#jötunn Loki x reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chantsdemarins · 3 months

Text

The Breath of the Æsir 🏰 (Loki x Reader) Chapter 2: The Stranger

Okay friends, I re-wrote Chapter 2. I was not happy with it after a friend pointed out to me that it needed work. Making me remember I really need a beta reader! *Any takers?

I hope those who might have read the first one will give this version a try!! As always reblogging and comments are the most amazing experience for me as a writer in this community. Thank you for reading and waiting. I am trying to get on a schedule I can stick to!

Summary: This is Loki's side of the story so far, as the world he finds himself in stirs into turmoil. What will the nature of your relationship be under these circumstances?

Smut Meter: Calm wildfire status

Word Count: 3,141 (give or take)

Loki

Loki was hiding among the Æsir. His true origin was not of theirs. Fárbauti, a frost giant, had been responsible for pulling him out of the tight silence and into form, so he could live among the Gods. A thin agreement had occurred between Odín and the Jötunn. This agreement was unknown to Loki. Odín would raise him. All his life, stirring in his veins was the blood of another people, another realm. The ornate mirrors in Asgard reflected back to him the image of a handsome spell caster with Æsir features. There was only ever the slightest feeling, that perhaps, his near-constant discontent, was related to the architecture of a family lie.

He knew where there was limitation, there was often equal illumination. Therefore, this conflict gave Loki insight into many aspects of the universe, some of which he would never have known had he not been born for deceit. This dual vision of light and dark created a natural and gradual buildup of powers, which he had no reason not to abuse. Where he lacked morals, he was tempered by circumstance back into some code of character that appeased both his father and whatever party he had offended by his lack of grace and concern. However, from time to time, something would cause him to change, more permanently, more absolutely. These events were so profound when they happened that the Skalds, both in Asgard and Midgard, told of them. Sometimes humans would be caught in the lava of the Gods' path. You were one of those humans. The day Loki lay close to one of his possible deaths, you had found him.

He was banished because he had seen enough. His contrary disposition had rejected the Northman’s insistence on placing his royal family at the heart of their bloody conquest. Thor, Freyja, Frigg—and Odín—had been brought deep into the conflict moving across the belly of Midgard. They used incantations and sacrifices to move the will of the Gods in their favor. Loki disliked this immensely. He did not like to be appeased with tokens. The ground of Asgard was saturated with the blood of Midgard. This disturbed him so much and ate at his being until he could stand it no longer. He cursed Thor, cursed Odín for the part they played in encouraging such worship.

In the throes of his discontent, Loki quickly discovered a God cannot have everything. For example, he could not have his opinion and his magic. Odín told him to go see for himself. Go see why the humans needed the Gods. See their fragility and need for guidance. He would be begging him to return to Asgard. “Go experience their ignorance with only a sword to protect you from it,” Odín had said to him.

When Loki decided to take a great risk, a great calamitous excitement would concurrently erupt. His enduring life and the lives of the Gods needn’t be so pristine and eternal. He longed for the shorter life of the Midgardians. He wanted to feel what life would be like if you only had a few years before you became permanent food for the beetles and worms. He needed to feel time slipping away from his grasp. So, without any seiðr, he nakedly stepped through the Bifrost and fell to Earth, fell to the home of the Midgard serpent, one of his many children, of which he was not the only father.

When he opened his eyes and began to walk across the hillside, so indulgently green it hurt. He took a moment and said a prayer to the elemental spirits that spun such colors into life on Midgard. They were independent of any God's influence, even ones with their full powers. The elementals were bonded to Midgard herself as servants. Loki could only admire their spinning of forms; he still had incredible vision even without any magic. He could see into their structural design and could listen to the hum of their cellular respiration. Loki was not the God of such things as fertility, but he felt himself in a keen understanding of it. He truly saw his station in the nine realms as a God responsible for making life, more than the ending of it. Not that any of the Gods would ever understand this about him. Creators often end up destroying their most precious creations just because they can. Loki had come to Midgard to change this.

He walked with careful trepidation; he was mortal now, and even though his heart soared with the thrill of his new lot, he did not want his tenure on Earth to be over so quickly. So, he cautiously guarded his path over the verdant hillside in the quiet of the afternoon. Things were seemingly calm, still, which actually began to worry Loki. Silence could mean only two things: peace or death. As he continued walking to gain a better view, he encountered a sight he was not prepared to see just yet. The ruins of a village burned in a heavy cascade of smoke. He quickly remembered he had no power to change the circumstances before him. He thought of Thor—would he truly celebrate this use of his name? He wished they would have the courage to do as he did, to come and see the work of the humans. Loki would have to be the eyes of the gods this time. Just as his contemplation ended, he felt the ground beneath him bend in a rhythmic flutter—horses. It was the same in any realm; the beasts were among the most powerful of all creations. Some could even fly, but not these. These heavy beasts carried their masters, who likely spotted him from their outposts.

They saw a stranger overlooking their burned village and identified him as one of the raiders, one of the pillagers, not as the God who made such acts possible. He looked up just in time to see a sword brandished by one of the riders. With a quick and skillful blow, he was impaled in his stomach. It had only been a few hours since his arrival, and already he was vanquished by the Norns. He fell, consumed by defeat and physical pain, his armor pierced. They spoke in their language, seemingly arguing whether they should take him captive. Perhaps they would have if they had not just suffered such a great loss. They left him to die and rode away without looking back.

The Encounter

Loki was consumed with a pain he had never felt before; it was completely debilitating. No sooner had he arrived on Midgard as a human he was swept away into the saga of their fragility. He couldn’t believe he was once so interested to experience this, to feel his life expiring and his pulse weaken. His heart was slowing, and every breath felt like he was uncertain if yet another would follow. He now worried that if he were to die on Midgard like this, his death would remain unknown, and his family would not find him before the vultures tore the newly minted mortal flesh from his bones. He fell into a fever quickly and began to dream of the frozen landscapes of his true birth home, of Jötunheim. His Asgardian façade was fading with every labored breath.

It was just his luck that as he could take no further steps, he reached the courtyard lined with thorny gorse, which pierced the white of his skin as he fell through the yellow flowers, leaving droplets of blood forming from yet another location other than his stomach. He called out something from a tongue he knew from Midgard, although he knew not where and when it was from. He saw you in the doorway before he closed his eyes; he wasn’t sure if he would open them again. He hoped that if he did, you would be there beside him. It was the tiniest of wishes; he was sure you were a Valkyrie. Not having enough blood in his veins to remember there were no Valkyries on Earth, his eyes shut, and the world of Midgard faded from his senses.

He had felt the jostling of stitches, the pulling of thread against his taut skin. He saw you, Valkyrie, with golden threads weaving his wound closed. He swore he heard you tell him his body was a tapestry, one you could embroider. He laughed at the thought of being sewn together by a fierce battle goddess of the nine realms. He worried about his weakness. He did not like the vulnerability that consumed him as he fought to return to the living. Part of him remembered the icy cold feeling of space he once felt as he let go of Thor and drifted off into the void, only to be intercepted by a race of beings so deadly and diabolical, he knew he wouldn’t be able to die enough times to satisfy their lust for power and domination. Part of him rested in the knowledge that you would make him whole again. The Norns had led him to a warrior who was also a weaver, a tailor.

He Lives, for Now

"Gef þú seiðr þinn mér," Loki mumbled once he was finally able to awaken. Sweat covered his face. A chill coursed through him. You had saved him just as he had predicted. He was still alive, but he was not yet well at all. "What is seiðr?" you immediately asked. You did not have what this man was asking for, and you would not be robbed of what you did have. Leaping to your feet, you grabbed the knife you had uncovered from his person while the man slept. Loki found himself once again at the receiving end of iron—only this time, it was his own.

"How quickly I forgot this is how people communicate, regardless of their station," Loki mused, clutching his stomach, fingers running along your needlework which now adorned him. "Communicate? Sir, you are in my home. I saved your life, and now you ask me for something else. What else could you want, unless you are the thief and murderer my servants say you are? Are they right? Have you come to kill us?" Your voice was a barely audible trill, but every vowel entered his ear as if it were a drum beating away shadows inside of him. You looked so shaky and unsure Loki was immediately disoriented.

As a Valkyrie, you would be more skillful, potentially than him. Why were you not wielding your own blade? Loki’s mind puzzled in a million different directions. In the chosen tongue, he rattled off an inquiry about where he was, now remembering he was on Earth as he came to. He needed you to confirm it. You told him the name of this small village, and Loki more solidly realized you were actually a human woman, seemingly. He found his voice hidden beneath the swell of feelings rising in his chest. "Do you know how to use that knife, woman? Don't wield something you aren't prepared to use, and why would you undo your handiwork?" Loki pointed to the careful stitches across his body. "You know me not, sir," you retorted. "I have unraveled nearly all the needlework I started. I have thrashed threads from one tapestry to another; I have no finished embroidery to show for it, so sir, flicking the threads that hold your guts in would be no long consideration."

The words that flew out of your mouth betrayed all your education and training. Never in your life had you spoken to a man like this, not to your father and surely never to your husband, but this man seemed to be able to feel and hear anything you might say. You didn’t know why you knew that, but you did. Perhaps it was the sewing him up that gave you such a perspective. The candlelight study of his stomach. You thought of the fine line that jutted across his abdomen where you had let your fingers trace in a kind of stoic appreciation for a moment while applying your stitches to his wound. You suspected your husband’s stomach did not have muscular curvature. The stranger was the first man you’d ever seen naked. You let yourself consider that for the briefest of moments before you returned to your senses and your defense of your home. By no means had you an understanding of just who this man was and what he was capable of even in his weakened state.

Loki continued to consider your origins. You could not be a simple incarnation of a human. Perhaps you were actually Asgardian, another traveler like himself, grown discontent with the trappings of the ethereal realm and transplanted to Midgard. He had known others who had come; his idea of leaving had not been a unique one. The Norns might have given him some grace after all, by leading him to you. Yet if you were a fragile mortal with a much shorter life than his, you wore your timeline with such grace, that it completely startled him. You were closer to the end of your short life than the beginning, perhaps you knew this and were prepared to defend what little you had accumulated. Or maybe it was something else that inspired such bold words. "What do they call you?" you finally spoke again, daring to continue. "Loki." His name was a rune itself, a spell, the only magic he had left. He wondered if you would feel its power. "Loki," you repeated, his name flowed from your heart to your feet, causing your body to feel heavy. You landed on the velvet living room chair with a crash. Loki, who had been situated in the other chair, leaped up beyond the ability his body should have allowed. "Woman," he said, daring to near you. "Please wake." He had not expected you to faint.

As he drew closer to you, he wasn't sure if you had fainted or passed to some other realm. You looked so peaceful. He held your head and for a moment dared to place a strand of your hair behind your ear. Your eyes struggled to open. "Loki," you murmured, not having heard the name before, but its composition—the four sounds—collided, perhaps stealing your breath. His concern for you was evident on his face, but it quickly faded, replaced by something akin to fear. Loki was startled by how swiftly Midgard's emotions were becoming his own. He had known so little of fear and now he was becoming proficient in all its shades and hues.

Suddenly a deep knock on the door and frantic voices could be heard from outside in the courtyard. A group of tenants had gathered, yelling and frantic. Perhaps the worst of your fears had materialized. Not only were you harboring a man, but now the townsfolk knew and had come to confront you about it in your husband’s absence. You did not want to open the door. You glanced at Loki, who had stepped further back into the darkness of the living room while you found your footing. "Lady, you should answer them," Loki's voice was a mere shadow, yet you trusted it to your surprise. Elinor was also nowhere to be found, and you were once again left to make decisions by yourself. This introduction with the stranger would have to further wait. With all your strength, you walked across the room and unlocked the large, heavy door. Before you could open it fully, the crowd of tenants crashed into your home and fell against you. There were strict conditions under which the manor lords ruled, and such an intrusion was likely less a group coming to judge your guest but one of desperation you immediately recognized.

You gasped for air and tried to calm them, beseeching one of the tenants to explain what had happened. "They are here, the slaughter wolves," Æthaldan, the young blacksmith, finally spoke wildly. The rest of their voices were a blur, a scattered cacophony you couldn't decipher. The "slaughter wolves," who sought to take the land you managed, had been kept at bay by bribe or sword wielded in temporary acts to push them back, to change their minds about the worth of the land. Words had been spoken by the manor lords about the rocky soil being no better than the soils of where they came. Their crops would not find purchase here either. You knew this to be true in your heart since your land had been barren, and that barrenness had crept into all places of your marriage, including your womb. Nothing but the yellow gorse you had planted around the periphery had grown.

Suddenly from behind the crowd, you heard the sound of your closest companion, "What are we to do?" Elinor had been able to come back to the manor from where she had been in the village; she was now frantic as well as she pushed Æthaldan and the others out of her way to get to you. You surveyed the tenants, as you embraced your friend; none had weapons worthy of the name. One held a reaping iron, another something procured from the hearth, likely nothing in comparison to the weapons of the intruders. You needed time to think, but there was none. You looked down at the weapon you had lifted from the stranger while he slept. You had nearly forgotten you were holding it, clasped tightly in your hand. You tried to hide it in your skirt pockets, but it was clear no one had noticed what you were holding in their panic, not even Elinor.

"Please keep them safe until I return!" you finally shouted at your friend, knowing the best she could do was bolt the door once everyone was inside. Your instructions were curt, "Call to the others, have them come to the house," your voice trailed off as you ran through the corridor of the manor, looking for the stranger. You wondered where he had gone; he was still injured but not knowing his nature of intent you imagined all possible things as you searched for him in the curtained darkness of your halls. Your thoughts ceased when you came upon his nearly collapsed form; he was barely able to stand. Without thinking further, you handed him back his knife, taking his hand and placing it to it, folding his fingers around the hilt. "Help us now, I saved you, now you save us," you demanded. "This is your weapon, use it,” you reiterated when you noticed he was not stirred to action. His blue eyes were crestfallen, “Lady, I cannot,” were his words before he handed the blade back to you.

#loki #tom hiddleston #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki fandom #loki fanfic #mcu #loki fluff #loki smut #loki x reader #norse aesthetic #norse mythology #norse pantheon #norse gods #norse paganism

84 notes · View notes

asgards-princess-of-mischief · 6 months

Text

Last Updated: 2024-02-22

Main

Loki x Mortal!Reader Prt. I || Loki x Mortal!Reader Prt. II || Loki x Mortal!Reader Prt. III

Loki x Immortal!Reader || Loki x Immortal!Reader Prt. II

T.V.A!Loki x Reader || Villain!Loki x Reader

Variants

Jötunn!Loki x Reader || President!Loki x Reader

Seasonal/Special Event

Loki x Reader: Autumn Edition || Loki x Reader: Winter Edition || Loki x Reader: Valentine's Day Edition || Loki x Reader: Summer Edition ||

Misc.

Loki x Reader: Education Edition || Loki x Reader: Criminal Edition || Loki x Reader: Workplace Edition ||

See Also: Navigation || Private T.B.R.

#Evelyn's Master Indexes #Loki x Reader #Loki Laufeyson x Female Reader #Loki x Female Reader #Loki x Y/N #Loki x You #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #Loki Laufeyson x Y/N #Loki Laufeyson x You #Tom Hiddleston x Reader #Tom Hiddleston x Y/N #Tom Hiddleston x You #Loki Fanfic #Loki Fanfiction #Tom Hiddleston Fanfiction

87 notes · View notes

tarithenurse · 1 year

Text

The Bathhouse

Fandom: MCU (AU) Pairing/starring: Jotun!Loki x Fem!Jotun!reader Content: Non-gender-segregated bathhouse, a bit of fluff and pining, smut, a smidgen of female heat, loss of virginity, naivety, mostly some sort of smut (though not P-in-V...this time). A/N: So this is actually from something else I’m working on just for myself but it had vibes that I thought I could use for some fun with Loki. Betaed by the lovely TanteFrutsel-CreativeNurse!

