Warnings: Language! And smut. But a tame smut. A fluffy smut, if you will. Still, 18+, please.
Summary: Steve returns home from a week long mission.
A/N: Blame the IW trailers. Blame the new stealth suit. Blame Steve Rogers in general. This could be considered a sequel to my earlier one-shot, Stubborn Love. If you like my writing, I’d like to take requests. Primarily Steve or Bucky, but I’d consider others.
Eight days.
Try as you might to focus on anything other than the amount of time you’d gone without word from Steve Rogers, the number kept forcing itself into your brain.
Eight days since you’d kissed him goodbye.
Eight days since you’d heard his voice.
Eight days since you’d said I love you.
You’d been through long periods apart before, that was nothing new. Still, it was never something you’d get used to.
A/N: The sequel/conclusion to Going Up. I wasn’t planning on writing it, but people asked and once I realized what the title had to be, I couldn’t stop. It’s almost twice as long, with more sexy bits. The last third ended up gentler than I planned with Loki more as a sensual, generous lover, so um… yeah.
As it turned out, I didn’t call Loki that night. Or the next. I went home and told myself that I would call him after a shower. Then I thought maybe I should have dinner first. By the time I was done cooking and eating and cleaning up, I had convinced myself that it was too late in the evening to call him and that I should wait until tomorrow. What if he went to bed early? I didn’t want to wake him up.
I knew these were pathetic excuses. I wanted to call him. But I just couldn’t get up the nerve. What was I going to say? "Hi, remember me, I’m the girl you shagged in an elevator?“ I blushed just thinking about it. It had been incredible. I certainly didn’t regret it. But was going back for more a good idea? Was it better just to leave it as a fling, a little fun in an elevator, something special?
Summary: Agreeing to let the God of Lies train you on the use of Asgardian spacecraft had been a terrible, terrible idea. Now that he’s got you in his hands… you aren’t sure if he’s ever going to let you go.
Word Count: 2105
Pairing: Loki/Reader
Rating: M (smut-with-a-side-of-plot)
A/N: It seemed like quite a few people enjoyedShip It, so of course, my mind ran away with a followup… 😅 Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
As far as bad days go, this one was royally kicking your butt. The last two weeks, in general, had been relatively awful, but today you had just about had enough. You had reached the breaking point and you knew you were about to blow in one way or another.
Your research was going down the pan. Quite literally too, the readings were becoming more and more sporadic and more often than not the equipment was just breaking down. Even with the help of Loki’s brilliant mind, everything was falling to shit.
And then there’s Loki himself. It had been two weeks since the kiss and he had hardly uttered two words to you. His promise of “tomorrow” never came and given his reputation, you did not want to be the one to try and approach such a subject. It certainly did not help that Loki was acting as if he were repulsed by you again. He would come out of the bedroom around dinner time, say a simple “Good evening, Y/N,” and would eat in silence before sitting with you doing whatever and him reading on the couch. The silence had almost completely flipped after the kiss, where there used to be a pleasant atmosphere of two people who just didn’t feel the need to fill every moment with words it was now always slightly tense, constantly on the edge of being uncomfortable. There was very clearly an elephant squishing itself onto your minuscule couch and while Loki seemed perfectly content to ignore it, the damn thing was keeping you constantly jumpy and on edge. Your nerves were shot to pieces and you were sure Loki could sense it. He had reverted back to leaving very shortly after sitting with you and he, too, seemed tense. He would sit stiff and flick distractedly through his book before standing abruptly to leave. You were nervous and tense, which was making him uncomfortable and so you chased each other around in some kind of demonic circle of stiff silence and avoiding the kiss-shaped elephant.
It did not help that you were completely and utterly obsessed with Loki; he was like the plague and you were most definitely infected. He had taken over everything, clouding every waking thought and even when you were sleeping the feel of his kiss was dancing through your mind. When you were working it was as if he was sat there, perched on a shelf in your brain, swinging his legs and constantly reminding you of him, keeping you just distracted enough that you could safely say your ability to focus had been damaged beyond repair. When you were together you were constantly hyper-aware of his very presence, you would catch yourself staring more often than not and would look away, cursing yourself to hell and back whilst praying he didn’t notice. If he was anywhere near you, you were reduced to a bundle of obsessive nerves and you could feel yourself beginning to develop what was virtually a nervous twitch. If anything, you were almost glad that he wasn’t paying you any attention because it was more than likely that you would be reduced to nothing more than a blushing, stumbling mess.
Which brings you back to what was currently the big, puss-filled, swollen head on the pimple of bad days.
an old one that I still like, though (it’s here)! I should get around to at least posting the first part of that verse on AO3 – I wrote a continuation (that I once again only found thanks to @the-mundivagant‘s amazing archive of my tumblr fic) here.
so I feel like after that first fic – Steve has to go home, obviously, and I don’t think he sees Loki again before leaving. He does tell Thor that they talked again, though he doesn’t say what they talked about. and he leaves, and that’s that, and Steve tries not to think about Loki or wonder if he’s still alive.
and then maybe a few months down the line Thor comes to Steve and is basically like “I have an ask and it’s kind of a big ask but” and the upshot is that Loki’s not doing better, lately seems to be getting worse, and Thor’s been talking to his parents and the healers and they think maybe a change of scenery might help, and basically Thor would like to try bringing Loki to Earth for a little while.
and Steve’s first thought is that that’s insane, why would that be a good idea, wouldn’t it be better for him to stay close to home and where there are people who can watch over him because that’s not exactly something they can do here, they’re not equipped to keep someone on 24/7 suicide watch
and Thor looks away and says that their trying to do that hasn’t worked, has it, and the more they try to keep Loki safe the worse he seems to get, and Thor’s worried that they’re just boxing him into a corner and making him even more desperate to…escape. so maybe they have to try letting him go to keep him alive.
eventually Steve does agree – Thor seems so desperate and is hurting so much, and Steve does want to help, and even his brief interactions with Loki struck him. so shortly thereafter Loki shows up trailing Thor, and if he doesn’t seem thrilled by this development he doesn’t exactly seem not-thrilled either. doesn’t seem much at all, really, just sort of tired.
