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lokisgoodgirl · 17 hours

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Metal & Leather [Loki Odinson x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Prince Loki can't get to you soon enough after an arduous battle. (Yes, another one of those!😇) w/c 1.2k Warnings: Minors DNI. Smut/Fluff. Mild angst. Mild descriptions of injury. Loki x female reader.

The Einherjar’s roar swells higher, heating the cool night air. You run to your balcony overlooking the balustrade as Loki strides towards his mother and father standing poised at the furthest reach, waiting to welcome him: to congratulate him.

The crowds go crazy as Odin hands him something. One abrupt bow, Loki wrote in his letter from the victorious battlefield. One abrupt bow, and I make for my true reward without delay. Do not come to the ceremony. The underline had ripped the paper.

“Is that an order?” you’d asked the empty room while you imagined the wolfish glint of his smile as he wrote it. And now, he was finally here. He was finally home. The nights were long on the realm’s furthest battlefields, and although his victory had been by all accounts swift it still took weeks. Thirteen, to be exact.

Now, you can see the flutter of his cape as he makes a show of turning and striding from the dais where Odin and Frigga stand. He’s coming.

You turn, perching on the stone. You didn’t bother getting dressed properly, just a chiffon open-fronted robe tied loose at the waist. Warm air sighs over your skin as you wait, and wait. The main event is right here: and it starts in five…four…three— There’s an abrupt knock at the door. “Come,” you call sweetly. Loki pushes it open. His chin is lowered to the glint of his metal breastplate, his shadowed eyes swimming with promise in the flickering gloom. The hand curled around the ceremonial spear he just received from Odin tightens when he sees you, and his lips curl in a smile. Dark hair spills over his exaggerated, armour-clad shoulders and with a low whisper, the spear vanishes.

“The demon-brothels of Musselheim left much to be desired,” Loki sniffs with a sarcasm that can’t mask the affection in his eyes. “Heated in the most inconvenient of ways.” You search his face, noting the glint of his eyes and the twitch of his thin lips. “You’re terrible.”

He strides across the room, cape blooming like ink through water, and gathers you in his arms. “And I’m yours,” he replies as he dips and lifts your legs around his waist. "Aren't you glad, darling? In all my terrible, terrible glory."

The heat still hangs on his leathers from the Bifrost.

His lips slam into yours at force, the thud of his boots and the crisp rustle of his cloak making your thighs tighten. He nudges you higher, and eager fingers slip past his temples, fisting his hair, noting the ghost of bruises that shadow his face. Loki’s fingers pull at the ribbons holding your robe together, their slither between his calloused fingers and the nip of Asgard’s night air against your nipples flooding your brain. He’s home, he’s here, he’s safe. Thank you; thank you.

Your pussy slips against the metal buckle flush to his abdomen, and Loki’s kiss wanes. He pulls back as you’re rested on the wide flat of the balcony wall, towering over you like the victorious god he is. You reach to brush his tabard aside, but a hand flies out to stop it.

“No,” he says hoarsely, and for the first time you see the raw abrasions on his knuckles, the purple cloud edging from his wrist armour. He trails a finger down the valley of your throat, between the swell of your breasts. “My love..” The softness of his voice so at odds with the battle-weary figure he cuts. He never thinks you want him like this. Not at first: coated in the evidence of his destruction. You reach tentatively for his leathers, and this time he lets you brush the flap aside. Loki of Asgard stiffens as you unlace him, pulling him closer, kissing him deep. “My love,” you whisper against his heated, gritty skin. A shiver wrenches through him. When Loki returns from war, all the lust he’s re-directed bubbles over. This time is no different. You feel his fingers run over your hair, grabbing a clutch, tilting your head back. Loki’s mouth descends on your exposed neck: biting, sucking, groaning his need for you against the delicate, willing flesh. There’s a smack of metal against leather, a grunt as he positions himself between your spread legs. The balcony stone scrapes against the back of your thighs as he places a palm on your lower spine, protecting you from the drop. And then, he’s inside you. His cock claims the deepest part of you, and Loki swears as he bottoms out with a decisive thrust.

With one hand hanging against his neck, and the other gripping the belt slung over his shoulder, you ride the devastating thrusts he delivers with each jangling snap of his hips. Loki’s cock, and his love, are the missing pieces of you—the parts he takes whenever he leaves to fulfil his duty. But this is his duty, and you both know it. Ragged gasps scrape from Loki’s throat, his fingertips clawing against your back so desperately you know the truth of his desire will be marked on you by the night’s end. Purple, blue; just like the evidence of violence painted on his skin.

He curls close, and you wrap both arms around his neck, pulling the god’s face closer into the curve of your shoulder.

Loki’s illusion has wavered. His hair is matted, crisped with sweat and battle and bifrost and you inhale deeply, willing your love for him to wash it all away. His thrusts are sloppy now, out of time with the fiery grunts blasting against the shell of your ear. He smells like metal, and leather – and gods, you never want anything else.

“I’ll always come home to you,” he says, and you know he’s picturing the enemies he had to slay to get here. He never tells you everything of what he’s seen—but it changes him. It makes his love fiercer. The crowd packing the balustrade cheers at the conclusion of some speech: Thor’s, probably. But Loki’s body draws like a bow and you feel the tighten of his jaw against your neck. “I can’t stop it,” he pants, and you buck harder against him. There will be time for your pleasure later—Loki will make sure of it. In the baths, in the bed you share, in the blankets and pillows strewn through slats of amber sunlight on the endless days with him by your side. For now, in the torch-lit gloom where he wears the stains of hard-won victory, he needs this: he needs you. And right now, your pleasure is bringing his home.

The tunic, warm from your friction, scrapes your inner thighs as he seals his cock inside you once, twice, three times. On the fourth, he holds the throbbing tip at the entrance to your slit, his wild eyes meeting yours. “All for you,” he gasps, and his eyebrows peak.

Everything: he means everything. The sacrifice, the vulnerability he shares— the fact you’d only need to ask and he would tear the sky down in your name. Your lips touch, and he groans happily as he sinks inside a final, lingering time.

The force of his cum hits the back of your cunt and his whole body tightens. A tremble works through him while the grip on your back falters, and his knees wobble. He pulls you close, groaning his climax into your mouth; the heat of his breath and the fury of his love rippling across every nerve in your body. Below, drums begin: lyres, chanting, prayer. “You’re home,” you whisper, slotting your nose at the side of his. “You’re safe.” “Home,” he murmurs as the cool metal at his abdomen chills your flushed skin. He thrusts a final, gentle time, and you cross your ankles at his lower back, sealing him close. Loki smiles, “That’s all I ever wanted.”

❤️Tags in comments! x Next story will be Wednesday 18 Sept as I'm on holiday next week🌄

#loki x reader #loki smut

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lokisgoodgirl · 19 hours

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❤️❤️

if you’re sad just remember that tom hiddleston and nathan fillion are huge fans of each other and turn into adorable giggling nervous dorks when they’re together

it’ll make you feel better i promise

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lokisgoodgirl · 22 hours

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Are those...fucking...SADDLES.

what 😭😭😭 giving Lord of the Manor, 'meet me in the stables,'

'Sir, I-'

'I promised you a ride, did I not?'

#tom hiddleston #saddles?!?!

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lokisgoodgirl · 24 hours

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Something about the grey/beige pants just does it. I guess cos everything shows up more. Creases on the thighs, various...stuff.

Girl, help!

I have no aid for you traveller Only that which will worsen what ails you

But rest with me a while and we will marinate in our shadows together

dunno why I'm talking like an RPG probably because my brain is MELTED FRoM thOSE LEGS

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 day

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Hi!!! I hope you're having a good week? ❤️

Lots of loki love xxxx

Hi sweet anon! I am, thank you ☺️

It's been a busy month, lots good...some not so good! But I had a lovely weekend-threw a party on Saturday which was great, and Sunday was relaxing central. Work has calmed down, and I have a three day week cos I'm travelling to Rome on Thursday ❤️🍕

Also, my autumn candles are in full swing so I'm drowning in spices and pumpkin. Pure joy.

Hope you're doing well! X

#lovely asks

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 day

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Oh, hey, it's my artistic talent represented! 😂❤️

Y/N: I would paint your portrait if I could

Loki: why don’t you, love?

One hour later…

Loki poses in front of a canvas…

Loki: how does it look?

Y/N: doesn’t do you justice

Y/N shows her their work, Loki giggles…

Loki; no I love it! I love how you drew me like a baboon.

Y/N:

Loki kisses Y/N softly, still giggling…

Loki: I didn’t marry you for your artistic talent, love. I married you for everything else.

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 day

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She’d forgotten how tall he was. Even in these excruciatingly painful heels, she barely reached his nose. Without them, the top of head would be pretty much level with his shoulder. It was hard to project the level of authority she needed when she was eye level with the perfect line of his jaw.

Verity is s-u-f-f-e-r-i-n-g. Worst case of the hornies. Terminal.

His only comment was, “It’s tidier than I was expecting.” 🤣🤣Stop it. Of course that's his first comment. I adore how you know the characters so well at this point (and so do we) that this stuff is just like YEP, CLASSIC CROSS. I love them so much....this series is going to be such a ride.

Crosshairs - Chapter Three

Pairing: Jaguar Villain Tom Hiddleston + OFC

Warnings: Nothing really other than some bad language and smutty thoughts.

Length: 2.4k

Summary: In which Verity thinks she's prepared for Cross's arrival.... and discovers she is wrong.

Chapter List

Full Master List of all works

Side by side in the narrow lift Verity kept her face turned to the doors and tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore the presence looming over her.

The interior of the lift was fully clad in either floor to ceiling mirrors or highly polished steel, both of which reflected the occupants far too clearly for her comfort.

The last time she’d seen Cross he’d looked battle worn and weary. Now, she admitted reluctantly, he looked fully returned to full strength. The elegant three piece suit, perfected fitted to his broad shoulders, showed off his mouth watering physique and the flecks of blue in his dark silk tie brought out the colour of his eyes.

Lightly tanned and not a hair out of place he looked focused and composed. By contrast, she looked like she’d been dragged out of a ditch following a particularly brutal mugging. Surreptitiously she tried to smooth her hair back into place, but even that slight move snapped his face in her direction.

