Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Avengers had a strict, almost religious adherence to fitness. The gym wasn’t just a facility; it was a cornerstone of their lifestyle. Staying in peak physical condition was non-negotiable—after all, the world's fate occasionally hinged on how fast you could sprint, how hard you could punch, or how much stamina you could muster during a battle. It had become an unspoken sanctuary for them, a place that bridged their shared mission and personal pursuits. Within its walls, they weren’t gods, soldiers, or assassins. They were simply people, sweating out their stress and pushing their limits like anyone else.

But make no mistake—the Avengers’ gym was far from ordinary.

Spanning two gleaming floors in Stark Tower, it boasted everything a superhero could ever need: state-of-the-art equipment that looked more like experimental prototypes than fitness tools, reinforced floors capable of withstanding Thor’s hammer tosses or Hulk’s occasional tantrums, and enough space to host activities ranging from sparring matches to aerial combat simulations. Tony Stark, ever the showman, had outfitted the space with panoramic windows that overlooked Manhattan, creating a breathtaking backdrop for their grueling workouts. The sound system piped in everything from Steve’s retro playlist to Natasha’s instrumental beats, depending on who got to the controls first. And, of course, there was the infamous juice bar, complete with personalized protein blends and a weekly “Tony Special” that no one dared try twice.

Attendance wasn’t optional. Fitness was woven into the very fabric of their lives, an unspoken rule that even the most reluctant team members adhered to. It wasn’t just about preparing for missions—it was about maintaining discipline, bonding as a team, and, for some, finding a momentary escape from the weight of their responsibilities.

Fridays were sacred.

Steve Rogers had instituted weekly group training sessions with all the fervor of a drill sergeant assembling his troops. These weren’t just about staying in shape—they were a way to assess the team’s physical and mental states when they were off duty, to spot weaknesses, and to build camaraderie. But “lighthearted” was a generous term when describing these gatherings.

“Lighthearted” was a stretch when it came to some members of the team. 

Steve approached his workouts with military precision, every move calculated and methodical. He was a relentless taskmaster, his circuits punishing even for those who had superhuman strength. Natasha was equally intense, her fluid, controlled movements a testament to her assassin’s training. She moved through her routines like a panther on the hunt—silent, deadly, and impossibly graceful. Clint, in contrast, trained like a lone wolf, using the quieter corners of the gym to fine-tune his aim or practice his balance on precarious surfaces.

Thor treated every session as a challenge to prove his godly might. His booming laughter echoed off the walls as he lifted weights that no one else could budge or turned sparring matches into theatrical displays of Asgardian strength. Bucky stayed at the edges, quiet and focused, his every movement deliberate as though his training was less about fitness and more about control. And then there was Tony, who somehow managed to mix workouts with tinkering. It wasn’t uncommon to see him squatting with a set of repulsors strapped to his wrists, testing their durability mid-session.

The gym was, in short, a finely tuned machine—a symphony of sweat, grit, and camaraderie.

And then Loki entered the picture.

He hated the gym. He loathed it. The very concept of it offended his sensibilities, a joke to his Asgardian practices. The idea of “working out” was not only unnecessary for someone of his divine stature but also painfully mortal in its mundanity. To the God of Mischief, the gym was a prison masquerading as a temple. The sweat, the grunts, the clanging of metal against metal—it was all so beneath him. He didn’t need to build strength or stamina; he was a god. And yet, as part of his probationary agreement to join the Avengers, Loki was expected to participate. 

Why on Midgard—or any realm, for that matter—would one willingly subject themselves to mundane physical labor? For a god, no less? The idea was completely ridiculous, though he had quickly learned that this argument did not hold much weight when hurled at Thor or any of the other Avengers.

He resisted, of course. Loki had become something of an escape artist when it came to group gym sessions, weaving elaborate excuses and literal illusions to avoid stepping foot into the gym. He had tried every trick in his arsenal to escape these sessions: conjuring illusions of himself running laps, pretending to bear injuries, and even disappearing mid-session with a sly smirk and the faint shimmer of green magic. Once, he had gone as far as feigning a “sudden illness,” complete with a convincing pallor and a strategically weakened gait. 

But none of that worked.

Loki suspected that Stark’s Artificial Intelligence, F.R.I.D.A.Y., was in league with Thor, keeping tabs on his every move and dutifully reporting his attempts to escape. Every time he tried to slip through the cracks, a disembodied voice would politely but firmly inform Thor of his absence. Loki didn’t have proof, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Stark had programmed the AI specifically to torment him.

Without fail, his brother would drag him back to the fluorescent-lit hellhole of the gym, wielding Mjolnir like a schoolteacher brandishing a ruler. Loki suspected that Thor took far too much joy in these acts, his booming laughter often echoing through the gym as he tossed Loki over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“Brother,” Thor would say, his voice tinged with amusement as he brandished Mjolnir, “you may think yourself above this, but if you wish to remain part of this team, you will endure it like the rest of us.”

And so, Loki endured, dragged back to the fluorescent-lit purgatory of the gym time and time again.

But if the clanging weights and Thor’s incessant laughter grated on Loki, nothing annoyed him more than you.

You were his antithesis in every conceivable way. Where Loki saw the gym as a prison, you saw it as a sanctuary. You thrived there, radiating an energy that he found both baffling and irritating. You weren’t loud like Thor, nor were you the silent, brooding type like Bucky. Instead, you were relentless—a force of nature who tackled workouts with a precision that rivaled Clint’s arrows.

You always seemed to have an easy smile, a flicker of amusement dancing in your eyes as you darted between machines or launched into another grueling set. You approached every workout with enthusiasm, treating each challenge like a personal battle to be won. Your determination was palpable, your focus unshakeable. But it wasn’t your dedication to the gym that truly got under Loki’s skin; it was your attitude.

You had no qualms about speaking your mind, and you were quick to match Loki’s biting sarcasm with quips of your own. Your sharp tongue, paired with your unflappable demeanor, made you a particularly fun target for Loki’s antics. He found your relentless optimism grating, and your tendency to challenge him downright infuriating. But it was precisely these traits that made you so... fun to provoke.

Quite frankly, he found solace in riling you up.

All he had to do was comment on your form, or question the weight you were lifting, and you would rise to the bait every time. It was, he supposed, the only thing that made these wretched sessions bearable.

Of course, he didn’t think much of you beyond that. You were a mortal, after all. A clever one, perhaps, but still mortal. The fact that you managed to worm your way under his skin so easily was simply a testament to his boredom, nothing more.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Loki had discovered this during his very first group session. You had called him out—publicly, no less—for standing idly by while the rest of the team warmed up.

“What’s the matter, Princess?” you had teased, hands on your hips. “Afraid you’ll chip a nail?”

The room had gone silent, all eyes darting between you and the god as they waited for his response. 

The corner of his mouth had twitched, a glimmer of amusement flashing in his emerald eyes. “Hardly,” he drawled, his voice as smooth as silk. “But I fail to see the point of mimicking your primitive rituals when I could achieve the same results with a flick of my magic.”

“Oh, sure,” you had shot back, unperturbed. “Because magic’s going to save your ass when you’re out of breath halfway through a chase.”

The tension broke with Thor’s booming laugh, followed by Steve’s approving nod.

From that day on, it had become a game between the two of you. He would conjure illusions to distract you mid-set, question your form with exaggerated disdain, or mutter sarcastic comments just loud enough for you to hear. For all his protests, Loki found himself looking forward to these exchanges. You were clever, sharper than most mortals, and your unflappable confidence intrigued him.

And you? You gave as good as you got. You’d roll your eyes at his dramatics, challenge him to exercises he clearly despised, or make snide remarks about his “delicate Asgardian constitution.”

It was all in good fun—or so you told yourself.

The peculiarity of your training wasn’t just the intensity or the focus—it was the way you turned the gym into your runway. Where others wore functional athletic gear, you brought a level of fashion that could only be described as couture-meets-athleisure. You had an eye for proportions and colors, pairing fitted leggings with chic cropped tops, effortlessly layering with lightweight jackets, or wearing statement sneakers that seemed designed to catch the light just right. Even in the middle of a grueling set, you exuded confidence, every movement precise and deliberate, every outfit an unspoken declaration: I own this space.

You knew you looked good. Whether or not you consciously acknowledged the wandering eyes that followed you, you thrived on the attention, making it clear—without ever saying a word—that you were the reigning queen of the gym. There was a proud tilt to your chin, a glimmer in your eyes as you caught your reflection in the mirrors, as if silently reminding yourself that you had earned this. And for good reason. The way you carried yourself was a testament to your hard work, a visual declaration of pride in your strength and discipline.

Even Loki, who had spent most of his time mocking your relentless energy and discipline, could not deny the appeal. His sharp tongue rarely stilled when you were around, but more often than not, it masked the moments when his eyes lingered a fraction too long. He told himself it was merely curiosity—analyzing your absurd obsession with turning every mundane workout into a parade of style and flair. Yet, there were times, in between his biting remarks, when he caught himself watching you with a strange mix of irritation and intrigue, noting the way the faint sheen of sweat only seemed to enhance your glow rather than detract from it.

The more he observed, the more he realized just how much you enjoyed being the center of attention. Not in a boastful or arrogant way, but with a quiet confidence that made it clear you knew you were admired. And that, of course, irked him to no end. You had claimed a throne he hadn’t even realized existed until now—the crown of the gym’s fashion icon, the darling of the Avengers' collective admiration.

Loki was no stranger to attention. He had spent centuries perfecting the art of standing out, whether in Asgard’s golden halls or Midgard’s bustling cities. His wardrobe was a testament to his vanity: sleek, tailored suits, flowing robes, sharp leathers—whatever suited the weather, his mood or the gender he chose to embody for the day. He prided himself on his taste, on his ability to effortlessly outshine others with his sense of style. He was, after all, a god. If anyone could dethrone you, it would be him.

The idea took root almost immediately: Loki would dethrone you as the gym’s reigning fashionista. It wasn’t about vanity—well, perhaps it was—but it was also about proving a point. If anyone deserved to claim the title of sartorial excellence, it was him. The God of Mischief would reign supreme, even in this mundane, sweat-soaked realm.

He decided right then and there that this wasn’t just about workouts anymore. This was war.

And Loki? He intended to win.

After all, he was always destined to be king. What’s another throne stolen, if only a metaphorical one?

⠀

The first Friday Loki launched his attack was one for the books.

The gym buzzed with the familiar sounds of clanking weights, motivational shouts, and the hum of treadmills. Steve was barking out orders to a pair of rookies who were trying to figure out how to do a proper squat, Thor was loudly boasting about his ability to deadlift more than any mortal in the room, and Tony—typical Tony—was multitasking on the treadmill, holding a holographic interface in one hand while doing intervals. You and Natasha had just finished a punishing round of planks and were at the juice bar, catching your breath and swapping jokes about the ridiculous amount of protein shakes people seemed to consume in this place.

Her sharp wit and easy banter were usually more than enough to distract you from any physical discomfort, but not today.

Even Natasha couldn’t hold your attention when he walked in.

You noticed the shift in the air before you even saw him. At first, you didn’t quite register what was happening. It was subtle, like a wave of electricity passing through the room. Conversations slowed. People’s movements faltered for a split second. Even the sound of clanging weights seemed to dull slightly, as if the gym collectively held its breath in anticipation. You could feel eyes shifting toward the entrance, and when you looked over, you nearly choked on your spit.

There he was.

Loki Laufeyson, God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard, and notorious gym hater, strolled into the gym like it was his personal parade. You’d seen him here before, of course. Usually, he lingered in the background, arms folded, observing Thor’s attempts to get him involved in some sibling rivalry over strength. But today? Today was different.

For one, he wasn’t wearing his usual dark leathers or Asgardian garb. Instead, he had opted for what could only be described as a masterclass in Midgardian gym couture. A black compression tank clung to his lean, lithe frame like it was painted on, emphasizing every sculpted muscle with effortless precision. The deep armholes revealed teasing glimpses of his toned sides, and the dark fabric set off his alabaster skin in an almost unfair way.

The material emphasized his toned arms, his chest, and the subtle flex of his abs when he moved. Every inch of him was artfully showcased, and it seemed to have the exact effect he was after. The room was practically buzzing with appreciative glances.

But that wasn’t even the most distracting part.

His joggers—dark, fitted, and stretching just enough over his thighs—hugged his legs in a way that could only be described as sinful. They tapered neatly at the ankles, revealing his bare feet, adorned in simple black trainers. A few people did a double-take, but you, of course, noticed all of it. And you hated how your eyes traced the lines of his body despite yourself.

And then there was his hair.

Usually wild and untamed, his raven locks were now swept back into a low, effortlessly messy bun. It looked like he had spent exactly five seconds on it, yet it was somehow perfect. Casual but purposeful, messy but precise. And for reasons you couldn’t entirely explain, it made your stomach flutter in a way you definitely didn’t want to admit.

“He’s up to something,” you muttered, narrowing your eyes at him.  “And I don’t like it.”

You didn’t realize you were staring so intently at him until Natasha spoke.

“What gave it away?” she asked with a sly grin, lifting her protein shake to her lips. “The way he’s strutting across the room like he’s starring in a fashion show, or the fact that his outfit looks like something straight off a GQ cover?”

"That’s the thing," you sneered under your breath, huffing as you crossed your arms. "He’s way too comfortable here."

Natasha just quirked an eyebrow and chuckled. “Uh-huh. You know, I always wondered if he could look that good without his usual dramatic flair. Turns out, he’s even more distracting in gym gear than in his Asgardian getup.”

Your scowl deepened as Loki’s gaze swept lazily across the gym, lingering for just a moment too long when it reached you. He tilted his head, his smirk curving even further, before continuing his casual prowl toward the free weights.

“He’s not even here to work out,” you said, turning back to Natasha.

“Of course he’s not,” she replied, her lips quirking into a sly smile. “He’s here to annoy you. And judging by the way you’re staring at him, it’s working.”

You shot Natasha a sharp look, but her grin only widened. She was thoroughly enjoying this. You had to admit, Loki's presence was causing more of a stir than you'd anticipated, and despite your best efforts, your eyes kept drifting back to him.

He was moving through the gym now, his casual stride somehow managing to command attention in a place filled with some of the strongest people you knew. He wasn’t even trying, and that made it worse.

“I am not staring,” you hissed, trying to desperately convince yourself while jerking your eyes away from him and fixing them firmly on Natasha.

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Sure you’re not. But hey, I get it. The hair’s doing things. The arms, too.”

“Natasha.”

“What? I’m just saying, he’s got the whole ‘tall, dark and handsome in gym gear’ thing down. Maybe that’s the real mischief—making everyone forget they’re supposed to be lifting weights and not staring at him. It’s distracting. And you’re totally distracted.”

"Not happening," you retorted, but your voice was a little less convincing than you wanted it to be. You couldn’t deny that the sight of Loki in a fitted tank top that clung just right to his lean frame, revealing the subtle play of muscles beneath, was an attention-grabber. His joggers did nothing to mask the long, graceful lines of his legs, and as he moved, you found yourself noticing details you'd previously managed to ignore: the effortless way his black hair framed his face, the glint in his eyes that always seemed to carry a secret he was more than happy to keep.

Loki seemed aware of the effect he was having, too. When his gaze flicked toward you again, the smirk curling at the corners of his lips was downright smug. He knew, and he reveled in it. You braced yourself, straightening up and setting your shoulders as his long strides carried him across the gym floor. He stopped in front of you, arms crossed over his chest, his smirk firmly in place.

“Enjoying the view, pet?” His voice was smooth and rich, and you hated the way it sent a shiver down your spine. You mirrored his position and also crossed your arms, tilting your head as you glared up at him.

“Hardly,” you shot back. “I was just wondering if you’d finally decided to try blending in with the rest of us mortals.”

“Ah, yes,” he drawled, glancing down at his outfit with mock curiosity. “Midgardian spandex. Quite the cultural achievement. Though I must admit, it’s a step up from those garish uniforms Stark insists upon.”

You rolled your eyes, but the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you. “You look like you’re about to pose for GQ, not lift weights.”

Loki leaned a little closer, his smirk never faltering. “I’m afraid you’re simply crossed that the star of today’s show is most certainly me." His eyes glittered with amusement as they swept down your form before meeting yours again. "You’re not the first to notice. But don’t worry, I’m used to the attention.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but Natasha cut in with a snort of laughter.

“Alright, you two, break it up,” she said, waving her hand between you like a referee. “Some of us are here to actually work out.”

Loki’s smirk didn’t falter as he straightened, his green eyes flicking to Natasha with a glint of amusement. “Far be it from me to interrupt such noble pursuits, Agent Romanoff.” He turned back to you, his gaze lingering just a moment too long. “Try not to let me distract you, pet.”

And with that, he sauntered off toward the free weights, his long strides and effortless grace drawing more than a few admiring glances as he went.

Natasha watched him go, then turned to you with a knowing grin. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not,” you snapped, though the blood rushing up your face betrayed you.

“Right,” Natasha interrupted, sounding far too amused for her own good. “Maybe you could distract yourself from him for a second, unless of course, you’re planning to throw yourself at him like everyone else.” She waved a hand, rolling her eyes dramatically.

“Natasha!” you hissed, but it didn’t have the desired effect—she was grinning from ear to ear.

“Don’t deny it,” she slyly replied as she sipped her shake. “You know, I’ve seen him make a lot of people mad, but I’ve never seen him this dedicated to pissing someone off. Congrats, I guess?”

“He’s not pissing me off,” you muttered, glaring at Loki’s retreating back. “He’s just… annoying.”

“Sure,” Natasha said, smirking.

Before you could formulate any kind of retort, a low whistle cut through the air. You turned toward the sound just in time to see Loki doing overhead presses with a pair of heavy dumbbells. His presence seemed to have an almost magnetic pull, and as he passed by a group of agents, several of them couldn’t help but glance at him—some even a little too long, caught in the spell of his unnerving charisma. His movements were slow and controlled, every line of his body radiating strength and precision. The tight top did little to hide the way his muscles flexed with each lift, and the sheen of sweat on his skin only seemed to amplify the effect.

One of the agents passing by all but stopped in his tracks, staring openly at him with wide eyes. Loki, as always, was quick to notice. He paused in the middle of his walk, glancing over his shoulder, his lips curling into a devilish smirk.

“Oh dear, careful there,” he called out, his voice smooth and teasing. “You might want to watch where you’re looking. I’d hate for a fetching creature like you to trip over the lingering effect of my charm.”

The agent, a relatively new recruit, blushed crimson and stumbled in his walk, fumbling with his dumbbell as if it had suddenly gained weight. Loki’s smile only widened as he slowly lowered his gaze to the ground, as if examining his almost clumsy reaction.

“Ah,” he said with mock disappointment, “we wouldn’t want to add embarrassment to your list of misfortunes, would we?”

The poor man muttered something incoherent, cheeks burning brighter as he hurried away, his awkwardness palpable. Loki’s chuckle, soft and teasing, echoed in the air behind him, and he turned back to his dumbbells with the ease of someone who had just won a victory in an ongoing game.

“Oh my god,” Natasha groaned, half-amused, half-exasperated. “You have to go give him a taste of his own medicine.”

You glared at the back of Loki's head, watching him grab a towel and casually drape it over his shoulder, his arrogance practically dripping from every movement.

“You’re right. Game on,” you muttered, pushing yourself up from your seat and striding toward him with quiet determination. If he wanted to play this game, you were more than ready to beat him at it.

Natasha laughed, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “That’s the spirit. Now go wipe that smug grin off his face.”

As you approached, you saw Loki glance over at you, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as a grin tugged at the corners of his lips. He was expecting you.

“Ah, she finally manifests herself,” he began, tilting his head slightly, “come to join the ranks of my admirers? Or is this simply an opportunity for you to bask in my presence?"

You shot him a look of feigned disinterest, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the free weights beside him.

“Not exactly,” you replied coolly. “I just wanted to see if you’d been working on your form, or if you were still too busy flexing in the mirror.”

Loki chuckled, a rich sound that practically oozed with self-assurance. “Ah, I see,” he said slowly, leaning in just a little, enough to lower his voice to a near-whisper. “So you’re one of those who prefers to focus on technique over the end result. Admirable. But I must confess…” He leaned closer still, until his lips were just inches from your ear. “The result is the technique.”

You felt a flare of heat rush to your face, but you refused to let him see it. Instead, you gave him a pointed look, stepping back and crossing your arms more firmly. “Keep telling yourself that,” you said, offering him a smirk of your own. “But if you’re planning to keep distracting everyone with your ‘technique,’ maybe you should get a private room. The rest of us are here to work.”

Loki’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he straightened up, flicking his towel over his shoulder and sending you an almost playful glance. “Oh, I do love a challenge,” he murmured, as though the words were a promise, and then he effortlessly turned away to continue his workout.You stood there, your mind still swirling with that smug little smirk and the way his breath had brushed so close to your skin. It was far from over, and you had no intention of letting him think he’d won this round. Game on, Trickster.

⠀

The second Friday had a palpable tension in the air, as if everyone knew something was going to shift today, but no one knew exactly how. The gym was quieter than usual, with a sense of anticipation hanging over the team like a thick fog. You, however, had a different idea for today. You weren’t the same as the others—always polished, always well put-together in some way, but today you were about to leave everyone guessing.

You walked into the room in an outfit that could not have been further from your usual appearance. Your sweatpants were a dull gray, high-waisted and hanging just right on your frame, but enough to leave the wandering eye guessing about the shape of your form. The hoodie you wore was oversized, swallowing your frame, the sleeves long enough to hang just past your fingertips. The hoodie’s color was muted, and the cap pulled up over your head was the only thing that hinted at the familiar sense of control you usually had. Your hair was left down today, cascading in soft waves, slightly tangled from the lack of attention yet still effortlessly styled. There was no sleekness, no polished edge to your look—just simplicity and ease. Somehow, it worked, and there was a quiet power in how little effort it seemed to take.

You casually crossed the gym toward the wall, water bottle in hand, and you could already feel the eyes of your teammates following you. The contrast between your normal, tightly controlled persona and the relaxed, effortless confidence you radiated today was enough to make anyone pause and take notice. But the person you were waiting for—the one you knew would be most affected by your transformation—was Loki.

Sure enough, not long after, said god walked in. His usual tight-fitting black workout gear was his go-to for showing off, the sleek fabric hugging his frame, every movement emphasizing the muscles that rippled beneath the material. But today, unlike last week when he had gone for a polished yet sharp look, Loki’s attention seemed caught somewhere between sizing you up and attempting to keep his usual air of superiority.

As he entered the gym, his eyes immediately flicked over to you. You were sitting cross-legged against the wall, deep in conversation with Bucky. His sharp gaze narrowed, and the familiar smirk—half taunt, half self-assured—made its way to his lips. Loki sauntered toward you with that characteristic air of confidence, almost like he had an agenda that involved rubbing your nose in it.

"Quite the shift in wardrobe, isn’t it?" Loki’s voice cut through your conversation, dripping with that same playful taunt. “Did last week’s little performance leave you with a sudden desire to renounce attention? Perhaps you're now looking to blend in, like a shadow?”

Your lips quirked up in a sly smile as you took a slow sip from your water bottle, not even bothering to look up at him right away. The only acknowledgment you gave him was a slight raise of your eyebrow, eyes still trained on Bucky as you finished your conversation with him. The lack of immediate reaction seemed to throw Loki off, just as you had intended.

The soldier standing beside you shot a look at Loki, his grin widening. “Careful, puny god,” he intervened, his voice a little too amused. “You’re starting to sound like one of those bad guys in the movies who can’t get the girl’s attention, and it’s driving him crazy.”

You suppressed a chuckle, casting a brief glance at your companion before returning your attention to the task at hand. Loki, however, wasn’t so easily dismissed. His gaze lingered on you, searching for a hint of reaction.

“Oh, Loki,” you replied casually, meeting his gaze only after taking your time. “Not everything has to be a performance. Some of us are just here to focus."

The words were simple, but there was an underlying confidence in them that made Loki’s smirk falter for a fraction of a second. He tilted his head slightly, his sharp green eyes narrowing as he tried to process your response. He wasn’t used to being ignored or dismissed in such a calm manner, especially by you. It was a reaction you’d like getting used to, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit smug about it. Loki, the god who prided himself on control, was already thrown off by your indifference.

Before he could respond, Steve’s voice rang out across the gym, cutting through the tension.

“Alright, Avengers, time to assemble!” Steve called, and immediately, the atmosphere shifted as everyone gathered to form pairs. You could hear the shuffle of feet and the sound of various team members cracking their knuckles, ready for the workout ahead.

You stretched your arms overhead, muscles extending lazily. You had no intention of getting up nor getting overly involved in today’s sparring session, not unless it was absolutely necessary. 

“Think I’ll stay over there today,” you said in your usual low, steady voice. “Proximity combat is a little too personal for me, anyway. I prefer to prepare mentally first.”

Steve shot you a wry smile. “I understand, [Y/N], but this is hands-on. Come on, get in there. The more you work with the team, the better.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes dramatically but without actually showing any reluctance. “Don’t worry about me, Cap, I’ll be fine. I already did my warm-up, anyway.”

Loki, who had been watching the exchange, raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised that you weren’t jumping at the chance to compete. “Oh, please. You can’t tell me you're actually avoiding the fight today.”

You gave him a look that was more bemused than anything else, the faintest smirk playing at the corner of your lips. “Not avoiding anything. Just taking my time. We all have our methods.”

You had never been one to show off, but you could tell that he was getting increasingly intrigued by your laid-back confidence. He didn’t know how to react when you weren’t playing his usual game. You weren’t worried about the training session itself, but Loki was. He was keenly aware of the dynamic, especially when the pairs were being called up.

"Tell me, does the simplicity of your attire reflect the simplicity of your game?" Loki asked, his voice smooth like velvet, but with a sharp edge that betrayed his curiosity. His eyes scanned you, lingering for a moment longer than they should have, his smirk never faltering.

You glanced over, a slow, amused smile tugging at your lips. "You’ll find out soon enough, Loki. When it’s my turn."

“Is this some sort of riddle?” he asked, his tone darkening, a hint of annoyance creeping in. “You think you can just dismiss me like I’m some passing distraction?”

You simply smirked, taking another casual sip of water, making a show of it to further ruffle his feathers. “Not a game, Loki. Just not interested in playing along today.”

Bucky desperately tried to hide his growing smirk as he nudged you playfully. “Ouch, man. Looks like you’re losing her to the whole 'I’m too cool for you' vibe.” He could barely keep his voice steady as he watched the Asgardian scowl.

He was so used to being the one in control of the situation, not the one scrambling to keep up. And now, it seemed you were throwing him off his game entirely, which only served to heighten his fascination with you.

With one last glance at the two of you, Loki muttered under his breath, “This isn’t over.” The tension was palpable, but before he could say anything more, Steve’s voice called out, signaling the start of the upcoming matches.

The duos for the first round were quickly formed, each chosen based on skill sets, strengths, and weaknesses. The first pair to face off was Loki and Sam, and as the match began, it was immediately clear that Loki was in his element. Every move he made was calculated, and fluid, his body working in perfect harmony with his sharp instincts. There was an intensity to his movements that commanded attention—the way he twisted with the grace of a predator, the elegance of someone who had trained in the art of deception and control for centuries. His magic flickered at the edges, as if it too was eager to lend him an edge. It wasn’t long before Sam found himself outclassed, Loki easily outmaneuvering him with a mixture of skill and playfulness that left no room for doubt. The moment Sam stumbled, Loki was there, his victory secured with minimal effort, a smirk already forming on his lips as he looked down at his defeated opponent.

He strode toward the sidelines, his posture exaggerated with pride, every step oozing with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was capable of. He could practically feel the attention of the room on him, the admiration of his peers—it was a familiar sensation.

But when his eyes sought out yours, expecting to find at least some hint of acknowledgment, he was met with the unexpected: you were looking at Bucky, engaged in a casual conversation with him. You weren’t watching him. Not even a passing glance. Your attention was fully on Bucky, your face soft with that effortless smile you reserved only for certain people. It made Loki pause mid-stride, his brows furrowing as he tried to reconcile the fact that, for once, you seemed completely uninterested in his performance.

He felt a strange unease twist in his chest, something he couldn’t quite place. The indifference you showed was almost palpable, and it hit harder than any of the quips or taunts that usually got under his skin. Surely, you just hadn’t noticed? Or maybe you were playing coy, pretending to be unimpressed? The thought made him grin a little wider, but the feeling gnawing at him didn’t go away. You weren't looking at him, and it wasn’t just that—there was something in the way you laughed with the soldier, something that made him feel like an outsider, a player who had been left on the bench.

His eyes narrowed, and without thinking, he shifted his attention back to Sam who was still recovering from their match, his expression darkening. He wasn’t used to this. To this feeling of being... disregarded. Of being ordinary.

Bucky leaned in closer to you, his voice low and teasing. “Think you’ve got him rattled already?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, finally giving him a small, playful look. “Could be. I want to think so, but I don’t want to give him the pleasure of looking at him and making it seem like I care about his reaction.”

“Well, this should be fun,” Bucky said in a low voice, enough so only you could hear him. “Loki’s not used to being ignored, is he?”

You shot him a dry look. “Not in the slightest.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his tone full of amusement. “Must be getting a rude awakening, then.”

Your indifference was practically driving said god crazy, and he scowled even deeper when Steve called your name to get into position for the next match. "Oh come on, not now," you muttered, rolling your eyes. "Is it really necessary?"

The blonde’s usual cap-tipped grin only deepened. "Yes, now get moving."

Bucky gave you a small, encouraging nod. “You’ve got this,” he said with a grin that suggested he knew exactly that they were all in for a spectacle. “Show him what you’re made of.”

With an exaggerated sigh that seemed to draw every eye in the gym, you smoothly rose from the ground, taking your time. Every step was measured, as if you weren’t in any rush to show what you were capable of. The others could feel the shift in the air around you, the subtle yet undeniable presence that you commanded without a single word. You could practically feel the way Loki’s eyes followed every movement you made, but you didn’t let it faze you. 

Slowly, deliberately, you pulled your hoodie off. The gym, which had been buzzing with conversation and the light sounds of stretching, seemed to pause as every set of eyes turned toward you. The motion was so effortless, it almost seemed like choreography, and as the fabric slipped away from your body, revealing what was underneath, there was a collective shift in the air.

The defined lines of your abs came into view first, marking your taut skin that spoke of years of dedication, strength and control. The tight sports bra you wore accentuated every curve, every inch of muscle you had worked so hard to sculpt. Your sweatpants, low-slung and hanging just enough to showcase the V-lines that traced your inner thighs, fit you in a way that didn’t demand attention—but it certainly garnered it. The room seemed to suddenly lack air, and you could feel the temperature rise as the atmosphere shifted from casual banter to a raw, electric tension.

Loki’s gaze immediately swept over you, his pupils dilating as he took in the full scope of your appearance. His eyes flicked all the way down your body, then traced back up to your face, but it was the way he was looking—like he couldn’t quite focus on any one part of you—that gave you a clue to how he was feeling. His sharp breath, barely audible in the silence, was the only sound you could hear over the thumping of your own heart, but the way his chest rose and fell gave away more than words ever could. He wasn’t prepared for this. He hadn’t expected you to be... so revealing.

You dramatically tossed the hoodie back to your previous spot, where Bucky effortlessly caught it mid-air. With a playful smirk, he let out a teasing wolf whistle, clearly amused by the scene. “Damn, doll,” he called you out with a grin. “Lookin’ like a fine piece of art over here.”

Loki’s head snapped toward him, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Must you be so uncouth, Barnes?” he bit out, his tone sharp but laced with just a hint of indignation. The faint twitch in his jaw betrayed the irritation simmering beneath his cool facade, though whether it was directed at Bucky or his flustered reaction, even Loki couldn’t quite say.

Bucky, entirely unfazed, chuckled and tossed the hoodie onto the bench. “Relax, snowflake. Just calling it like I see it.”

You reached up to gather your hair into a ponytail in a swift and efficient movement, but there was a quiet grace to it that only added to the overall aura you exuded. The way your muscles flexed as you tied it back, the fluidity of the motion, all of it seemed effortless, second nature to you. It was all the more striking against Loki’s own dramatic flair—theatrical, exaggerated, designed to draw eyes to him. He was used to being the one who commanded the room with a mere flick of his wrist, the one who could manipulate and control with his every movement. But now? Now, it was your body that spoke louder than any words or gestures ever could.

Loki's breath hitched imperceptibly, a momentary lapse in his carefully constructed composure.  His jaw tightened, his body tensing as he tried to regain control of himself, his eyes momentarily lingering longer than they should on the soft curve of your waist, the way your hips swayed when you took your first step toward the arena. Every part of you, every inch of skin and muscle, seemed to demand attention—yet, you didn’t seem to care about it. You were focused, your steps silent but certain as you advanced toward the battleground, the confidence in your stride undeniable.

You reached the center of the arena and gave him one last, almost imperceptible glance, and that was enough to make him falter. His heart rate had picked up, and he cursed under his breath. His usual self-assurance had wavered, replaced by an unfamiliar unease. There was something about the way you carried yourself—like you were a force of nature, untouchable, yet impossible to ignore—that rattled him in a way that very few people had. He could feel his composure cracking under the weight of the attention you hadn’t even realized you were commanding.

The arena buzzed again, the murmur of voices rising as your opponent—the one who would face you next—looked on, unsure whether to be impressed or intimidated. But Loki, for all his control, could not shake the feeling that he was the one standing on unstable ground.

And then, Steve announced the match-up.

“Loki and [Y/N], your turn.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed as he turned his attention toward you, his smirk faltering for just a split second. It was subtle, but it was there—an almost imperceptible shift in his usual confidence. He watched you move into position, calm and collected, your very presence seemed to knock him off balance. The way you stood there, completely unaffected by his earlier display, only served to fan the flames in his mind.

He couldn’t let you get away with this. Not again. Not when you were so effortlessly pulling his attention in every direction, when your quiet strength was becoming impossible to ignore. The playful taunt he had been intending to throw your way now carried an undercurrent of something he couldn’t quite acknowledge, but still something that bothered him. He knew what it was, even if he didn’t want to admit it. It was frustration. 

“Ready to taste defeat, pet?” Loki’s voice rang out, smooth and velvety, laced with both a challenge and amusement. The words slipped effortlessly from his tongue, but beneath the surface, the slight tremor of frustration lingered. His green eyes watched you intently, like a predator sizing up its prey, but there was something more. Something you couldn’t quite define, but you could feel it crawling beneath the surface.

You tilted your head slightly, the movement small but deliberate, eyes narrowing just the slightest as your lips quirked upward in a knowing smile. Your posture remained relaxed, but there was a steel edge to the way you carried yourself now—a quiet strength that seemed to radiate outward. You could feel the way the entire gym was watching, how every inch of focus had shifted onto the two of you, but you didn’t let it faze you. Your gaze met his without hesitation, and you matched his playful tone with one of your own, voice light but carrying an underlying confidence that made it clear you were anything but intimidated.

“I’m not the one aching for a taste of something, Trickster,” you replied smoothly, the words slipping off your tongue like a promise. The glint in your eye—the challenging, unwavering look that met his—spoke volumes. You weren’t just here to go through the motions. You weren’t here to entertain him, or anyone else. You were here to prove something. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

Loki's smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second, the faintest hint of surprise at the blatant innuendo flickering across his face before it vanished. He recovered quickly, though, leaning into the moment as his expression shifted into something far more dangerous—half amusement, half intrigued.

“Careful now,” he growled, his voice lowering ever so slightly, the edges smoother than before but carrying an unmistakable sharpness. The faint flush creeping up his neck betrayed him, but his gaze never wavered, studying you like you were a puzzle he hadn’t quite solved. “Promises like that tend to come with consequences.”

The words hung in the air between you, thick with meaning. It wasn’t a threat; it was a statement of intent. You were ready for this moment, for the challenge he presented, and you weren’t backing down. Your cool demeanor only served to heighten the electric tension between you. He could feel it now—how you were playing him at his own game, how your words and actions were slowly chipping away at the armor of self-assurance he’d spent so long building.

Bucky stood near the sidelines, arms crossed casually over his chest as he kept his gaze fixed on the two of you. His focus never wavered as he observed the back-and-forth between you and Loki. There was something electric in the air, and he couldn’t help but feel a little more invested in the outcome than he expected. 

With a wry grin tugging at the corner of his lips, Bucky leaned in toward Steve, who had been quietly watching the exchange with growing interest. He whispered under his breath, careful not to break the flow of the moment, but unable to hide the amusement in his voice. “I think she’s got him right where she wants him.”

