Loki woke in a panic. The room was blanketed in shadows, a blue tint from the early morning sky. It was their room, everything was in place, everything was alright. His heart hammered against his chest all the same.
A dry swallow, a deep inhale, eye closed— everything was alright.
Sometimes the nightmares faded the moment he woke; other times, they stuck around in the back of his head for days. Memories of lives he lived— they lived— resurfacing in his subconscious. Terrible reminders of the things he had done, and that they had done to each other.
He rolled over, taking the down comforter with him. Thor was sleeping soundly, never burdened with the past. The overcast from the window made him look softer. Loki settled into his pillow and reached out to lightly run his fingers along the soft skin of Thor’s chest.
The glint of his silver wedding band caught his eye, and Loki’s lips broke out into a smile, which was then hidden when he buried his face into the bulk of Thor’s arm. Regardless of the ghosts, at that moment, Loki knew only happiness.
On their wedding day, a teary-eyed Thor hand stood before him and called him his soulmate. Of course, he hadn’t understood the gravity of his chosen words— it still gave Loki hope to think that in this lifetime, Thor felt it too.
He let his fingers trail upwards, brushing over a nipple, which had Thor’s face pinching into a frown. Loki smiled, devilish. He leaned over his husband’s sleeping body to give the bud a wet kiss, blowing on it softly until it stood erect. Thor stirred beneath him, and when he opened his eyes and looked down— blinking in confusion— Loki darted his tongue out to give it a quick, devious lick.
“Good morning,” Thor said with a sleepy smile, voice groggy with sleep.
Loki hummed under his breath, leaning up on his arms and draping himself over Thor’s torso. “A very good morning,” he whispered and leaned down to press a kiss to chapped lips. Thor kissed back, despite his morning breath.
They broke apart with the blaring of an early morning alarm. Thor groaned, and Loki rolled his eyes— he would throw that stupid clock away if he could, instead he reached over and pushed it off.
“C’mon, I have to shower.”
Loki didn’t budge, only sat up enough to take Thor’s face into both of his hands. He didn’t look annoyed, but amused, smiling up at Loki like he was the sun.
“Let’s stay like this,” Loki whispered, kissing his forehead sweetly. “Please, just a little while longer.”
Tag: fic rec; 100 lifetimes
1OO lifetimes — O3. vampire
1973
“Is it almost ready?”
Loki threw his head back and laughed, too dramatic to be sincere. He sat the wooden spoon to the side, the end covered in a thick, red sauce. Strong arms snaked around his waist, a cold nose nudging into the crook of his neck. He couldn’t help but lean back into the comforting weight behind him. It felt like home.
“What does it matter to you?”
Thor didn’t eat— not food, at least, as Loki knew it. His appetites were much darker, ravenous. He could already feel his pulse quicken, his heart working faster in anticipation for Thor’s true meal. Thor could feel it too, it was evident by the small growl he let out as he pressed kisses into the long line of Loki’s neck.
“Because,” Thor said lightly, punctuating himself with a tiny nip to the sensitive flesh of his throat. It had Loki arching back, a whine falling from his lips, breathless.“The sooner you eat, the sooner I can.”
Loki suddenly didn’t care much about the pasta boiling over on the stove. Thor’s meals always promised to be euphoric, no matter if he had to wear that stupid ascot for a week after.
He clicked off the gas stove and turned into the embrace. There was something otherworldly twinkling in Thor’s blue eyes—he didn’t need to glamor, Loki was his.
Loki was always his.
1OO lifetimes — O1. canon
This time, he was his brother.
A golden, radiant boy on the cusp of manhood— arrogant and selfless, all in one. Loki knew his flaws, knew him inside and out. He had seen him be a good king, he had seen him be a bad king, and he’d seen him be no king at all.
For all that he loved him, he knew Thor wasn’t ready to be crowned.
Loki watched from a distance, tucked away along the palace wall, a goblet of sweet wine in hand. His brother leaned his head back, barked out a laugh, slapped his hand down hard on the table so that the plates rattled. Surrounded by friends, he was drunk— as he often was during the great feasts.
He wasn’t like Loki, he didn’t pace himself.
But, Loki, he’d been refining his patience for eons— he licked the bittersweet from his lips and across the room, Thor caught his eye— and he was good at it.
themusechronicles 