That evaluating gaze was withering. Clenching her hand into a fist she let it drop to her side. Too late now for any last minute alterations. He’d already seen the state she was in. He missed nothing. It would all be carefully filed away in his mind and, no doubt, added to the already substantial list of reasons why she was unsuitable for this job.

She should have put the few minutes she had while she made him wait, to better use. She could have tidied her hair and reapplied her make-up. But sadly, most of it had been spent pacing the office, rehearsing her words for the argument which she knew would inevitably follow.

This meant she was now forced to endure a side by side comparison of how they were both faring in their new roles.

He was winning.

Swallowing hard, she wet her lips.

She’d also forgotten just how good he smelt. Crisp, clean linen with just a hint of spice, but beneath that something darker and distinctly male.

Barely separated by a couple of inches, she could feel the heat from his body reaching out to her across that divide, bushing the exposed skin of her arm and leaving a vapour trail of goosebumps in its wake. She took a deep breath and tried to summon a thread of calm, but that only made things worse. Now, his scent was filling her head. Her core clenched and a slow fire began to burn in the pit of her stomach.

Eyes closed she fought the dizzying wave of desire sweeping through her. As much as she might want to lick him from head to toe, she had to remember he was a bastard coated bastard, with a smug, creamy bastard filling!

In her mind she tried to run through their final confrontation. The cruel words he’d said and the mocking tone with which they’d been delivered. It didn’t help as much as she’d hoped; her righteous anger derailed by the memory of the rigid set of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders.

He might have said those hateful words, but at no point had she felt he was enjoying saying them.

She felt him shift his weight. Was he watching her? Then he cleared his throat.

“After you.”

Blood flaming in her cheeks she jerked her eyes open. Dammit, she hadn’t even felt them arrive, but the doors had opened silently, leaving her standing there like an idiot.

She quickly took a step forward, almost losing her footing in the stupid heels she was wearing. She’d picked them out for her first day, in the hopes they’d give her a boost of confidence when she walked back into this place. That had been a mistake: the clothes, the shoes, the camouflage of make up, none of it felt like her, but she’d been unable to back down once she started.

Standing in front of Cross, with that scathing gaze sweeping over every inch of her, she was deeply regretting that decision. He knew her too well; he’d see this for what it was: her playing dress up, pretending to be someone she wasn’t. She was going to have a hard enough time convincing him she was up to this role, she didn’t need the added pressure of him thinking she wasn’t taking it seriously.

And the stupid thing was, she hadn’t even wanted this job to begin with. She’d only taken it to piss him off, but at some point over the last few weeks that had changed. Maybe it was because she could actually see the impact of the decisions she was making: on the members, on the staff, hell on the building itself. She was making a difference and she liked that. For the first time in her life she felt like she was achieving something of value.

So now she didn’t want to cling onto her precarious position simply to annoy him, or because of the ridiculously inflated salary. She wanted to stay because she was genuinely enjoying the job.

Granted, yes, it was a lot more complicated than she’d expected and she’d definitely underestimated the amount of paperwork involved, but she was doing it. And, dammit, she was doing it well!

Straightening her shoulders she lifted her chin, ready to meet his gaze. Only to find he wasn’t looking at her at all, he was staring at the flat or, more specifically, the changes she’d made.

Tilting her head, she tried to look at it through his eyes, but other than a stray coffee mug in the sink, she couldn’t see anything he’d object to. She’d never been a particularly ‘pink’ girlie, so if he was worried the entire place would be buried under a layer of glitter and fluffy pillows he should feel relieved.

All she’d really tried to do was inject some warmth and comfort into the place. Which meant she’d chucked out the vicious, chrome and glass coffee table and the highly structured but deeply uncomfortable sofas. Those items had been replaced with buttersoft leather chairs, a velvet ottoman and a deep pile rug all in rich earth tones.

His only comment was, “It’s tidier than I was expecting.”

“Turns out, it’s not that hard when you have maid service three times a week,” she replied in a deadpan tone.

Acknowledging her point with a slight inclination of his head, he moved across to the shelves she’d had installed on the back wall. For the most part, they were empty, holding nothing more than a framed picture of Chris and Sandrine among the vines back in France–both looking relaxed and happy as they laughed at the camera–and a few books.

For the majority of her life Verity had never owned more than could be crammed into a duffle bag in the event she needed to make a quick exit. So, on some level, those empty shelves felt like a promise to herself; the hope that she’d finally remain in one place long enough to fill the space with things that mattered to her.

Cross tilted his head to read the spine of a book and Verity fidgeted behind him. Perhaps this was another reason she’d always kept her belongings to a minimum? It revealed less and avoided the inevitable judgement on her taste.

But all he said was, “Donald Westlake! I used to read his books back when I was at college.”

“I like something light to read before I go to bed. It helps me unwind after the day.” God dammit, now she was rambling. Unable to halt the flood of words, she found herself adding, “And I always enjoyed a good caper.”

Instead of responding, Cross set down his briefcase on the dining table, bundled up the files that had been carefully laid out and handed them to her.

“This will work fine. I’ll ring you if I need anything.”

Abruptly dismissed, Verity retreated to the lift, clutching the files to her chest. Once the doors had closed she leaned forward, rested her head against the mirrored wall and released the breath she’d been holding.

It wasn’t like his visit was in any way unexpected. She’d known it was only a matter of time before he discovered what she was up to. To be honest, she’d assumed he’d find out weeks ago. But, knowing he was coming and having him actually show up were two entirely separate things.

And the reality was so much worse than she’d feared.

She’d never imagined he’d be happy to find her here and was fully prepared for him to nitpick over every decision she’d made. But she’d forgotten just how hot he’d look while he did it.

And it didn’t matter how ugly things had been at the end, his mere presence was enough to send her entire nervous system into overdrive. Staring at her reflection, she winced. Even she could see the effect he was having on her. Her skin tingled, her pupils were dilated and her cheeks were flushed. Thank god her dress was fully lined or he’d have been able to see the outline of her rigid nipples, standing to attention the moment he’d entered the room.

Meeting his unrealistic expectations was going to be hard enough. The fact that she’d have to do it while sitting in a warm puddle of her own arousal would make that difficult task almost impossible, not to mention deeply uncomfortable.

The doors opened and she peeled herself away from the wall with a groan and limped across to her desk. It was 9:30am and she already felt like she’d put in a twelve hour day.

She’d been right about the level of nitpicking though. She’d barely had the chance to settle into the mindnumbing task of uploading the latest stock levels into the system when her phone pinged with a request for the latest set of accounts. That was followed at regular intervals with demands for staff files, rotas, membership lists and stock requirements.

By the fifth request she was simmering with barely concealed rage. Somehow he seemed to be timing each demand for the moment she settled into her current task, disrupting her concentration and destroying her productivity. She’d get nothing done at this rate, which would no doubt get noticed by his Highness and used against her as another example of how she was ill-equipped to do this job.

Grinding her teeth, she read the latest missive.

Your projected staffing budget seems rather high. Do you have a moment to discuss?

Slowly releasing the breath she’d been holding, she reached for a file that had been prepared in readiness. This was a battle she’d anticipated and was prepped for. Its eventual result would probably determine her length of tenure in the role.

But some hills were worth dying on and this was hers.

Taking a moment to compose herself she tapped out a polite reply.

Of course. I’ll be right up.

Suitably armed with the facts and figures, she headed for the lift.

Cross ignored her as she entered the flat and Verity hesitated in the hallway, shifting her weight with a wince.

Fuck! she really wanted to kick off her shoes. She wanted to feel the soft carpet beneath her toes as she geared up for the fight. Since he was seated, the minor increase they added to her height was irrelevant, but she knew that the second she removed them, he’d get to his feet and loom over her once more.

Finally closing the file he was working on, he leaned back in his chair and cut straight to the chase.

“Care to explain how the waitress costs for the Top Table have suddenly tripled?”

She gave him her brightest smile. “Of course. That would be because we’re now using professionals.”

He blinked. “And by professionals you mean prostitutes?”

“Yep. Hookers, whores, ladies of the night. Although I think most prefer the term ‘sex workers’.”

“That’s not how we do things here. The members won’t stand for it. If they wanted an ‘escort service’ they’d hire one for themselves.”

“I wasn’t planning on telling them. The girls understand the assignment and they’ll happily beg, cry or gag as required. But they know what they’re doing, they have experience of dealing with the, shall we say, rowdier types and most importantly, they look out for each other.”

“You’ll have nothing but complaints.”

“They’ve already been in role for two weeks now and not one complaint so far.”

She could see the muscle tensing in his jaw as he shifted tack.

“Their hourly rate is far too high. It’ll harm your bottom line and if this club suddenly becomes less profitable, questions will be asked.”

Verity took a deep breath, determined to maintain her composure and then flicked open the file she was holding.

“The bottom line is fine. In fact, once you take into account the doctor’s fees for emergency call outs, occasional rehab visits and the frankly colossal amounts of hush money you were forced to pay to both the injured girls and the police, it actually represents a net cost saving.”

Stepping forward, she placed the sheet of financial figures in front of him and waited.

Cross glared at the numbers in silence.

Determined not to be the first one to speak, Verity laced her fingers and raised her chin.

Finally he slammed the file closed and snapped. “Fine. We’ll give it three months. But if there is one word of complaint then the whole experiment is cancelled and we go back to business as usual.”

Taking that as her sign to leave, Verity suppressed her grin of triumph and murmured, “Absolutely.” But as she reached the lift she couldn’t resist saying. “I believe the words you’re looking for are, thank you or great job!”

The doors closed before she could hear his reply and she slumped back against the cool wall, kicking off the evil footwear.

Round one to her, but she knew this battle had barely started and up to now she’d held the element of surprise. It wouldn’t take Cross long to regroup and when he did, his retaliation would be brutal.

#fic recs #crosshairs

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 day

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#leather doublets

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 day

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“And the more I thought about it, the more I felt it would be a mistake.” Sighing heavily he shook his head. “I’m not the person who craves the big office and the fancy title. I find the view much better from the sidelines. I don’t want to be front and centre, with people watching my every move.”