Steve glanced over at him, brow slightly raised in curiosity and a smirk already playing at the corners of his mouth, betraying his ever-serious Captain demeanor. “You think so?”

Bucky nodded, eyes flicking back to you as you casually prepared for the sparring match by wrapping your knuckles, your body language practically dripping with self-assurance. “Oh yeah, definitely,” he assured, voice low but filled with confidence. “Loki’s too used to getting the upper hand in these things, but this time she’s challenging him for the spot. And you can tell he’s not sure how to handle it.”

Steve’s eyes followed the scene with a thoughtful expression, the wheels turning in his head as he took in the dynamic. He gave his best friend a knowing glance, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Well, let’s see how she handles it,” he said, voice laced with a quiet confidence of his own. “Kid’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

The atmosphere in the gym felt electrified, thick with the unspoken tension between you and Loki. The sharp clang of Steve's voice signaling the start of the match barely registered as your focus narrowed on his every movement. His sharp gaze stayed locked on you, calculating and predatory, his posture deceptively relaxed but ready to strike.

True to form, Loki made the first move, his steps smooth and predatory as he closed the gap with surprising speed. He didn’t waste time, weaving in with a series of feints meant to throw you off. But you didn’t flinch. Instead, you shifted closer into his range in grand audacity, your movements fluid and unyielding as you met him head-on. The sharp crack of his elbow slicing through the air missed its mark as you deflected it with a quick parry, your forearm brushing his as you stepped into his space.

Loki’s lips quirked upward, a sly smirk tugging at the corners. “Not bad,” he slipped in, his voice smooth and low, as though he was testing you and complimenting you at the same time.

But you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. You used the momentum of his strike to pivot, bringing your body closer to his, forcing him to retreat a step. The shift in proximity wasn’t lost on him, and you caught the flicker of surprise that darted across his features before his mask of confidence returned.

He countered quickly, twisting to trap your wrist in an attempt to throw you off balance, but you slipped free, ducking low and sweeping a leg toward his. Loki leaped back to avoid the sweep, his quick reflexes saving him from the mat, but the action pushed him further off his rhythm.

Your advantage grew as the fight devolved into sharp close combat, every movement a test of speed and control. Loki was fast, his strikes calculated and deliberate, but you were faster, your motions seamless as you anticipated his next move. Each block, deflection, and strike left him recalibrating, searching for an opening that simply wasn’t there.

You could see the irritation brewing in his expression, the sharp edge in his narrowed eyes as his breath came heavier. He wasn’t used to being outmaneuvered, least of all so consistently. You could practically feel the frustration radiating off him.

“Frustrated already?” you teased, your voice light but challenging as you ducked under another swipe and leaned in close, your breath brushing against his jaw for just a second before you danced back out of reach.

Loki’s jaw tightened, his smirk slipping for the first time as his focus sharpened. He surged forward suddenly, his arms locking around your wrist to pull you off balance, but you twisted fluidly, your bodies nearly colliding as you maneuvered out of the hold. The shift brought you chest to chest for a brief second, the proximity enough to unnerve even Loki.

“Come on, Trickster,” you taunted, your voice dropping just slightly as you glanced up at him through your lashes. “Is that all you’ve got?”

The faint pink that crept up his neck wasn’t missed. His grip faltered, just slightly, but it was enough. You capitalized instantly, slipping free and ducking beneath his arm. Before he could react, you shifted close again, pressing your palm to his chest—not hard, just enough to distract him. And then, with a smirk that he didn’t quite know how to interpret, you did the unexpected: you leaned in, just enough for your lips to brush the shell of his ear.

“Gotcha,” you whispered.

It was barely a breath, a fleeting moment, but it sent him reeling. His entire body stiffened, caught entirely off guard by the motion, and his split-second hesitation was all you needed. Twisting sharply, you hooked your leg behind his and used your momentum to pull him off balance. Loki stumbled, his footing completely lost as his back hit the mat with a thud.

You stepped back, grinning down at him as you straightened, your breath steady despite the exertion. You watched as his chest rose and fell sharply, his flushed face half-hidden beneath the mess of dark hair that had fallen into his eyes.

“Better luck next time,” you said in an almost teasing way, the tension between you growing even thicker. “Though I do appreciate the effort.” The gym was quiet, save for the faint sound of his breath catching in his throat as he tried to regain his composure. You could feel the electricity in the air intensifying, the challenge now fully embraced.

Loki’s eyes burned with frustration, his pride wounded more than he cared to admit. He was a god, accustomed to being the center of attention, controlling every situation with a flick of his wrist and a smirk. But you—you—had managed to completely dismantle that with nothing more than your calm confidence and precision.

His teeth ground together as he shot you a glare, seething with irritation. “You’re playing a dangerous game, [Y/N],” he said, his voice sharp, but there was an undeniable fluster behind the words—his usual control slipping with every passing second. He was not used to being made to look like this, to being outmaneuvered so effortlessly.

You didn’t even seem to acknowledge the weight of his threat, instead smoothly backing off, a casual smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “What can I say? I like keeping things interesting. Can’t have you getting bored,” you replied, voice light, but with a mischievous twinkle in your eye.

And that was it. The last straw.

Loki, already feeling his temper flare, lunged at you with an almost animal-like snarl, hoping to catch you off guard this time. But you were prepared. The moment he moved, you shifted your weight with that same effortless grace, sidestepping him like he was nothing more than a fly. 

With a flick of your wrist, you sent him crashing down onto the mat, hard.

There was a beat of silence as Loki lay there, chest heaving in disbelief, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. His hair, usually so perfectly styled, was now mussed, and his cloak was askew. The whole scene was a jarring contrast to the image he’d worked so hard to maintain.

He swallowed hard, attempting to steady himself, but the way you stood over him with such quiet authority made it impossible to focus. Your presence was imposing, your posture effortlessly graceful, and every movement you made seemed carefully coordinated. The slight tilt of your head, the faint curve of a smirk on your lips—everything about you exuded control. It was clear you had the upper hand, and the effect it had on him was both unsettling and undeniable. His eyes, despite his best efforts, couldn’t help but be drawn to the way your form exuded power and confidence. The sharp lines of your body, the subtle flex of your abs as you shifted, the slight forward tilt of your pelvis as you crossed your arms—it was all framed perfectly by the soft glow of the gym light, and it hit him like a revelation. He had underestimated you in more ways than one.

Bucky, watching from the sidelines, couldn’t suppress a grin. “Well, that was something alright,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. 

Steve, who’d been quietly observing the exchange, let out a sigh, shaking his head. “This is going to be a long day, isn’t it?”

You glanced at the two of them, your lips curving into an easy smile as you wiped your hands. “Don’t worry about him,” you said lightly, your tone teasing. “He’s just a little startled. He’ll recover.”

Loki, still on the mat, let out a frustrated growl, his face flushed with both anger and something that felt a little too much like embarrassment. He glared up at you, unable to hide the flustered irritation that now flooded his system. He wasn’t used to this. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He was supposed to be the one in control, the one who had the upper hand. And yet, here he was, on the floor, defeated by someone who had barely broken a sweat.

As you turned to leave, talking with Bucky and Steve, Loki seethed, his body still tense with the humiliation of it all. This is not over, he thought, his mind racing for a way to redeem himself. I will get her back for this.

But for now, he lay there, absolutely flustered, trying to control the mix of emotions swirling inside him—irritation, pride, and a hint of something else he wasn’t ready to confront yet. He quickly stood up, adjusting his clothes and trying to compose himself, but there was no mistaking the flush in his cheeks and the tightness in his jaw.

“Oh, I’ll have my revenge,” Loki muttered to himself, eyes narrowing as he watched you from across the room, his heart still pounding in his chest. “Just wait.”

The 1-1 was marked on Loki’s scorecard, and as he slowly pushed himself up, he scowled, trying to shake off the lingering effect your victory had on him. The amused look you gave him only deepened his irritation, but one thing was clear: this was far from over.You laughed with your compeers, completely oblivious to the storm you’d just stirred up in his mind that began to race with plans, schemes, and the faintest spark of something else—a determination that he would be the one getting the last laugh.

⠀

You hadn’t seen Loki all week. After that chaotic Friday showdown, you assumed it was finally over—that the tension had reached its peak and now it would settle back into normal gym routines. You’d thought that, maybe, you’d taught him a lesson he wouldn’t forget.

But as you were talking to Sam and Tony, venting your frustration, you heard the unmistakable sound of feline steps hitting the floor. You knew that stride all too well. Of course, it was him. And, of course, he was about to make an entrance.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you scoffed, disbelief dripping from your tone. The week of silence had made you forget how intense things could get when Loki was around. You thought you’d dodged a bullet, but it seemed the universe had other plans.

Sam's eyes gleamed with amusement, a slow smile spreading across his face. Tony, on the other hand, barely hid his grin. Both of them knew full well what Loki's reappearance meant.

“Woman, you really thought he was going to let it go after that last little scene?” Sam chuckled, his voice low but full of amusement. He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms and watching Loki’s every move with a knowing gaze. “The guy’s like a cockroach. You just handed him the perfect reason to come back for more.”

Tony, ever the instigator, didn’t miss a beat. He shot you a teasing grin, leaning in slightly as he waggled his eyebrows. “So, that was quite the performance last Friday,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm as he gestured between you and the door. “And here I thought you had him all figured out. Looks like I was wrong. Clearly.” He dragged the word out for emphasis, clearly enjoying the aftermath of that heated moment between you and Loki.

Your eyes narrowed at Tony as you placed your hands on your hips, half in annoyance, half in amusement. You couldn't hide the corner of your mouth twitching upward, despite your best efforts to keep the facade of irritation intact. The whole match had been a rollercoaster, and as much as you’d convinced yourself you’d come out on top, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that you hadn’t fully won. The mind games, the tension… they were far from over.

“I thought I had the upper hand,” you muttered, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation. “I mean, after that last move, he was the one on the floor looking like he’d been hit by a freight train.” You stopped, catching the flicker of doubt creeping in at the edges of your thoughts. “Guess I underestimated him.”

Tony shook his head, grinning like the cat who got the cream. “Oh no, you’ve got it all wrong, Glamazon. Frosty loved that show. He ate it up. It’s exactly what he needed to get under your skin. You made it too easy. I’m almost impressed.” He jerked his thumb toward the door, where Loki had just entered the gym.

And damn, was it hard to look away.

Loki walked in, his usual air of confidence radiating through every step, like nothing had ever happened. But this time, the outfit was different. Daring, even. He strode into the gym with the kind of assurance that made everyone in the room turn their heads. And there was no denying it—he was flaunting it. The dark green, form-fitting performance shirt clung to his torso in a way that left little to the imagination. The mesh on the sides and back offered tantalizing glimpses of his skin, daring you to look, daring you to react. It wasn’t just the fit—it was the challenge in his very presence.

And then, the shorts. Those shorts. High-slit athletic wear, the gold trim practically glowing against the black fabric. You could feel the heat of your gaze flicker down, almost involuntarily, as the slits revealed a generous portion of his toned thigh, the compression leggings underneath leaving just enough to the imagination. The effect was maddening, and you found yourself completely captivated by the sight.

As he walked by, each step seemed to make the slits ride up higher, exposing more of those muscular thighs. Your gaze lingered a moment longer than you intended. The way his legs flexed with every stride sent an unexpected jolt through you, a wave of heat rushing to your chest. You felt the urge to look away, but it was impossible. The image of his thighs—powerful, perfectly sculpted—began to invade your mind.

A sudden thought hit you, one you couldn't shake. You imagined your hands trailing up those legs, feeling the tension in his muscles, the heat of his skin beneath your fingers. The thought of running your hands over them made your breath catch, your mind racing with vivid fantasies of what it would feel like to be wrapped around those thighs. Get it together, you mentally scolded yourself, but it was too late. The fantasy clung to you like a stubborn shadow.

He was just so damn shameless. And so tempting. Everything about him was designed to taunt, to provoke, to ensnare. And as much as you wanted to resist, your body had other ideas. Loki knew exactly what he was doing—every glance, every step calculated to make you lose control.

You exhaled slowly, trying to regain composure. Two can play at this game, you thought, your mind racing to formulate a response. You weren’t going to back down. Not now.

Sam let out a low whistle, leaning closer to you. “Okay, I see what you’re dealing with,” he said, glancing between you and Loki with a grin. “I don’t know, man, looks like he’s really trying to get under your skin today.” His voice was teasing, but there was a glint of seriousness in his eyes. He knew this wasn’t just about working out—it was about playing mind games. And Loki was very good at them.

Tony, as always, had to add his two cents. “Oh, I get it now. This is one of those ‘play hard to get’ things, huh? You can’t fool us. We all know you’re enjoying the view. The guy practically glows with that outfit. And we all know what happened last Friday... that little show you two put on? No one’s forgotten about it. Puny god sure hasn’t.” He grinned, watching you closely, clearly enjoying how uncomfortable you were getting under the weight of their teasing.

You scowled at him, trying to suppress the heat that was rushing to your cheeks. “We were just messing around,” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest. “And it was all him, to be fair.”

Tony raised both hands in mock surrender. “Yeah, and I’m the next Pope.” He gave you a knowing look, his grin wide and mischief written all over his face. “I saw the way you two were looking at each other. That wasn’t just a wrestling match, it reeked of flirting. Ew, by the way.”

“Tony, you’re closer to being the Antichrist than the Pope,” you shot back, your voice dry with sarcasm.

You groaned, suddenly aware of the gossip that was circulating among your friends. Sam and Tony had seen through it all—they knew exactly what was going on. And now, they were feeding off of it, enjoying your discomfort.

Loki, however, had already caught wind of the attention he was drawing. As he stepped into the center of the room, his eyes slid over to you, catching your gaze for just a moment. The smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips was nothing short of dangerous. He wasn’t fazed by the gym’s collective attention. In fact, it seemed like he was basking in it, as if this was exactly what he wanted.

Loki gave you a once-over, his gaze lingering longer than necessary. It was as if he knew exactly what was going through your mind. His lips curled into that mischievous smile that always made your stomach do flips. There was something about the way he looked at you—something far more personal than just the game he was playing. And you couldn’t help but notice the gold chain dangling from his neck, glinting in the light. It was subtle, but it caught your attention. And you couldn’t help but imagine how it would feel, how it would look, catching it in your teeth as you—

“Well, then,” Loki’s voice broke through your thoughts, smooth as silk. “I hope you’re ready for round three, my dear. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

The words hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you were speechless. He’d been watching you, observing you, knowing exactly what effect he was having. You couldn't suppress the thought that came rushing to your mind: Oh, I’m definitely up for more rounds than you can think of.

And then, just as quickly, the heat rushed to your cheeks in embarrassment. You quickly pushed the thought away, trying to regain your composure.

Sam and Tony exchanged amused glances. They clearly weren’t going to let this go anytime soon.

“I spy with my falcon eye someone looking a little flustered,” Sam said with a raised eyebrow, his tone light but laced with amusement. He glanced over at Loki before turning his attention back to you. “Something you want to share with the class?”

Tony leaned back, crossing his arms as he took in the scene, his grin growing wider. “I don’t know, Tweety. I think we’re witnessing something here.” He looked at Loki and then back at you, practically gleaming with mischief. “It’s like a reality show, but better. Someone cue the theme music.”

You rolled your eyes, your face still warm. “I’m just trying to get through my workout. Can you guys not make this awkward?”

Loki’s gaze flickered between Sam, Tony, and you, his smirk curling deeper. “Ah, I see,” he said smoothly, his voice rich with amusement as he took a step closer. “Trying to keep your cool while the circus goes on around you.” He lingered a moment, eyeing you like a predator sizing up its prey. “But, my dear, there’s no harm in keeping things… entertaining.” His tone dropped lower, almost sultry. “Are you sure you don’t want me to keep you company while you work out? I’ll be here, of course, but don’t let me distract you.”

Sam smirked, his arms still crossed. “Bit too late for that, buddy.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to fight the rush of heat flooding your cheeks. “No, thank you. I’m just trying to get through my session without it turning into a drama show.”

Tony chuckled, looking between you and Loki. “Go on, do your thing, Ms. Olympia. We’ll be here, making sure everything’s as interesting as it can be.”

You huffed, shaking your head at them, desperate to regain some sense of focus. “I can’t even work out with you two around. It’s like I’m in some kind of bad sitcom.”

Loki chuckled darkly behind you, the sound low and wicked. His voice dropped, more teasing now. “Perhaps you’d like me to… help you with that focus issue. It’s a bit hard to concentrate when your thoughts keep wandering, don’t you think?”

Sam let out a low whistle, clearly enjoying this a bit too much. “Ooh, this is good. I’m here for it.”

Tony grinned, raising a thumb up in approval. “Keep it up, you two.”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked toward the leg press machine while grumbling about how you were surrounded by complete fools. You could feel Loki’s eyes following you, the intensity of his gaze almost tangible on your back. You tried to tune it out, but every step you took, every breath you drew, was tainted by the knowledge that he was watching. And it was impossible to ignore.

The air in the gym felt thick with anticipation as you adjusted your position on the leg press machine, trying your best to ignore the electric pull of Loki’s presence just a few feet away. It was supposed to be a simple leg day. Squats, lunges, some basic machines, a few stretches—nothing too exciting. But the way Loki was setting up at the squat rack, his movements so deliberate, made it clear this was no ordinary gym session.

Your mind had barely adjusted when he began his first set, the weight crashing down with a sharp thud. You couldn’t help but glance over, just for a second. His posture was perfect—shoulders broad, chest out, a small hint of a smirk curling at his lips. The man knew how to draw attention, and the workout attire didn’t help either.

But then it started—the thing you had been dreading.

Loki moved to the mat and set up for hip thrusts, his back against the bench, his legs spread wide to grip the weight bar. The moment the weight began to lift, his breath hitched, low and guttural. A soft groan slipped from his lips as he pushed his hips forward, and despite yourself, you glanced over to his form.

Your pulse quickened as you watched his muscles tense, his body arching in that perfect, rhythmic thrust. You tried to tear your eyes away, telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal. It was just an exercise. Just an exercise. Just focus on your own workout.

But it was impossible. The sound of Loki’s breath—those soft, strained groans that seemed to vibrate through the floor—was distracting. Each thrust, each controlled movement of his hips, echoed in your mind. You tried to ignore it, biting your lip as you switched positions and grabbed your weights. Deep breath. In. Out.

You couldn’t.

Every time Loki’s hips rose, there was that groan. That low, guttural sound that was more sensation than sound. It made your skin tingle in ways you couldn’t understand. Your thoughts were already turning to places they shouldn’t. The images, vivid and undeniable, started to form in your mind—hands trailing up your legs, the way his body moved with power, the flex of his muscles beneath your touch.

"Focus," you told yourself, but it was getting harder by the second. You quickly shoved your headphones in, cranking up the volume as loud as it would go. The thumping bass of your playlist should’ve drowned out the world. But it didn’t. Loki’s grunts still filtered through, faint but undeniably there, and now they were mixing with the beat of your music in ways that had you gripping the machine a little too tight.

Stop it, you mentally scolded yourself. It’s just a workout. He’s just... working out.

But the thoughts wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like to feel those powerful thighs under your hands, your body pressed against his, those same hips that were now thrusting against the air. His groan vibrated through your very chest, and the fantasy came alive—too alive. You tried to force it down, but it lingered, stubborn and insistent.

You focused on your leg press, forcing your body into the motions. Down, up, down, up. Your legs were burning, but your focus was elsewhere, your body aching for the release of tension you couldn’t get. Loki’s continued grunts—soft, rhythmic—were driving you mad.

Suddenly, you felt the eyes on you again. You glanced up, catching a glimpse of him watching you, that dangerous smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He was watching you, studying you. He didn’t even pause his workout, his hips thrusting upward again with a languid fluidity that had your breath catching in your throat. He knew. He knew exactly what he was doing, knew the effect he was having on you. His eyes lingered just a second too long, and you saw the flicker of smugness on his face.

Before you could even fully process the shift in the air, Loki suddenly appeared at your side, startling you. You flinched, and before you could react, he moved one of your earpieces to the side, his fingers brushing dangerously close to your ear. You stiffened, dismay flooding through you as his touch lingered a moment too long. You hadn’t even noticed him move, and now, with him standing so close, you couldn’t focus on anything else.

“You look like you’re struggling,” he remarked, his voice smooth, dripping with an edge of mischief that made your skin heat. You glanced over, but quickly averted your eyes when his locked onto yours. That familiar smirk tugged at his lips, and you couldn’t help the flutter in your stomach. 

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up, meeting his knowing gaze. There was no escape now, not even in the sanctuary of your headphones.

"You've been staring," he purred, the teasing lilt of his voice making your pulse race. "Can't keep your eyes off me, can you?"

Hearing him speak made those deep, sensual sounds that slipped from his lips earlier strike your memory again in a thick whiplash. Your focus wavered, unable to hold its ground. The way he moved, the way he seemed to possess every inch of the gym with his presence—it was too much. The thought of him so near, teasing you without words, had your thoughts spinning, your concentration slipping further.

“I can help you, if you’d like,” Loki added casually, his voice now dipped in a teasing tone that made your skin flush. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself, after all. It would be such a shame if you... collapsed under the weight. You wouldn’t want to get yourself into any kind of... compromising position now, would you?”

Your heart skipped, but you kept your cool. You bit your lip, trying to focus on the weights in front of you, and not the crafted image of Loki’s body beneath those tight shorts.

“I’m good,” you said, forcing a nonchalant tone into your voice as you adjusted your stance.

Loki chuckled darkly, a sound that sent a chill up your spine. “Are you sure?” His eyes tracked your every movement, and his words lingered in the air like a challenge. “It seems like you could use some assistance. Maybe a little guidance... in the right position?”

Your breath faltered. He wasn’t even pretending anymore, was he? Every word felt like it was wrapped in double meaning, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could endure it. His gaze followed you as you moved to the squat rack, watching you carefully. When you tried to start your set, Loki’s voice floated over again, his tone almost too smooth.

“Don’t strain yourself now,” Loki called with an exaggerated innocence, leaning against the nearby rack. “Let me help you out. I’m quite good at supporting... heavy loads.” His eyes twinkled with that dangerously charming glint, knowing full well how far his words were pushing the line.

His words carried more weight than just an offer of assistance. His lips curled further, clearly aware of what his proximity was doing to you. You swallowed hard, trying to regain some semblance of control, but it was slipping through your fingers, one teasing glance at a time.

You tried to clear your throat, attempting to steady your breath, but all you could think about was the way his body moved—each thrust, each groan, each deliberate motion that seemed aimed directly at you. The air was thick with tension, thick with him, and you could feel it clouding your thoughts like a drug.

“I think I’ve got it covered,” you talked through your teeth, trying to ignore the warmth pooling low in your belly as you adjusted your grip on the barbell.

Loki’s smirk only grew, his breath heavier now, louder as he moved to prepare his next sets. "Mh, I’m sure you do. But I’ll be here if you need to drop anything. I’m quite capable of catching things... especially when they fall out of control."

You could feel the tension building in your body, a mix of frustration and arousal swirling together. Your focus was shot, lost somewhere between your workout and Loki’s innuendos. Those seductive sounds that followed each thrust, seemed to be pulsing through your eardrums, practically vibrating in your bones.

"I said I’m fine," you finally snapped, irritated with both yourself and him. “I don’t need your help.”

The sensation of Loki’s eyes on you, the sound of his breath, the feel of his proximity—it was all too much. You couldn’t take it anymore. Your heart was racing, and it wasn’t from the workout. It was from him, from the teasing, from the way he seemed to find endless amusement in rattling your composure. It felt like he was intentionally trying to push you to the edge. You grabbed your towel from the bench, a sharp motion born from irritation, and stormed off to the treadmill, needing a change of pace. The last thing you wanted was to be anywhere near him at that moment. You couldn’t let him get to you—not anymore. Not like this.

Your focus was slipping, the heat of your skin betraying the resolve you were desperately trying to hold onto. You couldn’t afford the distraction. The only thing that could save you now was a good run, something that would let your muscles burn, let your thoughts bleed into the rhythm of your steps. Something that would drown out the chaotic swirl of fantasies and irritation that he had stirred up in your mind.

You punched in the settings on the treadmill, fingers moving with precision, though your mind was nowhere near as composed. The moment you hit "start," the belt began to move, and the familiar, repetitive thud of your feet against the treadmill’s surface became your anchor. You jammed your headphones back in, cranking up the volume, hoping the music would drown out the thoughts that were threatening to break through your focus. Music usually worked. But right now? It wasn’t enough. Not with him still in the background, somewhere in the periphery of your mind. You kept one muff slightly over one ear, just in case he decided to come prowl on you again.

You could feel it again, though. His gaze. It was like a weight pressing against your back, making your skin feel tight. You could almost feel him watching, studying you, though you refused to look. Not now. You kept your eyes fixed straight ahead, blocking out everything but the rhythm of your feet, the steady burn in your legs. Your mind was still racing, but you forced yourself to settle into the movement. You weren’t going to let him distract you anymore.

The sound of his low chuckle reached you from across the room, cutting through your thoughts like a hot knife. Your pulse skipped. You clenched your jaw, trying to ignore the sensation of him still lingering, even from afar. It wasn’t enough. His presence had a way of bleeding into everything you did. But then—another sound. A soft giggle, the clear laugh of a woman, cut through the air, and you froze mid-step, your feet stilling for just a fraction of a second.

You glanced to the side, and there he was. Standing at the weight bench, effortlessly chatting with someone—another woman. She was hanging on his every word, eyes sparkling with amusement as she laughed at something Loki had said. The sight of it hit you like a slap, sharp and immediate. Your gut twisted. Of course, he’d move on to someone else. Of course, he’d find someone new to charm, to entertain. Like it was nothing.

Your jaw tightened as your mind churned, irritation bubbling up once again. The way he was smiling at her, the way she was laughing, so easily caught up in whatever he was saying—it was like a reminder of how little you actually mattered to him. It was all a game to him. And you? You were just another piece on the board.

You turned back to the treadmill, determined to ignore him. You increased the speed, pushing your legs harder, faster, ignoring the strain in your muscles as they burned. You would focus on the run. You would make yourself focus on the run. The burn in your thighs, the tightness in your calves—it would ground you, it would help you forget about Loki.

But, of course, the sound of his voice was already creeping up beside you.

You felt the treadmill shift slightly, the subtle change in the rhythm of his footsteps as he jogged up next to you. You tried to block him out. You kept your gaze forward, staring at the wall ahead, trying not to even acknowledge that he was there. But the steady thud of his feet, the near-perfect, effortless pace with which he kept up, began to fill your ears, and before you knew it, his voice was slipping into your consciousness like the softest whisper.

“Trying to outrun me now, darling?” Loki’s voice was a silky purr, the words slow and deliberate, dripping with a teasing, almost predatory quality. "I do hope you're not tiring so easily. I’d hate to think you can’t keep up.”

You clenched your jaw. His proximity only made the effort to keep running feel harder, more impossible. But you weren’t about to let him win.

You shot a glance at him, your breath sharp. Loki was jogging beside you, his form so relaxed, so effortless. He barely seemed to be trying, while you were fighting every inch of the treadmill. His smile curled up at the edges, his eyes dark with mischief as he matched your pace.

“Oh, what’s wrong? Not used to the pressure?” he teased again, his voice dropping to an almost intimate whisper. “I thought you liked a challenge. Or is that just for when I’m the one in control?”

His words sliced through your focus, making your breath hitch. You ignored him, pushing yourself harder, willing your body to keep up.

But of course, Loki wasn’t done.

“You know," he continued smoothly, his pace not even breaking as he leaned in closer, his voice dangerously seductive, "I could make this a lot easier for you. If you let me guide you… show you how to keep the rhythm steady, how to control your breathing." His words dripped with innuendo, his every syllable teasing a deeper, more tantalizing meaning.

“Don’t you have someone else to bother?” you snapped, hoping your voice didn’t shake as much as you felt. You didn’t look at him as you turned the treadmill speed up again, pushing your legs to move faster. You had the advantage of effort now, your muscles burning as you tried to shake off his presence.

But he wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. Loki kept pace, not once showing any sign of struggle. His stride was effortless, like he was gliding through the air while you were forced to fight for every step. His voice, smooth as ever, slid through the air again, and you couldn’t help but feel his words wrap around you like a physical touch.

“I can’t help but wonder," Loki mused with a smirk, “are you running away from something?”

Your pulse spiked. The words hit their mark, pushing all the right buttons, pulling at your composure. You gritted your teeth and tried to ignore him, focusing on the speed, on the burn, on the rhythm. You couldn't let him derail you, not again.

“If running is all it takes to get you panting like that, darling, I can think of far more enjoyable ways to leave you breathless. Shall I show you?”

“Will you just shut up?”

You couldn’t help it. His words were a physical weight on your chest, like a pressurizing force. Your heart was racing—not from the run, but from him. You clenched your jaw, furious with yourself for letting him get under your skin like this.

Suddenly, your foot caught the edge of the treadmill, and in that instant, time seemed to freeze. You stumbled, your legs buckling beneath you, and without even a pause, Loki’s hand shot out, catching you by the waist. His grip was firm, secure, pulling you back into him effortlessly.

Everything stopped—except for the feel of his hand on your waist, his chest pressing against your back, the warmth of his breath on your neck. You could feel his heart beating against your spine, the tension between you two so thick it was almost tangible.

“Careful, now,” Loki’s voice purred, low and dangerous, as he leaned in, his lips grazing your ear with a softness that sent shivers down your spine. “Wouldn’t want you to fall… though, I’d gladly have you on your knees if that’s where you’re trying to end up.”

His breath lingered against your skin, hot and intoxicating, his words dripping with intention. It was as if time had slowed, every breath you took mingling with his, making the air thick with something more than just the scent of sweat and effort. Your heart was hammering in your chest, and for a split second, you forgot the pain in your legs, forgot the purpose of the run. All you could feel was the electric heat of his body just inches from yours, the weight of his words pulling you in like a magnetic force.

But he didn’t just hold you steady. His fingertips danced on the small of your back, tracing little circles that made your skin tingle. The sensation was maddening—gentle, yet firm, teasing you without even trying. Each motion of his hand sent waves of shivers through you, and despite your attempts to hold it in, a soft, involuntary sigh escaped your lips.

You tried to focus, to pull away, but his grip only tightened slightly, keeping you close. Your thoughts were swirling, the line between annoyance and something far more dangerous blurring with every breath he took. It was all too much—his touch, his scent, the feel of his body against yours, and those little circles on your back that made you shiver and almost surrender to the sensation.

Finally, you yanked away, breaking free from his teasing hold. Your hand shot out, grabbing the towel from the bench, and in your rush to regain your space, you slapped it against his thigh with a little more force than you intended, your fingers brushing against his skin as the towel made contact. You didn’t mean for it to feel like that, but the heat in your cheeks was unmistakable.

“What I’d like is for you to fuck off, Loki,” you replied with a tight voice, though the words betrayed the truth—that it wasn’t the teasing that bothered you. It was him. All of him. The way he could unsettle you, make your pulse race in ways you weren’t ready for.

But even as you spun on your heel to storm away, you could hear him. His voice, smooth as velvet and laced with the sort of amusement that made your stomach tighten.

“Oh, I’m definitely getting ideas now,” Loki called out, a sly grin curling on his lips. “That slap of yours... so eager. You know where to find me if you decide you want to explore any of them.”

You couldn’t help it. Your breath hitched as you threw him a quick glance over your shoulder, eyes narrowed in mock annoyance, but the heated look in his gaze made it clear that this wasn’t over. You flipped him off, the motion sharp and a little more dramatic than you intended, but you couldn’t mask the rush of heat that surged through your body, making your skin feel too warm.

Your water bottle was a poor substitute for what you really needed, but you chugged it anyway, hoping to drown out the craving that had started to build in your chest. The cool liquid did nothing to cool the burn inside you, the heat of him still lingering in your senses.

You knew exactly what you wanted. But it wasn’t water. Not anymore. Not after that.

Chapter Text

The Friday gym reunions had undeniably spiraled into something far beyond their original purpose. What should have been a straightforward workout session had evolved into a full-blown theater of absurdity—a weekly unscheduled spectacle of clashing egos and sharper-than-steel wits. And at the center of it all stood Loki. Naturally.

The gym was buzzing, its usual hum of machinery and clatter of weights eclipsed by the palpable tension in the air. The room itself, sterile with its fluorescent lights and dull grey walls, was wholly unworthy of the drama that unfolded within it, yet it served as the perfect stage.

And the spectacle? Oh, it wasn’t just between the two of you anymore. No, your little rivalry had become something of a legend around the installation. What had started as harmless banter and subtle challenges had escalated into something so magnetic that it drew an audience every week. From agents to staff, everyone whispered about it. About the mischief-maker and the defiant contender, locking horns like some modern-day myth.

The Avengers themselves had taken notice, watching from the sidelines with varying degrees of amusement. Rumor had it that bets were now circulating—some on who would break first, others on who would escalate the stakes further. Tony Stark, naturally, spearheaded the betting pool, gleefully collecting wagers and throwing in his cheeky commentary. 

“So, who do you think’s gonna crack first?” The self-made genius leaned against the wall with a practiced nonchalance, arms crossed over his chest as he surveyed the scene with a smirk. His eyes glinted with merriment, as if he were enjoying a private show. “I’ve got ten bucks on Rock of Ages. The guy’s a walking disaster zone. You know he can’t help himself—whether it’s stirring the pot or keeping it in his pants.”

Sam Wilson, ever the provocateur, grinned as he adjusted the Velcro on his gloves. “Nah, you’re on, Stark. I’m betting on [Y/N]. I mean, seriously, have you seen the way she looks at him? It’s like watching a countdown to an explosion. She’ll snap before Loki even knows what hit him.”

Tony smirked, shifting his weight against the wall. “Nah, Tweety, you’ve got it backward. My money’s still on him. He’s like a walking ego trip—he won’t stop until he’s the center of her universe. And let’s be honest, he’s not exactly subtle about it.”

Bucky snorted, adjusting the weights on his barbell. “You guys seriously underestimate her. She’s got more self-control than all of us combined. If anyone’s gonna break first, it’s Loki. Trust me on this one, Loki’s the one walking the edge.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye. “Oh, really? And what’s your bet, then? That she’s gonna keep her cool while he spirals into one of his melodramatic fits?”

Bucky shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Something like that. She’s too level-headed to let him get under her skin—at least not in the way he’s hoping. Loki’s gonna be the one who can’t handle it when the tables turn.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, come on, man. Have you seen the way she looks at him when he’s pulling one of his stunts? It’s like she’s deciding whether to throttle him or kiss him. My money says throttle.”

The billionaire wasn’t having it. “Come on, Barnes. You’ve seen her. Whenever he pulls that whole ‘smooth criminal’ act, you can practically see the gears turning in her head as she fights not to roll her eyes. It’s like watching someone wrestle a hurricane.”

Sam chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned back against a nearby column. “I’m sticking to my call—she’s gonna fold first. She’s already hanging by a thread. Loki thrives on the chaos, and let’s face it—she’s the perfect fuel for his fire. I mean, come on, she’s probably the only one getting off on telling him to shut up.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, grabbing the barbell and settling onto the bench. “You guys are ridiculous. This isn’t some rom-com. She’s not gonna fall for his games, and he’s not gonna win whatever twisted competition he thinks they’re having.”

Sam grinned, nudging Tony with his elbow. “We’ll see, man. We’ll see.”

The gym door swung open suddenly, and the chatter died instantly as the god of mischief sauntered in with his signature swagger. It was as if the very air shifted to accommodate him, growing heavier with an almost theatrical tension. He didn’t just walk into the room; he commanded it, his dark leather boots clicking softly against the polished floor with the precision of an orchestra’s opening note.

“Gentlemen,” he drawled, his voice a rich, velvety purr that seemed to coat every syllable with smug satisfaction. He leaned against the doorframe, one ankle crossed casually over the other, and surveyed the room like a monarch appraising his court. “I couldn’t help but overhear your little conversation. How terribly entertaining it is to know you spend so much time obsessing over me. Tell me—what would you all do without my dazzling presence?”

Tony, unimpressed, barely looked up from where he was fiddling with his smartwatch. “Probably get some peace and quiet for once,” he quipped, his tone dry but playful. “But hey, where’s the fun in that?”

Loki’s grin widened, shark-like and infuriatingly self-assured. “Ah, but peace is so dreadfully dull, isn’t it?” he countered smoothly, pushing off the doorframe and strolling further into the room. His presence seemed to expand as he moved, drawing the attention of everyone present without effort. 

