrier...did I come on to you too strong? Because if I did, that wasn’t my intention at all—”

Tony holds up his hands. “Wait, what? That’s what you want to talk about? Steve, it’s been two years.”

“I know! I know it’s just...we haven’t spoken at all about...the thing, and you’ve been avoiding me ever since I stepped foot in this place.”

“I—”

“And don’t say you haven’t,” Steve says with a hard stare. “I’m old, not an idiot.”

“Okay,” Tony says. “Okay. I guess you could call it avoiding.”

“Why?” Steve asks. “I’d rather you just tell me.”

Tony sighs. He’s too old to be having this conversation and telling Steve the truth would just be mortifying. “Romanov hurt my feelings, so I pushed you away before you could do it to me,” sounds pathetic, even to his ears. 

“A half-truth then. A lie grounded in reality,” he thinks. 

“You want to know why?” 

A muscle in Steve’s jaw jumps. “Yes. I would.”

“It wasn’t your fault, trust me,” Tony says. “I just feel like maybe you didn’t want to jump headfirst into this,” Tony gestures between them. He won’t dare call it a relationship. “I came onto you out of nowhere and didn’t even stop to think about whether or not you were ready for...anything.” He’s talking in circles and what’s worse is that he knows he’s talking in circles. Every muscle in his body is taut, waiting for Steve’s reaction. 

“You blew me off,” Steve says slowly, “because you thought I wasn’t ready for...this?” He’s taken on Tony’s terminology. 

“You were fresh out the ice, Steve. I figured the last thing you needed on your plate was something like this while you were still getting used to the 21st century.”

“Tony,” Steve speaks his name so softly it feels like a caress. Tony wants to step back. He wants to put on the suit and fly to Malibu, to Amalfi, to anywhere but here. 

“Tony, I don’t regret what we did,” Steve says. There’s a determined light in his eyes. Tony feels like the prey again. Steve has always made him feel like he’s being hunted. 

“Okay,” Tony says, steeling himself. 

“I want to do it again,” Steve says. “If that’s alright with you.” 

Steve wants to do it again. He wants to fuck Tony again, and the scary thing is, Tony’s going to let him. Arousal pools in his belly as he lifts his head to look at Steve head-on. 

“Okay,” he says. His voice already sounds wrecked. Desperate. Then Steve’s on him.

Tony hates how he falls into Steve’s arms as soon as his lips meet Tony’s. He had thought once would be enough, just enough to satiate the burning in his blood. He hated being wrong. 

Steve’s kisses are sloppy, almost desperate, but if anything, it just winds Tony up more. It’s like he’s fallen ill, with a feverish heat spreading throughout his body in waves. His heart pounds so loudly, it nearly drowns out the words Steve murmurs when he finally pulls away from Tony. 

Steve’s face is devoid of all masks, his lips cotton candy pink against his flushed skin. 

“I did that,” Tony thinks with some wonder. “I made him this way.” 

“What?” Tony says, only a little dazed, or so he hopes. Part of him flinches at the thought of Steve realizing just how far this well of desire he has building beneath his skin goes for him. 

“Don’t run,” Steve says. His arms wind around Tony’s waist with all the finality of a lock clicking into place. 

Tony swallows, his brain trying to parse through the hazy cloud of lust that had descended upon his brain. Steve’s eyes are big and so fucking blue, he almost can’t look at them directly. 

“It’s like looking at the sun,” he thinks. 

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he finds himself saying. 

“Just one more time. Just to get him out of my system.” 

Steve’s eyes narrow like he knows exactly where Tony’s brain went, and isn’t that a terrifying thought that Steve can already read him so well. Steve doesn’t call him out. Instead, he kisses Tony. 

Steve kisses him like a thief, all greedy and ruthless, stealing his breath away. Steve walks them backward until Tony feels his legs hit his sofa. They stumble onto the couch, Steve lying on top of him, eclipsing Tony. 

Steve’s lips are on his again. He can’t get enough of Tony today, it seems. His tongue slips into Tony’s mouth, one of his hands running down his chest and into his pants. Tony arches into his touch, moaning into Steve’s mouth. Steve may be a thief, but in this moment, Tony is just as willing to give him everything he has. 

Steve’s hands are so big and hot as they palm at Tony’s length. It doesn’t take long for him to harden in Steve’s grasp. 

Steve works him over with quick strokes of his hand, breaking their kiss to murmur in his ear, “Come on, baby. Spread these legs for me.” 

Tony did as he was bid, letting his knees fall open. 

“That’s it,” Steve says. 

“Can I?” Tony begins, unsure of how to continue. He’d never been shy during sex, but what he and Steve were doing, as much as Tony stomped it down, felt deeper than a simple hookup. 

“Go ahead, baby,” Steve says. The pet name flows off his tongue like honey. “Tell me what you need.” 

“I want to touch you,” he declares. “Let me?” He looks at Steve and hopes his eyes look wide and sweet. He remembers how Steve had snapped the last time he had looked at him like that, the bruising kisses and the hard, almost punishing way Steve had gotten him off…

Steve gives him a crooked smile. Tony’s not...disappointed, per se, but he wouldn’t have minded it if Steve had lost control again.