I adore Ethan SO MUCH 🤣🤣 Cross is in a losing battle against the dream team of Ethan & Verity. And speaking of...

“Hi Ethan, please can you add His Majesty’s prints to all the internal and external doors.”

I am absolutely obsessed with Verity's confident, taking no shit era as queen bee in full fucking force - complete with killer wardrobe that brings Cross to his muscular knees!!! The banter between them is SCORCHING as always. Arguing about the office, please 🤣🤣 How convenient the compromise is the flat.

Fabulous!

Crosshairs - Chapter Two

Pairing: Jaguar Villain Tom Hiddleston + OFC

Warnings: Nothing really other than some bad language and smutty thoughts.

Length: 2.7k

Summary: In which Cross receives a frosty reception but manages to turn things in his favour.

Chapter List

Full Master List of all works

Taking the steps two at a time, Cross tore up the curved staircase. The imposing door to his former office was closed and, he had no doubt, fully locked.

He knew enough of its design to dismiss the idea of attempting to force it open. Even at full strength he wouldn’t stand a chance and with his shoulder still recovering from its recent ordeal, he was far more likely to injure himself than do any real damage to that unfeeling slab of oak.

He also knew that Verity wouldn’t buzz him in until she’d made him pay and given how their last conversation had ended, he imagined that price would be high. But despite that fact, he still found himself hammering on the door like a lunatic.

“Verity! Open the door this instant!”

There was a long pause and then a click from the intercom.

“If you’d like to take a seat, I will see you in five minutes. I’m just on a call at the moment.”

The overly soothing tone she’d adopted acted like a shot of accelerant, igniting the fury in his chest to full blown rage.

“You have ten seconds to open this door, or I’m having you removed by force.”

“I’ll be with you when I’m free,” she said, in the same calming tone. “Why don’t you ask Ethan to make you make you a cup of tea while you wait.” There was a pause before she added, “I’d recommend the camomile. It’s good for the nerves.”

“Verity!”

“Oh, and while you’re at it, can you ask him for another cup of coffee for me. Sounds like I’m going to need it.”

Aware that hammering on the door was achieving nothing beyond bruising his knuckles he took a step back and let his hands drop to his sides.

A hiss from the bar behind, told him that Price had overheard the conversation and was already brewing the double-shot americano that Verity subsisted on.

“Tea was it? Or do you need something stronger?”

Infuriated as much by the grin on Price’s face as Verity’s abrupt dismissal, he rounded on the man.

“You just let her waltz in and take over?”

Price cocked his head to the side. “What did you expect me to do? There wasn’t much paperwork that survived the incident in Sicily, but everything I received made it abundantly clear you’d assigned ownership of Eighth Circle London to her and she’d accepted.”

“I rescinded that order!”

The man shrugged, returning his attention to the espresso machine. “I didn’t get that notification.”

Cross hesitated, his hands clenching into fists.

Of course Ethan hadn’t received notification. Cross had never made a formal declaration to withdraw Verity’s nomination. He’d assumed that once she’d taken up her new identity and disappeared, he’d be able to quietly fill the seat without drawing too much attention to her brief tenure. He never liked admitting to his mistakes and in this new role any sign of weakness would be ruthlessly exploited by his enemies.

Rather than explain, Cross shifted tack. “But you and I spoke about ownership. I thought we’d agreed you’d take over.”

Price pulled a face, “We did, but we never talked specifics.” He scratched at the stubble on his jaw. “And the more I thought about it, the more I felt it would be a mistake.” Sighing heavily he shook his head. “I’m not the person who craves the big office and the fancy title. I find the view much better from the sidelines. I don’t want to be front and centre, with people watching my every move.”

“And you’re happy to report to…to…her?”

Price lifted one shoulder. “She’s been here four weeks and she’s already doing a better job than the last guy who had the role.” The beginnings of a smile twitched the corner of his lips. “Who knows, give her another four weeks and she might be out performing the guy before him.”

Ignoring the offer of both tea and whiskey, Cross leaned back against the bar, folded his arms and glowered at the door in front of him, willing it to open. It was nearly a full ten minutes before the lock finally buzzed and flashed green.

Price handed him the mug of coffee. “I’ve found it best not to arrive empty handed.”

Cross was about to thank him when suspicion flashed through his head and his eyes narrowed. “Did you use to manage me like this?”

Flipping the bar towel over his shoulder, Price flashed him an all too innocent smile. “I have no idea what you mean. Just doing my job and making sure everyone else is best prepared to do theirs.” Whistling to himself, he turned away.

Muttering to himself about smartarsed employees getting above themselves, Cross pushed the door open and stepped through into the room that had been his office and his sanctuary for nearly a decade.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he paused in the doorway and ran a careful eye over the space, keen to see how she’d chosen to stamp her authority on his domain. To be fair, the signs of change were minimal–other than the removal of the bed which had been set into an alcove and the addition of a couple of comfortable looking armchairs in its place–the decor and furniture remained the same.

The sound of Verity clearing her throat spun him around sharply, almost spilling the scalding coffee in his hand. He’d been so distracted by the office itself, he’d temporarily forgotten its new inhabitant.

Rudely reminded of her presence, he took his time to evaluate her appearance, deliberately allowing his gaze to run from the elegant high heels, up the length of her nylon clad legs and over the very smart dark green dress, that had clearly been tailored to fit her curves to perfection and probably set her back the best part of a grand. Pausing only briefly to take in the rapid rise and fall of her cleavage he finally reached her face and was gratified to notice the blush now heating her cheeks.

Sadly, she wasn’t the only one betraying a physical reaction to his scrutiny and he was forced to shift his weight to hide the growing evidence of his own response.

Determined to regain the upper hand, he set the mug down on the desk, pulled himself to his full height and glowered down at her.

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

“Paperwork,” she snapped, her soothing tone from before now abandoned. “Literally, paperwork.” Pointing a furious finger at the small crate on the floor, which from the looks of it contained what was left of his old laptop, she growled in frustration. “Did you know someone put a bullet through your computer? And that imbecile Anderson was so fucking incompetent that the system hadn’t been backed up in nearly a year! I’m having to re-enter every last, sodding number by hand!”

She looked incredible. Actually, that wasn’t true, she looked a total mess. The heavy make up failed to hide the deep circles under her eyes, which suggested many sleepless nights, there was an ink smudge on her nose and her hair, which had been returned to its normal dirty blonde shade, but still cut in an elfin bob, was standing out in wild angles, where she’d apparently been grabbing at it in frustration. Even so, he wanted nothing more in that moment than to rip the couture dress over her head and fuck her into the nearest flat surface.

He took a deep breath and balled his hands into fists to stop himself reaching for her. Nothing had changed. All the reasons he had for driving her away before were still valid. She shouldn’t be here and he needed to make her see that.

“I meant, what are you doing here? This isn’t your job and this, sure as hell, is not your office.”

“Nameplate on the door says otherwise.”

“No! I won’t allow it.”

She gave an exaggerated blink. “I’m sorry… you won’t allow it? What exactly are you going to do about it?”

Carefully schooling his expression, he gave her his trademark sneer. “I’m the Chairman. And I think you’ll discover, I can do anything I want.”

Hands on her hips, she jerked her chin in his direction. “So, this grand act as Chairman will be to undo your first appointment.” Lip curling, she shook her head. “That would set a very bad precedent. People might think you’re indecisive… or–” she clutched at imaginary pearls, “Or that you made a mistake!”

“I don’t care, I–”

“Oh get off your high horse and think about it for a moment. I’m perfect for this role! I already know the club, the staff and the members. And most of them like me a hell of a lot more than they ever liked you. And this way, you know someone has your back.”

“You?”

“Yes me! Give me one good reason why not?”

Thankfully the shock finally seemed to be wearing off and Cross felt his thoughts snap back into focus. This wasn’t what he wanted for her, to be dragged further into the murky pit of the Eighth Circle. And thankfully he had the leverage to bounce her out of the door so fast her head would spin.

“I’ll give you five million reasons.”

Verity blinked at him in confusion. “Huh?”

“You didn’t read the small print. No position at the Eighth Circle is confirmed until all outstanding loans and dues have been repaid in full. Last time I checked, your ledger is still five million pounds in the red.”

“Account transfer or bank draft?”

Now it was his turn to feel wrong footed by the sudden turn in conversation. “I’m sorry?”

“How do you want the money back? I should be able to get it back to you by the end of the day.”

That answer somewhat took the wind out of his sails and he could help saying, “You didn’t spend it?”

“No.”

“Any of it?”

“Not that much and I’m pretty sure Mathieu would be good for a short term loan. He has three decades of absent father guilt to work through.”

Regaining his composure he graced her with a patronising smile. “Are you sure about that? Last we spoke, he was less keen than I was on you taking on this role.”

Verity shrugged. “We’ve had the chance to talk since then. Well, I talked, he mostly listened.” A small smile twitched the corner of her mouth. “He’s surprisingly good at that. You should try it some time, it makes a world of difference to conflict resolution.”

Cross shook his head. “He’s happy you’re here?” Considering that when he’d suggested the idea, Mathieu had nearly punched his teeth down his throat, he was surprised that even Verity would have been able to talk him round.

But she had always been good at getting people on side.

Verity shifted her weight and pulled a face. “Well, I wouldn’t say happy, but he accepts that this is what I want to do, so he’s doing his best to be supportive.”

Waving a hand through the air, to dismiss her arguments, he returned to his original question. “You really didn’t spend it?”

“It was never about the money. It was about retribution and revenge - the money was just a tool.”

“And now?”

“And now it’s time to move on.” She raised her chin, expression cold. “Isn’t this what people keep telling me to do? Settle down, get a proper job, find a nice guy.” The heavy emphasis on the word nice clearly underlining that she did not place him in that category.

“Find another job.”

“I’m happy with the one I have, thank you.”

“Then find another office.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry? Another office?” she repeated.

Cross placed his briefcase on the desk and smiled coldly. “Sadly, my new Head Quarters won’t be ready for another few weeks. I was intending to take advantage of the break in ownership here to make full use of the space.”

