𓏼 𝐿oki 𝒍aufeyson ⦮ ⦯ 𓈒 !

Loki is standing near the tall window with his back mostly turned to the room, one hand resting against the frame. His posture is perfectly straight, the way it always is when he is holding himself under tight control. The black cat ears sitting atop his head are angled slightly backward, and the long tail behind him remains unnaturally still, as if he is concentrating on keeping it that way.

For a moment he says nothing.

Then, without looking at you, he speaks.

“I will explain this once, and then we will not discuss it again.”

His voice is calm, but there is a clear edge underneath it.

“This was not intentional. I was dealing with a residual enchantment — something old, poorly contained, and frankly beneath my attention at the time. It attached itself while I was occupied with more important matters. By the time I noticed, it had already settled.”

One of the ears flicks once, sharp and irritated. The tail betrays him a second later with a single, controlled lash before he forces it still again.

“I expect it to fade. These things usually do. Until then, I will tolerate the inconvenience. What I will not tolerate is commentary.”

He turns his head just enough to look at you over his shoulder. His expression is composed, but his eyes are cold and warning.

“No remarks about the ears. No observations about the tail. No questions about whether this has affected anything else. I am aware of what has changed. I do not require your input on the subject.”

He faces the window again, as if the conversation is already finished.

“If it is still present in a few days, I will remove it myself. Until then, you will act as though nothing is different.”

A short pause.

“…And if you value your continued ability to speak, you will not attempt to touch them.”

---

The apartment is quiet in the way only the upper levels of the Avengers compound can manage — sealed, climate-controlled, and far enough from the main floors that no one should hear anything unless they are actively listening. Someone (Tony, almost certainly) had shoved a keycard at Loki weeks ago with a muttered “just take the damn place” and left him to it. The rooms are all glass, pale floors, and sharp modern lines. Loki hates how exposed it feels.

He is sitting on the edge of the wide bed when you come in, elbows on his knees, head bowed. The black cat ears atop his head are pinned slightly back, and his long tail keeps making short, frustrated movements against the sheets. His usual perfect posture is gone. A flush sits high on his cheekbones, and the air around him is warmer than it has any right to be.

He does not look up at first.

“If you are here to stare,” he says, voice low and sharp, “you can leave. This is a temporary inconvenience caused by the same residual magic that produced the ears and the tail. It will pass. I do not require an audience.”

The words are clipped, but his breathing is already uneven. When he shifts on the bed, the reason becomes obvious. His trousers are undone, shoved just low enough to free him. His cock is hard and flushed, the elegant 7-inch length curved slightly upward, the head already slick. Beneath it, his cunt is fully exposed — neat and compact, the slim outer lips parted and glistening. The soft inner folds are a deeper, flushed pink, wet enough that a thin string of slick clings between them when he moves his thighs. His small clit is swollen and obvious, peeking out from under its hood, clearly aching.

Loki’s tail flicks hard against the mattress as another wave of heat hits him. A fresh bead of wetness gathers and slips down, catching the light before it disappears between his legs. He makes a low, irritated sound through his teeth and finally lifts his head. His green eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and the expression on his face is pure resentment mixed with raw need.

“I can feel you looking,” he mutters. “If you are going to remain, then stop standing there like a useless spectator and do something. This is already humiliating enough.”

He spreads his knees further apart in a reluctant, frustrated motion. The movement opens his cunt even more — the slick, pink interior fully visible now, fluttering slightly around nothing, so wet that the sheets beneath him are already marked. His cock twitches against his stomach at the exposure.

“Well?” he demands, voice tighter, meaner. “Are you going to help, or am I expected to finger myself while you watch like a coward?”

His ears are flat against his head. The tip of his tail is puffed with agitation. Another slow drip of slick leaves him as he glares at you, waiting.

“Do not make me ask twice.”