“Go ahead,” Steve says. “Whatever that big brain of yours has in mind.” 

That’s all the permission Tony needs, and his own hands work at the fly of Steve’s jeans until he’s pulling Steve’s cock loose. Steve catches on quick and shucks his jeans down to his thighs. He yanks Tony’s sweatpants down in one swift motion. This is the most exposed Tony has been in front of anyone since his relationship with Pepper burst into flames. And listen, Tony knows he’s not ugly (he’d been named Sexiest Man Alive twice, up there with George Clooney and Brad Pitt), but Steve is the literal epitome of human perfection. It could just be the childhood trauma rearing its ugly head, but Tony feels small underneath Steve. Unworthy. Useless. He’s thrown back to the present when Steve rolls his hips and slides his cock against Tony’s. 

“Come on, genius,” Steve says. “Work with me.” 

Tony lifts his hips to meet Steve, and the hot slide of flesh against flesh leaves him gasping like a virgin. 

“Fuck,” Steve hisses. “Just like that.” 

They settle into an easy, almost instinctive rhythm, Steve thrusting, Tony rising to meet him. Their groins are slick with sweat and precome. Tony’s sure that if they had bothered to get some lube, they wouldn’t have lasted half as long. It’s like someone’s turned a dial up on his senses. Wherever Steve touches him, his cock rubbing against Tony’s, is like someone lit a bundle of matches. He’s so hot, he’s sure his skin is smoking. He can hear everything. The hum of electricity present throughout his tower if you listened hard enough, Steve’s muttered curses, the wetness of Steve’s cock rocking against his. 

“One day,” Steve says, picking up speed. “One day, I’m gonna tie you to your bed just like this. Get your thighs all wet and slick and fuck you until you’re coming all over your goddamn stomach,” Steve punctuates his words with a hard thrust, and that’s it for Tony. One more word out of Steve’s mouth and he’s done for. 

“Holy shit, Rogers,” he says, sounding breathless to his ears. 

“I’m not done, sweetheart,” Steve chuckles. “How do you feel about toys?” 

“Yes. Yes. Fuck, Steve, I could make them. Anything you want.” 

And he finds himself meaning it. He’d give Steve the sun if he asked. He tries not to let that scare him. 

“How about a nice vibrating cock ring, hmm? Slip it on you early in the morning. Maybe a long-distance remote to go with it, keep you hard and ready all day long.”

Tony bites back a cry, his cock jumping with arousal. “Fuck, Steve, yes, please, yes.” 

“Then don’t run,” Steve says, his voice sounding all dark and gritty. “Don’t run, and I’ll give you everything you fucking want, just don’t run away from me, again.” 

Afterward, Tony blames it on his approaching orgasm, but in that moment, all Tony can say is, “Yes, fuck, I’m staying right here.” 

They come together, oddly enough. Steve’s teeth sink into Tony’s throat, and Tony’s throwing his head back as his come lands on both of their stomachs, and it’s so. Fucking. Good.

Tony’s floating. He didn’t know when his Italian leather couch turned into a cloud, but he’s floating with Steve kissing the bite he left on his neck. 

They curl close together, uncaring of the mess cooling on their stomachs. If Tony has anything to say about it, there’s a nice joint shower waiting for them when they find the will to move. Steve places one final kiss on the bite. 

Tony knows what it is. A marker. A claim. He’s Steve’s for as long as Steve will have him. Tony’s willing to indulge him. For now. 

“Shower later?” he asks, his words thick and syrupy from post-orgasmic bliss and the sudden need for a nap. It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open, but he doesn’t want to stop looking at Steve’s handsome face. His perfectly coiffed blond hair is mussed. Steve’s skin has taken on a peachy, damn near radiant glow. “Nap first,” Steve says. 

“Steve may have left his mark,” he thinks. “But I left mine.”

#stony #steve rogers #tony stark #marvel #mcu #stony fic #imperialstark fic #imperialstark writing #my fic #my writing #lemons #nsfk #lemon

[lokikingofasgardslover713]

Malefic & Help: 1

Masterlist

Malefic & Help Masterlist

Loki Laufeyson x Female Plus Size Reader x Valkyrie/Brunhilde

Warnings: Rape, Non-con, dub-con, Dark fic.

A/N: While in Sakaar, Loki and Brunhilde run across a rare asset that the Grandmaster had kept hidden for centuries until the day it was time to auction them off to the highest bidder. How will the bidding war play out between an old lover and an old friend? Not to mention is there anything left worth saving after centuries of torture and no memories of a life other than that of a sex slave? This is my first Loki/Reader/Brunhilde it took a really dark turn.

Words: +3,800

It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced in centuries, embarrassment, embarrassment at having bare, thick, naked form put on display before the on lookers to be auctioned off to the highest bidder and it made no sense. It was an embarrassment that one felt when doing something crude in front of someone who didn’t know this side of you, this darkness, this ugliness that was an atrocity.

The man, it was a man this time wasn’t it? Well whoever they are they weren’t letting up until they ripped another orgasm from her sweat drenched body, lulling head thrown to her back over the wedge like pillow, arms aching from being pinned shackled under her aching back as the noise around her was running into one.