Outrage painted across her features she gaped at him. “You’re evicting me? From my own office!”

Cross winced as her voice rose to a screech.

“It’s not personal. I wasn’t expecting to find you here at all.”

Verity climbed onto the desk, sat down and folded her arms, a mulish expression on her face. “I’m not leaving.”

Cross hesitated. Whilst there was no doubt he’d physically recovered enough to sling her over his shoulder and carry her from the room by force, he wasn’t sure he had the emotional resilience to remain detached once he had her in arms. The need to close the space between them and drag her to his chest was almost overwhelming.

Instead, he turned, one finger tapping lightly against his lips as he glanced at the door.

“Perhaps you’re right. Maybe it would be best for you to remain locked away in here. I can take one of the meeting rooms.”

Her eyes narrowed and Cross fought down a grin as he could feel the cogs turning in her head.

“Yes,” he continued, “that would give me privacy if needed, but easy access to the member’s lounge the rest of the time.”

“Don’t you dare!” she snarled, jumping down from the desk and dashing across the room to insinuate herself between him and the door. Arms braced against the doorframe she glared up at him. “I’m not going to let you start gladhanding my members and talking shit about me behind my back.”

“I would do nothing of the sort!” he said, summoning a hurt expression. “I will be the first to say how hard you’ve been working, since you took on this role.” He caught himself reaching for her face and retracted his hand, fingers balling into a fist at his side from the effort of restraint. “Though of course, I worry about you. I am concerned for all my employees and you do look tired… I wonder if any of them have noticed that?” Dipping his head he tilted his face and whispered his next words directing into her ear “I must ask.”

Face screwed up into a grimace, Verity seemed to be fighting a battle of her own. “Fine,” she snapped from between clenched teeth. “You can work from the flat. That should give you all the space and privacy you need.”

He stepped back, mildly surprised that she’d managed to come up with an entirely reasonable solution on the spur of the moment. Using the flat made perfect sense and was hard to argue against. And he had to admit, he was curious to see what she’d done with the place. With a flash of triumph he realised she’d overlooked one other essential element.

“Very well, I accept. Now we just need Price to reinstate my prints on the access panel to the lift and, of course, the office door.”

He watched her face tighten with annoyance at being outmanoeuvred. Was she going to rescind the offer?

“Unless, of course, you’re looking for the opportunity to personally escort me up and down in the lift, every time I wish to enter or leave the building?”

Bright spots of colour burning on her cheeks she stomped past him and slammed a hand on the intercom with far more force than it needed.

“Hi Ethan, please can you add His Majesty’s prints to all the internal and external doors.”

There was a pause and then Ethan replied, “All of them?”

Cross hid a grin as Verity clenched her teeth and ground out. “Yes, all of them.” Clearly she hadn’t wanted to draw attention to the fact she was giving him access to her personal quarters. But she’d quickly learn that Ethan never missed a trick.

“He’s going to be staying a while then?”

“Apparently so.”

The look on her face was almost worth the frustration of the morning so far.

#fic recs #crosshairs

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 day

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I still think Frigga has ulterior motives!!

“If others can see your vision for you, they can find details that you cannot,” Frigga explained. “But it cannot be done with your silly little brain wandering off to the gardens!”

Why so desperate, Frigs?!

Loki is so beautiful in this chapter. LOVE how reflective he is. LOVE how sweet he is standing up to Sif.

He felt compelled to confess his soul to you, which was a feeling the Prince and Heir to the throne could not afford to have. It was feminine, it was liable to intrude on his decision-making.

But it felt wonderful. Loki had never felt such positive vulnerability. It was a cleansing cascade of fresh water on his skin. He wanted more.

And once again - your characterisation of Fandral has me smiling. “Well, I picked the best moment to check in,” Fandral said, leaning against the doorway, looking amused. - adorable. He's such a good friend - unexpected, but lovely!

Feeling abandoned by Loki, you pour yourself into a complicated spell with Frigga to pass the loneliest days, while Loki confronts his feelings in the forest.

CHAPTER WARNING: none WORD COUNT: 2.5k

“You are beginning to frustrate me, Y/N,” warned Frigga.

It was another day of ‘vision lessons’ with the Queen. You were too exhausted to go on. At first, when you’d asked your mother-in-law for double practices to keep you busy in your husband’s absence, you thought it was for the best. Alas, the stress of your abandonment did not cease, it only piled on your shoulders higher with each day.

Today, you were trying a method of magic Frigga was practiced in that would project your visions outside of your body and before any witnesses nearby. “It has never been attempted, because it requires a seidr master’s influence,” she explained. “The Mistresses have never been able to come within proximity of anyone outside of the Sanctuary, let alone another magicked creature.”

Your belly rumbled. Sadly, a large part of the spell was contingent on the emptiness of your body, so the energy within you would be able to retreat to your brain to the fullest capacity. It could not be performed on a body filled by any external means, be it food, drink, or child. It could also not be performed during your cyclical bleeding. The many rules and provisions around the spell made it incredibly difficult to create.

That was not even the worst part for you. The spell required singular focus, which for most minds, was impossible to reach. After all, even a song stuck in the mind, a random appreciative thought for the looks of a passerby, or a memory involuntarily recalled could happen to anyone at any time. Naturally, your thoughts were almost always on Loki, and whether or not he would ever come back to the palace.

He was on a hunting trip somewhere in the outer forests. He’d left with Sif, Fandral, and Volstagg the morning after you comforted him on the floor of your chambers. Hogun had been away visiting his family when they left, and he’d returned to Asgard a week later to an empty sparring field. He’d sought your company a few times, which you appreciated, though you never shared any particularly deep conversations with him.

The one good thing about Loki’s prolonged absence was that Odin saw no reason to invite you to meals at his table without your husband. Thus, you had the luxury of dining alone in the library with a book, or perhaps with Hogun, speaking casually about the weather.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” you snapped quickly, straightening your posture again to recenter your mind.

“If others can see your vision for you, they can find details that you cannot,” Frigga explained. “But it cannot be done with your silly little brain wandering off to the gardens!”

The quip stung coming from Frigga, but you could tell her tenseness was also coming from a place of exhaustion. You were not being the easiest student for her.

She placed a hand on your wrist, creating vital skin contact between you. She placed her other hand flatly in front of her, as if stopping something from approaching.

“Again.”

You brought one of your more benign visions to your head, one previously agreed upon to maximize your ease. It was one from years ago, where you’d seen the approach of a Midgardian diplomatic assembly coming to a trade agreement. The accompanying scroll was on the desk beside you for the sake of reference.

The image intensified behind your eyes, gaining color and sharpness. The patch of skin under Frigga’s hand grew to a near-burn, and you began to will the image downward as the Queen chanted and drew green sigils in the air before you. Your lips began to chant along with hers, and doing so seemed to condense the vision’s energy, making it easier to move around under your skin. Was it Frigga or yourself that was doing this? Seer magic did not act this way…

“Y/N…”

A voice that did not exist in the room with you was filling your ear. Loki was calling you, even though you knew he wasn’t. The building energy came to a halt, and the concentration from you and the Queen was severed. Frigga uttered an exasperated sigh.

“It has been weeks, and we have yet to see as much as a spark,” she mumbled.

“I’m sorry Mother,” you said weakly.

She looked at you, and the more she saw your bowed head, your embarrassed face, her annoyance fell apart. “I pushed Loki to learn his magic to the point where he began to hide from me when the time came for his lessons,” she mentioned. “I am not an easy teacher to endure.”

You exhaled. “It isn’t you, Mother,” you insisted, “I still worry about Loki. I miss him.”

“I see.”

The Queen took her hand away from your wrist. “Then we won’t see any more progress today. I’ll ring for tea.”

Once the trays were brought and you were alone again, Frigga spoke what was on her mind: “Have you finally fallen for my son?”

You tried to look anywhere else in the room but at her, which told the Queen everything. She sat back in her chair, a knowing smile draped across her face. “Congratulations. Now your predicament will resolve.”

“No, it won’t,” you moaned with heavy hopelessness. “He’s been away! He still runs from me.”

Frigga dismissed your fears with the flick of her wrist. “I don’t believe it was you he needed a respite from this time.”

“Then for what?” you asked. “The attack?”

“Wouldn’t you be frightened? Especially so soon after your brother’s--?”

“--I suppose.”

You were beginning to grow tired of the royal family holding Thor over your head like a sword on a string. It was the last thing keeping Loki from bedding you, it was what kept the King from seeing you as a daughter. It was what kept you imprisoned in the palace. There was no way to convince any of them that you were nothing but a good little wife and daughter-in-law. After a while, it became only slightly easier to endure the passive-aggressive comments.

Only Loki seemed to progress in his views of you. Apparently, that still wasn’t enough.

Maybe you would never be enough. The idea had crossed your mind naturally since minute one of your marriage. Now, it was becoming closer to your reality each day of Loki’s prolonged absence. It was quite clear that you’d chased him away with your close comforts the night before he left. You’d made him feel vulnerable, un-princely. You were a terrible princess.

The Queen seemed to give up on you for the afternoon. The rest of tea was spent in silence.

Loki’s hunting lodge was deep in the west woods, and it was the most glorious dwelling that could possibly be constructed from wood. Three stories high, with verandas and stained glass windows in the entryways among other ostentatious assets. It was ridiculous. Loki had asked for something smaller, more unassuming so as not to scare away the game. Thor had commissioned it for Loki’s coming of age, and of course, his brother’s request for a simple cabin fell on deaf ears.

It sat in a small clearing near a running brook, and it was a picturesque scene indeed. If not an ideal hunting place, at least it was excellent for calming the nerves and sorting the brain, which was why Loki had come here with the Warriors.

Loki was becoming overloaded, torn every which way as every person who mattered to him told him something different and contradictory. His mother thought you ‘had potential.’ His father, of course, thought you were out for the destruction of Asgard. Sif’s resentment of you burned brighter than Loki’s ever had. Fandral and Volstagg were growing fond of you. Hogun never spoke much about you when you weren’t around.

But what did Loki think of you? Was it right to admit that, perhaps, time had softened him enough to open his eyes? Or was it still a betrayal of Thor to see you in a new way?

