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Chapter Text

The shadows of the palace stretched long and quiet across Asgard’s golden halls. The feast of the day had ended, warriors gone to their quarters, the Allfather deep in counsel, and the sound of laughter had retreated into silence. Evening wrapped itself around the realm like a velvet cloak, and in the privacy of her chambers, Queen Frigga talked with her son.

Loki sat at her side, long fingers absently tracing the embroidery on the cushion, eyes cast down in contemplation. It had been months since his release from the prison below, months since the darkness of chains and stone gave way to corridors lined with sunlight. Yet peace still felt fragile, as though at any moment the weight of his past deeds might crush the delicate arrangement his mother had fought to secure.

“You are quiet tonight,” Frigga observed gently. She had that voice—a balm, soothing and unyielding at once, capable of drawing truth from him when no one else could.

“I am merely considering,” Loki replied, his tone carrying its usual guarded lilt. “When one has been buried alive in shadows, even the smallest freedoms take on curious shapes.”

Frigga’s smile was tinged with melancholy. “And what shapes do they take for you, my son?”

His green eyes lifted to hers, sharp and luminous in the lamplight. “Time. I find I have more of it than I know what to do with.”

“You are not bound by chains anymore, Loki. You may use that time to create, to learn, to heal.”

“Heal,” he echoed, tasting the word like foreign wine. “And yet there are wounds that fester, unseen by even the most skilled sorcery.”

Her hand reached for his, cool and steady. “You are not alone, no matter what you believe. I see you. I always have.”

For a moment, something softened in his expression—an unspoken gratitude, a silent acknowledgment of her unwavering faith. But as always, Loki cloaked his vulnerability before it grew too visible.

“I shall retire for the night,” he said, rising with practiced grace. “Perhaps tomorrow the world will seem… less empty.”