“No excitement, no discord, no… amusement,” he added, letting his eyes flicker over each of them before landing on Sam, his grin turning predatory. “And as for your little gossip regarding my dear [Y/N]… rest assured, she’s already under my spell. It’s only a matter of time before she succumbs to her undeniable attraction to me.”

Bucky scoffed at the declaration. “Man, you’re cocky. You really think she’s just gonna roll over and swoon?”

Loki’s grin turned wicked. “Oh, I don’t think—I know. The lady simply needs time to come to terms with the inevitable. Resistance, after all, is futile.”

Sam let out a bark of laughter, clearly enjoying the absurdity of the situation. “You’ve got a lot of confidence for someone who still thinks capes are sexy.”

Loki arched a single, perfectly shaped eyebrow, the picture of aloof elegance. “Capes are timeless,” he replied, a gleam of mischief in his eye. “And as for confidence… I simply speak the truth. She will come to see it soon enough.”

Bucky muttered under his breath as he pushed the barbell up. “You’re delusional.”

Loki’s sharp gaze flicked toward him, but his smirk remained firmly in place. “Indeed, Barnes, I stand here—utterly delusional, and yet, undeniably irresistible.”

Sam slapped his thigh, grinning wide. “This is gonna be good. Can't wait to rub that win in your faces.”

Before the conversation could escalate further, the heavy creak of the door sounded again. All heads turned as Steve Rogers entered, his upright posture and steely gaze cutting through the buzzing tension like a knife. His broad shoulders seemed to fill the doorway, and the room shifted, the previously lighthearted atmosphere thickening with a hint of unease. Steve’s sharp blue eyes swept across the group, taking in the smirks, folded arms, and barely stifled grins, his expression a mix of exasperation and disbelief.

“What is this?” Steve demanded, his deep voice laced with disapproval. “You’re betting on who’s going to crack first? Really? What are you, a bunch of high schoolers?”

Tony, as usual, remained completely unfazed, leaning back in his chair with a smirk that bordered on outright defiance. “Come on, Cap. It’s harmless. We’re just having a little fun. You know, team bonding and all that jazz.” He gestured vaguely to the others, clearly trying to pass off the situation as innocent.

Steve’s eyes narrowed as they landed on Loki, who had strategically moved to the edge of the room, leaning against the wall in a pose that screamed insufferable smugness. The faintest trace of a smirk curled on Loki’s lips, his entire demeanor practically daring Steve to confront him. “Laufeyson,” Steve said, his voice low and heavy with warning. “I can’t say I expected better from you, but you’re supposed to be focusing on your probation. Not... whatever this is.”

Loki didn’t miss a beat, straightening slightly as he pushed off the wall with an almost feline grace. “Ah, Rogers, always the paragon of virtue,” he said smoothly, his voice as sweet as poisoned honey. “But I assure you, this is all in good fun. After all, what is life without a little… competition?” His sharp green eyes sparkled mischievously, and for a moment, it looked as though he might outright laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

Steve let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand over his face. His sense of righteousness was clearly battling with his growing exasperation—and the faintest hint of amusement he seemed determined to suppress. “It’s not about participating in this childish behavior,” he said firmly, though the weariness in his tone betrayed him. “I’m trying to make a point.”

Before he could say more, Tony pushed a crisp five-dollar bill toward him with a wide, knowing grin. “Come on, Star-Spangled Man,” he coaxed, his tone both teasing and strangely persuasive. “You can’t resist. You’re curious now, aren’t you? Just throw a little something down. I guarantee you won’t regret it.”

Steve hesitated, his sharp gaze darting between the group and the smirking god of mischief still lounging nearby. His lips pressed into a thin line before he exhaled heavily, reaching into his pocket. A crumpled ten-dollar bill emerged, and with what could only be described as reluctant resignation, he tossed it onto the table. “This is nonsense,” he muttered under his breath, his tone tinged with reluctant mirth. “I’m doing these sessions for the team. Not for this nonsense.” His piercing gaze landed on Loki, the unspoken warning in his expression clear.

Loki’s smirk widened, his entire demeanor dripping with unbothered confidence. He stepped closer, his long coat swishing slightly as he leaned toward Steve. “Oh, how very noble of you, Rogers,” he mocked lightly, his voice laced with exaggerated politeness. “You’re not participating for the thrill of it, of course. No, no—you’re simply maintaining the moral high ground. How very... heroic. Rest assured, your wagers are well-placed when they rest upon my incomparable charm.” His smirk deepened, practically daring Steve to react.

Steve’s incredulous expression spoke volumes. “Charm?” he repeated, his voice laden with skepticism. “You’re not charming anyone, buddy. This is ridiculous.”

Sam, leaning back in his seat with an arm casually draped over the chair, grinned widely. “Oh, I don’t know, Cap. The guy lives for drama, and let’s face it—we do too.”

The room suddenly seemed to shift again as heavy, purposeful footsteps echoed from the hallway. The doorway darkened as Thor entered, his large frame and imposing presence commanding attention. His storm-blue eyes scanned the room, landing squarely on his brother with a mixture of irritation and faint amusement. “Loki,” Thor boomed, his deep voice reverberating through the room. “What is this nonsense? Are you planning to court Lady [Y/N], or are you simply making a fool of yourself again?”

The room went silent, the air thick with anticipation. All eyes turned to Loki, whose smirk faltered for the briefest of moments before he recovered, his expression once again unreadable. Straightening his posture, he turned to Thor with an air of mock innocence. “Ah, brother,” he began, his voice as smooth as silk, “you misunderstand me entirely. I’m not courting her—I’m merely ensuring she is... aware of my presence.”

Sam burst out laughing, earning a sharp glance from Loki. “Oh yeah? That’s what you’re calling it?” Sam teased, his grin practically splitting his face. “You might wanna rethink your ‘not-courting’ strategy, dude.”

Bucky, who had been quietly observing the exchange, leaned back in his seat with a smirk of his own. “If I were the damsel,” he remarked dryly, “I’d be looking for someone with a little less flair for the dramatic.”

Thor crossed his arms, his biceps bulging slightly as he stared down at his younger brother. “If this is your idea of a competition,” he said with a sigh, his tone laced with both disapproval and faint beguilement, “you’re more of a fool than I thought.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning sharp. “Oh, it’s not a competition, dear brother,” he replied smoothly, his tone bordering on smug. “Merely a game. A harmless game. But rest assured, as always—I intend to win.” His piercing green gaze locked with Thor’s, the unspoken challenge hanging heavy in the air.

His piercing green eyes locked with Thor’s stormy blue gaze, the intensity of his stare unyielding. It wasn’t just a challenge; it was a declaration. The air between them seemed to spark, charged with the weight of unspoken words communicated by the likes of subconscious telepathy. Loki stood poised, his lithe frame radiating confidence, as though he were a predator savoring the anticipation of the hunt.

Thor, towering and broad-shouldered, tilted his head slightly, his eyebrow lifting in skeptical defiance. “A game?” he repeated, his deep voice tinged with incredulity as it rose slightly, the rich timbre of it filling the room. “And what, pray tell, are you battling for this time?”

Loki’s smirk deepened, the corners of his mouth curling upward into a grin that could only be described as devilish. His gaze flickered, a glint of mischief lighting his eyes, but he offered no further explanation. “Pride, Thor,” he said finally, his tone light yet deliberate, the words laden with layers of meaning. “Simple pride.”

As if on cue, the door swung open with a soft, deliberate creak, and you stepped inside alongside Natasha and Wanda, the three of you commanding the room with an understated, magnetic presence. The atmosphere in the gym, already thick with tension and rivalry, shifted immediately, as though the air itself bent to accommodate your arrival. The rhythmic thud of weights hitting the ground and low murmurs of conversation faltered, replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to hold the collective gaze of every man in the room.

Each of you exuded an air of effortless elegance and undeniable strength, your outfits blending athleticism and allure in a way that was impossible to ignore. You, dressed in a sleek cropped top that revealed just enough of your toned midriff to hint at the dedication beneath it, paired it with high-cut athletic shorts that elongated your legs. The addition of thigh-high compression socks accentuated your form, lending both practicality and a touch of bold style. Your hair was swept into a perfectly imperfect messy bun, with a few stray strands framing your face like an artist's final, deliberate strokes on a masterpiece. The faint sheen of your skin from the heat outside caught the light just right, and the subtle tint of lip balm made your lips seem more vivid, though still natural—an unintentional yet undeniable invitation to stare.

Natasha and Wanda complemented your presence perfectly. Natasha, in her sleek black leggings and a fitted low-cut tank top, moved with feline grace, her crimson hair pulled into a high ponytail that swayed slightly with each step. Wanda’s outfit, a rich maroon set that clung to her like a second skin, paired with a lightweight jacket tied casually around her waist, hinted at her unique balance of grounded power and mysticism. The three of you looked like a coordinated, unstoppable force, every movement synchronized in unintentional harmony.

The men in the room couldn’t help but take notice. Tony’s eyebrows shot up in mild surprise, his usual wit temporarily stolen. Steve, ever the gentleman, tried to avert his gaze but couldn’t help a second glance. Sam and Bucky exchanged a quick look that was equal parts appreciation and amusement, while Thor simply let out a low, approving hum, his broad grin spreading as his eyes lingered for just a second too long.

But Loki—Loki’s reaction was immediate, as though his attention was magnetically drawn to you the moment you came in. His sharp green eyes flickered over you, briefly narrowing with a subtle appraisal that didn’t escape your notice. His smirk faltered for the briefest moment before returning with even more fervor, like a predator calculating its next move.

The tight-fitting athletic wear revealed just enough to catch his interest, and he looked at you with an intensity that felt as if it could set the entire room ablaze. It wasn’t the kind of gaze that lingered on your face or the space between you, but on the curve of your hips and the long, toned length of your legs. He traced the lines of your body with a hunger in his eyes, though momentarily distracted by your planned indifference.

When he met your gaze, the mischievous glint in his expression only deepened. It was clear he hadn’t missed your deliberate lack of acknowledgment, but that didn’t deter him. No, instead, it seemed to fuel the game he was already playing, and he grinned, as though the challenge had only just begun.

“What's up, guys?" you asked lightly, your tone casual, almost dismissive, as you moved past the group. The words hung in the air like a carefully thrown dart, drawing their attention further without giving too much away. You radiated a confident ease, as though utterly unaware—or uncaring—of the disruption your presence had caused.

Loki, of course, wasn’t so easily dismissed. He subtly shifted in your direction, his posture as relaxed as ever, but there was a deliberate intent in the way he angled himself slightly toward you. His smirk was slow and deliberate, his lips curving upward like the promise of a secret only he knew. When you didn’t immediately look his way, he leaned forward just enough for his presence to nudge into your space, his emerald eyes gleaming with mischief.

Natasha raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at him, her expression a mix of exasperation and amusement, while Wanda shot him a cool, disinterested glance before heading toward the chosen workout area. They didn’t need words; the look they exchanged was enough to say it all.

You stayed focused, making your way to join them with an effortless stride, your movements as fluid as they were intentional. The men couldn’t help themselves, their gazes trailing after you like moths to a flame, though each tried, with varying degrees of success, to pretend they weren’t watching. Tony cleared his throat, shifting his weight awkwardly as if trying to appear nonchalant. Steve adjusted his stance, looking determined to redirect his attention to anything else but failing miserably. Sam gave a low whistle under his breath, earning an elbow from Bucky, who chuckled and muttered something about "respecting professionalism." Thor crossed his arms, his grin unabashed and entirely unapologetic as he observed the dynamic shift in the room.

“Did you feel that?” Natasha murmured quietly to you, a sly smile tugging at her lips as she gestured toward the group with a subtle tilt of her head. “The collective brain cell they’re trying to share just short-circuited.”

You smirked but kept your eyes forward, not giving Loki or the others the satisfaction of knowing you noticed. “Barely,” you replied, your voice low enough for only Natasha and Wanda to hear.

Loki’s grin widened at your apparent indifference, but beneath the mask of arrogance, there was the usual flicker of frustration at the lack of attention from your end. At this point, he thrived on it, and your refusal to grant it to him, even for a moment, was an offense he didn’t want to tolerate anymore. 

Wanda gave you a knowing look, her smirk growing as she took note of the subtle shift in his posture. “Here we go,” she murmured with a quiet laugh, her voice carrying the hint of something much more entertaining to come. Natasha, not missing a beat, threw the dark prince another pointed glance, her amusement evident in the way she silently challenged him.

Still, you gave no reaction, letting him stew in his theatrics for just a little longer. You had a special workout to get to, after all.

You took a deep breath before turning back to face the group of men, fully aware of the apprehension in the room and how everyone’s attention was on you. The air was thick with anticipation, and you played it up, pretending the Asgardian didn’t exist for the moment. 

"Alright, so," you began, your voice light but with an edge of authority. "The girls and I decided to work on agility today. We’re going to try something different for this session." You allowed a small, deliberate pause, letting the words sink in as you watched their faces shift from confusion to curiosity.

They were all listening intently, waiting for more. "You know," you continued, flashing a casual smile, "Yoga. Thought we’d give it a go today." The words came out with just enough playful confidence to keep them guessing.

Tony, still lurking behind a set of dumbbells, couldn't hide the curiosity that piqued his interest. "Yoga?" he said, his voice dripping with skepticism. "You sure you’re not just trying to get out of lifting some actual weight for once, Glamazon?" 

You grinned back, unfazed. "No, actually, I’m curious to see how my core holds up," you said, your voice playful yet sharp with determination, a reminder of the underlying strength you carried in everything you did. "But don’t worry about us," you added with a carefree shrug. "You’ll get your gym session, and we’ll get ours."

Sam, ever the instigator, leaned forward with that cocky grin of his. "I didn’t think you were into that," he said with a raised eyebrow, clearly enjoying the energy shift. "You always seem like you’d rather be running circles around us."

You shrugged nonchalantly, a glimmer of an unknown sentiment flickering in your eyes. "Variety's good, right?" You glanced at Natasha and Wanda, both of whom were already giving off an air of superiority. "It’s about challenging the body in different ways, not just about strength."

Wanda, who had been eyeing the group of men with a gleam in her eye, finally spoke up. "Plus, it’s a great way to get some real flexibility, not just the physical kind." Her voice was light, but you knew the deeper meaning in her words, especially with the way she shot a conspiratory glance at Sam.

You couldn’t help but throw her a grin. "Exactly. Yoga isn’t just about strength. It’s about balance, coordination, and mental focus." You paused, eyes narrowing with intent. "Thought I’d try to perfect my inner zen."

Thor, who had been watching you intently, folded his arms over his chest, his expression a mixture of confusion and curiosity. "What is this... some kind of sorcery?" he asked, clearly puzzled by the shift in atmosphere.

You laughed softly, casting a quick glance toward the men before letting your gaze land on Loki. His eyes were still on you, though his earlier smirk had dimmed. You tilted your head slightly, feigning innocence. "It’s just a workout routine, Loki. Nothing to be concerned about." You let your words hang in the air, a subtle challenge of your own.

Loki leaned in, his voice laced with mock seriousness, but his tone hinted at something deeper, something more intrigued than he'd care to admit. "Oh, I’m not concerned. Not at all," he said smoothly, though the faintest glimmer of doubt danced in his eyes. "But do be careful, pet. We wouldn't want you to overextend yourself... You might strain more than just your flexibility."

You could feel his words crawling under your skin, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of reacting. Instead, you kept your posture relaxed, almost too casual. "We’ll be fine," you answered politely but with a hint of finality. "It’s just a change of pace." You smiled sweetly at him, then turned away, making a conscious effort to ignore his attempt to rile you up.

As you and the girls began setting up the yoga mats, the entertained demeanor of Tony caught your eye, his grin widening into something that could only be described as smug. "If you need help stretching... I’m more than qualified," he winked. "I think you’re gonna need it."

You shot back a playful glance. "You think so?" you retorted teasingly. "If you want to join us, there’s plenty of space." 

Bucky, who had been watching your every move, let out a quiet chuckle. "You’re gonna make us look bad if we do, aren’t you?" he said, a knowing look passing between you both.

You flashed him a mischievous grin. "Wouldn’t dream of it," you replied with a wink before returning your focus to the task at hand. You were used to their attention by now, and you certainly weren’t about to give them the satisfaction of getting flustered.

You took your place and knelt down to adjust your mat, and you could definitely feel the unmistakable heat of Loki’s glare on your body. But you were determined to remain unaffected. You glanced at Natasha and Wanda, giving them a playful, almost wicked grin. This was about to get fun.

"So," you began, turning casually back to the group of men, your voice smooth but laced with underlying devilry, "the thing about yoga is that it really works your flexibility. And you’ve got to have good control over your body, or things can get a little too loose." You allowed a slight pause, watching the flicker of understanding and interest cross their faces.

You could see Loki’s eyebrow quirked up slightly, the tiniest twitch at the corner of his lips betraying his struggle to maintain composure. "Of course," you continued innocently, "flexibility is key, especially when you’re trying to get into some of those deep stretches."

You made a show of adjusting your position on the mat, arching your back just enough to catch their attention, a calculated move that made Sam’s eyes widen just a little, a grin tugging at his lips.

"You're really showing off with this, huh?" Sam teased, a smirk tugging at his lips as he casually leaned against the wall. His gaze briefly flickered to you on the mat before he added, "All that flexibility and focus… if it were me, I’d probably pull something just from the distraction."

You threw him a discreet wink before turning your attention back to your girls, who were already preparing for the first pose. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Bird Boy," you teased. "Honestly, it's just a matter of knowing your limits and knowing how far you can bend... without breaking," you added with a sly, deliberate emphasis.

Steve spoke up, his voice cutting through the tension with an almost casual air. "Alright, alright, calm down there, you two," he said with a bemused chuckle, clearly enjoying the interplay but not wanting things to escalate too much. "Let’s not get too carried away. It’s yoga, not... whatever this is turning into." His gaze flicked between you and Loki, though there was an unspoken understanding behind his words, he was well aware of the subtle play unfolding.

You didn’t break your stride. "Aye aye Captain," you voiced airily, glancing at him over your shoulder. "I’m just giving the guys here a taste of what it takes to stay flexible in more ways than one." You shot a playful grin in his direction, making sure to keep the mood light.

Loki’s eyes flicked from you to Steve, his expression momentarily darkening, as if something behind his sharp gaze shifted. He gave a slow, deliberate tilt of his head, his voice smooth yet carrying an undertone of challenge. "Rogers," Loki began, his tone laced with mock curiosity, "if you truly believe this is all just... stretching and bending, I’m afraid you’ve missed the point entirely." His eyes returned to you, a quiet tension building between his words.

You suppressed a laugh, knowing exactly what he was alluding to, but you kept your focus. You turned toward the men, who were now all clearly intrigued, some with more open curiosity than others.

Tony, still clearly entertained by the dynamic between you, leaned back in his seat. “And what exactly are we supposed to take from all this... stretching and flexing?" His words carried a hint of inviting defiance, as though daring you to continue this little game.

Bucky, still hovering near his weights, gave a soft chuckle, his eyes flicking between you and the green god. "I’m just here for the show," he added, his usual deadpan expression betraying the amusement he clearly found in the whole thing.

You smiled, pleased by the attention, but kept your composure. "Don’t worry, guys," you said with a wink. "You’ll get your workout. But maybe you’ll learn something about balance, focus... subordination. We all could use a little more of that, don't you think?"

"Subordination," Steve echoed, shaking his head. "We’re talking yoga here, right? Or did I miss something?"

"You didn’t miss anything, Captain," Loki’s voice chimed in smoothly, though his eyes never left you. "But you might want to be careful—some people don’t handle that kind of 'subordination' as well as others." His smirk was back, albeit with a more pointed edge now, his voice low with an almost voracious quality as if he was intently mulling over his next move.

"Well, it’s about more than just physical control," you replied, your tone just as smooth as his. "It’s about mental clarity. Knowing your limits... and knowing when to push past them." You threw a subtle glance in his direction, not missing the way his gaze flickered, and guessing that his mind was already working over your words, perhaps taking them in ways you hadn’t fully intended.

"And knowing how to play your cards, I suppose?" Loki's voice was a touch more serious now, his eyes narrowing slightly, a flicker of something deeper in his gaze.

You couldn’t help but throw his own words back at him again, leaning into the challenge. "Exactly," you said with a sweet grin. "You’ve got it."

You stretched your legs out in front of you, positioning your body in a slow and deliberate stretch, purposefully showing off the control you had over every movement. "You have to go slow with these," you said in a sweet, yet teasing voice. "Otherwise, you might end up straining something... and we wouldn’t want that, would we?" You took a peek at Loki, knowing full well that your words were likely to provoke him.

His lips twitched, but he didn’t respond right away. Thor, clearly catching on to the subtle game you were playing, nudged his brother. "You know, brother, if you’d just give it a try, you might find yoga quite revealing," he suggested with an amused grin, his eyes flipping between the two of you.

Loki sighed, though it seemed more out of the need to regain his composure than out of actual frustration. "Oh, I’m quite content watching, thank you," he said smoothly, though you could tell he was still too engaged in the situation to fully hide his interest.

You saw the opening and took it. "Well," you articulated, your tone dripping with mock sweetness, "the sidelines are reserved for those who prefer to watch, after all. But if you ever want to get in on the action, you know where to find me."

There was a brief, stunned silence in the room as everyone processed your words. You took the opportunity to focus back on your session, bending into another deep stretch, deliberately pushing your body further to make sure the attention stayed on you.

The words hung in the air for a brief moment, and Loki’s sharp green eyes flicked toward you, a flicker of realization crossing his face. His smirk faltered, just for a split second, before returning with an edge of something darker. "Oh," he uttered, his voice low, "you’ve got a good memory, don’t you?"

You knew exactly what you were doing. And you loved every second of it.

Natasha shot you a look, her eyes glinting with amusement, a sly smirk tugging at her lips as she caught the subtext of your words and movements. "You’re having a little too much fun with this," she called you out. Clearly, she was enjoying the bubbling disarray you were effortlessly stirring up.

You shrugged nonchalantly, trying to appear unaffected by the stir you were causing. "Hey," you countered, your tone playful, "if they’re going to stand around and gawk, I might as well entertain them." Your eyes flickered briefly to the dark prince, where his subtle shift in focus didn’t escape your notice as you turned back to the red-headed assassin.

Sam, always ready to poke fun, leaned forward, his elbows digging into his knees as he flashed you an exaggerated grin. "You’re definitely keeping it interesting, that’s for sure," he quipped, clearly caught between amusement and an underlying curiosity.

With a light chuckle, you peered at him provocatively. "I’m just here to make sure everyone’s stretched in the right way," you quipped back, a hint of challenge in your voice as you met his eyes.

Steve, sensing the playful banter was starting to spin out of control, clapped his hands together, his presence bringing a subtle shift in the room. The tension that had been hanging in the air from the teasing remained, but now it was time to bring things back to business. “Alright, fellas,” he said, his voice cutting through the chaos, authoritative and sharp as always. “Back to the weights. Time to get serious.”

The guys groaned in unison, a collective reluctance that seemed to ripple through the group, but despite the grumbling, they picked up their dumbbells and returned to their stations. The sounds of weights clinking and the low murmurs of the guys refocusing filled the room, but one person remained distinctly out of sync with the rest.

From his spot by the bench, Loki’s composure was slipping more visibly with each passing second. His long fingers tightened and relaxed around the barbell, his muscles flexing involuntarily as if trying to regain control of his body. But his gaze kept flickering back to where you and the other women had gathered, setting up for the next set of stretches. He tried his best to feign indifference—leaning casually against the bench, appearing utterly unbothered—but it was clear to anyone paying attention that it was a losing battle.

When you bent forward into a slow, deliberate stretch, sliding effortlessly into a forward fold, Loki's breath hitched almost imperceptibly. The graceful curve of your back, the way your body seemed to flow with ease into the pose, was almost hypnotic. He could feel his pulse quicken, and despite his best efforts to maintain poise, his mind spiraled into dangerous thoughts. 

He imagined his hands trailing down your spine, the heat of your skin under his fingertips, the way you'd arch into his touch. He’d trace the elegant curve of your spine downwards, his hand dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts to explore the supple globes of your ass, gripping and kneading the firm flesh. He would hook his fingers in the waistband and slowly tug them and your underwear down, revealing your most intimate places to his hungry gaze, inch by tortuous inch. 

Then, he’d slip his hand inside your soaking panties, and groan at the slick evidence of your arousal coating his fingers. Notch two fingers at your entrance, pumping them in a shallow thrust, crooking them to find that special spot inside, and piston it repeatedly simply to watch as you lose your mind and your whole body quivers again and again. 

The sheer audacity of the images playing out in his head made his jaw tighten, a flush creeping up his neck as his fortitude continued to unravel. 

He tried to drag his gaze away, his grip tightening on the barbell as though the weight could somehow ground him in reality. But even as he focused on the solid steel in his hands, it felt almost insubstantial compared to the magnetic pull of your presence. He swallowed thickly, a futile attempt to regain control, but it didn’t work.

When his gaze flicked back—just for a split second, just to check on your progress—you were transitioning into a lunge, every line of your body accentuated by the stretch. The faint sheen of sweat caught the light, making your skin glow as though you were carved from something impossibly radiant. It wasn’t just the stretch that rendered him mad; it was you. You knew exactly how to push his buttons, how to pull him into your orbit without a single word, like some irresistible gravitational force he had no hope of escaping.

When had it escalated to this? What was supposed to be a simple, harmless game of one-upmanship—his initial goal to snatch that little fame of yours around the gym, to make you scowl, cower, and surrender—had somehow veered wildly off course. Now, instead of basking in smug satisfaction at seeing you flustered, he found himself consumed by something far more primal, far more dangerous. He no longer simply wanted to knock you off your pedestal; he wanted to know everything about you. The sharpness of your mind, the quick wit that matched his quip for quip, the fire in your gaze that never backed down. He lusted after you, mind and body, with a hunger that rattled him to his core.

The predator had become the prey in a sense, tangled in a chase he’d started but could no longer direct. And judging by the way your smile curved just a little more, you knew it too.

A low growl rumbled deep in Loki’s chest, barely audible over the clanging weights and murmured conversations. He gripped the barbell tighter, the metal biting into his palms, but it wasn’t enough to stem the tide of thoughts flooding his mind. His imagination ran wild—thoughts of you pressed against him, your flexibility taking on a much more intimate meaning, your laughter ringing in his ear as you teased him mercilessly. It was awash in a flood of filthy fantasies, with you pressed against him and those long legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him deeper. The heat of you, the slickness, your breathy pleas, taunting him to take you harder, faster. 

He gripped the barbell so hard the metal cut into his palms, desperately trying to ground himself and regain his rapidly eroding self-control. But it was no use, he was too lost in the haze of lust. He wanted to map every inch of your body with his hands and mouth, mark you as his, and let everyone here know you belonged to him. He wanted to bend you over the nearest surface and take you until you were a mewling, quivering wreck. He desperately fought the urge to storm over there and throw you down at his mercy, consequences be damned. It took every ounce of his willpower to simply turn away, adjusting himself discreetly as he tried to will his throbbing erection away. His composure was disintegrating, the flush on his cheeks deepening as he shifted uncomfortably on the bench, trying to regain his focus. 

If he wasn’t careful enough, you were going to be the death of him.

Across the room, you, Natasha, and Wanda exchanged a series of knowing glances, clearly reveling in the chaos you had orchestrated. Loki’s predicament wasn’t subtle, and it was hard to miss the way his sharp eyes darted toward you whenever he thought no one was watching.

"You think he’s going to be able to concentrate now?" you murmured to them, raising your arms in an effortless stretch that made your shirt ride up just enough to catch Loki’s attention once again. Your tone was low, almost conspiratorial, but you knew he could hear if he tried hard enough.

Natasha rolled her shoulders, dropping into a plank with casual ease. “Not a chance. He’s too proud to admit it, but I’d bet good money he’s losing his mind over there.”

Wanda, sitting cross-legged on the mat, tilted her head, her insidious grin widening. "Look at him. He’s not even pretending anymore. Poor guy’s completely spiraling. But honestly, can you blame him? You’re practically putting on a show."

You shrugged nonchalantly, your face the picture of innocence, though the playful gleam in your eyes betrayed your enjoyment of the situation. “Hey, it’s not my fault if he gets distracted. I’m just minding my own business.”

The black widow snorted, shaking her head as she transitioned into another move. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you admitted with a grin, fully aware of the effect you were having on Loki. “After that little stunt he pulled last week? He deserves this.”

On the far side of the gym, said god’s serenity was unraveling with every passing second. His grip on the barbell had tightened to the point where his knuckles had turned bone-white, the strain of his internal battle evident in the shallow, uneven breaths escaping him. The telltale tremor in his hands betrayed how close he was to losing his carefully maintained facade of indifference. When the weight slipped slightly, the metallic clang that followed shattered the gym’s ambient noise, drawing the attention of everyone present. The room seemed to pause, a dozen sets of eyes turning toward the god of mischief.

Thor, stationed just a few paces away, leaned lazily against the wall, his massive frame radiating ease and confidence. His arms crossed over his broad chest, and a knowing grin tugged at his lips, threatening to break into outright laughter. The scene before him was, in his eyes, nothing short of perfection. Loki—his ever-composed, perpetually aloof brother—was undone, and Thor was reveling in it. 

The god of thunder had been fully on board with your plan when you’d approached him earlier, offering the chance to "tease Loki into humility." With a booming laugh, he’d agreed without hesitation, ready to knock his prideful brother down a peg. After all, he had earned it with his antics the week prior.

As the barbell clattered to the floor, his grin widened, the gleam in his blue eyes betraying just how much he was enjoying the spectacle. He caught your eye from across the room, his expression practically shouting, "This is even better than I imagined." The sharp clang of the weight hitting the floor had drawn murmurs and stifled chuckles, and Thor, always the instigator, seized the moment.

“Loki,” Thor called, his voice a booming mix of authority and mirth that cut clean through the chatter. “What’s this? Barely lifting a thing, are we? Losing your strength—or are you too busy... gawking?”

Loki’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing as his scowl deepened. “I am not gawking,” he hissed, his tone venomous and defensive. But his flushed cheeks and the way his eyes flashed guiltily toward you told a very different story.

Thor let out a hearty chuckle, unfolding his arms to gesture toward you and the others stretching nearby. “Oh, really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re far more interested in their yoga session than the weights in front of you.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the room, Bucky and Sam exchanging grins before jumping in to add to Loki’s torment. Sam, ever the opportunist, leaned back on his bench with a wide grin. “Man, it’s fine. Yoga’s... distracting. No shame in it.”

“Yeah,” Bucky added, his tone dripping with mock seriousness as he set his dumbbells down, “but maybe at least pretend you’re working out. The weights won’t lift themselves, Loki.”

The teasing drew another chorus of chuckles from the room, but Loki was far from amused. His jaw tightened, and a faint, dangerous green glow began to flicker at his fingertips, signaling the return of his seiðr. He fixed Thor with a glare so sharp it could have sliced through steel. “You,” Loki growled, his voice low and menacing, “should start praying. You’ll need the gods’ mercy if you even dream of reaching Valhalla once I’m thorough with you.”

Thor only laughed louder, his broad shoulders shaking with amusement. “Oh, come now, brother. You’re just proving you’re as mortal as the rest of us. But next time, maybe focus on lifting the weights instead of letting your eyes wander.”

Loki’s searing gaze flickered toward you once more, but this time, it lingered longer than he intended. You had slid effortlessly into another pose, a deep stretch that accentuated every elegant line of your body. A knowing smirk played on your lips as your eyes met his, an unspoken provocation communicated through your behavior. It was maddening, and Loki knew you were doing it on purpose.

The sharp sting of Thor’s taunts, paired with your relentless teasing, finally pushed him over the edge. He stood abruptly, the barbell crashing to the floor with a deafening clang. Muttering something dark under his breath, he turned away, his steps brisk and his posture tense. Yet, despite his best efforts to leave the scene with whatever dignity he had left, his gaze betrayed him once again. He glanced over his shoulder, unable to resist one final look at the source of his torment—you, his greatest distraction.

The crackling energy in the room was practically tangible, and Natasha was at the center of it, her sharp eyes sparkling with unspoken delight as she shifted effortlessly into another stretch. Her movements were carefully concocted, the embodiment of feline grace as she dropped into a side plank, the smirk on her lips a clear indication that she was thoroughly enjoying the unraveling chaos on the other side of the gym.

Wanda, seated lazily with her weight balanced on her palms, seemed to radiate amusement, her wide grin lighting up her face as she flicked her gaze toward the god of mischief. His composure—or lack thereof—was the primary source of her entertainment, and she did not attempt to hide it. Loki looked as if the tension building inside him was about to boil over, his jaw tight and his emerald eyes practically glowing with restrained power. 

She stifled a laugh, her chest trembling with suppressed mirth. “Careful,” she murmured, tilting her chin in his direction. “I think he’s about to snap.”

The corners of your mouth curled into a sly grin as you caught her meaning, a spark of playful defiance glimmering in your eyes. If Loki was close to breaking, you weren’t about to let up. Sliding fluidly into a forward fold, you allowed your movements to slow, savoring the stretch as your hands grazed the mat. Your voice, carrying just enough volume to taunt him, was laced with a playful edge. “Do you think he’s ready to admit defeat yet?” you asked, your tone light but tinged with recognizable deviousness.

Natasha puffed softly, her voice dripping with amusement as she adjusted into a flawless plank. “Oh, he’s definitely rethinking a few life choices right now.”

Still, you didn’t falter. You shifted deeper into the stretch, your body moving with a controlled elegance that only added fuel to the fire. The sway of your hips was deliberate, lingering just long enough to ensure that if Loki wasn’t paying attention before, he certainly was now. “What?” you feigned mock innocence that didn’t fool anyone, your grin growing wider. “I’m just stretching. Nothing wrong with being flexible, is there?”

You didn’t miss the glances being exchanged between your companions, nor the faint glimmer of alert flashing brightly as she added, “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. He looks like he’s plotting something.”

You snickered softly, your fingers grazing the mat before you shifted into a slightly more provocative stretch. “Poor thing,” you mused, your voice dripping with faux sympathy. “Must be exhausting, trying to pretend he’s unbothered when he’s that obsessed.”

Wanda giggled at the remark, her laughter bubbling up as she adjusted into a side plank. “Obsessed doesn’t even cover it. He’s one step away from declaring war.”

You hummed thoughtfully, casting a look over your shoulder toward Loki, whose sharp gaze hadn’t left you for a second. His jaw was tight, the tension radiating off him palpable, and the corner of your mouth tugged upward into a sly grin. “It’s not my fault if he can’t handle a little competition.”

“Competition?” Natasha echoed, her tone incredulous as she shot you a look. “Babe, I don’t think that’s the word for what you’re doing.”

Wanda nodded in agreement, a hint of warning in her expression. “Yeah, it’s more like... poking the bear.”

You shrugged as you transitioned into a Downward Dog position, your movements slow and deliberate. “Poking the bear? Please. He’s more of a spoiled housecat than a bear.” Your grin turned downright wicked. “Adorable when he’s angry, though.”

Wanda bit down on her lip, her laughter barely contained. Natasha, however, froze mid-motion, her playful demeanor replaced with something far more serious. Her gaze flicked past you, her lips silently forming a word you couldn’t quite make out. Whatever it was, the urgency in her expression sent a shiver of apprehension through you.

Before you could turn to see what had caught her attention, you felt it—an almost tangible shift in the air behind you. Heavy, electric, and laced with an unmistakably familiar feeling that never failed to prickle along your spine. Your nails slightly sank in the mat, bracing yourself as the atmosphere thickened. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was; the weight of his presence was undeniable, his scrutiny burning into your back with such intensity it made your skin flush.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus on the task in front of you, though the attempt at nonchalance was futile. The sound of his voice cut through your resolve like a blade through silk.

“Darling.”

The single word was low and deliberate, laced with authority and intent. It wasn’t a greeting; it was a summon—a reminder of who held the upper hand. The rich timbre of his voice sent a jolt of heat straight to your core, and before you could fully process it, he was closer. The warmth of his body lightly pressed against your back, his presence suffocating yet intoxicating.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat before you finally managed, “What’s the matter, Trickster?” You kept your voice steady, though the hitch in your breath betrayed you as you let your lips curl into a teasing smirk. “Feeling tense? Maybe you should... stretch it out.”

The silence that followed was thick, the kind that demanded submission. Then, without warning, his hands settled on your hips, and in a firm and unyielding force, brought you back up from your lowered position. The gasp that escaped you was involuntary and sharp, and his low, rumbling chuckle made your stomach twist in a confusing mix of defiance and desire.