Day was fading, and Loki stood on the terrace overlooking the glen, a mug of beer in hand. He watched as, down below, the servants were packing the carriages and feeding the horses, preparing to leave for home at first light. A month was long enough for him to be away from you.

He knew running away to his country retreat would not be a good look on him, but his mind had been in a daze that night as he sighed and shrank in your comforting arms. He felt compelled to confess his soul to you, which was a feeling the Prince and Heir to the throne could not afford to have. It was feminine, it was liable to intrude on his decision-making.

But it felt wonderful. Loki had never felt such positive vulnerability. It was a cleansing cascade of fresh water on his skin. He wanted more.

“Loki?”

Sif sauntered onto the terrace, still in her hunting garb aside from her riding boots, a goblet of wine in her hand. “Supper is served.”

“Thank you, Sif.” Loki was cold, only half-present.

“Well, if you don’t come along, Volstagg will have the best cuts on his plate before you know it. Can’t travel home tomorrow without your strength,” she went on, taking a sip from the cup.

“I’ll be down momentarily, Sif,” promised Loki, leading into another awkward silence.

“I thought you’d wish to extend the retreat,” Sif added. “To prevent you from going back to…everyone.”

Loki couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “If you’re speaking of Princess Y/N, she is why I intend to return tomorrow.”

Sif scoffed and flipped her long darker hair over a narrow shoulder. “I didn’t believe you’d warm to her company, and thus was content to hold my soul back from you before now.”

“I already know what you mean to say,” Loki hissed, annoyed. “You’ve had daggers for my wife since the moment the doors to the throne room opened to her.”

“She killed Thor!” Sif snapped, gritting her teeth and facing Loki in a defensive stance.

“How dare you!” Loki barked back, repeating her gesture of dominance in order to rise above her.

“I was to be Queen!” Sif ignored Loki in order to fully express herself. “I was to fight for centuries beside him!”

Loki could barely stand to look at her. “And she was to stay locked beneath the palace for her entire life!” he added. “The Norns and Higher Gods have toyed with all of us! Let go of the past, Sif. It makes you into a withered old hag.”

“Only days before, you seemed to be on my side,” she replied. “You cannot fathom for one moment why I would be so disturbed to be knocked out of the succession--”

“Norn’s sake, Sif, you were never in the succession! You never wedded Thor! Do you think holding eternal grudges will bring him back from Valhalla? Cease your jealous protests against MY wife!”

“How you defend her so already!” Sif raged. She was fully angered now. “Have you thought for one moment that the Allfather is correct in fearing her? Think of everything she could be holding from you! How many prophecies could she have that she has hidden away for a more opportune moment with which to betray us?”

“SILENCE!” Loki hollered, turning back to the beautiful view before him. “I have had four months to think, and to get to know her, and I cannot find insincerity in her. Nor can my Mother, whose natural inclination for reading others has never failed her. Odin is an old windbag who has some other notions in mind, and I have decided to ignore his paranoia.”

Sif didn’t reply, other than to state her thesis. “She could be your little wife for a millennium, but she will never be one of us.”

“Then continue to avoid her presence like a coward,” answered Loki. “Thor would be so proud of you.”

Sif hissed and threw her wine goblet in Loki’s face, the red drink splashing and streaking across his body as the golden cup clattered to the ground.

“Well, I picked the best moment to check in,” Fandral said, leaning against the doorway, looking amused. “I could go back for my ale and join you?”

Sif rolled her eyes, realizing she was now outnumbered. She quickly removed herself and went back to the dining room. Fandral shrugged casually and joined Loki where Sif had been moments earlier.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring a napkin!” Fandral laughed. “What did you say to her?”

Loki wiped away most of the dripping wine with the sleeve of his shirt. It left a faint pink stain near the wrist. “She refuses to accept Princess Y/N.”

“She doesn’t agree with you on your new path,” Fandral admitted. “We never hear the end of it when you are elsewhere.”

“I left Y/N so that I could sort out my thoughts in a place my newfound station has yet to change. I surrounded myself with the few constants my life has left from yesteryear,” Loki mused, reflecting briefly before adding, “Thor should be here, but he should not be the name by which another is harassed or blamed. It only offends his memory.”

Fandral sighed. “I can see your point. But Sif was to be Queen, as well as Thor’s bride.”

“I believe her jealousy for being pushed away from the line of succession is secondary, but still present,” Loki said ruefully.

The blonde warrior paused. “Do you love your wife, now?”

The Prince shook his head after a moment. “I have not spent enough time in her presence to be in love.”

Fandral chuckled. “Then spend more time in her presence! My Prince, with all due respect, perhaps you should be trying to woo your bride rather than shooting game with us fools!”

“Do you think I could love her one day?” Loki asked in earnest.

“Why do you think I should know your heart for you?” he shrugged. “A few fireside discussions and family meals does not make a romantic setting, you know.”

Loki grunted. “Then what must I do? To begin making…a romantic setting?”

Fandral opened his mouth to chastise the Prince for such an inane question, until he realized that perhaps Loki’s questions were revealing the hidden truth no one ever thought of before: Loki’s sexual experience had nothing to do with courtship. In the aspect of romance, Loki was the virginal one. Not once had his bed been refused, but that was because to refuse a Prince’s sexual advances was to declare oneself insane. He’d never needed to earn the love of another.

So, instead, Fandral wrapped a brotherly arm around Loki. “Well, I do believe if we plan to depart for home tomorrow, we will be just in time for something I had in mind that may present the perfect opportunity for you…”

As Fandral began nudging his friend inside, Loki shook him off. “Fandral?”

“Yes?”

“Breathe a word of this and you die.”

Both men smiled, suddenly suppressing silly, spontaneous laughs. Fandral slapped Loki’s back with encouragement. “I couldn’t agree more, Your Highness!”

Series Masterlist Tags in the comments!

#loki fic recs

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 day

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The Ceremony [Asgard! Loki x Fem. Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Every 1000 years, the gods of Asgard provide their sacred seed in a revered and respected ceremony🍆✨ Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Voyeurism. Language. Humour. A/N: Inspired by a scene in The Tudors where Henry VIII has a w*nk into a dish held by a servant. @lokischambermaid thank you for being my unwavering bad influence and cackle-merchant. (w/c 3.1k)

Loki sighed, turning and gazing critically at his reflection. He pulled the tie of his ceremonial robe tight around his hips. Green and gold. “Why we must endure this infernal sideshow of lewd banality, mother? It’s absurd.” Frigga rolled her eyes, a laugh catching on her tongue as she tutted gently. “I tell you this every millennia, Loki. The Ceremony of the Sacred Seed is not a sideshow. It is imperative to the good of Asgard.” “Watching the Royal family masturbate onto a garish golden platter is imperative to the good of Asgard? I see.” Loki huffed, smoothing his hair in the mirror.

The material was finest spun silk chiffon, the barely opaque fabric clinging seductively to every curve of Loki’s muscled body. A little too seductively, for Loki’s liking.

Intricate lace was hearted to the edging, pure sewn gold weighing on the hem. The ceremonial dressing gowns were woven by hand, the delicate work passed through generations. Creation of each of the three bespoke items for the gods of Asgard were legend, spanning the thousand years between ceremonies. Only the eldest and most revered weavers of the city were instructed; the knobble-fingered crones, Loki thought. He shivered, the image like freezing water on his balls. Frigga knew he was toying with her, but still...she felt the need to remind him of the role he must play. That all the men in their family must play. “You know very well that the seed is collected, that it is offered to the soil beneath the Tree of All Things to ensure Asgard’s continued prosperity. The people must-” “-The people must see that their gods' are strong, virile and willing to serve the realm with our innate power, brother. Our sacred seed gives sustenance to the tree, which in turn serves the people. Yes, mother?” Thor boomed. His own ceremonial robe hung loose at the waist, his oiled chest on display; the tie dangling ominously close to revealing all that lay beneath. He took a bite of an apple, the crunch making Loki flinch. “Yes, darling.” Frigga replied, squeezing Thor’s forearm as he grinned widely between messy chews. Loki grimaced, turning away. “Why must I always be last? It’s humiliating.” he murmured, tucking his hair behind his ears as he lingered on his reflection. His eyes flickered upward, seeing Thor’s beaming face appear ghoulishly over his shoulder. “Because you’re my little brother, brother.” the blonde smirked, taking another bite of apple. “I don’t know why you always make such a fuss, Loki. This is my sixth ceremony...and your fifth. Just close your eyes and think of someone pretty.” “We are not all as brutish in our carnal delights as you, brother” he hissed, “to whom the mere sight of a curvaceous table leg during a feast has him making a hasty exit to his chambers and the embrace of his hand. Some of us require more complex inspiration.”

Frigga raised her eyebrows, lips pursed at the familiar spat between her sons. Loki’s ceremonial gown swirled around his bare legs as he paced the floor, incandescent with self-satisfied vitriol. “...and inspiration such as that, I shan’t find behind those doors. Especially not as the third act to my father and brother’s sequential onanism.” “Onanism, brother?” Thor scrunched his eyebrows as a low cheer echoed from the hall next door, the sign that Odin’s contribution in the ceremony had been secured. “Self-pleasure, you cretinous rube.” the dark-god muttered, staring out the window-arch at the pink glow settling over the city below. “It’s time, Thor.” Frigga said, sensing the approach of the guards to usher her blonde son to his duty. He tossed the half-eaten apple towards Loki, a flick of his brother’s wrist making it vanish in mid-air. “Time to give the people want they want.” Thor grinned, throwing Loki a wink as Frigga tightened the belt around his hips. “Prepare yourself, Loki...I shan’t be long.” he rumbled smugly, making his way towards the now-open golden doors to the side, striding past the guards with arms outstretched. Loki could hear his brother working the crowd, their welcoming applause making him shudder. Two-hundred of Asgard’s dignitaries waited through those doors; standing in the side-wing of the great hall. Murals of past ceremonies decorated the alcove, visual reminders of memories that Loki would rather forget. Fifty witness spaces were balloted to the citizens of Asgard, the right to attend considered the highest honour. ‘The Ceremony of the Sacred Seed must be witnessed. We must be seen to be benevolent’, Loki thought, recalling his mother’s words in the lead up to his first experience with this accursed tradition. He rolled his eyes silently, making Frigga chuckle. “I shall leave you now.” she murmured, touching his arm lightly before her dress was but a whisper across the marble floors. For the first time, Loki felt the clench of nerves in his stomach. A thumbnail scratched at the gold edging of the robe by his heart, slipping to rub the muscle beneath. He closed his eyes, exhaling deeply as he summoned familiar thoughts of the one he adored from afar. The one he craved. The forbidden one.

