#loki god of semantics

[sacredfixation]

[Headcanon] Loki refuses to call things by thier proper names, and It drives Mobius Insane

Loki knows what things are called. He just deliberately refuses to say them correctly.

Jet skis? “Your primitive sea chariots.”

TV remotes? “The feeble sorcerer’s wand.”

Microwaves? “A box of searing radiation.”

Seatbelts? “Shackles of oppression.”

Mobius corrects him every single time.

Mobius: Loki, just call it a jet ski.

Loki: I did.

Mobius: No, you didn’t.

Mobius has aged ten years from this alone.

[writingfics-passingtime]

hi, can you please write about the reader overthinking decorating a pumpkin and loki threatens to tickle them if they don't start it 🤗🤗

I can still post pumpkin content cause it's still November, right?

Here's a sassy, stoic reader, an absolute teasing menace Loki, and a tender, emotional ending (because I can't help myself).

Exactly Like That

word count: ~4300

pairing: Loki x female reader

content / warnings: sexual tension, suggestive banter, flirting and touching, tickling, swearing

minors dni: this work does not contain smut, but does contain a suggestive relationship between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

note: thank you anon ~ I wasn't going to respond yet because my prompts aren't open, but I've seen a few other writers receive and fulfil this ask, and I've liked seeing what other have done with it. My imagination went a little wild. Thanks for your message x

The room was alive with voices, clinking bottles, and the occasional scrape of a knife against pumpkin flesh. The compound’s main dining hall had been transformed into an unlikely tableau of domesticity. Avengers, gods, and spies bent over their assigned gourds with varying levels of skill and enthusiasm. Stark’s pumpkin already looked like a disaster of glitter and questionable wiring, while Natasha’s had been carved into a clean, menacing grin, a masterpiece of precision.

And then there was you.

Your pumpkin sat pristine and untouched in front of you, its smooth surface mocking your indecision. Brushes, carving tools, and paints were scattered around your space, all conspicuously unused. You held a small knife in your hand, twirling it absently as you stared at the blank canvas.

“Do mortals often find themselves defeated by vegetables, or is this particular weakness unique to you?”

Loki's voice slid over you like velvet, dark and rich, tinged with mockery.

You didn’t look up. “It’s a fruit, actually.”

“Ah,” he drawled, moving closer. “Semantics. How very like you.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him lean against the edge of the table, his long, lean frame clothed in casual, dark fabrics that clung just enough to remind you that he wasn’t of your world. His sharp blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he surveyed your untouched pumpkin.

“You’ve been staring at it for nearly an hour,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Surely even you can’t find this much to overthink.”

You exhaled sharply, finally meeting his gaze. “Maybe I’m waiting for inspiration.”

“Or perhaps you’re simply afraid to begin.” His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk, the kind that made your pulse stumble. “One wrong cut, one poorly chosen stroke, and the whole thing could be ruined. What a tragic metaphor for your careful, overthought life.”

“Thanks for the analysis, Freud,” you said dryly, turning your attention back to the pumpkin. “Now, if you’re done, I have work to do.”

“Work?” His laugh was quiet, mocking. He moved closer, the faint rustle of his clothing brushing against your senses like a whisper. “Sitting frozen with indecision isn’t work, darling. It’s fear.”

You bristled but kept your voice calm. “If you’re so invested in this pumpkin, why don’t you decorate it yourself?”

“Because I find your quandary far more entertaining.”

He stepped around behind you then, his tall frame casting a shadow over your seat. His presence loomed, a magnetic pull you both resented and couldn’t entirely resist.

“I’ll give you a choice,” he said softly, his voice close now, the faintest trace of his breath against your ear. “Either you begin decorating this ridiculous fruit, or I’ll take matters into my own hands.”

You turned slightly, meeting his eyes over your shoulder. They gleamed with dark amusement, his smirk widening as he caught the way your lips parted involuntarily. “Oh? And how exactly would you do that?”

Loki’s smirk deepened, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. “I could start with this.”

Before you could react, his fingers brushed against your sides, featherlight but enough to send a jolt through you. You stiffened, gripping the edge of the table as his touch lingered, just shy of maddening.

You twisted in your chair to glare at him. “That’s your plan? Tickle me into submission? How original.”

His chuckle was low, dark, a sound that sent a shiver up your spine. “Oh, I think it would be quite effective. And besides,” he murmured, leaning closer, “I suspect you’d secretly enjoy it.”

Your breath caught at the sheer audacity of him, the way his voice dipped into something so sultry, so intimate, that your stomach twisted. “Sounds like you're desperate for an excuse to touch me,” you shot back, your tone sharp despite the heat rising in your cheeks.

He tilted his head, his smirk softening into something more dangerous, more deliberate. “Desperate? No, darling. Just curious.”

His gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, as if he could see straight through you to the rapid beat of your heart.

The air between you seemed to thicken, the tension coiling taut as his words hung there, daring you to respond.

Your grip on the table tightened as you forced yourself to meet his eyes, even as heat coiled low in your stomach.

It felt like gripping the steering wheel of a car spinning out, but you snapped the moment.

“You’re not as intimidating as you think you are."

Loki laughed, soft and wicked. “Of course not. And you're the picture of composure, as always."

His hand brushed against yours then, the faintest graze of his fingertips, and you swore the room tilted.

“Go on,” he urged, his voice a low murmur, his eyes locked on yours. “Prove me wrong. Pick up the brush. Start decorating. Show me you're not afraid of a little fun.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding so loudly you were certain he could hear it. The weight of his gaze, the dark amusement in his smirk, the sheer magnetic pull of him it was... intoxicating.

Finally, with a sharp exhale, you grabbed the brush. “Fine,” you said, your voice tight as you dipped it into the paint.

Loki straightened, his smirk triumphant but his eyes still glinting with wicked intent. “There’s a good girl,” he said softly, the words like a caress against your ear.

It left you burning long after he’d stepped away.

As you focused on the paint in front of you, doing your best to ignore the heat coursing through your veins, you felt the thrill of his words linger.

The brush hovered over the pumpkin, the orange, unsullied skin glaring up at you like a taunt. Loki had retreated to the far end of the room, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the edge of the table as he spoke with Thor. You knew it was only a matter of time before his attention flickered back to you, the heat of a flame too close for comfort.

You had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm under his gaze any longer.

Sliding the brush down as quietly as possible, you rose from your seat. The soft scrape of your chair legs across the floor was muffled beneath the ambient chatter of the room, and Loki didn’t so much as glance your way. Your pulse quickened as you edged toward the door, heart hammering with every step.

He didn’t follow.

Once you’d slipped into the quiet of the hall, the tension in your chest eased, and you let out a breath you were very aware you'd been holding.

You made your way toward the compound’s library, the solitude of it a welcome balm. The others would still be occupied for at least another hour - enough time for you to lose yourself in the pages of your book and avoid whatever game Loki had been playing that almost made you crack.

The library greeted you with its familiar quiet, the scent of leather sofas and paper a comforting presence. You found your usual spot tucked away in a far corner, a large bay window cushioned with soft pillows overlooking the courtyard. Settling in with a contented sigh, you pulled your book from where you'd wedged it between the seat cushion and the wooden frame.

The story drew you in almost immediately, the tension of moments ago dissolving into the words on the page. The sunlight filtering through the window began softening into twilight, painting the room in hues of amber and shadow.

The quiet here was sacred, untouched by the chaos of the compound. As you turned the last few pages, your chest loosened, the illusion of safety creeping in.

Surely, he hadn’t followed you. Surely, Loki had other things to occupy himself-

Surely not.

“I expected better from you.”

The voice slithered into your ears, so low and sudden that your breath caught in your throat. With all your years of training, you managed to stay frozen. Futile, though. You knew he could see right through it.

You looked up, and there he stood, shadowed and immaculate, his silhouette framed by the dim glow of a single, golden lamp. His icy blue eyes glinted with cruel amusement, his lips curling into a smirk that made your stomach twist.

“How... predictable,” he continued, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “You flee like a rabbit, thinking you can burrow away from the wolf.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs, but you forced yourself turn back your book. “I don’t recall fleeing,” you started, turning a page. “I walked out, actually. Perhaps you’ve forgotten the difference in your old age.”

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous, like distant thunder rolling over jagged peaks. “Ah, there it is. That fire you wear like armour. Does it soothe you to pretend you’re unshakeable?”

You scoffed, even as your pulse betrayed you. “You’re awfully sure of yourself for someone whose only hobby seems to be tormenting me.”

“Torment?” he echoed, his voice silken as he closed more distance between you. “My dear, if I were tormenting you, you’d know it. Shall I demonstrate?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response, instead turning another page of your book. The words blurred before your eyes, but you kept your expression neutral. “If you think I’m going to feed your ego by reacting, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

"Why did you refuse to take part?" There was something unnervingly earnest in his voice that pulled at your heart. "Why did you leave?"

You looked up, wearing a mask of indifference and sarcasm. “I didn’t realise decorating pumpkins was a matter of state importance.”

The smirk tugging at his lips was slow and predatory, dark amusement glinting in his eyes. “Such sharp words, little rabbit. Always so quick with your tongue when your heart’s trying to claw its way out of your chest.”

Your pulse spiked, but you refused to let him see it. Instead, you tilted your head, letting a slow, sardonic smirk curve your lips. “You said you weren't desperate, Loki. But you seem to have taken to taunting me for sport."

The laugh that slipped from him was low and sinuous, curling like smoke through the still air. “Oh, I don’t need sport to occupy me. But you…” He leaned forward, the space between you vanishing in an instant. “You’re far too entertaining to resist. Especially when you’re trembling behind that mask of yours.”

“I’m not trembling.”

“No?” His voice was a purr now, his breath brushing your ear as he lowered himself just enough to meet you at eye level. “I suppose you weren’t squirming earlier, either. Like prey in my hands.”

Your cheeks flared with heat, but you kept your expression neutral. “You sound obsessed.”

“And you sound very ticklish.”

The way he said it - smooth, dark, laced with that damned smirk -sent a ripple of mortification through you. It was all the confirmation you needed of his intentions to follow through on his earlier threat.

It was inevitable.

So you leaned back, lifting your book as if to shield yourself from the weight of his gaze. If you were going down, you were going down swinging. Well, verbally, at least.

“You’re overplaying your hand.”

“Oh, am I?” He stood to his full height, towering over you now, his shadow eclipsing the faint light. “Because the ones who act so tough, so stoic, so unbothered... they’re always the most fun. It’s so very delicious to watch them fall apart.”

“Is that what you tell yourself at night?” You forced your tone into something light, dismissive, though your grip on the book tightened. “That you’ve got me figured out?”

His smirk deepened, his head tilting as he studied you like a puzzle he already knew how to solve. “I don’t need to tell myself anything. You do all the work for me.”

Your lips parted for a retort, but his eyes flickered down to the slight tremor in your fingers, the way your knees shifted restlessly against the cushions.

And you saw how his smile widened, satisfied and predatory, when he saw all the hallmarks of someone about to flee.

“Go ahead,” he murmured, voice dropping to a velvet whisper. “Run. It’ll be more fun for me.”

For a split second, you froze, torn between logic and instinct. Then you bolted, your book tumbling to the seat as you darted for the nearest gap.

But Loki was faster.

You didn't make it two full steps before he caught you with a preternatural ease, his ensnaring hands dragging you back against him in one smooth motion. His low chuckle brushed your ear as he manoeuvred you down onto the window seat, half-pinning you on your side with his arms wrapped firmly around your waist.

“Pitiful,” he drawled, his tone rich with mockery. “And here I thought you’d make it a challenge.”

You shoved at him, scowling. “Let me go, you overgrown-”

Whatever venom you’d prepared was shattered as his fingers pressed into your ribs, curling with precision against the fabric of your sweater. Laughter burst from you, loud and uncontrollable, and you immediately clamped your lips shut, mortified by the sound.

“Ah,” Loki purred, his grin widening. “There it is. That lovely sound you try so hard to keep from the world. Go on, darling. Let me hear it again.”

“Loki, wait- no!” you gasped, but his hands had already found the curve of your waist, his fingers pinching with precision that felt criminal.

“No?” he echoed, mockingly incredulous. “You were so calm a moment ago. What happened?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer. His hands slipped beneath the hem of your sweater, squeezing tighter, his nails grazing the bare skin of your sides. You quaked at the contact, laughter spilling out uncontrollably as he found every sensitive spot with uncanny accuracy. Your hands clutched at his forearms, his chuckle hot and tempting against your neck as your head fell back in mirth.

“Tell me the truth,” he said, his voice low and commanding, the words a dark melody against your ear. “Why did you run?”

“I- I...” you wheezed, twisting in his hold, going nowhere. With a ferocious, defiant growl, you yelled, "I... walked!"

Loki paused, his lips curling in that knowing smirk, and then he tickled harder, digging in with precision. You crumpled back against him, laughing helplessly, unable to catch your breath. Every sound that left your mouth was a mix of laughter and helpless gasps, each one a surrender to him, to the unrelenting tickling.

“Let's try again,” Loki commanded, his voice low, his breath warm against your ear. “Tell me why you fled.”

You struggled to pull yourself together, trying to come up with another witty retort, but before you could speak, Loki found an especially sensitive spot, just under your ribs, and his fingers locked in with a brutal efficiency. You shrieked, squirming beneath him, but he held you there with the effortless force of a god, his smile widening against the shell of your ear.

You thrashed harder, your laughter raw and breaking, tears welling in your eyes. “I’ll- kill you-”

“You’ll what?” He laughed, low and dark, his fingers picking up speed again, pressing and kneading with wicked precision. Every stroke of his hands felt like it was designed to unravel you, to push you past your limits and then some.

The realisation hit like a blow: he could read you. Every shudder, every hitch in your breath, every twitch of your body. And worse, he was enjoying it, adjusting his touch with the kind of skill that only centuries of mischief could hone. His hands didn’t just tickle; they teased, tormented, mastered you.

"You- oh my g-" you gasped, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "You absolute fucking-"

“Such language,” he chided, his tone a tease of disapproval. “And after I’ve been so gentle.”

His fingers danced lower, teasing the curve of your hips, and the laugh that escaped you was so deep, so raw, it left your chest aching. Loki stilled for half a heartbeat, his grin sharp as he took in the sound, before redoubling his efforts. He pressed his thumbs into the tender space just above your hipbones, his fingers curling to squeeze in a way that had you screaming, your body writhing in his iron grip.

“Okay! Okay!” you gasped, tears of mirth welling in your eyes.

“Speak, then,” he commanded in low and silken voice, his fingers unrelenting. “And don’t lie to me. You won’t like the consequences.”

“I—” You hesitated, your breath hitching, but he gave you no mercy. His nails dragged lightly over your ribs, and the sound that tore from you was half a laugh, half a desperate gasp.

“Speak."

“I didn’t want to embarrass myself!” you finally choked out, your body trembling beneath his. “I didn’t want to make something stupid and have everyone see how bad it is!”

Immediately, his hands stilled, and you gulped in a shuddering breath. He unwrapped his arms from around you and leaned back, his smirk softening into something almost... fond. You shoved at him weakly, as if not quite believing he was retreating.

“Well,” he said, standing and staring down at you, admiring his handiwork, “you’ve certainly made a spectacle of yourself now.”

You glared at him, flushed and breathless. “You... are insufferable.”

“And you,” he countered, his grin returning, “are utterly fascinating. Shall we?”

Before you could protest, he hooked his arms under your knees and around your back, sweeping you up effortlessly, carrying you toward the door. You squirmed in his grasp.

“What the hell are you doing now?”

“Delivering you back to the battlefield,” he said, his smirk a knife’s edge. “You’re not escaping that easily. You’ve still got a pumpkin to ruin, and I, for one, am thoroughly invested in the spectacle.”

You groaned, your head falling back in defeat. "I hate you."

The smirk in his voice was undeniable. "No, you don't."

The dining hall was no longer the lively scene it had been earlier.

Now, it was deserted, shadows stretching long and dark across the room, flickering with the faint light of a few dying candles. The scent of melted wax and pumpkin guts permeated in the air, and the silence was nearly oppressive.