“Stretch?” His voice was a breath against your ear, smooth and wicked. “Oh, pet, I don’t think you’re in any position to give advice.”

His grip tightened as he pulled you back, flush against him. The unmistakable hardness pressing into you sent a wave of heat crashing through your body, your teasing confidence unraveling in an instant. Loki leaned in, his chest brushing against your back, his lips grazing the shell of your ear with maddening precision.

“You’ve been playing a dangerous game,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a sinful rasp. “Bending over so sweetly, flaunting yourself like that. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Notice what?” you countered, the breathiness in your voice betraying your feigned indifference. You shifted slightly, trying to create space, but the movement only served to press you closer to him. His hands tightened, holding you firmly in place.

“Don’t play coy,” he warned, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin just below your ear. The warmth of his breath sent shivers racing down your spine. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Teasing me. Provoking me. But tell me, darling…” His fingers trailed slowly up your sides, his touch light but deliberate, leaving a burning trail in its wake. “Is this what you wanted?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his hands slid higher, one resting at your waist while the other teased the bare skin just beneath your shirt. His fingers danced with an infuriating gentleness, and your knees threatened to buckle.

“Well?” he pressed, his voice soft yet commanding, a dark promise woven into every syllable. His teeth grazed the jointure between your ears and your neck, and you couldn’t stop the sharp inhale that escaped you. Loki chuckled, the melodious directly reaching your eardrums. “Answer me. Is this what you wanted?”

“Uh-uh,” you breathed out, the words barely escaping your parted lips, as if you were caught in a hypnotic daze.

Loki’s voice dropped an octave, more insistent now. “Words, darling.”

“Yes,” you finally admitted, the word escaping in a whisper. Your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch as a smug smile curved his lips against your skin.

“Good girl,” he purred, his voice molten as his hands slid lower. One dipped beneath the contoured waistband of your shorts, his fingertips brushing the sensitive skin there, and your breath faltered. He laughed, the sound dark and indulgent. “You’ve made a grave mistake.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and your heart pounded so loudly it drowned out everything else. Wanda’s muffled giggles barely registered as Loki leaned closer, his lips brushing the curve of your ear.

“Because now,” he continued, his voice a sinful rasp, “you’ve made it my turn.”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze over your shoulder, your smirk trembling at the edges. “Oh? Should I be scared?”

Loki’s answering smile was sharp, predatory. His hand slid back to your hip, his grip firm and possessive. “Terrified,” he hummed, his voice as smooth as it was dangerous. “But I suspect you enjoy provoking me too much to care.”

“Maybe I do,” you shot back, your voice wavering just enough to reveal your nerves. “Or maybe you’re just easy to rile up.”

His laughter was low and mocking, the sound vibrating against you. “Easy?” he repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief. “You think resisting the urge to put you in your place is easy for me?” His fingers ghosted along your side, their proximity sending heat pooling deep within you. “Do you know what I’ve been imagining, darling?”

Your breath hitched audibly as he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear once more. “How delectable you’d look bent over for an entirely different reason,” he murmured, his voice dark and heavy with intent. “How sweet you’d sound begging me to stop teasing and give you exactly what you need.”

The vivid imagery his words conjured made your knees wobble as much as it made your cunt clench down, and Loki’s knowing smirk deepened as he noticed. It was the firm grip of his hand on your jaw that truly held you in place, forcing your gaze to meet his. The pressure of his fingers was gentle yet commanding, keeping you exactly where he wanted—right in his control, unable to look away.

“Keep this up,” he growled, his tone a low, velvety threat, “and I’ll ruin you right here, where everyone can see.”

Your breath hitched again, your pulse racing as his fingers pressed firmly against your hip, their touch a silent warning. “You wouldn’t dare,” you challenged, though your voice betrayed just how uncertain you were.

Loki’s dark chuckle sent shivers through you, and he leaned in until his lips were nearly brushing yours. “Wouldn’t I?”

And just like that, he pulled away, leaving you trembling and breathless. You turned instinctively, your wide eyes following him as he sauntered back to the bench with a self-satisfied smirk. He didn’t look back, but the deliberate sway in his step said everything: he’d won—and he knew it.

Before you could fully recover, Steve's voice rang out from across the gym, stern and authoritative. "Loki!" he called sharply, cutting through the tension in the room like a blade. "Stop slacking and get back to work! And leave the girls alone while you're at it."

Loki paused mid-stride, his smirk widening as he turned his head slightly, just enough for you to catch the glint of mischief in his eyes. With an exaggerated sigh, he straightened his posture, rolling his shoulders as though Steve's reprimand was an inconvenience he barely tolerated.

"Of course, Captain," Loki drawled, his tone dripping with mock obedience. "Far be it from me to dare disturb anyone."

He threw you one last lingering glance, his emerald eyes gleaming with unspoken promises, before striding toward the bench with a grace that made it impossible not to watch. He casually picked up a barbell and restarted his reps, the smug curve of his lips never quite fading. The deliberate slowness of his movements and the occasional glance in your direction made it clear: while he might have been called back to order, in his mind, the game was far from over.

Natasha and Wanda didn’t even bother hiding their laughter. Natasha let out a low blow, mouthing a silent “Oh my god” while Wanda, ever the dramatist, fanned herself as if she’d just witnessed a scandal too hot to handle. Their shared amusement was palpable, bubbling over in giggles that only served to deepen the heat already pooling in your cheeks.

Meanwhile, you were left rooted to the spot, your breath uneven, as your mind stubbornly replayed his words on an endless, maddening loop. Every rasp of his voice, every deliberate touch, every wicked glint in his eyes seemed etched into your memory, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake it.

The two women exchanged knowing glances, their expressions practically screaming victory on Loki’s behalf. Natasha arched a perfectly shaped brow, her smirk twisting into something teasing yet smug. “Well,” she drawled with mirth in her voice, “that escalated quickly.”

Wanda, ever one to pile on, folded her arms and tilted her head, her grin impossibly wide. “I think we just witnessed the undisputed champion of this little game of yours.” Her voice was light, but her tone carried that infuriating edge of truth, a verdict impossible to deny.

You groaned, pressing a hand to your flaming face in an attempt to block out their reactions. “Don’t,” you muttered, your voice muffled behind your fingers. But it was no use; their laughter was too infectious, bubbling up in waves that only made your embarrassment worse.

What worsened your condition was the fact that Loki didn’t spare a single glance in your direction since your little altercation, but his presence remained large and looming, as though he’d marked the room with his triumph. The discreet tilt of his head, the faintest upward curve of his lips, said everything—he knew exactly that he’d caught your full attention, and he was basking in it like a cat stretching in a patch of sunlight.

You bit down on your lip, torn between indignation and something far more dangerous—desire. He’d turned the tables with disarming ease, leaving you caught in a web of delicious uncertainty. Should you feel frustration at being outmaneuvered so effortlessly? Or should you savor the intoxicating tension he’d created, the way every nerve in your body seemed to buzz with anticipation?

Natasha nudged you with her elbow, her smirk softening into something more playful. “Careful, you might be burning up,” she teased.

Wanda giggled, leaning closer with an exaggerated whisper. “Or maybe it’s just the heat radiating off you from whatever that was.”

You swatted at them half-heartedly, but the truth was, you weren’t entirely sure if their teasing was wrong. Because even as their laughter echoed around you, your thoughts were still wholly consumed by him. Loki had won this round, and judging by the way your pulse refused to settle, you weren’t entirely sure you minded.

⠀

The events that had transpired in the last session had left a deeper mark on you than you'd ever imagined. Every night since, it felt like you couldn’t escape the relentless replay of it all—his touch, the tension, the heat between you two. It was etched so deeply into your memory that it was impossible to shake, each passing moment branded into your mind with an intensity that nothing could dull. No matter how many distractions you tried, how many of your usual tricks you employed to quiet the gnawing ache, nothing seemed to work. The itch lingered, a constant reminder of everything that had transpired, and you couldn’t seem to focus on anything else. The thrill and fear, both intertwined, kept you buzzing, feeding into the need that had taken root in your mind. You couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Ironically enough, today was Friday the 13th, and it felt almost fitting. A date known for either being your lucky day or your worst nightmare. And it seemed you were, without a doubt, leaning toward the latter. Every second felt like a cruel reminder that you were spiraling, unable to shake the intensity of the encounter in the gym. The pressure was building, and it felt like the world was closing in on you. Part of you was afraid of what would happen next, but another part of you… part of you couldn’t wait to find out. You were on the edge, dangerously close to breaking, and it made you feel as if you were dancing on the razor-thin line between desire and desperation.

Despite your mind screaming at you to stay away, there was this undeniable force that kept you gravitating back toward him. Every part of you told you to leave it alone, but the rest of you was already ensnared, tangled in his web of toying, unsure of where the line between torment and pleasure even lay anymore. You’d tried to hold yourself back, to distance yourself, but the urge to confront him, to give in completely, was getting stronger every day. It was frustrating, exhilarating, terrifying.

But you’d had enough. You were done pretending, done playing by rules you didn’t even understand. If Loki wanted to play games, then you’d meet him on the battlefield. You were betting everything on this session—you’d either go big, or go home. You would do everything to win this round, and if this didn’t play out in your favor, then you’d end it once and for all.

You rummaged through your wardrobe, searching for something that screamed confidence, something that would tilt the scales in your favor. And then you found it. The shortest pair of cotton gym shorts you owned, along with the tightest gym bra in your collection. To top it off, you pulled on high socks that accentuated the length of your legs. For dignity purposes—or so you told yourself—you zipped up a fitted jacket over everything. You decided that the jacket was just for show. You’d wait for the right moment to make your move.

As you made your way to the gym bar, trying to shake the heated flush creeping up your neck and across your cheeks, the memory of what had happened—Loki’s touch, the sting of his voice, and the wild potency of that encounter—was still alive on your skin. You couldn’t soothe the heat, no matter how hard you tried. You settled on a barstool dragging a hand through your hair and stared down at your newly made protein drink, swirling the liquid absently like you were trying to quell the disorder in your mind.

"I can't take it anymore," you grunted in exasperation. The words felt like they had been lodged in your throat for too long, finally spilling out in a rushed confession. "Seriously. I’m so fucking over him I could scream." You took a long, deep gulp from your drink, the coldness of the shake hitting your throat, but it didn’t settle the fire inside you. Nothing seemed to help.

You let out a sharp breath, exhaling as if releasing some of the tension that had coiled itself so tightly inside you. "I should’ve known better. This is humiliating. I can’t stop thinking about what happened, and I can’t focus on anything else. He’s in my head, and I don’t even know if I want him out." The words felt like they were spilling out uncontrollably, as if the dam had broken and now there was no turning back.

Wanda, ever the observer and perpetually ready to tease, raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful grin. She leaned closer, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "You’ve been at this for days now," she noted, her voice dripping with amusement. "What exactly is it that you can’t take? His attitude? The flirting? Or... something else?"

You groaned, the frustration bubbling up inside you. You leaned forward, pressing your palms against the cold surface of the bar, your posture slumped as you let out a long exhale. "Everything, Wanda! Everything about him is like this damn temptation that keeps haunting me. And don’t even get me started on the gym. That moment keeps replaying in my head over and over again." 

You took another sip, but it did nothing to quell the growing ache. "I can't even sleep without thinking about it!" You slumped further, the disbelief creeping into your voice, the realization of how completely out of control you were making its way through you. "I swear, he’s driving me insane." The weight of your confession hung in the air as you let your head fall into your hands for a moment, your fingers pressed against your temples. It was all too much.

Natasha’s gaze shifted, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she saw right through you, reading you like an open book. There was no escaping her sharp perception. "And yet, here you are, complaining instead of doing something about it," she said, her voice laced with a teasing bite. "Maybe you’re a masochist in disguise and like the torture."

The sting of her words hit a little too close to home. You shot her a glare, though you couldn’t quite muster the energy to truly protest. Natasha was always quick to find the underlying truth of a situation, and as much as you hated to admit it, she had a point. You were still here, still willingly participating in the mind games Loki had been playing with you, even knowing what it might cost you in the end. 

The irony of it wasn’t lost on you. Every time you promised yourself you would pull away, the next moment would pull you back in. His voice, his touch, his presence—it was all too much. And the worst bit was, there was a part of you that craved it. 

"Shut up," you muttered, trying to push away the feeling of being so exposed, even though you knew Natasha was right. "It’s not like that." But even as the words left your mouth, you knew they were a lie. You were lying to her, but most importantly to yourself, and you hated it.

Clint and Bruce had returned from their mission, and the moment they walked in, they could tell something was off. They didn’t need to ask—they could see it in your face. 

"So, what’s this I hear?" he asked, leaning casually against the bar with a half-raised eyebrow. "You’ve got a thing for the god of mischief?" His smirk widened, clearly enjoying the tension in the air. "I’ve got to say, you’re not the only one who’s had a run-in with Loki. But something tells me yours is... a little more intense."

Bruce rolled his eyes, but even he couldn’t suppress the small, amused twitch at the corner of his mouth. His voice was laced with that familiar, fatherly concern as he leaned in, his tone carrying that blend of criticism and curiosity. "You’re digging yourself into a hole," he shook his head in disapproval. "I can't believe you’re letting him get under your skin like this."

You buried your face in your hands in frustration, your head pounding as you tried to make sense of everything that was happening. "You guys don’t get it!" you groaned, lifting your head to meet their eyes. The frustration and helplessness were clear in your gaze. "It’s not like that. It’s... it’s like he’s playing some game, and I don’t even know the rules." 

You sighed, your voice faltering slightly as you tried to express the mess in your head. "I’m so close to just breaking and telling him I can’t handle it anymore, but he makes me—" You paused, the words catching in your throat as you tried to articulate the emotions that were swirling inside you. "He makes me feel things I can’t even explain."

Clint leaned in closer, his grin widening as if he was thoroughly enjoying your discomfort. "Sounds like someone’s having a little too much fun with this," he voiced in dripping sarcasm. "You’re just afraid of what happens next. Don’t worry, we’ve all been there."

"You think it’s fun?" You snapped, your voice sharp as you narrowed your eyes at him. "You try being in my shoes. Or better yet, try being in his presence when he talks in that damn tone and looks at you like he’s going to devour you." The thought of it made your heart race, and you felt a flush creeping up your neck as the memory of his eyes on you, intense and predatory, surged back into your mind. "I don’t think I can even look at him without feeling like I’m going to combust."

Wanda, the ever-present instigator, smirked and took a slow, deliberate sip of her drink. She watched you with a knowing look in her eyes, as though she could see right through all your defenses. "You might be in trouble," she told you, "but part of you likes it. I can see it in your eyes."

You glared at her, but the look she gave you—the look that could see right through your attempts at deflection—made you feel like you were standing naked in front of them, exposed in a way you weren’t ready for. You didn’t have to say it out loud; she could see the truth in your eyes. "Maybe I do," you muttered under your breath, swirling the drink in your hand as if it could somehow distract you from the truth. "But that doesn’t make it any less torturous."

Clint raised his glass in a mock celebration, being far too pleased for your liking. "To the madman deity and the woman who’s too stubborn for her own good. May the shenanigans never stop."

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but let out a small, reluctant laugh. You didn’t want to admit it, not out loud at least, but maybe there was a part of you that was too intrigued, too drawn into Loki’s chaotic energy to resist it.

The hum of camaraderie filled the space as the Avengers trickled in one by one, each voice weaving into the fabric of the team’s unique dynamic. The smell of sweat and faintly lingering disinfectant clung to the air, a backdrop to the rhythmic sound of weights clanging and treadmills whirring faintly in the distance. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, casting golden streaks across the polished floor, giving the room an almost warm glow despite the tension simmering just beneath the surface.

Tony was, unsurprisingly, the loudest, his voice carrying effortlessly above the din. "Come on, Solid Snake, lighten up! You can’t be a broody old man all the time," he teased, leaning lazily against a bench press machine. His smirk was as sharp as ever, and his target—a decidedly unamused Bucky—rolled his eyes in exaggerated exasperation.

"If you’d shut up for five minutes, Stark, maybe I could," Bucky shot back, though the corner of his mouth twitched as if fighting a smirk.

Steve, ever the reluctant peacekeeper, sighed as he adjusted his sweatshirt, clearly already over the banter. "Let’s just get through this without any more distractions, alright?" he muttered, his tone bordering on fatherly but tinged with resignation.

Sam, however, wasn’t about to let the moment pass. "Steve, you’re one to talk," he quipped, arms crossed as he leaned casually against the bar counter next to Clint. "Don’t think we didn’t see you googling ‘Gen Z slang’ last night."

Steve groaned, his cheeks flushing a faint pink, while the others erupted into laughter. Even Bruce chuckled softly from his corner, shaking his head in amusement. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to sink into the lighthearted chaos, letting their teasing and jokes wash over you like a comforting balm. But no matter how hard you tried to blend into the easy rhythm of the group, the weight in your chest refused to lift.

It was painfully obvious that everyone was in unusually high spirits, and you weren’t naive enough to think it was just post-mission relief. The knowing glances, the smirks passed between them, and the barely-contained chuckles—everything pointed to one thing. They were waiting. Watching. Eager to see how the latest chapter in your ongoing rivalry with Loki would unfold. The anticipation in the room was almost tangible, a crackling undercurrent beneath the surface of their cheerful chatter.

And the fateful moment finally arrived.

The double doors swung open with a dramatic flourish, the sound reverberating across the gym like a herald of chaos. Thor entered first, his stride impossibly cheerful, his booming laugh filling every corner of the room. "Friends! What a glorious day it is to bask in the company of heroes!" he declared, his golden hair practically glowing in the sunlight as he beamed at everyone around him. He clapped Clint on the back with enough force to make him stumble, earning a playful glare in return. Thor’s enthusiasm was suspicious, his overly bright grin and exuberance almost too pointed, as if he knew something no one else did—or rather, as if he was trying far too hard not to let it slip.

Almost as if to build suspense, the dark prince finally stepped forward, emerging from the corners of the entrance like a phantom materializing from the depths.

He didn’t stride so much as glide, his movements unnervingly smooth, like he was above the very act of walking itself—each step seemingly effortless, almost as if the ground beneath him didn’t quite deserve to bear his presence. There was something unsettling in the grace with which he moved, a quiet dominance in every motion. His form was poised, elegant in a way that seemed deliberate, controlled. His presence alone demanded attention, yet he didn’t exert any force to command it; it simply was.

The contrast between him and his brother was impossible to ignore. Where Thor radiated boisterous energy, a whirlwind of warmth and noise, Loki was the calm in the storm, his composure sharp, cool, and infinitely measured. While the thunder god’s exuberance filled the room with a palpable force, his stillness seemed to draw all the focus to him without uttering a word. It was a stark foil to his brother’s exuberance, and it only heightened the tension in the room.

His hands were clasped neatly behind his back, as though to further emphasize the careful restraint in his every movement. There was no rushed energy in him, no urgency—only the chilling poise of someone who knew the full weight of their presence. His emerald eyes swept across the room with a cold, calculating precision, like a predator carefully assessing its surroundings. 

Today, Loki was surprisingly dressed simply, yet nothing short of devastating. A fitted black long-sleeve shirt clung to his lean frame, the fabric so well-tailored that it seemed effortlessly perfect, while still accentuating every line of muscle beneath it. Black compression shorts revealed the chiseled definition of his legs, the ensemble completed by sleek athletic socks and understated sneakers that looked both functional and undeniably stylish. His dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, stray strands framing his face, giving him an air of ruggedness that was almost ethereal.

He looked unfairly good—like he’d walked straight out of a high-fashion magazine editorial, the kind dedicated to showcasing "dangerously attractive male specimens" in their most refined form. Every detail of his gym wear spoke of someone who had mastered the art of simplicity, yet exuded an undeniable, almost unattainable, charisma.

And just your luck, he’d somehow managed to nearly match your outfit.

A flicker of amusement danced in Loki’s emerald eyes, and his lips curled into a sly, knowing smirk as he began his slow, deliberate approach toward you. His movements were smooth, almost languid, as though each step was a calculated part of some grand performance. His gaze never once wavered from you, cutting through the room with an intensity that seemed to render everyone else irrelevant, invisible in his presence. The chatter of the room grew distant, muffled, as though someone had turned the volume down on reality itself.

He drew closer, his gaze locked onto yours with an almost predatory intensity, making it impossible to focus on anything else. Every fiber of your being seemed to react to him, pulling you into his orbit. There was no escaping the pull of Loki, and the world outside the bubble of his gaze became irrelevant.

"Darling," he greeted smoothly, the word rolling off his tongue with a velvety mockery, every syllable dripping with heat. His eyes swept over you with a quick, almost dismissive glance, taking in every detail of your outfit—the jacket, the high socks, the way your clothes hugged your form with a purpose. There was something in his look, something knowing, as if he understood exactly why you had chosen each piece, and the knowledge of that made his smirk deepen. He loved this game.

"Trickster," you replied, your voice cool and composed, but there was a sharpness beneath the surface, a challenge that he would undoubtedly recognize. You met his gaze head-on, your body subconsciously crossing your arms and legs as if to shield yourself from the heat of his stare. But even as you tried to put up a defense, it felt as though the world around you had narrowed down to just the two of you. The space between you crackled with energy, the tension palpable, leaving you breathless and aware of nothing except him.

The silence stretched, thick and taut, before Sam, ever the provocateur, leaned toward Clint with an exaggerated whisper, his voice loud enough for those around him to hear. "You could cut the tension with a knife. I’d sell tickets to this."

"Is is their foreplay or just regular banter?" The archerer quipped, his dry humor drawing a few stifled laughs from the others.

Thor, completely oblivious to the subtle dynamics of the situation, clapped his hands together with a booming laugh, his voice carrying through the room with his usual enthusiasm. "Ah, what an entertaining rivalry! If only you knew, my friends, how much—"

"Thor," Loki interrupted sharply, his voice low, carrying a dangerous edge that made everyone pause. His eyes narrowed in a way that promised retribution if his brother pushed any further. The god faltered, suddenly aware of the tension that had shifted the moment Loki’s voice had cut through the air, glancing between you and Loki with an almost childlike look of guilt.

"What? It’s nothing, brother," The blonde said quickly, his grin still wide, trying to cover up his mistake with a weak deflection. "I was merely going to say how much you—"

"Thor," He repeated, this time his voice sharper, more commanding, and his jaw visibly clenched. The room seemed to hold its collective breath, the atmosphere shifting from lighthearted to electric, as everyone waited for the next move.

You raised an eyebrow with a nonchalant air that betrayed your growing interest. "How much he what?" you asked, your tone pretending to be uninterested, but the rapid beat of your heart told a different story. You were more than ready to hear what he had almost spilled, if only to use it as a sword of Damocles.

Thor hesitated, caught in the web of his brother’s gaze. After a moment, Thor cleared his throat, trying to recover. "Ah, well," he stammered, his voice faltering. "How much Loki... enjoys these little exchanges, of course!"

The lie was smooth, but not quite convincing. The nervousness he showcased in the way he tried to avoid his brother’s burning stare betrayed the lack of truth in his words. You narrowed your eyes, glancing between them, but it was Loki’s carefully schooled expression that caught your attention. His face had transformed into one of cold indifference, but you could see the subtle twitch of his jaw and the faint pink tint creeping up the back of his neck.

The others exchanged amused looks, clearly enjoying the subtle spectacle unfolding before them. Natasha, ever the picture of composure, took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving the scene. “Well, this just got interesting,” she noted, her tone dripping with amusement and approval as she surveyed the building tension.

It was obvious now: whatever simmered between you two wasn’t about to end any time soon. It was a game, yes—but one far from finished. And for better or worse, everyone in the room was eager to see how it would unfold.

The world around you seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in focus—locked in this silent standoff. Every sound, every movement beyond the two of you felt distant, muted, as if the room had shrunk to nothing more than the space between you and Loki. The others, sensing the growing charge between you, watched with bated breath. This wasn’t just an ordinary exchange—it was something far more intense, something that announced the rivalry to be nearing the breaking point.

His presence loomed over you, suffocating in its intensity. His smirk never wavered, but his eyes seemed to penetrate yours with a force that made your pulse quicken. Neither of you was willing to back down; the silent battle of words and glances was a carefully orchestrated dance, each of you striving to hold the reigns.

Leaning against the bar, you let a teasing smirk curl at the corners of your lips as your gaze locked onto him. “Nice dramatic entrance,” you quipped, your tone light but cutting. “Almost makes me think you’re trying to overcompensate for something else.” Your eyes flicked over him with a deliberate, slow scan, letting the implication settle in the air between you.

Loki’s lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk, his movements deliberate as he closed the gap between you. He was drawing you in, pulling you into his orbit with each calculated step. Before long, he was towering over you, his broad form casting a shadow over you.

“Such crude language you wield with that tongue of yours,” he tutted in a honeyed whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. His words slid from his lips with measured slowness, each one curling around you like silk, wrapping you tighter with every syllable. “I’d be more than happy to correct you… if you’d allow me.”

You stood straighter, your body thrumming from the weight of his words, refusing to let him dominate the exchange this time. You crossed your arms and met his gaze head-on. “You think you can correct me?” you shot back, your voice cool, but the challenge clear in your eyes. Leaning in slightly, you dared him. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Ah, but the art of manipulating words are such a delight,” Loki purred, his voice thick with velvet, drawing you in with every syllable. His gaze never wavered from yours. “And I’m particularly skilled with them.”

The world seemed to hush, the room quieting until the only thing you could hear was his voice, each word dripping with an intoxicating weight. The tension grew thicker, and he let the silence stretch between you, just long enough to make the air feel too heavy to breathe.

“I recall you had a first taste of it, last session,” he added, his words striking you like a spark, igniting memories of the last time his voice had tangled with yours in a way you hadn’t expected.

You swallowed the rush of heat that rose in your cheeks, forcing your gaze to remain steady. “Last session was nothing,” you sharply replied, narrowing your eyes as if to dare him to push further. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want to get to me, Trickster.”

The others were practically buzzing with excitement, leaning in slightly as if they were watching a thrilling game unfold. Sam, always one to stir the pot, leaned toward Natasha with a smirk that could rival Loki’s. “I’ve witnessed some trash talk in my time,” he said, shaking his head with amusement, “but this? This is on another level.”

Clint, watching the exchange with a growing interest, chuckled and shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know whether to be impressed at the comebacks or horrified,” he remarked in disbelief. “It’s like they’re playing some weird, kinky version of fencing.”

Natasha leaned back, her wry smile never faltering, watching with approval. “This is getting good,” she muttered under her breath, her tone almost purring with amusement. She sipped her drink slowly, savoring the tension. “I’d pay to see where this goes.”

Sam shot Natasha a quick, conspiratorial glance before looking back at the two of you. “Hey, don’t get too comfortable,” he warned, his voice laced with mischief. “They’re about to start swinging—metaphorically speaking, of course.” He made a grand, exaggerated fencing motion with his hands, drawing chuckles from the group. “You know, like that,” he added with a grin. “Except this time, the moves are… let’s just say they’re a little more pointed.” His eyebrows wiggled suggestively, and even Bruce couldn’t contain a smile.

Tony, never one to miss an opportunity, leaned back against his stool, an amused smirk plastered across his face. He watched the tension between you and Loki with a gleeful satisfaction. “Think they’ll kiss and make up?” he asked with a low chuckle, loud enough for everyone to hear. He raised an eyebrow at Steve, whose silent observation had not gone unnoticed.

He cleared his throat, the sharp sound cutting through the growing murmur of the group. The room fell into a sudden, almost uncomfortable silence, as his voice commanded attention. “Alright, alright,” Steve said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. He clapped his hands once, the sharp sound cutting through the air. “We’re here to train, not watch a soap opera,” he added, his voice steady and no-nonsense.

His blue eyes scanned the room, locking on you and Loki for a moment, his gaze narrowing just slightly. It was a silent reminder that there were more pressing matters at hand than your verbal sparring. “So, let’s get focused,” he continued, his tone taking on a more commanding edge. “No more distractions, people.” 

A collective groan of both relief and disappointment spread through the group. The tension between you and Loki had finally been cut, but there was an undeniable sense of disappointment that the banter had been interrupted. The room shifted again, the playful mood dissipating into a more subdued, professional atmosphere. Though, the memory of what had just transpired would no doubt linger long after the session ended.

“Now, let’s move it,” Steve said, gesturing toward the training area with a firm nod. “You’ve all got work to do, and I expect everyone to keep it professional.” His eyes lingered on you and Loki for a moment, as if to remind you both that, despite what was simmering between you, the training was the priority now.

Loki's lips curved into a smile, one that was more like a prelude to something yet to come. His eyes glinted with smug satisfaction, as if he were already savoring the next move in whatever game he was playing. “Until next time, darling,” he saluted, his tone thick with the promise of nearing disaster.

You gave him a half-smile, one that in turned promised that the rivalry wasn’t over and turned to follow the rest of the group to the training area, already feeling the bubbling energy of the upcoming round.

⠀

The gym session began with an unexpected tranquility, an eerie contrast to the usual chaos of training it had recently taken shape. It was chest and back day, and each Avenger had settled into their familiar routines, the rhythm of their movements blending with the constant clinking of weights and soft murmurs of conversation. For once, everything felt almost ordinary—just another training day, rather than an intense workout of body and mind alike.

You were working alongside Wanda, offering her a bit of encouragement as she powered through her chest exercises. It was nice to have someone to talk to, a welcome distraction from the growing knots of nervousness tangling in your stomach. You both exchanged light banter, chatting about everything outside the gym, while you kept an eye on your own sets. But all the while, your thoughts kept returning to Loki. He was oddly quiet today, no mischievous glint in his eyes. You couldn't help but wonder if he, too, was waiting for the right moment to stir things up.

The session had already taken a lively turn with the Asgardian brothers, but things soon spiraled into a loud mess. As the competition between Thor and Loki grew fiercer, their playful jabs and escalating challenges only served to ramp up the tension in the room. Loki's gaze swept across the space until it finally landed on you. His smirk softened just slightly, replaced by an expression that felt more deliberate, almost as if he were daring you to witness the next act of his show.

Thor, not to be outdone, continued to push the limits. His booming voice filled the gym as he egged his brother on. "You think you’ve got the strength to match my strength? Let’s see if you can keep up with the god of thunder!"

Loki’s smirk was a clear challenge as he lifted the same weight Thor had almost just juggled with, effortlessly matching him. Each press was smooth and controlled, and you couldn’t help but be captivated by the way his back arched with each lift, muscles rippling in perfect harmony. It was a display of strength and grace, one that seemed almost too perfect to be real.

However, in their playful contest of wills, they had unknowingly started to draw attention. Bruce, who had been quietly focusing on his own workout in a far corner of the gym, was caught off guard by the sheer noise and energy the brothers were creating. The weights clanking, the competitive banter, and the occasional loud challenge from Thor began to disrupt Bruce’s routine. As much as he tried to focus on his sets, the vibrations of the room were enough to throw off his concentration.

At one point, their effortless lifts seemed to reverberate repeatedly through the gym, causing the ground beneath Bruce to tremble slightly. The sound of weights crashing back onto the rack sent a sharp jolt through the air, causing Bruce to flinch each time. He rubbed his temples in frustration, his irritation barely masked behind his calm exterior.

"Can you guys keep it down a bit?" Bruce muttered to himself, trying to block out the noise, but it was no use. The brothers' rivalry only grew louder, their playful insults and laughter ringing through the space like a storm cloud threatening to burst.

At the next brutal noise, the scientist had had enough. He grumbled under his breath, packing up his things. "I swear, those testosterone-filled aliens and their dick-measuring contests," he muttered, shooting a quick glance at the Asgardians, who were too caught up in their contest to notice.

Without a word, he retreated to the quieter back section of the gym, moving toward the machines where he could work in peace. The machines were further away from the weights area, but at least they offered some reprieve from the chaos. As he walked toward the back, his footsteps were steady but filled with a sense of relief. He could already feel his growing anxiety lifting as he left the noise behind.

Meanwhile, the brothers' competition raged on, with Thor’s grin widening as he added more weight and Loki effortlessly lifted the new load, his body gliding through the motions with ease. The display of absurd power continued, the brothers pushing each other to new heights, oblivious to the disruption they were causing.

Every movement Loki made, every lift of the weights, was a hypnotic display of strength. His back muscles rippled with precision, the tension in his frame apparent with every press, every stretch of his body. Each flex seemed almost choreographed, as if he was aware of the effect it had, and your eyes couldn’t look away. His body moved with fluidity, an effortless grace that made every lift seem almost effortless, but you knew better. It was controlled power, and the sheer magnetism of it made your heart race faster with each passing second.

No matter how hard you tried to focus, you couldn't help but be drawn back to watching him. You could feel your pulse quickening, the attraction growing stronger with every passing moment. Your mind tried to resist, tried to focus elsewhere, but his form—his body, mostly—kept pulling you back. You shook your head, hoping to clear the fog clouding your thoughts, but it only lingered, his image burned into your retinas.

It was maddening—the pull to keep watching, to continue visually feasting on him as he pushed the weights higher, his muscles flexing and straining with each rep. But you knew you had to focus, force yourself back into your own workout. You took a deep breath, forcing your attention back to your set, trying to push the images of him out of your mind. Yet, no matter how hard you tried, every time Loki added more weight, every time his body moved with such effortlessness, your mind betrayed you. It was impossible not to be drawn back to him.

"Don’t get distracted," Wanda teased, her voice slicing through your turbulent thoughts with a playful yet knowing tone. She had caught the subtle shift in your gaze. "He’s lifting weights, not you in your head."

You chuckled nervously, warmth creeping up your neck as you struggled to mask the growing tension inside. "Can’t help it if he makes a spectacle out of it," you muttered, uncomfortable under Wanda’s sharp, knowing stare.

Her eyes flicked over to Loki, who was now adding more weight to the barbell with an almost casual precision. His movements were effortless, each shift in his posture drawing attention to the taut muscles of his back as he pushed the weight up. The strain in his arms only emphasized the strength beneath his skin, the tension in his frame stretching the muscles of his back, making them stand out in a tantalizing display of raw force. 

Wanda raised an eyebrow, a sly smile curling her lips as she took in the scene. "There’s a lot of tension between you two today," she observed lightly, though there was a subtle intrigue laced in her voice.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth flooding your face betrayed the truth. "It’s nothing. Just… your usual bantering."

Wanda’s smile only widened, her voice dropping to a hushed, conspiratorial whisper as she leaned closer. "‘Usual bantering,’ huh? If it’s nothing like you say it is, then why do I feel the electricity between you two from across the room?"

Before you could even formulate a response, Loki did something you should’ve anticipated but somehow hadn’t—after all, he always had a knack for surprising you. 

With a smooth flick of his wrist, he got rid of his shirt, revealing his sculpted back in all its glory. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though each stretch was calculated to highlight the fluid grace of his body, ensuring that every muscle was on display. He wasn’t simply lifting weights; he was performing, putting on a show, a carefully crafted performance meant to captivate and tease. The muscles in his back rippled as he shifted, tightening with every adjustment.

You bit your lip, hard, forcing yourself to suppress the whimper that threatened to escape at the sinful image in your mind. What is wrong with you? Your rival, your competition wasn't someone you should be thinking of in that way. And yet, watching him lift, so confident, so composed, made everything else fade away and your mind turn to mush. All rational thoughts were overwhelmed by the flood of desire, the need that burned like a fire within you, fierce and untamed. 

A wild thought flickered through your mind, one you couldn’t quite push away: the idea of running your fingers along the ridges of his spine, feeling each muscle shift and contract beneath his skin, the subtle texture of his back smooth yet firm under your touch. The thought of raking your nails down his back due to being lost in the thralls of pleasure, feeling him tense and arch under your touch, was a dangerous temptation that you could hardly control.

You wished, in vain, that you could just reach out and trace the ridges of his back, feel the rippling muscles shift and contract beneath your fingers, but you had to stop yourself. You couldn’t let him win this round—not like this.

Thor, who had been lifting beside him, wasn’t even trying to hide the smug grin that spread across his face. He shot a quick glance in your direction then proceeded to turn to him and spoke in hushed tones, and it was then that the realization hit you: this little game between you and Loki had morphed into a twisted battle of alliances. Thor had just completely betrayed you on behalf of his brother. That bitch.

Loki’s smirk deepened as he caught your lingering gaze. He didn’t say a word, but the playful challenge in the air was undeniable. You could feel the weight of it pressing on you, the urge to stay focused slipping away. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was baiting you—and it was working.

