#i will never be over loki | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spookyrea · 26 days

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Love at First Sight (or should I walk by again?)

Everyone keeps pointing out the fact that Loki can't keep his hands off of you - but that's just the kind of guy he is, right? Right...? (Or: the one where Loki keeps giving you mixed signals and you decide to take matters into your own hands. To mixed results.) Chapter 1 / 2 to read on AO3, click here

The office was empty and drearily dark; the sun had only barely crossed the horizon, bathing the 27th floor of the Avengers Tower in a deep purple haze. The early morning silence was tempered only by the sound of rain pattering against the window and the occasional rumble of the metro a couple blocks away. It was the kind of morning best enjoyed in bed under a mountain of blankets - not filling out cost-analysis reports.

Fury had had you out in the field for three weeks straight on consecutive missions, meaning you had returned home - bruised, exhausted, dreaming of clean sheets and hours of mindless television - to a veritable mountain of paperwork. Paperwork that you probably could have finished by now - or, at least, made way more progress on - if it weren’t for your resident distraction-on-legs.

Loki rearranged himself in the seat across from you; the toe of one of his meticulously polished shoes bumped against your sneaker, bullying its way between your feet to hook around your ankle. Your desk lamp cast a warm golden glow across his cheeks, accentuating the long line of his nose and the narrow cut of his jaw. His hair, usually so meticulously styled, was loose and curling wildly.

You signed off on the file in front of you, pointedly ignoring the warm flush that crept along the back of your neck, and added it to the mounting pile to your left.

Not twenty minutes after you’d settled in at your desk, Loki had strolled out of the elevators into the office. With all the magnificent theatrics he could muster, he’d thrown himself into the chair opposite yours - his chair - and plucked up the paperback he’d left dogeared a fortnight ago.

(Loki had a desk, kitty-corner to yours in the Avengers semi-circle. He seemed to prefer to sit at yours and complain about the lack of space.)

Not that it mattered where he sat. Your eyes seemed intrinsically magnetized to him; to the dark curls that brushed his jaw; to the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. You could spend hours watching the meticulous flick of his wrist when he crossed his t’ s, or the way his fingers deftly rolled his cufflinks free to turn his sleeves up.

Or, like you were doing right now; your pen hovered lamely over your paper while you admired him through the fan of your eyelashes, fixated on the way his index finger and thumb rolled the corner of one page as he read.

“Particularly interested in fourteenth-century extraterrestrial poetry, are we?” Loki intoned. Your eyes darted up to find that his were already on you, watching with a peculiar expression. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that he wasn’t human, but up this close there was a preternatural edge in his eyes that pinned you in place.

“No,” You replied quickly. Flustered, you flipped a random dossier open and scanned it over, adding the appropriate signature on every other page. Loki’s eyes burned a hole in the side of your face - you could practically feel the patronizing arch of his brow. “Just tired. Zoning out. You know. What was the name of the knife you let me borrow?”

“Earthbreaker.”

“Right, thank you.” You jotted the name down under Resources Returned With. It was the only weapon you’d not lost in Shanghai; all your other daggers and close-combat tools had been dissolved by an alien gunk that ate through Earthly metals like sugar in water. Loki had sliced the offending creature’s head clean off its shoulders before flipping the knife around to you, hilt-first.

You did not, however, mention the pocketful of extra-terrestrial stones Loki had shared with you after the fact - but you knew from experience that Finance didn’t care about Loki’s magpie-like tendencies.

( These were very rare on Asgard. Courtiers sometimes sewed them into their sleeves as symbols of status.

They’re beautiful.

Yes, he’d agreed. But I think they’d look better against your arm, no?)

You finished off a comment on page seven and tucked your report into the Shanghai, Domestic (Earth) Threat folder. Despite Tony’s seemingly endless pockets, the Avengers finance department was meticulous about tracking your spending, which required an extreme detail when justifying any and all decisions made out in the field.

(It probably had something to do with the Berlin Incident, where a stray explosive arrow and a couple hundred tons of Hulk had cost Stark Enterprises a few hundred million dollars. Which, you would like to remind everyone, was not your fault. You were off a few blocks away wrestling mutant bat-dog-horses away from some celestial object intent on challenging Thor for his hammer.)