Loki carried you inside, his grip firm but not unkind, and though you didn’t resist, you couldn’t help but feel a smouldering irritation at the way he seemed to enjoy this small victory. When he set you down, his hands lingered at your waist, steadying you, as though daring you to bolt again.

You stepped forward, stopping just shy of your untouched pumpkin. Its smooth, orange surface gleamed in the low light, mocking you. The tools remained where you’d left them, and the weight of your earlier frustration pressed at the edges of your mind.

“I... don’t know what to do with it,” you said finally, turning back to Loki. You hated how the admission sounded - small, almost defeated - but there was no taking it back now.

Loki’s sharp gaze softened imperceptibly. His lips twitched, but the smirk didn’t fully form. “Then I shall help you,” he said, his voice low and smooth, offering no room for argument.

Before you could respond, he sat in your chair with that infuriating ease, his presence commanding even in the simplest of movements. His eyes met yours, glittering with a mixture of challenge and amusement, and he reached out a hand, curling his fingers in a silent demand.

“What are you-” The words barely left your mouth before you realised he was beckoning you to sit on his lap. Heat flushed through you, unbidden, and you scoffed, trying to mask it. “You do realise chairs are meant for one person, don’t you?”

Yet, unwilling to have him see how he was sliding under your skin, you turned and settled yourself against him. His muscled chest brushed against your back, his legs firm and solid as your seat.

“And yet, here we are,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. His hand settled at your waist - an anchor, not a cage. “Now, let’s see if we can salvage your poor, neglected pumpkin.”

You scoffed, grabbing the carving tool. “Fine. Show me your masterful technique, Your Highness.”

The title came out sharper than intended, but Loki only chuckled, low and indulgent. He leaned closer, his shadow engulfing yours, and reached around your shoulder to guide your hand. His fingers slid over yours, his grip firm but not harsh. “Relax,” he murmured. His voice sent a delicious shiver down your spine. “You grip it like a weapon. This is art, not war.”

You bit back a retort and let him guide you. His body was close enough that his every movement brushed against yours, his breath warm against your cheek. Together, you began to carve into the pumpkin, slow and deliberate. His free hand flexed against your waist, your free hand steadying the canvas.

As the shapes emerged, you realised they weren’t ordinary designs. They were runes.

Norse runes. Delicate, intricate, and entirely unreadable to you.

Loki worked with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his hand steady as he traced the lines with your hand.

“What does it say?” you asked eventually, breaking the silence.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your neck as he murmured, “You’ll see. Keep holding it steady."

The tension between you grew with every passing second. His touch lingered long, his presence close. Every shift of his body beneath yours was impossible to ignore, every brush of his breath against your skin a reminder of just how thin the line between teasing and something real had become.

When the carving was done, you slipped off his lap, feeling the need for a the brief moment of distance for your sanity, and retrieved a candle from the sideboard.

But the room felt colder without him holding you.

You lit the wick and placed the candle inside the pumpkin, watching as the light filled the carved runes, casting jagged shadows across the table.

You turned back to Loki. His expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed on you as though he could see straight through to your very thoughts.

Carefully, you sat back down on his lap, unable to ignore the magnetic pull he seemed to have on you. This time, you sat side-on. His hands settled instinctively, one on your back, one on your knee, holding you steady. With his height, your faces were almost level, but you still had to look ever so slightly up.

“What does it say?” you asked again, your voice quieter now, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile thing had formed between you.

“The name of a great warrior,” he said, his tone mockingly reverent. “Renowned for wit, skill, and unmatched beauty.”

You arched a brow, your lips twitching. “Let me guess. Your name?”

His grin widened, and the silence was answer enough for you.

You rolled your eyes, but a genuine smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yet undeniably fascinating,” he countered, his voice a low purr. His gaze dropped to your lips, and his smirk faltered, replaced with something quieter, more tender. Relieved. "There it is." His words were almost a sigh.

You tilted your head, raising a brow in question.

“I was beginning to fear you didn’t know how to smile.”

The intimacy of his words rendered you speechless for several, long seconds. Your mind faltered, your fingers fidgeting in your lap.

“What? You don't remember what happened like... twenty minutes ago? I recall laughing to the point of tears, thanks to you.”

“That was different,” he said simply, his tone quieter, earnest.

The air between you thickened, heavy with unspoken things. His hand moved in slow, deliberate patterns against your back. “It must be exhausting,” he said after a moment, his voice gentle and laced with something that sounded dangerously close to sympathy. “Always bracing for the next crisis.”

His sudden sincerity caught you off-guard. You fidgeted with your hands, stained with pumpkin pulp, your gaze dropping to your lap. “It’s not like that,” you muttered, though the words felt hollow.

“Isn’t it?” His hand stilled on your back for a moment before continuing its slow, soothing movements. “You are allowed moments of meaningless joy. To partake in frivolity. It doesn’t make you weak.”

A bitter laugh escaped you, soft and humourless. “I take it you didn’t buy that I was embarrassed about the pumpkin?”

He tilted his head, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Not for a second.”

You looked up, straight into him. "But you let me go."

His gaze fell to your lips, as if he were already missing your smile. Mourning it. Plotting a witty remark or flirtatious comment that might see its return.

He then looked back to your eyes, swallowing harder than usual, his voice now gentle. “I thought you were due for some mercy. You... seem to have very little for yourself.”

The words settled over you like a weight, heavy and undeniable.

And for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

"It feels wrong," you admitted in little over a whisper. "To... do things like this when so many people-" The breath caught in your throat and you had to look back at your hands, sniffing to buy some time. "It's selfish. Carving pumpkins. Decorating. Laughing at stupid things. People are out there suffering, and I’m here playing holiday games. Safe.”

Loki was quiet for a long moment, his hand resuming its slow, deliberate movements along your back. It brought you far more comfort than you'd ever admit out loud. Not yet, at least.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, the usual sharp edges dulled. “You cannot bear the weight of your world every hour of every day. Even the strongest flame falters if it is not tended.”

The rawness of his words cut through your defences. You couldn’t meet his eyes, but your lips twitched as you tried to deflect. “You know,” you muttered, half-laughing as your head dipped, “getting tickled to death felt a lot less exposing than this conversation.”

His chest vibrated with a low chuckle, and when you glanced up, his smirk had returned, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “I’m happy to oblige,” he drawled, his fingers curling against you as if preparing to pounce.

You shot him a warning look, though you couldn’t quite keep the corner of your mouth from twitching. “You wouldn't.”

“Oh, wouldn't I?” he teased, his hands still hovering ominously close.

"No," you shook your head, that twitch turning into a smirk. "I sat with you of my own free will. Trusting you. You won't jeopardise that."

The playful glint in his gaze softened slightly as he settled back, studying you with a quiet intensity. "The little rabbit may just be a fox after all," he mused, ceding his advantage.

He studied you for a good, long while, you both sitting in a comfortable silence as he traced idle patterns against your back, his thumb brushing your knee.

Finally, you swallowed your nerves, and broke the silence. "Thank you. For your help.”

You looked back to the table, eyes roaming over what he'd carved with your hand;

The name of a great warrior. He'd said. Renowned for wit, skill, and unmatched beauty.

"Runes are... actually quite beautiful."

He hummed softly in agreement.

You turned your head slightly, eyes still on the sharp lines. "What would my name look like?"

Then, you looked up at his face, and your breath caught.

His eyes were alight, faintly glittering from the flickering candle inside the artwork. Something between a smile and something far more satisfied curled onto his lips as he nodded at the runes.

"Exactly like that."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Long Snake Moan 3

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki

Summary: your boss gives you a task you’re not prepared for.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You sit at your lonesome perch, hidden behind the large floating screen. Your job can be isolating. People only speak with you to get to Tony and even then, they’re just as often too intimidated to approach you. You only really have any sort of mutual acquaintance with your boss and he just tells you what to do.

You expect the footsteps that approach to pass you by as you always do. Instead, a shadow appears on the other side of your extended monitor arm. You look up as green eyes glare down at you from above the frame of the screen. You sit up as you stare at Loki.

“Stark. Now.” He demands.

Your eyes skitter over to your boss’ door then back to the angry man, er, god? In front of you.

“I’ll see if he’s available, sir.” You go to open your teams and he pulls your screen so it’s above you.

“I am not asking if he’s available. I mean to speak to that mewling quim and I would do so at once,” he demands, squeezing your monitor so splotches appear below his fingertips.

“Sure,

You stand and step around the desk. He moves with you, slithering like a snake. He’s too close. You go to Tony’s door and knock. He got in late last night. You know because you had to bring a burger and shake to his house. The fabulous life of Tony Stark’s assistant.

You wait but don’t get an answer. You tap again and peek back over your shoulder, “I don’t think--”

“Enough.” He presses against your lower back and reaches around you. He twists the handle and urges you inside ahead of him. Tony’s at his desk smirking at his phone. He looks up in surprised chagrin.

“Woah, what the hell--”

“There you are.” Loki greets with sinister delight. He nudges you to the side but you can’t escape the office. You just stand there dumbly as he blocks the door. “So, I am to be ejected from this rock.”

“Ah, yeah, sorry about that boss,” Tony drops his phone and leans back in his chair. “Something about a criminal record. Not exactly what I would call an invasion of a city but we don’t need to go into semantics.”

“Mm, you think you’re clever. Well, I do believe you’ve forgotten who I am.” Loki stands straight, birdlike as he glowers down his long nose. “I’ve become rather acquainted with your mortal legislation. Rather antiquated but simple enough to understand.”

“Sure, and what loophole did you find, oh, might prince?” Tony challenges.

Loki snickers. It's a noise that electrifies your scalp. You don’t like that.

“Upon my understanding, and I did consult with one of your Midgardian law practitioners, I have it that I am eligible for residence upon the grounds of marriage.”

It’s Tony turn to laugh. He cackles in glee and rolls forward, leaning his elbows on his desk with interest. “Marriage? And who the hell is deluded enough to marry you?”

Loki tilts his head and smirks. His eyes stick to Tony for just a moment then crawl around the office and land on you. You frown.

“It is rather cruel to make her tell me. I'm certain she begged you not to make her but we all know the sort of creature you are.” Loki sneers and unbuttons his jacket, reaching beneath. “The very same reason why you would be entirely unaware why she shouldn't like to hurt me.”

He unfolds the paper as he strides to Tony's desk. You watch, paralysed and perplexed. Your chest thumps. What is going on?

He spreads the document under his fingers and stands straight with a triumphant smirk. Tony slides the paper closer and clicks his tongue. His eyes skim the print and his mouth falls open. He looks at you.

“What?” You gulp.

“Married. To him. You? And him?” Tony wags his finger back and forth between you and Loki.

“Married?” You squeak.

“Oh do be certain to call city hall to confirm. You will see the signatures are legitimate, as well as the stamp and registration number,” Loki boasts. “We did expect your uncouth reaction so we did keep it under lock and key until we were certain. These dire circumstances however, have forced us into the light,” he lifts his chin, “isn't that right, darling?”

“Mr. Stark,” you cross the office and try to see the paper. It can't be real. A marriage license. With your name on it. Next to his. “I swear–”

“You know what?” Tony claps his hands then slams them on the desk. He pushes himself to his feet. “I don't have the time for all this stuff. It's weird. Look, sweetheart, call me a car. As long as you do your job, I can't be bothered. Got my own shit, you know?” He glances between the two ot you again.”Very strange.”

He struts around the desk and past Loki. The taller god steps in front of him, raising and open palm.

“Ah, one more thing. She isn't your sweetheart so lets keep that to a minimum,” he pats Tony's chest and hums.

“If you've had your snaky self near it, trust me, I'm good.” Tony knocks his arm away and continues out the door.

You stare after your boss only to find your eyes drawn by the pair watching you. You make a strangled noise and throw your hands up. “Married?!”

“A wonderful ceremony. Small. But romantic,” he purrs. “I've always been rather fond of tricks and you mortals make them so much easier.”

[writingoddess1125]

Flowers Watered By Tears

DAMN! This is super old lol I forgot I had this in the chamber. Not proof read (Shooting this out as is)

Loki and FemReader + OOC

ANGST! HEAVY ANGST! small bit of fluff at very end

⚠️Warnings: ⚠️ Implied DubCon/NonCon teetering on the lines, Angst!

Loki wasn’t searching for anything in particular.

His fingers moved idly over the TemPad, skimming through case files without really reading them, however rolled his eyes when his own name popped up.

Mentally he didn't know why but he reviewed it once more.. Maybe with fresh eyes or just a bit of self punishment.

He had seen it all before really- his failures, his missteps, his deaths. Flipping through records of his own history like an outsider peering into a life he barely recognized.

But then-

His scrolling stopped.

The file was tucked away, buried deep in a section that shouldn’t have caught his eye. It wasn’t labeled like the others, just a series of numbers and letters meant to be overlooked. But Loki had spent enough time in the TVA to recognize a deliberately misplaced file when he saw one.

And he knew, instinctively, that it was something they didnt want him to know.

He clicked it open prepared for nothing in particular..

Subject: (Y/N) [REDACTED]

Location: Stuttgart, Germany

Confirmed Conception

Status: Active Timeline Variant

Loki eyes narrowed as he thought about the name... (Y/N)? It was vague but like a small sentence in a very long book.

Shrugging he started to read though, however his brow began to come together as he read through- However the further he read the deeper his stomach sank... Memories of Stuttgart surged forward, unwelcome and sickening. The way he had strutted through that crowd, basking in the terror he had cultivated...

How before he had raided that Gala he decided that a personal need was deserved. The way he had chosen you foreign student, vulnerable, alone because he could.. nothing then a boost to his ego-

He had known what he was doing. He had known you were afraid, 'agreeing' only out of fear. And still, he had gone further.. Something that made his wince and sigh-

As he pushed through the file his stomach dropped with each sentence and his eyes widened-

Loki slammed the TemPad onto the desk, shoving back from the screen as if it had burned him. His chest heaved, nausea curling in his stomach.

"Loki."

Mobius seemingly to have appeared out of nowhere, Loki assuming due to pounding of his heart in his ears to not hear the man- who was currently leaned against the cubicle, arms crossed, gaze steady but unreadable. Compared to Loki's admittedly terrified look.

"You knew."

Mobius didn’t flinch. "Yeah."

Loki’s lip curled in what could only be a twisted snarl, something he hadn't sported in some time "And you hid it from me?"

Mobius sighed, stepping closer to the God. "I didn’t hide it. I just… didn’t tell you."

Loki only lets out a bitter laugh, Closer to a sob then a real laugh tho "Semantics."

Möbius tilted his head with a light shrug. "You weren’t ready."

Loki anger simmered in him as he felt his eyes water "And now I am?"

Morbius studied him for a moment before gesturing to the TemPad. "You found it, didn’t you?"

Loki clenched his jaw. "That doesn’t mean I know what to do with it! A child- MY Child!"

Möbius exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Look, Loki. I knew this was gonna shake you. And yeah, maybe I should’ve told you sooner. But back then? You had enough on your plate trying to figure out who you even are. You were still running from your past, trying to prove you weren’t that guy anymore."

Loki felt his anger seemingly deflate, his body almost crumbling into itself as he felt hisbeyes water further.. turning back to the TemPad, staring at the photo of yohr face, with a shaking hand he pulled the device back to him, now resting it in his lap as he hovered over it like someone would take it from him.

He felt tears run down his cheeks as he didn't even bother to hide it-

"My mother would be so ashamed of me..."

He mumbled softly, unsure why that was the first thing to pass through his lips was this given the gravity of this, but it did?..

He flipped to the next file, And his eyes softened at the picture. More tears falling as he wiped them with the best of his abilities, Reading more as a watery smile went over his lips at the name.

"Dahlia"

"Hold still, baby, I can’t button your coat if you’re wiggling," you sighed, fingers fumbling with the tiny buttons of Dahlia’s blue jacket as she giggled, squirming like an excited puppy.

"Mama" Dahlia huffed wrinkling her nose, her small hands gripping her favorite toy of this week currently a frog with an admittedly fucked up face since it had been from the bargin bin. "I big now!"

