Summary: He’s supposed to be teaching you how to work this stupid space-Viking longboat, but Loki’s interests seem to lie elsewhere…
Word Count: 1447
Pairing: Loki/Reader
Rating: M (smut)
A/N: Someone mentioned Loki dirty talk and like… I have a thing for Loki acting all blasé and refusing to shut up while he’s getting down to his seducin’ 🖤 So here’s this thing. I’mma go hide somewhere now
Summary: You’d think that handling PR for a team of people who literally just saved half of the known universe would be pretty darn easy…
… but you’d be wrong.
Word Count: 720
Pairing: Loki/Reader
A/N: Really quick little ficlet that popped in my head during my walk to get lunch today! Y’all have been so sweet, so I figured this might be a nice little way to say thank you! 😊
“It’s just… I really think—”
“I don’t care what you think, you wretched little serving wench—”
“Okay, hang on just a second there.” Mr. Stark steps up beside you, straightening his tie, and you cringe; the boss is having to jump in and come to your rescue on your very first day?
Great.
“First off,” he says, “She’s an employee, not a servant. Servants are so old-world, and that’s not exactly the image I’m going for with my brand, in case you haven’t noticed. Second, if she was a servant, she’d be mine, because I pay all the bills. And third—”
Breaking off suddenly, he turns and snatches a cup of coffee from the hand of a very eager-looking assistant. “Thanks. Third, she’s right. Lose the antlers, Blitzen.”
Loki’s eyes narrow dangerously, and you stand there like the awkward third wheel that you are in this little hero-versus-villain staredown, wondering why you’d ever been so excited about getting this job in the first place.
“Very well,” he finally says, his lips parting in a smile that he doesn’t even bother trying to make vaguely sincere. “I would so hate to make a bad impression, after all.” His ridiculous golden helmet shimmers out of existence, and you try to hide the fact that you’re incredibly relieved he backed down without more of a fight.
Be perky! you order yourself. Stay positive!
After all, being on the PR team for the Avengers seems like a pretty good job to have right now… they did just save half the universe.
“If you want to be able to turn the tide of public opinion in your favor, Mr. Laufeyson,” you venture, “then public appearances like the one today are the best way to do it. Earth needs heroes, especially now. We want you to seem…”
Your voice fades, because he’s glaring at you like he wants to turn you inside-out, and your throat is suddenly painfully dry. Making enemies on the first day. Wonderful.
“Seem… how?” Loki asks, leaning down just enough to call attention to the fact that he towers over you. “Trustworthy? Redeemed?”
“Do you not… is that not what you want?”
“He’s doing it either way,” Mr. Stark says. “If I’m gonna keep sticking my neck out for you, Loki, then you’re going to make things a lot easier for me by at least pretending to be a happy little member of Team Save the World. I don’t want any more pitchforks and bonfires outside of my front door, thanks.”
As he walks away to charm one of the directors, Mr. Stark turns back for just a moment. “Or you can go back to Asgard and hang out with your dad,” he says. “I guess it’s up to you.”
Loki’s nostrils flare slightly, and he turns to look back down at you, somehow making you feel like you’re only about two feet tall. “Any other suggestions you’d like to share before the show begins?” he asks with false pleasantness, taking half a step closer towards you, forcing you to crane your neck to meet his gaze.
Don’t step back, don’t step back.
He’ll only take it as a sign that he’s intimidating you, and while it’s true, it isn’t exactly the impression that you want to leave. You glance around for help, but Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner are already seated in front of the cameras, and it looks like the crew’s almost ready to start rolling.
“No,” you manage, and you even pull off an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “That was all. Break a leg.”
And then your breath catches in your throat as you realize that you might’ve made a poor choice of words, because something truly concerning sparks in the god’s eyes as he leans down to whisper in your ear.
“I just might break yours, mortal,” he murmurs, and then he sweeps past you.
Heart pounding, you watch on the monitor as he struts onto the stage with a charming smile on his unfairly-handsome face, greeting the show host with all of the enthusiasm of someone reconnecting with an old friend.
Man, he’s good. When he wants to be.
But then he turns slightly and looks directly at the camera, a dangerous glint in his eyes, and you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that it’s meant for you.
Maker's Breath 