Loki materialized something out of thin air and slipped it between the pages of his book. “I think a break is in order, pet.”

“It’s only been forty-five minutes.”

He flicked an errant curl out of his eyes while leveling you with a truly magnificent pout. “Forty-five agonizing minutes.”

“You haven’t even done anything today.”

“I’ve been keeping you company. It’s exhausting work. Really - I have a sudden appreciation for the court jesters back home.”

“Well your jester routine could use some work.”

Loki gasped. “I’ll have you know I am a wonderful jester.”

With a syrupy petulance, Loki plucked the folder from your hands and handed it off to the little robot Tony had assigned to the bullpen - the Paperwork Assistant Lite, or PAL for short. PAL shot off with a chirp, zipping on his tiny treads, the security badge on his chassis swinging merrily behind him.

You tried to tug your foot away in retaliation but Loki was faster. His other foot slid along the side of your shoe until your ankle was trapped between both of his. You twisted in his grip but with a quick yank Loki had you teetering on the edge of your seat. He leaned across the desk and bracketed your forearms with his. “Yield.”

You blew out a breath and screwed your face up in mock defiance. “No.”

“Do not force my hand, mortal.” His eyes shone a brilliant green and a crackling bolt of seidr whispered across your wrists warningly. He plucked your pen from your hand and tossed it aside carelessly. “Yield.”

“You’ll run out of things to throw eventually.” You swatted ineffectually at his calf with your other foot.

“And when that happens, it will be you I put over my shoulder.”

He caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger. You could hear the storm outside swelling; the rain was deafening, the wind rattling the glass in its frame. The desk groaned under his weight as he leaned in just a hair closer. Your breath caught in your chest as his mouth parted, lips shiny where he’d chewed them in contemplation. “You’ll yield one day, pet.”

The train rumbled along in the distance.

Twenty-seven stories below, a car horn blared.

Your pinky brushed the inside seam of Loki’s sleeve, and the whisper of skin on wool seemed deafening.

Loki fell back in his seat with a shove and loosened his grip. He slipped his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “What if I promise to leave you alone. On the condition that you let me buy you breakfast.”

You blinked at him. “Alone-alone? Or ‘alone for ten minutes before you blow up the coffee machine’ alone?”

He nodded grimly. “Alone-alone.”

You sank back in your chair. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes that the smarter, more sensible part of your brain cautioned you about. When you didn’t immediately respond, he offered his hand and wiggled his fingers enticingly.

“Fine.” As soon as you acquiesced, Loki unfolded from his chair and rounded the desk. He had already pulled your jacket off the back of your chair in the time it took you to locate your security badge and was holding it out for you. He helped you slip your arms in and straightened the collar so it lay flat across your shoulders. “But I fully intend on eating you out of house and home.”

He grinned. “Only the best for my little mortal.”

Loki stood at mock attention, his body ramrod straight but eyes slitted rebelliously, and offered you his arm. You rolled your eyes but did not deny yourself the luxury of folding your hands over his bicep.

Sleepy beams of sunlight filtered through the gaps between high-rises, drowned out by sheets of rain. The first few commuters were filtering along the sidewalk, heads bowed and shoulders up to block out the chill. Loki magiced an umbrella from nowhere and drew you in tightly. The cover it provided was cramped, giving you an excuse to tuck into his side.

The two of you made the three-block journey to your usual coffee shop in companionable silence. It wasn’t until he had deposited you safely under the store’s awning that he dropped your arm, only to usher you inside with a hand on your back.

The shop was a hole-in-the wall, the kind of place without any seating except for a few mismatched tables in the back. Narrow enough that you could almost touch either wall if you stretched hard enough. But the coffee was good and the food even better, and on freezing mornings like this it was a welcome distraction from the sharp cold outside.

Your usual barista, Yvonne, barely glanced up when you entered. Her dark eyes flickered knowingly between the two of you, lingering on the casual way Loki thumbed the seam of your coat sleeve.

“Morning,” She pulled open the pastry display and piled an assortment into a paper bag for you. “Coffee will be just a second. You want to try something new today?”

Loki was already nodding, sliding a stack of bills across the laminated countertop. To you, he said: “pick whatever you want, pet,” and then slipped to the end of the bar to wait for your drinks.