She swore she caught movement that wasn’t Sakaraaian, they didn’t move like one and neither did the other she spotted earlier, an itching at muffled memories that where ripped from her when she came to this realm. Body now shaking as whatever had her was finally spilling into aching womb and the weight  lifted off as eyes fluttered closed. It had been a long time since she had seen the public world of the Grandmaster’ upper floors, normally she was kept to his private quarters only for him or those he deemed worthy of her company, but now it appeared he had ultimately tired of her and was ready to find her a new master.

It was a disgusting display, it left Loki wanting to leave but he really couldn’t, not since he was trying to impress the Grandmaster with his wit and skill. Coming to the auction at the eccentric man’s urging and was glad to note it was drawing to an end as it seemed the last poor soul was being auctioned off but this one the Grandmaster was making a point to give a show of as he neared to look over the poor spirit. This one a woman who was nearing gods knew which number orgasm as she was flopped to her stomach now the bidding reaching higher than the others.

Emerald green meeting the weakening woman’s dull gaze, this one didn’t wear a disc, but a thin metal collar covered in varying ruins, his eyes snapping to the familiar dull Y/E/C orbs that were hazing over, thick bare body jolting as this time it was centarian slamming into her ass, and this time she let out a silent cry before shuttering form fell limp. The current bid 14 million credits, he could do better he had to do better.

“20 million credits,” Loki spoke up as he stepped next to the Grandmaster who paused to look at the newest member of his entourage surprised as the room quieted all but for the poor woman being fucked relentlessly.

“Wow, OK it looks like we have a new bidder,” the Grandmaster began, movement at the back of the crowd catching Loki’s eye.

Brunhilde knew her, the scrapper knew the slab of flesh on the auction block, so to say, was more than any salve, she was Asgardian, one that she recognized from a child before the Valkyrie left the realm. Wondering why she never seen her but if she was private collection then that would explain it and she wasn’t about to let the newest scum who followed the Grandmaster’ shirt tails take her and ruin her more.

“21 million credits and an endless supply of fighters for half the price,” the scrapper spoke making Loki glare at her, the centarian finally pushing off of the now lifeless creature, body spent and fluids leaking out of every orifice as it seemed it was all she could do was breath.

“Sold,” the Grandmaster didn’t hesitate to say as the crowd cleared for the scraper to come forward, the elaborate man calling her scrapper 142, Loki taking a mental note as he stepped close to congratulate her.

“I will offer you double what you paid,” Loki spoke quietly as the tanned woman handed over the small gold rectangle for the credits to be deducted among other things added to the list as she ignored Loki when she took the object back and start for the disoriented woman, flinging a blanket over her pulled off a couch before getting the woman to wobbly feet to leave.

“No, she’s mine,” the bronze woman sneered to Loki pushing past the tall man to hurry out with the woman who was barely able to walk.

The scrapper needed to get the woman settled so she could go make good on the rest of the deal, the annoying man following her close and down the corridors badgering her and offering more for the creature that appeared to be barley hanging on. The annoying asshole even following Brunhilde into her small apartment and back to the bedroom where she laid the limp woman who looked relived to be laying down without anyone expecting a performance.

“Look, whatever you intend her for isn’t happening so leave,” she bellowed at the man who barely budged when she lost her temper drawing a dagger to put it to his throat.

“I want nothing more than to help her, heal her, let me show you,” was all he said as he skirted around the woman to sit on the bed, carefully removing the collar around the shivering woman’s neck for aching body to lose its pale clammy appearance as if it was healing itself from the inside out.

“OK, look,” Brunhilde huffed out in exasperation, she didn’t have time for this and was running low on patience, as well as something told her he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. “How about you rent her for the day, I have to go make good on the rest of the deal or I will end up like her. She comes back better than she left, or I will cut your throat,” she sneered at Loki who was quick to pull the woman into his arms to hold her close before taking steps out of the room.

“You never asked my price,” she spoke after Loki who began to step out of the room via the sliding door.

“Doesn’t matter, it's taken care of,” Loki spoke as he stepped out the door, using his seidr to take them to his quarters that were cleaner and less chaotic.

Quickly the god took long strides to carry her to his own bed, sitting next to the lifeless woman worriedly, hand smoothing over sweat stiff hair as he used seidr to help her own continue to heal her body and to clean her.

“Wake up Y/N, at least show me you can hear me, I know your tired lover, but I need you to wake up, just look at me,” Loki spoke quietly watching her move to open hazy eyes, letting out a sigh at what it could only mean why she was here in bed with this man.

“What does my master ask of me,” she spoke hoarsely, voice strained and hazy eyes not recognizing the man before her, sitting up without shame of being bare before a stranger, but then again she felt the embarrassment as the man made sure to wrap a robe around heavy shoulders to keep naked form covered.

“I'm not your master love, I'm Loki, do you not…,” the man began searching blank face over for any sign of the woman he once knew her as, a warrior full of life, one stronger in seidr than him, well versed and used to share his bed till she was thought dead.

She searched Loki’ face over, was she to know him? Was it her life before that had been wiped from her mind? This was all she knew servitude, the collar, wait, the collar.