The Bathhouse

It has been a long day and you’re tired but even so you sneak past your friends’ doors at the inn and make your way down the stairs where the innkeeper is sitting with his book. A sideways glance reveals that it’s a volume of “Tusk Love” which you’ve never heard of.

Out onto the street and past the darkening homes, you can’t help but clutch at the concealed daggers although you feel surprisingly at home here in Utgarde. It’s just...it’s a new place and recent events have grown deep roots. It doesn’t make it easier that you feel like a stranger in your own body what with the delicate changes of the heat.

Living as long as Jötunn do, nature has decided to play a cruel trick on the females and only allow them to be fertile once every century... the heat, as this period is called, lasts for at least half a year in which they have to deal with several physical changes.

Reaching the bathhouse, the place looks closed and you are dubious when you push on the door but it swings inwards, allowing you entry to the antechamber with the reception where a flustered matron stands, wringing her hands and with curlers in the hair as though she’s been roused from bed and barely had time to dress.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she snips, “but we’re closed.”

“I was told to come.”

Before you can give more of an explanation a voice comes from the beyond the arches where the springs are: “She’s here on my behest.”

You continue into the changing area with the woman trailing behind, complaining quietly.

“Now leave us, please.” Loki sounds bored but authoritative, stirring something in you. It could be his demeanour or his rank, either way the matron leaves, pointing at a stack of towels on her way out.

The changing room has a series of smaller cubicles for private disrobing as well as a low bench snaking through the area. On the one end closest to the bath is a bunch of familiar clothes folded neatly and with a set of daggers lying on top.

Undressing, you discard your own weapons too although a knot forms in the belly at the idea of being unarmed. Then you grab a towel and wrap it around your torso before proceeding past the archway.

There’s a lot more steam than during the daytime when you would normally visit as though the springs run hotter at night. The sulphuric scent mingles with that of sweet incense burning in a pot to the side. That wasn’t there last time. Loki is resting in his true form in the water at the far side of the pool, facing the entry directly, and he lifts a dripping and muscular arm to wave at the newcomer.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he admits.

And I’m not sure I should stay, you think. Still, you step forward, stepping into the bath wearing nothing but a short swath of fabric that you find entirely inadequate in spite of Jötunn traditions but at least it covers the most important bits. Loki isn’t shy to look, his red gaze travelling your form before meeting your own faintly glowing eyes and remaining there until you’re sat down, towel soaking up the water, making it cling to your body.

You sigh. The hot spring really lives up to its name. With eyes closed you dip down below the surface to wet your hair.

Upon resurfacing, you keep your eyes shut as you wipe the water from your face. “Now tell me...what brings me here?” you shrug blindly, unsure of what else to say but it turns out any more sentences probably wouldn’t have made it past your lips as the god cups your face with a hand and kisses your softly.

*SLAP*

It’s a knee-jerk reaction, caused more by bafflement than anger or fear and the moment your palm impacts with his cheek, you regrets it.

“Sorry!” you blurt simultaneously, leaving the other gaping.

You have rarely been the type that dreamed about kissing etc but this development is very far from anything you could have ever imagined. Shifting uncomfortably where you sit, you glance over at your friend and find that he has moved away and turned his back to you completely, fingers gripping the black tresses tightly.

“Please forgive me, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry,” he repeats under his breath.

As he mutters, you get up and slowly moves over, stretching out a hand to settle on his shoulder which makes him freeze under the touch. “No...I shouldn’t have...you just surprised me, is all.”

Turning and grabbing your hand as it falls, there’s a desperation in the god’s eyes that you don’t understand but you find nothing threatening there and so don’t back away when he closes the distance one careful step at a time.

He breathes heavily, hungrily. “I should leave.”

“Oh alright...but why?”

“It’s your...your scent...it changes when you’re in heat,” he grits out but stays put, still clutching your hand.

Holding your breath as if that could help, you consider everything you know about the nature of the heat you’re going through but you cannot recall anyone ever telling you about this effect.

“Does it...hurt you?” you ask naively.

A shiver passes through Loki from the top of his head and down, carrying with it your gaze which lands on something you have never seen before and you instinctively know that this is not meant for you to gaze upon. Snapping your eyes shut, warmth rising to your face, all the awkward lessons at school come rushing into your mind although they are coloured by something new now. Curiosity. Desire. Something within you is calling back, responding to the god’s desperation.

“No,” he chuckles darkly, “you’re are absolutely not hurting me...far from.”

“Then...is there anything I can do?”

“Tell me to leave.”

“And if I don’t?”

Loki closes his eyes for a second and shakes his head so slightly you almost miss it. When he opens them again he looks at you and asks,“Let me kiss you one last time?”

You have barely nodded before his mouth is upon you, stealing a kiss and your breath. Strong hands cup your face, tilting your head gently to allow him better access as his tongue sweeps the seam of your lips which automatically part.

After a second of flailing, you grab hold of him, pulling you closer together in spite of the prodding to your lower abdomen. You need the support or you would lose all sense of balance, of up and down...but soon enough your hands begin to wander, skating over his broad shoulders and down his back, teasing a new ripple to be released and pucker the blue skin under which his muscles bunch taut as if he’s restraining himself physically.

Then, just as sudden as he’d begun, Loki releases you and steps back several paces, leaving you with your arms stretched out before you, trying to reach him.

Something more than blood is coursing through your veins, throbbing at your core. You don’t quite understand it but you know one thing: you want more.

“[Y/N],” he gasps for breath, “this isn’t what I had planned.”

“I believe you.”

You move up to him once more and this time you’re the one to glide a hand around his neck, pulling him down for a new kiss which he gladly gives into for a moment before lifting his head up against your grip with a soft groan.

“Are you sure?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one to ask you that?” you mumble against his lips.

The strong Jotunn guides you to the edge of the pool, carefully removing the towel and lifting you up until you’re seated on the edge. “I could never regret you.” A perfect hand pushes against your sternum, slowly driving you onto your back while he slots his hips between your knees. “I know I cannot...but let me give you this instead...” Before you can ask what he means by that, he shushes you.

His grip is light enough that you could resist it when Loki pushes your legs apart, revealing your most intimates. Watching between the slopes of your breasts, you see him lick his lips before lowering himself to deliver a kitten lick to the sensitive folds.

You’ve never touched yourself there save for the practicality of cleaning. Nothing could have prepared you for the odd, delicate sensation of the increasingly dedicated strokes of the god’s tongue – sometimes broad, caressing all of your core at once, and sometimes pointed and directed to the bundle of nerves at the very front. It catches you off guard when your pelvis begins to rise on its own accord from the floor as an intensity builds within you. Loki grabs your hips, holding them in place and you can feel his smile against the puffy, lower lips.

“Loki, I...” you moan without really knowing what you want to say.

You’re on the verge of something new and you want him to bring you there despite the trepidation for this unknown.

Releasing your pearl with a soft pop, he smiles up at you with a glistening mouth. “It’s alright, I got you,” and with that he returns to the ministrations.

It comes as a rush, crashing through your body in waves until you’re a moaning and writhing mess. Fingers claw for anything to hold on to, finding only his hair as your back arches off the cool stone floor. Again and again you mewl his name.

Slowly, lapping at your core lazily, he helps bring you down from this new high until you can finally breathe evenly again.

“Fucking hell,” you sigh, staring up at the ceiling while still quivering.

A strangled grunt from Loki makes you look for him: his fist is holding onto his shaft, pumping it and drawing your curiosity despite feeling abashed at that and what has just transpired.

“Please...touch your breasts for me,” Loki pleads and you obey without hesitation.

Testing at first, you quickly find that the nipples are overly sensitive, sending goosebumps down your body when you roll them between the fingers. You also cup the breasts fully, squeezing them and for the first time in your life admiring their form.

“Just like that,” he groans, hand moving more furiously.

A curiosity strikes you and you slip a hand between your legs, tracing the wetness there until you hone in on the clit which makes you shudder. Hesitantly at first but then with greater need, you begin to rub small circles onto the sensitive spot, encouraged by the words of praise that Loki showers you with until he suddenly growls your name and stutters, pearly white leaking between his fingers as his head falls back.

In that moment, he’s the most beautiful you’ve ever seen: fragile yet strong and so incredibly sensual with parted lips.

He sinks to his knees and you slip into the water in alarm, catching him in your arms and relishing in the nearness of him. It takes a moment before you realize that he’s talking to you, slurring his words slightly because his lips are pressed to your blue skin.

“...not what I planned. I wanted to court you first. To bring you to my favourite places or learn of yours, wine and dine...treat you like you deserve.”

You’re stunned at the revelation but manage to gather you wits. “There’s still time for that.”

Loki’s hands find your waist, thumbs running circles below the ribs and causing you to shiver especially when he adjusts the grip so he can graze the bottom of your breasts. Slowly but surely his attention is diverted, split between fondling them and your ass.

“For so long,” Loki confesses, “I’ve been admiring you from afar.” His fingers slide along your hipbone, tracing the vee until delving between your still slick folds, making you whimper.

He turns you around, sitting you between his legs so you can feel the half-erect cock against your back as you lean against his chest. Long arms cage you in, holding you securely but gently as he continues the circular movements you yourself had initiated earlier.

“I don’t have words to explain why I love you,” the god whispers hoarsely in your ear, “but please let me try to show you.”

You nod mutely, breath already uneven as heat pools in your core.

It takes little time before he has reignited the burning ecstasy within you and you tumble over this strange precipice once more, calling out his name on ragged puffs of air.

This time, Loki simply holds you as you descend from the high, rocking you gently and whispering sweet nothings to you that make your heart swell with the knowledge that he loves you.

259 notes · View notes

deadlynavigation · 2 years

Note

Saw you need requests. Reader just loving jotun loki. Can be smut or not. Idk your rules.

Heat Wave

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Implication of smut

Author's Note: I AM STILL LOOKING FOR REQUESTS OF ANY KIND. Please. I'm begging. Send anything in, look for rules under navigation (at the bottom of this fic).

I don't own Marvel. Pls don't come after me.

Do not plagiarize or translate any of my work or its included assets.

“I’m sweltering,” Your head plops down onto Loki’s lap.

Your words practically embody what the last few days have been like- the heat wave in New York has not been letting up. For almost a week it’s been nothing but 38℃ weather, the sun unrelenting in its mission to melt every single person in the state. Even in the Avengers tower it’s hot as blazes. All the air conditioners are on, much to Tony’s chagrin. He’s set on complaining about the electricity bill, even though he’s a fucking billionare.

There’s a reason he’s known as Drama Queen around the tower. Loki is the biggest supporter of this nickname, but right now, he’s supporting you.

“I apologize, my love. If I could, I’d cool you down in an instant,” Loki responds, leaning down to your ear. “But I only know how to heat you.”

You tap his chest, too weary of the heat to move any more. “Loki.”

“I know, I know. I am truly sorry. I do not know what it is you are suffering through right now.” The god sighs in pity.

Something in his tone gives you pause. “What do you mean, you don’t know? You’re right here, in New York- middle of a heat wave? No?”

Your partner chuckles softly. “No. I am a god, you forget. You are merely mortals, incapable of regulating your own temperature.”

That excuse isn’t gonna fly. You sit up, removing your head from his lap. Your back straightens, eyes peering out towards the deck. There sits Thor, accompanied by Tony and Nat. He’s on a lawn chair, spread out for the sun. The god is decked out in the tiniest floral shorts you’ve ever seen, allowing a great view of his chest- which is drenched in sweat. His hair, even, is dampened, giving the illusion of wetness. There is no way in hell that Thor is regulating his body temperature.

Loki sees where your eyeline leads and gulps. He’s screwed now.

“Liar,” you accuse, turning towards Loki with narrowed eyes. “It’s not just that you’re a god, is it?”

You position yourself on his lap again, this time straddling him. “If it were, Thor would be living it up in winter coats. So you wanna tell me what it actually is?” You kiss his neck slowly, trying to get as much information as you can with any method.

Loki squirms. “My love-”

“Don’t. Are you going to tell me, or do I have to ask Thor?” You sigh, too hot to deal with this properly.

“Thor won’t tell you.” Loki answers with uncertainty.

“Sure he won’t. Loki, you’re making this more difficult than it has to be. Just tell me, hun.”

And with that final nickname, Loki lets go. His guard is already somewhat down with the heat and Tony’s endless complaints.

He closes his eyes as he hears your gasp. Squeezes them shut, trying to block himself from the looks he’ll undoubtedly be met with from you.

“Loki-”

“Don’t,” He whispers.

“I won’t,” You whisper back. Shakily, you bring your hands up to his chest, tracing each individual line softly. The marks look perfect on his blue-tinted skin, forming intricate designs and patterns that not even the most skilled artist would be able to recreate. It’s beautiful- he’s beautiful.

Loki opens his eyes when he feels your fingers on him. Ready to snatch them away, remove himself from the room if need be, leave you to your shock and disgust.

Instead, he’s greeted with your awe-struck gaze. Confusion fills his mind, not used to being appreciated in this form.

“Y/n, what-”

“Hush,” You whisper, even softer than a couple seconds ago. “Loki, what is this?”

It’s not asked in a brutal manner. It’s soft, curious. Welcoming.

“My Jötunn form,” he graces you with an answer. Your heart breaks with his response. It sounded so disgusted, so broken. This poor man. Scorned for this his entire life, and he’s even started to believe it.

From then on, your mission is to help him accept this part.

“You are stunning, love. This is beauty personified.”

A hint of a blush shows itself on Loki’s cheeks. He’s not used to anything except hate regarding this form, especially not love or compliments. It sounds almost foreign, repeating back what you said to himself.

Not on your tongue, though. When you compliment him, it feels as though honey is dripping onto him, warming him with sun rays and flowery scents.

“These marks- are they purposeful? Made without thought? Are you born with them?” Your questions bubble out of your mouth, still soft in speech but inquisitive all the same.

Loki laughs, still in shock from your reaction. Of course you’d be curious. To think he’d expect blind acceptance- there’s a reason he chose this mortal, and he’s only reminded of it now.

“My love, slow down. They are not purposeful, no. It's just like hair color, but not able to be altered in any way. And I am born with them, but they develop over time. It’s our puberty, in a way.” He says, hands moving from his sides to your hips.

You settle further into his lap. You’e brimming with questions, but you refuse to overwhelm your lover. It’s clear he’s in quite a vulnerable state.

So you start slow.

“Are you able to… participate in intercourse… in this form?”

The blush that Loki hoped to quell is now raging as though it’s a fire. He’s resorted back to his shock, almost speechless.

“My love, you have found yourself in a relationship with a monster and that is the question you ask?”

“You are by no means a monster to me. You are still Loki, no?”

The god looks down in mild embarrassment. “Yes, dear.”

“So you aren’t a monster. Your character and development is not erased in the form, merely painted in a new light. Or rather hue,” You chuckle under your breath. Your hands trace his marks again, following a new pattern every time. It’s mesmerizing.

“On another note, I am still waiting for the answer to my question,” You reiterate. Loki’s blush might be a cause for concern at this point.

“I am able, my love. Why anyone would want to is beyond me.” He sighs, looking up into your eyes. Of which, he notices, are burning with rage and desire.

Loki is no stranger to that mix.

“We’ll work on the self-esteem. For now, I have a date with a Jötunn, who I will make sure is made well aware of his worth.”

“Your wish is my command, dear.” He laughs, snorting at your hitched breath when he lifts you into his arms.

Yeah, you’d enjoy this new discovery.

(Navigation)

#marvel #marvel x reader #loki god of mischief #loki laufeyson #jotun form #loki jotun #oneshot #x reader #fanfiction #fluff #implications #loki x y/n #loki x reader #heat wave #new york #sweltering #heat #jotun loki x reader

329 notes · View notes

preciouslandmermaid · 2 years

Text

quiet fury in your head [iv]

Dream of the Endless x F!Reader / Sandman Fanfiction

Note: I finished this at like 12am last night, no beta, and I haven’t even had time to proof-read so I’m sorry for any errors LOL. ENJOY! We finally have some pay off for the yearning AND lore!!!