Frigga let him go, though her eyes followed him long after the doors closed.

~~~

Loki’s Chambers

The prince’s chambers were awash with quiet opulence: tall windows draped in silks, a hearth burning low, shelves heavy with books he had collected but not yet touched. Loki paced before the balcony, restless, his hands clasped behind his back. The stars above were crisp and cruel, scattering their silver light across Asgard’s sleeping spires.

Peace was foreign to him. He was accustomed to schemes, to hunger, to the storm of ambition. Yet here he stood, unburdened—for now—and found the silence unbearable.

He poured himself a goblet of wine, its ruby surface quivering with the faint tremor in his fingers. “A king in chains, a son in exile, a fool in peace,” he murmured to himself, the words half bitter, half amused.

And in the stillness, memories pressed upon him—battles fought, lies told, and the gnawing certainty that even when forgiven, he was never truly trusted.

He sipped, let the firelight warm his throat, and willed his mind to quiet.

But elsewhere, in a chamber far more austere, another life hung in the balance.

The Court of Vanaheim

The judgment hall of Vanaheim was vast and cold, its columns rising like ancient trees, its floor etched with runes of power. The air trembled with the weight of decision, as gathered nobles whispered and watched the lone figure brought before them.

Your knees hurt from being knelt on the cold stone, chains circling your wrists though struggles had ceased hours ago. Short, slight of build, your furred ears tapered like those of a beast, flicking with the sounds around you. A long, thin, fluffy tail curled nervously, betraying what your face did not. Your eyes— feline, wary—stared at the council with a defiance you did not feel.

“Y/n of the hybrid blood,” intoned the high arbiter, his voice booming. “You stand accused of deceit, of meddling in spells forbidden to your kind, of disrupting the balance of our realm. What say you?”

You swallowed. Your throat was raw, mind weary. “I say… I meant no harm. The magic I used—”

“Was reckless,” another councilor interrupted, his expression stern. “You toyed with powers beyond your station. A half-breed of cat and god should know her place.”

Murmurs rippled. Your nails dug into her palms. “I tried only to help—”

“Enough!” The gavel struck, echoing like thunder. “Your blood makes you dangerous, your presence an affront to our order. You are judged unfit to walk Vanaheim’s soil.”

Your chest tightened, a scream clawing its way up but stifled. Banished. You had known the word would come, but hearing it aloud carved a hollow into the bones.

The chains clinked as guards pulled you to your feet. Your tail lashed once in panic before falling limp.

You whispered, more to yourself than to them: “I have nowhere else.”

Back to Asgard

In his chamber, Loki set aside his goblet and lowered himself into an armchair. The crackle of the fire soothed him, though his thoughts continued to wander. The quiet was deceptive, he thought. Asgard never remained still for long.

He stretched out, closed his eyes, and allowed the distant hum of magic in the palace walls to lull him.

The Sentence

The council’s final decree rang out:

"Y/n, you are hereby banished from Vanaheim. You shall be cast beyond our borders, expelled into the void between realms. The gods will decide your fate, whether you survive or perish.”

A chorus of agreement sealed it. The guards dragged you toward the gates of the realm, where the very fabric of reality shimmered with the force of the spell prepared to eject you. 

Your breath came shallow, rapid. You dug your heels into the stone, but the pull was relentless. Your claws scraped, tail bristled, heart pounded.

The last thing you saw of your home was indifference—the council’s cold eyes, the nobles’ disdain, and the stone floor streaked with her desperate resistance.

Then the light engulfed you, searing, tearing her from the soil of your birth and hurling into the void.

~

That same night, Loki wandered onto his balcony, wine forgotten. The sky above Asgard was alive with stars, clearer than he had seen them in years. Something stirred in him, an inexplicable awareness, as though the cosmos itself were restless.

He leaned against the railing, his green gaze narrowing. “What mischief brews now, I wonder.”

The Comet

A hush spread through Asgard as people turned their eyes upward. Farmers in the fields, guards on the walls, even the Allfather upon his throne—all paused to watch as a streak of fire cut across the heavens.

A comet, they thought. A falling star, a portent of change. Its tail burned brilliant gold and silver, trailing embers as it tore through the night.

But it was no mere comet.

You screamed as the atmosphere seared against your skin, body wreathed in flame, breath ripped from lungs. The void spat you out like a discarded ember, and you fell—burning, breaking, yet alive.

Your voice was lost in the roar of descent, your silhouette nothing more than a streak of brilliance to the eyes below.

And Loki, standing on his balcony, watched with an expression unreadable. Something within him shifted. He could feel it—that was no star. That was someone.

God's lips parted as the streak of fire grew brighter, larger. Not a star. No celestial body burned with such intent, no comet fell with such precision. His instincts flared, old and sharp—this was something unnatural, something alive.

The fire cut across the heavens with a shriek of energy, and his heart stuttered when he realized its path was not across the sky, but towards him.

“Impossible,” he whispered, stepping back from the railing.

The streak grew—closer, closer—until it tore through the clouds above Asgard’s palace, a white-gold flame that screamed with velocity. Loki barely had time to raise his hands, weaving instinctive wards, before the heavens themselves seemed to explode against his balcony.

 Impact

The balcony shattered in a storm of stone and glass. The blast knocked Loki against the wall, the air punched from his lungs. Dust and fire swirled through his chambers, curtains ripped free of their ties, the hearth extinguished in the gale.

