Inspired by Hozier's song of the same title!
Happy New Year!!!
NOTE: EDITING!
.
.
.
.
Sakaar... is something.
That much you'll say in a vaguely positive tone.
It is utter chaos— its inhabitants, its atmosphere, the decorations of the buildings. Hell, even its godsdamned leader is a maniac. You have no idea how you stomached the planet for nearly three months. Perhaps, it was utter spite to say 'fuck you' to the world that treated you so harshly. Or maybe, you're just one of the luckier ones in this godsforsaken universe.
The Grandmaster— he calls himself— is the 'leader' of Sakaar. Well, he doesn't do much leading, more of hosting gladiator-esque battles to hoard bets and entertain the masses. You don't even know if he's imposed any laws among his people. It's a mere gamble to do whatever the hell you want, in the hopes that it passes his standards.
He initially wanted to put you in the ring to fight his champion, but thought you had more use than just one moment of crude entertainment. With how you intimately know the shadows like they were your friends, he knew you would be quite the formidable mercenary.
You really didn't have a choice to decline the Grandmaster's offer. It was either that or fight in the arena and die a painful death. Maybe, if the Grandmaster was feeling a bit more merciful that day, he'd starve you in one of his prisons, lock you in a cell with only gods' know what kind of creature.
It wasn't exactly a horrible job, you're sure you've done something worse in your past. Well, the little flashes of what you can remember at least. Often filled with blood and screams and misery. You don't know if the blood, screams, and misery were your own or from victims.
You don't have the guts to find that out for yourself.
What you do have the guts for, is finding, capturing, and delivering creatures the Grandmaster commands you to.
These humanoid creatures often have similar characteristics. Namely, if they can fight and if they look dispensable. It wasn't a hard criteria to meet really. But, you were wise enough to kidnap some of the more capable ones because if they won a bracket in the tournament, you'd earn a cut from the proceeds.
Something about man bowing to greed, or anything along those lines definitely speak to you.
Today though, the Grandmaster gives you a different instruction.
He beckons you over his ornate and tacky looking throne, pointing at the screen in front of him.
"Loki of Asgard," he announces with his usual flair. "Could you capture him for me— don't look at me like that— I actually want him to be part of my court and not to fight in the arena with those hooligans."
You stood before the Grandmaster with crossed arms and an arched brow.
"What?" He replies, growing more and more exasperated with your silence. "I'm being serious here. Now, go on. Shoo! Get me Mr. Golden Horns!"
You simply nod at him, a sly smirk forming on your face. "I'll do it, of course," you say before turning on your heels. "But, if he comes at you all hostile and angry, don't call for me to help. That's not part of my job description!"
The Grandmaster doesn't retaliate verbally, but you know he's mocking you soundlessly behind your back. You don't mind it at this point. If he makes fun of you jokingly instead of threatening you, then you're all the more comfortable with the rapport you've built with him.
You set off the very next day to find Loki somewhere on this godsforsaken dump of a planet. Sakaar wasn't entirely the universe's dumpster. Of course, there were parts near the capital where taverns, bars, and inns were easily accessible. Even apartment buildings and local shops can be found not too far from the Grandmaster's tower.
So, if Loki were at least a tad sensible, he would be seeking out hotspots of civilization.
You just hoped he wouldn't get the bright idea of exploring a brothel. You grimace at the thought of entering one again. The first time you entered one was for a mission, and the grotesque erotic imagery of alien bodies doing the nasty are burned at the back of your mind. You weren't looking forward to a second time, if the situation calls for it.
Just to test the waters, you travel to a well-known tavern at the edge of the capital. Taverns like the one you're currently in, set at the outskirts of the city harbor more lost folk than locals. So, it proved to be a useful starting point for your missions.
A quick high-pitched sonic beep sounded upon your entrance, immediately announcing your presence in the tavern. Curious heads turned, in your direction. You silently took note of those that particularly paid you wary attention. They would be the lost folk this tavern caters to, while those who kept to their own would most probably be locals.