Hand going up to soft, bare neck to look up to the man, no, her buyer her new master would be upset the collar was gone, that she lost it. Eyes growing wide in panic as fingers tore at soft neck. No, the collar was to never come off, jerking hands away from her neck to glance around the room, the bed.

He wasn’t her buyer, he was renting her, he had no right to remove it, to take it, Y/E/C orbs locking onto his as it seemed he was at a loss as to what was happening until he finally noted to angry scratches gold painted nails had left in their wake and was now searching frantically over the bed for. In a panic getting to her knees to search the covers like a frantic animal digging in the dirt for a meal.

Carefully he grabbed her wrist to stop the frantic searching, she was wearing herself back down in the panic, he knew she feared punishment and he could only imagine what form it took in the woman’s shattered mind as she shivered with. Loki managing to get Y/N to look at him, well the hands he held her wrist in anyway as he knew it would be hell to pay to get her to look him in the eye.

“My master will be upset that the collar is gone, it… it keeps my seidr bound so no one has to fear me or punish me… please… put it back… please…,” the broken creature pleaded with his wrist, finally looking up to him for a second with pleading eyes before looking back to his wrist, trying to shrink into herself, trying to show submission in hopes of not being punished.

“Your…,” damn he hated to play along with this game, especially with her, what was once a strong lover was now a shivering panicking creature before him that he needed to calm. “Your master,” Loki forced out, “she removed the collar,” liar you did, “she knows, it is OK love, calm down, no need for it, you want be punished,” he sounded to negotiate, moving in attempts to get her to look up at him but still she wouldn’t.

“Look at me pet, I want punish you for meeting my gaze. I have you for the day, until your master returns,” Loki spoke finding it eerie as Y/N calmed to finally look up at him, meeting his gaze though he knew it killed her, slowly releasing trembling wrist to watch her get to her knees before him hands up turned on her thighs, submitting.

“What would you like for me to do for you today,” Y/N spoke quietly looking him over, there was only one reason to be rented out besides just earning some of the money back that her buyer, her new master had spent out to purchase her, knowing the Grandmaster her price wasn’t cheap.

“Norns love what has happened to you,” he breathed, reaching out to place his hand on her soft cheek feeling her lean into and unable to prevent himself from relishing in the feel.

Slowly Loki placed a hand over her upturned one, using his seidr to call her own noting her look down and her body began to shake at what this could mean. Gradually Loki scooted forward to sit close, carefully pulling shivering form into him to hold her in a comforting way, trying to convey he wanted no sexual attention like what she was preparing to offer as he returned the robe to her shoulders with a thought and continued to watch his emerald mist swirling with her golden glimmer.

Loki noted the look in her eye, this was the first time she had seen her seidr in a long time, noting her fall into him, she was lost, not sure what was expected of her. Clear she was unsure how to respond to it, normally one didn’t want, this, it was either on her back, stomach or knees doing as commanded.

A slight tingling of the hand that was placed on her cheek that was beginning to lace into her hair to lay her head to his shoulder as he settled her into his lap. It was breath taking to say the least, the first time that someone had entered her mind in centuries to give her a vision, one of her tangled with the one before her but younger, leaving her wide eyed as she sat back to look over the older version, foggy mind still straining to remember.

Y/E/C orbs focusing as he spoke to her a little more to keep her calm, not looking for responses just explaining all he could in hopes of jogging a memory for as long as he had her in his care before taking her back to Brunhilde. Carefully Loki called the seidr back and allowed hers to retreat, while he continued to hold her close, telling tales of Asgard and when they were children.

“Are you hungry love,” Loki echoed, obvious she wasn’t used to someone asking if she was hungry or caring for what she truly needed, carefully Y/N shuffled in his lap as a bowl of fruit appeared in his hand to place it on his leg hinting for her to eat but noting she refused to reach into the bowl.

Thoughtfully Loki pulled a piece of fruit from the bowl and held it out to her, noting how easily she took it and taking time to eat it as it felt as if she was relaxing further into him. It seemed an odd arrangement whatever this was, she had never been treated like a well she guessed like a queen would be tended to, handled easily and soothingly in a calm atmosphere.

“What do you remember little one,” Loki began to question quietly, the woman shifting in his lap once more her knees pulled in close as he continued to hand over pieces of fruit while his free hand traced along her clothed lax spine, her shoulders moving as she took in a breath to speak, plucking the fruit out of his fingers to hold it in hers.

“I can only remember being tossed in my room for not obeying, for not submitting, after that I just remember the private quarters,” Y/N spoke softly, it wasn’t really permitted to speak of her life but this man that was being so gentle with her tired body, this Loki, it was easy to sense he was just more than any man.

“Well, we will just have to work on that want we dove,” he reaffirmed calmly once more, soothing over her back as he handed the last piece of fruit over, the bowl disappearing as she finished it off and the woman snuggling in closer into the man who seemed to be allowing comfort instead of demanding other acts, hand still soothing over lax spine as the one that was feeding her was rubbing over smooth shins.

Slowly Y/N fell asleep in Loki’ arms, the god continuing to speak of Asgard, of things she had missed, explaining who he was, who she was, a great warrior that he cared for and continued to care for even after her disappearance until it was time to return the sleeping creature to the scrapper, her buyer.  