Wanda, ever perceptive, noticed the change in your expression instantly. Her lips curled into a sly smile, her voice dropping lower, thick with amusement. "Oh, this is going to be good," she whispered, clearly enjoying every second of the tension building between you two.

You shot her a look, your face a mixture of frustration and disbelief. "This isn’t fair," you muttered, your gaze still fixed on the god, who continued to lift the weights with effortless precision, the muscles of his back shifting smoothly with each movement. "How am I supposed to focus when he looks like a damn sculpture?"

You sighed, trying to rein in your runaway thoughts, but the fantasies lingered, unwanted. "I’m going to jump him in the next ten seconds if he keeps this up," you continued, your voice thick with frustration. "And I don’t mean it in a ‘beat him down’ way… well, maybe I do, but only down there."

Wanda stifled a laugh and nudged you playfully, her tone still light, but now edged with a sense of seriousness. "You’ve got to hold it together," she teased. "You’re not falling for this, right? You’re stronger than that."

You looked at her, a frustrated sigh escaping your lips as you came to a bitter revelation. Loki was trying to get under your skin, and you couldn’t let him. "You’re right," you declared, rolling your eyes. "I can’t let him mess with me like this. He’s just baiting me, and I’m not gonna fall for it."

Wanda gave a satisfied nod, pleased with your change in attitude. "That’s the spirit. Don’t let him steal your focus. You’ve got this."

With newfound determination, you straightened your back. "Alright, enough of this," you muttered under your breath. "Let’s see how he handles a little competition."

Your eyes narrowed, chest tightening with resolve. The game was on, and this time, you weren’t going to let him have the upper hand.

You politely excused yourself from Wanda’s company and made your way toward the quieter back section of the gym. The hustle and bustle of the weight area faded behind you, the rhythmic clinking of metal and the low murmurs of conversation becoming a distant hum. You hoped the isolation would offer the clarity you were searching for—some peace to collect your thoughts.

In a secluded corner, you found Bruce, focused intently on a pull-up bar. His brow furrowed in concentration, but the strain was evident, his grip tight on the bar as he attempted yet again to pull himself up. His frustration was written clearly across his face, though he masked it with determined silence.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to interrupt his focused effort. But when you saw the way his muscles tensed in vain, unable to lift himself even a few inches, you couldn’t help but step in. “Need some help?” you asked softly, your voice calm, yet laced with curiosity.

He let out a deep sigh, a touch of frustration creeping into his words. “I’m trying the pull-up bar exercise,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly. “But I can’t seem to get up there.”

Tilting your head slightly, you studied his form for a moment, then took a step closer. “Show me,” you encouraged gently, offering a supportive tone.

Bruce gave a small, resigned nod before trying once more. With a quiet grunt, he pulled himself up again, but only for a brief second before his arms gave out, and he dropped back down, his exhale sharp and frustrated. “See?” he said, clearly disappointed. “I just can’t do it.”

You smiled reassuringly, your eyes warm with understanding. “Maybe start with something a bit different,” you suggested kindly. “Have you ever tried the ‘Dead Hang’ exercise?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, intrigued by your suggestion. “What’s that?”

Before you could explain, a loud clatter suddenly echoed through the gym—the unmistakable crash of a heavy weight hitting the floor. The sound reverberated across the room, and instinctively, your eyes shifted toward the source.

Nearby, a small crowd had gathered, applauding and praising Loki, who had just completed an impressive lift. “Nice job, Loki! Impressive as always!” one voice called out with admiration.

An impulsive thought flashed through your mind—daring, bold, something designed to enhance your stakes.

Turning back to Bruce, you flashed a sly grin, a hint of mischief curling at the corners of your lips. “I’ll show you,” you said, but your words carried a weight to them, an undercurrent of something more, in a tone that made your friend blink in confusion.

Slowly, you began to unzip your jacket, making sure each movement was drawn out. This wasn’t just about showing him the exercise; it was about showing someone else, too. The sudden sound of the zipper seemed to almost echo through the gym, a quiet invitation to anyone who might be watching. Finally, you revealed what you had carefully chosen to wear, an outfit designed to put the odds on your side. The effect was immediate.

You could feel Loki’s eyes immediately zeroing on you, and every detail seemed to draw him in like a magnet. The fabric of your outfit clung to your skin with a delicate stretch, outlining every curve and muscle as you moved. The shorts, the tight-fitting gym bra, the length of your legs accentuated by high socks—they all played their part. As you turned slightly, the fabric shifted and clung to your form, showcasing the subtle curve of your back, the way your muscles rippled with the slightest movement. Every inch of you was on display, and Norns did he noticed every part of it.

A loud thud echoed across the gym, followed by a sharp curse. “Damn it.” Loki’s voice rang out, laced with frustration, and you couldn’t help but smile inwardly. He had lost focus—your presence had distracted him so thoroughly that he’d accidentally dropped the weight he’d been holding. The sound of the barbell hitting the floor seemed to reverberate through the space, drawing everyone’s attention for a split second.

You couldn’t help but fight the smirk that threatened to tug at your lips. “I’ll show you what it’s like,” you said, your voice low, but full of intent as you took another deliberate step closer to Bruce. Those words were certainly meant for someone else, too.

You approached the pull-up bar with careful intent, your fingers wrapping around the cold metal. The exercise you were about to perform required complete focus and control. With a deep breath, you gripped the bar firmly, allowing your body to hang freely below it. As you did so, you consciously relaxed every muscle, letting your body fall into the natural stretch of the position. It was a simple exercise, but one that emphasized both strength and the fluidity of the body. Yours curved slightly as the weight of your form stretched out from the bar, loosening up your spine as the contours of your waist and hips became more pronounced with each passing second.

Loki’s gaze flickered toward you once again, his breath hitching at the sight. Every shift in your body, every movement of your muscles, sent a pulse of heat through him. He grit his teeth, the dirty thoughts that had been simmering beneath the surface rushing back to the forefront of his mind. The way your body stretched, your back curving just the right way—it was almost too much to bear. He tried to focus, to ground himself in the task at hand, but his attention kept being pulled back to you.

You let out a breath, your body still hanging for a moment longer before you spoke to Bruce, your voice cool but with a slight edge of confidence. "Relax your entire body," you instructed, your tone a touch haughty. "The point of this exercise is to let the weight of your body do the work. It helps open up your shoulders, stretch your spine, and build the necessary strength for proper pull-ups. Start by hanging for ten seconds at a time and gradually increase the duration. With practice, you'll be able to pull yourself up."

You paused for a moment, letting your body hang freely before pulling yourself up from the bar with smooth, controlled strength. As you reached the top of the movement, you held yourself there for just a second longer than necessary, your muscles tightening, flexing in the process. The motion was fluid, almost sensual, and the way your body moved with purpose sent a provocative ripple through the air. Loki couldn’t look away as he watched you, every shift in your body feeling like a challenge, an invitation. A low pained groan slipped from his throat, the sound nearly imperceptible, but the heat of his gaze on you was undeniable.

Thor, who had been observing his brother, glanced over in confusion as Loki seemed to stiffen, his eyes darkening in a way that made the tension between the two of them palpable. "Are you alright, Loki?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

The god didn’t answer immediately, his gaze still locked onto you as you effortlessly performed the pull-up, your muscles tightening and flexing with each motion. It was an almost agonizingly slow showcase of strength, one that seemed to taunt him, and he could feel every inch of his body reacting to it.

Oh, how he longed to run his hands over the smooth expanse of your back, savoring the lean strength evident beneath. The curve of your waist and flare of your hips beckoned like a siren's call, making his fingers twitch with the desire to explore, to map out every dip and swell. He could almost feel the heat of your body, like the flames of Muspelheim against his palms as he imagined gripping your hips and guiding you down, down, down until you were sheathed tight around his hardness. 

Another groan threatened to spill out at the vision, his shorts growing a little too tight for his liking. Gods, the things he wanted to do to you, with you, if only you would finally admit defeat. To run his tongue along the elegant curve of your throat, down to flick against your pulse point as he spread you out before him like a feast. To sink his teeth into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, marking you, branding you as his. To work you open on his fingers and tongue until you are dripping and ready, then push into your tight, wet heat inch by delicious inch. He'd rock into you slow and deep, savoring every gasp and moan, building the pleasure higher and higher until you were keening, lost to everything but the feel of him moving inside you.

Without a word, he spun on his hee and strode off toward another station, leaving Thor, in his wake who scratched his head, visibly puzzled. “Brother? What are you—” But Loki paid him no mind, his sharp steps echoing as he distanced himself.

You caught sight of Bruce still grappling with the pull-up bar, his arms trembling as he strained to lift himself even an inch. His frustration was evident in the tight set of his jaw and the way he grumbled to himself under his breath. The pull-up bar clearly wasn’t yielding any victories for him today.

Walking over with purpose, you kept your voice calm but firm. “Bruce, let’s try something different for now. We’ll come back to this once you’ve built up the strength for it.”

The scientist sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck with a self-conscious shrug. “I don’t know... I’m not great with this stuff. Maybe I should just stick to what I know.”

You smiled gently, tilting your head slightly to meet his hesitant gaze. “Come on, Bruce. Trust me on this. Baby steps, right? Let’s just take one in a different direction for now.”

He hesitated, his lips pressed into a thin line, before finally exhaling in defeat. “Fine. Lead the way. But don’t say I didn’t warn you if this goes south.”

With a reassuring nod, you led him to the chest fly machine, your voice calm and encouraging as you adjusted the seat and weights for him. You were focused on making sure everything was just right for Bruce, but what you hadn’t fully accounted for was the proximity of this particular station to Loki, who was seated at the lat pulldown machine just a few feet away. His back was turned, but the tension in his posture was impossible to miss. Like a storm cloud, it hung over the room—dark and ominous, an undeniable sense of impending eruption lingering in the air.

For a moment, you found yourself distracted, your eyes unconsciously drawn to the muscles in his back as they shifted with every movement, the strength in his form almost hypnotic. The well-defined lines of his shoulders, the way his muscles flexed under his skin, it was hard to look away. But you quickly shook yourself out of the moment, snapping back to the task at hand. Focus, you reminded yourself, silently chastising your wandering thoughts.

“That’s it, Bruce. Slow, steady movements. Just like that, don’t rush it. You’ve got this,” you said, your tone supportive as he began his exercise. But even as you spoke, you couldn’t help noticing how Loki’s head tilted slightly in your direction, his sharp ears catching every word.

The creak of the lat pulldown cables drew your attention. Loki’s hands gripped the bar with unnecessary force, his movements precise yet edged with irritation. The sound of metal straining filled the air as he finally broke his silence. “Do you mind?” His voice cut through the room like a blade, low and seething with disdain.

You turned to face him, your brow furrowing. “What do you want?” you retaliated, a mix of confusion and irritation lacing your tone.

Loki swiveled his head slowly, emerald eyes narrowing into a dangerous glare. “Your incessant commentary,” he drawled, each word dripping with contempt. “It’s... distracting.”

You scoffed, planting your hands on your hips as frustration bubbled to the surface. “Are you serious right now? I’m helping Bruce. Maybe focus on your own workout instead of eavesdropping.”

Loki chuckled—low, humorless, and maddeningly smug. Leaning back slightly, he released the bar, letting it rise with a deliberate clang. “Oh, I’m focused,” he said, his smirk deepening. “But don’t insult my intelligence by pretending this isn’t calculated. Using Banner as a pawn? Transparent. And frankly, beneath you.”

Bruce, who had been silent throughout the exchange, finally frowned and glanced between the two of you. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice quiet but tinged with irritation.

Throwing your hands up in exasperation, you turned to Loki. “Oh, here we go again. Not everything is about you, Loki! Believe it or not, I’m just trying to help.”

Loki raised a brow, his smug expression unwavering. “Help?” he repeated, his tone mocking. “Is that what you call it? Dressing like that, speaking like that? Admit it——you’re dabbling in something you don’t even understand.”

“Wha— Excuse me ? This is rich, coming from the guy who prances around half-naked! You—”

Bruce abruptly stood, his chair scraping against the floor. His voice cut through your escalating argument with an uncharacteristic edge of authority. “Stop!”

Both you and Loki turned to him, startled. The doctor rarely raised his voice, but when he did, it was a sign that things had gone too far.

He took a deep breath, his hands clenching into fists. “What is this?” he demanded, looking between the two of you. “You’re bickering like kids on a playground, and I’m just—what? A prop in your ridiculous feud?”

Your chest tightened as you started to explain. “Bruce, no, I swear it’s not like that—”

“Don’t,” Bruce cut in, his tone sharp and trembling with barely contained anger. “Don’t try to sugarcoat it. I may not be as quick as some people, but I’m not blind. I see what’s happening here.”

Bruce turned his glare to Loki, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. “And you—you think you’re clever, don’t you? Always playing games. Well, newsflash—I’m not interested in being part of them.”

His breathing became heavier, his body trembling—not from nervousness, but from something darker, angrier.

Your heart sank as you realized what was happening. “Bruce, just take a breath, okay? Let’s calm down—”

But it was already too late. His muscles bulged, his skin darkened into a familiar green, and the roar of the Hulk filled the gym.

Loki’s posture stiffened, the usual cocky swagger evaporating as the Hulk’s colossal frame shifted toward him. For a split second, a flash of pure terror flickered across his sharp features, a haunting echo from the Battle of New York when the Hulk had sent him crashing into the ground like a discarded rag. The fear was brief, almost imperceptible, but enough to betray him.

Before he could react to the imminent danger, Loki’s hand shot out with a swift, panicked motion, gripping your arm. “Hold still,” he snapped, panic creeping into the edges of his words. You barely had a chance to process his command before a surge of green magic enveloped you both, and the world blurred.

When the world came back into focus, you found yourself near the shake bar, the sounds of destruction still reverberating in the air. Almost immediately, the deafening crash of the green giant’s fist pounding into the floor where Loki had just been standing shook the entire gym. The floor shattered under the impact, sending tiles and twisted metal flying in all directions, and the mutant’s fury seemed to crack the very foundation of the gym.

The Hulk roared, his rage transforming the once serene space into a battleground. He flung gym equipment effortlessly, sending heavy machines soaring through the air as if they were paperweights. Chaos erupted, and everyone nearby scrambled to find shelter, the panic rippling through the room.

“Loki!” you shouted, snapping out of your dazed confusion, yanking your arm free from his grasp. “What did you just do?” Your frustration was raw, even as the remnants of Loki’s spell still crackled in the air around you.

Loki's gaze darted over the chaos, his eyes momentarily filled with the same terror from earlier. “I saved your life, you ungrateful—” he began, but his words were interrupted by another piece of equipment flying past, narrowly missing you both.

In the midst of the madness, Steve Rogers appeared, cutting through the mayhem with his usual calm but commanding presence. His shield was already raised to deflect debris, and his eyes locked onto you both, burning with frustration. “What did you two do?” His voice was sharp, his anger evident as he assessed the destruction around him.

Before either of you could answer, Steve held up a hand to silence you. “No. You know what, I don’t even want to hear it. Whatever this is, it ends now.” The sheer force of his frustration was palpable in the air.

Without skipping a beat, he turned to Natasha, who had approached cautiously, her demeanor calm but alert. “Nat’, calm him down. Now.”

The red head nodded, turning her voice soft and steady as she made her way toward the Hulk. Her presence seemed to cause a momentary hesitation in him, but it was clear that the damage had already been done. The gym was a wreck.

Steve shifted his attention back to you and Loki, his voice cold and authoritative. “This session is officially postponed until tomorrow. And you two—” he gestured between you and the god with a firm, pointed finger, “—will clean up every inch of this gym before dawn. No excuses.”

With that, he turned, muttering under his breath about “grown adults acting like children,” his steps echoing as he left.

As the dust settled and the rumble of destruction faded, you whipped around to face the one responsible for the mess. “See, this is your fault!” you accused, your voice rising with frustration. “If you hadn’t been so focused on antagonizing me—”

His eyes narrowed sharply, his lips twisting into a thin line as he interrupted you. “My fault?” he hissed, his tone low and dripping with venom. “If you hadn’t been playing the role of coach, none of this would’ve happened.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation. “Oh, please. You were the one who couldn’t keep your jealousy in check! You’re so petty, it’s unbelievable.” 

“Petty?” Loki sneered, stepping closer, his voice dripping with indignation. “I am not petty. I simply refuse to be ignored.” 

The two of you kept throwing accusations, a fierce back-and-forth of words filling the already charged air. You stepped forward, jabbing your finger toward his chest, your anger boiling over. “Fine!” you snapped, the words rushing out before you could stop them. “Tomorrow, when we fix this mess, we’ll figure out who’s really at fault.”

Loki’s smirk returned, dark and calculating, his gaze shifting with a mischievous glint. He slammed his hands onto the nearby counter, leaning in until his presence was overwhelming, the space between you growing impossibly small. His voice dropped, laced with something far more dangerous. “Gladly,” he purred, his smirk widening. “But don’t expect to come out of this unscathed, darling. When I settle things, I make sure it’s unforgettable.”

Your breath caught in your chest as his gaze lingered, heavy with meaning. His words held a promise—one that left the air thick with anticipation. Then, without another word, he straightened and turned away, his smirk still in place as he strode out of the ruined gym. You stood there, caught between the remnants of a shattered gym and a body that pounded in more than one place. 

Tomorrow, everything would finally be settled, and the weight of it all seemed to hang in the air like a promise of more to come.

Chapter Text

Saturday. It ought to have been your haven—a priceless, untouchable day dedicated to rest. A day set aside for relief—a unique, treasured chance to relax, get some much-needed sleep or even enjoy a few blissful hours of inactivity. Maybe you would have gotten the sleep you had been missing all these days due to some godly parasite lingering inside of your head, or you would have spent a few hours of delightful indolence watching your favorite shows in the comfort of your cozy bed. Instead, like a prisoner heading to their execution, you found yourself stumbling toward the gym in the early hours of the following day, each step laden with fear.

And it was all become of him.

One month. It had been thirty maddening days since Loki had chosen to make you the center of his entertainment, enticing you into his intricate little game of battling for the spotlight and disrupting your carefully crafted lifestyle. You hadn't been offered the chance to decline or be offered a volunteer position. In fact, you didn't even know there was a game until he walked into the gym that fateful morning with his trademark arrogant smile, his piercing eyes, and his incredibly sharp tongue that seemed to be designed specifically to rile you up, strutting around like some arrogant peacock and prompting in you the burning sensation of desperately wanting to put him back in his place. It was as if he had come in with the express intent of making you lose your mind, and ever since, he had made it his goal to constantly torture, mock, and irritate you.

You thought you had done a great job of pretending it didn't bother you. It had all been part of your improvised plan to keep some semblance of sanity, brushing off his scathing remarks and acting as though you were unaware of the way his gaze lingered just a bit too long whenever he peered in your direction. However, the reality was that Loki had a strange way of getting under your skin, digging deep, and burning it like no one else ever could, ultimately making you enter many weekly rounds of push and pull and leaving the unforeseen public wanting more in their bets on which of the two would finally crack from their infantile provocations. 

The culmination of it all had been the previous day. You had completely failed to fall asleep, your heart still pounding with adrenaline, and your restless mind replaying over and over your last encounter with him. It was simply another verbal sparring match, a battle of glares and scathing retorts, nothing extraordinary. The shared spark hovering on the verge of burning was the only extra taste. It was enough to set your entire body on fire when he brashly pushed you against the shake bar counter and smiled menacingly, promising to ruin you in the finest way possible. Although it didn't completely rock your world, it certainly did cause your ovaries to tremble, which fueled the restless energy that had persisted in you ever since.

Hours passed slowly and you were still staring at the ceiling, scrutinizing any specks on it while attempting to interpret his final words when the first rays of sunlight came through your window. "When I settle things, I make sure it’s unforgettable." What on Earth had he meant by that? And more significantly, what fresh torment had he in store for you?

The questions flitted through your head like vultures as you dressed, putting on bras sports, a basic tank top and leggings with weak motions and a tired sigh—you didn’t feel the need to go all out for this morning, as you would be practically caged with your sworn attention-hungry enemy. Your body felt slow and fatigued, but your mind was racing at full speed. A part of you wanted to march into that gym and slam his smirk-adorned pretty face against the nearest wall until it was unrecognizable. Another part... well, you didn’t want to think about what the other part of you wanted. 

You pushed the treacherous thoughts away as you finished lacing your sneakers and turned to face the mirror, giving yourself a stern, no-nonsense look. “Get. it. together,” you muttered, insisting on each word that was coming out as much as a plea as it was an order.

Desperate to shake off the grogginess—and the simmering frustration—you bounced on your toes a few times, throwing a few half-hearted shadow punches. Some quick jumps, fists raised and throwing jabs here and there and a sharp exhale. The motion sent a small jolt of energy through your muscles, enough to strengthen your resolve, but it did little to alleviate the knot of apprehension that was tightly wound in your chest.

Whatever the god had planned, you promised yourself you would not let him get the best of you. Not this time, not ever, and not anymore.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly walked out of your room, your footsteps echoing off the walls as you made your way to the gym. The overhead fluorescent lights flickered intermittently, casting long, shifting shadows that added to your sense of foreboding. The closer you got, the heavier each step felt, as if the weight of expectation was dragging you down. 

The gym loomed ahead, having evolved into something more than just a room full of machines. It was a battleground, a crucible. Loki seemed so determined to push you to your limits, testing your patience, strength, and willpower with each encounter. You could not decide which bothered you more: the fear of losing control in his presence or the nagging suspicion that he was purposefully trying to break you to see how far he could go. Upper motives are Loki's specialty, after all. But, on the other hand, was this really just a game for him?

At last, you reached your destination, staying still in front of the entrance. Your fingers curled around the handle, allowing the cool metal to ground you for a moment while you paused, your pulse quickening as a dozen different scenarios raced through your head.

Was this your doom or your solace? And which one did you hope to find today?

You didn’t know. But as you pushed open the door and stepped inside, you braced yourself for whatever Loki had planned for you.

Surprisingly, it was already slightly ajar when you arrived, allowing just a sliver of light to pass through. The first rays of the rising sun spilled in, casting a soft, golden glow across the immaculate gym floor, which had been completely cleared of the chaos left by the Hulk's rampage. The sunbeams pierced through the towering windows, their warm light reaching all corners of the gym and illuminating the grandeur of Manhattan beyond—a city still waking up, its skyline bathed in the soft hues of dawn, almost as if holding its breath in anticipation of what was to come.

But it was not the breathtaking scenery that halted you in your tracks. 

No. What really drew your attention, leaving you momentarily speechless, was the sight of Loki. There he was, in the middle of it all, surprisingly barefoot. His form stood in stark contrast against the polished surroundings, like a shadow amidst the brilliance. The god of mischief was leaning against the cracked wall, his fingers moving with effortless precision over the remaining damage, the last traces of destruction fading beneath his fingertips. The ground had been thoroughly cleaned up, free of any debris from the mutant's rampage, so you did not have to worry about him injuring himself—not that you would be concerned anyway. 

The air around him buzzed with magical remnants that seemed to belong there, blending in with the repairs he was doing. His posture was lazy and languid, as if he were bored with the task at hand, and repairing a wall was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

It irked you more than you cared to admit.

Despite his outward calm, a familiar knot twisted in your chest—a mix of irritation, resentment, and, for reasons you could not fathom, bubbling excitement. The same sensation that seemed to arise whenever Loki was nearby—a dangerous combination that you were all too familiar with.

And yet, he didn’t even acknowledge your presence. It was as if you hadn’t walked in at all.

You stood frozen in the doorway for a moment, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. There he was, the god who had turned your world upside down, with his back turned to you. You couldn’t decide whether to wait and see if his ever-annoying smirk would appear or if he would look at you with that cold, calculating stare he wore when sent out on missions, which always made your skin prickle.

A moment stretched. Then—

"Late as usual," Loki's voice broke the silence, smooth and taunting as always, his gaze fixed on his work.

Your lips pressed into a thin line. Here it is, you bitterly thought as you deeply inhaled, bracing yourself for what was coming next.

“I’m sorry, was I supposed to be impressed?” You retorted, stepping deeper into the room, sarcasm laced throughout your words. “You’re fixing a wall, not saving the world. Do you want me to give you a standing ovation?”

He let out a soft, almost bored sigh and continued to work as if your words did not bother him. "And good morrow to you as well. The first rays appear, and you are already up and taunting me. But I suppose that is part of your appeal, is it not?"

You moved around the room, your gaze scanning the gym. It was still a mess in places, but nothing you could not handle with a little effort—and probably Loki's self-assured arrogance as well. If you weren’t any pettier, you would be surprisingly grateful towards him doing most of the hard job—which is saying something, coming from Loki himself. Perhaps your worries weren’t misplaced, after all—as far as you knew, the god never did anything out of the kindness of his heart. 

“Don’t flatter yourself. Honestly, I have seen better magic tricks in street performances," you replied, your voice light but your irritation simmering beneath the surface. You focused your attention on the task at hand, preparing for the impending manual labor.

But your treacherous gaze quickly returned to him, still bathed in sunlight as he worked to complete the repairs. The golden light illuminated the muscular expanse of his back, accentuating every ridge and dip with almost agonizing clarity. Each movement was a seamless display of strength and precision, the sinews of his shoulders rolling effortlessly beneath his skin. A faint sheen clung to his torso, highlighting the sharp lines that drew the eye down the length of his spine.

Your eyes then lowered unwantedly, drawn to the way his trousers hugged his figure, especially the firm curve of his ass. The fabric clung in a way that left little to the imagination, draping over him with an almost sculptural elegance. Each subtle shift of his weight made the material stretch and conform, as though emphasizing every detail of his form.

Your cheeks flushed as your imagination deceived you, racing with uncontrollable thoughts of how you wanted to explore that body. You were split between silent adoration and an almost painful need to close the gap between you. The silence weighed down hard, interrupted only by the faint hum of his power. There was an electric tension in the air, thick enough to taste, as if something was going to snap. Perhaps another volley of sharp words—or something more physical.

Loki gradually stepped aside from his work, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. His lips curled into an irritating, all-knowing smirk. “Are you finished inspecting my masterpiece, or do you plan to continue judging my artwork?” he asked, his tone almost playful, yet it carried a challenge beneath it.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the pointless instigation. “Oh, I’m sure it’s magnificent, Loki. Just like everything you touch," you sarcastically said, your tone basking in mockery.

His smirk unfortunately only deepened at your retort, a glint of mischief sparking in his eyes. “Do you always arm yourself with such wit before breakfast, or am I to feel especially privileged today?” He teased, his gaze lingering on you for just a little too long, never leaving yours.

It was tempting to fire back, to throw another retort his way, but you forced yourself to bite your tongue. You had a task at hand, and you were damn well going to finish it—no matter how insufferable Loki was being.

With a deep breath, you set aside your irritation. “Fine, let’s just get this over with. "The sooner it is finished, the sooner I can leave your delightful company," you muttered under your breath, not bothering to hide your annoyance.

Loki raised an eyebrow as he leaned against the wall, his lips curled into a lazy smirk as he crossed his arms. “My, such ambition. One might almost think you find my presence unbearable.”

You did not grace him with the privilege of an answer, instead reaching for a nearby broom and beginning to sweep up the last of the debris. Each step you took felt heavier than the previous one as you mentally prepared for the physical labor ahead. Whether it was the oppressive atmosphere or Loki's unyielding presence, you could not help but sense the tension building, hanging in the air like a storm about to break.

The only thing you were certain of?

Today was going to be longer than you anticipated.

After a while, you took a purposeful stride behind the bar, the motion almost automatic, deciding that a shake was exactly what you needed to boost your energy and, more importantly, to prepare yourself for the mental endurance you were sure this morning would require. The frustration from the previous few moments persisted beneath the surface, like an ember that refused to die. You forced yourself to concentrate on the simple task at hand: preparing your beverage. After all, getting through the rest of the day would require all of your strength and endurance, especially with the man in the background.

As you reached for the blender, his voice rang out behind you while he was seemingly approaching you, slow and taunting, as if he had all the time in the world. "I have already repaired the marble, you know. The only thing left to do is put the glasses away and clean the countertops. But, of course, you would rather stand there and make yourself a drink, do you not?"

You didn’t turn to face him, focusing instead on measuring the ingredients for your shake, with your back to him as you gathered your supplies. "I am making myself something to drink because I have not eaten yet," you answered with a clipped tone, revealing your growing irritation. “And trust me, I’m going to need it if I’m going to survive being in the same room as you.”

You could almost hear the smirk curling on his lips. He moved closer and titled his head over your shoulder, his voice dropping to a timbre of contempt. “A shake? How… pedestrian.” You sensed his obvious presence behind you, like a shadow too near for comfort. “If I were you, I’d be more concerned about what you really need.” 

His breath tickled the back of your neck as he leaned in, and his words sounded almost sensual. Your pulse quickened at the implication, and a flash of annoyance coursed through you. You couldn’t let him get under your skin—not this early at least. Taking a steadying breath, you returned your attention to the blender, attempting to ignore Loki's magnetic pull and the way he appeared to consume the space around him.

Then, just as you were about to finish blending your shake, Loki's voice dropped once more, this time with a sly, dangerous edge. “Do you think that shake will be enough to cool you off? Or would you rather I provide a more... appropriate remedy?”

Never mind him not getting under your skin—that pushed your patience over the edge.

Without hesitation, you grabbed the nearest glass of water, spun on your heel, and splashed it directly into his face. “How’s that for cooling off?” You returned with a strained smile, your words as sharp as your gaze, your chest rising and falling with the rage you could not control. You immediately spun away, determined to leave before your temper flared.

There was a brief period of silence. Loki stood perfectly still, his eyes closed since receiving the impromptu attack. He inhaled deeply as the magic around him crackled like a storm on the horizon, his irritation settled in the air, thick and heavy, like a warning. He slowly wiped the water off his face, his lips curling into that same infuriatingly composed smirk that made your blood boil.

"Fine," he finally said, his voice strained with barely contained irritation, though his smirk remained intact. “If this is the game you wish to play, so be it.”

He slowly peeled off his shirt and tossed it aside, taking you completely by surprise. The sight of his sculpted, damp chest was enough to send shivers up your spine. He did not seem to notice—or care, for that matter. Your stomach churned, and you immediately regretted throwing the water, especially since your gaze was drawn involuntarily to the muscle lines that rippled across his abdomen. Fuck. This wasn’t helping.

You could feel a flush creeping up your neck, but you quickly pushed the warmth away. You did not have time to get sucked into whatever game Loki was playing. If you wanted to get through today, you had to keep your cool.

"Whatever," you mumbled to yourself, taking a long, leisurely drink of your shake, as if it could somehow relieve the tension between you. The cool beverage flowed down your throat, yet the room was hot, the air thick with unspoken murmurs.It was going to be a long day. A very long day.

⠀

For an extended period, the two of you moved silently. It was as if you were in sync without saying anything, each of you was quietly immersed in your allotted job. You remained firmly rooted in your corner, concentrating solely on your task as a weird, even unsettling rhythm emerged between the two of you. The room, which had once been a chaotic mess after the Hulk's destruction, now appeared unsettlingly calm. You found yourself wishing for your headphones, something to drown out the oppressive silence, help you focus, and speed up the process. But with Loki there, you couldn't afford such a luxury—his mere existence made it impossible to escape into that peaceful seclusion.

The heavy sense of imminent peril lingered around you, like a weight suspended just above the earth, ready to fall. Loki, the deity of mischief and master of deception, has never been so silent before. His customary snark and demand for attention were strangely gone, and it was disturbing. It felt like a physical force weighing down on the room, choking you with its severity. He wasn't moving or looking at you, but you could sense him. His presence appeared to penetrate beneath your skin, a persistent, stifling awareness that hung over you like a shadow that refused to go away.

Even more unsettling was the fact that, despite all that had transpired, he wasn’t even looking directly at you—yet you were certain, without question, that his eyes were fixed on you and penetrating through the back of your head, even if they were out of sight. This unseen stare appeared to track your every action, causing your skin to tingle with a heightened sense of awareness, akin to a faint pressure that made it difficult to draw a breath.

Unavoidably, you found yourself matching his phantom gaze. Your vigilant eyes remained fixed on him, not merely out of wariness but also because you were unable to resist. It was unsettling how your mind wandered toward him in fundamentally inappropriate ways, particularly to his chest. That aggravating chest. Each time he shifted, it appeared to ripple, and you couldn’t pull your gaze away from the sleek, sculpted muscles that moved with effortless elegance. The arrogance that seemed to seep from him only exacerbated the situation, as he exuded an air of perfection, fully aware of the impact he had on you. And that drove you completely mad.

You despised the fact that you couldn't settle on a single opinion of him. A part of you wanted to reach out and touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. Maybe even grope him to see how he reacts. Another, darker part of you wanted to lean in and lick, kiss, and feel the smoothness of his chest against your lips. Every part of you ached with the urge to claim him in some manner. But then you'd remember your current situation, the tension in the air, and the ridiculousness of it all. You couldn't let it. You could not allow those ideas to dominate you again.

It was nice that you had superhuman strength. Without it, you weren't sure how you'd get through moments like this—when your mind would wander into dangerous terrain, your body would betray you with a deep, frustrated need, and you'd most likely let a dumbbell drop from your fingers and land on your foot. Your strength kept you anchored, but it didn't alleviate the strain that coiled within you like a live wire, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything else.

And, worst of all, you were furious. Furious with him for just existing and being so mesmerizing. Furious with the way he handled himself, the arrogance that radiated off him, and, damn it, his body. You were upset with yourself for allowing him to get under your skin and for the way he put your insides on fire. But, more than anything, you were enraged by how easily he had entangled your thoughts in his clutches, without ever lifting a finger. It was as if he didn't even have to try to get inside your thoughts, and yet here you were—lost in a maelstrom of frustration and need, entangled in the web he had spun around you with effortless grace.

You moved through your set, the rhythmic clang of metal filling the otherwise quiet room, breaking the stillness with every shift of the dumbbells. Each time you bent to pick one up, the sound reverberated in the large, nearly empty space. You made sure to place each weight back precisely where it belonged, your movements deliberate and controlled, your focus unwavering, even as the strain of the workout began to wear on you.

Yet, every time you turned away, something peculiar began to happen. A faint shift, just enough to unsettle your balance. The weights would move, imperceptibly, enough for you to notice but not quite enough to confirm at first. You'd look back, only to discover that one weight had shifted slightly, a minor tweak that seemed to challenge your every action. Initially, you put it on exhaustion, but as the strange happenings continued, your displeasure grew. It felt as if your mind was conspiring against you.

With each shift, your nerves strained, and unease crept up your spine. You couldn't escape the idea that you were losing control, that something—or someone—was interfering with your thoughts. "What the hell..." you muttered under your breath as you hefted another dumbbell into position, the metallic clang too loud in the otherwise silent room.

"Be careful," Loki said from the other side, his voice shrill and mocking. "Or you'll cause more of a ruckus than the green beast did." His words were delivered with that exacerbating air of superiority that made your blood boil even as you tightened your jaw to avoid snapping back. You could clearly feel how much he was loving it.

You gritted your teeth and concentrated on the task at hand, ignoring him as much as you could. "It's not my fault," you murmured back, your voice tinged with displeasure as you kneeled to pick up another weight. You needed to finish. You couldn't allow him to get under your skin, yet again.

Regardless, as you proceeded, the disturbing adjustments in the rack became more regular, with the weights moving gently every time you turned your back. Something was certainly off, and you could no longer pretend otherwise. The unease in the air, the sensation of eyes on you, and the bizarre, inexplicable shifts had all contributed to something more planned than just chance.

At long last, after completing the final set of weights and ensuring that everything was in its proper place, you turned away from the rack, ready to move on to the next part of the gym. You had your back to the rack when you heard the unmistakable crash of weights hitting the ground. Your heart pounded in your chest, and your mind raced as you spun around, your eyes narrowing in surprise.

The dumbbells were scattered across the floor. The revelation struck you like a ton of bricks—or dumbbells, in this context.

"Loki," you snarled, the name tumbling out of your mouth before you could control it. You pushed the rack aside, your wrath pouring over as you stormed towards him.

The aforementioned deity stood several feet away, watching you with an aggravating smile on his lips and an incredibly calm posture, as if he hadn't done anything wrong. There was something almost sickeningly pleasant about his apparent enjoyment of the turmoil he had produced, as if he were enjoying every ounce of your frustration. 

You crossed the gap between you without hesitation, taking hurried steps towards him. "What's your fucking problem?" you demanded, your hands curled tightly at your sides and your voice tinged with rage. "This is your doing, isn't it?"

