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nyxlaufeyson · 19 days

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Guys check on this awesome short but not too short fic! I loved it!

Love at First Sight (or should I walk by again?) - Part 2

Everyone keeps pointing out the fact that Loki can't keep his hands off of you - but that's just the kind of guy he is, right?

Right...?

(or: Loki's mercurial mood sours, then sweetens. A lot.)

(aka - you bone)

18+ - contains p-in-v smut!!!

Chapter 2 / 2 - to read this on AO3, click here

You had to admit- Tony knew how to throw a party.

The 30-and-31st floors of the Avengers tower served as a multi-purpose room for most of your hosting needs. The elevators opened on the second-floor balcony to a magnificent, lofted room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. An enormous dance floor thrashed with bodies beneath you, bracketed on either side by plush leather couches, and the best-stocked bar in New York City was tucked under foot, bookended by two enormous winding staircases. The conference hall’s double doors were propped open to allow guests a quieter place to mingle downstairs, and a few hired staff appeared to have commandeered the Avengers-only briefing room to your right for storage.

The team rarely used these floors - you had all agreed that Steve had the nicest couches, because he and Bucky had spent weeks picking up old, overstuffed varieties off of Craigslist, so that was where you all gathered for small get-togethers - but the current crowd would never have fit in their living room.

Hundreds of agents, analysts and office workers swarmed the dance floor. Between Loki’s awkward departure and now, the rain had swollen to a raging thunderstorm that battered the windows fiercely - a deep contrast to the palpable heat inside.

Wanda broke off from your trio in search of Vision while you and Natasha made a bee-line for the bar, arms linked so you wouldn’t get lost in the crush. Tony waved you over from behind the counter, a bottle of what was no doubt an absurdly expensive tequila in hand.

Natasha’s hip bumped against yours. You could feel the knowing look she was shooting you on the side of your face, which you ignored by throwing back a shot. The taste of hot, spicy antiseptic assaulted your senses and you winced, flicking your glass down the bar. “What was that?”

Tony shrugged. “Doesn’t have a name yet. Bad?”

You wiped the back of your hand over your mouth. “It’s alcohol alright.”

“Well, they can’t all be porn stars.” Tony pushed a glass of sprite toward you, which you downed appreciatively. “Anyway, what did you do to Tall, Dark and Heinous over there?”

You glanced in the direction that Tony had nodded. You could just make out the shape of Loki’s shoulders through the writhing crush of bodies between you, unfolded languorously on a couch.

You would have expected him to be surrounded by people; he looked unfairly handsome, even in the dark, and you knew he reveled in attention. You weren’t the only person shooting an appreciative stare. Yet the angry set of his jaw seemed to be repelling any admirers with an impressive force, as if a dark cloud had settled over the corner he occupied.

“Why do you think I did anything?”

Tony and Natasha scoffed at the same time. He scrubbed his hands with a dish towel while fixing you with a truly unimpressed look. “Light of my life. Star in my sky. Have you seen him? He’s three seconds away from going Looney Tunes on you and growing hearts for eyes.”

“Loki would flirt with a paper bag if he thought it would swoon,” you grumbled.

“Yeah, but he’s so… mushy when he talks to you.”

Natasha reached over the counter and rummaged through his bottles. She plucked a jar of maraschino cherries out and pried the lid off. “Seconded. It’s disgusting.”

Tony nodded sagely. “The guy tried to kill me and now I have to watch him read poetry and fetch your drinks.”

“And feed you.”

“ And feed you,” Tony agreed. “And the touching. Why is he so into touching?”

Thor’s deep voice rumbled behind you. “Who is touching who?

“Your brother and our lovely little Avenger here.”

“Ah,” Thor said. “I’m afraid I have been sworn to secrecy on that matter.”

Tony guffawed. “He gag-ordered you?”

Thor nodded grimly. “If I say even a word, you might never see my handsome face again. Although, I’m growing quite tired of my brother’s theatrics. Who knows, I might make a very attractive goat. We won’t know until we find out, will we?”

So Thor opened his mouth. And-

He bleated.

Tony doubled over in raucous giggles while Thor scrubbed a tired hand across his eyes. “Go speak with my brother, please. Put me out of my misery.”

Natasha offered him a sympathetic grimace and held out the jar of cherries. Thor plucked one and popped it in his mouth. “You know,” he said. “On Asgard, that would be tantamount to a proposal of marriage.”

“Maraschino cherries?”

He shrugged, then wrestled the jar out of her hands and took a few more. “Hand-feeding. Courting couples are supposed to spend the first weeks of their betrothal serving each other.”

“Oh really?” Tony poured another drink. “I rest my case.”

Natasha nudged you with her elbow. Now or never, she mouthed.

You plucked Tony’s drink from his hand and threw it back before he could complain. For the owner of the Continental United States’ largest collection of liquors, he had an uncanny ability to make the least-drinkable-drinks you’d ever tasted - but it got the job done. You grimaced, pushed the glass across the counter, and slipped off into the crowd.

You shrugged through the crush of bodies on the dancefloor, throwing a friendly smile to a few of your friends as you passed. The wind picked up the rain, which sliced through the air at a sharp diagonal. A brief flash of lightning illuminated the room, casting a deep, dramatic shadow across Loki’s contemplative expression.

“I’m surprised you’re here all alone.” You had to shout to be heard over the music. “Normally you have a line around the building of people trying to get your attention.”

His eyes slid up to meet yours. He was all sharp edges, even in the dim club lighting. His dark shirt was crisply pressed, suit jacket forgone entirely in favor of a simple waistcoat. Tightly tailored pants accentuated the long line of his spread legs, which you took advantage of, sidling up so your shins touched the edge of his seat. One of Loki’s shoes bumped pointedly against yours.

“I’m afraid I’m not really in the mood for revelry tonight, pet.”

You watched him bring his glass to his mouth and take a long drink. His eyes never once wavered from your face. His head tilted to the side ever so slightly, eyes narrowed as he picked you apart at the seams, thread by painstaking thread.

One of his hands reached out to pinch the hem of your dress. It was short, but not nearly short enough for Tony’s approval ( It’s a party, honey, you can show a bit more leg than that!). Still, when Loki tugged playfully at the edge, you were hyper aware of how little fabric separated you from his prying eyes.

“This is nice,” he murmured. The tips of his fingers traced up the side seam of the dress, trailing along your thigh before settling heavily on your hip. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, though your attention was acutely focused on the lazily arch his thumb was drawing across your lower belly. “Green looks good on you.”

Thunder rumbled outside. You gestured to one of the cufflinks glittering at his wrist. “I don’t think I have to tell you how amazing you look.”

His mouth twitched upwards. “Tell me anyway.”

“Naughty.” Emboldened - in equal parts by Natasha’s pep-talk and the heat of Loki’s fingertips through your dress, you nudged his knee with yours. “Maybe a dance will make you feel better?”