True to his word Loki had the woman back to Brunhilde’ room, holding the now waking woman in his arms still in the same robe he had placed on her the moment the scrapper stepped into the apartment looking slightly unsteady but nothing out of hand. Cognac orbs looking the two over, noting the woman didn’t move as if she was sore or had been taken advantage of which was good, meant she wouldn’t have to kill him just yet.

“Take her to the bedroom, she needs to rest,” was all the scrapper spoke as Y/N was sat to her feet, obvious she wasn’t sure what to do at the moment, the woman looking at her buyer while taking a few steps away from Loki.

“Y/N needs to eat,” Loki spoke carefully, apparent he wasn’t wanting to anger the scrapper, Brunhilde pausing to look the two over nodding slightly, the tanned woman may take her anger out on his Y/N and that was a thing he wouldn’t allow.

Y/N looked back to Loki before she finally stepped closer to her buyer that was now standing at the edge of the kitchen counter, unsure of what was expected as she stopped before the bronze warrior who looked her over noting how well she looked hinting to her to take a seat at the table. With a gentle nod that left loose locks falling into Y/E/C orbs, Y/N padded to the table taking a seat quietly watching over the two, looking for any sign that she was wanted to behave differently, or if she was expected to prepare herself to perform as it was.

“I see you did as I asked, good for you,” the scrapper snapped out to Loki who was beginning to leave feeling Y/N staring at his back as the scrapper went to the refrigerator to pull a container from it, placing it on the counter, the god had done what he could for the day, maybe if he cooperated for once in his life things would work out for the best.

“Pick her up at first light and have her back the same time,” Brunhilde bit out to Loki who paused in the door way, glancing over his shoulder at the two women, studying Y/N for an instant noting her weary body looked relaxed, it didn’t matter if she had been treated like a play toy for centuries it would still show when one could sense they where about to be used.

“Very well,” was all he spoke, meeting the tanned woman’s cognacs gaze before leaving the two women to themselves.

“You like leftovers,” Brunhilde began speaking to Y/N, carefully looking over at the woman who was doing the same, both studying one another, the scrapper knew the confused woman was waiting for the order, the sign to do as her master commanded and it was actually heart-breaking given Y/N was a great warrior or once was.

“I will eat whatever my master sees fit,” Y/N spoke just loud enough for her to be heard, the scrapper hearing soreness in her throat, meeting Y/E/C orbs while it was clear the woman was preparing to mentally detach herself if need be.

“OK,” Brunhilde began the clatter of plates making Y/N focus on all attention to the bronze woman covered in the days grime from doing whatever it was scrappers done.

Truth be told Y/N was ignorant to certain workings outside of the private world of entertainment so to say, cognac orbs sparkling as they continued to gaze into Y/E/C ones sparkling with curiosity, not fear, a thing Brunhilde knew it had taken her a long time to conquer. “Don’t call me your master, or buyer. You call me Brunhilde, I am your friend, I have known you since Asgard, before I came here. If I had known you were in the Grandmaster’ private collection I would have tried to get you out then, you are safe here with me and apparently that pompous bastard, Loki, just stay close to us yeah?”

Y/N looked the scrapper while Brunhilde’ gaze rake over her thick robed form. It was visibly noticeable to the bronze woman that Y/N looked better than earlier, as well as in the way she moved all be they calculated moves that where learned in order to tread lightly as one would put it. This development was a plus but still she looked tired, Y/N finally responding with a smile and a quiet, “yes Brunhilde.”

Stoically the woman sat in the chair watching Brunhilde plate to food after it was warmed, the scrapper informing Y/N to get the pitcher out of the refrigerator, glasses off of the counter and to take them to the table as the two sat to eat. Brunhilde speaking to the woman about what she did on Sakaar, that she was once more, safe with her, she would ask nothing of her but to help with the burden of the chores around the apartment.  The scrapper explaining after they ate she was going to take a shower and after that Y/N could have the facilities as long as she wanted.

It was comforting to stand under the hot water, letting it rain over thick curves that no longer ached, to take time without anyone interrupting in more ways than one as well as just feeling clean. Seidr had healed and cleaned her body effectively but something about a hot shower made one relax. With a contented sigh Y/N sunk to the floor in the medium sized shower stall letting the water rain over her pulling her knees to her chest to enjoy the feel of it raining over her, jolting when the door opened into the small space, looking up to Brunhilde who looked slightly wobblier than before but giving a smile.

“Take your time, I brought you some clothes,” Brunhilde spoke sitting them on the counter, Y/N getting to her feet to cut the shower off, figuring that the state of her shriveled skin was attesting to the fact she had taken long enough, unashamed of her body to step out to take the clothes but holding them as if waiting for a command, the scrapper realizing she stared longer than she should have at the thick curved woman before her.

Y/N continued to hold to the clothes as she took another step forward, it was always her job to make the first move, standing almost flush to the bronze skinned woman who took in a deep breath as if to steady her own nerves, it was all Brunhilde could do to keep from taking advantage of the situation. This was what she craved in a woman, the prowess, the sureness of her moves though it was a habit taught it was still reminiscent of the old Y/N who was once in line for general.