Yvonne dipped into the kitchen before returning with a little plastic container. “It’s a new recipe but we’re not sure if we’re going to sell it yet. Let me know what you think.”

You smiled and accepted the box, along with a paper bag containing your usual orders - a bagel for you and a couple of honeyed pastries for Loki. You and Loki were the only patrons in the shop, so you didn’t feel too bad lingering at the register. Yvonne leaned her forearms on the counter and poked your forearm. “So how’s it going with… you know.”

You took a forlorn bite of your bagel and cast your eyes to the end of the bar. Loki was chatting with the other barista, leaning over the counter to whisper something conspiratorially to her. She hung off of every word which, how could you blame her. He was, after all, charming and handsome and princely and a notorious flirt.

It was no secret that Loki thrived off of attention. When he had first arrived in his brother’s tow he’d been nothing but easy grins, sandwiched between Thor and Banner. It only took a week before Loki was grudgingly accepted after helping to stop the Bad Guy of the Week in a fishing town in New Brunswick, Canada and saving Natasha’s life, and it only took a year and another brush with near-death - which involved Loki using his seidr to literally hold Steve’s insides inside - for him to gain some leeway among the team.

Which he abused immediately.

He was a terror. He was unpredictable, constantly underfoot, and he and Thor spent just as much time brothers-in-arms as they did at eachothers’ throats. He flirted his way out of most scrapes and connived his way out of the rest. Meaning - he absolutely thrived.

You had all come to rely on having him in your back pocket for missions. He was a great strategist and an even better fighter - even if he gave Tony a run for his money in the obnoxiousness department.

And you liked him. You really liked him - liked his company, liked his dry sense of humor. You liked the way your stomach swooped every time you heard his voice from around the corner, and how your heart clenched whenever he shot you a private smile during briefings. He was a great sparring partner and he seemed to have a sixth sense for when you needed a pep talk. But his attention never settled on you the way it did on marks or pretty secretaries or baristas.

A larger-than-insignificant part of you understood that what Loki liked about you was how your focus never waned. He liked the attention - for his little mortal to fawn over him.

You’d thought he’d been interested at first, in the week after he’d saved Natasha.

The touching.

The pet names.

And then months went by and you watched him flirt with anything that breathed. And, on one occasion, something that didn’t.

“I still think he likes you,” Yvonne said. “He practically hangs off of you. Like one of those little baby sloths in a Dodo video.”

“That’s just Loki,” you said around a mouthful of bread. You’d confided in her a few weeks prior about your little crush in a moment of weakness and she, like Natasha, had taken to the cause like a dog to a bone. “He’s like that with everyone. I mean - look at him. He doesn’t really like me like that.”

The doorbell chimed, and Yvonne pushed away with a dramatic sigh. “He’s an ass then. Not worth it.”

“Who’s not worth what?” Loki sidled up beside you, coffee cups balanced in either hand. Yvonne shot you a look and waved the question away. You said a hurried goodbye and let Loki corral you into the deluge outside.

Heavy droplets of rain battered the pavement. Cars trudged along through broad trenches of water. Sliding his arm around your waist, Loki steered the two of you back the way you came. He held you tightly against his side to keep you both under the umbrella, so that your hips bumped with every other step and you could feel the heat coming off his coffee cup at your elbow. You took a sip of your own drink to distract yourself.

“Oh, I think you gave me your drink by mistake.” You pulled the cup away to check the label. Instead of an order, you found a ten-digit phone number scrawled in thick black marker.

“Terribly sorry, pet.” You didn’t miss how Loki’s grip tightened on your forearm when you strayed a little too far from the umbrella. He swapped your drinks, then made a disinterested noise. “I have to admire her bravery. I mean, it was clearly a stupid decision, but brave none the less.”

“Oh, be nice. The poor girl can’t help being charmed by your wiles.”

“I am devilishly charming, aren’t I?” Loki jostled you with his shoulder. You swallowed a sigh when he turned his nose into your cheek, his hot breath fanning over your jaw. “But I’m clearly not interested.”

“Loki,” you chided. “Your idea of clearly not interested is most peoples’ ‘oh god take me now’.”