Time was an endless stretch for him, a marathon you could never dream of keeping up with, so where any mortal’s patience might have snapped, where a silence may have grown awkward, eye contact uncomfortable, he simply languished in watching you. You felt a warm sweat begin to gather at the nape of your neck and you tried surreptitiously to wipe your palms off on your skirt. His voice was low. “You’d dance with me?”

You hummed coyly. “I could make an exception for one night, maybe.”

His brows knit together. He rolled the ice cube in his glass with a slow turn of his wrist. “My apologies, pet. I’m not interested in an evening of distraction.”

Your resolve wavered; you swallowed hard. “Please? Just this once? For me?”

Loki laughed dryly. “Not tonight, little one.”

Embarrassment washed down your spine. You stepped out from his legs and folded your hands over your belly. “Oh. Okay. Another time, then.”

“Perhaps.”

“Okay.” Another flash of lightning sliced across the horizon. “Later, then.”

You side-stepped the couch and slipped to the edge of the room. Your knuckles skimmed the fog of body heat that had settled over the glass, collecting condensation in big, fat beads until they grew too heavy and slid to the floor. You sidestepped a giggling couple and swallowed around a steadily growing knot in your throat.

You leaned against one of the balcony’s pillars and took a shaky inhale. For the first time all day, you found yourself hoping Fury’s voice would cut through the loud speaker - for some natural disaster to whisk you away to wrestle monsters or catch space pirates. You would gladly accept the mountain of paperwork that would come along if it meant you didn’t have to stew over the uninterested rumble of Loki’s voice as he tipped his glass back.

And maybe when you returned you could pretend none of this ever happened. You could continue going to Yvonne’s, and listen to Loki wax poetic about stanzas in a language you could never read, and look pointedly away when Loki did finally find a Manticore to slay for some other pretty thing.

Maybe you could ask Fury for a longer assignment in the morning. Maybe there were some kids in New Zealand that needed telepathy training. Maybe Tony was looking into building an apartment tower in Antarctica.

You rose up on your toes to try and spot Natasha’s shock of hair at the bar, but she and Thor had disappeared. Tony would definitely still be there, you supposed, but he had never been very good at giving pick-me-up speeches, and if he caught you slipping away - alone - he’d no doubt have FRIDAY lock your elevator privileges for the night.

“Hey,” a stranger’s voice interjected.

You turned to look at him. He was cute, in a boyish way, with pin-straight red hair that flopped in front of his eyes and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He was wearing a dark t-shirt, jeans, and an adorable pair of thick black frames. You thought you recognized him as one of the IT guys from one of the labs downstairs - Justin, maybe? You shot him a quick smile.

“Sorry, I saw you come in and I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t say hi. I’m Jacob.”

You nodded, offering your name over the din of the crowd.

“You’re an Avenger, right? Crazy impressive.”

“Yeah, it’s an… interesting job.” You pushed away from your pillar. “Not exactly something you submit a resume for. Tony kind of just collects us like strays.”

Jacob laughed - maybe a little too loudly - and nudged your elbow with his. “You’re funny. Hey, before I lose my nerve - would you… would you like to dance?”

You grimaced. “Actually, uh…”

Before you could finish your thought, a tall, sharp figure slunk out of the crowd. Loki’s hand raked through his hair while his upper lip curled with distaste; he sidestepped your would-be suitor and drew you under his arm. “Terribly sorry. I’m afraid her dance card is full for the night.”

“Oh, sorry, man-”

The atmosphere swelled and sizzled. A green whip crack lit up the dark corner of Tony’s party when Loki flicked his wrist dismissively.

You sputtered as Loki frogmarched you toward the dancefloor. “You said you didn’t want to dance.”

He shrugged. “I changed my mind.”

The crowd did not part for either of you; Loki shouldered your way through the winding bodies until he found a space large enough to turn around and face you. His eyebrows were drawn together and his expression wholly unimpressed, and you were halfway to chewing him out before his hand curled around your shoulder and pulled you flush against his chest. Your knees collided with his inelegantly. This close, you could smell his cologne and the faint sweetness of the Asgardian liquor he and his brother were so fond of.

“You ass.” You blinked, mind reeling at the change in Loki’s mood. “Jealous, were we?”

His large hands maneuvered you to his liking, slotting one leg between yours so you were nestled tightly against each other from toe to chest. “I’m a god. What could I possibly be jealous of?” He pressed his forehead to the crown of your head, his face tilted toward yours so his warm breath fanned over your cheek.

It took you both a moment to find a rhythm; a few awkward moments passed where his hands guided your hips against his too forcefully, and your feet stumbled over his, but eventually you leaned into his chest at just the right angle that you could roll against him without tipping over, and his hands found purchase around your waist so he could slide them, hot and consuming, up and down your back.

You turned your face toward his. His head was bowed, eyes drawn to the way your bodies moved against each other. Your stomach swooped like the floor had fallen out from under you when your mouth brushed against his jaw - you were so close, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him, and you wanted him so badly that you physically ached. Part of you wanted to cry, to beg him to stop toying with you, but a much more vocal part of you wanted to roll over and let him eat you, bones and all.

You swallowed audibly. “Loki…”

He looked up at you expectantly. His eyebrows knit together briefly, something like dread crossing his expression before it smoothed out to cool indifference.

“Hi,” you finished lamely.

His jaw ticked. “Hi.”

You slid one hand up to cup the back of his neck. The other rested dangerously low on his abdomen, admiring the way his muscles shifted as he moved. He hissed out a sharp breath when you scraped your fingernails across the flat plane of his stomach through his shirt. He dragged your hips against his in retaliation, somehow both sweetly and a little mean, and then splayed his fingers out wide so the tips of them just grazed the lowest part of your back. One of his fine leather shoes bullied your feet apart so that he could slide you more securely up his leg, leaving you dangled precariously at his mercy. His open mouth hovered centimeters over the side of your neck, his breath hot and damp on your skin.

A thin sheen of sweat had settled over you. You felt flushed all over, acutely aware of the blazing paths his hand was carving up and down your side. You felt a groan roll through his body when you curled one finger through the gap between his shirt buttons. You pressed a dry kiss to the side of his neck, and the groan gave way to a breathy, broken moan.

“Loki,” you mumbled again.

His cheek dragged against yours; you felt the muscles in his jaw twitch into a smile. “Hi?”

You were quiet. He put enough space between your bodies to look at you. His expression was dark, his irises overwhelmed by a deep well of lust. Your eyes focused on his tongue when it darted out to wet his lips.

“Did you come to me for something specific tonight?” He asked. You nodded, nervous under his heavy gaze. Loki tutted and took your chin between his thumb and forefinger. You watched his resolve harden, his eyes flashing with some unknown emotion under the pulsing club lights. His throat bobbed, and his voice lowered an octave when he next spoke. “Tell me what you need, pet .”

“You.”

“Me? I’m right here.” He grinned that awful, arrogant grin of his. You shoved at his shoulders and he responded by grinding his thigh between yours meanly. His face twisted into a mock pout when you gasped, and he patronizingly petted one large hand over your cheek. “What do you need, hmm? You need someone to just… fuck it out of you?”

