Collection of One-Shots

》every scar

Every scar I have makes me who I am today.

He was cross, you noted his soured demeanor when he burst into your shared chambers nearly throwing the horned helm that once sat regally on his head at the wall. You knew better than to ask him what had happened to cause such a display as he never truly revealed the reasons even though he trusted you with his life. So when moments like this came around you always do the best thing you can possibly do for him, help calm him. In silence he sits on the edge of the mattress, his head resting in his hands and slowly you rouse from the position you had been in when he entered. Moving behind your frustrated husband, you place your hands on his shoulders, atop the metal pauldrons and slowly move to the base of his neck.

Your own seiðr flows into him, purple tendrils wrapping around his chest and neck, surrounding his lithe body like a serpent wrapping around its prey. First his shoulders relax, almost all the tension fading away and slowly he lifts his head, a sigh of frustration escaping his pursed lips. "You know I hate when you do that." He had told you those words before, but they were not truthful, he could never truly hate you for anything, but being the only one able to calm and soothe the God of Mischief was one of your greatest accomplishments.

Tentatively you kiss his neck, the strands of hair that had fallen from their peculiar place tickle your cheek and nose. "I know." You murmur, hands still pushing the palliative magic into his tension sodden body, when he becomes near putty in your hands you let him fall back, his head pillowed on your soft bosom. Using his own magic, the heavy armor melts away, leaving him in a soft green tunic and lounge pants that are the same color as his hair. "You should rest." You whisper, kissing the top of his head, you do not need to see his face to know that it is scrunched up in distaste, like a young child being told it was bedtime.

His actions are sly and quick as he rolls off you, pinning your hands to the soft satin sheets beneath. "I do what I want." You laugh at the sudden childish conduct that washes over him, his face nuzzle into your neck and shoulder, teasingly nipping at the point where your pulse beats rapidly beneath the skin. In vain you swat at his hands but he catches your wrists within his hands, like the gentlest of shackles. With a look of placid contentment he kisses one of the scars that was near your wrist on the right, and the small burn that remained on the inside of your left forearm.

"Show me you scars," he said, determination in his green eyes.

"Why?" you ask quizzically, frowning at the sudden change from the playful mood to the somber reality.

"I want to see how many times you needed me and I was not there for you," a single tear escapes his eye as he whispered the words. Vehemently you shake your head, none of your scars were his fault. They came to be because of your own doing, from times of battle and training, from your own stubbornness, many when you were nothing but a toddler.

"Loki, you know I had most of these before I even met you. And even the younger ones are not because you weren't there for me." Gently you free one of your hands from his hold, you bite your bottom lips as you look up at him, tracing his cheek with your thumb. "You've always been there for me." With only the slightest amount of hesitation you push yourself up, lips seeking his. You can feel Loki smile against your kiss, his hands cradling the back of your head as if you are the most fragile thing in all the nine realms.

"Will you show me yours?" You knew he had scars before his fall into the void, but now after everything that changed him to the man he was now you knew that there had to be more even though he never let you see. If anything he kept them concealed with his magic, his security blanket. You knew he had nightmares about what ever tortures had been procured when Asgard thought him to be dead, you knew him to be a frost giant, and with enough persuasion he had finally allowed you to see him as he truly was. But now you made the same request he had made of you, to see his scars, all of them. He pushes himself back and shakes his head but the action is barely noticeable. "None of your scars will make me love you any less. You should now this by now Loki, I love you, no matter your appearance."