You smiled despite yourself, brushing a stray dark curl from her face. "You’ll always be my baby, no matter how big you get."

Dahlia rolled dramatically her bright green eyes- his eyes- but she leaned into your touch anyway. Having recently leaned how to roll her eyes and the meaning- Aka her whole body did a circle movement when she rolled them.

"Goofy"

You chuckled out, Setting her down as she rushed off to you could only hope to get some other random toy, However that was wishful thinking- her dark hair bouncing behind and for a second she looked like him..

Closing your eyes, you exhaled softly, trying to push the memories back. Trying not to think about the few shlrt nights that had changed your life.

You had never really wanted to think too deeply about it all- even at the time had mixed feelings if you even truly wanted that night either or if you were just too terrified to think of what other options you haf. But you had been young, alone in a foreign country, and utterly terrified of thw good before you.

Loki had been everything you had been taught to fear dangerous, unpredictable, cruel.

His desire for power and to rule, as if to establish this he had turned his attention to you, voice dripping with venomous amusement as he issued his demands, every King should have a few stress relieves- Concubine or sorts but lower which is what you had been and had done what he asked. Like a snake that wrapped around you- terrifying, cold, but unique in its own sick way.

Even now, years later, the shame still clung to you. The knowledge that you had been a toy for a god. Even when you closed your eyes you still saw yourself looking up at him as those green eyes stared down at you like some pet- However those would get smothered away.

By Dahlia…

She was yours. Yours to love, to protect, to raise far away from the shadow of the man who had terrorized a city, a world and you.

She didn’t know who he was. She never would, And you were happy with that. However whenever you looked to her, You felt a tinge of worry... Half her blood was of another world-

How long did you have before that would rear it's ugly little head into your life? However that would be for another day, hopefully a lifetime away.

Dahlia ran back to you, as those dark thoughts got washed away by her bright smile. Now adding to the ugly little frog was a equally fucked up horse, Snorting a bit of a laugh. However scooped her up in your arms as you got the house keys.

"Very nice Sweetie, Now come on before we miss the Bus"

[mintyys-blog]

CHAINED TO A GOD— loki laufeyson

WARNINGS: injury, curse, swearing, blood, violence.

MINORS DNI

You’ve made many mistakes in your life.

Touching the relic was the worst one.

One moment, you were studying the runes, carefully tracing the ancient markings with your fingers. The next, a pulse of violent, green-tinged light exploded from the artifact, flinging you backward. The force slammed you against the stone walls of the chamber, pain lancing through your skull.

Somewhere nearby, a curse—low, sharp, unmistakably irritated. Loki.

And then—nothing.

You wake up to warmth. Not your own.

Something solid is beneath you, rising and falling with steady, shallow breaths. Your fingers twitch against soft fabric—not the floor. The scent of leather and spice lingers in the air, and that’s when it hits you.

You’re not on the ground.

You’re on him.

Your eyes snap open, and you find yourself sprawled across Loki Laufeyson.

Oh, hell.

A sharp inhale. Then—

“Move,” Loki grits out.

Your body reacts before your mind does, pushing yourself away from him in a desperate attempt to not be touching the infamously arrogant, chaos-obsessed god. But the second you shift more than a few feet—

Pain.

A searing, agonizing force rips through your chest, as if invisible chains are yanking at your very soul. Your vision blurs for a split second, your breath catching in your throat. You hear Loki hiss, his body tensing in response.

You freeze.

Loki’s sharp gaze snaps to yours, suspicion flashing across his features. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, eyes dark with unspoken understanding.

“What in the Nine Realms was that?”

Shakily, you turn your head toward the relic—the cursed thing that started this nightmare. The once-glowing runes have dulled, but you recognize them.

Ancient magic. Older than Asgard. Older than time itself.

“…Oh,” you whisper.

Loki’s jaw clenches. “What?”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding. How do you even say this?

“I… I think we’re cursed.”

The words hang in the air like a death sentence.

Loki’s expression shifts immediately—from irritated to utterly, murderously livid.

“No,” he says flatly. “No, we are not.”

“I don’t think we have a choice.” You gesture weakly at the space between you. “That pain—it only happened when I moved away. And you felt it too.”

Loki stands abruptly, but the second he takes one step back—

His entire body locks up.

You both inhale sharply as another wave of pain rips through you. It’s sharper this time, like a jagged knife twisting through your ribs. Loki’s hands fist at his sides, his teeth grinding together as he fights against the invisible force.

He doesn’t like being trapped.

You see it in the way his shoulders tense, in the way his breathing quickens just slightly, in the sheer fury in his emerald eyes. Loki despises being bound.

He exhales slowly, forcing himself to relax. Then, with an eerily calm expression, he turns to you.

“Explain,” he demands.

You push yourself upright, wincing. “The relic—it’s ancient. Really ancient. I think it placed a binding spell on us.”

Loki arches a dark brow. “A binding spell.”

You nod grimly. “It means we’re…” You hesitate, then sigh. “Connected. Linked. If one of us moves too far, the other feels pain. If one of us gets hurt, the other does too.”

Silence.

Loki stares at you, unblinking. Then, he huffs out a humorless laugh, pacing the limited space he has.

“Wonderful,” he drawls sarcastically. “Truly, a dream come true—chained to a mortal with no regard for personal space.”

You scowl. “Hey, you’re the one who stole the damn relic. I was just doing my job.”

Loki waves a dismissive hand. “Semantics.”

You roll your eyes, rubbing your temples. “Look, can you break it? You’re a sorcerer, right?”

He exhales sharply, flicking his wrist. A swirl of green magic erupts in the air��elegant, powerful. It crackles around his fingers before he aims it at the space between you, trying to sever whatever invisible force binds you together.

The second the magic touches the bond—

Pain. Blinding, unbearable pain.

You cry out, clutching your chest as it burns from the inside out. Loki staggers as if struck, his hand flying to his ribs, his eyes wide with shock. His magic flickers, then vanishes.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then, Loki exhales shakily. “Well. That’s… inconvenient.”

“No,” you say, still breathless. “That’s completely, irreversibly, fucked.”

Loki is not handling this well.

You can see it—the way his fingers twitch with restrained magic, the way his jaw remains tightly set. He keeps testing the bond, shifting just far enough to feel the warning twinge of pain before stepping back, over and over, as if sheer willpower can break it.

It doesn’t.

Finally, he stops. Crosses his arms. Levels you with a stare that could freeze Helheim itself.

“This will be undone,” he states.

You scoff, rubbing your sore ribs. “Yeah? And how do you propose we do that, oh wise God of Mischief?”

Loki’s lips curve into something sharp, something dangerous.

“Simple,” he purrs. “We find someone who knows how to undo it.”

You blink. “You mean, go to Asgard?”

Loki makes a face. “Norns, no.” He gestures vaguely. “There are… other options. Powerful beings. Individuals who specialize in curses.”

You don’t like the sound of that.

“You mean the kind of people who demand a price in return?”

Loki smirks. “Oh, little scholar. Everything in life has a price.”

You sigh, already regretting your entire existence. “Fantastic. So, we’re just going to—what? Wander across realms until we find a mystical solution?”

Loki shrugs. “Unless you wish to remain shackled to me for eternity.”

…Point taken.

With an exhausted sigh, you rub your temples. “Fine. But if I die because of this, I’m haunting you.”

Loki smirks. “Darling, I look forward to it.”

Loki paces the length of the room, his movements sharp and restless. His fingers twitch with restrained magic, as if he’s seconds away from lashing out at the nearest object—or person.

Unfortunately, the only person present is you.

You sit on the opposite side of the chamber—or at least, as far as the curse allows.

It had taken less than an hour to understand the rules.

• You cannot be more than ten feet apart without excruciating pain.

• If one of you is injured, the other feels it.

• If one of you dies, the other follows.

It’s a death sentence.

“I refuse to be bound to a mortal,” Loki growls, finally breaking the silence. “This must be undone.”

You glare at him. “Oh, and you think I want to be stuck with you? I had a perfectly good life before you decided to steal a cursed artifact.”

His eyes narrow. “Careful, little scholar.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me?” You arch a brow. “I dare you, Loki. Let’s see if you survive it.”

For the first time, his expression falters.

Silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken realizations. No matter how much he resents this, Loki cannot afford to lose you.

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “There must be a way to break it.”

You rub your temples. “Well, seeing as we nearly passed out when you tried magic, I don’t think brute force is going to work.”

Loki rolls his eyes. “Brute force? My magic is—”

“Incredibly ineffective at the moment?”

His lips curl, and you wonder if he’s contemplating murder.

You sigh, shifting uncomfortably. “Look, we need information. There are scholars in Asgard, sorcerers—”

“No.”

You blink. “No?”

Loki’s expression darkens. “We are not going to Asgard.”

His tone brooks no argument. It’s the most emotion you’ve seen from him since this nightmare started—true anger, something sharp and unyielding beneath his usual sarcasm.

You tilt your head. “What exactly is your plan, then?”

Loki smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “There are other ways. Other beings.”

You don’t like the sound of that. “You mean the kind of people who demand a price in return?”

Loki shrugs. “Everything in life has a price, darling.”

You sigh, already regretting this. “Fantastic. So, we’re just going to—what? Wander across realms until we find someone who can fix us?”

Loki grins. “That does seem to be the plan, yes.”

You groan. “I hate my life.”

He smirks. “I imagine it was rather dull before I arrived.”

The plan is simple: gather supplies and leave.

You should have known nothing is simple with Loki.

The bustling marketplace is packed, filled with creatures from different realms—traders, smugglers, those who prefer to operate outside of Asgard’s jurisdiction. The air is thick with the scent of spices, the glimmer of stolen artifacts, the occasional flicker of dangerous magic.

You stay close to Loki—not by choice, obviously. The curse ensures it.

“Try not to get yourself killed,” Loki murmurs lazily as you pass a stall of enchanted daggers.

You roll your eyes. “I’ll be sure to send you an invitation if I do.”

Loki smirks, about to retort— then someone grabs your wrist.

Before you can react, a rough voice hisses in your ear:

“Give me your coin, or—”

The thief doesn’t get to finish.

In an instant, Loki’s dagger is at his throat.

The shift is immediate. One second, Loki is an insufferable menace—the next, he is deadly. His hand is steady, his gaze ice.

“I would reconsider,” Loki murmurs, his voice silk and steel.

The thief, wisely, lets go of your wrist.

Loki leans in, his smirk widening. “Run along before I decide I’m in the mood for violence.”

The man scrambles away.

You stare at Loki, slightly breathless. “That was… unnecessary.”

He twirls the dagger between his fingers, looking far too pleased with himself. “Was it?”

Your heart is still pounding, though you’re not sure if it’s from fear or something else entirely. “I had it under control.”

Loki tilts his head, gaze flicking to your wrist where the thief grabbed you. A faint bruise is already forming.

Something flashes across his face—too quick to catch.

“Of course,” he hums, tucking the dagger away. “Shall we?”

It’s cold.

The two of you set up camp outside the city, away from prying eyes. Loki has conjured a fire, but it does little against the chill of the night air.

You sit across from him, wrapped in your cloak, watching the flames dance.

He is silent.

For the first time since this curse bound you together, Loki seems… distracted. Restless.

His usual arrogance is gone, replaced by something unreadable. He stares into the fire, his hands clasped together.

You hesitate, then break the silence.

“You hate this.”

Loki blinks, his gaze shifting to you. “Astute observation.”

“You don’t like being trapped,” you say, softer this time. “Even if it’s just a bond. Even if it’s me.”

He exhales through his nose. “No, I do not.”

There’s something in his voice. Something more than annoyance—fear.

You tilt your head. “You’ve been shackled before.”

Loki’s jaw tightens.

You don’t push.

Instead, you sigh, shifting your cloak tighter around yourself. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re as terrible as you pretend to be.”

Loki scoffs, but there’s no real heat behind it. “And I don’t think you’re as naïve as you pretend to be.”

You smirk. “How kind of you.”

Silence stretches between you again, but it’s different now.

Not comfortable, not yet. But no longer entirely hostile.

You watch as Loki flicks his fingers, idly conjuring small sparks of green magic. They dance between his fingertips, flickering in and out of existence.

You don’t realize you’re staring until he looks at you.

For the first time, he doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t taunt.

He just… looks.

And for a moment, you forget that this bond is a curse at all.

You dream of falling.

Darkness surrounds you, endless and consuming. The air is cold, biting against your skin as you plummet through nothingness. You reach out, desperate for something—anything—to hold onto.

At the last second, fingers close around yours.

A firm, steady grip.

Loki.

His emerald eyes pierce the void, his expression unreadable. He isn’t falling like you—he is standing, impossibly balanced on thin air. His hand tightens around yours, but he doesn’t pull you up.

“You’re slipping,” he says, voice eerily calm.

Your breath catches. “Then help me.”

His lips curve, not quite a smirk. Not quite kind, either.

“Maybe I want to see what happens if I let go.”

And then—he does.

You wake with a sharp inhale, your body lurching upright before you even register reality. Your breath is ragged, your pulse racing. The fire has burned lower, casting flickering shadows across the rocks.

Across Loki.

He’s awake. Watching you.

He doesn’t speak, but there’s something in his gaze that makes you shiver—not from cold, but from the awareness that he saw. That he felt some part of it.

You swallow, forcing your voice to steady. “Nightmares?”

Loki doesn’t move. “I wouldn’t call them that.”

You scoff, rubbing a hand over your face. “You felt it, didn’t you? The dream?”

A beat of silence. Then—

“Yes.”

Your stomach twists. You knew this bond connected you in ways beyond physical pain, but this? Sharing dreams? That’s dangerous.

Loki finally shifts, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the sensation. “It seems this curse is far more… intricate than I anticipated.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Great. Because being magically tethered to you wasn’t bad enough.”

Loki arches a brow. “Careful, darling. You might wound me.”

You glare at him, but it lacks heat. The truth is—you’re both exhausted. And for the first time, Loki looks it. There’s something in his posture, in the way his fingers twitch against his knee—like he’s waiting for something to go wrong.

Like he always is.

You hesitate, then sigh. “We should get some rest. If we’re going to fix this, we need to be alive to do it.”

Loki hums noncommittally but leans back against the rock, eyes still glinting in the firelight. You force yourself to settle, ignoring the way his presence lingers at the edge of your awareness.

Sleep comes, but it does not come easy.

You don’t realize you’re being followed until it’s too late.

It happens fast—too fast.

One second, you and Loki are traveling through a narrow canyon, the air thick with the scent of damp stone. The next—shadows shift. A sharp whistle cuts through the air.

Loki reacts first.

His dagger flashes as he yanks you against him, narrowly dodging an arrow that embeds itself into the rock exactly where you’d been standing.

A growl rumbles in Loki’s chest. “Charming.”

You barely have time to process before they appear.

Dark-cloaked figures melt from the shadows—mercenaries, at least a dozen. They move with quiet precision, their weapons gleaming under the dim light.

Your stomach drops. This is a trap.

One of them steps forward, tilting his head. “Loki of Asgard,” he purrs. “Or should I say, Loki of nowhere.”

Loki’s grip on his dagger tightens. “How unoriginal. Let me guess—you’ve come to collect some bounty?”

The mercenary chuckles. “Your reputation precedes you, trickster. Unfortunately for you, our orders are very clear.” His gaze flicks to you. “And you… well, you’re just unlucky.”

You inhale sharply. They don’t know about the bond.

Loki must realize it at the same time, because his smirk widens.

“Oh, by all means,” he drawls. “Take them. See how that goes for you.”

The mercenary frowns. “What—”

Loki doesn’t wait for him to finish.

In a flash of movement, he throws his dagger—not at the mercenary, but at the man behind him. The blade sinks into the attacker’s throat, sending him crumbling.

Chaos erupts.

You barely have time to react before you’re fighting for your life.

You duck beneath a sword swing, pivoting sharply to drive your own blade into an enemy’s side. The mercenary gasps, stumbling back—before something hot and sharp slices across your ribs.

Pain.

Not your own.