His thigh continued to press up against you, knocking you off balance into his chest. Your feet scrambled for purchase against the sticky dancefloor. You nodded against his shoulder and fisted his belt in one hand.

“Words,” he growled. “Be a good girl for me.”

“Yes. Yes, please.”

He sighed into your hair. For a moment he seemed to relax into you, all the meanness washing out of him, replaced by a terrible tenderness. The hand on your cheek grew fond as he traced a slow line across your temple.

“You have no idea how hard it makes me when you speak like that.” He growled, his voice pitched low and rumbling through his chest. “Though I suppose… you will soon enough.”

Calculatedly slow, Loki dipped his head down to press his mouth to your collarbone. You felt the dry brush of his lips, then the flick of his tongue against your skin. His hands found your hips and turned you so your back was against his chest.

“Walk, pet.”

You led him off the dancefloor. FRIDAY let you through one of the concealed exits toward the private elevators, and you and Loki spent an eternity waiting for the elevator to climb to the 30th floor. Your left hand closed around his hip to steady yourself. His right hand drew complicated knots along your elbow.

The elevator doors opened with a ding . The sound of your skirt rustling was deafening in the quiet hallway. You turned toward him awkwardly and watched as he jammed the button for his floor before turning to face you.

As soon as the doors closed, he was on you. His mouth slotted against yours while he backed you against the wall. His tongue slid along the seam of your lips. You must have taken too long to comply, because Loki growled against you, took your jaw between his fingers and pressed , coaxing you to open your mouth. His tongue glided against yours, teasingly at first, then demanding. His other hand moved over your hip to knead the flesh of your ass, then lower to cup the seam where it met your thigh. The tips of his long fingers slipped between your legs, just a scant few centimeters from where you were aching. Tonight, it seemed, there would be no inch of you left untouched. Unconquered.

You whined into his mouth, sliding one hand up the solid planes of his chest before settling in his hair. You used it to leverage yourself closer to him, threading your fingers through tousled curls. He pulled back and hissed, the movement canting his hips against yours. There was no mistaking the heavy weight of him against your belly, hot and hard.

His pointer finger grazed the seat of your underwear, drawing a slow line down your slit. You bit back a whimper, an action that had his hips jerking against you. “Touch me,” he gasped. “Touch me, please.”

You pressed the heel of your hand against the front of his slacks. He swore under his breath and rolled his head forward onto your shoulder. You continued to palm him through the rough cotton material, watching the numbers on the elevator display tick up over his shoulder.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open with a whisper, inviting you into the hallway of Thor and Loki’s shared floor. The door to Loki’s apartment was to the left, Thor’s to the right.

It seemed to take a great deal of effort for Loki to extricate himself from you. He pressed one last, fleeting kiss to your open mouth and then stepped backwards across the elevator threshold. He closed one hand over the elevator door to block the sensor and, still facing you, leaned over the panel of buttons and pressed your floor.

“Last chance to back out, darling.”

Your hands tightened around the railing at your back. Cool metal soothed your flushed skin. A thrill ran up the length of your body, slithering up your calves, your spine, the nape of your neck. Arousal throbbed between your legs, begging him to come back and continue ravishing you.

He looked only a fraction as ruined as you felt, and you wanted to fix that.

Slowly, achingly slowly, you removed your hand from the rail and offered it to him. He swallowed gravely. His hand accepted yours and drew it up to meet his lips. Even though his head was bowed, his eyes stayed trained on your face - almost predatory.

He stepped out of the elevator threshold and reeled you in, pulling you flush to his front. The doors slid shut with barely a sound.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispered against your mouth. His voice was tinted with desperation. You were keenly aware of the pressure of his warm hands through your dress. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you.”

Still, his mouth hovered over yours, skin just barely grazing skin. “Again. One more time.”

“Loki,” you whined. “I want you.”

He still didn’t kiss you. He pulled away instead, putting just enough space between the two of you that he could look into your eyes. Something dangerous burned behind them, something that pinned you in place under the weight of it. “Tonight you’re mine, understand? Just give me tonight.”

You took his face between your hands. “I’m yours. Please.”

He smiled, teeth glinting under the fluorescent hallway lights, and then he was tugging you into him and kissing you senseless. His hand was back on your jaw, maneuvering you how he pleased.

You felt the shift in the atmosphere before a wave of shimmering seidr rushed over his door, flinging it wide open. He frogmarched you backwards and then slammed the door shut with another flick of his wrist. He didn’t bother to turn on any lights, guiding you by the thin slivers of moonlight that sliced through his curtains.

You’d been in his apartment a handful of times, mostly to exchange books or drop off paperwork, but never his bedroom. Like Steve and Bucky, Loki had replaced most of the Stark-issued furniture with second-hand antiques. An overstuffed velvet couch; a dark wooden coffee table with curved, talon-like feet; a wall covered from floor to ceiling with paintings of various planetary origins. Tall, sturdy bookshelves were crammed full of books, stacked two-by-two in some rows, and knickknacks - shiny trinkets, jewelry, soapstone carvings.

His bedroom was the same - dark wood and deep jewel tones. He sidled you backwards until your calves hit his bed frame and pushed you into the plush black covers.

He bent over to pull his shoes off and motioned to your dress. “Off.”

You blinked up at him, a little dazed and more than a little distracted as he made quick work of his shoes and socks. He unfolded to his full height and started to work the knot of his tie loose. His eyes shone a brilliant green for a brief heartbeat before the bedside lamp flared to life.

“I gave you clear instructions, mortal,” he growled. His silk tie dangled tauntingly from his long fingers, and you felt the air begin to hum. “Is it a firm hand that you need?”

Hot, wet arousal pooled between your legs. His eyes, inhumanly green, bored into you as he worked one cufflink out of his shirt, flicking it in the direction of his bedside table. While he twisted the other, the smell of ozone settled heavily on your tongue. Crackles of light whispered across your skin. The second cufflink bounced off the wall with a tiny sound, turned deafening in the charged room.

You turned over on the bed so you were balanced on your knees and glanced at him over your shoulder, hoping your expression came off as coy rather than nervous. “Help me?”

He considered you for so long that you thought he was going to refuse. Maybe he would rip the dress down the back. Maybe he would just flip your skirt up and leave it on.

He sighed. Finally, he discarded the tie and reached out to soothe your zipper down. The dress slipped away to pool around your hips. Loki tapped the back of one of your legs, silently asking you to shift your weight so he could slide the material off. It fell with a quiet sound beside his shoes on the floor.

You turned over to face him. The single bed-side lamp was dim but warm, nearly softening the predatory expression on his face. He traced his pointer finger over the curve of your shoulder, sliding inch by painstaking inch toward the strap of your bra before hooking under it. His finger followed the strap before stopping just at the top of one lacy cup. His eyes, back to their normal hue, darted up to yours.