You sat yourself by the bar to get a clear view of anybody leaving or entering. A humanoid man was sat next to you, more bones than meat, with straw-like shoulder length blonde hair that was swept to one side, a decorative shave on the other.
He looked young, concerningly so, probably a runaway by the looks of it. Best not to tell on him. Some youths do run for a reason.
Something about him seems... off though. By the way his jaw twitches and the way his eyes become all shifty when you sit beside him, it seems that this man is totally bothered by your presence and more.
Loki was a master at disguising himself using his magic, that much you know from the information you asked the Grandmaster to give you. So, it wouldn't be a far reach to suspect this frail man in front of you to be your target in disguise.
He stinks of magic too.
You would know, of course. You had the ability to manipulate shadows, after all. Magic isn't entirely foreign to you.
"Hey, kid," you turn at the young man beside you. He only cowers in response. "You're old enough to be here, yeah?"
The young man nods, his body language all jittery and uncertain. "Just about, yeah." He answers in a small voice. You would've been concerned if you weren't suspecting him to be Loki.
"Good," you reply, taking down a shot of questionable liquor. "Because I'd hate to call the authorities on you."
The young man's eyes widen with fear, sorry purplish irises brimming with worry.
You arch a doubtful brow at him. The Grandmaster doesn't care enough to send 'authorities' down at the outskirts. If he were a local, he'd know that.
"Please, don't." He pleaded, his hand clutching the mug of ale in front of him so tightly you swore he would break his fingers.
"Why? Are you hiding from someone?"
The young man weakly nodded, his grip on his mug loosening by a tiny bit. "Yeah, my da."
You purse your lips. "So," you preface. "I hope you're aware that there aren't any actual authorities out here, right?"
You could practically see him scramble his brain for a response. "I- I- yeah, I know. But, you might go into the city and—"
"You're of age too," you continue, not minding his words. "If you were suddenly incarcerated, your parents wouldn't even be called."
You absentmindedly crack your knuckles as if preparing for something. "Either, you're one ignorant lying child or my target."
The young man's eyes nervously meets yours. "Target?"
You narrow yours in response. "Who are you?"
"Z-Zakari from—"
A taunting smile begins to creep its way to your face. It's terrifying as your eyes begin to look empty and drained of all life. The shadows around you begin dancing to your own tune. Like a conductor leading its orchestra.
"Who are you?" You ask again.
Then, you see it.
A cloaked figure just sitting one table away from the entrance. The person's hand glows a faint green as they hold their mug of ale.
"Gotcha, motuerfucker." You hissed under your breath. The stool beneath you creaked loudly as you marched towards the cloaked figure.
You sat in front of them, a demanding presence about you, but not once did they glance up at you.
"Hey." You waved a hand in front of— what you presumed was— their face, but got no reaction whatsoever. "I'm talking to you, buddy." You demanded, snapping a finger in front of them.
Still, no reaction.
With anger and frustration bubbling unseemly within you, you can't help but grab at the person's hood. Etiquette be damned. This was Sakaar.
"Hey!" You yell angrily. As your hand made contact with their cloak, the figure dissipated into the shadows you so talentedly command.
You blink furiously. "I- what?" You look around, completely confused, and see that the nervous young man you were speaking to had been replaced by the very same cloaked figure you were trying to speak to.
Still, they gripped a mug of ale in their glowing hands.
By now, you've garnered the attention of some of the patrons in the tavern. Their curious eyes watched your exchange with the cloaked figure rather eagerly.
"Listen, I just wanna talk." You raise your hands in surrender, showing your definitely-not-armed person.
The cloaked figure's head moved in a way so that you could only see their mouth form a confident smirk. The figure dissipated right before your eyes with only a path of green smoke leaving in its place.