The Asgardian's grin widened further, and he inclined his head slightly in fake inquiry. "Problem?" he repeated, a nasty gleam in his eyes. "I wasn't aware I had one." His comments hung in the air, acting as an open invitation to retaliate. He was testing you, pressing your buttons just for the fun of it.

"You've been messing with me this whole damn time!" You fired back, your rage escalating as your fury boiled over. "What exactly are you trying to prove?"

Loki leaned in slightly, his stare sharp and calculated, with a glimmer of threat in his eyes. "Easily distracted, are we?" he asked, his voice silky and full of challenge. "I thought that perhaps you simply needed something to... redirect your focus."

Every ounce of patience you had was slipping away, and your fury was simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to explode. You took a step closer, your resolve firm, ready to confront him full on and force him to account for his little game. But as you did, your foot got snagged on something—your own, traitorous shoelaces.

"What the—" you exclaimed, taken aback by the sudden loss of control. You lost your footing and stumbled forward, unable to break the momentum. Before you could recover, you collapsed to the floor, your hands just reaching out to catch yourself. As you scrambled to lift yourself up, your gaze fell on the source of your clumsiness: your shoelaces—both of them—tied together in a knot that was too perfect and exact to be an accident. 

Heat flooded your face, a blush of humiliation rising in your chest as you slowly stood, the weight of your embarrassment sinking in. "You... you little shit," you hissed, angry and mortified. You instantly tried to unravel the knot, but your rage just grew.

Loki's laughter rang around the room, a low chuckle that made your blood boil even more. He stood there, arms crossed over his chest, observing you with almost predatory delight. He wasn't going to help you; it was evident he was enjoying every moment of your annoyance.

"Really?" you snapped, your expression tightening as you stared at him. "Tying my shoelaces? What are you, a child?"

His grin intensified, and his eyes shone with a lethal, mischievous light. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a taunting divulgence. "I thought I might remind you not to forget your place, darling."

The combination of fury and shame pushed you over the limit. "Try me, Loki. Just one more time, and I’ll make you regret it," you threatened, your fists clenched so hard that your knuckles became white, raw rage barely restrained beneath the surface.

Loki raised an eyebrow and smiled unwaveringly. "And what exactly do you plan to do?" he inquired, his tone challenging.

You seethed, torn between the overwhelming desire to strike out and the strange pull he always seemed to have over you. The air between you was heavy with tension, suffocating, and the more you looked at his infuriatingly handsome face, the more you couldn't decide whether to lash out with your fists, pull him in for a kiss, or do both in an explosive clash of vexation and longing.

You deeply inhaled, muttering hopeful prayers for peace and quiet while attempting to calm the maelstrom of emotions forming within you. The soreness persisted beneath your skin, although there was no immediate way to release it. His attention was riveted on you, and the thought of your next move formed in your mind and slowly brought a wicked smile to your lips. You knew just how to make him squirm, and you were confident you could send his mind racing just like yours was.

As you crouched to relace your shoes, you took a moment to fix your shirt. The fabric changed, adapting to your shape with subtle precision—just enough to draw his attention without being obvious. The way the cloth clung to your body felt like a challenge, inviting him to gaze. And you knew he wasn't going to refuse. His eyes, though well guarded, revealed the admiration he could not conceal. You felt a surge of satisfaction as you realized you had the ability to divert him however you wished him to be.

Your fingers worked carefully, lacing the shoes with calculated precision, ensuring that your actions were slow enough to keep him focused. You could feel his stare sharpen and his breath quicken, as if just seeing you was enough to divert his attention. You had him exactly where you wanted him: utterly trapped in a whirlwind of unwelcome cogitation.

Once finished, you stood with deliberate slowness, savoring the moment as you straightened your posture and brushed your shoulders with exaggerated care. You discreetly looked at him from behind your lashes, noticing the lingering heat in his eyes—a flash of doubt, that tiny break in his otherwise immaculate composure that made your approaching win all the sweeter.

And now, it was time to seal it.

With a quick, careful rotation, you spun on your heel, your action graceful and calculated. Your leg sprang out sharply, catching him squarely in the shin. The hit resonated, pushing Loki to stagger back, his beautiful stance breaking for a fleeting instant. His stance failed, and he went on one knee, his sharp inhale revealing his normal calm.

A flicker of disbelief crossed his features, revealing a rare, fleeting breach in his mask of supremacy. His palms braced on the floor as he straightened himself, his movements calm and measured, as if he refused to give you the pleasure of watching him rush.

You stood over him, chin lifted, admiring the unusual sight of Loki humbled low. Your lips formed a cynical smirk as you cocked your head, and your voice sickly sweet with deadly sarcasm. "Aw, look at you," you drawled, every word dripping with arrogance. "You wear that position nicely. Almost as if it's second nature."

His jaw tightened, the glitter in his eyes increasing as your words slithered into his ego and pricked old wounds. You leaned in slightly, your tone becoming softer and more venomous. "It’s almost like that match a few weeks ago… you remember, right? The one where you ended up in the exact same position. Thanks to me." You allowed a beat of stillness and the weight of your words. settling between you like a blade poised to strike.

For a brief instant, you noticed it—that frightening flare of fire beneath his cold, calculating eyes. His lips curled into a smile that did not extend to his eyes—a vicious and knowing twist that sent shivers down your spine. "Smug," he finally uttered, his voice silky yet twisted with tempered rage. "I suppose you're entitled to it for the right reasons."

The faintest emphasis on the final lines struck like a warning, a thread strained tight and about to snap. He straightened effortlessly, rising to his full height with startling ease. You were aware of the purposeful character of his movement, however. Loki didn't just stand there; he reclaimed the area, his presence becoming stronger with each step he took closer.

His gaze was fixed on yours, haughtily looking down as his countenance meticulously honed into that annoying mask of distant enjoyment. But the tension in the air was unmistakable, like an electric charge buzzing between you. "Careful now, darling," he whispered, his voice honeyed but tinged with a dangerous undercurrent. "You might start to believe you’ve truly bested me. A dangerous illusion, don’t you think?”

Your victory faded as his words set in, his mocking tone slithering around you like a serpent. Loki moved closer as you defensively crossed your arms and maintained his molten stare, his motions leisurely and predatory. He was now examining you, his eyes searching your every twitch and breath, as if he were recording this moment for future revenge.

"Victory," he said almost to himself, his smirk broadening when he noticed you tensing at his sudden closeness. "What an ephemeral thing, isn't it? So fragile, so easily reversed." His voice faded into a whisper that permeated the room. "Enjoy it while you can."

The oppressive atmosphere squeezed in, heavy and real. Loki's lack of retaliation was more troubling than any outburst, his quiet intensity serving as a clear reminder of how dangerous he was. He didn't have to lash out to make his presence known; his deliberate silence was far more effective. You attempted to maintain his look, to equal the boiling challenge in his eyes, but it was like staring into the depths of a venomous forest—lush and vibrant, yet steeped in danger, each glance pulling you deeper into its poisonous embrace. The corners of his mouth curved as if to guarantee that this moment would not go unanswered, and without saying anything else, he turned on his heel and marched away, as if nothing had conspired.

The room somehow felt colder without his presence, but the weight of his words hovered over you like a wildfire gradually rising your body. Loki usually never forgets or forgives, and you were confident that he would make sure you remembered this.

Shaking your head, you pushed those thoughts aside, determined not to let him get to you. You knew his games. This sudden shift in behavior—this silence—it was just another trick, another part of his elaborate act. But still, something was unsettling about it, something that gnawed at you. 

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to concentrate, your attention returning to the cable station. You moved with experienced ease, your hands painstakingly cleaning the area and your body nearly swaying in time with the task. Before you knew it, a gentle hum slid from your lips, providing a distraction and drowning out the electric tension crackling in the room. Even if it was only for a moment, the sound was relaxing.

But you couldn't shake the impression that Loki was watching again, lurking like a famished hawk and waiting—his eyes fastened on you with a weight that made you feel as if he could see straight through you. Even though you attempted to dismiss it, you knew he wasn't planning to let you go on unscathed. Definitely not.

That theory was proven correct when you found yourself falling once again.

Your foot got hooked on one of the cables that had been left lying around indiscriminately on the floor. Your body lurched forward, unbalanced, and the objects in your hands flew through the air. You gasped, prepared for the inevitable crash, but a strong arm wrapped around your waist and drew you back into a solid chest.

Your breath froze and your chest clenched as you processed the sudden and unexpected contact. You were overpowered by the perfume of mint and something more, which was unmistakably his. You stiffened in his arms, but he held you comfortably, his presence overwhelming and unsettling. The warmth of his chest pressing against your back, his breath soothing against your neck, and the steady rise and fall of his chest served as a painful reminder that he had been, once again, the one to catch you.

As he held you, you couldn't help but notice how well his body fit against yours. The way his frame fit against your back was both shocking and comfortable, as if every muscle and contour were designed to match yours. You could feel the tightness in his body, the hardness of his chest pressing against you, but there was an undeniable ease in the way he embraced you, his touch strangely possessive but comfortable. For a time, you were hesitant to release the hold, your heart speeding with the weird mix of emotions he elicited in you.

You blinked, attempting to get your bearings, your heart pounding in your chest. Every nerve in your body seemed to tingle with his touch, prompting a flood of emotions to flow within you—frustration, rage, and, screw him for this, desire. You tried to concentrate on the chaos beneath your feet, but everything about him—the way his body fitted into yours, the sensation of his arms about you—made it nearly hard to think properly.

Looking down, you noticed a cable wrapped around your foot. Your rage boiled up, your eyes glaring with irritability. But before you could draw a full breath, Loki's voice cut through the air. "Having trouble, darling?" He commented with a smirk on his lips. His taunting tone, combined with the ease with which he unraveled the cable, exacerbated your aggravation.

You clenched your jaw, attempting to keep your bearings as you watched him deftly mend the mess you had created. His arrogance was bothersome, but you couldn't deny that his charm still managed to make you squirm.

"Another tangled mess, I see," he remarked with delight. "I was starting to think we’d finally outgrown these little mishaps." He let the words linger, an amused gleam in his eyes. Then, almost as if he couldn't resist, he continued softly and teasingly, "But I should’ve known better—you do have a knack for falling for me."

The subtle suggestion of the infamous treadmill event sparked a surge of rage in your chest, and the room suddenly became unbearably hot. Your face flushed, heat crawled up your neck, and your hands clenched into fists by your sides. The recollection of that day came forward—sharp, searing, and persistent. It was the same thing: his words and actions distracted you and caused you to lose your footing. And as usual, just as you were about to fall, he came out with his arms wrapped around you, reminding you of your powerlessness.

"Why do you keep doing this?" You fumed, vehemently frustrated. "Every time, you find a new way to mess with me. Is this some sick joke to you?"

Loki's demeanor changed slightly, his smirk still curling at the corners of his lips, but it was colder and tinged with something sinister. His gaze tightened, locking onto yours with such intensity that the air between you felt dense and menacing. "A joke?" he reiterated, his voice falling to a frightening, even poisonous purr. “No, darling. This is not a joke." He took a hesitant stride toward you, the space between you sparking with tension, as if the air itself was charged with an unspoken promise. "It's a reminder that no matter how hard you try, you'll always wind up back here, tied up to me. In this. In us."

His words hung in the air like smoke, heavy and oppressive, with an undertone of insult and something darker—something primal. It caused your blood to rush, a heat swelling in your veins that was both furious and something more—because while he was an asshole in his wording, he was, in a twisted way, correct. He knew exactly how to distort every statement and encounter, convincing you that you were always one step behind before taking you by surprise and knocking you down a peg in hopes of flustering you. And, as usual, you despised how effective it was.

You took a step forward with your hands so clenched that your nails dug into your palms. You were about to lash out, to deliver the punch you had been keeping back for far too long, but something stopped you—something in the way he stood there, his posture so nonchalant, his gaze never leaving yours. He was daring you, challenging you with a look that demanded you make the first move. The air between you hummed with unresolved frustration and suffocating tension. Your breath came in rapid, short bursts as you tried to maintain control.

"What exactly do you want from me?" The words came out rougher than you intended, colored with a barely contained wrath. "What, is it because you can’t stand that I beat you once?"

Loki cocked his head slightly, as if considering your remarks, his eyes narrowing with a mix of interest and amusement. He leaned in just enough to feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Oh, I think you know exactly what I want, darling," he replied softly, his voice becoming a more intimidating whisper. "You just haven't admitted it to yourself yet." His lips twisted into a more troubling smile, one of sullen triumph. "But I'll leave you to figure that out on your own."

The smirk hovered between you like a dark cloud, an unspoken demand requiring you to act or reply. It was maddening—relentless. His presence loomed over you, stifling you, and his arrogance oozed from every word and breath. The weight of his confidence pressed against every nerve you had left, like an invisible hand around your throat.

You gripped your fists tighter, your knuckles turning white, your nails sinking into your palms, as if to steady yourself against the raging tempest within you. But it was useless. The rage, the frustration, the raw emotion—everything swirled in your chest, threatening to burst over, and you knew deep down that no matter how hard you tried to hold it in, you'd eventually lose control.

The frustration that had been building for weeks—no, a straight-up month—had now reached a breaking point. Every insulting remark, arrogant smirk, and sneaky innuendo he'd directed at you had piled up, brick by brick, into an unstable tower of contained wrath. Now that he was staring at you with that uncontrollable mix of merriment and something much darker, you weren't sure how much longer you could keep yourself together.

If looks could kill, Loki would surely be dead by now, buried so far in Dante's Inferno that even the devil himself would be shaking his head in sympathy. Even then, that would not have been enough. No, you would have gone all the way down to the circles of hell and dragged his arrogant ass back to the top just to get the joy of killing him again. And even then, it wouldn't have been enough to quench your fury.

You maintained eye contact despite the fact that your vision was beginning to warp at the borders, with red leaking into your concentration like a warning signal. Your heartbeat was loudly beating in your ears, blotting out everything else, including the slight creak of the gym equipment and the hum of the lights above.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you broke the stillness, your voice low and venomous, quivering with your rage. "You know what I've figured out, Loki?" Your look could have pierced steel, and the words that came out of your mouth were like a dagger drawn in rage. "That you’re nothing more than a twisted, kinky, masochistic little shit who’s desperate for a beating. And I’ll be more than happy to deliver."

The words barely had time to be registered before you charged at him, throwing all logic out the window. Your fist lunged toward him with all of your pent-up rage, aiming directly at his foolishly smug face. You weren't holding back this time—not like the sparring bout or the constant taunting. No, this was different. This was not about training or teasing. This was utterly personal.

This time, Loki was prepared to fight back. He always was, when he was willing to put his mind to it.

With an infuriatingly graceful sidestep, the god avoided your strike with ease, his movements so fluid and deliberate it was as though he was dancing rather than dodging. The sheer elegance of it made your blood boil. Your momentum carried you forward, forcing you to twist awkwardly as you fought to regain your footing. But he didn’t retaliate—not physically at least.

Instead, that low, mocking chuckle of his slid into the air, its rich, velvet tone wrapping around your growing frustration like a vice. “Oh, dear,” he drawled, tilting his head, his smirk cutting like a blade. “Was that meant to hit me? Or were you aiming for the floor? Do clarify—I’d hate to misjudge your prowess.”

The heat in your chest flared dangerously, your jaw tightening as you straightened to face him again. He was playing with you, and worse, it was working. Every carefully chosen word of his burrowed into your head, twisting tighter, feeding the fire inside you.

“Keep running your mouth,” you growled, your voice low, coiled with the promise of violence. “We’ll see how smug you are when I finally smash your teeth off your face.”

His smirk only deepened, the corners of his lips curling with maddening ease. He leaned forward slightly, as though letting you in on a secret, his piercing gaze alight with mock amusement. “Darling,” he purred, the word drenched in condescension. “You wound me. This isn’t smugness—it’s confidence. Surely you can make the distinction.” He paused, letting his eyes flick lazily over you, every movement of his a calculated provocation. “But do continue—it’s delightful to watch you burn yourself alive while trying to best me. Your delicious little outbursts… they’re the highlight of my day.”

That was it. The dam broke.

With a sharp stomp, your foot struck the ground, the sound reverberating like a gunshot. The vibrations rippled through the gym, and the barbell lying nearby quivered before sliding toward you with an almost supernatural pull. Your hand snapped out, catching it mid-slide, your rage fueling the motion as you hurled it at him with all the strength you could muster.

For the briefest moment, Loki’s eyes widened, betraying the slightest flicker of surprise. He merely stepped aside, the barbell flying past him and clattering noisily to the ground. He turned his head to watch it roll, then looked back at you, his smirk firmly intact. If anything, it had grown.

“Temper, temper,” he chided, his voice a silken reprimand that only stoked the fire burning inside you. “Must you always resort to such dramatics? I thought we were past breaking walls after yesterday. Though I must admit, it’s terribly endearing.” He straightened, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve, his expression unbothered save for the glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes. 

His infuriatingly calm demeanor added fuel to the fire blazing within you. You lunged at him without hesitation, your gaze fixed on the one target of his smug, condescending expression. But, as usual, Loki was faster. He avoided you with uncanny accuracy, his motions a dance of seamless escape.

Your momentum propelled you forward, and your foot caught the edge of the mat beneath you. Gravity took over, and your heart lurched as you stumbled. Before you could reach the ground, a pair of powerful hands seized your waist, keeping you steady.

Loki's touch seared against your skin, even through the thin fabric of your tank top, and the proximity jarred your senses. His grip was solid yet oddly soft, as if he hadn't yet decided whether to save you or let you fall. But as he adjusted his grip, something caught—the hem of your tank top, snagged in his fingers.

The sound of tearing fabric cut through the silence like a knife. In an instant, you were on your knees, skidding to a halt on the floor, the cool air brushing against your skin where your tank top had once been. All that remained was your sports bra, leaving you exposed to his gaze.

For a long, weighty moment, the world appeared to come to a halt. You looked down at yourself and then at the ruined strip of fabric hanging from his palm. Heat flooded your face, sending an explosive mix of embarrassment and rage through you. 

Loki stood frozen, his usual poise shaken. His lips parted slightly, and for once, there was no smirk—just wide eyes and something uncharacteristically uncertain flickering across his face.

“I—” he began, his voice oddly hesitant, almost... apologetic. “That wasn’t intentional."

But you weren’t listening. You scrambled to your feet, your cheeks burning as you shoved him hard against the wall. He barely had time to react before his back hit the surface with a dull thud.

"You—!" you spat, your hands gripping his shoulders as you glared up at him. "What the fuck is your problem? Is your ego so fragile that you have to act like a spoiled, overgrown brat just to get my attention?"

His countenance changed in an instant, the flicker of regret in his eyes was replaced with something harsher. His hands raised and gripped your wrists, not to push you away but to keep you there. His emerald gaze locked on yours, the teasing gleam replaced with a smoldering intensity that made your breath catch.

"My ego?" he hissed, his voice low and sharp. "You dare lecture me about ego when you've spent this entire morning pestering me like a petulant child desperate for validation? Tell me, dear, is your righteous fury truly directed at me, or are you simply lashing out because I won’t grovel at your feet like your precious Avengers?"

Your jaw tightened as his words hit their mark, but you refused to flinch. You met his gaze with a venomous glare, your breath faint with fury. "That's fucking rich," you bit out, your voice trembling with anger. "The pot calling the kettle black. You’ve spent the entire month skulking around like a fucking peacock and pushing every button you could find, all because you can’t stand being ignored for one damn second. Newsflash: I am not here to stroke your fragile ego or cater to your every pathetic whim. Grow up, Loki."

"Grow up, you say?" Loki's voice dropped to a silken murmur, laced with derision. "How amusing, coming from someone who stomps around like a resentful little girl when things don’t go her way. If I truly bother you so much, why are you still here, clinging to me with all the conviction of a martyr in a tantrum?"

Your frustration boiled over, and you tried to wrench your wrists free, but his grip held firm. His smile widened—a sharp edge to it now. "Perhaps it’s time we skipped the tiresome little charade of insults," he growled, his voice lower, rougher, and laced with an edge that made your stomach tighten, "and got to something far more... direct."

Before he even had a chance to savor his words, your retaliation was immediate and brutal. You jerked your arm down hard, breaking his grip on your wrist, and swung a quick jab at his smug face. Your punch cut through the air, but he easily sidestepped it, his motions crisper and more precise. His jaw tightened, and the storm in his eyes burned brighter.

You didn't need another invitation. You lunged at him, your attacks faster and more powerful, anger coursing through each hit. But Loki was no longer ducking with ease; he was matching your aggressiveness with equal vigor, his motions swift and unwavering. His attacks were no longer teasing; they were charged, with his full attention on you, and the air between you crackled with a dangerous tension. Each time your fists collided, it felt like a spark was lit, and with each dodge and counter, his frustration intensified. His jaw tightened, and his eyes burned with a mix of rage and something more primitive. His breathing rate increased, and his poise deteriorated as the struggle progressed.

The struggle began afresh, each of you moving with exactitude and fierceness, demonstrating your resolve to win. The gym became a whirlwind of movement as you traded blows, each swing propelled by your enmity. But Loki was a skilled opponent whose agility and ingenuity made him a frustratingly difficult target.

Your rage rose with each dodge and sneer that crossed his infuriatingly beautiful face. He wasn't just fighting you; he was playing with you, extending the engagement as if it were a game he couldn't lose.

"Stop holding back," he commanded, catching your next strike and bending your arm just enough to make you go closer. His wild and greedy eyes fastened on yours. "Do you think I don't see it? That fire burning inside you? Do you think I don't feel it every damned time I challenge you?"

His remarks threw you off, and that split-second hesitation was all he needed. He yanked your arm, dragging you forward and twisting your body against his. In one seamless action, he reversed your speed and pushed you back onto one of the exercise benches. The breath left your lungs as your back impacted the hard surface, and before you could react, he was on you. 

"Yield," he ordered, his face mere inches from yours.

"No way," you responded harshly, defiance shining in your eyes.

His grip tightened slightly to remind you of his strength, and his sheer size intimidated you. His sneer reappeared, somehow darker and more menacing.

"Stubborn little one," he murmured, his tone deceptively sweet yet full of threat. "Always quick to retaliate and keen to defend your position. Tell me—" He drew in closer, his breath warm on your skin, and his voice dropped to a whisper, sending shivers down your spine. "What are you hoping to prove? That you are my equal—my better? Or are you too proud to admit the truth?"

Your chest heaved with each strained breath, and your heart pounded in your ears. "And what truth is that?" You spat, your voice shaking with rage and something you refused to mention.

He tilted his head, his searing emerald eyes meeting yours. "That you crave this," he remarked gently, his voice a velvet caress. "That you desire conflict and chaos because you enjoy the thrill of it. But more than that..." His smirk broadened, and his attitude became almost predatory. "You don't only want to win. You want me to break you. To force you to submit."

Your heart stuttered, heat rushing to your face as his words cut through your defenses. “You’re delusional,” you snapped, struggling against his hold, though the tension in your body betrayed you.

“Am I?” he countered, his tone maddeningly calm. His grip on your wrists didn’t waver, his strength a reminder of how utterly in control he was. “Tell me, then, why do you fight so hard to deny it? To deny me?”

His words sent a fresh surge of anger through you, and you thrashed against him, desperate to escape the weight of his presence. But he held firm, his body pressing closer until the air between you was charged with unspoken tension.

“I don’t want you in the first place, you idiot,” you lied in a hiss, glaring up at him with all the fire and resolve you could muster.

“And yet, here you are, beneath me, fighting a battle you know you cannot win,” he replied, his voice softening but losing none of its intensity. “How long will it take for you to realize that resistance only makes it sweeter?”

The crackling energy between you was almost unbearable now, every inch of space charged with frustration, fury, and something far more dangerous. His grip loosened slightly—not enough to free you, but enough to make you aware of the choice he was offering.

“Yield,” he ordered again, his voice low and hypnotic, his gaze burning into yours. “Submit to me, and I promise you won’t regret it.”

You could feel your pulse hammering in your ears, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His face was so close now, the faint scent of him—something clean and sharp, like the forest after rain—invading your senses. His eyes, once gleaming with mischief, searched yours as though he were trying to unravel your very soul. And for a fleeting moment, you thought you saw hesitation flicker across his face, a crack in the unyielding armor he always wore.

"We both know," he murmured, his voice softer now but no less intense. His tone wasn’t mocking this time; it was raw, vulnerable, almost pleading. "That you’re not angry with me—you’re angry with yourself. Because you hate that I get to you like this."

You clenched your jaw, refusing to let his words sink in. But the way his gaze roamed over your face, lingering on the flush in your cheeks and the way your lips parted with unsteady breaths—it was too much. Your heart betrayed you, fluttering wildly in your chest as though it were answering an unspoken call.

"You don’t know what you’re talking about," you shot back, though your voice lacked its usual bite. It trembled, weak and unconvincing, even to your ears.

Loki’s lips curled into a faint, bittersweet smile. "Don’t I? When I know that feeling all too well." He leaned in ever so slightly, his breath brushing against your skin, igniting a shiver that spread down your spine. His grip on your wrists loosened—not enough to let you go, but enough to let you know he wasn’t trying to hold you there anymore. He was waiting. Watching. And it scared you how much you wanted to close the remaining distance between you.

You swallowed hard, your gaze flickering to his mouth before snapping back up to his eyes. The way he looked at you now—it was almost reverent. Like he was afraid you might disappear if he blinked. That smirk you hated so much was gone, replaced by something fragile, something unspoken that hung heavy in the space between you.

"Don’t do this," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. But you didn’t move. You couldn’t. Your body was frozen, caught in the gravitational pull of his presence. "Don’t make this something it’s not."

Loki’s brow furrowed slightly, his expression softening even further. His thumb ghosted over the inside of your wrist, a featherlight touch that sent a jolt through you. "And what is this, then?" he asked quietly, his voice tinged with something that sounded almost like... fear. "Tell me, so I can stop pretending I don’t feel it too."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs. You opened your mouth to respond, to deny everything another time, but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead, you stared at him, your chest aching with the weight of everything left unsaid. And in that moment, the world around you faded away—no gym, no walls, no barbell lodged in the plaster. Just the two of you, teetering on the edge of something you wouldn’t name.

His gaze flickered to your lips, and you felt yourself leaning in—just a fraction, just enough to bridge the invisible chasm between you. Time seemed to stretch endlessly as the tension pulled taut, every second stretching into an eternity. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours as the space between you grew impossibly small.

But just as your lips were about to brush his, reality crashed down around you. You turned your head sharply to the side, breaking the moment before it could shatter you entirely. "No," you said hoarsely, your voice cracking under the strain of everything you were feeling. "Get off me. I’m done with this. You win, congratulations—you’ve embarrassed me enough."

Loki’s hands fell away immediately, his expression flickering with something unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might let you leave—that he might let this be the end of it. You pushed yourself up, brushing past him as you tried to steady your trembling hands. But before you could make it more than a few steps, his hand shot out, closing around your arm with surprising gentleness.

"No," he said firmly, his voice low and strained. "Not this time."

You turned to scowl at him, ready to lash out—but before you could say anything or even process the action, he drew you closer and pressed his lips to yours. The force of it took your breath away, and your head reeled from his unexpected strike.

It began tentatively, as if he were testing your resilience. His lips brushed against yours with a gentleness that belied the heat seething beneath the surface. But when you didn't back away—when your body tightened but didn't resist—his restraint crumbled. The kiss intensified, primal and unrestrained, an implicit confession of everything he had been keeping hidden.

It was all there—his fury, rage, and ravenous desire—expressed in the way his mouth pushed against yours, engulfing you whole. His hands encircled your face, fingers weaving into your hair with a tenderness that was almost painful, and his lips crushed into yours with bruising force. He kissed you like a starving man, trying to take what he thought was his, and it left you gasping for oxygen.

You clutched to your rage, desperately looking for the reasons why this was wrong—for the endless excuses to push him away. But every time his lips touched yours or his body drew closer, it weakened your barriers. His scent, intoxicating and unmistakably his, surrounded you, and the warmth of his body burned into yours, grounding you in a way that only made the moment feel more inevitable.

When you finally answered, it wasn't with caution or uncertainty, but with all of the fire that had been growing inside you for weeks. Your fingers worked their way into his hair, tangling and pulling with such force that he groaned into your mouth. The sound shot a shockwave through you, sparking something primordial and irrefutable.

All of the emotions you had tried so hard to suppress—frustration, desire, and an excruciating vulnerability—rose to the surface, spilling out in the manner you kissed him back. It wasn't gentle or forgiving. It was a fight of wills, one neither of you appeared willing to lose, and yet, in that moment, surrender had never felt more inevitable.

His lips moved with an exhilarating blend of dominance and desperation, pressing into yours with such force that every inch of your body vibrated. His grip was firm, not unpleasant, but forceful, drawing you in as if he could swallow you whole. You pushed against his chest, desperate to create distance, but your attempts were futile—he was like stone, and you were nothing more than a passing breeze. Each kiss seemed like an expression of authority, as if he were claiming your every thought and breath. Between the crashing of his lips into yours, you managed to half-heartedly say, "You arrogant piece of—"

Whatever sharp retort you had brewing was swallowed by his lips once again crashing against yours, cutting you off with a force that was as maddening as it was intoxicating. His kiss was fervent, urgent, and relentless, like he was determined to strip every shred of defiance from you.

“Yes, yes, I am,” he murmured against your lips, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. The mocking lilt of his tone was sharper than the grin you could feel tugging at his mouth, even as his lips pressed against yours with deliberate force. Heat rushed to your face, and you could feel the unmistakable warmth spreading across your cheeks, the betrayal of your body making your embarrassment all the more acute. His hands tightened at your waist, pulling you flush against him, the heat of his body seeping into yours and making your heart pound so loudly you were certain he could feel it through the layers of fabric between you.

The kiss wasn’t tender—it was ferocious, consuming, a raw claim that left no room for subtlety. It made your breath hitch and your stomach flip in a confusing mix of indignation and undeniable, treacherous want. His lips moved against yours with a precision that left you dizzy, and the pressure of his mouth sent sparks of heat racing through your veins.

You shoved at his chest, the warmth of his skin beneath your hands burning like a brand as you tried to push him away. Your breath was uneven, catching in your throat as you tried to summon your voice and push past the dizzying haze he had thrown you into. “You think you can just—”

“Take what I want?” he interrupted smoothly, his voice dark and velvety, curling around you like smoke. The deliberate arrogance in his words sent a jolt of anger through you, but it only added to the fire coursing through your body. He leaned back just enough to look at you, his piercing green eyes locking onto yours, and the sheer intensity of his gaze made your stomach twist.

“I thought we already established that I was hedonistic in nature.” His expression was insufferably smug, the smirk on his lips deepening as he noticed the way your chest rose and fell with each labored breath. You hated how flustered you felt under his gaze, how the heat in your cheeks betrayed your composure. 

Your skin burned with the flush of embarrassment and frustration, your nails digging into his chest as you tried to shove him away again. Before you could form a response, his lips claimed yours once more, harder this time, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in a way that sent a sharp thrill racing down your spine. The heat of his mouth was almost too much, overwhelming in its intensity, and you felt your knees weaken even as you tried to fight against him.

His hands were everywhere—rough, unapologetic, and searing as they roamed up your sides, holding you in place as though daring you to resist him. Each touch left a trail of fire in its wake, and your body betrayed you further with every brush of his fingers. Your heart was hammering in your chest, a wild rhythm that only seemed to match the chaotic pull of his kiss.

“Get off me—” you gasped, your voice trembling as you tried to summon even an ounce of strength to push him away. Your hands pressed against his chest again, your palms tingling from the sheer heat radiating off him.

His response was a low, dark chuckle that vibrated through you, making your face flush even hotter. “Off you?” he repeated mockingly, his voice dripping with sarcasm and maddening amusement. “Mh, of course.” His lips crashed into yours again, stealing your breath with a ferocity that left you spinning, your heart pounding so hard it echoed in your ears.

When he pulled back, his lips brushed against your jaw, leaving a trail of heat across your skin. “But, pet,” he murmured, his voice soft and dangerous. “I can’t help but notice… you haven’t exactly been making much of an effort to stop me.”

The audacity of his words sent another surge of frustration coursing through you, your face burning with a mix of anger and something far more treacherous. “You infuriating—”

“Go on, darling,” he interrupted smoothly, his smirk widening as his hands slid down to grip your hips with maddening confidence. The warmth of his touch seared through the fabric of your clothes, making it impossible to ignore the way your body reacted despite your fury. “Do you know how intoxicating you look when you're like this?”

You clenched your jaw, trying to suppress the wave of heat that rushed through you at his words. Your pulse was erratic, every inch of your skin buzzing with the infuriating, magnetic pull of him. “You’re insufferable,” you hissed, your voice trembling as you glared at him.

“And yet,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke, the teasing intimacy of the gesture making your stomach flutter, “you enjoy every single second of it.”

Your hands fisted into the confines of his naked chest, your cheeks burning hotter as you realized you didn’t have a retort, couldn’t form the words to push him back. But before you could dwell on it, he kissed you again, his mouth moving against yours with a devastating mix of skill and dominance. His tongue swept into your mouth, a bold, possessive motion that left you gasping, your head spinning as every coherent thought scattered like ash.

“Don’t stop now,” he whispered against your lips when you finally managed to pull back, his voice low and intoxicating as his hands traced slow, torturous patterns along your back. “Tell me how much you hate this. Tell me how much you hate me.”

Your breath hitched, the heat in your face now searing as you tried to summon a response. “You—”

“Yes, yes, I’m a bastard, impossible, utterly intolerable,” he concluded, his voice laced with mocking amusement as his lips trailed down the column of your neck. His teeth grazed your skin, sending a shiver racing down your spine, and you hated the way your body leaned into him despite your anger.

“You—”

“Keep going,” he urged, his voice a silken taunt as his hands slid lower, his touch rough and deliberate. “I can take it.”

You hated him. You despised the way his words wrapped around you like a vice, turning your rage into something deeper, more frightening. You loathed the way his hands felt so nice against your flesh and how your body betrayed you by leaning into him when you should've moved away.

But then his lips grabbed yours again, in a slow and devastating manner that you could not resist, and every ounce of rage, every carefully built wall, shattered beneath the wildfire he had started, leaving only the heat and mayhem he sparked within you.

Each kiss was a war, each touch a challenge you couldn't win, and when he eventually pulled back, his lips swollen and his eyes flaming with triumph, you knew with a mix of umbrage and exhilaration that you were utterly undone.

Loki’s hands steadied you instantly, strong and sure, as though he sensed you were teetering on the edge of losing control. His grip tightened at your hips, grounding you with an infuriating ease that only he could manage. His lips ghosted over your ear as he leaned closer, his voice dripping with mock concern.

“Are you quite finished throwing your tantrum, sweet thing?” He purred, his tone both soothing and maddeningly condescending.

Your breath hitched, and you opened your mouth to snap back at him, but the words caught in your throat. You opened your mouth to retort, but the words tangled in your throat. “I—You think—” You stumbled over your indignation, frustration bubbling up as you tried to form a coherent insult. 

You hated how your voice wavered and how the overwhelming sensations he drew out of you made it impossible to sound as sharp as you wanted. “You conceited, pompous bastard,” you finally stammered, the insult tumbling out far less venomous than you’d intended.

He chuckled low and rich, the sound vibrating through you. “Hm,” he mused, tilting his head as though deep in thought. “I thought as much.” That infuriating, shit-eating grin widened, and before you could fire back another insult, his lips descended to your neck, and every coherent thought you had dissolved in an instant. 

His mouth was warm, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed slow, deliberate kisses along the curve of your neck. Each kiss seemed designed to unravel you further, his lips moving with calculated precision as if he were taking his time savoring your reaction.

“Loki, don’t—” You managed to gasp, your hands bracing against his chest, though your push lacked conviction.

“Don’t?” He echoed mockingly, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sent a shiver racing down your spine. “Don’t what, darling? Don’t mark what’s mine?”

Your breath hitched again, and your heart thudded painfully in your chest. “I’m not—”

“Not what?” he cut in once again, his lips curling into a wicked smile against your neck. “Not mine?” His voice was a silken taunt, each word dragging across your senses as his mouth continued its relentless assault. “I hope you weren’t really planning to utter such lies.”

Hot, open-mouthed kisses trailed down your skin, each one igniting a fire that made it hard to focus on anything but the pleasure he was drawing from you. His teeth grazed your pulse point, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his mouth, and a moan escaped your lips before you could stop it. The sound seemed to encourage him, and he continued his assault, leaving marks that would serve as reminders of his claim on you. 