Warnings: Desire gets their own warning ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ - Corinthian, too.

(Read on Ao3) || (masterpost for other chapters)

You are quieter this time, hiding in thick forests, and mountainsides, and inside the rich dreams of star-crossed lovers and doting parents. The nightmares you entice are delicate.

You stalk your Dreamer for hundreds of dreams and learn their weakness. Often, it is death, or sickness, or plague. But eventually you learn to find the less obvious fears and vices—their jealousy of their neighbor, their obsession with money, their hunger (for food, or glory, or to slake their loneliness), their fear of water, of being lost in the forest, or being gored by a boar.

When other Nightmares see you, they turn away, and leave you be. You do not know if this is out of respect or if Lord Morpheus demanded your capture personally. You decide it does not matter. You are alive, in some sense of the word, and you do not want to waste it.

You come upon a middle-aged woman washing her clothes in a burbling, cold fjord. She is humming a tune in a strange, off-kilter pattern that holds no rhyme or rhythm. You consider turning the white, gray lumps of her laundry into snarling fish with sharp teeth. You fold your arms across your chest, thinking, slowly plucking her memories like loose fibers trapped on wool. She is a widow. She is lonely. Her son died when he was young. She works as a maid. You select a face to wear from her memories.

She looks up, sensing you or seeing you, and you watch in real-time as her face melts with relief.

Whoever she sees—it is someone she loves. The Dreaming hums with music and rose-gold light. She opens her arms, and you are now beside her. This is the nature of the Dreaming. For all the Dream Lords’ rules and laws, this is a place of constant change and non-linear expression. You can be one place and then in the next between an inhaled breath. She holds your face in her hands, her eyes crinkle with warmth, and she touches her forehead to yours.

“There is hope, sister.” She says. Your breath catches in your chest. This woman, this dreamer, is not your sister. She appears nothing like Badb or Macha. Yet your longing cannot be quelled or quieted. It has been so long since you heard someone call you ‘sister’ with tender, open affection. You gently brush her tears away from her cheeks with the pads of your thumb. Yes, you are the Queen of Nightmares, but something softens inside your heart for the first time in centuries.

“Hope for what?” You ask. The current cuts through your legs, tugging the hem of your dress, and a school of tiny, shining silver fish nibbles around your ankles. The crimson leaves rustle and sway, dropping offerings to the stream that swirl and float around you.

Before she can answer, the Dreaming sharpens, and you feel Dream’s imminent arrival. It is difficult to track the passage of time between his pursuits. You are either incredibly good at hiding or not a priority on his list of nuisances. Regardless of the reason, you do not wish to wait around and find out. You bid your dreamer farewell with the smile of her sister and vanish into another dream.

Your existence continues to trouble him.

All Gods begin in the Dreaming. They are born from humanity, their wishes, and fears, and truths. Their prayers and stories empower the Gods until they transfer from the Dreaming, into the waking world, and to their own realms. Odin, Feya, Loki and Thor, the Valkyries and Jötunn, exist and live in Asgard and among the Nine Worlds. The Greek Gods live upon Mount Olympus. The Celtic Gods, those you claimed as family, once lived in the Otherworld.

Once their realm is established, they cannot re-enter the Dreaming without his knowledge and permission. And when Gods die, due to lack of worship, they vanish no matter which realm they reside in. You, however, are an anomaly.

According to the cosmic laws of the universe, you should not have the powers you do. You should not be able to phase through the Dreaming and manipulate its essence. All of it is impossible, maddening, and distracting.

A cacophony of bombs whistle overhead. There is smoke, and ash, and the screams of dying, desperate men. The buttons on your uniform are tarnished, one of your sleeves is ripped, and you gaze mournfully at the young solider weeping near your feet. He is begging, you realize, as he clutches the backs of your knees. But you cannot hear him over the fog and chaos of war.

You crouch slowly to meet him at eye-level. His eyes are startingly blue and glossy. You wipe a clump of mud from his cheek. A cloud of dirt and dust erupts into the air behind you with the impact of another screeching bomb. His terror vibrates the muggy, humid air around him.

“Please.” He is saying, “Please, I just want to go home.”

Someone is shouting orders, demanding they press forward, demanding their deaths, demanding their courage. You coast your hand across his brow and a wild cherry tree now stands in the middle of the battlefield, untouched by the horrors of his nightmare. You had plucked it from the memories of the dreamer, from his thoughts of home. The dreamer notices it. His shoulders tremble and the cherry tree’s branches quiver alongside him. The edges of his nightmare smolder and brighten.

The tree catches fire and the dreamer bemoans its loss with a wail. He slips from your grasp, crawling through the mud, lost in the carved groove of torment and regret. You frown, waiting for the inevitable presence of the Dream Lord, but it does not come.

“I am not cowed so easily, Your Majesty.” A lackadaisical, smooth voice rings out. You gaze impassively at the Corinthian and your reflection shines in his dark, round glasses. He is the first and only Nightmare to ever speak directly to you.

You ask the only question that matters, “Have you come to take me?” Perhaps Dream grew tired of chasing and sent his best nightmares in his place. You are intimately familiar with the folds and lines of the Dreaming like the pages of a well-loved book. However, you are unfamiliar with the machinations of Dream’s thoughts and desires. He is as unknowable as a star.

The Corinthian’s lips twitch, “The opposite.” He says, “I can offer you an escape into the waking world.”

You pause for a moment, considering, before, “I’m listening.” You say. You are careful to hide the cautious excitement from your voice.

“It is my understanding that humans once worshipped you because they feared you.” He tucks his hands into his pockets. You ignore the sting in your heart at the word ‘once’, the implication that your time passed, that your worst fears came true and you – and your sisters - are forgotten by humanity.

“They worshipped me because I inspired fear in others.” You clarify.

“Nightmares generate fear.” A haze of ash brushes against his brow. “We stay together and once you gather enough strength; you pull us both out of here.”

Ah, the strings attached. You admit you are tempted. There is something in you that desires a partnership after eons of functioning as one part to three. But the Corinthian belongs to Dream. He will become a liability. He will betray you, as Lugh did, and leave you to imprisonment and servitude at the Dream Lord’s whims. You cannot risk it.

“I am honored by you, Corinthian.” You notice the tense flex of his jaw, the unsaid rejection hangs suspended in the air like so much dust. “But I must continue alone.”

“Must you?” He breathes, almost chuckling, “You’re almost as bad as him.”

You choose to not deign to that comment with a response. The Corinthian shrugs and walks away, deeper into the scenery of war and chaos, and you drop sideways into a new dream.

You run through a clustered, brier-filled forest of sharp thorns and bright moonlight with Dream at your heels. Without grace, you tear through dreams, sending ripples of power through the Dreaming in your wake. You move across sanguine celebrations of birth, through rich meadows of wildflowers that sing, through deserts of dry-heat and tall black aspens that drip with ribbons of light. A flock of swans pull a carriage made of sugar-spun candy. A pink, sunset ocean sparkles with a horizon filled by a thousand white sails. A rickety bridge warbles with biting wind and warm rain.

You circle back into the thorn-clustered forest, hoping to confuse him, and backtrack your trail. The glowing moonlight shimmers at the corners of your vision and your body collides with something solid and warm. Before you can turn away, the roots of the trees encircle your calves and stop just under your knees.

His fingers catch your jaw, yanking your face toward his, and you are surprised, yet pleased, to find him without his helm. You smile at your reflection in the cosmic light of his eyes.

“Hello again.” You greet him with your hands encircled around his wrist. It matters not. Your attempts to pull free are in vain. Even the Dreaming roots do not budge against your magic. Its master is here, and it will not obey you.

He rasped, “A thousand years.”

“Losing your touch?” You hope to goad him into a fight. You can slip away if only he were to let you go first.

His breath wafts warmly against your lips. You are Not Human, but you now understood those maidens who swooned at Lugh’s smile. Dream’s face is the only one that is familiar. Perhaps that is why you feel somewhat grateful to see him. After all, the Corinthian never returned after your rejection.

“I have let you traverse the Dreaming. I could have found you the moment you burned that house.” He proclaims.

His words strike your face like a blow. How dare he assume that all your cleverness and learning of the Dreaming was for naught?! These past centuries are a lesson in patience and subterfuge. It is against your nature as a God who fought headstrong on the battlefield to slink in shadows and whisper to dreamers.

Your heart aches at the wondering of what Badb would say if she saw your improved shapeshifting abilities (or did your shapeshifting powers improved because of Badb’s death? You hope not. You hope that as the Death aspect to your trifecta, she escaped obliteration).

“You cannot avoid this. It is time to return.”

“I would rather live a hundred lives inside this dream than wake.”

You dig your fingers into his arm and wrestle against him.

You exist within two places in an otherworldly paradox. There is the version of your Self, slumbering somewhere in the Dreaming, and then there is your Self inside this enchanted forest trapped by the Dream Lord.

His tone does not soften, “You are dying,” and something imperceptible crosses his eyes

“And are you to be my salvation?” You meet his eyes, hyperaware of the tight pressure of his fingers on your chin, “Or my imprisonment?”

Dream lowers his head and silvery moonlight dances across his pale skin in ethereal light. A twinkle of stardust comes to life within the moonbeams behind his head. The thorned branches whisper against one another in a soft, gentle breeze blooming with jasmine and lavender.

Something akin to delight shivers down your spine.

The thought of death does not frighten you. Rather, it annoys you. You have not spent the last eon within the Dreaming just to die. A lick of heat tingles across the nape of your neck when you meet Dream’s eyes again. They are unknowable. They are as cold and distant as twin stars.

He remains an enigma. He has not killed you, despite his claims that he ‘let you’ travel the Dreaming. For a thousand years, he left you relatively unbothered within his realm. His Nightmares do not pester you; his world does not harm you, nor its subjects.

He chose to find you inside this bewitched forest of thorns and jasmine and warn you of your impending death. He speaks of judgement, and absolution, and mercy—but to what end? What game did this Endless wish to play?

You arch your neck upward and gently brush your lips against his. You expect him to yank away in revulsion. You expect him to become frigid, or enraged, or any combination of the two. You need his surprise, or his anger, to make your escape. He must despise you after all these years of pursuit. You have vexed him. You see it in the sudden tense line of his black shoulders.

His fingers tighten on your jaw. His gaze pins yours. He crowds you, an imposing, powerful shadow in a forest of dreams.

His lips mirror yours in a feather-light caress.

The faint passing touch stuns you, thrills you, and your eyes jump open.

* Your body is on fire. They are burning you instead of the sacrificial cattle. Fools! You cannot kill a God!

You writhe on the empty, slick stones and arch your back with an agonized scream from your raw, aching throat. An explosion of white and black spots erupt in front of your eyes and the stone ceiling trembles.

“She’s awake!”

You taste panic in the air. It tastes like parchment, ink and woodsmoke.

“What’s wrong?” That voice. You know that voice. “You said her waking would reverse the process. You said it could save her.”

“It was merely a theory, my lord.” A feminine voice says plaintively.

A large, cool palm settles on your feverish forehead.

Your hand shoots upward towards it and squeezes its wrist in a desperate attempt to anchor yourself.

Your grief returns in full, excruciating force. Lugh’s betrayal. Macha’s death. The Ending of all the Gods. You are in the Dreaming – returned to yourself – whole and hollow. The shadowy, vague body crouched beside you must be Morpheus.

He is right. You are dying. Your ribcage capsizes in wretched exhaustion, and you convulse like a Seer in religious ecstasy.

“She cannot die here. This is the Dreaming. Things do not die in the Dreaming unless I will it.” He says urgently.

Outside, the sound of thousands of ravens squawking fills your ears. Good. Badb is coming. She will take your spirit to wherever Gods go. You could have smiled if your lips were not frozen in a perpetual, endless cry.

“Yes, sir, but she isn’t a Dream. She’s not part of us.” The woman rationalizes, “She’s been poisoned and betrayed by another God.”

Poisoned? You cling to the word like driftwood in a sea storm. That explains how Lugh was able to kill you—poison spear, poison words, the heartbreak of betrayal, and the deaths of your followers. It compounds until your spirit is crushed into dust.

Yet, you cling to life, as dearly as you cling to Dream’s wrist and refuse to let his hand move from your sweat-soaked, feverish skin.

You thrash like a feral creature. You feel Dream’s power, tremendous and magnificent as it is, trying to heal you. But his magic slips from you like an eel to water. As long as the poison remains, you are sentenced to annihilation, and even an Endless would be unable to rescue you.

You rasp, “Oak.”

Oak trees were sacred to Dagda – your Chieftain God. He is long dead, you presume, but the magic would remain so long as you live to carry it. You release Dream’s hand and rake your nails across the warm, pulsing stomach wound to try and exorcise this awful, wretched pain.

Dream creates a branch of thick oak leaves and holds it loosely in his palm. Lucienne is watching him, wary but trusting. He cannot risk a journey into the Waking world and hopes a dream-spun oak will be enough. He does not want to watch you die.

The Morrigan, Nemain, the Phantom Queen, the Banshee—all your titles sing inside his mind—it is a haunting melody that he does not want to forget.

Instinctively, he waves the verdant, large leaves across to your bloodied stomach.

The branch shivered in his grasp and glowed. A swarm of light motes, like brilliant fireflies, suffuse the air around your body. The toxin leaked from your pores in ebony, viscous beads that hang suspended in the air before being absorbed by the dancing, white lights.

Your starlit eyes roam the room and glisten with unshed tears. Dream pries your violent hands away from the large wound. Your fingers wrap around his in a bone-cracking grip.

Your screams and thrashing gradually subdue until your exhausted body only tensed and quaked at seemingly random intervals. He does not let go of your hand. He does not stop dragging the tips of the oak leaves across your blood-marred skin.

After several long, agonizing hours of silence, Lucienne leaves him.

“I can taste your fear, Lord of Dreams.” Your voice cracks around the edges, weakened from your cries of despair and tortured, venomous agony. He steels himself against feeling pity for you. This fallen and forgotten God.

“I am not afraid.” He says mildly, “You are mistaken.”

“I am not mistaken.” You sit up unexpectedly, eyes bright and lucid, your face streaked with dirt and sweat.

Dream does not flinch. He does not react. There is an intense wildness about you. Your beauty manifests beyond your starlit eyes. It thunders through the marrow of your bones, through your courage, and resilience, and prideful obstinance. It was no wonder Men created effigies in your honor. It was no wonder they had feared you and idolized you in equal parts.

You inch closer. Your pink tongue darts out and flicks along her lower lip, tasting something in the air, in the ether. He finds himself transfixed by it.

A foreboding sense of inevitability electrifies the air. You tentatively brush your lips against his, an echo of his own touch, and his breath hitches.

For centuries, he watched you from afar in the Dreaming – intent, at first, on capturing you and ensuring retribution paid for your intrusion and your insult to him.

However, his fascination grew steadily like stone overlaying stone upon the foundation of a castle.

He read your stories within the library, though nothing compared to the sight of you walking through the sun-dappled glades or wading through the burbling, chilled streams. Once, he caught you smiling when you walked through a mountainside and collected snowflakes on your fingertips before vanishing in a blizzard-touched whirl.

He witnessed your subtle cruelty as you coaxed fears and madness from Dreamers, fashioning unique and productive nightmares. However, you do not create Nightmares like he does. You observe the Dreamers and manipulate the world around them without personification. It is fascinating.

Your nightmares are not without purpose. It is a marvel and mystery that the Dreaming responds to your touch and influence. It is not meant to. It is another layer of intrigue that shadowed your nature from him.

He watched over your slumbering self, checking the wounds that would not heal, no matter the power and influence that he exerted.