“I don’t want you like that sweetheart,” the scrapper began, taking the long shirt she had brought from Y/N to put it over her wet head, noting in fit curvaceous form perfectly, hitting mid-thigh, bronze hand reaching up to caress over soft heated cheek and feeling her lean into it calloused thumb cherishing over the soft flesh as Y/N’ eyes fluttered closed.

“Let’s go to bed, I want make a move, promise,” the scrapper pledged to the woman who opened her eyes and smiled at her with a nod.

Quietly Y/N followed the bronze woman to the bedroom, taking what was to be her side of the bed to only wake in the middle of the night with Brunhilde pulled tight to her, arms wrapped around Y/N’ plump stomach and head buried there was well. The woman laying a hand on the scrappers back so she could feel the rise and fall of her gentle breathing, it was calming, comforting and lulled her back to a deep sleep, one she had been deprived of for centuries. Maybe this was better, maybe this was a light, a way out, an easier existence maybe?

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Dance of the Little Swan II.i

Pas de Trois

Prelude || Overture || Dance of the Harpy

Summary: The Jötnar were thought to be long-since-gone within the mortal realm. Amidst all of her fakery, Mommy Fortuna holds Loki, trapped in birth from and far from what he once considered home, as well as another little treasure: a swan maiden.

(Yes, this is a crossover, but the Last Unicorn is fairly minimal plot-wise and it’s largely a Loki fic)

Relationships: F/M (Loki/Original Female Character, Molly Grue/Schmendrick)

Rating: M (Graphic Depictions of Violence, Sexual Content)

WARNING: Mild dub-con

At some point in the middle of the night, Annie had crawled over and wormed her way under Ceana’s arm. The swan maiden had no recollection of it ever occurring. When she closed her eyes, Annie had been adjacent to her; when she opened them again, the little one’s strawberry blonde hair was half-burying her nose.

The next thing Ceana noticed was the smell of cooking meat and greens. She picked up her head, rubbing sleep from her eyes to find Loki crouched in front of the fire and watching food cook on some flat stones. He looked none-too-happy to be so close to the heat.

The sun wasn’t up yet, but the slightly-light sky foretold its rising. “Good morning, Your Highness,” she said as she stretched. Ceana did her best to hide the thick sarcasm. Whether Loki noticed on not, he showed no reaction.

The fire lit the surrounding area. It wasn’t until she tried to sit up that she felt the ache in her side. She winced.

“You would not wake up,” Loki simply said. His voice was rough from lack of use.

Ceana picked up her armband, slipping it on and nudging Annie awake. “Little one,” she whispered, “we must leave soon.”

Annie barely roused. Ceana lightly shook her until she lifted her head. “Mama? Where are we?”

Ceana’s heart panged. She smoothed Annie’s thin hair into a less disheveled style. “I’m sorry, but I’m not your Mama, sweetie, but I’m gonna help you find her.”

Annie lazily nodded her head.

“What’s your name?” Ceana asked.

“Marget.”

“Marget?”

The little girl shook her head and curls whizzed around her like a halo. “Marget.”

Ceana raised her eyebrow.

“She means Margaret, you dull thing,” Loki said. His voice was sharp for so early in the morning.

“Margaret?”

The little girl nodded her head. She attempted enthusiasm but ended up almost falling forward in fatigue. Ceana smiled down at her.

“Eat. We leave as soon as you are done.”

Demanding, Ceana thought and took some of the food from the flat stone. Her diet had since returned to its natural state, and she ate some of both. Annie— Margaret, she corrected herself—only ate the meat. She didn’t like the way the celery tasted—“like grass.”

Once they were finished, Ceana found a nice branch to use as a walking stick. It was clear of bark and without splinters and worked perfectly to alleviate the pain of her new limp. She allowed Margaret to climb on her back; the girl had a nasty cut on the bottom of her foot that she was complaining about. Once they found a stream, she could wash it and her own wound.

Loki set the giant covering of bodies alight, and they left just as the sun peeked over the horizon.

The sun was high. They were in the trees, following closely enough to the trail that they could see it, but far enough away that others would not see them. Not far ahead, she could hear a river bubbling along.

Once they reached their temporary destination, Margaret drank from the river while Loki helped Ceana out to a protruding rock in the shallows, letting her sit down while he inspected her leg. She held the skirt of her dress to prevent it from getting wet.

As she watched him, she decided she did not like having such a terrifying creature—especially one who was still threatening to eat her—holding her leg and examining her wound as if he genuinely cared.

Loki cupped his hand and allowed water to run down the burning wound. Ceana winced but allowed him to work away the old blood and dirt. “It is not as bad as I had first thought,” he said.

When he poured more water over her shin, he smoothed his hand along her skin. Ceana felt the water turn icy cold and shuddered in both shock and relief. “What magic is that?”

He cleaned the rag. “Jötnar have the ability to manipulate ice. Although, I have more skills than simply snow.”

Ceana wondered why he had not used them to escape. Outside her own transformation magic, she did not know how seiðr worked. “Can you show me, Your Highness?”

“No.”

Ceana blinked. “Why not?”

He wrapped her leg and practically dropped it back into the river, water splattering both of them. “The business of a god is not to be known by mortals.”

Ceana wanted to roll her eyes, but she knew the Jötunn would see.