The curious onlookers who watched gasped, their eyes fixated on someone or something behind you. You shook off your confusion for a second to spare a glance beyond your shoulder.
It was him.
It was definitely him.
"You want to talk?" Loki speaks, his head tilting in curiosity. "Talk." He stood confidently before you, his hands shoved casually into his pockets.
Your face sours at his tone. "Right here? Where everyone can hear?"
Loki shrugs, a petulant air about him.
"Alright. Fine," you spat. "I'm here to deliver you to the Grandmaster."
Loki scoffs, and as he does so, he absentmindedly waves his hand in disbelief, causing half of the patrons in the tavern to dissipate into puffs of green smoke.
You try not to give him the satisfaction of looking impressed. Why would you be, anyway? It's just a cheap illusion trick.
"Deliver? Like I'm some kind of package?" Loki chuckles in reply, devoid of any actual glee. "I think not."
You smack your lips together, crossing your arms across your chest. "Gathered that," you respond dryly. "Shame, though. He wanted you to be part of his court. Something about making intergalactic connections, or whatever bullshit he was spewing at me that day."
You knew Loki's kind. The kind that craves power. The kind that yearns for a position of safety. You desperately hope that your words have painted an image in his head he couldn't resist.
A comfortable bed, safe in the Grandmaster's tower. Daily meals, cooked just the way he wanted. A warm bath at the ready for when he comes back from casual dinner parties with the rest of the Grandmaster's court.
"You're lying." Loki pointedly replied.
You quirked a single eyebrow. "You're the God of Lies. You should know when I'm actually lying. Kinda pathetic if you don't, though."
"Fine." Loki hissed. "What does he want with me exactly? Because all I want is to get off this blasted planet."
"I just told you." You shrugged casually just to annoy him even more. "He wants you to be a part of his court."
Loki's eyes narrow at you. "And, what does that entail exactly?"
You stifle a sardonic snort. "Fuck if I know, Your Highness. You're the royal one here, wouldn't you already know?"
He remains silent, his gaze at you growing deadlier as more of his patience wanes. Gods know how little patience the God of Mischief has.
"Look, if you don't wanna come, then don't. I'll just tell the Grandmaster that you died in a ditch. I won't lose anything if I don't deliver you, anyway. So, either you come with me and have a nice reprieve in the Grandmaster's tower or try to survive out here on your own. Your choice."
Loki grins, it's devilish and cunning. You feel like he knows something you don't. And that intimidates you to a certain point. No matter, you have the advantage here. You have the resources while he doesn't. He's alone and desperate to leave.
"It's working," Loki says, a dangerous tone in his voice. You tilt your head at him. "Your petty persuasion. It's working."
"Good."
-
It's been a few hectic months since 'delivering' Loki to the Grandmaster. As much as you hated the bastard, you can't help but actually be friends with him.
That's right.
You. Loki. Friends.
You can hardly believe it yourself. But, given how utterly wretched your time on Sakaar has been (even though you've been unscathed so far), you can't help but appreciate a kindred spirit.
He, unfortunately, gets you.
The two of you have the stupidest senses of humor. When you had the unfortunate circumstance of being forced by the Grandmaster to join one of his parties, you and Loki simply gravitated towards each other and proceeded to talk shit about everbody in the room— the Grandmaster included.
You and he would often send each other knowing looks when a guest would do something questionable. Then, you would find yourselves talking about it through insults and laughter with alcohol in your hands.
It was great, you begrudgingly admit. It was nice to finally have a friend after gods know how long you've been stuck on Sakaar.
"What are you doing here?" You ask the God of Mischief chilling in your living room. He had a knack for breaking in your apartment whenever he got bored in the Grandmaster's tower.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" Loki retorts, further settling himself into your couch.
"Breaking and entering."
Loki huffs petulantly. "And I thought we were friends."
You roll your eyes at him, a habit you've known intimately since befriending Loki. "Just take off your boots," you scold. "You're gonna be the one that cleans it if you don't."