Loki staggers, clutching his side where a blade didn’t touch him—but where you were cut. His breath shudders, his expression flashing from fury to shock.

The bond.

You don’t have time to think.

You move, cutting down another attacker, but every wound you inflict, every hit you take—Loki feels it.

And then—

The worst happens.

You hear the arrow before you see it.

A sharp whistle through the air.

You turn, but you’re not fast enough.

The arrow buries itself into your shoulder.

Pain explodes through your body, sharp and unrelenting. You stumble, gasping. Across the battlefield, Loki chokes.

His knees buckle. His hands fly to his shoulder, his fingers pressing against a wound that isn’t there. His breath comes in ragged pants, his entire body mirroring your pain.

The mercenaries hesitate—confused, startled. They see it now.

Loki lifts his head, his emerald eyes flashing with murderous intent.

They should have run.

Loki erupts.

Green energy bursts from his hands, surging through the battlefield like a storm. The air crackles, magic twisting violently as Loki unleashes hell.

The mercenaries don’t stand a chance.

One by one, they fall.

You watch through dazed vision as Loki rips through them, his magic sharp and unrelenting. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter—doesn’t care.

By the time the last enemy drops, you’re on the ground, your vision blurring at the edges. The pain is unbearable, your body barely able to stay upright.

And then—Loki is there.

He drops to his knees beside you, his hands hovering over your wound, his breath unsteady. His usual arrogance is gone.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs, pressing his fingers to your skin, magic crackling at his fingertips. His voice is low, but there’s something raw in it. Something that makes your heart lurch.

Loki never begs.

You try to speak, but the pain is too much. Your body sags against him, your breath coming in shallow gasps.

Loki’s grip tightens.

“I can’t lose you,” he mutters, almost too quiet to hear.

Your eyes flutter closed.

And for the first time, you realize— Loki isn’t just afraid of the bond. He’s afraid of what losing you might mean.

You drift between consciousness and darkness, caught in the haze of pain and exhaustion. Voices blur, the world tilting in and out of focus. Somewhere in the chaos, a hand grips yours—steady, grounding.

Loki.

You don’t need to open your eyes to know it’s him. His magic thrums beneath his skin, tingling against your palm like an electric current. It’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

“…stay with me.”

His voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it.

You try to respond, but the pain in your shoulder is unbearable, burning through your body like wildfire. The bond amplifies it, feeding it into Loki, dragging him down with you.

His grip tightens.

Then—warmth.

A rush of something ancient and powerful courses through your body, wrapping around the pain like silk. Your breath catches as Loki presses his hand to your wound, green light glowing between his fingers.

Healing magic.

You barely register the way his jaw clenches, the sweat gathering at his temple. Healing someone else is one thing—healing you is another.

Whatever happens to you, happens to him.

He’s feeling every ounce of pain as he takes it from you.

Your fingers twitch in his grasp. “You don’t… have to do this.”

His gaze flickers to yours—sharp, unreadable. “Yes, I do.”

He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like there was never a choice.

Like the thought of not saving you is unbearable.

You exhale as the warmth spreads, dulling the worst of the pain. The arrow is gone—Loki must have pulled it out while you were unconscious. The wound is closing now, the flesh knitting back together beneath his touch.

It leaves you dizzy. Not just from the magic, but from the way Loki is looking at you.

Not with his usual amusement, or smug satisfaction.

With fury.

And beneath it—something else.

Something dangerous.

Something that makes your stomach flip.

The fire crackles between you, casting Loki’s face in flickering shadows.

You should be resting. You should be recovering.

Instead, you sit beside him, knees drawn to your chest, watching the way his fingers absently spin his dagger. The blade catches the firelight, flashing with every turn.

“You should have let me handle it.”

Your voice is quiet, but Loki stills. His fingers stop their idle movements, the dagger suddenly motionless between them.

“Let you handle getting yourself killed?” His tone is deceptively light. “Yes, I’m sure that would have gone well.”

You glare at him. “You nearly tore yourself apart healing me.”

Loki exhales through his nose, tilting his head. “I had it under control.”

You scoff. “Oh, of course. The mighty Loki, always in control.”

He smirks. “Now you’re catching on.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. The exhaustion is settling into your bones, the events of the ambush finally catching up to you.

Loki notices. He always notices.

His smirk fades, replaced by something quieter.

“Get some rest,” he murmurs, shifting closer. Not enough to touch, but enough that his presence grounds you.

You hesitate. Then, before you can second-guess yourself, you lean against him—just barely, just enough for your shoulder to brush his.

Loki stiffens.

But he doesn’t move away.

For once, neither of you speaks.

And for the first time since this curse bound you together—you don’t mind the silence.

The next morning, Loki is weaker.

You see it the moment he stands. He masks it well, as he always does—but you catch the brief unsteadiness, the way his fingers flex as if testing their strength.

The magic he used to heal you has taken a toll.

You frown. “How bad is it?”

Loki rolls his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

He smirks, but there’s no amusement behind it. “Darling, if I wanted your concern, I’d—”

He sways.

It happens so fast you barely register it. One second he’s standing tall, the next his balance wavers, his breath hitching as if he’s just been hit by a wave of exhaustion.

Your heart stops.

You grab him before he can collapse.

Loki stiffens under your touch, his hands gripping your arms for balance. His breathing is sharp, uneven. For the first time since you met him—he looks fragile.

It unsettles you more than it should.

His fingers tighten against your sleeves, his jaw clenched in frustration. “This is… temporary.”

You keep your hold steady. “You used too much magic.”

He scoffs. “It was necessary.”

You shake your head. “You should have let me suffer.”

His gaze flickers to yours, sharp and dangerous. “Never.”

The word hangs between you, heavier than it should be.

Your breath catches. Loki realizes what he’s said, but he doesn’t take it back.

The bond pulses between you, a silent current of shared exhaustion and something unspoken.

Something neither of you is ready to name.

But it’s there.

And neither of you can ignore it forever.

Loki has not spoken in hours.

Not since the moment he faltered. Not since you caught him.

Now, he walks beside you in silence, his usual air of arrogance noticeably absent.

It unsettles you.

You’ve grown accustomed to his endless taunts, his biting remarks, the smug lilt in his voice whenever he’s particularly insufferable.

But now?

Now, he moves with the kind of quiet calculation that speaks of anger. Not at you.

At himself.

He’s still weak. You can feel it through the bond—an underlying exhaustion, a sluggish pull in your limbs that isn’t entirely your own.

He’s hiding it well, but not well enough.

You finally break the silence. “You’re still recovering.”

Loki doesn’t look at you. “Your observational skills astound me.”

You exhale. “Loki—”

“I told you,” he cuts in, voice sharp. “This is temporary.”

You narrow your eyes. “It would be less temporary if you’d stop pretending you’re fine.”

At that, he finally turns to face you, his eyes flashing with something dangerous. “And what would you have me do? Collapse in the dirt like some pathetic mortal?”

The venom in his voice stings more than you expect.

You meet his gaze, refusing to back down. “No. I’d have you rest.”

Loki exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “There’s no time.”

You step into his path, forcing him to stop. “There’s nothing urgent about wandering through an empty valley with no plan.”

Loki scowls. “I always have a plan.”

“Oh? And what is it?” You fold your arms. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re stumbling forward and hoping for the best.”

Loki’s jaw tightens. “We find someone capable of breaking this bond. That is the plan.”

“And what happens if we can’t?”

Silence.

Loki’s fingers twitch. He doesn’t answer.

Because he hasn’t considered it.

Because the thought of being permanently bound to you terrifies him.

Your throat tightens. “Loki…”

His expression shutters. Whatever vulnerability had been creeping through the cracks is gone in an instant.

“We keep moving.”

And just like that, the conversation is over.

By nightfall, you find refuge in a ruined temple, its stone walls long since crumbled under time’s weight.

Loki leans against a broken column, exhaling slowly. He thinks you don’t notice the way his hands shake.

You do.

You drop your bag by the firepit and cross your arms. “You’re going to sit down before you fall down.”

Loki tilts his head, lips curling. “Is that a request, darling?”

“A demand.”

Loki hums, amused despite himself. “And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll push you over.”

His smirk flickers.

And then—unexpectedly—he listens.

He lowers himself onto a stone slab, exhaling sharply as he leans his head back. For the first time, he lets himself rest.

You don’t comment on it.

You simply sit beside him, close enough to feel the faint warmth of his body, but not enough to crowd him.

Minutes pass in silence.

Then—so quietly you almost miss it—Loki speaks.

“I don’t do well with chains.”

The confession is soft. Barely a whisper.

You glance at him, but he’s staring at the stars, his expression unreadable.

You hesitate before asking, “Because of Asgard?”

A pause. Then—

“Because of everything.”

There’s something in his voice that makes your chest ache.

You know Loki. You know his reputation, his sharp tongue, the way he masks pain with arrogance. But this—this is something else.

Something fragile.

And for the first time, you realize—this bond isn’t just an inconvenience for him.

It’s a nightmare.

Not because it’s you.

But because it’s anyone.

Because it’s control he didn’t choose.

You exhale, turning your gaze back to the fire. “We’ll break it,” you say softly. “We’ll figure it out.”

Loki doesn’t respond.

But after a moment, his fingers relax against his knee.

And you know he wants to believe you.

You wake to the feeling of cold steel against your throat.

Your eyes snap open.

A shadowed figure looms over you, their face obscured beneath a hood. Their dagger presses just enough to bite into your skin, a silent threat.

Your pulse spikes.

Then—the world tilts.

One second, the blade is at your throat. The next—Loki has the attacker pinned to the ground, his own dagger pressing into their ribs.

His magic crackles around him, barely restrained fury coiling in his muscles.

“Give me one reason,” he growls, voice dark as a storm, “not to carve you apart.”

The intruder chuckles.

And that’s when you notice—his eyes are solid black.

Your stomach turns. Magic. Dark, invasive magic.

The man grins, unfazed by the blade at his ribs. “You carry a curse, trickster.”

Loki’s grip tightens. “I’m aware.”

“The bond is not just a prison,” the man continues. “It is a thread. A thread that others can follow.”

The air turns frigid.

Your blood runs cold. “What does that mean?”

The man’s grin widens. “It means you are being hunted.”

Silence.

Then, without warning—his body collapses into smoke, vanishing into the night.

Loki lunges forward, but it’s too late. The intruder is gone.

You sit up, heart still hammering. “What the hell—”

“We need to move.” Loki’s voice is sharp, edged with urgency.

You frown. “Loki—”

He turns to you, and for the first time since this started—you see it. Not annoyance. Not frustration.

Fear. Not for himself. For you.

“They know about us,” he murmurs. “And they’re coming.”

Loki doesn’t hesitate.The moment the intruder vanishes into smoke, he’s already moving—gathering supplies, snuffing out the fire, scanning the darkness for any sign of another attack.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he turns to you, his expression unreadable. “We need to leave. Now.”

Your mind is still spinning. “Loki, wait—who the hell was that?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he grabs your wrist and pulls.

Pain explodes in your shoulder. You hiss, wrenching free from his grip. “Damn it—Loki, stop.”

He freezes.

His gaze flickers to where the wound used to be—where he felt the pain just as much as you did. His jaw clenches.

But when he speaks, his voice is controlled. “We are not staying here. They know about the bond. That means they can track us.”

Your stomach tightens. The bond is a thread. A beacon.

If that man knew about it, others will, too.

You take a slow breath. “Then where do we go?”

Loki hesitates. Just for a second.

And that’s when you realize—he doesn’t know. He has no plan. No contingencies. Loki always has a plan. But now? He’s just as lost as you are. Your chest tightens, but you force your voice to stay steady. “Loki.”

He meets your gaze, and for the first time—you see cracks in the mask. Not arrogance. Not frustration. Uncertainty. You step closer, lowering your voice. “Talk to me.”

His expression flickers—just for a moment.

Then, with a sharp exhale, he looks away. “There’s a place. A contact of mine. If anyone knows how to break a curse like this, it’s her.”

You blink. “Who?”

Loki’s lips press into a thin line. “A sorceress.”

Your brows furrow. “What kind of sorceress?”

He hesitates. Then— “The kind we shouldn’t trust.”

You travel under cover of night.

Loki doesn’t speak much, his eyes constantly scanning the horizon, his shoulders tense with something unspoken.

You feel it through the bond.

His mind is racing. Calculating. Trying to anticipate the next move before it happens.

But no matter how fast he is—someone is faster. Because as the sun begins to rise, you feel it. A presence. Watching. Waiting.

Loki feels it too. Without a word, he grabs you and pulls you behind him. His dagger flashes in the morning light, his magic humming at his fingertips.

A figure emerges from the trees. Cloaked. Hooded. Moving with the slow, deliberate confidence of someone who knows they have the upper hand.

Loki’s grip on his dagger tightens. “If you value your life, I suggest you leave.” The figure chuckles. “Come now, trickster. You wound me.”

Then—the hood lowers. And you freeze.

Because the woman standing before you isn’t a stranger. Loki’s entire body goes rigid. His expression—so often smug, unreadable—shatters. His voice is low. Dangerous.

“Sigyn.”

Your stomach drops. You don’t know much about Loki’s past. But you know that name. The woman who was once his wife.

The name hits you like a stone to the chest.

Loki doesn’t speak again. His eyes are locked on the woman before you—Sigyn. The air around you grows heavy with the tension. You can feel it thrumming through the bond. The silence is oppressive, suffocating, and for the first time since you’ve known him—Loki is speechless.

You glance at him, taking in the way his muscles are taut, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The way he’s standing—frozen, like a man confronting a ghost.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Loki,” Sigyn says softly, her voice cool, almost too calm.

Loki’s jaw tightens. “What do you want, Sigyn?”

The woman steps forward, her eyes sweeping over you. She doesn’t seem to acknowledge your presence fully, her gaze lingering for only a moment before settling back on Loki. Her lips curve into a faint, unreadable smile.

“You don’t need to be so hostile,” she replies. “I’m here to help.”

Loki scoffs, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Help? Is that what you call it now?”

Sigyn’s gaze hardens, her posture straightening. “I’m not the one who’s been dragging this curse around, Loki. You’re the one who made this mess.”

You can feel the weight of her words even before Loki’s reaction—there’s an undeniable tension in the air, an ancient resentment that has festered between them.

You step closer to Loki, but he doesn’t move. “Loki…”

He doesn’t look at you. His eyes are locked on Sigyn, and for the first time, you see vulnerability—a crack in his armor.

Sigyn tilts her head. “You always were good at running, weren’t you? Hiding from the consequences of your actions.”

Loki’s breath catches in his throat. You feel it through the bond—the sting of her words, the weight they carry. And though he doesn’t say it, you know the truth.

Loki has never been good at dealing with his past.

“You think I’m running?” Loki finally says, his voice low, dangerous. He takes a step forward, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and something more complicated. “I’m trying to fix the mess you created, Sigyn.”

Her lips twitch, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “And yet here you are, still bound to someone else.” She glances at you then, the slightest flicker of curiosity in her gaze. “Interesting.”

Your throat tightens. “What do you mean?”

Sigyn’s eyes flicker between you and Loki. “I didn’t think you would be the type, Loki. I thought you learned better than to bind yourself to anyone.”

Loki stiffens. “I’m not bound by choice.” His voice darkens, sharp with warning. “This curse is a mistake—one I’m trying to undo.”

Sigyn’s gaze softens just slightly, a shadow of something like regret crossing her features. But it’s fleeting.

“You’ve always been good at hiding from the consequences, Loki,” she repeats. “But you can’t run forever. And you certainly can’t fix things alone.”

Loki’s breath hitches, but he says nothing.

You take a slow breath. “Why are you here, Sigyn?”

Sigyn finally turns to you fully, her gaze assessing. “I’m not here to fight. I’m here to help. The bond Loki’s carrying… it’s tied to something far darker than he realizes. Something that could destroy both of you.”

Loki’s shoulders stiffen. “What are you talking about?”

Sigyn’s lips tighten into a thin line, her gaze lingering on him for a moment before she meets your eyes. “Loki isn’t the only one who’s been marked by the gods. You’re part of this curse too, aren’t you?”