She drank as much as she pleased before standing. He didn’t offer her help, so she walked out of the river herself, nearly slipping and falling on a mossy rock. Fickle Jötunn, she wanted to say, but she kept it in her thoughts.

It took a few days, but they eventually ended up on the outskirts of a small village. Ceana knew they were lucky the wound on her leg did not infect, but Margaret’s foot was now red and swollen, oozing fluid constantly. It was clearly so painful that she could not walk, and Ceana was forced to support the little one on her back—the Jötunn outright refused.

So, she now carried the small child and Loki’s cloak, constantly tripping on the frayed bottom of her own wrapping as the weight of Margaret dragged the fabric down.

Her entire body ached, but she refused to ask for any sort of relief. The first time she had, Loki scoffed, called her weak, and offered to give her the supplies so he could walk freely.

Ceana grit her teeth and looked at him. He, in turn, met her gaze expectantly, raising his brow and nodding towards the village.

With the ache in her muscles and his irksome behavior grating on her nerves, Ceana found herself to be more shrewd than usual. She knew she would regret it later, but she wanted to see the indignant expression on the god’s face.  “Are you not going to lead the way, Your Highness?”

Loki simply sneered at her. “Must I remind you that I have not had a full meal recently?”

Margaret, who Ceana had thought was asleep, startled, and Ceana felt the girl wrap her tiny arms a little closer to her collar.

“Perhaps you should.” Ceana crouched before she could see his reaction, letting Margaret slid off her back and to the ground. She turned to face the little one. “Let me see your foot.”

Margaret lifted her foot as instructed, allowing Ceana to unwrap it. She ran her thumb along the dirty sole. Margaret whimpered, and Ceana winced in sympathy, but she had to keep watch of it.

After clearing away a few pebbles that had gotten caught in the swollen skin, she took a damp rag she’d recently cleaned and replaced the old one, tucking it away for later. She then pressed her hand to Margaret’s forehead, finding the girl far hotter than what the early spring sun would cause. “We need to take you to an apothecary as soon as possible.” She took her cloak, wrapping the girl up despite her heat.

Ceana had learned from both experience and her mother that although the little one felt hot to the touch, she shivered from cold, so it is best to keep her wrapped up in a blanket. “You’ll sweat out the sickness,” her mother would have said.

Ceana stood for a moment, stretching her entire body in hopes it would relieve the slight ache in her muscles. They’d been walking for a few days straight, and—

Her vision shook and pain spiked through the back of her head.

It took her a moment to recollect herself, and, after a few moments of the entire world seeming to shake, it registered that she was against the bark of a tree. Loki was so close she could hardly see his nose.

He bared his teeth, grey and sharp, and drew closer to her.

In the days Ceana had known him, he walked and spoke like a man rather than a beast, but now… now his eyes held a dark, feral look in them, and she turned her head away. His surprisingly cold breath caressed her cheek as he drew his lips to her ear.

Fear sped through her and Ceana tried to kick him, but he pinned her body to the tree with his own. When she tried to squirm and push him away, one of his hands, just as cold as his breath, found her throat and squeezed hard enough to make her breathing ragged, the other grasping her wrists and caging her hands against his chest. Once her arms were adequately pinned, he reached for her hair and pulled her so he could cradle the back of her head. He shifted, biting her earlobe and sending—oddly enough—chills down her spine, although not due to cold. When he pulled with his teeth, Ceana flinched, terrified he was going to attempt to rip her entire ear off; she had no doubt he could if he so pleased.

Just as the tugging began to hurt enough to warrant a strangled cry, the Jötunn withdrew, and Ceana thought that perhaps his attack was over. She trembled in an odd mixture of fear and relief, tensing again when he seemed to suckle the lobe.

His knee made its way uncomfortably between her legs, shoving her upwards until he managed to nestle his hips against hers. Her back scraped against the tree and the bark rubbed her skin raw.

Ceana could feel her heart thumping in her chest. It was horribly difficult to ignore the pressure he was creating between her legs.

She’d never even considered the thought of someone’s touch—whether it be hers or another’s—venturing between her legs, especially before she’d been wed; her own hand had never been there except when cleaning, and she hadn’t even thought to be thankful that no man had ever tried to force himself upon her. Until now, Ceana thought.

She tried to move to alleviate some of the pain, and felt the Jötunn—the beast, the… the monster—smile against her skin. “Concubine,” he muttered and removed his hold on her neck to explore elsewhere. His mouth moved lower to lightly bite her skin, his tongue lapping along the vein there.

Ceana squirmed. Although she now had the freedom to scream, she found the chill he’d left on her neck continued biting. Her throat was painful and dry, and she could only manage a graveled croak.

Just as his wandering touch was about to reach below her makeshift dress, he jolted slightly, his breath stuttering.

He retreated.

Ceana had shut her eyes at some point during the assault, but she opened them now, following the beast’s gaze down to see an angry little red-head. Her face was scrunched up in hostility, her hands in little fists.

He glared down at Margaret, bearing his teeth, but her gaze did not waver. Her fist, in fact, rose, and she hit his leg for what was presumably the second time. “Let her go!”