Loki shrugs and does what you say, dutifully removing his boots before taking up the whole couch to lay down, a smug expression evident on his face. That was all you need to know that he was being annoying on purpose.
"Make some space for me before I make you." You demanded, hand placed squarely on your hips.
"I'm rather comfortable here already, I don't feel like moving."
You loom over him, staring directly into those mischievous eyes of his. You know he's not going to relent the petulant attitude until you yourself back down. He knows you won't back down, though. You stare down at him, tempting him to push your buttons further. But, all you get in response is that stupid smirk of his.
Fine.
You shrug and literally throw yourself over him, laying down on top of him with your full body weight. Loki lets out a surprised 'oof!' from your body practially slamming into his.
"If you're going to be annoying about this, then so will I." You mumble incoherently into his chest.
"Fine."
"Fine."
After some time stewing in petulant silence, Loki slowly begins to wrap his arms around your lower back, pulling you closer to his form.
Being on top of Loki was weiry comfortable, and it was enough to send you into a peaceful lull. His arms creeping on your lower back made you jolt slightly in his grasp.
"What are you doing?" You asked, a little surprised.
"Getting comfortable," Loki grumbles annoyingly. "Since you're being so insufferable."
You look up at him through sleepy eyes. Still, there was a defiant fire burning in your gaze. "You're an ass."
Loki's gaze is a complete juxtaposition of yours. It's tender and delicate, as if he has something so easily broken in his arms.
"Are you quite finished with your 'bit'? Because I would actually like to cuddle now, thank you."
You smirked triumphantly at him before reaching up to give the tip of his nose a chaste kiss.
Yes, indeed, you were friends.
Loosely.
"Demanding, as always." You tease, finally obliging his request. You adjusted yourself so that you were snugly squished between the back of the sofa and Loki's side as opposed to strictly being on top of him.
He kept his arms draped around your waist and lower back as you busied yourself with tracing the intricate patterns of his tunic.
Loki sighs and relaxes in your arms. The tension from every bit of muscle he has dissipates into thin air when he's with you. Sure, the Grandmaster wanted him to be a part of his court, but that doesn't mean he was truly safe nor free. He had to live up to the Grandmaster's image of him, which was proving to be harder than he initially thought.
With you, though, there are no pretenses, no illusions, no lies. He could just be. Which was why he valued the privacy of your one-bedroom apartment. He can't get that in the tower. He's not even sure he could get that in his own chambers.
Loki bends his head to place a tender kiss on your forehead. You hum appreciatively in response, feeling your entire body warm up.
"What's the agenda for tomorrow, darling?" He asks. Loki always asks you in case the Grandmaster forgot to inform him or invite him, which was a common occurrence.
"The Grandmaster is hosting another gladiator fight, and I assume you're invited?"
"I suppose," Loki replies. "Either way, he doesn't bother to shoo me away even if I wasn't."
A fond smile begins to form across your face, and you're too disarmed to stop it from spreading. "He also said that his beloved champion would be fighting at the end of the bracket."
Loki's curiosity spikes in his veins. For as long as he stayed on Sakaar, he has heard of this 'champion' left and right. Though, he has never actually seen the Grandmaster's champion.
He purses his lips in thought. "I was about to suggest an evening to ourselves since I'm already horribly bored from watching these fights," he speaks. "But since the 'Champion' is fighting, I may just have to attend."
"Same spot as always?"
"Of course."
"Then I'll be there too."
-
The cheers of the massive audience in the arena made the floor shake with excitement quite literally. Even inside the auditorium— where the Grandmaster and his favorite people watched (you included)— the goading roars of the audience was positively deafening.
The Grandmaster wanted these fights to be grand, of course. So, drinks and various food choices were served constantly and abundantly by his robotic assistants.