You swallow, glancing at Loki. “Yes.”

Sigyn’s gaze softens, but the hint of pity in her eyes makes your stomach turn. “Then it’s worse than I thought.”

Loki takes a sharp step forward, his hand tightening around his dagger. “Tell me what you know.”

Sigyn hesitates, then slowly exhales. “There’s someone after you. Someone who knows about the curse—and they’re not just hunting you because of Loki. They’re hunting both of you.”

The weight of her words hits you like a punch to the gut. You glance at Loki, your heart racing.

“You don’t understand,” she continues, her voice heavy with warning. “The bond you share—it’s a beacon. But it’s more than just magic—it’s a marker. Whoever is after you isn’t just tracking the curse. They’re tracking you both.”

You try to steady your breath. “Who is it?”

Sigyn hesitates, her gaze flickering to the ground. “I don’t know. But I know it’s only a matter of time before they find you.”

Loki steps forward, his voice tight with control. “Then we need to act fast.”

Sigyn doesn’t move. Her eyes are dark, her expression unreadable. “It’s already too late for that.”

Loki’s gaze sharpens, his voice low and deadly. “What do you mean?”

Sigyn meets his eyes. “You can run, Loki. You can hide. But there are forces far beyond you at play here. And whoever’s hunting you isn’t someone you can defeat alone.”

You feel the weight of her words settle in your chest like a cold stone. The truth is, Loki can’t fix this on his own. Not without help. Not without understanding what they’re truly up against.

Sigyn’s eyes flicker to you, her expression softening just a fraction. “The curse you bear… It’s just the beginning. The real threat is much worse than you realize.”

Loki’s hands curl into fists, his jaw clenched in frustration. “I’m not running from it. I’ll fight.”

Sigyn looks at him one last time, her gaze unreadable. “Then you’ll have to face the past that made you.”

Loki’s shoulders tighten as though the weight of her words is settling deep into his bones.

You can feel the shift in him—the pull of the past he can’t escape.

And as Sigyn fades into the shadows, you’re left with a terrifying realization.

The bond isn’t just a curse.

It’s a warning.

[thesharkbaitspellbook]

Sigyn

Norse Goddess Fidelity, Greif, Sharer or Burdens, Loyalty, Mothering, Gentle, Compassion, Mercy, Devotion

Intro

It probably doesn't come as a surprise that like many other deities in Norse myth, we know very little about Sigyn. We have one main story that includes her and really that's it. That story is referenced across sources so I have always taken that as it does play a major factor in her character. Throughout this breakdown, I will be marking where upg and spg inserts begin with her. And hopefully I get across how amazing Sigyn can be and what she can aid with, not just in my own praxis, but others as well.

To get a sneak peek before continuing to read I will say that Sigyn is very nice, gentle and comforting with that softer strength. Like, I don't know how else to summarize her. She's quieter and reserved as she balances Loki's boldness. A wonderful and loyal presence to those she cares for. She like the mom friend that is in your corner no matter what troubles you find yourself in. Sigyn is the grass we all need to touch sometimes. The gentle hand that runs across your forehead and tells you everything is going to be OK.

So let's go on a journey of exploration together 💚

Epistemology

There a little bit of a debate on what Sigyn's name actually means or what it stems from. The common interpretation right now is: "its first member Sig° would reflect a variant in composition of ON sigr ‘victory, battle’, the outcome of PGmc. segiz- ‘id.’ (Goth. sigis ‘νῖκος’, OE siġe) and PIE ség̑ʰ-es- ‘overcoming’ (Ved. sáhas- ‘violence, force’; PIE seg̑ʰ- ‘overcome’; cf. Ved. sáha-te ‘overcomes’); its second element °yn would be the outcome of earlier °vin ‘female friend’ (cf. ON vinr ‘[male] friend’), the reflex of PGmc. wenjō- ‘id.’ (PIE u̯enH- ‘love’; cf. Ved. vánas- ‘desire’, Lat. Venus ‘lovegoddess’). Sigyn (Sig-vin) would therefore either mean ‘victory-friend’ or be the feminine derivative of a masculine personal name Sig-vinr ‘victory-friend" … "On the strength of it, a new interpretation for Sígyn will be advanced, namely as the reflex of the weak stem of PIE sei̯k u̯ -én-ih2-/-n̥-i̯éh2- ‘she of the pouring’, a devī́- derivative of *sei̯k u̯ -eno- ‘pouring’ (: Ved. °sécana- ‘id.’), whose semantics would closely correspond to Sigyn’s main role in myth; exact and partial matches for this analysis may be identified in Ved. °sécanī- ‘pouring, pouring ladle’ (sei̯k u̯-én-ih2-) and in the Latinized C3ltic river-name and theonym Sēquana (sei̯k u̯-en-eh2-), respectively" From this paper

I like the second interpretation better as it follows Sigyn's character in myth more closely. But ultimately you can decide which fits best for you!

Kennings

Historical:

Wife of Loki

Delight of Loki’s Hall

Incantation-Fetter

Meinsvarra: "The cargo of the arms of the harm-woman"

Modern:

Lady of Staying Power

Lady of Unyielding Gentleness

Lady of the Unconquerable Heart

Mother of Narvi and Vali

North Star

Victory Woman

Lady of Loyalty

Loki’s Treasure

Devoted Mother

Lady of Endurance

Goddess of Constancy

Goddess of Victory

Goddess of the Heart

Goddess of Neglected Children

Goddess of Comfort

Healer to All

Mother to All

Beloved of Monsters

Balm for the Broken

Hearthkeeper of The Flame

Myths

Prose Edda: Gylfaginning [33, 50], Skáldskaparmál [1, 23, 30]

Poetic Edda: Voluspa [35], Lokasenna [64, 65]

The most famous appearance is this part of Loki's story:

"Then Skadi took a venomous serpent and fastened it up over him [Loki], so that the venom should drip from the serpent into his face. But Sigyn, his wife, stands near him and holds a basin under the venom-drops; and when the basin is full, she goes and pours out the venom, but in the meantime the venom drips into his face. Then he writhes against it with such force that all the earth trembles: ye call that 'earthquakes.' There he lies in bonds till the Weird of the Gods." -Gylfaginning, 50

Aspects and Relationships With Other Deities

Loyalty and Fidelity

Sigyn, in her stories, exudes loyalty to Loki. She stands by him in his most trying times. I think that is pretty obvious. But I want to talk about her marriage here.

UPG INCOMING: Regarding Loki Loki is a complex character that is largely misunderstood in some modern circles. (I won't dive into that here but… I can in a future post if that's wanted 😉 ) But Sigyn is mentioned in his kennings… often. Often enough for me to conclude she was important to them. Even with the titles like "Burden of Sigyn's Arms". It gives my the impression Loki fully appreciates and even might feel guilty for bringing that entire situation onto her. And keeping the label as a reminder to himself and others. And vice versa I think Sigyn truly cared and loved Loki simply due to standing by him when the rest of Aesir hated him. Divorce was an option for her (look at Njodr and Skadi). But she chose to stay. And I think that says a lot about her. I believe this tells us that she supports the many faces and sides to Loki, and understands that he has many roles to fill for different reasons. Sigyn provides the anchor to Loki. she provides a warm heart and open arms. She provides Loki the opportunity to raise children, to be a father, to be grounded. I love love LOVE the images of her being the softer, blushing, reserved person matched with Loki's boldness. Personal impact: I resonated a lot with this relationship in my personal life. I rave about my husband a lot because he is great lol but he is also kind of misunderstood and not always liked in a similar way to Loki. He can be loud in asserting himself (especially about me to others) and setting up boundaries, came from the oil field and can be vulgar, is a big body builder and brown which people perceive as "scary", can be angry and frustrated…. so I fully related to Sigyn loving and being devoted to a perceived "difficult" husband. Yet like her, I love my husband more than anything. Okay, this got sappy but you get it.

More UPG incoming: Regarding Loki and Angrboða I have never felt there was a relationship between Sigyn and Angrboða beyond a mutual respect. In modern terms, I see the three as a polycule. And this plays into the sentence I said earlier: "I believe this tells us that she supports the many faces and sides to Loki, and understands that he has many roles to fill for different reasons." Angrboða provides Loki something different but that he also needs. Sigyn knows and supports that. (Queen Queer Ally of Norse Mythology, For real! ) Without rambling too much I want to show the difference: Angrboða could not be more different from Sigyn, but is equally as important. Angrboða allows Loki to be a mother, a way for him to provide the world with things it needs most, care (Hel), hope (Fenrir) and protection (Jormy). Her relationship with Loki isn't what you would call conventional, but it isn't an affair, she isn't a mistress or a side piece. She is an equal in a 3 part equation. She is loving and caring, but in a very different way. She isn't the cuddle at home, watch a movie kinda gal like Sigyn would be. She's more the 'lets go get tequila and fuck shit up' kinda gal. Now some could and would say this isn't really important, and maybe they are right, but for some it is, Some of us grow out of that, but some of us need that. Which, I think, Loki does Personal Impact I wasn't going to touch on this but for sake of complete-ness, I will. It's not a secret I'm cis/het and want to be the best ally I fucking can be lol. Sigyn, honestly, has helped in that so so so much. Honestly I role model for me in that area. Granted we don't know a lot about her… but I feel that similarity in being the wife and accepting the person she loves with zero question or hesitation. idk I just really love that little insert. And not one I see talked about enough.

Mothering

It is only briefly mentioned that Sigyn and Loki had two sons. And due to the UPG above^^ she also has at least three polycule children. So, she was a mother and can be given this association rather easily.

UPG INCOMING Regarding her and Loki's children Look at these kennings: Devoted Mother, Goddess of the Heart, Goddess of Neglected Children, Goddess of Comfort, Mother to All, Beloved of Monsters, Hearth keeper of The Flame… This told me that collectively many could agree that Sigyn did care and probably helped care for Loki's other children with love and compassion. I've considered suggesting Sigyn as a good deity for someone like a foster parent, or parents looking to adopt because she just exudes this energy of willing to take in anyone that needs a home to go to. Just so caring despite everything she has had to endure. I admire that about her. Truly, think she is a good one to reach out to if you've struggled with a mother figure, or if you need a loving mother figure in your life. Personal Impact Unironically, both my pets were given to us by farms and people who did not want them. (can you believe my 90lb puppy was the runt of the litter??) Me and my husband took them in because honestly it was us or the pound and we couldn't let that happen when we knew we could make it work. Kinda what we are known for now lol After bringing Sigyn in to my hearthcult, I side eye that action as a nod to her.

Greif and Sharing of Burdens

In the stories, we see Sigyn lose her home, her sons killed, her polycule children ostracized and bound, and her husband tortured. I honestly can't imagine the grief Sigyn carries with her. She is known as the sharer of burdens because of the image around her holding the bowl up with her arms for Loki. She does so with seemingly no hesitation.

UPG INCOMING When I picture the scene of Sigyn holding the bowl over Loki, I see Sigyn with tear filled eyes and trying to hold it together after watching her sons be murdered and her husband in agony. And I personally think that sadness stays with her. But omg, to me that makes her seem like an incredibly strong as a woman. And that she is willing to be there and help others bear their hardships when they can't. I picture her as the one that will hold your hand and sit with you in the darkness simply so you aren't alone. And when you feel like you just can't keep going, she holds you up on her shoulder and helps you trudge the rest of the way. Even if you're both shedding tears as you do so. This is what I meant by "quieter strength". She is so strong without needing to show it through muscles or even words… Personal Impact Surprise, I have depression. And sometimes in life it is worse than others. Sigyn's strength honestly inspires me a lot. and helps me…. And even though I might have recognized it until recently, she's exactly what I hope to be. I want to help those around me not feel like I did/do. I can hold your hand if you need me to and be there when you just need a friend. Like, imagine Loki coming home from an adventure that he both started and finished and needing to just vent about it. Sigyn has that listening ear. I vent to her too over coffee lol.

Inner Child healing

With both of the above aspects I don't see why going to her for some inner child healing/ childhood healing isn't more common. Personally I think she'd be a great healer in that way (has been for me). This is where I place her a healing type. Literally heals with love and kindness.

Binding Magic

I bet you were not expecting that title lol. After everything I just said about how caring and wonderful Sigyn is… There is one very mysterious kenning of Loki thought to be about her in Eilífr Goðrúnarson’s Þórsdrápa, which is an early skaldic poem. Now, I am not a language expert and I am relying on others expertise here but "farmr arma hapts galdrs" : "burden of the arms of the captive of magic" or something like that, it’s a little difficult to unpack… this is the “incantation fetter” comes from. It’s not clear why this would refer to Sigyn. And it's likely due to some story lost to time. To add to this, another kenning given to Loki in Eilífr Goðrúnarson's Þórsdrápa is: The cargo of the arms of the harm-woman. Now some people associate this with Angrboda. However Falkes' translation comments that it actually might be in reference to Sigyn because as far as we know when referencing Loki being a burden to someone's arms, it implies Sigyn. Now, one very important thing to note is snorri, saxo, and other scribes writing down these stories had major biases… and a big thing they tried to do with varying degrees of success is erasing the magical traditions. I mention this because if Sigyn had some historical association to magic it was likely erased from the books. And that is an unfortunately reality for us heathens lol

UPG INCOMING Okay so realistically, how much can we get from a kenning that isn't even Sigyn's? Well, here's my little insert on it. As stated, I can heavily relate to a lot about Sigyn. So I can easily imagine with her love and devotion in her life… comes with protection of her own kind. "Binding magic" can be expressed in various ways but the one that stands out to me is binding someone in the way of like, freezer spells. where the idea is to bind someone temporarily to learn a lesson. Now, the "harm-woman"…. Honestly I think of hexes and baneful magics. If she had some some of binding idea attached to her, i don't see why a hex and other baneful working are out of the scope of probability. (A girl after my own heart, truly lol) I know when people come after my family I instantly think "no you need a time out." which is exactly what binding something can feel like. Could it have a more sinister background and could go deeper? sure. of course. But with the image of Sigyn being a gentle parent to me, I could see her using time out in more than one way lol

Correspondences

💚 Symbols: Bowl, Cup, North Star [I've seen this one around and honestly don't know where it came from, I like it as like a symbol of hope and guidance], Keys, Stars 💚 Colors: Green, Yellow, Browns, Grays, Pink 💚 Animals: Red Fox, Serpent (for me specifically yellow ones), Wolves, Does, Green Moths 💚 Misc Things: Pearls, Dolls, Stuffed Animals, Rose Quartz, Beads, String 💚 Offerings: Mead, Meat, Honey, Grain, Bread, Yogurt, Sheep Milk, Cheese, Apples, Sweets, Cakes, Chocolate, Sweet Wines

[batteriesandflashlights]

Loki viewaskewniverse is the character of all time. He's a fallen angel who fell because he got drunk and yelled at God. He's in a toxic codependent homoerotic friendship with the guy who encouraged him to drink in the first place. He's uptight about the semantics of raining sulfur. He thinks soccer is the most exhausting activity anyone can engage in. He's in a universe where God and heaven and hell and all that are real but he converts christians to atheism because he thinks it's funny. He almost killed someone because she didn't say "god bless you" when he sneezed. He made quick friends with two stoners and got high with them and then it turned out those two stoners were agents of God meant to prevent him from getting back into heaven. He looks like a golden retriever in human form. He is the angel of death

[spiderwoven]

being russian myself, i’d ran lóvkij through wikitionary some time ago to check for the same inkling, and discovered that, no, the words aren’t related at all. not even on a proto-indo-european level. “lóvkij” comes from the verb lovít, to catch. the PIE root, as shown below, is *leh₂w—

same goes for loukku, since it is (most likely) a borrowed term from the russian word for mousetrap. alternatively the etymology suggests that it could have derived from a finnish word for “hurt, maim”; which, again, is of a different stem than “Loki”

so no, neither of those words, despite their semantic closeness, are genuinely related to the name of the net-weaving god. you know which word is a cognate, though?

luck.

no hard answers once again, i’m not a historical linguist (or a linguist of any kind) and don’t know the proper scientific approach here, i’ll just let wikis and dictionaries do the talking.

so — in conclusion. no etymological connection with finnish mousetraps or russian dexterity, but very much a cognate to the modern english word for fortune, chance, coincidence, a trick of fate, a roll of the dice, unexpected success, a penny on the pavement, a four-leaf clover.

to close, to shut, to turn, to bend. to spin

Loki in Hiding

-upg-

I often see Loki in his 'outcast' or hermitic aspect. Here he hides in the wilderness, returning to perhaps an older form. I view him in a cave, lit by a modest fire. He sits cloaked and hooded. Before him is a low, rounded working surface on which he weaves a spiraling net that resembles a spider's web.