Amid the ruin, something struck the marble floor with a heavy, sickening thud. Not stone. Not metal. Flesh.

When the haze cleared, Loki’s eyes fixed upon the figure sprawled before him.

You were small, curled as though the world had crushed you into the ground. Hair, tangled and burned at the tips, framed a pale face smeared with soot. Two feline ears twitched faintly atop your head, one singed at the edge. Your body was plush, soft in its curves, marred by fresh burns and bruises. Your legs ended not in feet but in delicate paws, fur scorched but unmistakable.

And your eyes—though half-closed in exhaustion—glimmered in the light of his chamber: beautiful e/c

Loki’s breath caught in his throat.

“By the Norns…”

You shifted weakly, a soft sound escaping your lips—half whimper, half growl. Your tail flicked once, then fell limp.

He crouched beside you, his long fingers hesitating above the skin. So strange, so unlike anything he had seen—and yet, what he found was beautiful.

Not the perfect symmetry of Asgardian goddesses, not the cold majesty of queens, but something raw. Something fragile and fierce at once.

For a moment, he forgot the dust choking his chamber, forgot the ruin of the balcony, forgot even the danger. He only saw you.

 Guards Arrive

Boots thundered in the corridor outside. Voices shouted, the ring of steel against steel as guards responded to the crash.

Loki’s mind snapped back into motion. No. Not now. They must not see you. 

With a flick of his hand, the air shimmered. Illusion swept across the chamber, restoring the balcony in a seamless facade, the shattered glass replaced with pristine panes. Another wave, and the dust and scorch-marks vanished, replaced by a room that seemed untouched.

You—he cloaked in shadow, your form invisible beneath his conjuring. Only he could see.

The door burst open. Four guards stormed in, spears raised.

“My prince!” one called, scanning the room. “We saw—there was an impact, fire from the sky—”

Loki, ever composed, lifted his brow in practiced irritation. “Indeed. I saw the comet fall as well. But it did not strike here.” He gestured with elegant disdain to the immaculate chamber. “Do you see a ruin, guardsman? Do you see flames licking the walls?”

They hesitated. The illusion was flawless.

Another guard scratched at his helm, confused. “But… the sound, my lord—”

“Perhaps you should have your ears checked.” His smile was sharp, cold. “Now, unless you wish to stand here gawking all evening, I suggest you return to your posts. Or shall I inform the Allfather that Asgard’s guard is more frightened of shadows than of war?”

The guards exchanged uneasy glances, then bowed quickly. “Forgive us, Prince Loki. We shall patrol the skies for debris.”

“Do that,” he said smoothly, waving them away.

The door shut. Silence descended again.

The moment the latch clicked, Loki exhaled and dropped the illusion. Dust and glass reappeared in their rightful ruin, though he quickly set to mending it with practiced sorcery. The balcony knit itself back together, stone aligning with stone, shards fusing into unbroken windows.

Only then did he allow his gaze to return to you.

You, a cat hybrid, lay trembling, breath shallow, skin glistening with sweat. Your body bore the marks of heat and impact, clothing torn and singed. Blood welled at the corner of your mouth.

“Foolish creature,” Loki muttered, though his voice lacked venom. He lifted you gently, surprised by your warmth, by the softness of your body against his arm. You were heavier than you looked—not with the weight of burden, but with solidity, presence. Real. Alive.

He carried you to his bed and laid upon the silken sheets, conjuring a wash of healing magic between his palms. Pale green light spilled over your burns, soothing the angry skin, knitting shallow wounds.

Your eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment, meeting his.

Your lips parted, barely a whisper escaping: “Please… don’t…”

“Shh,” Loki murmured, pressing a cool hand to your brow. “I have no intention of harming you. Not yet.”

The words were sharp, but his touch was gentle.

He summoned water, coaxing it to your lips, steadying your trembling form. Your ears twitched again, tail curling instinctively against his coverlet.

Loki studied you with fascination. Not fully beast, not fully goddess. Something else entirely. Something cast out of the heavens and into his care.

And already, he knew: he would not surrender you to anyone.

Not to Odin, not to Thor, not to the guards who still patrolled below.

You were his secret now.

((Edited))

Chapter Text

Throughout the night, Loki had watched you. The firelight painted you in amber hues as you slept, chest rising shallowly, your ears twitching faintly in dreams.

It was only when he allowed himself to truly look—unhurried, unguarded—that he noticed the details.

Her hair, h/c , spilled over his dark sheets like silken threads. The ears atop your head, the same shade, were tipped with fluff that twitched whenever he shifted too loudly. Your tail, equally plush, had curled protectively around your midsection as you slept, rising and falling with your breathing.

Your legs ended in paws—delicate pads and retractable claws where human feet should be. Loki found himself lingering, fascinated at the way they flexed even in slumber, small but dangerous.

And then there were your  eyes. When you had opened them briefly during the night—e/c, slit-pupiled, glinting like a predator’s—they had held him captive. There was defiance in them, even through exhaustion. And something else. Something feral and wild, unclaimed.

He had not meant to notice the softness of your body, the slight roundness to your form that spoke of warmth rather than weakness. But his eyes betrayed him, and before long he admitted what he would never say aloud: he found it… endearing. Cute, even.

The realization made him chuckle at himself. Loki, son of Odin, prince of Asgard, scourge of Midgard, undone by a strange little hybrid who fell into his chambers like a comet.

By dawn, you had not stirred. And so Loki, pragmatic as ever, left you beneath the weight of his spell-repaired chamber, conjured you a fresh tunic—one of his own, dark green and long enough to drown you—and slipped away to fetch food.