Loki arrives just a second after the Grandmaster gives his opening remarks. The God of Mischief saunters in the room, gliding past the robotic servants with ease. Though, he couldn't help himself to not get a flute of whatever Sakaarian equivalent of a champagne was.
He slides himself beside you on a plush velvet sofa gracefully. It's only when he leans into you that you notice his presence.
"You're late."
Loki flashes you a smirk as he settles into his seat. "Only fashionably, my darling."
Your head rests comfortably on Loki's shoulder, sighing contently once he relaxes. He takes a leisure sip of his drink and winces a second later once the crowd erupts into cheers again.
"So," Loki begins. "Have you seen this 'champion' fight?"
"Once," you answer. "It was horrific. The poor sod who fought him turned to viscera."
Loki seems to take delight in your description. A playful smile stretches across his face in response. "Perhaps the temporary hearing loss from the audience's shouts would be worth it after all. I do love a disgustingly bloody fight."
"I know you do, Loki. I know you do." You respond, your words laced with fond chuckles.
You've cursed the gods more than a few hundred times for the cards they've dealt you with. But, perhaps putting Loki in your path earns them a little thanks. For once, they didn't make your life miserable.
As you wait for the bracket of fighters to get whittled down to the— what you presumed was— best of the best, you could practically feel the anticipation emanate from Loki.
You see the Grandmaster stand in the monitor, clapping his hands in glee— both from watching absolute carnage and having his coffers full of betting watchers.
"Now," his voice echoes in the arena. "The moment you've all been waiting for! Welcome, my dear audience, my Champion!"
A section of the arena's floor splits open, the ground rumbling in the process. The crowd's cheers become louder and louder as they anticipate the appearance of their beloved Champion. A mechanical platform emerges slowly from the ground, teasing the audience.
As the platform goes higher and higher and higher, you slowly see that signature helmet the Champion uses— a classic gladiator helm, heavily influenced by the Ancient Greeks or Romans, you could never quite tell with human history. Its red crest peers through, until it wasn't just the crest anymore.
The Champion emerges from the platform, all green and mighty, wearing bits and pieces of spare armor plates more as decoration and less for actual protection. With the Champion's strength, you doubt he needs any of the armor pieces he's wearing.
Then, the crowd cheers— it's deafening.
"Hulk! Hulk! Hulk! Hulk!"
The Incredible Hulk roars. His massive stature and sheer anger intimidates his sorry opponent, even the audience in the first row of the arena.
Though you're not a massive fan of these fights, you can't help but marvel at the might of the Hulk. With a sly grin, you turn to Loki, saying, "And there he is, he's almost majestic if he wasn't so angry right Lo— Loki?"
You see all the color from Loki's face disappear. Gently, you place your hand on his forearm, concern immediately bubbling in your gut. You've never seen him this horrified before.
Loki's Adam's apple violently bobs in his throat as he gulps nervously. Why can't he breathe? Has his heart stopped? What the fuck is happening to him? He doesn't even know himself.
All he knows is that he wants to claw off his skin and leave.
The alarm bells in his head are yelling are him to flee and be somewhere else entirely. Somewhere where he can't see a figure from his bloody past.
"I—" Loki clenches and unclenches his fist, feeling the clammy sweat in his palms begin to build. "I have to get off this planet."
Gods, he wanted to puke.
Without another word, Loki stands up from his seat, quickly downing his beverage before booking it outside of the auditorium.
"Hey! Loki! I thought you wanted to—"
You turn towards the direction he took off, hoping for him to at least speak to you about this, but he was long gone before you could utter your second sentence.
He doesn't hear you at all. Not with the gnawing thoughts that creeps up in his head.
It's not even the fact that the Hulk body slammed him multiple times into concrete. Loki has dealt with pain far worse than that. No, it was the fact that the presence of the Hulk reminded him of his servitude under the Mad Titan.