I believe that one of Loki's oldest forms is as the weaver of nets, setter of traps. He embodies the way humans have survived in the wild through outsmarting and tricking potential prey as well as predators. To the hunter-gatherer, stealth and trickery is a vital skill. I wonder to myself if his name could have the same roots as words like the Finnish loukku (trap) and Russian ло́вкий ('lóvkij' - skillfull, cunning).

As outcast, to me Loki does not seem uncomfortable or desperate, he returns to his natural state. Here he is not "Slanderer of the Gods" or "Forger of Evil", he is just Loki.

[holylulusworld]

Asgardian Possession – Kinktober 14

Summary: You are his.

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!Reader

Kink: possessive behavior 

Rating: lightly explicit

Warnings: possessive behavior, light smut, protected sex, biting, forced voyeurism, Loki’s tricks

A/N: A short but naughty drabble.

A/N2: idea by anon

Words: 850+

Kinktober 2022

“I bet he tried to kill her.”

You glare at Clint.

“Would shut up, Barton?”

“Not for a million bucks,” Clint smirks as you try to ignore the staring contest going on between Loki, his brother, and two over-protective super-soldiers.

“Brother.”

“Thor.”

“What did you do this time? Did you try to kill Lady Y/N? Yes or no.”

“I would never try to kill my favorite pet. She’s the only one getting my humor. Plus, she makes the best food. I can’t digest the food they offer me on Midgard. Y/N always takes good care of me.”

“That’s no excuse for locking her up in your room, Loki,” Thor’s voice booms through the room. “Brother, she’s not one of your servants. Lady Y/N is a good friend to the Avengers and me.”

“She’s like a sister to me,” Loki’s eyes darken as Steve dares to step closer to you. He grits his teeth while slowly sliding his daggers out of his sleeves to press the tip of one dagger into Steve’s chest and hold the other against the super-soldier’s throat.

“BROTHER!”

“Hands off!! Y/N is my pet. No one can touch her but me,” Loki sneers as Bucky tries to step in front of you. “Last warning. Pet, come over here.”

“She’s not some animal,” Bucky grunts. “Stay away from Y/N, or you can have a taste of my fist.”

“Try me,” the raven-haired trickster gives Bucky a sinister smile. “I bet you can’t even throw a punch before you ended up losing your mind.”

“Brother, don’t,” Thor warns again. “No fighting and no illusions to mess with our allies’ minds. You promised to behave.”

“I promised not to kill them. I didn’t say a thing about keeping them from killing each other.”

Loki just loves semantics.

“Loki of Asgard. You will not use your powers on one of them,” the blonde Asgardian calls for his hammer. “If you don’t listen to me, I’ll send you to…”

“Guys, can you stop fighting,” you finally speak up. “I stayed at Loki’s room on free terms. He didn’t force me to stay. Uh-we read a few books, and talked about Midgard, Asgard, and stuff.”

“Stuff. Right.”

Clint doesn’t believe a single word leaving your lips. He can see it in your eyes. You are lying to all of them to protect Loki.

“You are hiding some things from us, young lady,” your roll your eyes. Entrance Tony Stark. Your self-declared father. Or big brother. Depends on his mood.

“ENOUGH!” Loki’s hands turn blue for a moment. “Get away from my pet. Everyone knows I laid claim on Y/N and her body.”

“Loki.”

You sigh as said man wraps his arm possessively around your waistline. He glares at the men in the room to make sure you belong with him. “Darling. Let me tell them to back off.”

“I told you to stop acting like I’m your most prized possession. Stop calling me pet,” you mutter under your breath. It’s no use. Loki already made up his mind. He won’t back down now.

“I will lay claim on you whenever I want to. Pet, follow me to my chambers.”

“Room,” you correct.

“Chamber.”

You give up for now. “Fine. Bring me to your chamber…”

“Mine. That’s what you are,” Loki is like a man possessed. You didn’t get far and ended up in the communal room. On the couch. “Look at you, filled with your God.”

“Loki, we should go to your room.”

“No.”

He pins your hands above your head. “Loki,” you can only watch him move on top of you. He digs his knees into the couch, and gyrates his hips to hit that spot he always finds so easily. “Fuck.”

“Look at me,” holding his gaze you whimper. Loki looks like he’s about to eat you alive. “You’re mine. Say it.”

“’m yours…”

“Yes you are,” he growls. “Everyone will know it after tonight. Pet, be more vocal. I want you to be as loud as possible.”

You wrap your legs around his waistline and dig the soles of your feet into his ass. His pale skin seems to glow in shades of blue when he speeds up. You can already feel his cock twitch inside of you.

“I want you to cum for me,” you cry out in pleasured pain as it seems his cock just turned a little colder. “Now, pet.”

“FUCK! I … Loki! What are you doing?” arching your back you push your tits in his face. Loki greedily takes the chance to bite your tit again to leave yet another mark. “Cold!”

“YES! I will freeze your pussy if you don’t admit you are mine!”

You fear he’ll tear the condom with his powers.

“Sick bastard,” Steve still fights Loki’s influence. “Let us go or at least look away.”

“No,” Loki licks around your nipple. “I told you that Y/N is mine. You all disagreed so, here we are. Is my godlike cock inside of her cunt proof enough?”

“Brother, I’ll kill you…”

“Nah, you will watch me fuck my queen…”

Loki smirks as your eyes drift toward your friends frozen to the spot.

Loki will force them to watch you get devoured by the God of mischief.

Over, and over, and over again…

Tags in reblog.

[christinebloodwrittings]

Masterlist

*Rules for requests*

Loki:

Snowflake (Jotun Loki): Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 //

Bad Aim (Jotun Loki): Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 //

Ex's and Oh's (Jotun Loki): Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 //

Please: Pt1 Pt2 //

Just like a spell (Jotun Loki)

Birthday Girl

Kicks & Bubbles

Initiative (+18)

You're mine, period

Moonlight

My dear Thumbelina

Too far

Now and Forever

Simple Ways

Don't Worry

The Wrong End

Tiny Misunderstandings

Sweet Tooth

Fashion Changes

180° Turn

Endearing, Darling

Hidden Charms -> -> Normal Size ver.

Protective Instincts

In The Dark

Seeking For You

Clueless

INSIDE

Solely Yours

My Beloved

Beneath a moonless sky

Worthy

Needed

Two sides of a coin

Love language

Kitten -> -> Pt1 Pt2 //

Warming embrace

Tea Party

Ghosts

Smart Dress -> -> Pt1 Pt2 // +16

Hazbin Hotel: Alastor / Lucifer

Somebody I used to know

Heart in debt

Dream a little dream of me

My love, my life

Die in your arms +18 (Part 7 updated)

Engraved in the knowledge tree

Fireworks

To Hunt or Be Hunted +18 (In re-writing process)

Peter Parker:

Spidey rest

Hobie Brown

Something exactly like this: Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6

Assistance

Series:

Briefly instant (Tom Hiddleston x Reader) Complete

Life is complicated, always moving and working in ways we can't comprehend. Between the bubbles and the heartache, an unfortunate encounter left a half-broken heart and a strong connection which separated this soulmates for a long time. Two sides of the story, two hearts that longed for each other painfully. One brief instant was enough to know.

Little drawbacks (Loki x Reader) Paused

An armed plot calls the avengers together again, this time with the ineffective help of the god of mischief. Given the complexity of the case, SHIELD was forced to call a retired agent back to the field.

Shorts:

Introduction (Jotun Loki)

Semantics

Stop

[assemble-revengers]

Nexus Split

**Contains spoilers for Loki**

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 2203

Prompt: “Why does it sound like you’re saying goodbye?”

Author’s Note: I woke up and chose violence today.

--

Time was hard to grasp before this whole mess began, but it at least had some structure regardless of how ethereal it seemed. There was structure and a time and place and you just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time so it seemed when you also made a move to snatch up the Tesseract the second you saw Loki move in New York. That’s how you got into this mess and honestly there were many things you had regretted initially. For instance, why couldn’t you have minded your own business?

Well, if you had you wouldn’t have had the opportunity to meet Loki, and at the moment? That felt worth more than anything. It hadn’t started that way -- the two of you were practically at each other’s throats and when you weren’t bickering between each other you were being confused by the politics of the TVA and time in general.

In a wild turn of events you became an unpaid intern all over again. You supposed it was better than dying or “being pruned”. You still were confused as ever by the lingo and even though you had tried your best to pay attention to the onboarding process, but frankly you were still wrapping your head around the prospect of the TVA in general. How had no one even considered this being a possibility? Where did these people come from? It seemed that it just...was? But if that was the case, why was there an onboarding process?

Miss Minutes was terrifying -- she was just so...eerie and popped up randomly and honestly you just wanted a nap. Or to wake up from this bizarre dream.

The worst part was the notion of running into other variants, namely the fact that a variant that had been targeting members of the TVA happened to be a Loki-variant.

“Wonderful,” you retorted, interrupting Mobius with disdain, “There’s another one of him.”

The aforementioned god was sitting across a table from you and you weren’t entirely sure how he was taking the whole thing. According to him, the tesseract was useless here. A paper weight. Another beyond weird thing that the TVA brought.

“We should team up,” a voice interrupted your spacing out and it took you a moment to realize that the voice belonged to Loki. And he was talking to you.

You blinked a few times incredulously, “You have been nothing but cruel to me since we met. Why would I ever help you?” Honestly, the audacity of men.

“I am sorry about that, by the way,” he answered, “I was going through something.”

You couldn’t help the laugh you let out, covering your mouth immediately to try to mute the sound and avoid any more attention. “Aw, that makes it all better.”

There was no reason to hide your sarcasm, and he knew that. You could tell from the way he blanched for a moment before resuming his composure, obviously trying to turn on some godly charm or something onto you, “I was. I truly am sorry.”

“Loki, you stole the Tesseract, tried to take over the world and brought a bunch of crazy alien things into New York City,” you listed, counting off the things on your fingers, “And now because you went after the stupid Tesseract again, with a room full of Avengers I might add, I cannot return to my life which wasn’t that impressive, but at this moment? I kind of miss it. So, no, I don’t accept your apology.” He was silent after that and you went back to your mind palace spiraling about the logistics of what was happening to you.

It was not a great day for you. Week? Hour? Time was weird. It was even more weird when you were suddenly having to do research into the Loki-variant-assassin. Going through files and files of different instances in time was tedious. It was interesting in that some of the things had already happened, were going to happen, and were happening in places you had never even heard of. It was during this that you and Loki had begun to work more collaboratively.

In fact, the moment you guys had made the connection that it was apocalypses? You taught the god of mischief the importance of a high five. Or rather, never leaving someone hanging because you chased him down, yelling at him until he returned the high five before you even allowed him to present your findings to Mobius. The bond continued when you both were treated like unhinged criminals or starved, ravenous animals by pretty much everyone other than Mobius who was...friendly as ever.

You did not have a lot of options in terms of trust. While Mobius seemed genuine, there was no way you could possibly know. The issue was that the only thing that was any level of normal in your eyes was Loki which was...laughable, but he was from your timeline. The two of you were in this together sort of because at this point you wanted to go home and it seemed he did too after the whole semantics of this whole thing. Or maybe he wanted to take over the TVA. Regardless, it gave you some hope that he might be kind and put you into your timeline where you belong.

The feelings came out of nowhere. In fact, you hadn’t even realized it happened until there was a chance for you both to chase after the Loki-variant (or Sylvie as you would learn later) and before Loki went through the portal, he reached a hand out for you, Mobius yelling and you found your feet moving on their own accord, turning to mouth ‘Sorry’ to Mobius before grabbing Loki’s hand and rushing through the portal.

Sylvie was interesting and endearing and was someone you instantly found yourself drawn to. You felt sympathetic to her story, and maybe that was dangerous. Dangerous, but gave you another sliver of hope despite the fact things were bleak. Very bleak. Being on Lamentis-1 about to explode and everyone die bleak. Despite this, the two of you sat and chatted in your booth at the bar while Loki got absolutely hammered and even began to softly serenade you in what you assumed was Asgardian (this was after he sung to the whole room) and you found yourself pulling him back down to the chairs and pulling him into a hug while you laughed.

“Loki, I have no idea what you’re saying,” you giggled, pulling away from him, “But I think you’ve had enough.”

“Darling, I think I’m just getting started,” he answered with the smoothness of butter on a hot pancake. You couldn’t help the burning of your ears and the rest of the blush that began to dance across your features. Sylvie coughed. Moment interrupted (Thankfully? You don’t know). Back to the business of the world ending and no way out. Maybe that’s what let all of you decide to unload tales of the past. Yours was boring and...uneventful comparatively which led you to remain relatively quiet as both Loki and Sylvie talked.

Hearing all of Sylvie’s plight and what brought her to that moment had both you and Loki feeling empathetic. You felt anger that this whole this was allowed and deemed ‘okay’ by the TVA. An entity that really had no checks and balances as far as you could see. You pretended to ignore Sylvie and Loki bonding. You felt your stomach tighten. Envy was ugly and green really was never your color.

But that triggered the TVA rolling up and taking the three of you back. You weren’t sure what you were expecting. You weren’t expecting yourself to start fighting. Your restraints, the situation, the fact you were separated from Sylvie and more importantly Loki. You were utterly alone in your cell, screaming for them to let you out. The person interrogating you entered, tried asking you questions that you just couldn’t hear. Your head was swimming and it was almost as if you were hearing things like you were underwater. Fight or flight and apparently your entire being chose to fight.

Per someone’s orders you were moved, you lit up the moment you saw Loki and soon you were joined by Sylvie. Your restraints were removed and your eyes began watering as you rushed to Loki’s side, grabbing his hand as he gave yours a reassuring squeeze, moving so that he was shielding you from the front. The next thing you knew and before you had a moment to process, Mobius was pruned in front of you and Loki moved to shield you further.

Surprisingly, you were not entirely useless in the fight that ensued, but couldn’t help but feel entirely out of your element. The closest you had ever been to being in a fight in the past was when you were five and some girl stole your crayons and had the nerve to try to eat them.

Your adrenaline was pumping when you turned to Loki a feeling like being shocked by a plug while also being burned by a pan that had been on the stove. You were confused, Loki was yelling something. You couldn’t hear. You reach for him, desperate to calm him down or maybe it was because you subconsciously knew what was happening and you were terrified. The hot, electric feeling spread across your body before what felt like you were dropped in ice cold water and suddenly...your eyes blinked awake. You weren’t at the TVA.

Instead, you found yourself on the run (you hated yourself for missing out on all that gym time because your cardio could use some work) from a cloud that ate things. You would learn that you were in The Void, the evil vacuum of the cloud was called Alioth, and that there were even more Loki variants. One was an alligator. He was your favorite.

Your Loki also turned up and you practically threw yourself into his arms in relief, “I thought I lost you, you idiot.”

“I could say the same to you, pet,” he responded, murmuring into the crook of your shoulder. Reunions had to be cut short after you introduced the other variants, (“And this Loki is an alligator! How cool is that! He’s my favorite of all of you, no offense.”) and now you were seeking shelter to hide from Alioth and...well survive you supposed.

President Loki and the other Lokis were...a lot. In fact, there were so many Lokis that you were beginning to get a tension headache trying to keep up with everything that was going on. Some of them seemed to recognize you, including President Loki that informed you that you were late and with the wrong people (“No? I don’t even know who you are?” “You will.”)