~~~

The light of late morning filtered through the windows when you finally stirred. Your lashes fluttered, the room spinning faintly as you sat up. Muscles ached, your tail flicking with irritation at the stiffness in back.

It took you a long moment to realize that you weren't lying on the cold stone of a court, nor chained, nor suspended in the void between realms. You were warm. The bed beneath was soft, the air perfumed faintly with smoke and herbs.

Your eyes scanned the chamber. Dark walls, books, elegant carvings, a fire crackling low. This was no prison.

And then—your ears perked, tail twitching—you noticed your clothes. Or rather, the lack of them. Your torn garments were gone, replaced by a single oversized tunic that hung from your shoulders like a dress. The fabric was thick, of fine make, colored a deep forest green. It smelled faintly of magic and something else—sharp, elegant, unmistakably him.

You stiffened, claws flexing against the sheets.

Whose is this?

You swung your legs down, paws brushing the polished floor. Your balance wavered, but curiosity outweighed weakness. Quiet as a shadow, you padded across the room and tugged the heavy door open, ears flicking at the creak of the hinges.

Beyond lay the golden halls of Asgard’s palace. Towering columns, walls that gleamed like the sun, tapestries that told stories of gods you barely knew.

Your breath caught in your throat. Beautiful, but dangerous. You slunk forward cautiously, tail swaying low, drinking in every detail.

The Return

Meanwhile, Loki ascended the stairwell, balancing a tray with one hand. A full meal fit for royalty: roasted meats, fresh bread, vegetables glistening with butter, and fruit gleaming like jewels. He carried it not for himself, but for the creature now occupying his chambers.

He imagined you waking, disoriented, wary, cute. He imagined the moment your eyes would land on him again. For reasons he did not name, anticipation quickened his step.

But when he turned the corner, his breath caught.

There you were. Out of his chambers. In full view of the hall.

Your beautiful hair caught the golden light, ears perked high. You moved like a cat indeed, low, wary, curious, your tail flicking with restless energy. You were still in his tunic, far too large for you, slipping from one shoulder in a way that revealed more than it should.

And you were exposed. To anyone.

“By the Norns…” Loki hissed under his breath, surging forward. “No, no, no—”

You froze, ears twitching. When your eyes met his, you bristled. The fur along your tail puffed out, body lowering instinctively, a hiss curling from your lips.

Loki raised a hand carefully, lowering his voice. “Easy. It’s me.”

But you backed away, claws unsheathing, tail lashing. A cornered animal. Until—your gaze shifted, recognition dawning. This was the man who had carried you. The one who had put you in the warm bed.

Your tension eased, though not entirely. Instead, you began circling him, cautious steps, head tilted, studying him as though deciding whether to strike or trust. Your tail brushed his leg once, testing.

The tray nearly tipped in his hand. Loki exhaled, exasperated. “Charming, but this is not the time. Back inside. Now.”

With surprising gentleness—but firm insistence—he herded you back toward the chamber door, using his free arm to guide you in. You hissed softly in protest but allowed to be ushered, ears flicking irritably.

The door closed with a thud, locking the world out once more.

He set the tray down upon the table, turning to face you. You stood in the center of the room, tail coiled tightly around your leg, golden eyes fixed warily upon him.

“You are safe here,” Loki began, his voice calm, deliberate. “No one will harm you within these walls. But you must understand—no one can see you. If they knew you were here…” He spread his hands, letting the implication hang.

Your ears lowered, suspicion clear in her gaze.

“I did not save you merely to throw you to the wolves,” Loki added softly. “Trust me in this.”