The days of his torture and abuse flashed before his eyes. He tried to blink them away but to no avail. As he continued to run down the hall, he smells blood— human blood. The blood he had spilt when he was controlled by the Mind Stone.
What would've happened if he bad succeeded? Would he be happy with all the power he would wield or would he be nothing more than a puppet for the Mad Titan's grander plans?
Somehow, someway, he was glad that he was stopped. He doesn't want to know what would've happened if he remained beneath someone else's control.
-
"Loki! Loki!" You yell in intervals as you jog down hallway after hallway, trying to find his chambers. You try your best not to bump into anyone whilst frantically searching for Loki. You slid and ducked and strafed along the hallways looking for a particular luxurious wing in the tower.
You swore your feet have carried you everywhere, yet there was still no sign of Loki's chambers.
Until an illusion wavered.
Of course. Of course Loki would hide his chambers from the rest of the court.
What at first glance looked like a dead end, was actually a well hidden arched doorway towards the hallway in which Loki's chambers were in.
Before sticking your hand in the fake wall, you turn to look over your shoulder to make sure no one was looking or following you for the sake of Loki's privacy.
Then, you gingerly stepped through the illusion, feeling Loki's magic flow through you for a split second. It's chaotic, untamed, yet totally precise and accurate. There is a sense of order within his chaos. You don't know how he does it.
The hidden hallway looked no different than the rest of the building, save for the lack of obnoxiously bright lighting to give an ominous feel. Loki probably hoped it could deter any curious person from further exploring his little place of peace.
You know better though, and you know him— or so you hope you did.
When you found a lone door, the only one in the hidden hallway, you hesitantly raised your fist to knock. Your heart hammers in your chest. What if you didn't actually know him as good as you thought you did? What if seeking him out does more harm than good?
You thought about abandoning your plan then and there, but you remembered that tortured look to his face. You've never seen him be so... terrified before. It haunts you to let him suffer alone.
Before whatever intimacy bloomed between the two of you, you were his friend first and foremost.
You can't let him suffer alone.
You can't.
With new found determination, you raise your fist to knock on his door.
"Loki?" You called. "It's me."
You hear shuffling behind the door before it swings wide open. You see Loki in his lounge clothes, a plain dark green tunic and linen trousers, his usual Asgardian garbs had been immediately replaced once he found solace in his room.
Loki leaned against the doorway, trying to seem as casual as possible, as if his sudden exit hadn't alarmed you.
"How did you even find my chambers?"
He's clearly deflecting, a poor attempt at one, that's for certain.
You give him a serious look, sighing, "If you let me in, I can tell you."
He knows you won't let this go. So, with a defeated sigh, Loki steps aside and beckons you to enter his chambers.
It's definitely nicer than your rented apartment. Of course, it would be, you thought. The Grandmaster provided it himself, and by all means, he was a member of his court. It would surprise no one that he was blessed with similar privileges that he had as a prince on Asgard.
What's refreshing about his room though, was the utter lack of obnoxious colors on the walls. It's all very dark, classy, and elegant, with touches of gold and green among the beige and dark brown base. A refreshing sight to see after getting used to the usual Sakaarian architecture and interior design.
"Are you going to tell me how you found me or is there going to be a different matter?" Loki asks once he closed the door, standing with his arms firmly crossed across his chest.
You huff out a breath, preparing yourself for what may happen next. "What was that, Loki? What happened in the auditorium?" There was no use tip toeing around the issue, not when you know he's just going to lie if you stall any longer.
"Nothing." Loki spat, a sneer on his face you hadn't seen since the first time you saw him.
It's a sensitive topic for sure if he was reacting this way. Though, you wonder just how deep this old wound ran. Would you be able to help him tend to it or would all your efforts be lost?
"Loki," you say patiently, taking a tentative step closer to him. You were never really good with vulnerable emotions. Never really good at articulating what you were thinking and feeling. But, you were certainly going to try for him.