His hand slid down his chest between the soft fabric, the tie of his robe loosening. Massaging his soft cock, he could feel the first stirrings as his mind perused well-trodden fantasies. Slipping down the shoulder of her dress to plant a biting kiss, a tug of her wrists fastened to his bedpost, one slick soaped-up calf rising seductively above the rim of his claw-foot tub. Loki shivered, a wave of desire rolling down his spine, ass clenching. The loose fist he had made around his manhood pressed outward, the flesh thickening beneath dangerous thoughts. He was ready.

On cue, respectful cheers rumbled through the wall signalling that Thor’s dutiful service to the realm had been a success. Quick and artless, as usual; Loki thought with a smirk. The engraved golden doors swung backwards, palace guards setting themselves at either side in wait of their prince. Loki took a deep breath, striding barefoot across the marble floor. The flow of his ceremonial garb grazed his ankles with each long step, his shoulders squared; jaw set. He stared ahead, as imposing in the luxurious garment as he would be in his battle armour. The god’s dark hair rested behind his shoulders, one curl falling forward as he gave a curt nod to the high-priestess standing in the centre of the alcove. She raised an arm with difficulty, the long draped sleeves of her white gown made of the same intricate material as his robe. Don’t think about the knobbled crones, Loki thought; cursing himself inwardly.

“Loki Odinson. Prince of Asgard. Second son of our most sacred royal lineage...” Her voice was strong and commanding despite her advanced age, the white of her hair strewn across the back of her dazzling gown. “God of Mischief and Chaos; sworn protector of Asgard and its people. Do you consent to a ceremonial offering of your most sacred seed this night?” Loki’s eyes went out of focus momentarily, the temptation to roll them almost overwhelming. “I do.” he muttered, to a murmur of approval from the shuffling crowd. He ran his gaze around the half-moon congregation, two-hundred spectators waiting with a mix of trepidation and awe as Loki took his place in the centre. His stare crawled across familiar faces from council meetings and feasts, dignitaries and statesmen who had roamed his father's halls all his life. Their presence was to be expected.

In the middle of the crowd, the Asgardian citizens stood, their clothes noticeably less refined. Less...gold. Many held their hats in their hand, reverent and disbelieving at the sights they had seen thusfar as sunset drew closer. Four guards stood in a square around the dark prince, each holding a pole from which white silk hung like a flag. They all turned; eyes cast upward as they raised their posts to conceal the prince from the waist up. Loki heard a disappointed hush of whispers from his left, tilting his head in half-interested acknowledgment of their discontent. Of course, he thought with a smirk; observing a small group of women. The wives and daughters of Asgard’s political elite. With one notable exception. “It is time.” the high-priestess announced, passing the infamous golden platter to her disciple. Loki nonchalantly untied his ceremonial robe, letting the exquisite green fabric fall loose at his chest. He threw a knowing glance toward the women leaning forward in rapt attention as the silk-chiffon slid down his shoulders, catching on the curve of his biceps. They giggled, quickly hushed by their elders. Every inch revealed more of the legendary landscape of his body, forearms tensing as his broad shoulders rolled back. Several of the women gasped audibly, the ceremonial robe pooling on the floor around his bare feet with a soft rustle. Loki knew that the dying rays of sunlight from the circular window behind would be radiating across his skin, sparking the gloss of every strand of raven hair. He raised his chin upward, letting the crowd admire their prince as he gave a nod to the high-priestess. A sudden scent wafted in his nostrils, making them flare. Poppy. Only one person in this palace wore the scent of poppy.

His stomach fluttered, excited murmurs from the crowd becoming white noise as his eyes fell on she who haunted his thoughts. She slid beside the gaggle of women muttering to each other. There you were. Your face collected; dutiful. Beautifully impenetrable. In every way. She’s not supposed to be here, Loki thought; biting his lip as he extended his hand, one of the guards pouring oil into his palm. “Begin, Prince Loki.” the priestess proclaimed theatrically.

Loki’s gaze fell to the man kneeling in front of him, head bent in dutiful reverence with the golden receptacle outstretched, ready to receive his offering. The platter bearer, Norns; Loki thought. Best seat in the house. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply with his chin tilted upward. The scent of your perfume hung in the air like smoke, tendrils invading Loki’s mind as it began to whirl with lust. So close. You were so close...and you would see him as you had never seen him. As you had been forbidden to see him. Loki smirked, loose grip running up his thick arousal. Sneaking into the Ceremony, against her father’s wishes? What a naughty girl. Long fingers flexed around the base of his girth, giving it a tight squeeze. His lips parted, a low sigh of need escaping under the smallest movement of his hand. His oil slicked palm slid up his member...all the way up, achingly slowly. A gruff ahh caught in his throat as his fingers grasped the sensitive tip, imagining your plump lips sucking brazenly in their place. Loki’s grip tightened; his teeth gritted in concentration as he widened his stance. The marble was cool beneath his bare feet. How many times Loki had envisioned how he would take you upon this sacrosanct floor. The skirts of your dress pushed around your waist as your nails clawed down his back. He would unmake you, devour you, he would free you from every modesty you had ever learned...starting with that beautiful cun- “Fuckkk...uhhh..” Loki moaned, the echo creeping to every corner of the hallowed alcove and beyond. His head fell back further, waves of his hair brushing against the centre of his shoulder-blades as he stroked himself shamelessly under the spell of fantasy. “G-gods...yes.” A shocked murmur rippled through the crowd. The Ceremony was usually a silent affair, perhaps a whine or two at completion from its participants but nothing so...enthusiastic. From the level at which they stood, the crowd began to shuffle, craning to catch a better view of a god lost in his own ecstasy. Above the silk panels, his strong torso was visible from the navel, every thrust of his hips against his palm making that powerful stomach clench. The fading light cast shadows across deep abs, spasms of restrained desire making the muscles at his ribs jolt beneath the taut skin. Loki’s face was marble in motion, exquisite cheekbones sharpening and softening with each biting clench of his jaw, panting sluttishly to the muraled dome above. Loki’s mind wandered to the day he had returned from battle, coated in blood of a thousand foes: dead by his hand. You had run to him, concern etched across your brow, before you realised that the blood was not his own. How innocent you were. If only you had known the things that he would do to you. That he would have you do to him.

In his fantasises, he envisioned you pushing him against the balustrade, ravenously thrusting your tongue into his mouth. You would have relished every drop of him mixed with the sweat and filth of war that clung to his skin; consuming the grime as you would the one that wore it. Dirty girl, Loki thought; his stomach flipping with a wave of adrenaline, dangerously close to climax. You would be such a dirty slut for me. And only me. Loki thought of how your fingers would make quick work of the crusted ties holding his leather trousers at the hips. Of your hands slipping down to grasp his furiously hard cock in your delicate grip. His knees would buckle, delicious cleavage pressing against his bloodied armour; red streaks smeared across your cheek as you savagely took his pleasure at any cost. “Uh-uh-uh...Uh hhhh- y-yes...don’t stop...Gods.” Loki grunted wantonly, his face falling forwards with his mouth hanging open. His cock was bursting, flexing outward against the tight clamp of white knuckles. Blood thundered in his ears, a thick haze of feral lust coursing in his veins as he raised his gaze slowly, ceasing his heavy strokes to a crawl. The disciple at his feet raised his head in expectation, bringing the golden platter forward; flinching back down when he realised his mistake. Loki’s eyes locked to yours, watching him with that same concerned expression that you had worn in the hallway the day he returned. Or wait..., Loki thought as he palmed his cock gently upward, a shiver of desire rolling down his spine; Not concern. Need. Your lips were parted, brows knitted in concentration as you shuffled beneath his simmering gaze. Loki’s eyes ran covetously over your frame, your breasts rising and falling against the corset of that pretty dress. They may not know how much you wish to be behind these silk curtains on your knees choking on my cock, darling; Loki smirked to himself, as you let out a staggered breath beneath his smouldering stare. But I do. He let out a low growl, eyes rolling back as a thumb pressed up the centre of his wide manhood. The oil on his hand was hot with friction, slipping around the velvet skin beneath. Loki’s eyes never left yours, tilting his chin upwards again. His hair fell around his cheekbones, a strand sucked across his lips as he began to pant beneath the renewed pace of his palm. He observed you through half-lidded eyes, biting his lip as his ass clenched with every smooth swipe of his hand against that forbidden pleasure he knew you craved. How he wanted you. How he had always wanted you. Loki hoped your father could see the eye-fucking occurring amid this most solemn of Asgardian festivals. An honour: Loki thought with a sly tug of his lips, that even that odious old fucker could not deny, surely. “Oh-oh, f-fuck...yess.” Loki groaned, close to release; syllables dripping from his tongue like double cream. His fist flexed around his length, palming himself mercilessly while thoughts of you ravaging his cock invaded his senses.