Your claws retracted slowly, though the tension remained.

Loki gestured toward the tray. “Eat. You need strength.”

You eyed it but did not move.

He sighed, pulled the tray closer, and sat before you. With deliberate slowness, he took a piece of bread, tore it, and ate. Then another bite, of fruit. He chewed, swallowed, and lifted his brow at you. “Satisfied?”

Your ears twitched. Cautiously, you approached, nose twitching at the scents. Your eyes darted between the meats, vegetables, and fruit.

You selected a piece of roasted meat, sniffed, and devoured it in quick bites. Another piece followed, then another, hunger overcoming caution. But when you reached the vegetables, you wrinkled your nose, ears flattening. You pushed them aside with disdain, tail swishing impatiently.

Loki smirked. “Selective, are we? Like a housecat refusing her greens.”

You flicked a golden-eyed glare at him, chomping into another strip of meat.

He leaned back, steepling his fingers. “You’ll find, little hybrid, that vegetables are far better for you than you imagine. Meat alone will not sustain you.”

You ignored him, tearing into another morsel.

Loki chuckled, low and amused. “Stubborn. Very well. We shall see how long you last before you crave more than flesh.”

He watched you eat, fascinated again. For all your wariness, all your bristling,  you were here. In his chambers. In his tunic. His secret.

And gods help him, he liked it.

When you licked the last bit of sauce from your claw, ears twitching as your leaned back with a soft sigh. Your eyes half-lidded, tail curling lazily around your hip. You looked content—for the first time since you had fallen into his chambers.

Loki, still watching you carefully, conjured a cloth in his hand and leaned forward.

“You’ve made a mess,” he said, though his voice lacked the bite of scorn.

Before you could recoil, his fingers brushed your  cheek, wiping away a streak of broth. You stiffened for a heartbeat—but then, slowly, your  body relaxed. Your ears flicked once, then tilted back in something like ease. To his surprise, you leaned into his touch, pressing your  warm cheek against his knuckles with a sigh that was almost a purr.

It startled him. For Loki, touch was not given easily, nor received without calculation. But this was simple. Pure. Trusting.

Your lips parted, and for the first time, you spoke.

“Thank you… for food.”

Your voice was soft, husky, the words slightly halting—as though you weren't used to speaking them.

Loki tilted his head, intrigued. “You can speak after all. I was beginning to think you’d only hiss at me like an alley beast.”

You blinked at him, then straightened. “Y/n.” you touched your chest, claws brushing the fabric of his oversized tunic. “I am Y/n.”

The name hung in the air, strange and delicate. Loki rolled it over in his mind, tasting the sound. “Y/n,” he repeated softly, as though testing a spell. “Charming.”

Your gaze sharpened. “Why? Why take me in?”

The question landed heavy. Loki could have answered with his usual lies, with sarcasm or vanity. But the truth slipped closer to the surface than he intended.

“Perhaps I was curious,” he said at last, lips curling. “Perhaps I pitied you. Or perhaps...” his gaze slid down, drinking in the curve of your ears, the flick of tail, “I thought the palace could use a little chaos that wasn’t my doing.”

Before he could draw away, you leaned forward abruptly and butted your forehead against his chin.

Loki froze, utterly wrong-footed. “What—was that?”

You pulled back just slightly, eyes gleaming with feline mischief. “Affection.”

A laugh escaped him, low and incredulous. “Of course it is.” He rubbed his jaw where you’d struck him, though his eyes softened against his will. “Only you would headbutt a prince in gratitude.”

Later, Loki decided you could not stay coated in ash and soot. He filled a basin with steaming water, scented faintly with herbs, and gestured toward the adjoining chamber.

“You reek of smoke and blood,” he said smoothly. “I’ve prepared a bath. Do try not to drown.”

Your ears perked at the steam, and after sniffing curiously at the air, you padded in. Loki closed the door behind you, shaking his head with an amused smile.

Left alone, he turned to his shelves. Books upon books, most unread in recent years. But his mind itched now, hungry for answers. He pulled down a tome on Vanaheim’s lineages, flipping through pages until he found a section that made his breath catch.