When your condition worsened, the fact that his sibling, Death, will not enter his realm uninvited offered little comfort.

It is madness to say he is afraid to lose you. He does not know what would happen to the Dreaming if something—if a God—died while here. It all returns back to the Dreaming and his responsibility to it.

It is his realm, and his creations, that he cared for. He does not care for you. He could not care for you. It would be unwise and irresponsible to allow his heart to lead him.

Yet, even at the tail end of his thought, Dream’s hand cups the back of your neck.

Your injuries are healed, no longer weeping with blood, and a freshly pink scar ridged beneath his thumb. He wonders why you chose to create the scars when you had the power to change completely.

Did you carry them out of survivor’s guilt? Or pride?

He drinks the sight of you, from your long eyelashes clumping with unshed tears, to the blue-purple capillaries spiderwebbing beneath the skin below your celestial eyes. They remind him of the galaxies that swirl above his throne room.

He wishes to bring you there, to show you the Dreaming without shadow, and all the places you avoid because you feared his detection. Will you enjoy the library as Lucienne did? Will Fiddler's Green remind you of home?

You abruptly press your lips firmly to his and Dream’s musings leave his mind in a flutter of a raven’s wings.

Your hands clutch the front of his wooly, dark cloak and deepen the kiss. Faintly, you taste his fear. He could not lie to a God – even a weak, struggling one. His tongue delves between your lips, and it momentarily shocked your breath away with his sharp fervor that overpowered your senses.

An ache of longing pangs through your sore, rusted heart.

After an entire existence alongside your sisters, and fellow Gods, and devout mortals, you spent the past hundred lifetimes alone. You are not of the mind to consider the Dreamers or Dream creatures as your friends. They know you only in secrecy, in myth, and in whispers.

He groans into your mouth. A desperate, keening sound that made your chest clench. You almost believe he wants you as badly as you desire him. Your hands scramble along his chest, grasping his jaw, cradling it, and pressing your body flush against his. For all his coldness, indifference, and arrogance – Morpheus’ touch is warm and intoxicating.

Your powers were nearly ripped from you. Your lifeforce almost vanquished. And now you find yourself clutching to the Dream Lord as if he were your tether to eternity, your lifeline, your calling horn to homestead.

His mouth drags away from yours and his teeth skate along the side of your throat. You arch your neck, whimpering at the pressure of his teeth and the patterns he traced onto your skin. You slide your hands to the soft, tousled mess of his dark hair and nuzzle your nose to his crown.

Is this what it means to be undone?

You were familiar with the passionate ardor of battle and strife. You are unfamiliar with the eagerness and urgency that Dream holds you, his lips roaming across your collarbone in wet, open-mouthed kisses that your stomach muscles tighten in response to.

You buck your hips against his thigh. You long to peel away the layers of your bloodied, tattered dress. You wanted to splay your hands across his bare chest and discover the temperature of his skin.

“Do you still wish my servitude?” You ask huskily, “For my answer remains unchanged even if a millennium has passed.”

Morpheus cranes his neck to look up at you. He is on his knees, holding you in his lap and therefore forced to arch and peer upward like a man in worship. If he would only whisper your name in reverence, then some of your power might be returned to you.

He says, “I wish for your absolution.”

“As do I.” You caress Dream’s face, marveling at the softness, and how light reflected in his blue eyes. Your mouth tingles from his kiss. You can smell his desire from the salvia cooling on your skin.

“Have you forgiven me, then? Am I free to leave your Dreaming?”

His grasp tightens. “You are not.”

“Then I am your prisoner.” You sneer.

A fresh, righteous heat boils inside your veins wholly unconnected to the heady, wanton lust. Nearly two thousand years within the Dreaming and he had not changed. You should’ve remained hidden and waited for Badb to collect your soul. Why did he bother to save you?

“You are a guest within my realm.” His expression is aloof and colder than the black and white veined marble pillars.

“Just because you have not given me a room with an iron barred door does not make me a guest.”

“Would you prefer imprisonment?”

You lift your chin, proud, “I would rather be imprisoned as a Queen than become a servant.”

“You have already served me for a thousand years.” A muscle in his jaw flexes. “All those centuries guiding Dreamers and coaxing nightmares.”

You bare your teeth at him. “I followed no orders and bowed to no one.”

Your fingertips curl into the side of his cheek, and you lean in, watching his eyes flash dangerously.

“Do you know what your Dreamers call me? They call me their Queen of Nightmares.” You state in an impassioned tone, wearing the title with a searing brand of delight and pride. You lost everything else. All that remained was your time in the Dreaming. You would curse your own spirit before allowing any of your hard work to be credited to the brooding, self-important King of Dreams.

“Hold your tongue, Morrigan.”

You laugh, pressing your face close, and your nose skims along his. His long, pretty eyelashes almost flutter.

“Tear it from my mouth if it offends you so.” You whisper, challenging him, provoking him, as fearless as you once were on the mossy battlefields. Your skin prickles with goosebumps in potent anticipation.

He kisses you fiercely. His teeth clack into yours before he sucked your lower lip between his. You moan and are only slightly ashamed by your body’s enthusiastic and treacherous response to Dream’s mouth. You twist your fingers through his hair, selfishly marveling at its softness, wondering exactly how many buttons of the Dream King’s you could push before he released you from the Dreaming out of sheer exasperation.

Your lower lip sings with pain and the sharp tang of copper swelled across your tastebuds. You wretch your mouth from his and grin triumphantly at the sight of your blood smeared on his pouted lips. You wipe it away with the pad of your thumb, touch lingering, your heart frantic in your chest.

Is it loneliness that incites him? Or something else? Is this to be your punishment – reduced a mere plaything for Dream The Endless?

Yet, you know if you couple with Morpheus, it will be harder to leave him, to flee from his touch, and his burning infinite gaze. Not because of sentiment or romantic ideals, but because you are Gods. Your mortal lovers were often gifted with visions or plagued with horrors (depending on your mood). You cannot imagine what unfathomable power would be borne of your joining: The Lord of Dreams, the Endless, and the Lady of Strife, the Banshee.

He tears the words from his vocal chords, voice haggard and strained, “Remain beside me.”

You are painfully disappointed. You and Morpheus are trapped within an ouroboros of your own suffering. Neither of you would give and discover compromise – it is not in your temperament. He would be forced to imprison you. You would be forced to despise him. Perhaps one day, he might even tire of you, and you’d find yourself unmade by his timeless hands. Just as Badb predicted.

“I have already given you my answer, Dream King.”

He exhaled softly through his nose. “I am asking a different question.”

However, before you can respond, his expression hardens, and he removes you from his lap with displeasure rippling across his features. You consider fleeing in that moment, taking flight as a raven, and hiding among the others on the castle battlements and turrets. Your fingertips press into the stone as you crouch before the Dream King with the memory of his mouth seared into your skin.

Dream does not say farewell or offer explanations (not that you expect it), he merely turns on his heel with a billowing whoosh of his dark coat. You glance around the barren, cold room that he’s left you in. You don’t sense any magic or wards to trap you. You can leave and gallivant through the Dreaming for another thousand years.

A voice slithers into your mind, sweet as honey wine: I should have known my brother would try and keep you.

You flatten your palm to your chest, “Hello, Desire.”

BEFORE

You stood in a moonlit glade with mosquitoes chomping at your exposed ankles and wrists. The cold, winter air nipped at your nose. It was the witching hour when all animals of the wood were silent and sleeping. You came here, wild with jealousy and grief and desperation and vengeance. In the village you called home, they called you mad. They called you broken. They called you cursed. They pitied you. They feared you and they mourned for you.

Because your betrothed left you for the whims of a Goddess. They claimed to be in love, of course, but you knew of gods and tricksters and fairies. Your beloved would never leave you willing. Your serrated heart bled across the pale, glistening grass.

The creature before you wore your beloved’s face.

“You burn with envy.” They crooned, golden eyes flashing, “with desire.”

You knelt before them on both knees, “I humble myself before you, Old One.” You announced in pliant supplication.

“And what is it your desire, my sweet?”

You have thought long and hard about your wish—you felt it take root and grow and sprawl until it suffocated your lungs. It is not enough to simply wish for your beloved to love you again. You deserved more than his flighty, pricky love. He abandoned you. He ruined your dream. You would do the same to him in kind. You would have your revenge and more. You would make him ache with envy, with desire, and rue the day he broke you heart.

“I wish.” You said, “To become a Goddess who surpasses his so-called beloved in power and beauty. I wish to reshape and destroy their dreams as they destroyed mine.”

“Hm.” The Old One placed their hand along the side of your face, “I can give you all of this and more.”

“All boons come with a price.” You said knowingly.

“Be my champion.” They said with a smile. “Do as you desire, always. Forget honor, or cowardice, or shame. Become the envy of all other Gods.”

Your heart swelled, “And you will make me a Goddess?” You would have immortality, and power, and worship and adoration. You would be loved by all. And no one would ever break your heart again or call you a fool. Your beloved would wallow in regret for the rest of his small, mortal days. His Goddess-lover would be forgotten and turned to dust.

The Old one leaned close, close as a lover, their breath tickling and warming your mouth.

They whispered in promise, “I will make you a queen.”

They sealed their lips over yours. An overwhelming, heady rush of desire flooded your senses and illuminated your veins in golden and red light. You glowed from within, your mortal trappings released, your soul and purpose now bound to Desire. Eternal, everlasting power and love.

For ages, you walked among humanity, a God of impulse – be it jealousy, greed, lust, rage, or ambition. Legends were told around campfires, songs were sung, and you became the Fury aspect of The Morrigan. You found your place among them the other Gods. You found your purpose on the battlefield. You warped humanity’s desire to protect themselves into rage, gave them boldness and courage, doomed them, and blessed them in equal terms.

You outlived your beloved and the Goddess he loved faded into obscurity. Desire did not visit you again, though you served them faithfully.

You were – for eons – happy.

Dream stares down at Desire from the steps leading to his throne. He cannot fathom a reason as to why they are here. He pushes all thoughts of you, all feelings, down and deep into the crevices below his ribcage.

“What business brings you to the Dreaming, my sibling?” Dream asks while slowly descending.

“Oh,” They scoff, “I’m not here for you. I only came to check on an old friend.” Their golden eyes narrow and flick around the empty, quiet throne room. “She is here, is she not?”

He doubts Desire is here on a social call.

“Perhaps if you gave a name, then I would be able to answer your question.”

Desire looks sly and pleased with themselves. “She has many names.”

He stops short of the dais, leaving three steps between himself and Desire, and frowns. There can be only one that Desire speaks of. He left you alone, without wards, without guard, simply because he has no intention of letting you get away again. Your raven feather burns in his inner coat pocket near his breast. His tether to you, his token, a beacon that would allow him to find you no matter where you reside even outside the Dreaming.

“Jessamy.” He tilts his head slightly. “Bring her here.” His shoulders suddenly stiffen as he senses you enter the room. You walk on steady bare feet, your dress in blood-stained tatters, your scars in full view and your lips split into an adoring smile. It’s the second smile he’s ever seen, and it’s directed at his sibling.

What is your relationship to Desire? His lips press together.

Desire balks, “She looks dreadful!”

You fall gracefully into Desire’s waiting embrace, and they tut like an overbearing mother hen, smoothing your sweaty hair. “I am disappointed by your lack of hospitality, Dream.”

Dream guards his expression into severe neutrality. “She trespassed in my realm.”

“Centuries ago.” You mutter, causing Desire to grin. You gaze upon Desire’s face, and it shifts like wet clay. At times, they look like Dream. Other times, they look like your sisters. The eyes are your telltale clue; golden, shifting, mischievous and bright.

“She is my champion.” Desire hums with your face in their hands, “I will have her back now.”

You almost feel relief. You have not seen Desire since they made you, yet they were still here in the Dreaming, trying to arrange for your freedom. You could not be their champion trapped here. And you could not fulfil your duties as a God either. You were meant for freedom, for worship and adoration, to walk among men and women and let them toss flowers at your feet.

“She is not a toy to be traded.” He says. “She interfered in my realm and retribution must be paid. She will not return to waking world until her penitence is complete.”

His eyebrow raises imperceptibly, “Unless you wish to take her place and neglect your own realm?”

“And is that what she desires? To stay?”

Their eyes narrow with knowing and burn pockets of flame into your skin. You don’t want to stay, but you know Desire can see whatever it is you feel for Dream. This lust, this yearning, this strange pull—the prophecy hovers like an axe over your throat. Does Desire know of Badb’s words? Do they care? You are a queen, not a pawn, but you get the inexplicable feeling of being moved across a chessboard as Desire appraises you.

Dream says, “It is not about wanting.”

“Ugh, fine. Always a stickler for the rules.” Desire pouts and folds their arms across their chest.

“I hereby release you from my service under these conditions, Lady Neiman of the Three Sisters. Endure Dream’s stupid punishment for whatever that may entail. After it’s complete, return to the Otherworld and bury your sisters’ tokens beneath the roots of the Heart Tree.”

The compulsion to obey Desire smolders within your chest. You are rooted to the Dreaming, tied to Dream, and all plans of escape disappear from your grasp. You should have gone with Corinthian when you had the chance.

They say, “You served me well. A true delight of impulse and heart.” Perhaps Lugh’s poison lingered in your veins because you swear you detect a note of…fondness in their voice.

“W-why?” You swallow, confusion furrowing your brow, and a strange ache twisting in your chest. Had you failed Desire? Were you no longer a worthy champion?

“They no longer worship you, my sweet.” Desire says with the face of Dream, a slow and sensual smile on their lips. “What use do I have for a forgotten Goddess?”

It stings even with the knowledge that they are not lying.

“This is your final command?” You ask, “Listen to your brother and bury my sisters? That is all you would request of me?”

Desire, with the face of your eldest sister, gives a small, low nod. The side of your jaw tingles with the heat of Dream’s gaze.

You are no longer a mortal fool, stumbling through a dark forest, weeping for a lost love. You have played this game. Desire must not get involved if you are to allow yourself a chance at freedom, at being a God of your own making, something that functioned beyond rage and greed. They no longer wish you to be their champion? Fine. You will become your own. You will bring your sister’s back from the annihilation and reshape the world. Desire is offering you a freedom you’ve never known before. You would be a fool not to take it.

“Do you swear not to involve yourself during my imprisonment? Or to harm the Dreaming or its occupants?”

A whisper of Dream, through the essence of the Dreaming, touches lightly behind the shell of your ear.

Desire laughs with glee. “You do not need to worry about that. I cannot come here without an invitation.” Their gaze slides to Dream, but you refuse to waver.

You will not allow for loopholes. You once asked Desire for Godhood and although they gave it—you still nearly died at Lugh’s spear. Your sisters died through lack of worship and faith. You saw this as your second chance. You will not waste it.

You repeat, “Do you swear?”

“You’ve grown cautious in your old age. I’m so proud.”

When you say nothing else, your face stony, Desire rolls their eyes with a dramatic huff.

“Yes, I swear.” They say it mockingly, but the words are spoken and that is all that matters. For there is magic to words, to promises and declarations, and you feel that magic in the ether. Desire’s promise and command swirl, unseen but heavy, at the center of your being. You exhale slowly. You do not look at the Dream Lord. You are uncertain as to what you might find on his face.

Desire tugs at your dress sleeve, brow furrowing, “And find something nicer to wear. I hate seeing you like this.” They draw close, whispering, “Remember how I made you, remember who you are. You are not a peasant girl sick to her stomach with jealousy but a queen among mortals and gods.”

They pull away with a sultry grin.

“Visit me when you’re free.” They give a flourished bow to Dream, “Until next time, brother.”

Dream does not speak until you are alone. His eyes are stormy, and he takes a single step closer, but the imbalance of height is obvious. You on the dais, Dream Lord on the stairwell. You suspect he is hoping to intimidate you. It won’t succeed, but you appreciate the attempt.

