|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
A Day On The Throne (Loki/Reader)Note: For the full experience, please use some form of word/writing program to find/replace the following insets with your own personal data.
e/c = Eye Color
h/c = Hair Color
h/l = Hair Length/description (wavy, shaggy, soft)
y/n = Your Name
y/t = Boy, Girl, or Pup/Kitty/Pet/Slave
It is a good day when Loki smiles. They are rare days now, problems having arisen in the outer realms, but they are good days in any account. And it is an even better day when you see those smiles, how his lips pull and curl upwards on his face, how his green eyes glisten with that mysterious amusement that you had grown so much so love. Those are normally the days when he allows you more freedom. Though for the most part you are always kept in his grasp and close by with your metal leash still connected to your small collar (Loki had gotten you a new one just last week; it's so nice and snug around your neck), you might find on the occasional instance that he will lean down from his place at the throne and g
Blessings From Sins: The Return Ch 4Chapter 4
Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort
Loki is pregnant, coming back as an exile in chains from the final events from the Avengers movie. Nobody seems to know about his ongoing pregnancy, nor the father of the child. Loki doesn't know how to handle it, from bearing the child, to his constant thoughts that he will be killed, surely, for the crimes he had committed.
But what is he to do when he's welcomed back home with open arms? What if, although still at fault for the horrors he had done in childish vengeance, his old friends, his family, still missed him so incredibly? Would Loki have the growing courage to speak of the unborn child? And, above all else, would he manage to fix the broken bond and heart he once had with not only Thor, but with himself?
The sun feels almost foreign on the pale skin, what little there is to fall upon. Loki is covered up with his seeming normal garb. His long black jacket curls down the
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
if you need help making it through the dayremember:
Keep in Touch!