You swallowed audibly, then nodded. You felt the mattress shift as he leaned his weight on one knee between your legs. He tugged the cup down, exposing your breast to the cool air, before replacing it with his palm. He kneaded the soft flesh there, massaging his thumb in small circles over your nipple, and pressed his mouth to its curved side. His teeth sank into your skin before his tongue followed, soothing over the sting before he moved on to suck another mark just above the first. You scraped your fingernails through his hair, caught somewhere between delirium and ecstasy.

“Kiss me,” you gasped. “Please?”

He immediately complied, raising his head to slide his mouth over yours while his hand snaked around your back to undo your bra clasps.

You struggled to undo his waistcoat. With your clasps dealt with, Loki tugged the offending lingerie off and tossed it across the room. His hands replaced yours and tore the silk vest off before deftly unbuttoning his shirt. You had more luck with his pants, pulling his belt from his belt loops easily before working the button and zipper open. Loki bent down just long enough to tear them and his briefs off before he returned, capturing your face between his palms and kissing you soundly.

You sat there, drinking in the closeness of the other, for a long time. It couldn’t have been comfortable for him, curved over you as he was, but the contented little sounds that slipped from his throat whenever his lips connected with yours told you he didn’t mind. One of his hands drifted from your cheek to stroke mindless patterns between your neck and the curve of your elbow. You reciprocated by running your fingernails over his scalp.

Eventually the two of you broke apart. He was something resplendent before you, hair mused and curling, cheeks tinted pink, lips glossy with spit. They curved upwards in a wicked smirk as he sank to his knees before you. Your heart thumped painfully in your chest at the sight, simultaneously thrilled to have so wholly unraveled him but dreading the after, when he would inevitably bore of you without the chase.

“Lovely,” Loki murmured. He pressed a quick kiss to the top of one knee. “My pretty little human.”

He pulled one of your feet into his lap to remove your shoe. Both joined the growing pile of clothing at the foot of his bed.

He sat back on his heels, allowing you an unobstructed view of his naked body. His pale skin shone with a thin sheen of sweat, warmed by a flush that extended halfway down his chest. A thin trail of hair drew the eye from his stomach to his lap, where one hand lazily fisted his cock. His breath came in short, open-mouthed pants as his eyes roamed over you, flickering between your mouth to your breasts to the lace band of your underwear where it peeked out between your legs.

You teasingly dug your toes into the meat of his thigh. He tsked and snapped one hand around your ankle. “Behave,” he warned.

He pressed a chaste kiss to the delicate skin of your calf before leaning forward to slot himself between your knees.

“Hips up for me, love.” He hooked his fingers under your panties and slid them down your legs. His thumb ran slow, lazy circles across the skin of your inner thigh. “Now, do you promise to be a good girl for me?”

Your cunt ached, a sudden emptiness yawning in your belly. You nodded dumbly.

His teeth met the spot where your thigh and hip joined. “Words, mortal. Tell your god that you’ll be good for him.”

“Yes, Loki.”

His mouth slid a hair closer to your cunt. He pressed his tongue flat against your leg and licked a long stripe from mid-thigh to hip before biting down just hard enough to leave an indent.

“Please, Loki. Please, I’ll be good. I’ll be good.”

He cooed condescendingly before tugging you over the edge of the bed. The sudden jolt sent you sprawling flat on your back. Both of your hands fisted in his bedsheets for purchase.

His fingers dug into the meat of your hips and pinned you to the mattress while his shoulders pressed your legs apart. He lowered his face between your thighs and left a trail of loud, wet kisses until he reached your cunt. His teeth left a paling indent in the soft flesh of your thigh before his tongue flattened against you in one broad swipe. Your hips bucked against the iron bracket of his arms. You felt his cheeks tick up in a smile when a particularly sharp flick of his tongue pulled a thready sound from your throat, and then his cheeks hollowed as he wrapped his lips around your clit.

One of his hands reached out to circle your wrist. He placed your hand on the crown of his head and threaded your fingers through his hair. You tugged tentatively at his hair and delighted to discover that Loki was incredibly vocal; low, pleased sounds hummed in his throat with every scrape of your nails, and a particularly hard tug on his hair had him pulling your hips in tight and tilting his head for a better angle at your slit. He pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to your cunt with his eyes rapturously shut.

Your stomach clenched as a familiar coil of pleasure wound at the base of your spine. Your upper body arched off the mattress, and your free hand came up to curve around Loki’s ornate bed frame to ground yourself. You couldn’t help the gasps that tore from your chest under his care. You sighed his name, a prayer - for mercy or punishment, you weren’t sure - humming in the back of your mind.

His head shot up from between your legs, so abruptly that it jarred you back to Earth. His wide eyes scanned yours before he propped himself up to get his hand between your legs and then he was on you again, sliding his middle finger inside of you and lapping at your clit like a man starved. Your thighs clamped shut around his shoulders, but he pried them apart with a growl, not once letting up. You whined when his finger curled against that soft, sensitive spot inside of you while your hips moved on their own volition.

“That’s it, darling,” he said between sticky slides of his tongue. “Come now. For me, dove.”

Your eyes squeezed shut as pleasure crested and washed over you. You felt him groan against your cunt when you tugged his hair too tightly, but he didn’t let up until you went boneless, spent, at his mercy. His hand slipped out of you and soothed up and down the length of your leg. His cheek tipped to the side to lean against your hip, his eyes dark but crystal clear.

You scratched your nails through his hair lightly. He blinked slowly - contentedly - as he leaned into the touch.

“Come here,” you pleaded weakly. He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth before crawling up the length of your body, pressing the occasional kiss against your skin as he went. You whined when he reached you, already starved of his affection, and pulled him in for a slow, languid kiss. When you finally pulled away, you swept a curl out of his eyes.

He grinned. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Loki shook his head fondly. “You prayed to me.”

He laughed. He pressed his mouth to the corner of yours, not even a kiss really, and the sheer joy that radiated from the sound made you laugh too. Nevermind the fact that the two of you were naked, that his damp hair stuck to the side of your face, or that his cock pressed heavily against the crook where your thigh met your hip. Any embarrassment washed away when his left hand, elegant and featherlight, drew a languorous line down your neck to your shoulder. You tangled your fingers in his hair and tilted his head to the side to press a small, sweet kiss against his jaw.

Remind me to save that for later, you wanted to say. You let that thought go and continued to kiss along the line of his throat.

He let you love on him for a few long heartbeats, then stood to tower over you. His right hand closed around his cock and ran up the length in slow, lazy pulls. That same odd expression from the party settled over his face, though decidedly softer this time, as he marveled at the little human sprawled in his bed.

“You look magnificent,” he said. And even though he was the God of Lies, and his eyes betrayed him as something predatory, and he had you completely, utterly at his mercy - you believed him.