“Stop it,” you hissed, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

“Stop?” he repeated, amusement lacing his tone as he pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he studied the flush in your cheeks and the way your lips parted as you tried to catch your breath. “Tell me you’re not enjoying this far too much to mean that.”

You glared at him, desperate to reclaim even a shred of control, but the smirk tugging at his lips only deepened as he leaned back in, his lips finding the hollow of your throat. He pressed a lingering kiss there, his tongue teasing your skin before his teeth followed, and you couldn’t stop the soft sound that escaped you.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured against your neck, his voice a low growl that sent another wave of heat coursing through you. With that, he shifted slightly, positioning you perfectly in his lap. The heat between you was undeniable, and as he began to work his fingers beneath your waistband, you realized you were on the precipice of surrender. 

Loki’s fingers slid beneath your waistband, his touch sparking a fire within you, sending a jolt of heat straight through your veins. “Just give in,” he urged, his breath warm against your skin, his lips tantalizingly close to yours, teasing the distance with maddening slowness, never quite allowing the connection you craved. “You know you want to.”

Your pulse quickened, your heart hammering as he shifted you in his lap, guiding you to press against his thigh. The warmth radiating from him was nearly unbearable, and your breath faltered as the intensity of it suffocated you. Without thinking, your body instinctively moved, grinding against him, eliciting a low, almost painful hiss from his lips at the contact.

“Look at you,” he crooned, his voice laced with a dark, sultry edge that made your spine tingle. “So eager, yet so defiant. Why fight it?” His hands seized your hips, his grip unyielding, forcing your movements with a possessive strength that left no room for dissent. “You’re reveling in this far too much to deny it.”

Your gaze seethed with defiance, your mind struggling to maintain its composure beneath the weight of the pleasure clouding your senses. “I’m not—”

“Not begging for more? Because it certainly feels like you are.” With a sudden, deliberate motion, he pressed you harder against his thigh, the friction pushing you nearer the edge, sending a flood of pleasure crashing through you like an unstoppable wave. Heat gathered in your core, and you fought to suppress the moan building in your throat, your teeth sinking into your lip. But your resolve was weak, crumbling with every movement as you ground down again, feeling the unmistakable bulge beneath you.

“See?” he whispered, his voice thick with raw lust. “You can’t resist.” His eyes, darkened with hunger, bore into yours, and his lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “Admit it. You’re mine.”

“Fuck you,” you managed to rasp through the haze of desire clouding your thoughts, your nails digging into the taut, bare skin of his shoulders in search of something to hold onto.

A cruel laugh rumbled in his chest, and he leaned in, his lips finding the sensitive curve of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin with an almost brutal tenderness. The sharp sting of his bite left a mark, a claim that would undoubtedly linger. “In an instant, darling,” he promised against your pulse, his voice thick with wicked amusement.

With a swift motion, he reached for your sports bra, expertly unclasping it and tossing it aside as if it were inconsequential. “Now, let’s see if you can behave,” he murmured, his gaze ravenously consuming you as his hands roamed freely over your exposed skin, igniting every nerve ending in their wake.

“Loki!” You gasped, feeling both exposed and vulnerable, yet exhilarated by his unyielding attention.

“Such a beautiful sight,” he breathed, his fingers trailing down your sides, teasingly slow. “You should be thanking me for this opportunity.”

As he urged you to grind harder against his thigh, the tension coiled tighter within you, like a spring ready to snap. His lips found your breasts, leaving a trail of bite marks as he savored every inch of you. “You’re going to be my good girl, aren’t you? Just let go,” he coaxed, his voice smooth like silk yet laced with a commanding undertone.

The pleasure began to overtake you, and with each movement, your anger ebbed away, replaced by an intoxicating mix of desire and frustration. You wanted to resist, to reclaim your defiance, but it slipped through your fingers like grains of sand.

You bit back another retort, but it faltered on your lips as he pushed you closer to the precipice, the sweet friction against his thigh sending you spiraling. “Come on, darling, let me hear you admit it,” he urged, his fingers digging into your hips, anchoring you to him as you lost yourself in the rhythm.

With every grinding motion, he intensified the sensations coursing through you, his breath hot against your skin. “That’s it. Just like that,” he whispered, his tone both sultry and commanding. “Feel how much you crave this.”

As the lingering tremors of your release slowly began to fade, your body quivered, the aftershocks of the overwhelming pleasure still coursing through you. Each tremble seemed to ignite a spark deep within, the reverberations of desire echoing in every inch of your skin. Your mind, once sharp and defiant, now felt hazy and disoriented, like a fog had settled over your thoughts. Every breath you drew was a laborious effort, slow and uneven, as though each inhale was a battle. The fortress you’d painstakingly constructed around yourself had crumbled, completely undone by the weight of your surrender.

Loki observed it all, his gaze darkening with satisfaction, an almost predatory pleasure gleaming in his eyes. His lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk as he took in the slow unraveling of your resistance. He hummed a low, approving sound, the vibrations of it reverberating through the space between you, sending a ripple of shivers across your skin. “There it is,” he whispered, his voice a velvety murmur that held a trace of something far more tender. “So well done, pet. You come so beautifully. Let it wash over you... Feel it.”

The world outside seemed to blur, the edges of reality dissolving until only he remained, his presence enveloping you like an inescapable fog. You struggled to regain your breath, your body still quivering in the aftermath, and as the final whispers of pleasure ebbed away, your thoughts slowly began to clear. And in that clarity, only one question emerged from the haze.

“Why?” The word left your lips before you could stop it, fragile and uncertain, hanging in the air between you like a whisper in the dark. “Why did you do all of this?” Confusion twisted through you as you sought to understand his motives—why he’d driven you to this point, leaving you trembling, vulnerable, and exposed.

Loki's gaze softened, and his intensity subsided for a moment. He leaned in close, his breath warm against your skin as he looked down at you, the play of light in his eyes reflecting a dangerous, intoxicating satisfaction. His smile was slow and deliberate, curling at the corners of his mouth with a satisfaction that alluded to something much darker. "Why?" he asked with a gentle pretense, his voice like smooth honey, taunting but also laced with something more. “Is it really so difficult to grasp?”

His brow quirked, a glint of devilish amusement flashing in his eyes as his fingers traced slow, possessive patterns across your skin, his touch leaving a trail of warmth behind. The way you shuddered at his touch seemed to delight him, as if your vulnerability were a prize only he could claim. “It’s because I don’t share,” he continued, his voice taking on a darker tone, thick with possessiveness. “I can’t stand the thought of others looking at you... wanting you. You’re mine, darling. Only mine.”

He moved beneath you, his hands tightening around your hips with a possessive force that sent shivers of submission through you. He drew you closer, his body hard and unyielding against yours, as if he were marking you in the most intimate way possible. His face loomed over you, his eyes penetrating, dark and intense, as if reading your soul. “I can’t bear the thought of anyone else touching you... of anyone else claiming what belongs to me.” His lips brushed against your temple in a soft, lingering kiss, and the words that followed were barely a whisper but full of danger. 

“And if you must know, I would do it again a thousand times over, just to see that look on your face.” His hands, firm and unwavering, held you as though you were a precious treasure, a fragile thing meant only for him. In that moment, his words sank deep within you, causing your heart to race again, each beat a reminder of his power over you. Loki was claiming more than just your body—he was claiming every aspect of you, from your desires to your thoughts, your very essence. He was claiming your soul, and with each passing second, you realized there was nowhere else you wanted to be than in his arms, surrounded by the intoxicating pull of his dominance.

He leaned in, his breath grazing your ear, the intimacy too intense, too overwhelming. “You’ve been quite the handful, haven’t you?” His voice was silky, but there was an unmistakable edge to it, a calm before the storm. “Your defiance, your little acts of rebellion… amusing, certainly. But now, I think you’ve earned yourself a well-deserved punishment.”

You felt a tremor come over you as you heard the words, but you refused to cower. Your heart rate quickened, and the fire in your chest flared, anger combining with the heat of the moment. “That wall you carelessly dented?” His voice dropped low, dangerously calm. “I’ve already fixed it. I don't care to repeat myself, so I think I’ll find another way to make you see the error of your ways.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing against you while Loki's grip on you tightened, and you felt him lower your leggings, removing your underwear and setting them aside. The cool air in the room brushed against your exposed skin, causing you to shiver as much as his fingers did, trailing softly along your inner thighs, teasing you. Then, with maddening slowness, his fingers found their mark, and he began to stroke your clit in a steady rhythm. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you couldn't help but let out a soft gasp at the contact.

"Wait, Loki, I’m—” you began, your voice shaking but steady, trying to fight the way his touch made your body respond. You tried to pull away, but it was too late—his hold was firm, guiding you exactly where he wanted you.

“Sensitive?” he interjected, his chuckle dark and mocking. “I know, darling. That’s the point. You’ve always liked to test your limits, haven’t you? Pushing yourself at that absurd sanctuary of yours.” His eyes gleamed dangerously. “Well, now I’ll test your endurance, and see how well you fare.”

You felt a flush creep up your neck at his words, your heart thumping harder in your chest. Despite the vulnerability creeping over you, a flash of irritation flickered within you, and you lifted your chin slightly, meeting his gaze with a flicker of defiance. “I’m not some… toy for you to play with,” you snapped, though your breath was shaky, betraying your body’s response to him.

Loki’s eyes darkened with something much more possessive, almost predatory. “Of course not, you’re my pet,” he purred, his fingers still relentless, pressing you deeper into him. “You’re mine to test, to push, to bend to my will.”

His fingers continued to move with slow precision, each touch deliberate, sending waves of heat through your overstimulated skin. You bit down on your lip, your chest rising and falling in quick breaths, your hands curling against his shoulders, trying to find some control. You lowered your head in frustration, your forehead resting against the marks you had left on his skin earlier. His fingers never stopped, each motion calculated and designed to remind you of just who had control here.

With every touch, you could feel yourself growing more and more sensitive, your body responding involuntarily to his skillful touch. It was as if he knew exactly how to push your buttons and how to manipulate your body to his will. And despite yourself, you couldn't help but let out a soft moan, your body begging for more.

Loki's laughter was low and dark, full of satisfaction. "That's it," he whispered in your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine. "Let go. Give in to the sensation. You know you want to."

You wanted to resist, to fight against him, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. Your body was betraying you, responding to his touch in ways you couldn't control. You felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling with need.

"Loki, please," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn't know what you were asking for, but you knew you needed something.

His fingers stilled, the sudden absence a stark contrast to the overwhelming sensations that had just been coursing through you. The heat that had been building within you seemed to retract, leaving a hollow ache in its wake. A frustrated whimper escaped your lips—a sound that surprised even you. Your hands tightened on his shoulders, unconsciously seeking to bring back the exquisite torture, the delicious torment he had so skillfully inflicted.

"Loki," you insistantly repeated in a whine, the word now a plea laced with a desperation you hadn't intended to reveal. You lifted your head, eyes wide and pleading, searching his dark gaze for understanding, though you knew, deep down, he understood far more than you ever wanted him to.

His expression was unreadable, a mask of cool amusement playing on his lips. "Please what, darling?" he purred, his voice a silken whisper that both enticed and unnerved. He tilted his head, a challenge in his eyes. "Beg me for what you want."

The silence stretched between you, heavy and potent. You knew what he wanted. He wanted you to break, to crumble beneath his touch, to admit the weakness he so clearly enjoyed. It was a game he reveled in, and you were caught firmly in his web. You had been prepared for punishment, for a battle of wills, but the exquisite pleasure, the sheer intensity of what he had been doing, had left you utterly vulnerable.

Your hesitation was palpable, your dignity clashing with the urgent demands of your body. Each breath came in ragged gasps, and the lack of his touch felt almost unbearable. He observed you with a gleam of victory in his eyes, a silent victor savoring his moment.

"You are supposed to be punished, pet," he finally spoke, his voice a low, menacing rumble. His gaze swept over you, pausing at the blush on your cheeks, the rapid ascent and descent of your chest, and the instinctive shift of your hips toward him. "Moments ago, you were so responsive, so eager. You exposed your vulnerability so swiftly."

He chuckled, his mirth evident. "If you want more, show me just how much you crave it," he commanded, his tone authoritative. "Ride my fingers, sweet thing. Prove how resilient you truly are."

For a moment, you wavered, uncertain of your next move. But your body’s yearning overpowered your doubt, and you began to move your hips against his fingers, pressing down to find the friction and sensation you yearned for. You lifted and lowered your hips, gasping as his firm digits slipped inside you. The wetness and readiness made the slight stretch both intense and delightful. Feeling more confident, you moved your hips in a rolling motion, taking him deeper.

Loki’s smile widened as he watched, his eyes darkening with desire at the sight of you riding his fingers. "That’s it, pet," he encouraged, his voice brimming with satisfaction. "Just like that. Show me how much you yearn for this."

After weeks of being teased, taunted, and pushed to the brink of madness, you felt yourself finally surrendering, utterly lost in the pleasure. It was as if every nerve in your body had been strung tight, coiled with need and frustration, until now, when Loki’s touch unraveled you completely. Your thoughts, once sharp and defiant, were reduced to a foggy haze as waves of ecstasy crashed over you, each one more overwhelming than the last. The build-up, the anticipation—it was all worth it. Every tormenting moment led to this, and now, with him, there was nothing but release. Your body responded to him instinctively, desperate for more, drowning in a sea of bliss that left no room for resistance. You were lost to it, to him, to the intoxicating pleasure that had been so cruelly withheld for so long.

You moaned, your movements becoming more frantic as his provocative words filled your ears. "Fuck, you’re so tight," he groaned, his fingers curling inside you. "I bet you’re imagining this is my cock, stretching you open, filling you so perfectly."

The vivid imagery his words painted sent a surge of heat to your core, and you cried out, your inner muscles tightening around his fingers. "Mmh, yes," you babbled, "M’gonna kill you—oh, Loki—want you to take me."

"Oh, I will take you, indeed," he growled, his fingers thrusting more forcefully. "I’ll take you so hard you’ll forget your name. But first, you’re going to come all over my fingers, just like the eager little thing you are. Drench them, show me how sorry you are."

The combination of his words and the relentless thrusting of his fingers pushed you to the brink. You came with a silent scream, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Loki continued to move through your orgasm, prolonging the ecstasy until you collapsed against his chest, utterly spent. The intensity left you feeling weightless, as if you were floating on a euphoric cloud. Your mind was blissfully empty, thoughts hazy and disjointed. All you could focus on was the pleasing buzz coursing through your veins, the residual heat between your thighs, and Loki's strong arms wrapped around you.For a few moments, there was only the sound of your slowing heartbeats and Loki's slightly elevated breathing as he held you close.

His fingers stirred within your sensitive folds, and you jolted at the sudden stimulation, a whimper escaping your lips. "Too much, too much," you protested weakly, but it was a token objection at best. Your body felt electrified, every nerve-ending raw and overwrought.

"Just a little more," Loki soothed, and you keened, moving your hips as much as your sated body would allow. The bench beneath you was rapidly growing damp, and you could feel a fresh surge of arousal building despite your recent release.

"Look at you, still desperate for it," he chuckled darkly, rubbing his thumb against your swollen clit. "Such a greedy little thing. I think you've earned another reward, pet."

His ministrations intensified, and you found yourself climbing towards another peak entirely too soon. "Please, please, fuck," you whined, unsure if you were begging for more or for mercy. The stimulation was almost too intense, pushing you towards the edge again. He worked you expertly, no longer teasing but fully focused on wringing every last drop of pleasure from you.

"So responsive," he commented appreciatively, urging you on with filthy encouragement. Your hips rocked of their own accord, meeting the thrusts of his fingers. "Come for me again. Show me how well you've learned your place."

The coil within you tightened, tighter and tighter until it finally snapped. Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, and you cried out sharply, your inner muscles clenching viciously around Loki's fingers. A gush of liquid heat flooded his hand and soaked through his trousers where you straddled his lap, dripping onto the bench below. The sensation was so intense it bordered on painful, whiting out your vision as you shook and shuddered through it.

Finally, you collapsed against him, utterly spent and dazed. Loki withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing them to his mouth. Maintaining eye contact, he licked them clean of your essence, his gaze smoldering. "Exquisite," he hummed, savoring your taste. "I knew you'd be delectable. Don't think we're done, sweet one. That was merely the beginning."

You could only whimper in response, your body still trembling with aftershocks. You were sure Loki would make good on his promise, bringing you to peak after peak as he had his wicked way with you, until you were a boneless, oversensitive puddle. He'd take you thoroughly, claiming you in every way imaginable, pushing your boundaries and wringing out every last drop of pleasure before finally allowing you a moment's respite.

Loki ran his fingers lightly down your spine, making you shiver and whimper at the hypersensitive touch. "Breathe, sweet girl, breathe," he murmured soothingly. "Let it all go, let yourself feel every aftershock."

⠀

As the aftermath of your third release rippled through you, you lay sprawled against Loki, still buzzing in the wake of the overwhelming sensations. He, on the other hand, appeared perfectly composed, with the exception of slightly ragged breaths—his eyes gleaming with that familiar, mischievous glint as he watched you recover, his fingers tracing absent patterns along your skin.

"Mind you," he began, his voice low and smooth, the slightest chuckle hinting at the amusement dancing behind his words. "I’ve heard some rather... curious things about the female body. And considering how often you frequent this ridiculous section, I couldn’t help but recall an interesting tidbit I came across not long ago."

You raised an eyebrow, your breathing still unsteady as you managed a tired glance at him, your voice weak but laced with a hint of defiance. "What now?"

He smirked, clearly enjoying the effect his words were having on you. "Ah, nothing too extraordinary. Just a small fact about a certain... fluid that the female body produces.” He scooped some of your combined essences from where they trickled down your thigh. He brought his fingers to his lips, maintaining eye contact as he licked them clean with a lingering purr. “Ever heard of it, darling?" 

You narrowed your eyes, the heat of your previous high still lingering in your chest as your mind slowly returned to focus. "What are you getting at, Loki?"

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his fingers began to caress your side, bringing another shiver to your already overstimulated body. "Well," he continued, his voice dark and teasing, "it seems there's a certain substance in that fluid that shares some similarities with... the things you consume at the gym. Creatine, for instance.”

You blinked, your lips parting in surprise at his insinuation. The exhaustion from your highs didn't quell the stirring of your mind—nor the slight flush creeping up your neck as you caught onto his meaning.

"Are you suggesting..." you started, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Loki chuckled softly, eyes gleaming. "Oh, darling, I merely thought you might like to share a bit of what you regularly consume. Not that I need it, of course." He gave you a teasing look, his lips quirking into that devilish grin. “But I'd gladly go down for a taste any time. All day long if you'd like. Or would you rather I bend you over and show you the depths of my stamina, pretty pet? Take you apart on my cock until you're thoroughly wrecked and dripping with both our spend? Mmh, so many delightful ways to sully you."

He nipped at your earlobe. "So what shall it be, pet? Shall I feast on your pretty cunt or fuck you senseless? Or perhaps..." His hand drifted teasingly between your thighs, collecting more of your slick. He brought the coated fingers to your lips. "Both? Knowing what an insatiable little thing you are, I suspect you want it all."

Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, the tender remnants of pleasure still humming beneath your skin, making you all the more flustered as the dizziness of Loki’s teasing lingered. Each breath you took felt shallow, almost unsteady, and your body, still too sensitive, seemed to vibrate with a heightened awareness of him. You blinked up at him, your mind reeling, trying to push away the wave of heat that had gathered in your chest. But even as you tried to regain some composure, the words escaped you, weak and unsteady. "You're a heathen," you managed, your voice a breathless rasp, the remnants of his touch still pulsing through you.

Loki’s grin deepened, the corners of his mouth curling with dark satisfaction. His gaze flickered with amusement as he ran his tongue across his lips in a deliberate, almost languid motion. "Perhaps, but isn’t that just the way you like it?" His voice purred in your ear, smooth and velvety, tinged with a teasing edge. His hands began to shift, moving with slow intent, preparing to follow through on his words. But just as he was about to act, something in his expression shifted—a sudden, almost imperceptible change. The playful light in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something far more intense, more focused.

"What’s wrong?" you asked, your voice breathy and thick with confusion as you struggled to make sense of the sudden shift in his demeanor.

Loki abruptly moved with startling speed, his hands gripping you firmly and lifting you effortlessly. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your body pressing flush against his, the closeness exacerbating the heat and tension between you. The world around you spun in an instant, and the disorienting sensation of teleportation swept you away. The familiar surroundings vanished, leaving behind the sterile, strangely fragrant air of a men's locker room—fresh towels, wood, and the space's cool, musky scent filling your senses.

"What’s going on?" You gasped, still trying to orient yourself as the confusion clawed at you. Your heart raced in your chest, still fluttering from the previous onslaught of pleasure. 

"You’ll find out soon enough," Loki replied, his voice hardening, no trace of humor left. It was almost as though he were impatient with your questions, his tone clipped and direct.

You scowled at the sudden shift in energy and pushed against his chest with an exasperated huff. "You could have at least warned me!" You grumbled, smacking his chest lightly, but your action only seemed to amuse him further, his lips curling into an unreadable smile. "Where are we?"

Loki’s gaze darkened just a fraction, a subtle glint in his eyes as his mood shifted again. "Careful, darling," he warned with a touch of mockery, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "I wouldn’t want you to lose your balance..."

Before you could respond, the god shifted his weight, his hands loosening just enough to make you tilt precariously. Your body slipped dangerously from his grasp, and a startled squeal tore from your lips as panic surged through you. The disorienting sensation of falling sent your arms flailing instinctively, grasping at nothing in a desperate attempt to stabilize yourself.

Effortlessly, Loki caught you at the last possible moment, his grip tightening with practiced ease. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he steadied you, his lips curling into that signature, maddening smirk. “Come now, pet,” he taunted, and a low chuckle vibrated in his chest as he shifted your position, holding you securely once more. “What’s the matter? I thought you might enjoy a little... thrill.”

The sudden movement had brought a rush of delicious friction, making you shudder and gasp out loud. Loki didn't miss the effect, and his smirk turned downright sinful as he teased, "My, my, what a naughty little pet you are. Barely grazing you and you’re already trembling for me again." 

He ground you down deliberately, his hard length stroking your sensitive spots in the most tempting way. "Three times you've found your pleasure, and yet you're still desperate for more, aren't you? Greedy girl."

His voice was a deep, seductive murmur, the words dripping with sinful promise. You could only moan in response, too lost in sensation to form a coherent reply. All you could focus on was the delicious friction of his body rubbing against your swollen, sensitive flesh with each roll of his hips.

With a casual flick of his wrist, he used his magic to make the remaining clothes vanish, leaving nothing between your bodies. "Much better," he purred approvingly, his heated gaze raking over your naked form.

You couldn't help but blush, suddenly self-conscious under his intense scrutiny. His eyes devoured you, drinking in every dip and curve of your body like a man dying of thirst. You resisted the urge to cover yourself, knowing it would be pointless. Instead, you forced yourself to meet his stare, trying to project a confidence you didn't quite feel.

And as yours moved down his chiseled chest and abs, you noticed your cheeks flushing for entirely different reasons. God, he was perfection incarnate. All lean muscle and smooth skin, his body a testament to his otherworldly heritage. You reached out a tentative hand, trailing your fingers along the defined ridges of his stomach. He sucked in a sharp breath at the touch, his muscles clenching under your palm.

"Like what you see, pet?" He caught your chin, tilting your face up to meet his knowing smirk. Slowly, teasingly, he stroked your cheek with his thumb. "You're quite the vision yourself. A body made to drive a god mad with lust…"

You hid your burning face into his neck, nuzzling into him and breathing in his intoxicating scent. Unable to resist, you started peppering his throat with open-mouthed kisses, sucking on his pulse point. He groaned, his head falling back in bliss. The sound emitted from him emboldened you, and you began marking him with hickeys, determined to leave your claim on his skin. He shuddered in response, hips rocking into yours with desperate little thrusts. "You're playing with fire," he warned thickly, though he made no move to stop your ministrations.

Your fingers, originally clasped against the firm skin of his trapezius, wound up into the roots of his hair, the strands soft yet strong under your touch. You allowed yourself to revel in the warmth of his presence for a brief moment, noting the subtle tremors that coursed through his relaxing body beneath your gentle ministrations with a wicked thought. Every movement, every shift of your fingers was purposeful, exploring the sensitive area just beneath his hairline, feeling the heat of his skin radiate in response.

But all of a sudden, Loki's entire demeanor changed. His body tensed and he bristled at your touch, as if you had poured cold water on him. He moved again in long and hurried strides, carrying you swiftly toward one of the shower cabinets. The abruptness of his movement startled you, and you let out a small shout in surprise, hands instinctively clutching at him, fingers digging into the solid curve of his sides as you struggled to steady yourself. "What’s it to you?" You asked, your voice thick with confusion and a hint of frustration, before Loki suddenly spun back around, the quickness of his motion almost making your head spin.

He reached for the showerhead, turning it on with a forceful twist. The sudden jet of water splashed over you, drenching you in a cascade of cold droplets. You couldn’t help the startled exclamation that left your lips as the shock of the—now real—cold water hit your skin, and your body instinctively flinched from the unexpected deluge.

You gasped in shock as the icy liquid splashed over you, the cold sensation cutting through you like a blade. “Really, Loki? This is how you choose to handle things now?” You sputtered, your voice thick with irritation. The water clung to your skin, and you barely registered the chill as your exasperation grew. “We haven’t even finished rearranging the gym, and you’re wasting precious time with this nonsense!”

Before you could pronounce another word, Loki's hand shot up, leaving you breathless, and pressed firmly against your mouth. "Hush," he hissed, the command so sharp and forceful it sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes, intense and unreadable, narrowed as he gazed at you, the glint of something dangerous flashing in his expression. "We’ve got company."

You bit your lip, unable to tear your gaze away as the water dripped off his skin, each droplet catching the light and glistening like liquid pearls. The way it traced the contours of his body, gliding over every inch, was almost unbearably erotic. It was a sight that made your pulse quicken, the temptation to reach out and touch was almost overwhelming. But as you shook your head, trying to snap yourself out of the trance his presence had placed you in, you couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading through you, despite your best efforts to push the thought away.

Your eyes bore into him, brimming with frustration as your words rang out with increasing annoyance. “It’s your fault we’re behind schedule. Your endless antics, your distractions—” You threw your hands up in the air, as if to emphasize your point. “We could have been done by now!”

But Loki, ever the embodiment of calm control, merely leaned back slightly, his gaze unwavering as a wicked glint danced in his eyes. The smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips only deepened, like a cat toying with its prey. His amusement was palpable, and it only made your blood boil more. He cut you off once more in your tirade by swiftly moving his hand, gripping your hips with an iron hold and thrusting into you without so much as a warning. 

Your words died on your lips as a startled gasp escaped you, your nails lodging into their previous place in his skin, your body yielding to his intrusion in a burst of pleasure and pain. You were soaked from the precedent orgasms, but it didn’t feel nearly enough to take him comfortably. The stretch of his thick length filling you sent sparks of raw sensation ricocheting through your nerves and a river of whines and curses flowed out of your mouth. 

"Not so defiant now, are we?" He drawled in your ear, his voice a sinful rasp. "Moan for me, sweet thing. Let me hear what a needy little whore you are for me." His hips snapped against yours, driving into you with brutal force. The tile wall scraped your back as he held you in place, each powerful stroke jolting your body. Your hands scrabbled at his shoulders, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. 

The conflicting sensations overwhelmed you—his rough treatment, the cold water still splashing over your skin, the depravity of being taken so publicly. Anyone could round that corner and guess you pinned and split open on his cock, helpless. It seemed your thightening also proved to be too much for the Asgardian, considering the lowly grunts emitting from him at each move.

"Gods above, you’re so fucking tight. Always so fussy," he growled, nipping at your throat hard enough to leave a mark. "Complaining and bossing around as if you don't crave this. Admit it."

One hand hastily found temporary refuge against the shower tiles, against which he sharply tackled you, sending you nearly howling before he slid it between your bodies to circle your clit, the touch searing in intensity. Loki pinched the sensitive bundle of nerves, sending jolts through your core. "Tell me how badly you want it. How desperate you are for my cock."

"Fuck you," you spat, but it was breathless, and you bit your lips to retain another moan as your hips started to meet his thrusts. He was relentless, pummeling into your cunt like it was a personal challenge. The wet slap of flesh echoed obscenely in the cabinet, and your nails rivered down the mount of his back at each meeting.

"Filthy mouth. Keep running it, darling, and I’ll give you something far better to do with it. Though I much prefer the sound of you undone beneath me—such a dirty, desperate slut, getting fucked where anyone could see. Say it." He punctuated each of his words with hard and punishing thrusts, successfully pulling out a scream out of you. "Say you're my dirty little cock sleeve. Say it."

Humiliated tears pricked your eyes but you couldn't deny the intense pleasure coiling hot and low in your belly. He played your body like he had mastered it for years, winding you tighter with every roll of his hips and ruthless touch.

"I—ah, fuck, fuck! Loki, Loki—mmh, I..." You babbled, unable to form a proper sentence as you felt your walls repeatedly flutter around him, so close to the edge.

"Are you going to come like the wanton whore you are, pet? Show me what a depraved little fucktoy you are for me." His fingers worked your clit as he mercilessly pounded into your clenching heat.

You were teetering on the edge, every nerve in your body tingling with anticipation as Loki's unstoppable movements propelled you higher and higher. But just as the tension was about to break, a grating sound pierced the air: a door dragging on the floor as it was pulled open. Loki froze quickly, his sharp inhale the only sound above your ragged gasping. The abrupt halt caused a desperate moan to escape from your lips, your forehead pressing against his as your body trembled from the harsh interruption. His warm breath brushed over your inflamed cheeks, and both of you were frozen in place, chests heaving as the faint echo of the disturbance hung between you like a thick cloud.

Desperation gripped at you, and your hips shifted reflexively, sliding against him in a frantic attempt to pursue the high he had cruelly paused for. But as swiftly as you moved, Loki's solid hands grasped your hips, immobilizing you with relentless force. "Oh, you—" you began, your voice filled with irritation, the insult poised to spill from your lips. But before you could continue, a deep, booming voice resonated across the room, making your blood run cold. Thor. You froze entirely, your wide eyes focusing on Loki's face as his jaw clenched in displeasure. He cocked his head toward the sound, his cheeky grin replaced by a scowl, as if quietly evaluating the risk of being detected.

You pressed your back against the cool, tiled walls of the cramped shower cabinet, the water cascading over you in a rhythmic, steady flow. The silence that enveloped the space felt almost suffocating after the intensity of earlier, the echoes of your heated exchange still lingering in the air. Despite the cold water, your body hummed with unresolved tension, each nerve alive with the memory of the raw desire that had coursed through you moments before. Your gaze narrowed, locking onto Loki, whose expression was far too smug for your liking. His sharp features seemed even more defined in the low, flickering light, an almost predatory gleam dancing in his emerald eyes.

“You’re such a dumbass,” you spat in a harsh whisper, your voice too loud in the confined space, but it felt necessary. “Thor definitely heard us. How could he not? We weren’t exactly quiet!”

Loki's lips curled slightly at the corners, his gaze sharpening as he brought a finger to his mouth in a gesture that screamed mockery. “Silence, darling,” he purred, though there was an underlying tension in his voice, a trace of something darker beneath the usual arrogance. “I’ve cast a spell on you. Every delightful sound you might’ve made is now rendered... inaudible to him. You should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?” you shot back, incredulity tinging your whisper as you poked a finger firmly into his chest. “We’re hiding in a damn shower because of your brilliant idea to—”

Before you could finish, a heavy footstep echoed through the empty locker room, the unmistakable sound of a boot scraping against the floor. The noise sliced through the air, halting both of you in your tracks. Loki’s jaw clenched in reaction, and before you could say anything more, he pulled you closer, one arm wrapping around your waist protectively.

“Loki?” Thor’s booming voice echoed through the gym, reverberating off the walls and setting your heart hammering in your chest.

Loki cleared his throat with practiced ease, his voice smooth, a mask of indifference slipping effortlessly into place. “I’m here, brother. Must you bellow like a wounded ox?”

The footsteps grew louder, nearing the cabinet, and you felt your pulse spike, your body coiling with anxiety. The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Why are you in here?” Thor’s voice was laced with curiosity, though there was an undercurrent of suspicion. “And... why are you alone?”

Thinking quickly, Loki leaned toward the door, his tone shifting to one of feigned irritation. “Because,” he began smoothly, the words rolling off his tongue with practiced ease, “the company I’ve been forced to endure is entirely... unfit to handle my presence. She’s utterly incapable of composure, and I needed a moment of reprieve.”

Your eyes widened, and without thinking, your hand shot up to slap his arm. The sharp sound of your palm meeting his skin echoed in the confined space, making Loki’s head snap toward you in surprise. His gaze, normally filled with confident mischief, was now heavy with a silent warning.

Thor, hearing only Loki’s part of the conversation, paused, a flicker of concern in his voice. “Brother... are you all right?”

Loki sighed dramatically, dragging a hand down his face in mock exasperation. “Perfectly fine, Thor. Must you make everything sound so dramatic?”

“Perhaps,” Thor replied, his tone softening with genuine sympathy. “But I can’t help but feel some pity for her, having to endure your antics. It was foolish of you to start this little game, Loki. You knew it wasn’t a good idea.”

The air grew thick and heavy with the weight of Thor’s words, and you bit your lip to suppress a scoff. “He’s got a point,” you whispered under your breath, unable to resist the jab.

Loki’s eyes narrowed dangerously, the irises darkening as he turned his head toward you, his voice now a low growl. “I thought I told you to shut up,” he muttered, the words dripping with frustration and a simmering heat. 

Without warning, he pulled you closer to him, and you gasped at the sudden, almost punishing thrust of his hips. You couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped your lips as he controlled the rhythm with possessive intent, mewling at each slow shove made into you. You attempted to move yours again in response, but his hands gripped your hips even tighter, preventing you from properly chasing the sensation.

Loki leaned in closer to you, his breath warm against your ear as he muttered under his breath, "You're lucky I know magic, darling," his tone laced with an edge of irritation. "I’ve muted the sound of you for the surroundings, but you still need to be quiet so I can maintain some semblance of normalcy here. Honestly, you’re as insolent as ever." His eyes flashed with barely-contained frustration, a sharp contrast to his usual composure, as he gave you a pointed look, warning you to hold your tongue. 

The smile that spread across your face was inevitable. This little concession of his? It only gave you the perfect idea to be even more of a brat. You leaned closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered just loud enough for him to hear, tightening your vice on him just enough to make him groan. "Maybe I like being a little insolent," you teased, your voice dripping with mischief.

Thor, hearing only Loki’s seemingly pained sound, furrowed his brows in concern. “Are you certain you’re fine? You sound... agitated.”

“Careful. He’s onto you.” The god gave you a warning glare, his lips curling in annoyance, and he was about to retaliate once more to silence you, but Thor's voice boomed again, this time with the wisdom of an older brother.

“Loki,” The blonde began, his tone shifting from concern to a rare, heartfelt sincerity, “I understand why you’re frustrated. But if you wish to court her, there are better ways than to rile her up like this. Annoyance is not an effective courting method, no matter how clever you think yourself for your strategy.”

The tension in the shower cabinet escalated, the air thick with the weight of Thor’s words. Loki’s posture stiffened immediately, his body rigid as he struggled to hide his surprise. You could not keep your mouth from hanging open, your head tilting as you processed what had just been revealed.

“Excuse me?” You scoffed with equal parts of incredulity and amusement.

Thor, completely oblivious to the storm he’d just unleashed, barreled on with the kind of brotherly advice only he could deliver, his voice booming in that way only he could manage. “I thought I made it clear in our previous talk, brother—though, granted, I had to drag it out of you. You’re not exactly being sneaky about it, too. The way you look at her, the way you seem to enjoy making her miserable... everyone sees it. If you just—”

“Thor!” Loki’s voice cracked with a mix of frustration and alarm, the sharp command of his words cutting through the tension like a hot knife.

The silence that followed was thick with disbelief. You blinked up at the raven-haired, your mind reeling as the puzzle pieces finally fit together. A slow, teasing smile spread across your face as realization hit you like a freight train.

“Oh,” you breathed, your voice dripping with amusement. “Oh. So that’s why you’re always so intent on being a pain in my ass.”

Loki’s eyes flashed with a mixture of panic and irritation as he turned to face you, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. “Don’t,” he warned, his lips curling into a thin, controlled line.