“Preposterous. On Asgard we took courtship incredibly seriously. There were steps involved. A whole process. That,” he waved his hand, “was merely my enchanting nature.”

You rolled your eyes. “Jane told me that Thor offered her the head of a robot overlord he took down in Brazil.”

Loki pulled you to a stop to wait for the crosswalk sign to turn. “It likely would have been a stag on Asgard. Thor made do with what he could. Though I always imagined myself offering up a manticore, personally. Maybe a giant serpent.”

You hummed. “What a romantic.”

Loki shot you a curious look. “I spent much of my boyhood imagining how I might court my future mate. The gifts. The parties. I always imagined a woman at the edge of a dancefloor, how I might ask her to dance. She’d be dressed in my colours in a public declaration. Covered in gold. My sword at her hip…”

The crosswalk chirped. Loki drew you along, finishing lamely: “So no. That’s not ‘interested’.”

The rain was coming down harder, whipped up by the wind so it blew directly in your faces. A bead of water slid down your cheek; the umbrella only covered so much, and dark splotches were beginning to pepper the shoulders of your jackets and creep up the hem of your pants. A chill had settled over your skin unpleasantly… yet you couldn’t help but groan as you rounded the corner and the crisp steel contours of the Avengers tower melted into view.

Loki glanced over his shoulder, a boyish grin tilting his lips upwards. A few damp curls clung to the column of his throat. “Tell you what, pet. Why don’t I practice my court jester routine a little longer?”

Loki crowded you against the side of the Avengers tower, shielding you from the worst of the storm. He launched into regaling you about the book he was reading - a collection of alien poetry from sometime around Earth’s 14th century, found in one of Tony’s art collections gathering dust. ( We called them engagements on Asgard. Because suitors would often ‘forget’ them in their intendeds’ parlors as an excuse to return later. ) All the while, he drew the plastic container Yvonne had given you from your paper bag and pried the lid off. Inside was a collection of small pastries with cracked sugar shells on top - profiteroles, you thought. Loki plucked one and gestured with it wildly to emphasize his point, nearly upturning the entire box in his enthusiasm.

“Okay, that’s enough.” You took the container from him and held it securely in your free hand. “What were you saying?”

“I was quoting. I said ‘ If love was like an ocean, then mine was like a well.’”

“Deep and drinkable?”

“Hand-dug.” Loki popped the sweet in his mouth. His eyebrows rose comically. “That’s good. That’s very good,” he said around a mouthful.

You hummed and held out your coffee so you could try. Instead, Loki took another one out and held it up to your mouth.

You sputtered out a nervous laugh. “What? No, take my coffee.”

Loki tsked and prodded your lips with the dessert. He fixed you with a strange look, something coy but serious at the edges. A warm flush rose along the back of your neck under his scrutiny, growing so unbearable by the second that eventually you opened your mouth and let him place the treat between your teeth. Sweet cream burst out of crisp, flaky pastry and chips of hard sugar - he was right, it was delicious.

His narrowed eyes shone with mirth. “Good?”

Your breath stuttered when Loki pressed his lips to the pad of his thumb, licking away some sticky residue. His mouth pulled away with a wet peach sort of sound.

Your knuckles brushed the fabric of his shirt, warmed by his skin - a pleasant contrast to the cold, wet city air. You felt his muscles twitch under the barest touch.

His mouth tipped upwards; the back of your hand slid against his abdomen when he leaned his hand against the wall next to your head, dominating your personal space.

In a panic, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Do you have a date for the party tonight?”

“Oh sweetling,” he purred. “I thought you would never ask.”

You grimaced. “Very funny. I thought you would have already asked Emily from Accounting.”

Loki blinked down at you. “What?”

“Emily? Tall, big hair, legs for days?”

“Why would I ever ask her?”

You picked at the label printed on your coffee cup. “I don’t know. I just figured someone like you would…”

“Would…?”

You huffed out a sharp breath and glanced at him from the corner of your eye. A strange expression had crossed his face. You regretted asking at all; it wasn’t like you wanted to know the answer to that question anyway.

“Nevermind. It doesn’t matter. I’m sure you’ll be fending people off left and right anyway.”

Silence settled over the two of you, decidedly less comfortable this time. His hand slipped from the brick wall and into his coat pocket roughly.