He tipped his head toward the headboard. You obliged, crawling up the bed so you were lying on your side length-wise with your head against the pillow. He followed, manually turning you on your back so he could hook your legs around his hips. Something deeper than arousal was pooling in your belly, nearly outweighing the near-maniacal need to push him to his back and take him then and there. You urged him closer, palms smoothing up his chest. “What an honour, to be fucked by a god.”

His lips curled upward. He slid a hand over your hip and maneuvered you to his liking. “Yes,” he purred. “Come along, then. Show your god your fealty.”

The blunt head of his cock glided against you. You felt him press teasingly at your entrance, then a firm pressure when he slowly slid in. The hand around your hip tightened as he pulled you in, working slowly until you were fully seated against him, impossibly full.

You dug your fingernails into the soft skin at the base of his stomach, marveling at the way his lithe body curved in repose. A sharp roll of his hips had your head falling back against the pillow, a gasp punched out of you. You heard rather than saw the smirk curving across his face, a proud sound that hissed through his teeth, punctuated by another jerk of his hips against you. You mewled, hands scrabbling, and rolled your hips up to meet him on the next thrust.

He fell into a slow, short rhythm, hardly pulling out before sliding his hips back to meet yours. The hand not on your hip brought one of yours up to his face so he could press two kisses to your palm. The first a brief, chaste brush; and the second hot and open mouthed, the tip of his tongue lightly flicking across the sensitive skin. Any other time and it would have been embarrassing, the kind of trick a schoolboy might play, but the way his eyes glittered left you feeling like a lecher.

You slid your free hand up his chest to his shoulder and tugged him down to you. He went obligingly, curling over your body so your chests brushed. His left hand slipped between the two of you so he could press the pad of his thumb to your overly-sensitive clit, drawing tight circles above where the two of you were joined. The press of it was a bit too firm, almost mean, but you reveled in it. You carded your fingers in his hair and drew his face to your neck.

“Keep - keep doing that,” you gasped. “Just like that, please. God, yes.”

“My sweet girl,” he cooed. His right hand - still holding yours - came up to trace his knuckles down your cheek. His voice had taken on a dangerous edge, something wholly chthonic that had your cunt clenching. “Taking your god so well. How about another prayer, hmm? I can be benevolent for you, dear heart.”

His teeth closed over the delicate skin at your pulse point. His rhythm was faltering, hips jerking a bit too roughly, sliding across that spongy part inside you with a delicious friction. A sharp sound ripped from his throat when you dragged your fingers down his slick nape.

He drew back on his haunches to look at your face. His eyes were wild. Lost as he was to the pleasure he chased in your body, he seemed less concerned with playing human. Sparks of magic glanced off his eyes, so brief they could have been mistaken for tricks of the light, and the smell of ozone settled heavy over the room. The lamp at his bedside flickered, casting long shadows across his handsome face. The coil and snap of his muscles as he drew back and thrust forward betrayed an otherworldly strength, each one punctuated by a rattle of books or trinkets as random bursts of seidr swept them to the floor.

He groaned through gritted teeth. Filthy words - not English, but some other language, too old for any human to know, made of lilting consonants and twisting vowels - tumbled from his mouth. He spoke mostly to himself, pressing each word into your knuckles as he continued to kiss your hand. Your eyes squeezed shut, overwhelmed, as a familiar thread began to wind in your belly, a bobbin twisting impossibly tight, threatening to snap. His strange language tilted upwards at the end of a sentence - a question? - and you nodded, delirious, in response. A pleased hum reverberated through his chest. In English, he sighed: “Good girl.”

Your legs clenched involuntarily around his hips. Your fingers dug into the meat of his bicep as you hurtled toward oblivion. You focused on the sharp sound of his breathing, your only tether to reality, and mewled his name

He finally let go of your hand to take your chin between his thumb and pointer finger. He tipped your face to look up at him; his eyes focused on your face with a singular kind of rapt attention. He cooed, “ Darling. Little mortal. Look at me and come.”

And then, for a brief, incandescent moment - relief. The thread snapped, and your orgasm washed over you. Your ankles hooked behind his back, pulling him impossibly close. Warmth radiated through your body in soothing waves.

He said something in that lilting language of his. You dragged your fingers down his chest before sinking them into his hip, urging him on. Both of his hands curled around your waist, tipping your hips up to get a better angle while his hips jerked sloppily against you. He groaned above you, caught somewhere between pleasure and insanity.

Abruptly, he pulled out and sat back on his calves. His cock slapped against his belly with the movement. Your left hand - the one he had so lewdly kissed - reached out and closed around him. His hand came down and dwarfed yours, moving your hand how he wanted over his slick cock. His chest heaved, and his head tipped back on his shoulders when you tightened your grip infinitesimally.

He groaned your name as he came. Thick, hot ropes splattered across your lower belly. His eyes were screwed tight in ecstasy, mouth parted and slack, while a wounded sound clawed its way from his chest, broken up by a string of curses.

When his eyes finally blinked open, the first thing they sought was you. He watched you catch your breath through his sweat-soaked hair. You were surely a vision, with your limbs draped inelegantly over the duvet and his cum cooling on your stomach, but you found it hard to care when his eyes raked over you so hungrily - like he was committing you to memory. He twined his fingers through yours and brought your hand, still sticky with his release, to his mouth and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. Then to your wrist. Then to your inner elbow.

He bent over your body, bracketing your head between his forearms, and kissed you with a syrupy laziness that made you melt into the mattress. He licked at the seam of your lips before sliding his tongue along yours with a sticky, wet sound.

Sated, he curled up at your side like a cat - and began to purr like one, too. A pleased sound rumbled through his chest, broken by an occasional word in his strange language. His knee brushed your naked thigh while his hand drew a lazy pattern over your hip bone. You let your eyes slip shut for a moment, then sighed heavily.

“Loki,” you stage-whispered. He groaned and burrowed his face into his pillow. “I have to clean myself up.”

With the flick of his wrist, the master bathroom door swung open. A dry washcloth zipped through the air into his waiting hand, which he swept over your stomach and hand almost petulantly. “Done. Now be quiet, mortal.”

“Loki,” you whined. One of his eyes cracked open, fixing you with a glare. You pushed yourself up to a sitting position and didn’t miss how his eyes tracked the movement of your breasts.

“Fine,” he growled, burrowing himself more comfortably into the sheets. “Don’t take too long.”

You padded over to the bathroom on shaky legs. You busied yourself with wetting another cloth and wiping yourself off a bit more thoroughly, then washed your hands and splashed some cold water over your cheeks. A thrill swooped through your belly at the thought of Loki sprawled across the bed on the other side of the door.

You exited to find that the room in disarray. You hadn’t been paying attention when you got up, but now you could see the full extent of your tryst. Both of your clothes were in a heap by the foot of the bed. An entire shelf had been upended, hanging precariously from one anchor. Books and other shiny trinkets were scattered across the carpet and the lampshade was crooked on its frame. The blanket pooled on the floor, pulled halfway off the mattress.