Reuniting with Sylvie and Mobius brought even more relief. Sylvie seemed to think she could enchant the Alioth. You protested quite a bit before she was able to convince you otherwise. There was a way out. You had a chance to go back to the TVA and sort things with Mobius. Maybe go back to where you belong. Maybe stay. You weren’t sure, but it seemed Loki, your-Loki was hesitating.

Mobius was opening the portal behind you to the TVA. You stood with your hand firmly within Loki’s, fingers interlaced as you bid Sylvie a small, quiet ‘good luck, you’ve got this’. You and Loki were right by the portal, a sliver from stepping in before Loki stops, pulling you so that you two were facing each other, your back to the portal.

“What’s wrong?” you ask concerned.

“I’m staying,” Loki affirms, “To help Sylvie, to...do this.”

“Okay,” you lament. You were staying too. You tried to move to leave the portal Loki gave Mobius a heartfelt hug, which ended up being a group hug since Loki wouldn’t let go of you. In fact, as soon as Mobius was released from the hug, you were engulfed into Loki’s arms where you practically melted. The hug ended far too soon, but Loki didn’t release you, holding your face in his hands as he pressed his forehead to yours. It made your heart warm and peace washed over you.

“Loki…” you sigh, feeling an entire lifetime of emotions flooding your system, “I…”

“Shh,” he cuts you off, “I know. I feel the same...but I can’t bear to hear it.”

“Why does it sound like you’re saying goodbye?” You inquire, voice cracking. You felt frozen in place as panic began to bubble up under your skin.

“Because you’re not staying with me,” he murmurs weakly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “I love you, Y/N. Remember that, please.”

Before you could respond, you were shoved by a great force. You couldn’t even react as your grip was easily broken, your sense of balance knocked out from under you. Mobius had already stepped through the portal...surely it wasn’t still up? You landed on the ground, having been knocked off your feet, but you were no longer in the void.

You felt your heart shattering. You couldn’t even cry. He was gone.

[ttauriwanderer]

Steven tips his head and flicks the rocks between his fingers.

"I don't have any books, no. All of the information I have is stored in my computer. I'd give you some of it to go over, but I haven't found anything to connect it to to pull information out. Maybe I can find something familiar in the Archives... I'll have to look when I visit next time." Maybe he could find a tablet in the junk yard or at one of those sales where they had items from other worlds pop up. Actually, it would be a really good idea to go looking. Having something like that to pull up information to show others would be useful.

"Not many people do, admittedly. Well, depending on what world you're from. I've seen worlds where deities like to walk around among mortals, but most are distant. There's some here, though. Have you met Susanoo? He's a deity. Thor and Loki are, too." There's more than a few of them walking around on the Isle, among the common folk like they belong. It's nice to see.

"Ah, semantics, mostly. A god is worshiped, like has followers and everything, and usually, they thrive off of the energy those followers offer up with their prayers and praises. In my world, the followers and their expectations and energy help shape a god into what they are, unless they're an overdeity and thus above and beyond such things. Deity is much the same thing, just not gendered. Deific beings have powers and abilities on par with a deity, or appear to, but aren't beholden to their followers or their specific area like a deity is. Like, the god of lightning doesn't have anything to do with, say, flowers. It's not their area of focus. But a deific being can affect both because they're not tethered to one thing. See?" He spins his little handful of rocks for a moment before they drop into his hand, and he looks up with a bit of a smile.

"My Captain, David Aerkins, he's deific in power. A combination of his technology and power lets him affect way more than most people. Me, I rely mostly on my powers. Which sucks here, since they blocked them, somehow. Still working on that."

Mo Xuanyu listens with ever-increasing interest. It's this sort of thing that fascinates him-- and as Steven speaks he finds himself leaning forward slightly. Even that soul-snatching monster is fascinating, but he sees Steven's shudder and hesitates to ask anything more about it. A bit shyly, he reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. "Do you have any books about the creatures from your world? Or... the worlds you've been to? I'd like to know more."

If Steven wants to tell more he'd gladly listen. It's just sometimes easier to absorb through books than spoken word, and he also doesn't want to trouble the other too much.

"I've never met any deities before," he admits. "I'm not sure... how it would feel to meet one, much less befriend them. Even if they were just people like us once... even people can be hard to get along with."

Hearing about them doesn't change Mo Xuanyu's opinion on that in the slightest. He certainly doubts that he'd be able to convince them to change their mind. He'd probably just end up getting into trouble on a scale he couldn't handle. That doesn't mean he's not just as interested here as in the other topics, even if it's further removed from what he's familiar with.

"Mm... what's the difference between them? Gods, deities... deific beings?"

[justthehiddleswrites]

More Than Passable | Loki x Reader

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Summary:  You taunt Loki but later regret it.

Warnings: smut, sex

-

“I mean it was passable.” You taunted Loki as you sauntered to the shower.

“That’s a lot of sass for someone who ruined my bedsheets and still hasn’t apologized.” Loki stepped in front of you.

“Who was the cause of that?”

Loki waved you off. “Semantics, darling. Where are you going?”

“To take a shower.” Your eyebrow quirked. “Would care to join me? I mean surely you can do better than that.”

Loki grunted. Mission accomplished. You knew the god couldn’t resist the urge to one up himself. He followed you into the bathroom, switching on the spacious shower.

“Come.” He offered his hand while you stepped into the shower. As the warm water hit your body, Loki’s mouth attacked yourself.

“I shall you have begging for mercy.” he growled at you, your back slamming against the tile wall.

His cock teased your swollen lips. “If you can manage.” you taunted.

Loki nipped your neck. “Your body betrays your words, dove. I can already feel your cunt weeping for my cock.” Your legs wrapped around his taut frame and he rutted into you.

You head hit the tile as it fell back. You were already so sore from the early fucking. It took almost no time before you felt your orgasm approaching.

“I can feel you clenching darling.” Loki chuckled, his voice deep. His hips snapped brutally against you. “For all your words, you are still just a whore for my cock.”

You moaned at his words. “Loki, please.”

“I need to hear the words, darling. I need to know.”

“It’s only you, Loki! Please make me cum!”

“Delightful.” He cooed. His magic vibrated against your poor abused clit and you orgasmed on Loki. He ignored your pleas to stop, taking his time to reach his orgasm and soon a second orgasm followed as he spilled inside you.

Loki held you tight in his arms. Your legs boneless beneath you. “Was that more than passable?”

“Yes.” you breathed, too spent to lie or tease.

Loki kissed you as he reached for the soap and began to clean your body with tenderness. “Next time, perhaps, you can just ask for me to fuck you in the shower rather than taunting me, love. Although I do love a challenge.”

[thorraborinn]

I know you've probably been asked this question a million times and have answered it just as many but I'm curious about your thoughts on Loki?

I know there seems to be a split in the Heathen community about Loki. But based on your research and studies, what do you think of Loki? Do you feel him to be as worthy of worship as the other gods like Odin, Thor, or even Freya? Or do you feel he's more of a problematic figure that has his role but not necessarily someone to be worshipped? And what do you think of the proposed ideas that Loki was a later invention and addition into the Norse mythos?

Regardless of the answer, I do look forward to your response - I do enjoy reading your answers to questions, and even if I don't necessarily agree with, I do learn something from them.

Well, as I’ve said before I think the greater danger than any deity is letting people tell each other who they should and shouldn’t worship. It might be an impulse endowed in me by Loki himself but nothing makes me want to venerate him more than someone telling me I shouldn’t. I hail Óðinn til sigurs, Freyr and Njörður til árs og friðar, and Loki til bölvunar. This got real long. I also wrote it in more of a stream-of-consciousness style than I usually do so I go back and forth between, like, mythology and personal stuff, sort of randomly. I would normally rearrange it at this point but I don’t really see the best way to do it.

I know we as heathens keep going back to the semantic discussions about words like "worship" and "venerate" and it can get tiresome. I haven't talked about that much on here, and I kind of just use those terms without putting a lot of thought into it. But it bears repeating and refinement and maybe hopefully incorporating better vocabulary. I do "venerate" and "worship" Loki in a way that isn't quite how I do the other gods, nor is it quite how I do jötnar like Jörð or Þorri, nor landvættir or ancestors. But then, within those categories there is also a difference in how I approach them. So I don't think that Loki stands out here, exactly. Like, I don't approach Njörður the way I do Óðinn either. So this isn't a yes/no for me, the only question I can think of that can get us anywhere is "how do you approach [god/being]?" When we read saga accounts of religious practice, at least the ones that inform modern heathenry the most, it's usually big public gatherings, often with official, legal implications. As I've mentioned before, I'm also influenced by non-Scandinavian cultures (without identifying with them -- i.e. what I learn from Buryat Mongols doesn't make me more Tengriist, it makes me a Scandinavian pagan with a broader perspective and a more international web of relations). If we look to the Baltic pagans for example, who draw more heavily on unbroken or at least more recently-attested folk practices, we see a variety of forms and contexts for worship of different gods, and not only a binary differentiation between what we might call "positive" or "light" gods like Dievas, Perkūnas, Saulė, etc. on one hand and gods pertaining to darkness and death like Velnias ("the devil" in later Christianized view), Ragana ("In the Baltic pantheon, no Goddess inspires fear quite like Ragana" (Vilija Vytė in Of Gods and Holidays 1999)), etc; but also within those categories to the point of demonstrating that binary categorization to have rather limited explanatory power anyway. Baltic pagans often worship gods in completely different settings, so that the entire form of worship of Perkūnas might be completely inappropriate for worshiping Laima, for example.

For most of us modern heathens everything is interchangeable, you just switch out some associations and say a different name after shouting "hail!" or have stuff from a different column on the correspondence chart on one's home altar. But I believe that for our ancestors this was not really a question of yes/no.

As I've mentioned before, the author/translator of the life of Pope Clement into Klements saga around 1220 seems to believe that Loki had been considered a god, as he includes him in the litany of gods who Clement denounces (Þórr, Óðinn, Freyja, Freyr, Heimdallr, Loki, Hǿnir, Baldr, Týr, Njǫrðr, Ullr, Frigg, Gefjun).

I've tended to pray to him mostly when I've gotten myself into a situation I have no business getting out of, or when I'm doing something high-risk in general, and for what it's worth I've escaped those situations unscathed every time so far. My kindred is favorable toward Loki and I hail him with them. The odds of me making an offering to him on my own have decreased over time, not because I feel differently about him, but because there's just... a lot of gods.

My thoughts and feelings about Loki are probably also colored by my having what is most likely a different conception of Óðinn than most heathens seem to. When people say “Loki isn’t the Norse devil,” to me that’s only half of the statement, the rest being “because Óðinn is.” Not to say that Óðinn is bad or evil either (being unchristian I have no particular objection to the devil... and to be clear here, I’m talking about the folkloric devil who taught Robert Johnson to play guitar, who went down to Georgia, who comes in early morning and who goes by many names), but the point is that most of the reasons people cite for why Loki shouldn’t be recognized as a god apply to Óðinn as well, but the idea that Óðinn should be excluded from recognition as a god is unthinkable to us. Much of this also applies to my conception of Gefjun, who is prominent in my practice. Most people consider her [generic agricultural earth deity #89745] but I not only think that that's wrong and a product of lazy (and misogynist) scholarship, but I actually see her as dangerous and crafty in much the same ways that Loki and Óðinn are (maybe even moreso, as she managed to convince even most of modern Norse academia of her innocence and incapability from a thousand years in the past), and I think that's good. I wrote about Gefjun here.

I have even speculated about whether it's possible that, as Óðinn rose in prominence over time as we suspect he did, starting as a darker, outsider type figure associated with death and perhaps disease, maybe something like the Lithuanian Velnias to the head of the pantheon, perhaps some of his traits that were not suitable for an Allfather god came to be associated with Loki instead (compare also the historical development of Shiva in India). I don't think that it's likely that Loki is a late invention, though I would not rule out that there could have been changes or developments leading up to his appearance in the myths. It's easy for me to believe that the myth about Loki being kept at hvera lundr ('grove of hot springs') and causing earthquakes would have developed in Iceland, though we seem to have bits of myth and even artistic depiction on the Gosforth Cross of him being bound which should be located outside of Iceland.

To explain by way of analogy, I'm going to return to the Baltic area again. It's often said that Lithuanian is an "old" language. That's ridiculous. It's no older than any other living language that isn't a creole or pidgin; it has prehistoric roots but is a fully-functional modern language that is refreshed every day. What it is is a living language that has preserved many archaic features, and yeah, that's really amazing, but we don't need to characterize it as "old" to recognize the value of that. The same is true of a religion's associated body of mythology. The only way a story can become old is when people stop telling it. When we heathens pick and choose what is sufficiently "old" for acceptance, we are actually creating a new mythology, a sort of purist mythological conlang, that responds to our modern circumstances and aesthetic choices. But, being the critic of modernity that I am, I'm not satisfied with the neo-proto-mythology of the modern heathen, I want it all. I am also interested in the historical development of Loki's myths, not because I'm looking for a reason to accept or reject, but because I want to have all of it, of all time, all at once.

It also depends on what we mean by "late." Unambiguously heathen skálds like Þjóðólfr úr hvíni, Úlfr Uggason (presumably converted in his lifetime, but the poem was composed long before then), and Eilífr Goðrúnarson not only refer to him, but refer to him in terms of his familial relations (i.e. he's already the father of Miðgarðsormr, already son of Fárbauti, etc). I don't think that a god and his entire set of familial relations can be invented whole cloth and spread enough to be repeated in disparate sources in a short amount of time. Some heathens, when they say "late," seem to basically mean anything after the Migration Age, and I don't care about that. Yeah, when you have the opportunity to take the long view like that it can be an extra dimension to observe the god over time but the heathens of the 10th century shouldn't be dismissed just because they're more generations away from the Indo-Europeans or something like that. And like I've mentioned before, this standard gets applied in seemingly random ways -- nobody mounts arguments that we shouldn't worship Iðunn because we have no early evidence of her being worshiped. We also do have evidence of cults to gods who, as far as I know, are not worshiped today (Lýtir (*Hlýtir?) and Fillinn; since they are not represented in the mythology, modern people have hardly anything to work with here, so that isn't surprising). And as always, no late innovation will compare in volume to the massive amount that was surely lost when the customs and oral lore were discontinued without being written down.

Recently I've seen some arguments that Loki is meant to be a house spirit (a la later Scandinavian folklore) and should not be considered to have a place in Ásgarðr. This is confusing to me, because Ásgarðr is also a home, so I would expect it to also have Loki. Whether this implies lots of different Lokar is not something I've seen discussed, yet we do know of at least two (Loki and Útgarða-loki, and in fact, two very different images of Útgarða-loki). We run into this problem of scaling also with Heimdallr -- heim- as in 'home' or heim- as in 'world'? Both?

I don't like making poorly-informed guesses in the space left by our lack of information about the past, so don’t take the following to be what I believe is true historically, I'm just doing some straight-up speculation, offering an alternative that I think is just as justified by the evidence as a statement that Loki is a "late invention" or a purely literary figure or whatever, to (as I seem to be saying a lot lately) open up new possibilities.