“Do you… Do you have a date tonight?”

“No! No, I…” You laughed uncomfortably. “No. No dates right now.”

Loki hummed. The furrow between his brows lessened but only slightly.

You pushed away from the wall a little awkwardly, still balancing the box of profiteroles in your hand. Loki followed a step behind, pulling the door open for you mechanically.

You rode the elevator up in silence.

When you reached the floor for the common office, you found PAL waiting dutifully outside the elevator. His little paper tray bobbed as he spun circles around your feet.

“You are entirely too kind to him,” Loki chided while you cooed down at his adorably square face.

“Maybe he’ll be my date tonight. What do you say, PAL? Want to dance the night away?”

PAL lead the two of you to your desk, where he waited for you to assign him another file. The city was shrouded in a thick grey haze behind the floor-to-ceiling windows and bright, early morning light had flooded the room - a far cry from the intimate room you’d left. You sighed and slunk heavily into your seat.

Loki loitered. He drew the tip of one long finger down the cover of one of your folders, flipping through a quilt of post-it notes. “Ok. I’ll keep my promise and let you work now.”

“Thank you.” Before he could leave you reached out and grabbed his sleeve. He startled, glancing down at your hand before his eyes flickered back up to yours. You rolled the seam of his coat sleeve between your thumb and forefinger, dropping his gaze when it grew too hot. “I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

Loki hummed. “I’ll be the one in black.”

You couldn’t help but feel like you’d said something wrong. His hand slipped from yours and into his pocket, his little book of poetry tucked under one arm. Your eyes lingered on the elevator doors long after he’d left.

—

You were in the process of deciding between two pairs of shoes when your front door slipped open. Never one for boisterous entrances, Natasha sashayed down your front hall into your living area, shoes and makeup bag clutched in one hand, and made a bee-line for your bathroom. You padded after her, adjusting your glittery skirt as you went.

It had become customary for you and Natasha to get ready together in your apartment, even outside of Official Team Events, so you didn’t bat an eye when she leant her hip against your counter and started pinning her hair out of her face. You hoisted yourself up onto the bathroom counter while she unpacked her tools, idly playing with a tube of toothpaste in companionable silence.

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the crisis you’re having?”

“How can you tell I’m having a crisis?”

Natasha waved her hand, as if to say international super spy, duh.

“Like a twelve,” you moaned. “I can’t do this anymore. I just get so… so awkward around him. And he gets off on it, I know he does. He amps it up to a hundred because he knows it makes me uncomfortable.”

Natasha leveled a look at you through the mirror.

“He called Lydia in the mail room ‘Enchantress’ for a week. He calls me his pet. ”

“Some guys are into that.”

You made a face. “He’s not a guy though. He’s a god. How could I ever live up to that.”

You heard the front door open. Wanda had promised to come by once she’d gotten dressed. You called out her name, then returned to your moping.

“He just- ugh - he makes me crazy, you know? I like him so much. I swear if he touches me one more time I’m going to burst into flames. Or cry. Or worse, say something embarrassing. Something needy like ‘I love you please oh please let me have your babies’.” You wailed and buried your face in your hands. “I just need to find a guy to fuck it out of me.”

“If you’re looking for sex, Loki would be more than happy to help you,” Natasha grumbled. “Even if he wasn’t doing the roll-over-and-show-my-belly routine for you - which he absolutely is - he’d jump at the chance to ‘fuck it out of you’ .”

“You are not being helpful at all.” You hopped off the counter and adjusted your skirt. You were beginning to regret your decision, but the dress was a beautiful shade of green that both Wanda and Natasha had cooed at over Facetime a week ago. “I’m serious. I just need some random guy to blow off some steam. Get my mind off of him.”

Natasha tossed her eyeliner pencil in her makeup bag and zipped it shut. “Maybe you’re selling yourself short. Maybe you’re way more of a catch than you think you are.”

“And maybe sleeping with someone who actually wants me will fix my ego problem. Maybe my problem is that I’ve been spending way too much time around super soldiers and GQ models. Someone in my league. Someone totally normal who won’t laugh in my face and pat my head like I’m a horny lap dog.”

Natasha tsked. “It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind. So, what’s the plan? You find some guy, take him home, ride him into the sunset and then… Go on pretending you’re not totally in love with-?”