At the centre of the chaos, Loki watched you through slitted eyes with his head pillowed on his forearm, a preternatural stillness warning you of his mounting displeasure. Dread settled in your stomach like a stone, chilling you to the bone, and a once-comfortable silence was twisting into something taut with tension.

“I trust I was satisfactory?” He intoned. “Got your mind off of whatever it is you mortals worry about for a little bit?”

Your eyebrows drew together. You shuffled across the room to pick at the pile of clothes at the foot of his bed. You pulled your dress over your head but didn’t bother to put anything else on, opting to awkwardly fold your underwear and bra up in one hand while cradling your shoes in the other.

“Sure.” You fiddled with one of your bra straps, smoothing it flat between your fingers. “Was I… satisfactory ?”

He tsked. You heard the blankets rustle as he rearranged himself on his bed, but he said nothing else.

A cold bolt of pain ripped through your chest. You scanned the room desperately for your bag - had you come in with it? You thought you might have dropped it at the door when the two of you arrived. “Right. Ok then. Thanks.”

He hummed.

You gave up on your bag - you would find it tomorrow, or next week, or never - you just had to get out of the room as quickly as possible before you started to cry. You thought back to the cold tone he’d used when referring to the barista who gave him her number earlier that day. I’m clearly not interested. How silly, to assume that Loki’s interest extended further than a night of worship to preen under.

You had really thought…

You cast one last glance at Loki, tamping down the agony that was clawing its way up your throat. Even in his cruelty, he was a vision; his pale skin was a compliment to the dark sheets, his black hair unruly, curling with sweat, fanned out across his forehead. His narrowed eyes followed you the entire way to the door.

Just before you could leave, his voice sliced through the silence. “He’s pathetic, by the way.”

You stopped halfway across the threshold. “Who is?”

Loki’s sneer was audible. “Your guy. ”

“What are you talking about, Loki?”

“The guy. The one you fucked me to forget about.”

You turned and stared at a point over Loki’s shoulder, your mind whirring. Indignation roiled hot in your chest. “Why do you think there’s another guy?”

“I came by, earlier. To pick you up - because I’m a gentleman - and you told Romanoff that you wanted to get over some… guy. To find someone you didn’t care about to have some fun with to get him off your mind. And she recommended-” He drew in a sharp breath and scrubbed a hand down his face. “And then… And then you went and found me.”

“You were listening to us?”

His eyes opened to slits to glare at you. “That should hardly surprise you at this point.”

Your mouth pressed into a thin line. “Touche.”

“It wasn’t that red-haired boy, was it? Because he could hardly look you in the eyes.”

“No, it wasn’t him.”

“I don’t know if that’s better. Anyone worthy of you should have been glued to your side all night. They should be courting you! Not,” Loki waved his hand vaguely between the two of you, “letting you go off with some washed-up, would-be villain.”

“Right. Courting me” He was a god, sure, but you were starting to wonder if you might be able to get one good hit in before he had you pinned against the wall. “Why does it matter to you, anyway? You got what you wanted, didn’t you? My undivided attention? One night of worship to boost your ego?”

His eyes slammed shut; his expression seemed to fold in on itself, anger imploding into raw grief. “Leave.”

You scoffed. “No, really, Loki. What would you suggest? How would you ‘court’ me?”

Loki’s voice rose an octave, livid. “What do you mean ‘how would I court you’?”

You wracked your memory, searching for the clue that would make this conversation make sense. “What would our notorious flirt, Loki Laufeyson, Mr. Clearly Not Interested, suggest?”

“I don’t have to speak in hypotheticals,” Loki snapped. “I have been courting you!”

You blinked. “What?”

“I have been perfectly clear with my affections for you.” Loki sat up. It should have been ridiculous, arguing fully clothed while he was naked, but the urgency that burned through your veins washed any humor from the room. “ The gifts? The excuses to spend time with you? The - I have been trying to woo you for weeks! And it drives me mad because I was a prince once, I could have given you anything you desired, in any realm, on any planet. I could have made you want me.”

“You flirt with everyone.”

“I gave you my knife,” he argued. “I’m- I’m purring. Can any man say the same? And all it got me was, what, a pity fuck? A romp while you wait for some idiot mortal like him to get his head on straight just long enough to take you on some silly, stupid, completely banal date? What does he have that I can’t give to you? What about me is so vile that you can’t even fathom wanting me?” His eyes shone. “Why did you have to choose me tonight?”

“Because I like you.”

“Yes, fine, you like me,” he sneered. “Your desperate pet. You could pat me on the head after a job well done and move on with your life. I’m supposed to just be happy that you like me when I think about the sound of my name in your mouth every waking moment of every day. I’ll just have to carry on living through the mundane torture of sitting next to you on that blasted couch and not being able to touch you. Truly pathetic. And weak. Piteous Loki, who has to live with the knowledge of what you sound like. What you taste like. While he-”

“Loki,” you crossed the room and knelt on the edge of his bed. “I like you .”

“You want to know how I would court you? If we were back on Asgard and I had any shred of reputation to my name I could have- I could have invited you to one of my mother’s silly parties and only danced with you. I could have taken you on walks through the gardens. I could have lavished you with stars and swords. I would have given you my signet ring.” He continued morosely, “and you would have… would have worn it on your thumb, if you had accepted it. If you had accepted me. It would have been the height of gossip, that silly, simple ring.”

His eyes found yours. An expression you’d seen a hundred times in the field crossed his face, calculating every possible outcome. He cradled your face in one hand and wound the other around your waist, crushing you to his front with that same inhuman strength you’d felt earlier. You pushed against his chest and tilted your face away; at the last second his mouth collided with the corner of yours. An angry sound hissed between his teeth as he maneuvered your face to look straight.

“I could have made you want me. Offered you a crown. I could have laid entire bloodlines at your feet.” His eyes had settled heavily on your lips, on the slight shine left behind by his mouth. True, raw anguish crackled behind every other word. “Just let me be good for you, please. Let me sleep at the foot of your bed. You might even learn to love me one day, and I will spend every waking moment of my life trying to be worthy of it.”

You didn’t respond right away, your mind stuttering to a conclusion as you pieced together what he was saying. You glanced around the room, at the tiny details you missed when he first reeled you in. To the stack of books you had traded him last week, dutifully dogeared. To the glittery trinkets he loved to collect when he was out in the field, many of which would inevitably end up in a dish on your bedside table. To the sparkling green dress on your shoulders, picked out so he might take notice, that matched the tie you helped him choose.

To the set of ornate knives on his dresser, tucked away in their leather roll, save for one which slept on your bathroom counter.

Your hands slid up his shoulders. His eyes squeezed shut when your palm pressed against his cheek and a great, shuddering breath wracked his lithe frame. You had been so sure that it was all a game, that he’d known all along how you felt for him and was reveling in the attention.

It never occurred to you that he might have been trying to garner it in the first place.

“Loki… You’re the guy. The one I was trying to get over.”

His body went still. Still like stone. Still like a cloudless sky. His lower lip trembled slightly before his eyes opened.