The god’s eyebrows slanted upward, his jaw slackening. A murmur of excitement rolled across the crowd, seeing the prince’s shoulders tense and tighten. Biceps bulged as his free hand grasped his naked thigh beneath the silk panel, an audible gasp from the spectators as he threw his head back. The veins in his throat stood out, jawline sharp as Vanaheim steel in the embers of smouldering sunset. The curtain-bearers tenses in position, the manservant serving the golden platter forward as the muscles in Loki’s legs strained against the precipice of orgasm. His eyes squeezed shut. Knowing you were watching him come undone...that would need to be enough. For now. He could feel breaths catching in his throat, panting like a wolf on the hunt. Stars flashed and simmered behind his eyelids, mutters of anticipation rising from the crowd as his dark moans of shameless pleasure reverberated around the marble walls. In his mind, you were lying in his bed. Legs spread to welcome him as he lowered between your open thighs, melting into the curve of your breasts. “Take me, Loki.” you would whisper against his skin, as you guided his aching cock inside your wet, hot cunt. “I’ve been waiting for you.” With a thundering groan that would wake the dead, Loki came. It rang around the alcove, bouncing to every nook and cranny of the great hall beyond. He heard the group of women gasp in unison, their quiet whines peppering the air as he came undone. Glorious, pure white seed spurted across the outstretched golden bowl as Loki juddered. He steadied against the shoulder of one of the stoic curtain-bearers as shallow pants racked his body. Loki squeezed up from the base of his cock, every drop of his essence secured. For none could remain. Slow claps dotted the crowd, growing louder as the spectators showed their appreciation for his dutiful service to the realm. The god's eyes flickered to where you stood; a coy smile pressing against your dimples as you applauded demurely with a mischievous glint in your eye. He swiped the ceremonial robe held out to him, making a show of whirling it around his body, allowing you a final gratuitous look. Loki tightened the cord around his hips, straightening and smoothing his hair back as the curtain-bearers raised their poles to reveal his whole form once more. I’m still hard, Loki thought, realising immediately that he didn’t care. The high-priestess approached, giving a small bow. She smiled, leaning in toward him. “One can always count on Asgard’s second son for some...unorthodoxy.” she whispered. “It is nice to see that a millennia has not changed you, Loki.” She winked, accepting the golden platter and its contents from the kneeling man shuffling on his knees across the floor. Loki rolled his eyes. “Will that be all?” he quipped, pursing his lips. She nodded, the same smile tugging the corner of her mouth. He gave a curt nod to each section of the crowd, lingering a moment longer toward the one where you stood. Loki could swear there was a thin sheen of sweat on your collarbone, that you pressed your lips together to contain a bite as he raised his eyes to yours.

I have been waiting for you, he thought, feeling his heavy cock throb as he began the short walk back through the golden doors from whence he came. Tonight, my forbidden one; we shall wait no more.

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#loki x reader #Monday wanks

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 day

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@mischiefmaker615 your reaction is like my inner voice I love it 😂😂

I would like to second @gigglingtiggerv2 s comment x

OOKKAAYY..

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lokisgoodgirl · 2 days

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😂😂😂The erraticism (??) is part of the charm. But I am always happy to see this fic pop up - one of my favourites as you very well know!!!!!!

The Old Gods and The New - Chapter 20

God In Distress | Loki x Reader

Loki wakes up in an unexpected place while the court of New Asgard plans an attack.

Warnings: Kidnapping, angst, a touch of whump and reader being both scared and embracing her new position. A for angst.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

Loki woke to a pounding headache thrumming behind his eyes. He cracked one lid open and promptly closed it again against the bright overhead lights. With a groan he rolled over, placing pressure on his right side and forcing the air out of his lungs from the pain. There was a smear of blood below him, but whatever injury he’d sustained had clearly been patched despite his lack of access to his healing powers.

He could barely remember what happened, he knew he’d been enjoying a night at The Dog and Bilgesnipe, ever protected from the increasing tourists with a simple illusion that caused Loki no end of joy to have been able to enact.

You had been there, his Asynja, effervescent as always in the company of his friends, old and new, chatting away with Jane and Val, drinking probably a little too much. He had been playing cards with friends, carried away by the easy camaraderie of the village as everyone settled into their routines and the easing of pressures over the holidays. He certainly did not remember starting any bar fights, that was more his brother’s realm of entertainment.

Loki cracked his eyes again, where were you? He reached a hand out but, instead of feeling the soft cotton of his master bedroom sheets, warm with your presence, he felt cold glass and metal. Stunned he opened his eyes, shielding them from the bright light with one hand on his forehead, and surveyed his surroundings.

Perhaps he should be thankful that you were not here, wherever here happened to be. A mostly circular room, more octagonal where the angles of the huge glass windows met wide bars of metal that supported a complicated ceiling structure.

Beyond the glass walls were a series of odd looking machines, blinking, making irritating buzzing noises. So crude, their electricity. And there, stamped on the side of the closest one was a huge A.

Loki swore, sagging back on his small cot bed on the floor. Not this again. The gods damned Avengers, always ruining his fun.

You had left before him at least, so he hoped you’d managed to evade whatever luck the Avengers had managed to rustle up in order to catch him inebriated and unaware. But his anger built nonetheless at the risk that you may be here too, trapped and frightened again like a spider under a glass. He would not be able to control his temper if he found out that they had ensnared you, regardless of whether you were hurt or not.

Loki reached out, sending his sedir as far as he could towards you, feeling for that playful touch of your own magic in response. But there was nothing, it recoiled as if burnt, returning to him bringing with it the agitated pacing of a caged tiger.

He tried to manifest a cleaner outfit, one not salt stained from walking through the snow. He peered down at himself, mud along his right side suggested he’d been tackled in some way and he was most displeased at being unable to clean the caking soil from his sweater. You liked this sweater and he was sure you’d be upset to see it ruined.

No matter how hard he tried to delve into that well of magic, nothing appeared in return, only a smattering of fireworks that dimmed quickly. Sighing once more, he closed his eyes and waited for the Avengers to send their first interrogator, hoping that sleep might show him your face at least.

Across the ocean you were thinking of Loki too, honing your skills with Valkyrie as she trained, sharpening her weapons and making plans in the privacy of her home.

Thor had taken it upon himself to rally as much support as he could find, returning with a huge friend called Korg who introduced himself as, “not a man, a pile of rocks, but not normal rocks, rocks that are like a man.”

You’d shaken the not rock, not man’s hand and thanked him for coming, but all the same you’d had to take a stiff drink from the secret whisky collection in Brunnhilde’s coat cupboard before you could rejoin the small group Thor had managed to gather in the King’s living room.

“Okay, that’s enough, stop raiding my supplies,” she called, once everyone had found a place in the living room. Despite her general tone it was only really Korg who was still opening and closing the doors, everyone else was settled with either a cup of some sort of tea or a large measure of liquor, smiling tightly at the room as if it was a funeral of a distant relative.

Korg squeezed himself into his seat and gave you a smile. “Sorry, I just get hungry, and there are these snacks here on Midgard that -”

“Korg!” Brunnhilde snapped again and Thor, sat closest to him, elbowed him in a way that made you think it hurt the god more.

“Thank you all for coming,” Brunnhilde took centre stage, ever the King, regardless of whether her throne was intricately carved wood or an overstuffed seersucker armchair she’d squeezed into her cosy living room.

On the sofa, Jane turned to look at you and held out her hand for you to squeeze. Her own fingers felt soft in yours, lovely and delicate but too small, and although your friends were trying their best to support you, you missed the reassuring feel of Loki’s long fingers tangled with your own.

“Last night,” Brunnhilde’s voice commanded the room, no longer just their friend, but the King. Everyone fell silent at once. “Last night, Loki was kidnapped from the harbour by Stark and his men. Thor has told me this is because the Avengers still believe Loki has to serve his time here on Midgard, in a Midgardian prison and, as you all already know, I think that’s fucking stupid. I’ve asked you all here to help Estrid, Thor and myself get him back so,” she clapped her hands together, “let’s plan.”

Jane spoke up first, bouncing forwards in her seat, “I can ask Darcy to find out where he’s being kept!”

Thor looked incredulous, “Darcy works for Stark, she is hardly likely to risk that.”

“She works for Stark, but she’s my best friend, don’t you work for Stark as well?” She turned on him, lifting a brow.

“I do not!” The god huffed.

You’d wondered why the pair had ended their relationship, but it was clear they did nothing but bicker so perhaps it was for the best.

“How about,” Thor paused, wondering if there was still space in their relationship for him to suggest things to Jane.

“- Jane will speak with Darcy, she can find out if she’s willing to help and Thor will see how far the Avengers still trust him?” Brunnhilde suggested and both parties nodded.

“I could print some pamphlets, to let the people of Asgard know their prince has been taken?” Korg offered and Thor clapped him on the shoulder.

“Good idea my friend, we should tell all of Asgard that Loki was kidnapped, for it will embarrass him greatly when he returns!” Thor laughed.

“Thor!” You snapped, it was all too much, these plans, the arguing. Your Loki was trapped in some awful prison and his own brother wasn’t even taking it seriously. “Loki could be hurt, who knows what they’re doing to him. You said yourself that Stark hates him and wants him imprisoned.” Your words caught in your throat, making them sound odd and strained.

“My apologies,” Thor looked more sombre than you’d ever seen him, “I jest only because I’m worried too. Loki may be a handful -” Brunnhilde rolled her eyes, “but he is my little brother, a Prince of Asgard and your beloved.” Thor reached a hand out and cupped your cheek, surprisingly delicate compared to the usual rough pats on the back. “We will see him returned.”

As you looked around the room at your new friends you truly believed it, Jane was sure she could secure the support of her friend Darcy, Thor and Val were fierce warriors and even Korg, who you were still getting used to, had prior experience of defending Asgard. The thrum of anxiety that had beat alongside your heart was dimming, this was not going to be like last time. Your magic was strong, powerful, and you were not alone.

“Let’s plan then.”

You talked well into the night, missing most of the Solstice celebrations, though a few villagers came by with food and drinks from the Long Hall, full of delicious spices. Your first Solstice and Loki wasn’t even here to celebrate it with you. Every now and again you snuck off to the little bathroom to cry and wipe your tears, careful to use your illusions to conjur your makeup again so no one would suspect. After all, you were a Warrior of Asgard now and should therefore not cry. You told yourself again, teeth gritted together, staring into the mirror over the sink.

Every time you returned your drink was full to the brim again, but no one mentioned your absences.

When the darkness had truly arrived and the cold started to seep through the stone walls Brunnhilde declared it was time to make her Solstice speech. She pulled out a small set of note cards and chucked them unceremoniously into the dying fire.

“I guess I won’t be needing that ‘happily ever after’ Solstice speech after all.” She huffed, shucking on her coat in the narrow hall, “I’ll improv it.”

“I look forward to it very much!” Thor smiled, tucking you under his broad arms, “come, Trouble, we will see the people and take our plans forward, my little brother will be back to torment us before we know it.”