He smirked, confusing Ceana beyond belief. In one smooth movement, he stepped away and released her, causing her to fall and land hard at the roots of the tree. “I suppose I do still need you pure in order to find that Unicorn, don’t I? I certainly won’t be able to see her on my own.”

Ceana slumped over, still shaking and now on the verge of tears. She watched as Margaret ran at the beast, and began to claw and hit him despite her own injury, attempting to maul every vestige of skin she could reach. He merely rolled his eyes and placed his palm against her forehead, shoving her backward. Ceana felt the blast of cold he released upon the child from where she lay, the poor thing tumbling backward and falling; Margaret remained on the ground and began to cry.

The beast pulled her swan feather from behind his ear, walking over to Ceana and dangling it in her face. Ceana lifted her shaking hand, attempting to grasp at it. He easily snatched it from her fingers, snickering as he tucked it away. “Still, I own you, swan, and still, you must obey me, but I’ll give you a choice.” He stood to his full height, towering over her. “You may stay there, and I kill that wretched thing or quiet it and I will, for now, graciously allow it to live.”

She was a shaking disaster but managed to crawl her way over to Margaret, pulling the little girl into her lap and attempting to soothe her despite her utter lack of voice.

Eventually, Margaret calmed, and Ceana stood and turned to find him gone. She swallowed, doing her best to ignore the pull in her chest that told her to go into the woods. She kissed the little girl’s forehead and started to walk towards the tiny village, the sun setting behind her.

Ceana knew they were lucky to find a sympathetic woman who happened to have a bed to spare. Her son had only recently left to make his own homestead, and the bedding still smelled of him.

Teàrlach, his mother called him, and her name was Seonag.

Seonag lived without a husband—an illness swept through their village early on in their marriage. The woman resolved then to learn the ways of herbalism and became the village’s healer.

Ceana brought Margaret over to the bed, helping Seonag rest her down so she could be properly inspected. The middle-aged woman already had water boiled and a medicinal tea for her throat was steeping.

Seonag looked at Margaret's foot. “That’s a mighty infection, there.” She leaned close to Ceana so Margaret couldn’t hear her next words. “You’re lucky the girl’s still alive.”

Ceana nodded, worry creeping up into her chest. She hadn’t known how bad it was.

Seonag smiled. “I’ll do everything I can to help her.” After a bit of shuffling around her cottage, she found what she was looking for and started to make a poultice, instructing Ceana to watch.

It was fairly simple—marigold and lavender oil. The lavender oil was tedious to make, so Seonag gave Ceana a small jar wrapped in dark fabric. The poultice was crushed in a bowl and heated over a fire, then placed in the cloth used to wrap Margaret’s foot. “Heat it if possible and change it at least twice a day until the infection lessens,” she said. “After that, apply it only once. I’d advise you two stay here until it improves a bit.” She shuffled back over to the fire, sniffing the tea to check it. With a nod, she took out the little sack of herbs, squeezed it, and handed the mug to Ceana. “It doesn’t taste very good, but make sure you drink up and gargle it every few swigs.”

Ceana nodded. She did as instructed, cringing at the bitter taste.

Seonag lightly shoved her towards a chair by the fire. “Sit! Sit! Poor thing, do you have shoes for you and your little one?”

Ceana shook her head, taking another gargled gulp. The heat of the fire added with her tea left her sweltering, but she tried to ignore it. Seonag knew what she was doing. Besides, the heat was helping with her throat.

“Let me take a proper look at ye, now.” Seonag pulled a stool over to sit in front of her. “Throat, you said?”

Ceana nodded, lowering her mug. She ignored the tugging in her chest.

Seonag turned a bit, lightly gesturing for Ceana to follow until the glow of the fire fully lit her face. “Open wide!” Upon inspection, she nodded. “A bit irritated, but nothing too bad.”

Seonag nodded. “I’m going to feel your throat, just as a precaution. Make sure nothing’s the way it shouldn’t be.” She reached out without further ado, resting her fingers on Ceana’s neck for barely a second. “By Scathach!” she exclaimed, so loudly that Margaret jumped from sleep.

Ceana’s eyes were wide, but she set her tea down and got up, sitting down beside Margaret and soothing the poor girl. She felt her heartbeat to find it racing, and shushed Margaret and calming her. She looked up at Seonag while she rocked the little redhead.

Seonag was checking her own throat and cheeks now. She grabbed the tea walked up to Ceana, touching her own cheeks and the back of her neck. “Miss, my hands are in no way cold, but your throat…”

Ceana raised her eyebrows in reply, taking the tea and drinking more.

“It’s so cold it burns!”

The slight tugging at her body began to overwhelm her, begging her to leave the cottage and venture into the night. She did not doubt that it would lead her right to the Jötunn’s awaiting arms.

“If you’ll excuse me, I… I need some fresh air.” Ceana knew the excuse was lame at best, but she felt her body pulling her beyond her control. “I’ll be back before morning.”

She hurried out, not even accepting Seonag’s offering of a pair of shoes.

#fanfic #fanfiction #loki #loki (marvel) #loki fanfic #loki fic #Loki Laufeyson #marvel #norse mythology #Dance of the Little Swan #Dance of the Little Swan II.i #Pas de Trois