“Don’t say his name! I’m serious, you’re going to jinx it or something.” You glared at her reflection. “The guy doesn’t matter. In fact, he shouldn’t matter. Someone I have absolutely no interest in, who I can spend one fun night with and then move on from. I just need to regain control over the situation.”

“Mhmm. I just don’t see why Loki’s not an option here. Plug this in for me.” You squawked indignantly while she handed over her curling iron. “Worst case scenario, he’s only ok and you never have to talk about it again. Maybe he has a tail or something. Horns.”

You tried to imagine her head exploding. Or stubbing her toe really hard. Tripping up the stairs. “It’s more complicated than that.”

Natasha hummed. She sorted through the belongings strewn across your bathroom counter mindlessly, straightening out your array of weapons leftover from when you stumbled home in the early morning. One of her manicured fingers traced the edge of an ornate gold knife. Earthbreaker . “Interesting choice for a telekinetic super spy. Abandoning quiet and calculated for something a bit more ostentatious, are we?”

“I’ve been meaning to return that.”

“Return what?” Wanda rounded the corner, a tote bag in one hand and a bottle of wine in another. “Cute dress.”

You smiled. “Thank you. What took you so long?”

“Oh,” Wanda sidled up next to Natasha and began pilfering through her makeup bag. “Nothing, really. I couldn’t decide between this dress or an old red one I found in the back of my closet. I came as fast as I could.”

“No, I mean, I heard the door-”

“She’s going to hook up with a stranger tonight,” Natasha interrupted.

“What? Shit-” Wanda dropped the kohl pencil she was using and licked her thumb, scrubbing at her eyelid. “Wait, why not Loki?”

“I never said I was certain,” you interjected.

“She’s worried he doesn’t feel the same way she does.”

Wanda pouted at her reflection, assessing the symmetry of her eyeliner. “Not to be dramatic but… does it matter? He’d say yes.”

“You don’t know that. Just this morning he turned down a barista when she gave him her phone number.”

“But with a little wine? A little dancing? He looks amazing, by the way, I passed him on my way here.” Wanda turned to face you, leaning her elbows on the counter. “He’ll say yes.”

“Speaking of wine, why don’t I-”

“Worst case scenario he’s only an okay lay. Loki will leap at the chance for a one-night stand. Why would you-”

“I don’t want to just fuck him, okay?” You cried. “I know he’d fuck me. But I want more. ”

You turned on your heel and fled to the kitchen. You had never gotten around to buying wine glasses - something Natasha loved to make fun of you for - so you pulled mugs down at random.

It was only your familiarity with Natasha that tipped you off to the fact that she’d joined you. You avoided her eyes while digging through your cutlery drawer for a corkscrew.

“Babe.” Natasha took you by the shoulders and tipped her head so you were eye level. “Hey. Tell me what the worst-case scenario is.”

You shrugged, a little pathetically. “I don’t know. He’s uncomfortable. Or- or he makes fun of me.”

“He already does that.”

“But not- not like this.” You scrubbed the heel of your palm over your eyes. “I really like him. And I don’t want to lose him as a friend.”

“I think you’re gonna lose him as a friend no matter what if this continues. And I think he likes you a lot more than you think. I- and you can never, ever repeat this - I think he’s a lot more empathetic than he lets on. Hell, his brother has tried to kill him multiple times and they live on the same floor.”

Her thumbs worked in small, soothing circles over your shoulders. You leaned forward to rest your forehead against her chest and sighed. “What if he says no?”

“Just ask him to dance tonight. If he says no then no harm, no foul.” She pushed you back by the shoulders and leveled you a look. “We’re master tacticians. We can seduce that stupid peacock. Now come on, come help me do Wanda’s hair. I curl, you pin.”

You took a deep breath in and held it. On the exhale, you pulled away. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

You gathered up your glasses. Wine bottle in hand, you started to formulate a plan. A strategy. Something Peter might call Operation Get Laid if he didn’t blush every time a kissing scene came on TV.

You nodded. “Okay.”

part two!

#loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x female reader #I will literally never get over the unbearable agony of tagging things #but 2024 is the year of cringe baby. the year of being free. the year of using a damn hashtag.

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