Steve doesn’t mean to take Loki under his wing – he’s the last person qualified in this case, he’s pretty sure – but it just kind of happens. Loki doesn’t seem to really mind, though it’s hard to tell exactly what he’s feeling.
“Thor thinks you can save me,” Loki says at some point
“I don’t know about that,” Steve says, “but I’d like to help.”
I decided to finally write a sequel to an imaginethat I wrote awhile ago. There’s been a lot of support for a second part, so I thought why not? I hope you guys like it ❤
“Don’t wander far, Your Majesty,” you said to Loki. “You’ll be eaten alive if you’re not careful.” You had brought him to one of the most dangerous places in Sakaar: one of the Grandmaster’s parties. You were surrounded by the most ruthless people in the universe, all attracted to Sakaar’s lawless culture, a culture where the greediest of backstabbers could flourish. It was your paradise, and Loki was learning to make it his. He just needed some guidance.
Loki took a seat next to you on the couch where you lounged, swirling a vibrant purple wine in your glass.
“I don’t think you give me enough credit,” he told you, frowning like an indingnant child. “I’m known for being a master of lies in Asgard. I can handle Sakaar.”
“Sakaar isn’t Asgard,” you said as you took a sip of your wine. “Here you are only a stranger whose life was spared by the grace of the Grandmaster.”
“Does royalty mean nothing here?”
“Royalty doesn’t exist here,” you told him. “You only get as far as you can lie, and darling, you don’t know the first thing about lying.”
“I beg your pardon?” Loki was angry now, but he didn’t dare lay a hand on you. He knew the Grandmaster’s wrath would be doubled if he hurt you.
“I don’t mean to discard your talents, of course,” you said, your fingers grazing his where they sat in his lap. “And I’m sure there are many, but you now live in a world where there is no such thing as truth. Do you think I got where I am with just my beauty to help me? I learned a language these people knew and I learned it fast without anyone to help me. You should consider yourself lucky that I chose you.”
“You think very highly of yourself, Lady Y/N,” the Trickster told you with a smirk. “But I see past your riddles. You’re nothing but a puppet of the Grandmaster.”
“Am I?” you asked with a cocked brow. “Or is he a puppet of mine?”
Loki was silent, somehow deeply sensing how dangerous you were. He had always been good at reading people and even better at manipulating them, but he couldn’t do that with you. He couldn’t figure you out, and even though it scared him, he couldn’t deny that it also drew him to you.
“When we met the Grandmaster told me he had a bit of magic of his own,” Loki said, aware of how you had inched closer to him so that your thighs were touching. “What is your magic?”
“I have many abilities to be proud of, but the ability to lie is magic in itself,” you told him. “There’s no need for spells or potions when the right combination of words can create an alternate reality in someone else’s mind that only you are aware of. Don’t you agree?”
Loki nodded, noticing you had never broken eye contact with him, hypnotizing him like how a snake does its prey.
“I promised you anything you wanted in all of Sakaar,” you murmured. “I think it’s time I kept that promise. What do you want, Your Majesty?”
Before Loki could stop himself, he had already given you his answer. “You.”
“Is that all, my king?”
“A kingdom.”
“This could be your kingdom if you let me show you how to take it,” you said.
“Show me.”
You smiled and gave him a gentle kiss. When you pulled away you whispered to him, “You’re going to love it here.” And he knew you were right. This was where he belonged, in the center of a world where people like him could thrive. With an equal like you at his side, he could finally become the king of a world that wanted him.
Some people wanted the Commander to get what he was longing for, so here is is. I am not too happy with this, but such is life, Likes and reblogs are love.
It’s late and the day
has been long. Really fucking long. All
he wants is to climb into bed and sleep, and tonight he’s almost sure he won’t
have nightmares because he has no energy for them.
Through his office, he
plods and slowly climbs the ladder to his loft. As he turns toward his bed, he
stops dead in tracks. His mouth literally
falls open, and he drops the damp towel in his hand.
Because the Inquisitor is
lying on his bed. Bare-fucking-naked. His throat goes dry, and his heart starts thumping in his chest.
“I – Inquisitor,” he croaks. “W-what can I do for you?”
Oh, smooth,
Rutherford. Yes. She’s here for your opinion on the finer points of
advanced siege tactics!
“Commander,” the Inquisitor slides off the bed and stands
up. She smiles at him and sashays toward him, swinging those curvy hips and
making her plump, pert breasts bounce. He’s
transfixed — he can’t move or speak. She
stops in front of him and tosses back her long dark hair, her blue eyes
sparkling. “It’s not about what you can
do for me — it’s what I can do for you.”
Recovering from his shock, Cullen raises a brow. “And that
is?”
The Inquisitor takes a slim finger and runs it down the
center of his broad chest, the nail rasping against his chest hair. She tilts
her head, watching him from beneath lowered lashes. The movement exposes her throat, long, slender, and pale. He wants to
kiss her there, to find her pulse point and mark her there.
Maker's Breath 