"I just— Man, you know I'm not good at this. I saw how haunted you looked once you saw the champion. I've never seen you like that before. So, naturally, I got worried. Before... y'know we got involved in intimate ways, I was your friend first. I will always be your friend first. So please, tell me what's going on so I can help you with whatever the fuck this is."
Loki lets out a defeated sigh, his arms falling limply at his sides. His shoulders drop as his head hangs low in shame. Loki takes a shuddering breath, eyes closed, absolutely dreading to confess his sins to you.
After a moment, Loki finds courage in his voice to speak without breaking and says, "You would sooner hate me than help me if I told you what the champion— the Hulk— reminded me of."
You take a step closer to him, now with purpose, and takes both of his hands in yours. He finds solace in the warmth of your palms and he sears that feeling in his head to remember when you inevitably leave. You squeeze them reassuringly, hoping to get that across to him.
"Whatever it is," you say softly. "I won't judge you, ever. I know I've done some fucked up shit in my past too. Whatever you're bearing is probably no worse than mine."
A fire ignites in Loki's eyes, they grow angry and yet desperate. "You have no idea what I have done before I got onto this godsforsaken planet. I have the blood of thousands— perhaps even hundreds of thousands on my hands because I had been too foolish and too blinded by hatred and power."
Your eyes soften as you listen intently to his words. You let your thumbs caress the back of his hands to keep him grounded and soothed, even when he's this frustrated.
"Where does the Hulk fit into this story? Did he help you kill?"
You cringe. It's not exactly the most graceful way to phrase it, but whatever keeps him talking to lighten the burden, you suppose.
"No," Loki replies firmly. "He stopped me along with five others. The Avengers, they called themselves, my brother among them."
"Loki, I'm so sorry—"
He winces. "That's not why I..." Loki shakes his head, feeling his chest twist and churn. "It's what happened before. Like I said, I had been too foolish. Too weak to resist too, I suppose. Let's just say my mind wasn't mine when I began pathetically conquering Midgard because I had been..."
Loki pauses, his gaze going distant.
"Hey," you coax gently, placing a hand on his jaw. "If it hurts too much to say out loud, you don't have to continue, alright? I won't force you to tell me. You've already said so much and I'm thankful you trust me enough to hear it."
Finally, you see his defensive shield lower. His eyes soften, and for the first time ever, you see them so wide and terrified. He simply nods in response, clutching your hand that cups his jaw.
"I— Thank you."
You smile softly at him. "Some friends we are, eh? Both haunted by stupidly horrific pasts."
Loki looks deep into your eyes, then spares a glance at your other hand still holding his. He huffs out a chuckle, devoid of actual mirth.
His voice weakens, whispering, "Do friends do this?"
You tilt your head at him inquisitively, then a wave of certainty sweeps through you. You smile at him, sure and sweet. "I suppose not. Then again, what are we supposed to be?"
"Partners?" Loki offers hesitantly. Even after all these months, he still doesn't know how well you'd take it.
"If that is what you want, I'd happily oblige."
"Well," Loki swallows. "What do you want?"
"I just want to be with you. All of you. Even the things you consider your darkest parts. I want it all."
Loki closes his eyes for a moment, letting your words sink into him. He tries his best to understand why you want him with the way he is, not after he told you that he tried to conquer a whole planet.
He deeply sighs, his chest suddenly feeling heavy. "When you've been as depraved of kindness as I was, you'll learn to lick it off of knives," Loki chuckles a humorless laugh again. "Darling, in all honesty, I was ready to take whatever scraps of affection you were willing to give to me. But this— this is beyond anything I've ever thought possible."
"Trust me," you grin cheekily. "I know how to lick all kinds of shit from knives. It's all I've ever known, honestly."
Loki finally smiles a genuine smile and it relieves you to see it spread across his face so openly.
"So, where does this leave us?" Loki asks, his voice more confident.
"It leaves us to wreck some shit and cause chaos together."
"Together."