He asks, “What bargain did you strike with Desire?”

“The usual mortal folly. Beauty, power, eternal life, the adoration of millions.” You say while ticking them off on your fingertips.

“Those gifts are not theirs to give.”

“And yet I wished, and they gave.” You say while casting your eyes heavenward and admiring the swirling indigo and blue galaxies overhead. Now that you completed the verbal gymnastics of speaking to Desire, you could appreciate the beauty of this throne room. Everything is blue-hued and lovely, tall pillars and stained glass, carved and crafted by the Dream Lords’ hands. You wonder if he’ll keep you here in the featureless room or if he will – at the very least – give you a bed to sit on.

“How is it you can affect the Dreaming so?”

You shrug, “I don’t know.”

“What were your exact words to Desire?”

You close your eyes and reach into the recesses of your mind. All of your mortal life is forgotten except for your meeting with Desire. You do not recall your parents, your friends, or even the name of the village you once lived. However, the night in the glade is different because that was the night you were reborn. Your skin itches with phantom bug bites.

“To become a Goddess. To reshape and destroy the dreams of the one who broke my heart as they destroyed mine.” You echo from memory. You open your eyes to see Dream watching you strangely, standing a mere step away from you now, light rapidly diminishing from his bright blue eyes.

“Desire gave too much.” He whispers. For a moment, you see conflict flicker across his face. Desire granted you the power to reshape and destroy dreams. The only reason it did not manifest until now was because you never had need of it. While inside the Dreaming you are a bomb, a sword, a cleaver. And it is his duty to contain you and protect his subjects, his realm.

He will kill me now, you think. Unless I remove the threat. You must survive this to complete the terms of your release.

“Can you take it?” You inquire. “Since Desire gave me this power, it would stand to reason that you can remove it. I will serve my time in the Dreaming, as requested of me, and I’ll be as harmless as a newborn babe.”

“I cannot unmake you as a God.”

“I am not asking for mortality.” You wiggle your silver ring from your middle finger and hold it aloft in your palm. “I am asking you, Dream Lord, to take my abilities as a—a dream weaver—and to place them within this ring.”

He plucks the ring from your hand with long, elegant fingers. The single black gemstone glimmers from the sparkling starlight overhead. It appears smaller in his grasp. Your heart quivers at the sight of it, though you don’t know why.

“Do you expect its return?” There is something weighty and poignant in his gaze when he looks to you.

“I functioned without its powers before arriving here.” You do not need the dream powers to shapeshift or to phase through realms. You do not think it’ll help you revive Badb or Macha’s existence. Simply put - you cannot see the advantage of having it now that you are stuck here by Desire’s command. You cannot escape even if you wished to. You are soul-bound.

“Keep it or toss it into the ocean.” You say with a mild shrug, “It does not matter to me.”

“Very well.” Dream extends his hand to you, his index and middle finger graze across your temple, and swirls of stardust and sand accumulate at your feet. It feels as if he is plucking strings on your chest like a harp. Your eyes flutter close on instinct as warm, gentle air rustles around your head. The stained-glass window frames illuminate in glowing, vibrant light. The Dreaming vibrates with tension and then relaxes—slowly, languidly, a giant beast stretching and then laying to rest.

His fingertips ghost along your jaw, barely a touch, and you control your breath before it hitches. The last dredges of dream-magic seep from you. A piece of your power is removed. You do not feel its absence strongly, at least not in the way you felt Macha’s death.

Rather, you feel only vaguely dizzy.

“It is done.” He says.

You rub the heel of your palm into your eye, “Wonderful.”

*************

Bonus author’s note: I know what you’re thinking – you’re thinking – how can Reader escape Dream while INSIDE the dreaming which is literally part of him? And I tell you – fun fanfic magic ;) also, the drama, the yearning of it all, the fun cat and mouse game they got to play, etc. Reader is an anomaly. Not mortal anymore, made a God through one of the Endless, so she gets to be super special because I said so.

As for the plot with Desire, that was brought about because I learned that Gods are born in the Dreaming LMAO, so I was like “what’s a loophole to explain Dream not knowing/recognizing Reader.”

#the sandman x reader #the sandman fanfic #dream x reader #dream of the endless x y/n #dream of the endless x you #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #fic: quiet fury #the sandman #fanfiction #desire of the endless #the corinthian #sandman fanfiction

133 notes · View notes

lokiandbuckysdoll · 2 years

Text

Time off (3)

Summary: You convince Tony to give you time off which leads to a lunch date with Nat and Wanda where things get Revealed about your not so secret relationship with Loki.

Paring: Platonic! Tony, Nat and Wanda x reader.

Word count: 1.7+k

Warnings: Talks of sex ( i think that’s all but if not please let me know!)

A/N: PLEASE READ THE OTHER AUTHORS NOTES THAT I HAVE AT THE END OF THE FIC! :)

Dividers: @whimsicalrogers

<<Part 2

Loki’s Baby Masterlist

You arrive at the gate showing Security your badge and you quickly pull in and park your car, you grab your bag and walk into the compound. As you walk in and you're greeted by vision and Wanda you say good morning as you rush to find Tony.

You head to his office but you don't find him in there and you knew he'd be in the lab. As you enter you see Bruce,

" Hey Brucie is Tony in here by any chance?" He looked up from what he was working on, " No he's in the training room" he quickly turned his attention back to his work. " Thanks Bruce!" You got in the elevator and made your way down.

You were prepared for it just to be Tony and happy in the training room, as you open doors to your surprise Steve, Bucky, and Nat we're all in there as well. You freeze as you see all of them training,

"Hey kid!" Tony exclaimed as he got out of the ring and walked over to you and gave you a hug.

" Hey....guys" they looked at you weird.

" You Okay?" Steve asked, also stepping out of the ring.

" Yeah I'm fine" you gave a small smile.

"You got your color back doll" Bucky said as he and Natasha walked over to you and each gave you a hug. " Yup I'm feeling better" that was a lie.

" Anyways Tony I wanted to talk to you about something" you shifted your gaze to him " What's up?" He looked at you as he drank his water.

" I wanted to chat privately" before he could answer vision walks in. " Team meeting in 15 minutes " he said before he walked out. " Can the chat wait till after the meeting?" Tony questions looking at you. "Umm yeah that's fine" you smiled before walking out.

You were going to make your way into the conference room, before you reached it you started to feel a little nauseous. You head down to the kitchen and grab a glass of water. Clint and Sam walk in and see you hunched over the sink holding your stomach.

"Hey y/n you okay?" Sam asked you as you turned around.

"Yeah I'm fine" you take a sip of water trying to make it go down.

" You look a little pale again, '' Clint said as he passed by to grab water from the fridge.

"Here put this on your head" he gave you the cold bottle of water. You couldn't help thinking about how the coolness reminded you of when you were sick and Loki would turn into his Jötunn form and gently make ice packets to soothe you.

" That feels good," you smiled at him.

" That normally helps Laura and Lila when they're feeling sick" He smiled back.

" All avengers report to the conference room at once please" you hear F.R.I.D.A.Y say through the intercoms

" just as my day was going good Tony just had to ruin it didn't he" Sam said sarcastically which made both you and Clint laugh.

" At least it's not a living room meeting, we all remember how that went" The three of you laugh before you leave the kitchen.

You,Sam and Clint make your way to the conference room. You sit in between Wanda and Bucky.

Before you know it Tony begins to speak going over mission plans, reports, daily agendas, and schedules. All you heard was blah blah blah blah, as he talked.

You didn't mind these meetings but sometimes it could be kind of boring, and this one was one of the boring ones. You look at Bucky who looks like he's ready to fall asleep as his head is resting on your shoulder.

" Hey tin man wake up before he sees you" you whispered in his ear which made both of you just smile trying to hold in your laughs.

The meeting was finally over and you got up collecting your things.

" So what did you want to chat about?" Tony sat down in the chair next to you.

" I know this is short notice, however I was wondering if I could take a couple days off? " You look at him hoping he will say yes.

" Would a week work? And may I ask the reason for requesting time off? " He questioned leaving back in his chair.

"Actually, a week would be great, I just need to take care of some personal things. " you gave him a soft yurt sweet smile.

"Okay well consider it done kid, enjoy your time away from your favorite person" he gave you what he called his “ million dollar” smile as he got up from his chair.

" Thank you Tony! I appreciate it so much!" You gave him a big hug and to your surprise he hugged back "You're welcome kid! "

You walk out of the conference room and continue your day doing what you had to do. You look at the time and notice it's already 3:30 and your stomach is growling. You couldn't help but put both your hands on your stomach and just look down,knowing there's a person in there.

The thought of it made you feel happy but also made you scared.

" Are you okay?" Wanda said looking at how you posed.

" Uhh yeah fine, just really hungry, I haven't eaten anything yet." You give her a small smile.

" Oh darling let's grab something to eat" Nat overheard your conversation.

" I heard the food I'm in!" You both look at her and laugh. The three of you went out to a small restaurant you all liked.

Nat was the one to notice something was off with you as you kept fidgeting with your necklace.

“ what's wrong милый?(sweetie)” as she took a sip of her drink.

“ huh? Nothings wrong” she can hear the nervousness in your voice.

“ Liar” Wanda interjected as she gave you a side eye.

“ What's that supposed to mean?” you give Wanda a bleak expression.

“ You know exactly what I’m talking about, you and your lover boy Loki” Nat smirked as panic spread across your face at Wanda's statement

“ I don't know what you guys are talking about, there is nothing going on between me and Loki ” you take a sip of your water hoping that they don’t notice how nervous the topic of Loki makes you at the moment or how you did not order your usual alcoholic drink.

Before they could further pry what's wrong the waiter came to your table with your food.

The majority of the lunch/dinner date went smoothing until the check came and the topic of Loki came up again.

“ So are you not going to tell us what's wrong with you and Loki?” before you could answer Wanda, Nat blurted out “ and don’t act all Innocent we know ya’ll been fuckig like wild animals for awhlie ” she smiles as you hit her shoulder.

“Natasha!” you look around to see if anyone heard her before you look at Wanda who has a sadoric expression as she smiles.

“ Okay so what, me and Loki have some fun here and there however there's nothing serious going on though” they can see the slight doleful expression of your face before it turns to confusion as you ask the next question

“How do you two even know about me a Loki? We never made it obvious did we? ” you cross your arms looking between the two redheads waiting for a response.

“ No you guys didn’t besides the ‘ fuck me eyes’ you give each other or as I recalled l it was the ‘ Ohh Loki yes right there hader! Please don’t stop!’ in tony's office at his last party” Nat smirked.

“ Or was it the ‘ hush pet we can’t let them know how loud you get when you're wet and needy for your master’ in the storage closet at the last team barbecue” they can't control their laughter at how haunted your face looks at their confession.

“ OH MY GOD! You heard us! Who else knows?” you whisper yell hiding your face in your hands at the embarrassment, afraid the whole team knows.

“ Just me and Wanda милый(sweetie) don't worry we won’t tell anyone unless you keep being loud”

They both give you a playful yet gentle and understanding smile as they could see you were nervous talking about Loki and they were respectful of your privacy and changed the subject. .

Some time goes by as all three of you chat about Wanda and vision and Nat and Steve before you all get your things and say goodbye.

As you drive back to your apartment you couldn't help but think about Loki. Was it really that obvious what you two were doing, And if it was is that the reason he was scared to take a commitment of being a father or was it just you that was a problem either way his hurtful words stil replay in the back of your head. As you pulled into your parking spot you couldn’t help but feel this weird feeling as if you were forgetting something.

nonetheless you shook your thoughts away as you headed to your door. As you enter your apartment you take a deep breath before setting your things down on the table, and begin to start cleaning. You ended up deep cleaning the living room and made your way to the bathroom and there stood the test and you just broke down as your mind consumed with replaying everything once again

After a while of crying you debated on whether or not you wanted to keep the tests or not but your heart couldn't bear the thought of throwing them away, so you stored them in your bathroom drawer for now.

You threw the packaging away and you stared at the clock in the bathroom to read it was close to midnight. It was too late to take out your trash so you just laid the bags by the door. As you lay there in your bed you couldn't stop crying at the fact that you'd be a single mom and you were scared, you didn't know what to do yet you left happy.

I mean it wasn't like you could tell anyone because you knew what the reaction would be if you told them who the father was. You sat there just letting your thoughts flow out, you really did not want to be alone tonight so you called the only person you knew that would be awake at this hour and would come in a heartbeat, Bucky.

TAGLIST💚:

@justasecretwriter

@lokislittleprincess

@hannibals-favourite-meal

@javagirl328

@huntress-artemiss

@midgardianminx

@lucylaufeyson3

@glitterylokislut

A/N: First Thank you for reading!

Second. August 8th - August 10th i will be doing my Senior Registration for School, during this week and next week i will also be busy with getting things ready for me going back to school so updates for this Series’s make take awhile so please bear with me! :) - Roise 💞

#Loki Laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki x you #loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki x pregnant reader #bucky barnes #loki (marvel)#bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n

81 notes · View notes

lokiodinsonofasgard000 · 3 years

Text

Jötunn love: Pt. 1

Loki Laufeyson son of Laufey and heir to the throne of Jotunheim, ruler of frost giants. after the great battle between Asgard and Jotunheim the young child was lost almost the war. Odin king of Asgard found the child in an abandoned ruins.

In an act of kindness Odin brought the child back to King Laufey as a treaty to end the bloodshed that seems to never end. In honour Laufey agree and thus a small alliance was formed, Loki became friends with the prince of Asgard, Thor. The two thrived as they fought side by side on many wild adventures.

As the two prince's grew the two saw less and less of each other, holding to their royal duties. However, the two are still young and always found time to go and enjoy themselves at parties.

Back on Jotunheim, there was a particular giantess not too pleased with the prince. (Name) is a giantess who is a fierce warrior from a family bloodline that had sworn to protect the throne, aside from coming from a family of warriors she had a few sorceress in her lineage. This obviously placed her at the prince's side to protect him in all his battles.

in the beginning, the young giantess wasn't fond of the prince. She found him immature and thought of him as runt like, given his height and sature. Although that was when she was growing up with the young prince.

Nowadays (Name) saw the prince with more of a young woman's eyes, a woman who was ready to start a family of her own. Loki did become very attractive in her eyes, but he was unbelievably immature.

Laufey, before his passing had hoped of having his only heir betrothed to (Name) to ensure a strong offspring.

Of course the two frost giants were absolutely appaled by the idea. But things started to change around them, as Loki continued to rebel now being able to go off to Thor's grand parties (Name) became a part time ruler.

she was not his wife nor his partner she just happened to be second in command. The people of Jotunheim did not mind having (Name) as their ruler while King Loki was absent, in fact most of the people refered to her as the future Queen.

(Name) was making some errands, seeing to the new recruits to the royal army. As she arrived she realize that her head guards were gone. she was furious, she snapped at one of the second in commands

"What is the meaning of this? Where are my men" she growled out

"They are accompanying the kind" said one with a wavering tone in fright of her furious tone

"And where are they?" she hissed

"Midgard my lady"

The giantess stormed out to their hold of the bifrost and activated it by using her magic. Joutemhime would be fine, she was dropping by to Midgard only to drag the King back.

Loki was preoccupied with partying and flirting with the people of Midgard and those who came down from the stars to visit and enjoy the party. Loki was oblivious to what was coming for him.

Sky grew dark, blocking the light that illuminated the bridge that they were gathering around. Thor was tempting to get everyone's attention including Loki's.

With a flash of light and a loud thud and crash. The strong gust of cold air made everything stop. From the mist stood a woman who was slim yet with a phesique so strong that one could tell she was not to be messed with. The Midgardian sun peeked out once the clouds cleared out

"Laufeyson" came the authortive voice of a woman

"Who is this woman?" came Thor's voice as he looked at a shocked and paled blue face that belonged to none other than Loki.