Unsurprisingly the hall was still bustling when you arrived, the village had continued its Solstice celebrations without Loki and Thor to complete their ceremonial fighting it seemed. A lead weight of regret settled in your stomach, if you’d stayed at the pub, could you have stopped them from taking Loki? Could you have fought them off on his behalf if they really had controlled him with the rune magic?

And if you had.

If he was with you now.

Would you have appreciated his presence, his smile, the way he tucked your hand into his elbow and held you close? You’d never take his presence for granted again. You’d tell him when you saw him.

It occurred to you that this must have been how Loki had felt while you were gone and though you didn’t want him to ever suffer, you hoped that he’d felt your loss as keenly, because his absence was worse than anything you’d even had to endure, but it had also clarified your feelings so clearly. Loki really was everything to you now, there was nothing but your mischievous trickster. As you thought of him your magic roiled inside, delving into a well of power you had no idea existed.

“Are you alright?” Thor whispered while the King opened the double doors of the hall and silenced the revelry within.

“As I can be just - missing him, that’s all.” You gave Thor a tight, awkward smile.

“I know.” He dropped his arm from around your shoulders and nudged you forwards, through the path your King cut in the bustling hall, towards her throne and the centre of the court.

A day had passed since Loki had woken up. He knew only because of the changing guard and the meals that were presented to him. This was, after all, not his first time in imprisonment. Although the conditions on Asgard were considerably better.

Coffee, toast and what was apparently supposed to be porridge arrived remotely through a hatch in the plexi-glass wall that was protected by an airlock system, as if he might turn to dust and simply float away if given half a chance. The thought had occurred to him, but since he couldn’t teleport he didn’t wish to risk being sucked into a vent as a fine mist or separated from something important should Stark decide to turn a fan on.

Loki surmised that it must be sometime in the morning if there was toast and that, given the guard had changed recently, for the fourth time, it was probably around twenty-four hours since he’d arrived, or since he’d woken up at least. The Norns knew how long he’d been out from Stark’s attempt at forging magic. The man had built a crazed robot before, so he wasn't going to underestimate his ability to cause his own kind of Midgardian chaos. It was a shame, really, that the inventor was so intent on making him an enemy, when Loki could foresee a future where they'd be fine friends, creating mischief and carnage.

Loki spent most of the day plotting, his eyes closed and hands crossed behind his head, trying to remember every detail of the compound, the weakest spots, the places to hide, on the rare chance he might be granted an opportunity to escape.

He knew the outside of the glass prison was surrounded by the same runes he’d found during your own rescue, runes that controlled and suppressed magic. In themselves a strong force, channelling aeons old knowledge, but not unshakeable. Not unbreakable.

Using your shared well of natural, elemental, magic, as well as the sorcery that Frigga had so diligently taught him, you had been able to break them before and he had no doubt he’d be able to break them again. Especially if he had your help.

As he lay there he wondered if you would come for him and, though it hurt him to dwell on it, he wondered if you’d had the same sad thoughts when you’d been kidnapped. Did you wonder if he’d rescue you? Did you doubt him?

Loki brushed the thought away, you had willingly stayed with him many times now, had followed him back to Asgard, you lived together. He wouldn’t allow his fears to take him over, not when keeping a lid on his control was so important.

Perhaps that was the key, a controlled push of his magic in the right weak spot could spell freedom. But where?

Slowly Loki paced the perimeter of the prison. All the sides were an even length, eight in total, but with angles so wide the room was essentially circular inside. On one side was a door with no hinges, he presumed it must rise into the dark ceiling cavity above the prison instead or, knowing Stark, go into the ground for some ridiculous, style induced reason.

In the panel beside it was the hatch for his food, the air lock system seemed simple enough, but there was no warning of the food appearing, no clock to notice the changes in time and no noise or presence. That too appeared from either the ceiling or the floor.

His bed was an insult to both comfort and design, more of a perspex box than an item of furniture, the blacket thin and pillow almost non-existent. Try as he might, Loki was unable to conjure any finer items, more befitting of his station or his taste, and it was perhaps the greatest insult that they’d keep a Prince in such an ugly, ill furnished prison cell. At least on Asgard he’d been allowed the dignity of a few items of furniture and apparel.

Sighing in frustration, Loki turned and paced in the opposite direction, hoping that the change of scenery might prove to give him a new perspective on his predicament. But he had no such luck. Instead he sat again on his bed and allowed his mind to drift to you, to the starlit nights you’d spent together of late and the memories that resurfaced in his dreams, of a young Prince and Princess, laughing and smiling in the golden sunshine of Asgard.

“Prince Loki was taken last night.” Brunnhilde’s voice rang clearly through the silent hall, each Asgardian turned to face her, quiet, reverent. You’d never seen everyone so serious before and it took a moment for you to remember that they had once been a skilled and fierce warrior race, all quietly surveying their King now, waiting for orders. “He was taken as he left The Dog and Bilgesnipe while the rest of us slept and celebrated. A sneaky and dishonourable attack made worse by its location on the harbour at the heart of our village.” The King paused, allowing her words to filter through the crowd, ripples of murmurs drifting past as everyone processed her words.

“ - we believe he was taken by the Avengers, Tony Stark, in particular, using runic magic that he learnt during the rescue of Princess Estrid, Warrior of the Asgardian Court.” You’d never heard her be so formal either and her low tone echoed through your bones, the feeling of anger, of the might of Asgard, building like a wave. “Loki has served his time following Asgardian laws and remains under our jurisdiction as a Prince and a member of my appointed council, Stark has no right to arrest him or imprison him. We are a sovereign nation and abide by our own laws, he has taken our Prince unlawfully and we see this as tantamount to war.”

The hall roared into life, every citizen enraged by this insult. Shouts and angry declarations echoed in the small space, feet beat against the floorboards and hands waved in the air.

Brunnhilde coaxed you forwards and, with a firm hand on your back, Thor followed. Jane and Korg flanked you on either side to form a guard around the King. Her council, strong and capable before the court.

“Crown Prince Thor, Princess Estrid, The Lady Jane and Korg will continue to protect you. To protect our Midgardian neighbours we will not allow any further tourists or visitors until Prince Loki is restored to his home. And then he will once more take his place on this council.”

The hall was still a cacophony of noise, talking, shouting and the banging of fists on the long tables almost drowned her next statement.

“Though we have built ourselves a new home here, a village known for peace across the realms, this insult will not be borne and we will not be deterred from our path of sanctuary by this act of aggression. We will stand strong, together.” She raised her sword above her head and the noise rose again. You turned away, you were full of rage, uncontained and unbound, flames flickered between your fingers and you knew that you were moments away from your casual clothes being replaced by battle ready metal.

“All will be well, Trouble.” Thor’s voice was deep, cutting through the high pitched shouting. “Our King is a Valkyrie, a noble and revered warrior, I would trust no one else with my people. We will return him to you and to this court.”

Brunnhilde motioned for you to follow her, taking the emergency exit at the back of the hall rather than attempting to wade through the somehow increasing mass of people inside.

Outside the air was startlingly cold, it was rare for you to be out without Loki and his familiar presence at your side always made you feel warmer. Despite the new friends surrounding you, you felt so alone. Loki’s absence loomed larger than you’d expected, every facet of your life different without him.

There had been no warm body to snuggle closer to this morning, no kind hand to pass you breakfast, no gentlemanly arm in yours while you took a walk around the village. Even your magic missed him, it coiled and sort for his sedir, homesick for his touch and languished in the pit of your stomach a heavy weight that made you feel nauseous.

The ache of it was too much, bursting from you, it roiled in your stomach and you were sure you’d been seeing your breakfast again. There was a deep tugging sensation somewhere between your stomach and your throat, you turned, ready to be sick into the gutter. Then, it was as if you’d sneezed and the pressure was gone.

“What is that?” Brunnhilde looked at your feet, the round shaggy body of a calf looked up at her, its round eyes blinking. The calf danced to its feet, its flames melting the snow around you into puddles that leaked and settled between the cobbles. On silent feet it danced off down the street, heading for the open sea.

“Be careful!” You called on instinct, your stomach dropping as it leapt from the end of the harbour. But it didn’t fall, there was no splash, instead a ripple of silver floated off into the sky.

Loki stared blankly at the ceiling of the cell. Every moment that passed he thought of new and more complicated ways to punish the Avengers, to bring his wrath upon them. And every time he thought he’d peaked he felt your soft hands on his cheeks, your lips, the warmth of your body as it settled on his and your voice telling him to forget the wrongs of the past, to focus only on the future.

He huffed, placing his hands behind his head, if he wanted a future he needed a way out of here. He was angry beyond measure, that was true, he was not a God to be trifled with. But his anger was stoked by concern, worry for you and, for the first time in many years, true loneliness.

Loki missed the way you settled into his side every morning, the lingering kisses you gave him throughout the day and the calm that settled inside of him whenever you were around. He missed his magic, especially caked as he still was in mud and melted snow, but more than that he missed the sensation of your magic meeting his, warming him deep into the icy home of his own sedir. He knew that his frost giant form loved you too, more than the tryst you’d shared at the Golden Palace. There was a coldness to him that delighted in being warmed by you and now, without it, he felt the same sensation of isolation that he’d become accustomed to.

The lights flickered and he cracked an eye open. There, on the other side of the glass, was a calf, made entirely of flame. It looked tired, sat down with its legs splayed around it awkwardly, but happy. It’s head was cocked to the side and its short tail stuck out, thumping on the floor like a dog.

A noise on the other side of the doors made its head whip round, trailing flame behind it, and then it bounced further around the glass to sit next to Loki, its head pressed to the glass. Loki lifted a hand, his long fingers as large as the calf’s head, and it nuzzled forwards as if the glass was a simple barrier to being petted.

The noise continued and the door burst open, various agents hustling inside before Tony Stark stepped over the threshold.

When Loki looked down the calf was gone, but a trail of silver shimmered where it had been sat. He closed his eyes again, he didn’t care what Stark had to say, he knew now that you hadn’t forsaken him. He knew that you cared and that all he had to do was wait.

<<Chapter 19

Chapter 21>>

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