But you couldn’t help yourself. “You’ve got a thing for me,” you teased, your grin widening as you soaked in the rare sight of discomfort on his usually composed face. “All this time, all that effort to drive me insane... You’ve been pining.”

“Enough,” Loki snarled, but the faint flush creeping up his sharp cheekbones betrayed him, the evidence of his secret feelings undeniable.

You pulled back just enough, your heart swelling with quiet triumph as you observed Loki’s reaction. It was finally clear—those confusing, gnawing feelings you’d been battling were, in fact, reciprocated. It wasn’t your mind playing games anymore. Loki didn’t harbor any malicious intent toward you; in reality, he’d been concealing something far deeper, something that only served to heighten your sense of victory. The tension between you wasn’t just a fleeting sensation but something more tangible, and you were savoring every second of it.

With that newfound confidence, you couldn’t resist the temptation to push further, to enjoy the power you now held over him. You leaned in, your lips brushing lightly against his ear, your voice dropping to a husky whisper. “So, tell me, Loki... How does it feel to know that I’ve figured you out?”

Your smirk spread across your face as you watched his flushing slowly deepen at each passing second and crept on his neck, a reaction that only invigorated you in your ministrations. You couldn’t help yourself—your lips found that sensitive spot on his neck, pressing a soft bite to it before pulling away with a gentle tug. His sharp inhale sent a ripple of satisfaction through you, knowing you were pushing him to his limits.

The Asgardian groaned under his breath, clearly frustrated by the way you were toying with him. His hand shot out in an almost frantic motion, wrapping around your wrist in a tight grip, trying to halt your relentless teasing. But you weren’t about to give up that easily.

Just as the tension between the two of you seemed to reach its breaking point, Thor’s booming voice pierced the charged air. “Just admit it, brother,” he bellowed with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “For once, be honest with her. Or at least do something about it.”

Loki's eyes blazed with a storm of annoyance and something much deeper—something he was not ready to divulge. His glance moved briefly from you to his brother, who was waiting outside the cabin, as if looking for an escape. But before he could respond, Thor had turned on his heel and proceeded to walk away, his footsteps thudding in the distance. "By Odin’s beard," Thor said quietly, frustrated. "I should've known you'd be this stubborn."

You couldn't resist the ultimate tease. With a jostling, even predatory grin curving at the corners of your lips, you pushed in closer, your breath warm against his skin. The pause stretched between you two, charged and oppressive, with only the sound of his rapid breath breaking the quiet. It was an intimate game, and you could see he knew it. "You still don't refute it. I win, Loki," you taunted, your words flowing with pleasure. "And to seal it... how about I mark my victory?"

You drew him in, your hands resting on his shoulders as your lips touched the contour of his neck again, pressing them firmly against the warm flesh, taking a slow, purposeful suck, the sensation of his pulse beneath your lips instilling a sense of accomplishment in you. With a fleeting flash of wickedness, your fangs sank into the fragile skin, leaving a mark—a brilliant, scarlet memento of your victory. His sharp, involuntary inhalation was delicious, and the sound just heightened your ecstasy. You could feel the strength flow through you, intoxicated with satisfaction.

The instant the mark was left, you pulled away, watching with relish as Loki’s chest rose and fell in rapid, uneven breaths. His eyes flashed with something sharp—irritation—but beneath it, there was something far deeper, more turbulent. You knew then you had crossed the line, and yet you were far from regretting it.

Before you could draw another breath, Loki's hand sped at you like a flash of lightning. His fingers pressed hard over your lips, suppressing any response before it could occur. "Silence, you nuisance," he rasped, his voice low and filled with barely restrained tension.

Your pulse increased, not from fear but from the palpable rush of adrenaline coursing through you. But before you could gather your thoughts, his other hand moved possessively beneath your thigh and hip, bringing you even closer to him. His hold was startlingly strong—firm and commanding—and his body pressed you into the corner with overpowering ferocity. The heat emanating from him was burning.

You attempted to speak, to resist, but the words died on your lips, muffled beneath his fingers as he kept you silent. His gaze latched on yours with such intensity that it made your chest tighten, the weight of his stare like a storm rising inside his eyes. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his jaw clenched, and the barely contained frustration flowing from him. "I will not tolerate being toyed with, pet." 

His words were clipped and authoritative, his voice razor-sharp, but the fire in his eyes screamed of a very different yearning. His breath came in quick spikes, and despite his pretending poise, the intensity in his stare revealed all. "You cannot tease and tempt, only to leave me wanting. Not anymore."

Cool air kissed your exposed skin and you shivered, torn between the urge to squirm away and arch into his touch. "I want you silent, obedient—just how I like it. You’ll let me have my way, won’t you?" he hushed, his lips brushing your ear. "Mh, yes, you will. I'm going to take what I want from this tight little body, fill you up, and fuck this insolent mouth shut. Perhaps you'll finally learn your place, pet."

He nipped sharply at the shell of your ear before trailing kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat. His touch left a blaze of heat in its wake and your pulse thundered beneath his lips. Loki's palm cupped your breast, calloused fingers tweaking your nipple and making you effectively scream under his palm, heaving for air.

"Don’t make a sound," he commanded, pinching the sensitive bud. "Or I’ll make sure you regret it."

His hand then slid between your bodies, palming your mound in a possessive and hastened way, making you gasp against his hand. "No need for words, my sweet. I know exactly what you need. So pathetic for me, aren’t you? You love being used, you filthy thing."

He groaned at the visceral grip you exerted on him at his words, hilting himself fully in a deep thrust before slowly pulling back until just the tip remained and slamming in again, resetting into his brutal pace. His thumb hurridly nudged your bud, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves and forcing a choked sound from you. Your back bowed as another powerful moan bubbled up and got caught behind his palm, tears starting to build at the corner of your eyes from the overwhelming sensations.

"Mm, so tight and responsive," Loki purred, moving his fingers steadily. Sweat beaded on his brow from the exertion, hair wild and fanning around him. "Built for my cock and eager to be stuffed full. Gonna fuck you until you can't walk straight and ruin this needy cunt." Loki's fingers dug into your hips harshly enough to bruise as he used the grip to piston in and out of you. His pubic bone ground against your clit with every thrust, stoking the fire building in your core. 

The obscene squelch of your arousal filled the air, punctuated by your muffled cries. Loki set a punishing pace, pulling filthy sounds from your throat as his grip on your thigh tightened, blunt nails biting into your skin, before hauling you down on his length in one brutal thrust.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, rolling his hips to bury himself even deeper. "Listen to you mewl so sweetly for me. I've created such a perfect cock sleeve."

He plundered your mouth in a filthy kiss, his tongue dominating yours and swallowing your whimpers. Angling his hips, he hit that spot inside that made you see stars. Seeing you recoil so much at the intense pleasure you were experiencing, he set his pace to an even more merciless one, slamming into you with deep, pounding thrusts. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed lewdly through the space. He drove into you with single-minded focus, each stroke hitting that spot inside that rendered you utterly speechless.

"Take it," he snarled, fingers tangling in your hair to wrench your head back. "Take my cock like an obedient little toy."

His teeth sank into your pulse point, marking you and claiming you. His words, filthy and crass, pushed you higher. Loki's grip on you bordered on bruising as he used your body with single-minded focus. Sweat slicked your skin and his cock throbbed inside you, stretching you wide. The pressure built at the base of your spine, coiling tighter and tighter until it snapped.

You came in a squirt and with a broken shout, vision whitening out at the edges as he fucked you through it. Your clenching walls dragged Loki with you, his cock twitching and spilling deep. His rhythm faltered, signaling his impending release. With a throaty moan of your garbled name, he buried himself to the root and painted your insides with thick ropes of seed.

Loki's eyes fluttered shut in bliss but his fingers kept up their sweet torture, wringing out your peak. You clenched around him, whining breathlessly into his palm as ecstasy crashed over the both of you again and again in waves. He collapsed against you, pinning you to the wall with his weight, chest heaving. 

Loki gentled his grip to smooth caresses, soothing the welts on your back and thigh. "There you go," he murmured, nuzzling your throat and planting a flurry of small kisses there. "My good girl. You did so well."

⠀

The room enveloped you in a cloud of warmth as you gradually regained consciousness, your body heavy and relaxed, draped in the pleasant haze of post-pleasure languor. A gentle weight rested on your chest, the traces of delightful exhaustion hugging you like an embrace. For a long, indulgent moment, everything felt impossibly soft, the lines of reality blurred, and the only thing keeping you in the present was the constant thrum of your pulse, which grounded you in this calm cocoon.

You blinked several times, attempting to dispel the fog that had obscured your vision, but all you saw was a twisted blend of images, like if you had awoken from an enticing dream. The sheets beneath you were pleasantly warm, their comforting heaviness coiled around your limbs, and the familiar aroma of wood, leather, and a distinct, seductive hint of him permeated the air, grounding you in the present.

As your senses gradually sharpened, you felt a gentle caress across your back—his fingers drifting lazily up and down, the motion slow and deliberate. Each stroke of his touch was like a salve, lulling you into deeper relaxation and smoothing away whatever tension had clung to you. It was a calming presence, a reminder of his closeness and concern, an unexpected tenderness that contrasted dramatically with the intensity of what had just occurred between you.

"You're awake," The god's voice shattered the silence, as rich and sweet as it always was, but with an obvious softness. It wasn't his usual mocking tone. His remarks had an almost protective ring to them, and his voice was vulnerable, revealing a part of himself that was rarely seen. "How are you feeling?"

You swallowed, trying to clear your head from the residue of the overwhelming sensations. "A bit... disoriented," you mumbled, your voice scratchy from more than just sleep. You cleared your throat, hoping to dispel the remaining fog in your thoughts. "And fuzzy. But, um, good." Despite the haze on your mind, you managed a little, happy smile, savoring the lingering warmth and contentment that remained in your chest after the tremendous experience.

Loki's low chuckle sent shivers down your spine, a sound that was both soothing and thrilling. "Good girl," he muttered, his voice full of satisfaction and something more. His fingers, warm and steady, moved slowly and soothingly across your skin, sending waves of heat wherever they touched. The way he treated you was almost reverent, in stark contrast to the ferocious, desperate energy that had driven the previous moments. It was as if he was giving you time to recover, giving you a moment of quiet after everything had happened.

You shifted slightly, lifting your head just enough to meet his gaze, still awash in the softness of the moment. "What about the gym?" you asked, your voice still drowsy from the effects. Your mind was still trying to catch up with the events that had unfolded, unsure of what had happened afterward. Loki’s eyes, though, glimmered with that familiar mischief, but there was no trace of the usual arrogance or playful smugness in his expression. He seemed... softer, less guarded.

"Ah, yes." Loki’s lips curled into a knowing smile, his gaze briefly flicking to the side in that way he had when he was about to reveal something more. "I took care of it. Told the others you weren’t feeling well from the lack of sleep and all that hard work." His fingers slid up your spine with a deliberate slowness, sending a ripple of warmth through your body. "You’re skipping the session for today, love."

The new nickname caught you off guard, warmth flooding your cheeks as a faint blush spread across your face. You let out a faint huff, still enjoying the comfy haze he had left you in. "You really have a way with the others." The remarks were smooth, almost dreamy, as you stared up at him, taken aback by how easily he had maneuvered the situation.

Loki's eyes softened for a minute, and you caught a glimpse of sincerity in his expression—something you rarely saw from him. "What can I say? I'm quite persuasive when I need to be." His voice was light, yet it had an edge to it, a taunting tone that hinted at the mischief he still harbored inside. But behind that, you sensed something more—a gentle compassion that had gradually developed between you two.

You couldn’t help but smile at the unexpected depth of the moment. It was clear now—beneath the arrogance, the teasing, and the endless games, Loki had always been more than the persona he projected. He was letting you see him in a way few others ever did. And for the first time, it felt like you were witnessing a version of Loki that wasn’t built on defense or pride, but one that was simply... normal, almost human if you dared to say.

For what seemed like an eternity, the two of you stood in the gentle calm of the room, the weight of your talk settling like a silent storm in the air between you. Your body was utterly at rest, every muscle relaxed and delightfully satisfied, but your mind was starting to catch up with the whirlwind of events. The tension, yearning, pull, and push all returned, along with a gnawing sense that refused to go away. Something deeper, unresolved, began to claw at your thoughts, compelling you to speak.

You broke the silence with a tentative yet forceful tone. "Loki," you started, the words feeling heavier than you expected. "Why did all of this happen? The competition, the mocking, the... push and pull. Why struggle for unwanted attention when you could have just remained normal? Confess like a regular person and save us both the hassle?"

Loki's lips quirked into a half-hearted smirk, yet there was something about it that indicated the inquiry had struck a chord. He leaned back, his stance comfortable yet guarded, his arms crossed in a defensive gesture as he looked at you. His eyes were piercing, but there was a hint of something else behind them. "Ah, the eternal question," he groaned dramatically, his sarcastic tone concealing a hint of discomfort. "Why indeed? At first, I thought you were really irritating. Dreadfully so. I thought—" He paused, letting out an exaggerated sigh and adopting a mockingly dramatic tone. "I figured taking you down a peg or two would be an excellent way to pass the time. You were just too confident for my liking."

Your brow raised, and a smirk tugged at the corner of your lips, but your gaze was somehow amused and curious. "So, you just wanted to ruin my self-esteem?" You taunted, but a part of you was beginning to sense something deeper underlying his remarks.

Loki grinned grimly, shaking his head, as if dismissing a stupid idea. "It wasn't about damaging it, more like taming it." His gaze shifted to you with a fascinating sparkle. "Or at least, that's what I told myself at the time." His voice softened, the sarcasm still but now infused with vulnerability, an unexpected honesty that cut through his bravado.

"But then, something changed." He paused, his gaze intensifying as he appeared to ruminate on the change that had occurred. "I started to notice things about you. Small things." His statements were calm and thoughtful. "I got more attentive. And, as you heard, it wasn't long until I fell for you. Despite my better judgment."

You stayed silent for a time, allowing the weight of his confession to settle in. The taunting and antagonizing had not been intended to break you down. It was his method of protecting himself, pushing you away to avoid confronting thoughts he didn't know how to address. Finally, your voice became softer and quieter as the realization settled in like a gentle tide. "So, all of it... was just your way of dealing with feelings you didn't want to admit to?"

Loki's eyes shone with a mix of laughter and something far more sincere than you were used to seeing from him. "I suppose I've never been one to handle my emotions well," he replied, his sarcasm still present but tempered with a reluctant honesty that caught you off guard. "It's so much easier to build a game out of it, right? Poking, probing, and playing with rivalries."

You leaned back against the bed, fingers running a gentle path across his chest, a grin curving on your lips as you took in his words. "I think we've both been playing games, Loki," you quietly said, the truth sinking in in an oddly comforting way. "But maybe... just maybe, we've both gotten a little too good at it."

Loki's hand reached up, stroking a stray strand of hair away from your face, his fingertips soft on your skin. He met your stare with an intensity you weren't used to, and for the first time, his comments were free of ridicule and teasing. Simply unvarnished honesty. "Perhaps," he said, his voice faint but steady. "Perhaps, darling, we both need to stop pretending."

As the lingering warmth of the moment enveloped you, your mind began to put things together. You gradually became aware of features that had previously gone unnoticed—the soft sheets underneath you, the familiar aroma of Loki's chamber, the fact that you were no longer in the same spot. Something was wrong, but in the cloud of your bliss, you couldn't pinpoint it until now.

You blinked, furrowing your brow as the truth of your circumstances gradually dawned on you. "Wait a second. Where are we?" you questioned just to get a confirmation, seeming perplexed. It was as if a fog had lifted from your thoughts, and everything seemed a little more... lucid.

Loki's lips twisted into a half-smile, his eyes gleaming with his signature mischief. "We're in my room, darling," he replied nonchalantly, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. "Isn't it comfortable?"

You looked about, your gaze drawn to the familiar walls, the luxurious bed, and the exquisite details. Then you gazed down at yourself and Loki, both in little more than the aftermath of your desire. Your heart skipped a beat, and you couldn't help but exclaim, still in shock, "Our clothes... How did we get here?"

Loki's smile developed into a knowing smirk. "I teleported us, of course," he said with pride in his voice. "I stored our clothes in my dimension pocket to avoid any awkward situations."

The knowledge hit you like a flash of lightning, and before you could stop yourself, you softly slapped his chest, your eyes widening in surprise and delight. "You could've done that from the start?" You lifted an eyebrow, annoyance tinged with laughter. "Instead of risking being caught by the others? Oh my God, you really enjoy the drama, do you?"

Loki's eyes flashed with a familiar playful glimmer as he seized your hand in midair, his grip gentle yet solid. "Now, don't call me in vain. And where's the fun in doing so?" He teased, his voice full of amusement. "I could not resist you, dearest. Watching you squirm and get caught up in our little tryst was far more entertaining."

You removed your hand from his grip, preparing to deliver him another fun slap across the chest. But he was decidedly faster than you expected. He was on top of you in an instant, softly pinning you to the bed. The weight of his body was warm and reassuring, but there was a palpable energy in the air between you. 

Loki's grin faded somewhat, his lips curling up into his distinctive half smile, but his eyes became more intense. He drew in closer, his breath murmuring across your neck, sending thrills down your spine. "You know," he mumbled, his voice falling an octave, tinged with laughter and something deeper. "I do love how you keep me on my toes." He paused, his eyes probing yours with such intensity that the air between you felt thicker and more intimate. For a heartbeat, his expression became serious, as if a ray of weakness burst through the walls he'd carefully placed around himself. "And, as much as I tease..." His lips hovered near your ear, just touching it as he said. "I would not change a single bit of it."

The weight of his words fell on you like a warm blanket, stirring something deep inside. Your chest clenched slightly, not because of discomfort but because you realized this was more than just fun banter. His earnestness hit you harder than you expected, and you struggled to match the vulnerability in his stare. You inhaled deeply and felt your pulse beat steadily under his, your chest rising and falling in time. 

In that short second, the tension between you two shifted, as if all the walls you'd been meticulously erecting came tumbling down in an unsaid acknowledgement. Without thinking, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a slow, deliberate kiss that was soft and tender—there was no haste, no urgency, only a delicate desire to close the gap between you. Your lips molded against his with unexpected tenderness, and the kiss was languid, as if savoring every fleeting second.

You wrapped your arms around Loki slowly, almost intuitively, dragging him closer until there was no more space between your bodies. The sensation of his chest on yours, combined with the rhythm of your hearts beating together, intensified the moment. Your cheeks heated, and warmth crept throughout your body as the fuzzy, heady sensation of intimacy rushed over you. Every breath you took appeared to match his, slow and steady, as if time itself had slowed only to allow you to enjoy this connection.

His hands glided down your body with careful slowness, caressing your sides before settling on your exposed waist. The touch sent a bolt of heat through you, and you could feel your muscles relax under his palms. The way he touched you was almost reverent, as if he was remembering the feel of your skin and the warmth of your body on his own. His hands, large and solid, held your waist just enough to draw you closer, a quiet encouragement to press further into him.

The kisses that followed were gentle and languid, exchanged with a calm passion. They weren't hasty or desperate; rather, they were an unspoken discussion, a gentle admission of all you hadn't said. Every brush of his lips on yours felt like a promise, each kiss deeper than the last, as if you were both pouring your entire being, every emotion, into that simple, leisurely exchange.

You could feel everything—his warmth, his kindness, the way he held you so tightly, as if he was terrified you might slip away. And as you kissed him, your emotions spilled out without words. Each kiss, each sweet touch, represented a confession, a surrender to what had always existed between you. The world outside appeared to blur and vanish, leaving only the sound of your breathing, the beat of your hearts, and the soft touch of your lips against each other.

It was the kind of kiss that could convey so much without saying anything. Each slow, deliberate movement of your lips conveyed a secret promise, an unspoken statement of everything you had shared and what was to come. The kiss lingered for so long that it seemed like time had stretched and warped around the two of you.

When you eventually pushed away, the space between you seemed impossibly little. Your foreheads rested together, breath mingling, eyes closed as you both cherished the closeness—the quiet realization that you no longer required words to express the feelings that had developed between you. It was a rare moment of calm in the midst of the insanity that had led you here. In that small, personal place, you both simply basked in the silence, far away from the complete chaos of outside. The loud clang of weights, the grunts and shouts echoing from the gym, the gossip and chatter, and the sterile buzz of the fluorescent lights all felt like they now belonged to a different world—a world far removed from the intimate bubble you had found in each other’s presence.

Loki's voice cut through the peaceful silence that had surrounded the two of you, its lighthearted tone still tinged with that mischievous sparkle. "I recall," he began, the words flowing effortlessly as a mischievous smile flickered across his lips, "that I did mention earlier that I was interested in trying creatine, just like you were."

You raised an eyebrow, a mix of humor and caution in your eyes. "Oh? And how are you going to test it?” Your comments were laced with playful sarcasm, and your head tilted as you observed him.

Loki's eyes darkened briefly with a hint of something deeper before he leaned in just enough to close the gap between you, his voice lowering into a near whisper, laced with an unmistakable teasing. "Well, my love," he purred, his grin expanding into something both menacing and knowing. "I was considering experiencing it, but in a manner more... tailored to my preferences." His eyes gleamed with wicked pleasure, the sensuous undertone of his voice quickening your pulse, the warmth of his words raising a heat to your cheeks.

You couldn't help but laugh, your body quaking slightly at the sound. "You're insatiable," you remarked, rolling your eyes in mock irritation. "At least give me the time to recover. You fucked me to the point of unconsciousness, for God’s sake."

"And for my sake, I need to have you on my tongue and figure out what's so appealing about the substance," he answered snarkily, his voice heavy with intent, low and tempting. "And you, my darling, are the most appealing thing I have ever tasted." His eyes moved over you, maintaining a feverish intensity as he continued. "Believe me when I say that I'm far from the type to turn away from something that keeps pulling me back."

The words wrapped around you like silk, sending shivers through your body and causing your heart to flutter unexpectedly. Without a beat, Loki's grin broadened into something devilishly attractive, and he vanished beneath the blankets. With a dramatic sigh, you fell back into the bed, allowing your head to smash with the pillow as you attempted to conceal the fluttering in your chest. A deep sigh escaped your lips, muffled by the softness of the pillow. "You're ridiculous," you whispered, eyes pressed shut as you tried to cool the heat on your face.

Loki's laughter echoed from beneath the covers, simultaneously reassuring and infuriating, a duality that only he could create. For a minute, you lay motionless, the cadence of his laughter filling the gap between you and the warmth of his voice resting in your consciousness. Despite your displeasure, a sweet, amused smile tugged at the corner of your lips, and you basked in the attention as a whimper escaped you.

⠀

BONUS:

The following Friday, the Avengers had gathered around the shake counter, the lively hum of chatter filling the air as they nibbled on snacks and leisurely sipped their drinks. It had been a while since they’d all been in one place, and the usual easy camaraderie was in full swing—banter, sarcastic quips, and the occasional jabs exchanged between friends. The familiar energy buzzed around them like static, grounding them in a rare moment of calm amidst the chaos of their lives.

Clint leaned back against the counter, throwing a pretzel stick into his mouth with the kind of casual grace only he could pull off. “Has anyone heard from our favorite power couple lately?” he asked, glancing at Tony with an eyebrow raised. “I mean, seriously, they’ve been off the radar. It’s like they’ve vanished into thin air. Did they go on some kind of 'relationship retreat’ or something? Maybe they’re on a spa vacation, enjoying massages and arguing over who gets the last cucumber slice for their eyes.”

Natasha rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smirk as she turned toward Steve. “Wait, hold up,” she said, her tone dripping with mock incredulity. “You’re telling me Loki and [Y/N] have gone full stealth mode? What’s the matter? Did they finally have a 'moment’ and decide to go off the grid?”

Bruce, grumbling into his cup, seemed less amused. “I haven’t heard a peep from either of them. Last time they spoke to me, it was one of those ‘personal apologies’ for... well, everything,” he said with a grimace, clearly uncomfortable recalling the exchange. “If they’ve decided to disappear, I can’t say I blame them. That whole thing was... intense.”

Thor, his enthusiasm for shakes unrestrained, paused mid-sip at the mention of Loki. “Ah, well, I did see my brother not too long ago,” he said, his voice rising with the energy of someone sharing a truly remarkable tale. “It was on the day of their punishment. He was showering in the locker room, talking to me, and he mentioned something curious. Something about how Lady [Y/N] couldn’t ‘handle him’ and had ‘fled the scene.’” He paused for dramatic effect. “It was a bit strange, really. He said it with such intensity, like he had just fought a battle... and lost.”

The group fell into a brief silence, all eyes on Thor. “Wait, what?” Sam asked, narrowing his eyes. “Loki... said what now?”

Thor, scratching his chin as though trying to decode the bizarre conversation, recalled, “Well, he said something about her not being able to ‘keep up’ with him and that she had ‘run away’ after a particularly... frustrating session. Something about how she ‘gave up,’ as if... as if she couldn't handle the storm that is Loki.” Thor frowned, clearly baffled. “He seemed... upset. And, well, I couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t frustration, but maybe... regret?”

Tony, ever the expert in reading between the lines, exchanged a look with Sam. “Oh, this is rich,” Tony said, his tone laced with an all-knowing grin. “Sounds to me like we’re talking about a little friendly bet that went way past ‘friendly.’ Reindeer Game’s ego must’ve gotten bruised, and now he’s having a ‘moment.’” He leaned in, glancing at the others with mischief gleaming in his eyes. “I’ll let you all figure out the details, but I have no doubt that this is some kind of... interesting conclusion to a very personal wager.”

Sam’s grin widened, his eyes twinkling with the anticipation of what was to come. “Yeah, their little disappearing act? Safe to say, something went down. I’m guessing it got a little more... hands-on than either of them intended.”

Clint raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “Wait, wait. We’re seriously going to start speculating about their love life right now? Have you all lost your minds?”

Wanda, who had been silently watching, suddenly leaned in with a devilish grin. “Oh, it’s way too easy not to,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “Come on, guys, who do you think won the bet? Who do you think really gave in first?” She glanced between Natasha, Bucky, and Thor, her smile widening. “I’m putting my money on Team [Y/N]. Loki couldn’t handle the heat, and I’m betting he cracked first.”

Bucky shrugged nonchalantly, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Team [Y/N], no question. Loki’s pride is a glass house—it didn’t stand a chance. He probably broke first. I mean, come on. He’s Loki.”

Steve shook his head with a bemused smile tugging at his lips. “I’m not so sure. I think he’s got more... staying power than we give him credit for. I wouldn’t be surprised if she just snapped under the pressure.” He paused for effect, his grin widening. “Loki’s a lot of things, but he’s not easily outdone.”

Clint smirked. “So we’re all just gonna ignore the fact that this was, what, a long time coming? I mean, did anyone not see this coming?”

Tony leaned back, crossing his arms as he regarded the group with a knowing look. “I’m thinking if things went down the way I suspect, the real question is: who’s gonna be the first to fess up and admit they lost?” He raised an eyebrow. “And by the way, if it did go down the way we’re all thinking, I don’t think this was just a one-time thing. You don’t come back for seconds after a loss like that unless something really went down.”

Sam’s eyes gleamed with barely contained amusement. “Yeah, because honestly, if it was just a one-off, they wouldn’t be acting all... mysterious like this. There’s gotta be more to the story, right?”

Thor, ever the literal one, scratched his head, clearly puzzled by the specifics of the conversation. “I still believe my brother was... deeply disturbed by the events. He spoke as if something was very wrong. His words were... peculiar.” Thor furrowed his brow, a genuine concern crossing his face. “Perhaps I misunderstood, but he did seem upset, almost as though he regretted something.”

Bucky chuckled, clearly relishing the chaos around him. “We’ll see, big guy. You might be surprised. Things might not have gone the way you think.”

The gym was a whirlwind of activity, the sound of clanking weights and the occasional grunt reverberating off the walls, creating an atmosphere of focused chaos. In the midst of all this, the group was embroiled in their usual banter about the infamous bet. A debate was unfolding at lightning speed, the team divided and passionate, but then, like a couple of silent, mischievous storms, you and Loki casually entered the fray—synchronized, nonchalant, as though nothing of consequence had occurred moments before.

You and Loki walked into the room in matching gym gear—of course you did. A polished ensemble of sleek black and dark green athletic wear that clung to both of your figures with uncanny precision. His dark cloak, while still evident in the folds of his attire, seemed to blend effortlessly with the modern, athletic aesthetic of your matching outfits. It was almost as if you two had coordinated—though honestly, it felt more like a quiet extension of a bond that had formed through other means, and had yet to be fully explored.

Loki, as effortlessly charming as ever, strolled up to the team with a playful, easy grin plastered on his face. His steps were purposeful, but his confidence was what caught the eye—his hair swept back with practiced grace. He brushed an invisible speck of dust off his shoulder, a picture of casual elegance. “Ah, my favorite, unwanted little band of misfits, all gathered in one place,” he said, his voice oozing with faux warmth and grace.

His eyes flickered toward you, and his smile turned into something more teasing, more dangerous. He stepped closer to your side, never missing a beat. “Forgive me, darling,” he said, reaching out with exaggerated gentleness to kiss your hand. “It’s truly a pleasure to be in such fine company.”

You didn’t flinch as his lips brushed your hand. Instead, you gave him a knowing look, the corners of your lips curling upward as you allowed the kiss. You even gave his fingers a playful squeeze before responding smoothly. “Always a pleasure, my prince,” you said with a tone that was just as cordial, just as cool as his—if not slightly more mischievous.

The team stared at you both, clearly shocked by the fluid, casual nature of it all. Their curiosity was practically radiating, and it didn’t take long for the inevitable question to emerge.

Sam, never one to let something this good slide, leaned forward, his eyebrow raised in that signature way. “Alright, we’ve gotta know—who gave in first?” His voice was laced with amusement, and the grin on his face only deepened as he watched the dynamic between the two of you.

Loki, always one for theatrics, raised an eyebrow as he glanced at you, clearly enjoying this. “Ah, you’re eager to know, aren’t you? Well, darling, please, do tell—who was the first to give in?” His voice was light, playful, and oh-so-seductive, but there was something affectionate behind it.

You didn’t hesitate, a teasing smile tugging at your lips as you shot him a look. “I mean,” you began, your voice cool but dripping with mischief, “he did kiss me first.”

Loki’s eyes widened, his face twisting in mock horror. He sputtered, looking flustered for a split second. “W-What? You—” He shook his head, clearly not prepared for that revelation. “I was merely being—polite,” he stammered, trying to regain control of the situation, though his voice faltered slightly.

The Avengers burst into laughter, clearly enjoying the unexpected twist. Tony, unable to resist, leaned in with a grin that could only be described as mischievous. “Uh-huh, polite? Sure. Polite enough to kiss her on the lips? Interesting choice, big guy.”

Loki’s expression twisted into one of exaggerated disbelief, though he tried to hide his flustered state with a mock-serious tone. “I did not forfeit,” he retorted, arms crossing defensively. “I simply... allowed you the chance to realize you were outmatched. It was a strategic choice.”

The Avengers exchanged glances, clearly struggling to hold back their laughter. “Strategic choice, huh?” Sam snorted, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “Come on, dude. Just admit it—you gave in first. Let’s put us all out of our misery.”

Bucky, who had been quietly enjoying the back-and-forth, couldn’t resist. “Team [Y/N] wins,” he said, smirking. “Loki cracked first. Didn’t stand a chance.” He winked at you, clearly proud of how the tables had turned.

Loki, however, wasn’t ready to give up so easily. “Fine,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “If we’re going to be completely honest, then yes... you could say I... yielded. In my own way.” He shot you a mischievous smirk before turning back to the group with an exaggerated bow. “But let it be known, she gave in first as well. I merely responded to her... advances.”

You raised an eyebrow, chuckling softly. “Oh, did I?” you teased, your voice laced with sarcasm. “I must’ve missed that part of the story, Loki.” You winked at him playfully. “But it’s true, we both gave in, and neither of us won the bet.”

The Avengers groaned in unison, clearly exasperated. “Seriously?” Natasha muttered, her voice flat. “You two can’t even make up your minds?”

Clint smirked, his eyes sparkling with humor. “Yeah, you’re both terrible at this. Either you both lost, or you both won. Pick one.”

Thor, confused by all the back-and-forth, raised a hand as if to settle the matter. “This is ridiculous. Why not settle this debate like warriors? A trial of strength or… style in your case, perhaps?” His booming voice carried an earnestness that made everyone pause—until Tony burst out laughing.

“Oh, yeah, because we all want to see them spar or whatever weird Asgardian thing you’re imagining,” Tony quipped, shaking his head. “No thanks, Point Break. Let’s keep it simple: they just need to decide. Right now. No dodging.”

Sam leaned back in his chair, smirking. “You heard the man. You’ve got ten seconds to give us a straight answer, or we’re voting on it ourselves.”

Loki’s expression darkened slightly, his sharp gaze flicking to you as though daring you to speak first. “You can’t seriously expect us to entrust the outcome of this bet to these mortals,” he scoffed, crossing his arms. “They’re biased.”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a grin. “Biased against you, you mean,” you shot back, earning a round of snickers from the team.

Steve, ever the mediator, held up a hand. “Alright, that’s enough. Let’s make this simple: each of you gets one last chance to argue your side. Short and sweet. Then we’re done. Deal?”

“Deal,” you said instantly, giving Loki a smug look. “Let’s hear it, Loki. Defend your honor.”

Loki straightened, smoothing down his shirt with exaggerated elegance. “Very well. If I must. It’s abundantly clear that I—magnanimous as ever—showed remarkable restraint in allowing her to pursue her affections first.” He paused dramatically, his voice smooth and dripping with mock sincerity. “Her insistence on denying this was, frankly, as adorable as it is predictable.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Oh, give me a break. If anyone was pursuing anyone, it was you. You’re the one who couldn’t stop making dramatic entrances and throwing around dirty pickup lines like confetti.”

Sam and Tony let out loud, exaggerated ohs, while Clint pretended to fan himself. “Spicy,” he muttered, grinning.

Natasha, smirking, looked between the two of you. “Alright, let’s cut to the chase. Did either of you actually win this bet, or are we stuck with a stalemate forever?”

Before you could answer, Loki leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “We both know the answer, darling,” he murmured, his lips twitching into a smirk. “But if you insist on denying it, I suppose I can share the victory. For now.”

You arched an eyebrow, your own smile forming as you replied softly, “Fine by me, as long as you don’t mind losing gracefully.”

The group groaned again as you and Loki finally turned back to them, both of you speaking at once.

“It’s a tie.”

Natasha threw up her hands, walking off with a muttered “Unbelievable.” Tony clapped his hands together. “Well, that was anticlimactic.”

“Not surprising, though,” Sam added, leaning back with a smirk. “I give it two weeks before one of you cracks again and we’re back to this same conversation.”

Loki’s grin was wolfish as he looked at you. “Two weeks? Oh, I give it far less time than that.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, your competitive streak sparking back to life. “Careful, Loki. That sounds like the start of another bet.”

Steve, ever the responsible leader, clapped his hands loudly, cutting through the laughter and banter. “Alright, enough messing around. Gym time. Everyone, get to training. Now.”

A collective groan echoed through the gym as the Avengers reluctantly began to disperse. Sam muttered something under his breath about slave drivers, Clint whistled as he grabbed his bow, and Wanda rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Even Thor shrugged and ambled toward the weights, clearly unbothered by the sudden order.

But you and Loki lingered near the entrance, neither of you moving to join the others. His gaze flicked toward you, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “You’re positively ravishing today, darling,” he teased, his voice low and smooth. “Though I’m still waiting for you to admit defeat. Shall I give you another chance?”

You crossed your arms, though the heat creeping up your neck betrayed your composure. “Not happening, Princess. I think you’ve had enough ego boosts for this month.”

Loki chuckled softly, leaning just a fraction closer, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. “Oh, I disagree. Perhaps one more would suffice.” His tone was playful but rich with unspoken promise, his smirk a little too pleased with itself.

Before you could quip back, Tony, halfway across the gym, turned suddenly on his heel and pointed a finger in your direction. “Hey, speaking of the two of you...” His voice carried, immediately drawing everyone’s attention again. “One of the agents made a call the other day. Said they found some liquid on one of the benches after you two ‘fixed’ the gym. Looked like coconut water or something.”

Your face instantly went scarlet, the heat spreading from your cheeks down your neck like wildfire. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but Loki, ever composed, beat you to it. With an easy grin, he slid an arm around your waist, his presence both steady and infuriatingly smug. “Ah, yes. That would be mine,” he said smoothly, his voice effortlessly cutting through the tension.

“Simply diluted creatine in water. And the best kind.”

⠀