"(N-Name)?! what are you doing here?" he said trying to keep a pleasant smile on his face

"Why have you run off with my men" she snapped

"Your men?" scoffed Loki "I'm their King, where I go they go"

"Well your highness" she hissed out with so much venom "when you're back on Jotunheim then you are King. but when you are galloping around in low realms doing who knows what, I'm running that kingdom"

she stalked right up to the frost giant king. every watched in awe as she sized him up with her vibe and aura

"So when I'm there they are my men. They are meant to be back home training our new recruits. So hand them over and stay. if you refuse I will drag you and my men back" she got close to his face "am I understood, Loki"

Loki was dumbfounded. It wasn't common to have the giantess loose her temper so easily, so Loki new that this anger had been brewing for some time.

His initial shock turned into curiosity. He found himself amused by her anger slightly, the way she so willingly go close to him threatening him on occasion, willing to throw formalities out the window and scold him

"Crystal clear, love" came his silky voice.

She held a dagger at his throat. With some added pressure she hissed out

"Don't call me that" she glared at him "so what will it be your highness"

"Fine, we can all leave peacefully. The party was going to get shut down anyway" Loki said with a shrug

"Loki you have to help me" Thor begged

"No I don't, she's you mother not mine. I don't have to do anything-" he's cut short as (Name) sends him a look

"Lady (Name) wouldn't want me to. Clearly she is far too eager to get home to Joutemhime" he told Thor

"Please Lady giantess" Thor begged the female frost giant

"I'll allow it. A King must always aid those who ask for it" she said pointly.

Loki glared at her, not expecting her to give into the blonde Asgardian so easily. as Loki was practically forced into helping (Name) kept a watchful eye on the male as she commanded her men to help with the clean up.

"I had no idea you had a wife Loki" Thor said astonished "does she know you've been fooling with others"

"I beg your pardon?" Loki asked in question "Her and I are not married"

"Come now Loki, no need to be coy. I'm happy you have a wife, there's no shame in love" Thor said with a big smile

"She is not my wife nor will she ever be" Loki said with a frown

"Oh.... but you're King, what you say goes. If you want her then make her" Thor said giving Loki a nudge at Loki's leg

"Thor no." Loki looked down glaring "we are not married. She is nothing but my second in command, my close guard and my sorceress."

"I don't know Loki, she sounds more like the Queen of Jotunheim to me. Why not give it a try?" Thor gave a bellowed laugh "she clearly meets the criteria of Queen, she's remarkable attractive for a frost giant woman. she's a warrior and sorceress. She can match you with ease. why not persue?"

"Thor if I need daring advice I'll ask" Loki rolled his eyes "just drop the subject Thor. it will lead to nowhere"

"Loki come on-"

"I said enough!" Loki snapped losing his temper.

The giantess snapped her head to the outburst of her king and was at his side with a stern expression. Thor looked fairly shocked as did the other around them, (Name) looked between the two and shoved Loki away from Thor

"My apologies prince Thor, but we have done what was asked of us but we must be off now." (Name) said giving a bow of respect "Until next time my prince"

With that said she was off opening the bifrost to Jotunheim for the group Loki brought down himself. She was silent the whole way back, Loki stole glanced every now and then. he could help but play back Thor's words, I play like a vinyl record on loop 'why not persue?'

Jötunn Love: Pt. 2

#loki #jötunn loki #loki x reader #frost giant loki #frost guant loki x giantess reader #what if loki #jötunn Loki x reader #x reader

97 notes · View notes

lonelyghosts-stuff · 3 years

Text

Holy crap I had a dream (and in said dream, some scenes even though they’re of me I see them in the third person) wherein I had some type of untapped fire powers and Loki was there too (of course). Anyways, Loki was getting really really upset about something, there was another person in the room we were in (I don’t remember who or what happened to make Loki upset) and his Jötunn side was coming out. Soon the room began feeling much colder. Something also upset me and I unleashed fire powers I couldn’t control and hurt me too and started making the room unsafe. That’s when my dream switched to third person and I saw Loki quickly grab onto me and embrace me, fully unleashing his Jötunn side to quench the flames and freeze the room as ice crept all over the walls. Suddenly, it was first person again and I looked up in terror seeing Loki blue with raised details on his skin and red eyes. He didn’t seem much like himself anymore and he kinda held on tight to my arms which burned a little from the ice and his Jötunn touch. He said something along the lines of me being afraid (I think earlier in the dream I had said something about me not being afraid of him when I really was because I was trying to act tough) and I conceded and admitted I was terrified and then I ran away. Suddenly the dream was in third person again as I saw Loki turn back into his Asgardian form as he looked at the room in horror of what he did.

27 notes · View notes

starks-hero · 3 years

Text

Protective

Pairing: Jötun!Loki x Reader

Summary: When one drunken idiot refuses to leave you alone, Loki intervenes.

Word Count: 1,175

Warnings: harassment, but Loki saves the day

a/n: based on this request :)

“I've told you I'm not interested.”

“Oh, come on, Sweetheart.” The man that had blatantly refused to leave you be slurred. “Lighten up a little. Here, let me buy you another drink.”

You opened your mouth to refuse, but he'd already raised his hand to the bartender.

“So,” he sneered, resting his elbow against the bar. “Are you going to smile for me or not?”

You bit back a growl of disgust at the comment as you attempted to push past him. But a hand suddenly tightened around your arm and held you in place.

“Hey, don't be like that,” he chuckled, but there was a hint of a warning to his tone. You were now trapped between his body and the bar, and a mixture of both anger and fear began to bubble in your chest.

You swallowed around your panic as your eyes scanned the crowd, hoping to catch sight of a certain prince. But your hope was quickly snuffed out as the hand around your arm harshly tugged you backwards.

“Come on, sit down, have another drink. We can talk things over and see where it goes.”

“No, I–”

You gasped as he readjusted his hand around you with such aggression you were sure it would leave a bruise. The corner of his lips turned upwards in a wicked grin. “I wasn't asking.”

“Let go,” you tried to sound strong, unbothered. Yet your voice betrayed you and the words fell past your lips as a desperate and shaky plea. “I said let go!”

His hand clawed at your waist, and you felt your throat tighten at the realization that this man wouldn't take no for an answer. You frantically glanced around you, hoping that someone, anyone would see your distress and intervene. But the other guests were lost in a world of partying and music. From the laser beams dancing across the room to the vast amount of alcohol that had been consumed, you doubted anyone would notice your struggle within the sea of people.

His hands were still on you, and you tried to step back and break free. But you were completely caged in. His nails dug painfully into your hips as you tried to push him off. Yet he simply pulled you back with more force, his hand now clamping around your wrist–

“I believe she asked you to let her go.”

The vast majority of the room suddenly fell silent as a voice spoke with such volume it almost outmatched that of the music. You glanced up and damn near passed out with relief at the sight of Loki. His blood-red eyes were shifting between you and the man at the bar. The god's eyes hardened into a glare when he caught sight of your distraught expression and the man's hands around your wrist.

“This doesn't concern you, Jötunn,” the man spat out the last word. Evidently, he wasn't intimidated by the thirteen-foot god that stood before him. “Now clear off.”

Loki's lips turned up in a snarl and within a moment, he'd plucked the man up out of the crowd. He held him around the waist, his fist closing around his middle with such strength you questioned how the man's insides hadn't given in and collapsed.

“Have care how you speak to me, boy. Or perhaps you'd like to see just how cruel us ‘Jötunn’ can be,” Loki growled. His fist tightened further, and an undignified yelp of pain leapt from the man's throat. Loki simply raised a brow.

“I've heard your species aren't all that durable. Your bones supposedly snap like twigs.” Loki smirked. “Let's test that theory, shall we?”

Just as Loki began to put his hypothesis to the test, Thor finally managed to push his way through the crowd that had stilled and gathered around the frost giant.

“Loki!” Thor warned as if he were scolding a misbehaving pup; although his tone was laced with the fear of what said pup's irrationality might result in. “Loki, put the mortal down!”

‘Mortal?’ Loki thought. ‘Is that what this... creature was?’ After what he'd just witnessed, he'd been almost certain that the man whose life he currently held in his hand, had crawled his way out from the depths of Hel. It was the only explanation considering how he'd treated you, how he'd touched you without your permission. Loki's fist subconsciously tightened until he felt the satisfying creak of bones threatening to snap beneath his grasp.

Loki was almost overcome with the urge to truly make this imbecile pay, to show him that such insolence would not be tolerated by reducing him to a mangled pile of limbs.

Just before he could go through with his plan, Loki felt a gentle hand fall against his thigh. His glare faltered when he glanced down and found you standing by his side and his eyes softened at your pleading expression.

Loki cursed himself. You were visibly distressed, and yet he'd prioritized dealing with the idiot that had harassed you over assuring that you were okay. He wasn't going to make you endure any more conflict tonight. You were his number one priority.

Loki dropped his hand a few feet before carelessly releasing the man from his hold. He fell the remaining meter to the ground and landed hard. The man cradled his undoubtedly broken wrist and bruised ribs and stumbled to his feet. He spared a petrified glance back at the giant before him before tuck tailing and disappearing into the crowd.

You stood by and watched. You had been shaken by the entire experience and despite your best attempts to hide it, your hands still shook and your throat felt tight. From the creep that had treated you like a slab of meat to the sight of Loki, powerful and threatening, holding the man's life in his hands, it was all beyond overwhelming. Even though Loki's actions were in your defence, it was still a lot to take in. Loki could be very threatening when he wanted to be. You could still practically feel the anger rolling off of him in waves.

The moment Loki noticed the true extent of your distress, he immediately fell to his knees beside you. The fearsome facade melted away, replaced with a warmth that Loki reserved solely for you.

“Forgive me, my sweet. I did not mean to frighten you.”

“You didn't.” You tried to sound convincing, if only to prove to him that the incident hadn't effected you as much as it had. But your voice sounded fragile and weak. “I'm– I'm fine.”

“Oh, my dove–” Loki carefully pulled you into his lap. “–You know I'd never let anyone hurt you, you know that.”

His fingers carefully traced your back and within a few minutes the tension had begun to melt from your shoulders. You felt safe and protected in his arms, enough so to allow yourself to rest against his chest. Loki sighed quietly.

I'll never let anyone hurt you. I swear it.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your head. “No harm shall come to you as long as I'm here.”

tag list: @nahthanks @leftperfectionmoon @the-queer-dungeoneer @doozywoozy @dpaccione @underworldheiress @lithebunnyq @arch-venus25

#loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki x you #jotun loki x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #I'm posting this from my phone so if anything goes horribly wrong I'm going to assume it's because of that lol

898 notes · View notes

real-jane · 2 years

Text

when will you learn

[loki x gn!reader]

▪️ summary: loki hid himself away to keep you safe. you’re not having it. ▪️ warnings: none! ▪️a/n: written for my 725 word healing hands challenge, so challenged by @buckysbirdie 💕 I’ve never written for loki before so I chose him! no gender specificity at all, much ambiguity. ▪️words: 725

prompt: 'cleaning them up'/'stormy weather'/'bucky or loki'

▪️ ▪️ ▪️

“Darling?”

He grasps your cheeks, worrying warmth into your skin with his thumbs; try as he might, he can’t get you to stand. The drone of the downpour suppresses his sigh.

“Come.” With an arm under your knees, and the other clutching you to his chest, the man who once demanded Midgardians kneel before him does just that to lift you.

You drift in and out of consciousness, catching fragments of what’s happening. A lingering scent of rose. Water, pounding in gallons against porcelain. Coiled black hair, which becomes frizzed in the heat of the washroom… how it curls around your fingers when you reach out to make sure he is corporeal.

A warm hand rubs your arm, and you come around with your nose tucked beneath his jaw–your fingers grasping the ends of his recently-washed hair. Feels like you took a dagger to the temple, but you’re happy, because he isn’t a Prince with the face of a god from a greater pantheon, welcoming you to the afterlife.

This is the Earth-bound man who asked you to wait.

“Explain, elskan mín?” He shifts so you have to look him in the eye. He’s got his back to the porcelain bathtub, you in his lap, while steam gives him a halo of curling hairs. Loki doesn’t make any movements to coax you into the bath.

You shake your head. “Not just now,” you manage.

He nods once, as he often does when words are insufficient between you, and leans in.

“Can’t tell blood from mud in your poor hair,” he murmurs, a breath away from soothing the hurt of being apart for months, now.

“When will you learn?” you sigh.

“Learn, darling?”

“I don’t wait, Laufeyson.”

He huffs a laugh. “More fool I.”

“Make it up to me?” You tuck his hair behind his ears. He raises an eyebrow and grasps your wrists to keep your touch at hand, but this time, he waits. As he turns his attention to the indentations of your knuckles and the lines traversing your palms, you see it: he’s running.

“What?” he says, as if to say please stop looking at me. His cheeks pinken.

“I’ll clean up,” you whisper. “If it will make you feel better.”

Your lips graze over his cheekbone, and it’s his turn to shudder. Leaving your hands in his grasp, you cautiously stand. Only when your feet are steady does he release you. Loki studies your ankles until your tac pants hit the ground, and then his pupils dilate. He peers at you, wide-eyed… he’s diminutive under your scrutiny. Then, those sweet green eyes shut in marked pain.

You knew he was hurting when he left for the safehouse. Thor said something which shook him to his core–bad enough that he made the decision to leave, under the guise of protecting you. I’ll come back for you when everything blows over, he had said, whispering in your ear while you were barely cognizant. Wait for me.

When you settle into the bath, your whole body aches to release the pain of battle, but you don’t allow yourself to take solace. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, frozen as he still is with his back against the tub.

“Jötunn couldn’t keep me away,” you say. He tenses.

“Jötunn? You–”

“I made you a promise. How could you forget so easily?”

He turns his head so his cheek is pressed to yours. “No–don’t say that. I didn’t, I-I couldn’t forget.”

“Then why–”

“You will forever be in peril; I cannot guard you from what threats may arise–from this realm or the next.”

“I drove a spear through the heart of a frost giant to find you. If you think I want you for your muscle…”

It's the shake in his shoulders, the… embarrassed laughter which signals his defeat.

“Help me clean up?” Your request strengthens his resolve.

Loki turns until he can wrap both arms around you, absolutely soaking his sleeves. He buries his face in your shoulder. You tug at his hair until he looks at you. Your lips and his are more eloquent than any declaration. Your touch is enough–to convince him that you’re safer together, that a tenderness which defies a four-letter definition is shared between you… and to urge him into the bathtub with you, oxfords, trousers, cufflinks, and all.

▪️ ▪️ ▪️

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

#loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki x you #loki x gn!reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson x y/n #loki laufeyson x gn!reader #loki x gender neutral reader #loki laufeyson x gender neutral reader #healing hands challenge #healinghandschallenge #kate's follower celebration #kate's 725 follower celebration

97 notes · View notes

lady-rose-moon · 2 years

Text

Halloween Special || CITM special edition ||

So while writing the second part to 'potential', I decided that since Halloween is only a few days away, I would go back to one of my older fics. Thomas Sharpe/Loki handling a Halloween with Y/N and Haven!

This is part of the "Cabin in the mountain" collection! You can read part 1 here

Summary: Haven is now six years old and Loki decides to show them what Midgardian Halloween is all about!

Loki had rented a house for the week in the countryside of Yorkshire for Haven to fully experience the wonder of Halloween. The God was aware that his reign as King regent while Odin remained in his sleep had taken his bond away from his child due to the meetings and visits to places in Asgard but Haven was determined to find a way to spend time with her daddy. Naturally, she suggested Halloween on Midgard. Frigga had agreed to leave Odin's side for the week to maintain order in Asgard while Loki left to bond with his family.

Now that it was Halloween, you and Loki had prepared the night for Haven, making the deal to extend her bedtime just this once so she could go trick-or-treating. The child never looked so giddy in her life!