I generally advocate belief that pre-Christian Norse people had a concept of time that was circular, which broke down toward the end of the heathen period and became more linear. For that earlier time, we might imagine a yearly mythic cycle that was eventually re-encoded as a linear history of the creation, destruction, and rebirth of the world as told in Völuspá. Perhaps during part of the year Loki was bound, but, being a god, he was still able to effect things in the world, causing things like earthquakes or maybe even effecting things in the home like sparks in the hearth fire. Being bound he has an affinity with or some sort of presence in threads (að sleikja rassinn á honum Loka 'to lick Loki's ass' = to moisten a thread with your mouth to make it easier to thread) and knots (literally called loki) and so people who are accustomed to sewing and embroidering (i.e. mostly women) are more exposed him than people who don't do those, though through that knot connection he also is associated with fishing nets in some way. And there's something paradoxical about him, in that he's also related to the dangerous things outside the periphery of civilization. He might be given small sacrifices at home, rather than in big public gatherings, but especially in places where the public religious gatherings occur are also private residences, his presence isn't diminished. Then, at some point in the year, he escapes -- maybe in the spring when you start to see illusions of water on the ground, caused by the warm air near the ground refracting light and causing you to see the sky on the ground like a reflection on water -- this phenomenon is associated with Loki (Lokke) in Danish folklore (this happens in the winter too of course, but in our times that's often thanks to asphalt being a heat-sink). Or maybe with the appearance of Lokasjóður ('Loki's purse,' yellow rattle, which siphons nutrients from other plants like it's stealing cable). Or maybe when Lokabrenna appears in the sky (in which case, maybe there is also a daily cycle involved). At this time, maybe he's remembered as one of the three creators, or at least as a creator of monsters, but maybe he also joins up with Óðinn and Hǿnir, or with Þórr, Þjálfi, and Röskva. And then, at the close of this period, we could imagine some kind of a ritual drama where he's chased down captured in a fishnet, and symbolically brought back into his bound state (which could mean back to the homestead). Some of this is influenced by Algirdas Greimas' (Of Gods and Men, pp. 190-1) description of Lithuanian rituals involving Gavėnas, described as a dirty little man who lives near the furnace and is associated with light phenomena (as Loki is in late Scandinavian folklore), in which a scarecrow (representing Gavėnas) is driven around town in a cart and then dumped into a ditch or snowdrift, then picked back up, put back on the cart, and is driven back into town. Apparently, the turning him "head over heels" (dumping him into the ditch) changes him from a "winter monster" to a "prophet of springtime." Clearly this is not the same, and I'm not identifying the two figures with each other, but I'm basically riffing with the attested examples of duality expressing itself seasonally and the public and private spheres not being always clearly distinct or impassible. Again, I'm not arguing that this ever actually existed (which makes it like my deliberately divergent rune interpretations). I'm offering this as an alternative to the historical narratives that heathens have come up with so far that I think is extremely unlikely, but does technically fall within the boundaries of possibility, only to demonstrate that the evidence we have doesn’t necessitate coming down on either side of a black-and-white position on Loki being a god worthy of worship or not. It accounts for a fair bit of what we know about him, and could be expanded or modified to include other things; and treats him as a god, but not the same way as other gods. It also leaves room for historical development that would have come before, leading up to this situation (such as Anatoly Liberman's belief that Loki was a chthonic deity more like Saxo's Utgarthalocus than any of the other depictions of (a) Loki, for which see "Snorri and Saxo on Útgarðaloki, with Notes on Loki Laufeyjarson's Character, Career, and Name" in Word Heath. Wortheide. Orðheiði, 1994). I find it to be a fairly suitable neo-mythology in comparison to the picking-and-choosing of most heathens (not to mention a fun thought experiment).

Anyway, I have more thoughts but I’m running out of steam, and I haven’t even figured out how to work Baldr into this without more philology than I feel like doing right now (i.e. seeing which parts of Snorri’s narrative can be backed up by poems, theories about the age of those poems, etc). But hopefully this conveys to some degree the way I think about stuff like this.

[alkimara]

On the Loki Series

Okay this is going to be one massive vent-post stink-fest if you liked the show don't read this. I'm serious, this is two hours of me writing and researching reasons to hate the show.

My grievances under the cut, organized into sections. Also this is stream of conscious so I'm sorry if it's all over the place. I tried to put alt text for images, but Tumblr ate my post, and I didn't want to do it again- they're not entirely necessary for understanding the post anyway.

Spoilers for the Loki show, Infinity War, and Endgame.

The Gay Agenda

Genderfluidity

Okay so there are actually two issues with this one. I'll start with the semantics- It's said here that Loki's "sex" is fluid. Granted, I don't see a category for "gender", but I think in the queer community we've struggled to try to educate people on the difference between gender and sex, because of gender presentation. I'm not going to sit here and pretend to be 100% educated on my queer history, but I am going to sit here and remind the world about the variety of people that can be found in the queer community- specifically the amount of transgender experiences that you can find. There are people who are trans and don't want sex reassignment surgery, and there are people who do! There are non-binary people who don't present androgynously, and there are those that do! Labelling his "sex" as fluid means that, biologically, he can change his gender. Yeah, that's true- we've seen it in the comics!

Here, Loki's trying to be a new person. She even says, flat out:

There's a new chapter starting, and I'm not going to be who I was. I won't as you to be, either. But I'm still me. I'm always me. You can take that how you like-- see me how you want to. I can't control that.

This is what genderfluid representation looks like. Not writing that someone can change their sex, but writing also that they can change their gender presentation. For all anyone knows at this point in time, this female Loki could still have a penis- it doesn't matter. She's presenting as a woman.

Back to the show, Loki never once does anything feminine, in the same manner that Sylvie never does anything masculine. The most masculine thing about her... is she never wears a dress? I guess? Whereas the male Loki is kept in a dress shirt and tie for more than half the season. I kept wondering when he was going to get a wardrobe change, and it just never came. Considering that he has the power of conjuring and changing his appearance whenever he pleases, he could've and should've made himself different. Sylvie at one point in the show even says "I wish I could wear something else" and Loki has that power, and doesn't do anything about it. Nevermind my opinion on the romance right now (I'll get to that), but if he's trying to swoon her in that moment, why doesn't he fulfill the request? Does he still think it's a manipulation tactic? What would she gain from a new shirt??

Getting back to my point: Disney treated his genderfluidity like a bonus "fun fact" and made zero effort to incorporate it into the show.

Bisexuality

Right now there's a big shift in the queer community where bisexuality is treated as an umbrella term by many, coined the "Bi Umbrella". Bisexuality, by definition, is "the attraction to two or more genders." Pansexuality is "the attraction regardless of gender." Omnisexuality is "attraction to all sexes with regard to gender." In the show, Loki and Sylvie get to talking about their romance life. Sylvie says, "Do you have any interests in Princesses? Or Princes?" And Loki's response is, "A bit of both, I suspect much like yourself." Yeah, that can be a win- for anything under the bi umbrella, that is. It's a general off-hand comment that's said and nothing more.

Okay! Great! We've confirmed Loki can be interested in men. Cue the Loki/Mobius shippers going absolutely ballistic. That's about it. Now, I understand that the Gods probably don't have a conception of sexuality- that's a reasonable way to write them. But not once have I seen any variation of Loki interested in a man in that show. The closest thing I can think of is his fling with the Grandmaster in Thor: Ragnorok, and his quips against some of the other Avengers in the other movies. Under the same vein, he's had quips and moments with various women. But in the show itself, there's no representation of his bisexuality other than what he says.

He falls in love with a woman who is his counterpart, in a way that I was really hoping was platonic and sibling-like until she kissed him. Whether that kiss was romantic or a distraction, if Loki truly didn't feel some romance towards her, it wouldn't have worked, point-blank. He's the God of Trickery and Mischief, and he should've known better, unless he fell in love with her. No, I am not even going to tackle the selfcest argument or the narcissism argument, because to him, she was an entirely separate entity, and I'm going to get back to this later.

Loki's Characterization

Whoo. I want you all to think, think really hard, to the first Avengers film.

Do you guys remember this Loki? The one that kinda went crazy with the Tesseract, sent an alien army to take over New York City, caused multiple atrocities? We all remember that scene where Loki is smiling as he removes someone's eyeball in order to break into their vault, right? Okay, good.

The Loki that is arrested in Episode 1 is that Loki. Coming off the heels of his first defeat as a major villain, he takes the Tesseract and runs. He's right now filled with rage, and still power. He believes that he can do whatever he wants. Then, he's arrested. Despite him being a power-hungry God:

A collar somehow disables his abilities, and yet he maintains a human form instead of a Jötunn one (because if you remember, he's biologically an ice giant).

He's consistently belittled and treated as 'just another variant'.

He goes through a therapy session, that was much needed, but causes him to breakdown. He is faced with that eye scene and says he didn't want to do it.

He has an existential crisis, which is understandable. What's not understandable is what happens after: he's depicted as a fool, a coward, and a fraud. On numerous occasions, he does the "wrong" or "stupid" thing (read: chasing after Sylvie, getting himself and Sylvie stuck on a doomed planet, becoming drunk and getting them exposed on the train). He's shown as someone reckless, instead of the man who calculated everything he could in that movie prior. He grows a heart in one, maybe two episodes. He grows a heart seemingly immediately after seeing what harm his actions do, trying to trust Mobius and Sylvie and anyone else who will look twice at him.

I also wanna note at this time that I don't know if the director hated Loki, and I don't blame any of this on Hiddleston? Unless either of them were active writers. Then I'd blame them.

The other thing is uh, where are his powers? He has illusion magic, projection spells, teleportation (which isn't even shown until the last episode), conjuring, and I mentioned already that he can change appearances. Versus Sylvie, who also has this magic, is somehow restrained to just enchantment- which Loki, coincidentally, doesn't know how to do. Despite watching the Tesseract do it for him and probably knowing exactly how it works, he can't mimic it, which is odd.

Timeline Inconsistencies

Most of these are just nitpicking at the writing. I'm going to do it anyway.

Dr. Strange

Okay this is more than a peeve more than anything.

Dr. Stephen Strange : I went forward in time... to view alternate futures. To see all the possible outcomes of the coming conflict. Peter Quill : How many did you see? Dr. Stephen Strange : Fourteen million six hundred and five. Tony Stark : How many did we win? Dr. Stephen Strange : ...One.

If there's only one timeline, then Dr. Strange is seeing nexus events and somehow interpreting them as possible timelines? Is that it? How does he see all these possibilities if there's only one way this can go? How does he later tell Tony that there's only one where they win, and Tony has to sacrifice himself? I have many questions.

The Avengers' Role

If, when watching Loki's trial, you went, "hey, wait, he's right!" then you already know what I'm going to say.

Let's look at the sacred timeline, right? There's one way that it's supposed to go, and that one way involves time travel to retrieve the stones and defeat Thanos in Avengers: Endgame. So... By that definition, what happens in Endgame where they fail to get the Tesseract is supposed to happen? Because I would think Captain America fighting himself would be a Nexus event, if I'm honest. And if that was supposed to happen, then Loki's escape was also supposed to happen, because the group later went to a different part of time to retrieve the infinity stone, and that didn't cause a Nexus event. They go to return the stone from that point in time that they got it in, too. It just... It doesn't make sense.

Sylvie

I have only one question. In the show, it depicts Sylvie as a woman as a child. But we've seen child Loki. So either Loki did flip-flop between genders as a child, or Sylvie grew up as a woman. If it's option a, then her Nexus event would've been changing her gender, and maybe preferring it over being a male? Which is kinda fucked up when you think about it. If it's option b, then her Nexus event was just being born a woman, which is also fucked up. The show never really explains what her Nexus event was, just that she was playing with a toy ship and suddenly arrested, and I really don't think that toy ship would've caused a butterfly effect so severe to warrant needing to deal with a variant.

So really, the question is, what the hell was her Nexus event?? Was she just needed to be displaced from time, to cause her vengeance, to cause her to wind up at the feet of He Who Remains? That's kind of underwhelming and stupid if that's the case.

Sylvie's Characterization

Okay I'm going to preface this with I liked Sylvie's concept. I kinda really liked the idea of a female Loki! The problem was that her character was handled very poorly. I'm just going to do a little list.

She's a romantic interest and a plot-leader

Sylvie was a very excellent character that turned into "man follows woman". Loki follows her for no reason other than she's supposed to be a mirror of himself that's a woman. It's seen rather quickly that he drools over her, since he's singing to her on the train. After that, he continues to talk about her and trust in her, going as far as to tell the other Lokis that she's the only one he trusts- which is rather foolish, if he knows himself he shouldn't trust any variation of himself. In fact, the only Loki that tries to help them is Classic Loki, who has all my respect, and it makes sense because he's older and wiser. It boils down to experience.

Other than Loki's romantic interest in her, she's the leader of the plot. She is the one that wants to take down the TVA. The way that she directs the plot has you believing that the show isn't about Loki, it's about Sylvie, who just happens to be a Loki.

She's a plot device

I put this under a separate bullet because I think there's a difference between a plot-leader and a plot device. As a plot-leader, she drives the plot, drives the revenge, gives Loki reason to what he does. As a plot device, she's used to show Loki does have feelings! Look he can fall in love! Look he trusts her! Look he's not a monster, forget about what he did to New York. He's changing so rapidly because the Power of Love, baby!

She's the only one serious about their mission for a good portion of the season, and after Loki finally gets on board, she betrays him. So the lesson is... Loki can't trust anyone??

Not to mention she has her own crisis in that final episode. If he knew she was coming, then what was her life? What was it all for? To get to that moment only to hear that the man you want to kill wants you to do it. To get to the end to hear that no matter what you do, he still wins. Her character arc was thrown away.

She's a genderbent version of Loki, rather than what Loki would've turned into

This goes back to what I said in the timeline portion of this vent post (because let's be honest, that's kinda what this is). Let's say all Lokis start at the same point, and any time a Loki diverged from the path set forth and impacted the surrounding environment, that made a Loki Variant. (I include that second point because Classic Loki played the part well, it wasn't until he tries to impact Earth with his return that he's taken into TVA custody.)

She should've shared experiences with Loki. Loki and Sylvie have a conversation about their childhoods, both of which are vastly different. Anything in her childhood should have been a nexus event. She's treated as an entirely separate entity rather than a version of Loki, with her own history and life. She's not Loki, she's Sylvie. It really boils down to that.

Problematic Christian Symbolism

This one is, again, more of a pet peeve, really, but uh...

I'm going to cite this post in specific. And I wanna make it clear I'm on the side of this person, they're right, it happened.

And I'm going to slowly look at the writers and wonder why characters from Norse mythology have a giant scene depicting a Christian reference.

Let me present my very little bare minimum research on the subject that the writers could've also done:

There is an equivalent to Adam and Eve called Ask and Embla. However, Ask and Embla are both born from a tree, rather than Eve from Adam's rib. The same article also punctuates that Ask and Embla could've originated from what I can only describe as colonialization- where certain people will go into different religions, write a mythos in the context of that religion that is very Christian in origin, and then publish that as a new myth. There's proof of this happening time and time again with all sorts of religions. Thanks, Christianity (not).

I found an essay comparing the original origin stories in the Norse and Christian mythology. In the original story, supposedly the armpit sweat of an evil titan produces the first man and woman, who go on to kill him, and then their lineage goes on to be the vikings. They are then blessed with different abilities by three gods, Odin, Hœnir/Hönir, and Lodur. So. No apple.

Another source, which I suspect to be through a Christian lense, talks about fruits (apples) that are kept in a box by a woman, and given to Gods at a young age in order for them to retain their immortality. Again, nothing evil about apples.

So... My point is that there's a 100% Christian/Christian-influenced reference in a show about Norse mythos. Sure, they have Loki sing a bit in Asguardian, and reference a saying in his home one (1) time, but maybe there was a better way to demonstrate the entire final episode than a simple Adam and Eve that reinforces "women are evil and ate the apple"?? Especially since women weren't treated like that in Viking society??

Conclusion

Loki is a character with anger, betrayal, fear, and distrust, which is revolved in 0.2 seconds with a therapy session and a man who calls him a baby and forces him to call himself weak and a fraud. He is then shown up numerous times by a "better", genderbent version of himself, who ultimately turns out to be "evil" and betrays Loki. Also, he gains romantic feelings for her.

The entire season felt like Tom Hiddleston cosplaying Loki. Thank you and goodnight.

[persephonesfill]

choke on me—chapter one

breathe me in (prequel fic)

chapter two

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

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

rating: Explicit, so explicit

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” Barton says, crossing his arms. 

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

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

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

All of the Avengers seemed to sober at that thought. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tony clears his throat, catching Steve’s attention. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.” 

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

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

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

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

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

*** 

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” she says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then SHIELD falls. 

Things get more complicated after that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tony?” 

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

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

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

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

“We can talk right here.”

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

Steve flushes but lets Tony go. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve starts. 

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

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

And that, that makes Tony blink. 

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

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

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

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

“You want to know why?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” Tony says, steeling himself. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s it,” Steve says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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