“Please,” his voice was hoarse. He seemed to be drawing from a well of grief only someone who had seen the birth and death of stars could fathom. “I know I don’t deserve it, but be kind to me.”

You shook your head, drawing your thumb back and forth over his cheekbone. “I really didn’t know. I thought it was all a game for you.”

He scoffed. “Even Stark noticed. He’s spent the past three weeks calling you my master. Asking me when I was going to get down on my knees and bark.”

You fell into an uneasy silence. You ran your other thumb over the ring on his left hand. It was comparatively quite plain - just a simple gold band with a round plate on top, engraved with some foreign sigil you didn’t recognize. Even still, the weight of his words - the intentionality behind the gesture - was worth more than any precious stone in the universe.

“I deserve it. To not have you. To suffer through watching you love another.” Loki blinked up at you through tears. “Oh, but I don’t want to. I’m selfish, I’m sorry.”

A watery laugh bubbled up in your chest. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize it sooner. I really did think this whole time that you just liked having me fawn over you.”

A long silence unfolded between the two of you. You met Loki’s stare and tried hard not to wilt under it.

“We really are fools, aren’t we?” He said.

You pulled his hand up to your mouth and kissed his signet ring. “It sounds lovely. Our theoretical life on Asgard, I mean.”

“I would wear my hair braided until we were married,” he supplied. “And we would eat breakfast together, and sneak into the library every chance we got because propriety would demand I only ever kiss your hand in public.”

“I’m sure that would get the gossip mill going.”

A smile curled his mouth at the corners. “Courtiers would only have to look at me for a heartbeat to know how lost I was for you. I was already the dread of the Asgardian gossip columns; they would have loved nothing more than to poke fun at the besotted second-born and his public displays of affection.”

Silence settled over the two of you. You drew a meandering line from his jaw to his elbow and then back. His eyes fixed on your sternum, though his mind seemed lost in thought. His hands idly toyed with the zipper pull at the small of your back.

“Do you mean it?” He whispered.

“Will you get me a manticore?”

A wolfish grin spread slowly across his face. His hands found the hem of your dress and began sliding it up your back. “Anything. Name it.”

You lifted your arms so he could pull it over your head. You heard it land with a soft thump in some corner of the room. His mouth pressed against the top of one breast, though he could hardly drop the grin long enough to properly kiss you.

Your fingers threaded through the damp curls at the base of his skull. You could barely contain your own smile; though you were sure it was still raining outside, your skin was warm and electrified, as if awash by the midday sun.

“Good thing I look amazing in green.”

And gold, you discovered. Especially when it was on your left thumb. Especially when it caught the light as your Prince took your hand in his.

Especially, years later, when you had a gold band to match it…. And so did he.

#Loki #Loki fanfic #nyx talks :)

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nyxlaufeyson · 20 days

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Thanks for the reblog! I’m really glad you’re liking it so far!!!

(Pandora's Box) Chapter 1- Welcome to Paridise

Main Masterlist - Pandora's Box Masterlist

A/N: And so it begins. First longer, planned-out fic I've posted so far.

I would like to start this fic out by saying that the average lifespan for Asgardians and Vanir is around 5,000 years old. That being said, when I mention ages in this chapter, and in future chapters, there will be a Midguardian translation of ages. Ex: 100 years old (~2 Midguardian Years)

VOCAB: Veslingr (n)- A puny wetch

Chapter Starts Out In 912 A.D.

Pained cries filled the infirmary as the healers helped the distressed woman who lay on the cot, her husband nearby. After a few more minutes, the woman's screams died down as a new cry filled the room.

A nurse quickly picked up the child, drying her off and wrapping her in silk sheets. The nurse handed the child to the woman, who looked at the small girl as she curled her tiny fingers. The man next to her looked over her shoulder at the child in awe.

The couple had been trying for a child for several years, and they had begun to believe that something was wrong. But, finally, here they were, with a healthy baby in their arms.

The newborn was beautiful, a true gift indeed. The top of her head was laced with black hair, and her eyes were a gorgeous, dark shade of gray that stood out against the white silk she was swaddled in.

After letting the couple goggle over their creation for a few minutes, the nurse carefully took hold of the baby. "What would you like to name her?" She asked, looking at the couple.

The woman looked up at her husband, grabbing onto his hand and looking back at the baby the nurse now held. "Pandora." The woman said, confident lining her voice. The couple had decided beforehand that a baby was the best gift they could ever receive, therefore the name was more than fitting.