You walked into Haven's room and saw that she was giddily running around her room with her seiðr crackling excitedly around her. When she saw you enter her room, the child grabbed her costume from the bed and sprinted over to you, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she grinned, "dress me, mama!"

"Okay, okay," you laughed, kneeling in front of your little girl and undressing her from her onesie. Haven looked at her costume and huffed which made you tilt your head in confusion and ask what was wrong.

"I don't wanna be Hermione, mama!" the girl complained, looking at the kiddy Gryffindor robes as her Halloween costume. That was odd, she had specifically begged for Hermione Granger! "I wanna be Draco!" the girl announced before her body shifted to her male form and he smiled up at you proudly, "please?"

You sighed and shook your head with a fond smile, running your fingers through his bouncy curls and you relished the delighted giggle that you got out of your son. "Draco Malfoy it is then," you sighed dramatically, your seiðr thrumming as it left your fingertips and altered Haven's beautiful ebony hair to a bleached blonde.

Haven eagerly ran out of your arms and stood in front of his mirror with a grin. "This is good!" he squealed, whirling around to smile at you and he was practically vibrating when the Gryffindor robes became a Slytherin green and silver. While you were helping him into his robes, you relished in the childish grin on your son's face.

"Now, what do we have here?" came the voice that you loved so much and you turned to look at your husband. What he looked like shocked you.

Loki was himself, sure, but he had turned into his Jötunn form. The blue was accentuated by golden patterns running down his body and along his arms. He was wearing a pair of leather pants, leg bracers and a loin cloth but his chest was so seductively bare. Gold shoulder pads had been added as well, along with some plates of armour down his arms. The finishing touch was the iced version of his horns that he wore on his head. He looked like a true King, the power held in just his stance as he eyed you and your baby.

"Daddy!" your son yelled, reaching his arms out for Loki to pick him up and you grinned when the God did exactly that, stroking his hands over Haven's blonde locks and slicking it back, "I'm Malfoy! Draco Malfoy!"

"I can see that," Loki smirked, tickling his son's belly and grinning when he burst out into excited laughter. "I am Loki, King of Jötunheim."

"King of fuck me tonight," you mumbled and the glance that Loki gave you indicated that the God heard it even if your son didn't.

Loki's tongue wet his lips before he bounced Haven and grinned, "shall we go?"

The cheer from your son was the sign that he wanted to go. You knew that Loki adored seeing this side of his son and any time away from Asgard was worth it at this point. You adjusted your costume slightly, flipping your hair over your shoulder and painting your nails black with seiðr. "My love," Loki purred, his lips caressing the back of your ear as he leaned in close, "if I had known you were Morticia Addams, I would have dressed differently."

"That was the point," you purred with a grin, guiding the boys out of the house and locking the door behind you.

Loki settled Haven down and watched as he immediately ran off with his pumpkin-shaped bucket to your temporary neighbour with their house completely covered in Halloween decorations. Haven quickly knocked on the door and promptly screamed when an animatronic witch caught her hand before he erupted in delighted laughter.

The door opened and the neighbour appeared, dressed in a mummy costume and she smiled down at Haven. "What a lovely costume, young man," the woman cooed, taking a handful of chocolates from her box and dropping them into Haven's bucket, "you run along now and have a spooooky night!"

"Thank you Misses!" Haven laughed and ran over to Loki and you eagerly, showing off the chocolates that he was given.

The night continued like that with Haven knocking on every door and each time receiving a handful of sweeties and chocolates. For every house that did not answer but had decorations, Loki simply turned invisible, walked through the shadows and grabbed the full bag of chocolate before returning to you and your son.

By the time you got back to the rented house, Haven's bucket was overflowing with treats and you were carrying a second bucket for overflow. Once you had locked the door behind you, you pressed your back against it and threw off your heels, groaning in pain and rubbing the soles of your feet.

"You get to eat two chocolates now," Loki was saying in the living room to a giddy Haven, "or else you won't sleep at bedtime."

The child pondered the question before shaking his head and raising three hands. "Three!" the child declared, smirking confidently at his daddy as if he had won the fight.

"One," Loki countered, his arms crossing and his brow raising to show that he was being serious.

"Three!" Haven tried again, stomping his foot and pouting.

"None," the God replied with a casual shrug and he watched his son falter.

"Fine, I'll have two! Not none!" Haven relented, carefully picking out his two favourites before sitting on the sofa and savouring the taste of the chocolate as Loki picked up the two buckets and hid them from his son.

After hiding the snacks, Loki walked over to you and kissed your temple, running his hands down your arms. "Are you okay?" he whispered gently, feeling you sag against him in relief.

"I'm just tired," you admitted with a sheepish smile, looking over to Haven and grinning when you saw he was trying to find his chocolates, "how long until we have to go back to Asgard?"

"We leave in the morning," Loki sighed deeply, his Jötunn form disappearing to reveal Thomas Sharpe in his place and he sighed, resting his forehead on your shoulder, "I don't want to go back, I was banished for a reason."

You hummed and ran your nails through his hair and you grinned as he melted against you. "Odin needs to wake up soon, it's been over a year," you whispered, feeling Thomas moan in agreement, "let Haven have tonight... I know he misses our cabin..."

"My dearest, I miss our cabin," Thomas whispered, his arms wrapping tight around your waist, sighing deeply as he savoured your scent, "all those memories there and we were dragged away from it. Our safe place, our hideout."

"Haven is our safe place," you smiled, your nails peacefully scratching Thomas's scalp and you swore he purred, "that's why we named him so... but my love, I want to come home soon. Asgard isn't where I wish to raise our baby."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tucking Haven in that night, you sat on his bed as Thomas stood at the foot of his bed and you kissed his forehead. "Did you have a fun night?" you whispered, seeing Haven's eyes sparkle in the dim light from his excitement.

"Good fun!" the child replied quickly and erupted in giggles when you kissed all over his face. "Mama?" he whispered softly and when you hummed to show you were listening, he added, "can we stay? I like Midgard."

Tears filled your eyes and you stroked his face, pressing a light kiss to his nose before you turned to look at Thomas and then back to Haven. "As soon as Odin wakes up, we promise," you whispered, seeing the anger rising in your child but you merely ruffled his hair to gain his attention, "the moment we know he's awake, we come home."

"Daddy promise?" Haven whispered, looking over to Loki with tearful eyes.

Thomas walked over and took your place sat on Haven's bed and he tucked Haven further into bed, pressing a kiss to his forehead and stroking his hair. "Daddy promises, little one," he whispered firmly, his eyes shining with tears, "I want to come home as much as you do."

When the two of you left Haven's room and settled into your own bed, Thomas's arms wrapped around your waist as he held you to his chest, you croaked out, "I want to stay."

"I do too," Thomas whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he rubbed your back, "we will be back soon. Happy Halloween, my love."

"Happy Halloween, Thomas," you responded, your eyes slowly drifting closed and sleep taking hold as you enjoyed the peaceful thrum of Loki's heartbeat beneath your ear.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@lokisgoodgirl @lokisninerealms @evelyn-kingsley @slpnbty2001 @jennyggggrrr @hahaha12123445 @ozymdias @holdmytesseract @itsybitchylittlewitchy @lovingchoices14 @xorpsbane @huntress-artemiss @muddyorbs @nerdy-fangirl-65 @lonadane @silverfire475 @chantsdemarins @iamsherlocked1479 @kittiowolf210 @just-someone11 @123forgottherest @go-roseorr

#loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki x you #loki fluff #daddy loki #Jötunn loki x reader #tom hiddleston #loki (marvel)#imagines #loki #mcu loki #sir thomas sharpe x reader #sir thomas sharpe #sir thomas sharpe x female reader #thomas sharpe x reader

50 notes · View notes

chantsdemarins · 1 year

Text

More inspiration..🥵🥵🥵

Presenting Our Rightful Jötunn King…Loki

Okay, my glorious fanfic community just tell me if you don’t want to be tagged anymore! But I figured you might be interested in some more AI art creations…

This one I’m using for my new story but PLEASE reblog and share far and wide! Use this image in your creations!

Also-let me know if you want to be tagged for my NEW story (no story borrowing tho, unlike my images!) Starting tomorrow! 12/10/22

Collapsing into the Arms of Chaos (Loki X Female Reader)

Summary: ⚔︎ The house of Odin has been inspiring the deadly reign of the Midgardian Vikings for hundreds of years.

With clan after clan brought under their brutal rule with no end in sight, Loki begins to resent his role when yet another bloody siege on your village leaves your clan devastated.

In a brash disagreement with Odin that wounds Loki, he banishes himself to your village, arriving as an injured mysterious outsider, where your paths cross and intertwine as you reluctantly heal him.

In a stark pact to save his life and yours, you marry. Will you discover your new husband is the dark god responsible in part for inspiring the Vikings in their deadly raids?

How long can Loki hide who he really is, and at what price?

Smut Rating: 🔥🔥🔥🔥

@lokisgoodgirl @coldnique @lovelysizzlingbluebird @sarahscribbles @peaches1958 @lokischambermaid @mochie855 @poetic-fiasco @fictive-sl0th @kikster606 @xorpsbane @wheredafandomat @goblingirlsarah @tbhiddlestan83 @muddyorbsblr @gigglingtigger @mischief2sarawr @sheris532 @cakesandtom @michelleleewise @nildespirandum

#loki of jotunheim #loki marvel #loki fanart #loki edit #loki avengers #avengers #norse mythology #norse gods #norse aesthetic #jotun loki x reader #jotunn #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #mcu loki #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston #he's too hot

215 notes · View notes

lostalioth · 3 years

Text

𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚔 - 𝚕𝚘𝚔𝚒

summary: “i genuinely feel like I am on fire” you groan as you ploped back on the bed. “I think I might die of heat exhaustion I’m so hot” you fuss and huff as you sit up to your boyfriend. “let me cool you off love” he offered.

warnings: fluff expect implied smut sort of?, loki x avenger!reader, loki x female!reader (vaguely described), secret relationship, loki turns into his frost giant form, reader wears nothing but undergarments

more of this au here!

You felt as if your entire body was just lit on fire. It was so hot. You hated summer with a burning passion, it was always so unnecessarily hot, and you always felt sticky with sweat.

Summer made you feel gross all over. You groaned as you threw on a simple tank and shorts, hoping to ease the heat radiating off your body. You thought that maybe you should go bug Loki to distract yourself.

Most the rest of the team were out on a mission so you could without being caught.

You smile lightly thinking of him. You missed being affectionate with him, you hadn’t really been able to. The team and especially Thor keep a close eye on Loki since he was forced to join the team. They thought him joining them would keep him out of trouble. The result is however you hardly get actual alone time where you can be affectionate. You missed your boy a lot.

Slowly peeling yourself off your plush bed. You began your descent down the hall to Loki’s room. You made sure to check every corner you could on the way making sure you wouldn’t be interrupted. Eventually you made it there.

“Loki..?” You whisper lightly as you knock softly on his bedroom door.

“Come in..” he groaned as he hadn’t realized it was you. You slowly open his door to find him sitting by his widow reading.

His entire body language switched. His eyes lit up and he stood up straight as he beamed at you. “Oh! Hi darling I’m quite sorry love I didn’t realize it was you at the door.” He smiled brightly. You smiled back and walked straight towards the bed.

“I genuinely feel like I am on fire” you groaned as you plopped back on the bed.

“I think I might die of heat exhaustion I’m so hot” you fuss and huff as you sit up to face your boyfriend. “Let me cool you off love” he offered. Your brows furrowed in confusion. Your mind went one way but that idea doesn’t seem as though you’d cool off, you actually get hotter.

“And how would you do that my love?”

He stood up out of his chair and began walking towards you.

“Well, first bunny you need to strip off your clothes..” his voice had deepened and as he finally reached you his hands set on your hips, slowly hiking your shirt up.

You nodded as your entire body seemed to fill with even more heat. Now you definitely felt like you were on fire.

You began stripping yourself of your clothes with the help of Loki. Leaving you clad in only your sage green undergarments. “Suchh a pretty girl..” he growled as you finished taking off your clothes. You whimpered softly.

“I still don’t see how you’re supposed to be cooling me off. If anything I’m more hot” you bite back trying to remain feisty and not slip away.

Slowly he had begun turning blue. His entire body had turned blue. You knew what this was, it was his Jötunn form though you’d never seen it. Your eyes lite up as his turned red. “Loki..” you beam and he waits on you to continue “You look so handsome my dear…” you smile. “But i don’t see how this will cool me off?” You questioned as you were still quite confused.

“Come to bed my love” he orders instead of answering you. He pulls you on top of the bed and into his arms. His entire body temperature had dropped quite drastically in this form. His body was almost freezing. He engulfed you in his arms and pressed you against his body. The heat melted off your body.

“This is actually working well to cool me off, however I can’t help but feel you’re quite over dressed” you chuckle as you look up at your frosted boyfriend. “I can fix that as well bunny” his chest vibrated lightly as he chuckled before a green light spread over him. He had used his sedir to strip himself down to just his balck boxers.

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat. You’d never seen him this bare before. Your eyes wouldn't stop wandering his entire body. You began to trace his blue abs one by one as well as his v-line. Which resulted in his body stiffening.

That was the thing about Loki, he’d never really been with a woman in this intimate of a way. Sure he’d have some girlfriends but they never lasted quite that long or they only wanted him for the sex part. Most of the Asgardian women wanted his brother for a real relationship.

Not you though. You wanted him. He didn’t understand why but he didn’t question it anymore.

“Bunny..” he growls as your hands proceed to travel more south, slightly tugging the waistband of his boxers down. You weren’t listening. “Darling..” he growled deeper as he gripped down your wrist in one hand and pulled your chin up to break your gaze from his Jötunn body. “Just relax and let me cool you off love..” he demanded as you began to pout at him. “I promise I’ll give you everything you desire and deserve once your body has cooled down” he began to thread his cold fingers through your soft hair.

Your entire body began to flood with heat once again from his words. “Now if you would just stop talking like that, maybe I could cool off but you keep making me hot” you whine back and you hide your flushed face into his bare chest. “But it gets a rise out of you love, god and you make such pretty sounds” he growls pulling you against him even more and pulling your face up to look at him.

“Such a pretty girl” he smiled as his pulled you hard into a loving , heated kiss.

You weren’t gonna be cool anytime soon. And now you were pretty certain Loki would be the death of you instead of the heat.

#behind closed doors au #tom hiddleston #hidden relationship #loki 2021 #loki fluff #loki headcanon #loki imagine #loki laufeyson #loki layfeyson x reader #implied smut #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson #loki #loki of asgard #loki x female reader #loki x reader

476 notes · View notes

tarithenurse · 1 year

Text

The Bathhouse - 2

Fandom: MCU AU Pairing/starring: Jotunn!Loki x Fem!Jotunn!reader Content: Morning after, hints at smut, hint of the ongoing heat, mostly some “angst” and pining, sad goodbyes (just temporary, don’t worry). A/N: Continuation of the smut fic The Bathhouse which I posted about a week ago and people seem to like. There’ll be a final and third part which will be seriously smutty as opposed to this second part. Betaed as usual by my wonderful TanteFrutsel-CreativeNurse <3

Departure

Returning to the inn, you undress and finally fall onto the bed, exhausted and head spinning with what has transpired at the bathhouse. Tugging yourself under the covers, a hand drifts to your clothed core without really touching, just covering an area of the body which is forever changed for you. And in spite of that, in spite of the myriad of thoughts, you fall into a deep sleep

...

There’s a sharp knock at the door, rousing you from your slumber, fog headed. The knocking persists more urgently so you wrap the covers around your body and go to open, finding your comrades outside.

“Don’t you want breakfast?” Morella begins unceremoniously. “Why’re you still in bed?”

You shrug, trying to hide how abashed you feel with nonchalance. “Was up most of the night.”

“Doing what?” Then something seems to dawn on her face and she gasps, “or doing who?”

“Morella!” Anvindr berates, the blue of his skin deepening considerably.

You shake your head vehemently, not ready to admit to what had transpired in the bathhouse just yet. It feels like a delicious secret, a sweet little morsel to nibble from as long as the others don’t know.

“Let me get dressed and I’ll be right down,” you change the subject.

...

The trip to the library had not been completely in vain because Anvindr had found some tomes on dwarven metallurgy and Morella managed to find a few scrolls befitting her whimsical interests too. You on the other hand had been sat staring at the same page about the founding of Utgarde without being able to take in the words.

Now you’re passing by the palace on the way back to the main road.

“Ah, hello,” a slightly familiar voice calls out.

Looking around, you spot the captain that had attempted to apprehend you with his group outside of Utgarde. He appears to be coming from within the building, fully armed and fitted with a delegation of Jötunn in his wake.

“Captain Evios,” Anvindr greets him clipped.

“You remember my name! How nice!” the captain smiles broadly as though there could be no bad blood between them, “I see you’re roaming around as you please again...guess your story checked up, huh, pretty one?” The last part is aimed at you and you instinctively recoil. “Maybe you can roam past me when I come back from assignment, if you get my drift.”

There’s a faint snicker in his ranks that’s quelled when another voice speaks up, icy cold: “Evios,” is all that’s said but the expression on the captain’s face clearly states that he knows he’s fucked up.

“Sorry, prince Loki. Heading out now,” and with that the group scurry away revealing the god that had appeared behind them.

“My apologies...no guest of Utgarde should be spoken to in that manner,” the ruby-eyed Jotunn complains, “I’ll make sure he’s dealt with once he returns.”

Morella speaks up before you have a chance to say anything. “Good! He was out of line.” It’s almost a miracle that she didn’t take matters into her own hands a moment before and even Anvindr seems to side with your feisty friend, murmuring his own opinion.

Stepping a bit closer, the prince turns his attention fully to the others in the party. “I was hoping I could borrow [Y/N] for the rest of the day?”

“Of course!” Morella approves immediately, grabbing Anvindr by his arm and dragging him along and ignoring the confused look on his face, “See you later! Have fun!”

“But -?” You abandon the idea of calling your friends back. You don’t really want to anyways, not now that Loki turns to you with a sly smile and offers an arm. “Hi,” you mumble instead, accepting the gesture.

“Hey.” You walk a moment side by side in silence but eventually he speaks up, “How are you?”

To an outsider it could seem innocent enough but you get the feeling that he’s trying to gauge how you’re dealing with the night’s activities...and how are you dealing with that? Squirming a bit, you try to formulate a sentence: “I...I feel...different but then also not? And apprehensive because...what now? What are we?”

“Hmm...I was going to ask you the same after I’d made sure that there were no regrets from your side.”

“No! No regrets! It was...it was good and...and...and...” you trail off, unable to properly express yourself. Unable to voice that you’re craving more.

It’s as though he can read your mind because Loki stops and turns you to face him. Towering over you, he leans down to plant a slow kiss that deepens when you open the mouth in a sigh. Strong hands hold you flush against him, fingers digging into flesh. It only lasts a brief moment but when you part, you’re both breathing heavily.

“I don’t know what the future will bring us,” Loki sighs with his forehead against your, his breath fanning warmly, “but I know what I want and that is to be with you.”

“What if...you said that my scent...what if...” your voice threatens to break.

Pulling back a bit, the god regards you. “It doesn’t work like that,” he assures, “you will see once the heat is over that my feelings will remain the same. That I love you.”

Satisfied with the answer for now, you take Loki’s arm and walk with him, exchanging stories about your pasts and your homes. Many of the things you both already know but at least you each can offer new perspectives.

Walking through the grounds and the palace proper, you make it to his abode where you take up seats on the balcony. Coranzen, Loki’s personal servant, serves a delicious, fizzy drink before retreating once more so you can get some privacy.

“[Y/N]...how long do we have together before you must leave?” Loki asks during a lull in the conversation about the distant regions of his realm.

You hesitate, unsure what to expect yourself. “It depends on Anvindr, I think. He begins work on a shield tomorrow. I suspect the other two want to go when that’s done.”

“So...days?”

“Probably, yeah.”

This time he’s the one to weigh his words carefully before: “I could come with you.”

“What? But...leave all of this behind?”

“If it meant knowing you’re safe or being at your side should you need help. Yes.”

You want it. Here or there, that doesn’t matter as long as you don’t have to part from him but you know it’s impossible. Setting the glass aside, you turn to him and take his hands. “I want that very much...” his face lights up until you continue, “but we can’t, Loki.”

It is clear in his eyes that he understands the reasoning even if you haven’t explained it. Rather than argue, he pulls you onto his lap and holds you in a tight embrace, rocking slightly as though his frustrations could roll off of him that way.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Me too.” His lips are ghosting your neck, sending shivers through you. “But you’re speaking reason. I’m too...too blinded to see clearly.”

“I love you.”

The words slip past your lips of their own accord but you don’t wish to take them back. They make him tense up, holding you a smidgen tighter as he repeats them back in a barely audible whisper.

...

“You’re looking happy,” Morella comments cheekily by the time you have reunited with your friends the next morning.

Anvindr suddenly explaims a small “oh” which is rapidly accompanied by a deep purplish blush before groaning something incomprehensible but he still gets the message across because your shared friend grins shamelessly back before promptly ignoring him. She doesn’t gain anything by it, though, because you know how to keep silent.

...

Two days pass but they are not two days wasted and eventually you accept his offer that you might as well just stay in his quarters at the palace for the time being which Morella seems to be very happy about while Anvindr doesn’t comment on it...but that might just be because he’s preoccupied with the creation of his shield.

Every day, the tinkerer goes to the blacksmith and works hard. Sometimes Morella tags along, however mostly the group is rather divided though still content.

For you, however, every day the group draws closer to departing, your heart aches more. You have no doubt that you’ll be going with them but you’re also loath to part with Loki with whom you’re spending most of the time when he’s not attending to his duties.

...

Loki walks you to where you’re meeting up with your friends and the escorting ranger party. It’s a silent walk where the two of you hold hands as if that could prevent you from parting. You’ve spent all the words lauding each other and wishing for a different fate. Now all you have is the looming goodbye.

The moment the waiting group comes into view, Loki’s hand closes tighter around yours and you feel him hesitate.

“We can still change our minds...you could stay...” he says just for you to hear.

Rather than answering (because you don’t think you can get anything out of your tight throat) you squeeze his hand, rubbing the knuckles with your thumb. You both know that this is how it has to be for now.

And then you’re there and the group greets you and the prince as though nothing’s wrong. The captain of the company smiles broadly for a moment before he notices the joined hands and he sends his superior a questioning glance that goes by ignored for now.

“Let’s get going, we have a ways to cover,” the captain decrees and the dozen of people start moving.

Not you. You turn to your lover and embrace him, rocking slightly in his arms as he returns the gesture. You both nuzzle the faces into the crooks of the other’ neck, inhaling deeply in the hope of memorizing the scent of one another.

“I love you,” you manage to croak out.

“And I you...and you promise to stay safe...”

You both know that that might be a futile promise, but you nod nonetheless before kissing him deeply. Then you extricate yourself from the embrace and hurry after the others who are disappearing down the road, spurred on by a light pat to your butt.

You look back by the first bend and sees a lone figure standing there with the silhouette of Utgarde behind him.

When you catch up with the rest, everyone has the tact to remain quiet rather than question you about it. Only Morella reaches over and pats you on the shoulder.

63 notes · View notes

tokoyamisstuff · 3 years

Text

Scandal Ch. 3 - Loki x Reader

Summary: You find shelter in the freezing lands of Jotunheim, and surprisingly some new allies. But Loki is already coming after you...

Warnings: Angst

Words: ~1500

A/N: Sorry, this one is a little short.

I Story Masterlist I General Masterlist I

Taglist: @hi-there-x @haloangel391 @misssilencewritewell @babayaga67 @accioremuslupinn @mochimommy2002 @just-someone-who-likes-to-write @damalseer @bethanystan @loser-alert @star017 @nina1800 @queenariesofnarnia @n1fangirlsblog

Only the anchestors keeping watch over you would know just how long you had been resting until your body was eventually able to move again.

As you looked around, you found several pairs of glowing red eyes observing every one of your moves, clashing with the otherwise darkness around you.

You bolted in an upright position, chest waving heavily as your breath was forming a cold mist. Much to your surprise, you were covered in warm furs.

“Worry not” one of them spoke, their body almost inseparable from the icy cave you apparently resided in. “We are a warrior tribe, not warmongers. What do we gain from killing a weak Asgardian noblewoman and their child?”

“Where is he?!” you choked on your own sob, only able to calm down when yet another giant handed the small bundle into your arms.

They seemed to have cared for him while you were unable to, having fed and cleaned the small boy who was still impossible to distinguish from those powerful giants.

“What is his name?” A female of them seeked to know.

You stopped in your tracks at her question. Everything happened so fast, there was no time to think about it until now.

“His...his name is...L-Liam*. Liam Lokison.” The unintended alliteration made you smile. Yes, this was a formidable name for such a little fighter.

“Loki, you say?” A row, deep voice drang to your ears, huffing at hearing the name of your husband.

It is him again - Laufey.

Initially, you wanted to express your gratitude for his benevolent hospitality, but concluded it would be better to not interrupt.

“Loki, you say?” he repeated the name, tone laced with venom pumping through his heart. “That pathetic excuse of a Jotunn?”

What in hel did he just say?!

“No wonder that crossbreed of yours is so pathetically tiny.” Laufey would now eye his grandson with great fascination, even though adverse. “A disgrace, just like his father.”

“Wha- what in the realms are you...talking about?”

You took in a sharp breath,pulling the child deeper into your arms and away from his wary eyes.

The king could only laugh at your attempts, finding this farce absolutely amusing.

“Hilarious”, he scoffed, “I take from your reaction that Odin is still the old, pathological liar.”

The Allfather had expected you to die in this environment before you’d ever find out the truth, and even if not - Odin thought Laufey to be wildly ashamed of his son, and he would never admit that this freak was his child.

And that was where he was wrong.

“He still didn’t tell any of you?” The Jötunn thought back to that day of indescribable loss. First and foremost the war with Asgard and them taking away his power, together with the Cascet of Ancient Winters - and then...

“The man you call the God of Mischief was born on Jotunheim, as Laufeyson” he declared, and the following words made your heart clench dreadfully. “For whyever I deserved such misfortune, my firstborn came into this world as a failure.”

“Our world is harsh and unforgiving” Laufey continued and apparently, none of the folk seemed surprised. “It is an act of mercy to erase the weakest of our kind, since they wouldn’t survive either way.”

“Lies” you hissed - but the proof was right there, in your arms. “You are lying!”

However, deep inside, you already knew that his words were true.

Why?

Not minding the surrounding giants, you began crying from all the weight on your heart - mourning over the fate of your lover.

From his very first day, Loki Laufeyson was doomed. His only birthright was failure, exclusion and resentment, with death’s grip constantly at his throat.

“Then-” Connecting the dots, fear overcame your system. “Why did you help me?”

“Too much blood of Asgardians and Jotunns had been shed.”

Now that you thought of it, they had saved you - cared for Liam, even. Neither had they left you to die, nor tried to harm you or the child in any way.

Odin was really the greatest liar in all of history - for there were no monsters in Jotunnheim. Only a different race of people.

“I have stained my own hands in countless battles against your kind. But we are in dire need of peace, Y/N of Asgard. And your child could be the key.”

Anger began boiling inside of you, thoughts still revolving around how Loki had been lied to for all those years - and for what? Diplomacy? Using him like a tool, to control the Jötunn?

“Loki is Asgardian just as much as you are.” Somehow, the king almost sounded pained at the revelation. “He is unaware of his heritage, taught to despise us from childhood on. There is no way he would connect our two cultures with how much hatred he bears in his heart.”

At first, you felt close to passing out once again - the emotional exhaustion being way worse than what your body could take.

Those past two days were just too much for you: Liam’s birth, his genes, being cast out by your own people - and now, knowing that Loki had been lied to and used, even might be in danger at the hands of his own father?!

“So, you want me to...raise him here?” The thought alone made your insides churn, thinking back to your homeland. “I think I have to decline that generous offer.”

“No, not like that.” Laufey slowly approached both of you, wary to not touch your skin in any way. He signalized the want to touch his grandson, and you allowed it.

Of course, in a primal tribe like that, showing weakness was unforgiveable - especially if you were the king.

Yet you couldn’t really describe why, but somehow you knew that Laufey wasn’t as heartless as it appeared to be. Maybe, back then, he really thought his decision to be best - but now?

Everything you could decipher in his orbs as he touched Loki’s child was remorse, yearning and guilt. The loss of his firstborn was still present in his heart, aware that even though alive, they had grown apart from each other beyond repair.

“You need sunlight and warmth to survive.” Homesickness could also kill you, you knew that much. “We only ask of you for visits during his upbringing, so he can learn our ways and traditions. See both sides of the coin.”

A bridge between worlds, huh?

On the one hand, it was a huge responsibility you would burden on your child - yet you knew that at least learning about his heritage was his birthright.

Never you would allow yourself to dwell on comfortable lies like Odin, just because you didn’t want to be condemned for the past!

You would save Loki, as well as ensure this wonderful child’s future!

“Laufey, my king and inlaw, so it shall be. This child is now part of your tribe, as much as it is Asgardian.”

_____

[Several weeks later]

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Laufey looked down on the Asgardian prince, standing in front of the gates of the Jotunn village.

“I demand on seeing my wife, you dull creatures!” Loki materialized a dagger, threatening to throw it right into the Jötunn’s eye. “Whatever you’ve done to her, I will repay a thousand times!”

Unimpressed, Laufey spoke “I see Odin has taught you his manners. Violent, hotheaded and selfish. No wonder she did not stay with you.”

“I ask you this one last time: Where. Is. Y/N?!”

Without any second thought, the God of Mischief had left in secret, facing the giants all alone without help of his brother or soldiers.

Because your husband was devastated beyond relief.

Without you at his side, the half-god had completely lost his way. All this time since he thought you dead, nothing could save Loki from his own mind.

For weeks, he wouldn’t leave his chambers, sitting in the dark for hour after hour without nourishing his body in the slightest.

He was haunted by how your belongings reminded him of those blissful days of your marriage. Your scent was still present on those now empty bedsheets, fogging his mind and keeping him from much-needed sleep.

The only matter he busied himself with aside from screaming and crying until his throat went sore, were the thoughts of what could be:

Knowing himself responsible for your imminent demise was eating him alive - even if that child wasn’t his, if only he didn’t rush things and would’ve let some time pass, to become clear-headed again as he was now.

Would Loki be able to forgive you and live on, overcome this hardships like so many before?

Most certainly! Because he needed you at his side, more than anything else.

Loki Odinson couldn’t live without the light of his life.

And if there was even the slightest chance of you still being alive, he would claim what was his and start anew.

“Loki, your eyes are wide open, and yet you don’t seem to see the full picture.”

When Laufey refused to descend to the entrance, Loki would immediately teleport himself towards the giant, blade aiming at his throat. “You will answer to your crimes, monster!”

The king was able to repel the attack by grabbing the god’s wrist - yet instead of the incoming pain Loki was expecting, merely his clothing froze into crumbles...

...and his limb turned in a shade of dark blue.

“You’ve grown strong, my son.”

_______

*Liam is a irish name, meaning “strong-willed warrior” or “protector”.

#Loki #Loki x Reader #Loki x You #Loki Laufeyson #Loki / Reader #Loki / You #Loki x Y/N #Loki Odinson #Loki Friggason #God of Mischief #Marvel #Disney #Self Insert #Fanfiction #Writing

213 notes · View notes