The nurse nodded and took the baby to another room to clean and clothe.

~~~~~

Eventually, that newborn grew up into a child, a very energetic one at that. Her parents struggled getting the girl to bed every night, forcing her to come inside from playing in the fields after dark.

The girl didn't get along quite well with the other children, but the parents figured she would eventually find her group and socialize.

One day, when Pandora was 400 (~8 Midgardian Years), Pandora told her parents something strange. Pandora talked about these magical strings that she could see sometimes. Her parents disregarded it, crediting Pandora's imaginative nature.

As the years went on, however, the girl's parents started to find weird things centering Pandora, things they couldn't just excuse as imagination.

For example, one time when she was around five hundred years old (~10 Midgardian Years), Pandora begged her parents for a sweet treat before supper. Her mother said no, since she was already cooking the meal.

Pandora threw a fit and went to her room sulking. When her mother went to get Pandora for dinner, she discovered Pandora in her bed, stuffing her mouth with a cookie.

But Pandora's mother had been in the cookroom, the sweets locked away on the countertop. She figured that Pandora must have snuck something into her room at a different time, so she disregarded it and simply scolded Pandora.

Then there were the nightmares. Ever since Pandora had mentioned the mysterious strings she saw, she started developing these nightmares.

Her parents would wake to her screaming in the middle of the night. They would run to her room, checking to see if anything was wrong.

Her mother would always wake her up, and Pandora would burst into tears. Pandora always had similar night terrors, ones where she was trapped in a cold, dark place with figures haunting her.

Her parents would comfort her, her dad telling her they were nothing but nightmares, nothing to worry about. That she was safe, safe with them, and Pandora would hesitantly go back to sleep.

These little things began to build up, and Pandora began to be more of a burden on the couple than a gift. They would still care for her, of course, but without realizing it, the couple began to distance themselves from their daughter.

Her dad began to bury himself in his work, as he was a close advisor to king Njord of Vanahiem. Her mother would start to go out more, to socialize with the other ladies of Vanahiem.

Sometimes, the women would gossip about Pandora. About how much of a burden she must be to her parents. Her mother dismissed the gossip, saying Pandora had her moments, but overall was a lovely child.

With her parents distancing themselves, Pandora became more independent. She focused on her studies and kept her head down in public. As she aged, she realized that it was better to keep to herself.

She did try to explain the weird weaves she could see in the air, but her parents shook their heads and scolded her for being so childlike.

Of course, magic existed in Vanaheim. Galdr was one of the more common types of magic, and was the predominant kind of magic in Vanaheim and the rest of the realms, along with runic magic.

There was another type of magic that few people practiced, seiðr. Seiðr was said to be a myth by some, but there were a few notable people that possessed this magic.

Freya, the king's daughter, was one of the first to practice this magic. However, when her head was turned, the people would call her a witch, a crude term relating to magic in Vanaheim.

The other few who claimed to practice seiðr were other high-ranking officials of the realms, all men. Women possessing magic was generally frowned upon, despite the king's daughter being one of the most powerful beings in the realms.

However, Pandora's parents ignored this, convincing themselves that everything was normal. Pandora was a normal girl who simply had her quirks.

On a royal holiday, when Pandora was 700 (~14 Midgardian Years), a huge festival was thrown in the palace capital. Pandora was forced into going by her parents, having to wear an itchy dress to be more 'ladylike.'

When they got there, Pandora lost her parents in the crowd of people. She made her way to a stand that smelled like Valhalla, finding sweet, buttery rolls. She grabbed one without thinking, stuffing it into her mouth.

"Hey!" The man behind the stand shouted, and Pandora looked up at the man. "You gotta pay for that ye' little brat!" He spat, grabbing the bitten roll from Pandora. "Sorry! I've lost sight of my parents, but I'm sure they can pay, let me go get them real quick-" As Pandora began to slip away, the man grabbed her wrist.

"I'm not falling for that, veslingr!" The man growled, his grip on Pandora tightening, and her eyes widened in fear.

In a split second, the man was on the ground, blood trickling out of his blank eyes. Screams filled the air as Pandora looked at the man before her, horrified.

Questions swarmed her mind as palace guards ran around her, addressing the public panic. One of the guards nudged the man's body with his foot, but the body just flopped back, lifeless.

"Did you do this?" He asked, and Pandora took a second before choking out an answer. "I- I don't know." The guards looked at her, confused, and one of them took her arm and muttered orders to the rest.

"I haven't seen anything like this. We should go to the king." At that moment, Pandora's parents ran up, horrified at the sight before them. "What are you doing with my daughter?" Her dad asked, glaring at the guard.

"We need to take her into the palace for investigation. Assuming your parents, if you follow those two guards over there," A guard said pointing, "You will be escorted to where we will get you information as soon as we have it."

Her mother scoffed. "You can't be suggesting she had something to do with..." Her mother said, eyeing the body as a cloth was draped over it. "...with that ? She's only a child!"

"My lady, we must take everything into consideration. Even if she has nothing to do with it, she was closest to the man when he collapsed." Pandora's parents, after realizing they couldn't argue their way out of this, looked at Pandora for a minute, before turning away and following the two guards that had been pointed out.

Pandora was brought to the palace, and eventually made it in front of the king, Njord, who had been briefed of the situation.

He looked at Pandora, who kept her head down, frightened. "So, Pandora, is it? What happened?" He asked, and Pandora slowly lifted her head up.

"I'm not sure. The man grabbed my arm, and the next thing you know, he was on the ground bleeding. I didn't see anything other than that." Pandora said, deliberately avoiding the part where she took the bread.

"I see." Njord said, scratching his beard and turning to his guards. "What did the people who saw it say?" One of the guards in charge stepped up. "Witnesses state they saw the girl steal a roll, and the vendor got angry and grabbed her arm, and then he was on the ground. One witness said they saw the girl's eyes flash as the man fell."

Pandora fought the urge to speak as she saw her parents glare at her. She wasn't exactly trying to steal the roll, she just forgot she didn't have any money on her. But, there was no use in trying to explain that now.

"I see." Njord said, standing up and walking towards Pandora and stopping in front of her. She flinched as he grabbed her arm, flipping it over. He looked back at Pandora's parents.

"Does she possess any magic that you know of?" Njord asked, and Pandora's mother shook her head. "No, my lord, she does not."

Njord turned back to Pandora, closing his eyes and muttering a few words that Pandora couldn't comprehend. As he said these words, Pandora felt something in her twist, and this frightened her.

Pandora closed her eyes, trying to get rid of the feeling. As her eyes were closed, she heard several gasps and cries. When she opened her eyes, she saw the king had been knocked to the ground.

Guards grabbed hold of Pandora as people rushed up to the king. He was fine, not suffering the fate of the man in the festival.

"Witch!" Some of the guards said as one of them slapped something on her wrist. Pandora looked to her parents for help, but they just stared at her, shocked and disgusted.

The guards dragged Pandora away to a room secluded by magic, throwing her into the middle. Pandora scattered on her knees, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "Please, there must be some sort of mistake!" She cried, but the guards ignored her and closed the door.

~~~~~

After some time had passed, guards came and grabbed Pandora again, dragging her through the palace halls. Pandora was tired, and did little to protest. She was scared, not sure of what was happening.

They walked her out onto a field, and one of the guards shouted into the sky. "Heimdall!" Bright colors surrounded Pandora and the surrounding guards, and she felt her feet pick up. She was now glad that the guard was holding onto her, scared of becoming lost in the mixed colors.

Pandora finally felt solid ground again, relieved momentarily. When her eyes opened, she was in a gold dome that she recognized from one of her books. She was in the Bifrost.

Her eyes widened as she saw the Allfather standing in the dome as well. One of the guards went to talk to Heimdall, whose eyebrows raised at what he heard.

"Allfather, I don't think this is a good idea, she's just a girl." Heimdall said, confusing Pandora further. "She killed a man and assaulted the King of Vanaheim, all while not being sure how she did it. She's dangerous." A guard said, and Pandora just stood there, unsure of what to do.

"She can learn how to control it. After all, that is what Princess Freya was able to do." Heimdal reasoned, when Odin finally spoke up. "She has shown more evidence of seiðr than Freya has. Keeping her here would endanger all of the nine realms."

"But my lord-" Heimdall protested, but Odin raised his hand to stop him. "It must be done." With that, Heimdall sighed and stepped over to his sword and nodded. Pandora, still unsure of what was happening, was thrown over to stand in front of Heimdall, who looked at her solemnly.

"What's going on?" She asked, voice cracking. "Pandora Hallsdottir, you have committed crimes against the nine realms and are a danger to society." Odin said, and Pandora shook her head. "This is insane-" She tried, but before she could finish her sentence, the bright colors surrounded her once again.

She closed her eyes in an attempt to stop the lights, and within the minute she felt her entire body hit the cold, hard ground. She slowly opened her eyes, attempting to pull herself up off of the ground.

As she managed to stand up, she took in her surroundings. She was surrounded by dark skies and a black, rocky terrarian. She swore she heard whispering in her ear, but she shook her head.

Surely this was all a dream. She would wake up, back in her bed at home, safe and sound. But when she opened her eyes again, she was still there. She took a deep breath, trying her best to not break down.

"Hello my dear." A feminine voice said from behind Pandora, causing her to feel her own heartbeat. "Welcome to paradise."

#opening pandoras box #loki

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