"The Feline Hybrids of Vanaheim."

The script was faded, but clear enough:

- Known for their cautious temperaments and strong instincts, the feline hybrids of Vanaheim are rare and highly prized. Though wary, they possess extraordinary strength, agility, and loyalty. Once their trust is earned, they guard their chosen with ferocity unmatched.

- Warriors of old sought them desperately, for a hybrid’s bond could turn the tide of battle. Loyal to death, they would fight beside their master until the last breath.

- Their fur, shimmering and resilient, was said to be of great worth, leading to centuries of exploitation. Thus their numbers dwindled, and now, they are nearly extinct.

Loki’s fingers tightened on the page. Exploited. Hunted. Prized for loyalty and pelt alike.

He glanced toward the door where steam still billowed faintly. His eyes narrowed.

So that is what they’ve done to you. Cast you aside. Stripped you of worth until nothing remained but exile.

A pang struck him—sharp, unwelcome. He had known what it was to be cast out.

~~~

You had enjoyed the bath—at least, until you realized something.

Your ears twitched irritably as you pawed at the chamber walls. You looked through cupboards, nudged shelves with your tail, opened drawers with your claws. No towel. Nothing.

Water clung to your fur and hair, dripping onto the floor in shining rivulets. With a sigh, you decided to do what instinct dictated.

You opened the door.

Loki glanced up from his book—and promptly choked.

There you stood, framed by golden firelight, bare as the day you were born. Water dripped down your waist-long hair, tracing your curves, glistening on the plush softness of your form. Your ears flicked forward, tail swishing behind. Your eyes blinked innocently at him.

“Where are… towels?” you asked, voice curious, unbothered.

For the first time in years, Loki dropped a book.

His mouth opened, closed, then twisted into incredulous laughter, perfectly hiding how he felt way too tight in his trousers at the sight of you. “By the Norns, do you always wander unclothed into a gentleman’s chambers? Or am I the fortunate exception?”

You tilted your head, ears twitching, clearly puzzled by his reaction. “I needed towel.”

“Yes,” Loki drawled, sweeping a hand through the air to conjure one instantly. The green fabric appeared in your hands. “But most would ask before parading about dripping like a startled naïad.”

You sniffed the towel, then buried your face in it happily, oblivious to his sharp gaze. Your tail flicked as you dried your  hair, unhurried, unconcerned with modesty.

Loki, however, sat back in his chair, one hand covering his mouth to hide the smirk tugging at his lips.

“Gods save me,” he muttered to himself. “What manner of creature have I invited into my bedchamber?”

And yet, even as he tried to scold himself, his eyes did not waver from you. 

Not once.

Evening

The palace had fallen quiet again by evening. The lamps in Loki’s chamber flickered softly, painting the room in amber and green. You were curled on the bed, tail swishing lazily as you gnawed on a strip of fruit Loki had coaxed into eating, ears flicking at every small sound.

Loki, lounging nearby with a book in hand, couldn’t help but notice the hypnotic sway of that tail. It flicked, curled, then flicked again—taunting him without intent.

A grin tugged at his lips. Mischief rose like a tide.

He closed his book, set it aside, and rose silently. You didn’t notice until the mattress dipped as he sat beside you. You blinked up at him, eyes questioning.

“What?” you asked softly, ears twitching.

“Nothing,” Loki replied smoothly, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed him. “Merely curious.”

His hand darted down, faster than your reflexes, and caught your tail.

You froze.

A gasp escaped you ,hands flying to your mouth to shut down a moan that nearly slipped, ears dropped flat against your head, entire body stiffening as heat rushed to your cheeks.

Loki stilled, brows lifting. “Oh…?”

Your eyes widened, shock flashing across your face

Loki leaned closer, voice low, sly. “What was that reaction?”

You shook your  head frantically, ears burning crimson.

“Don’t tell me…” Loki drawled, eyes narrowing in delighted suspicion. “Your tail is—sensitive?”

Your silence was answer enough.

“Oh, this is rich,” Loki said, laughter curling through his voice. “I thought you’d hiss, claw, perhaps even bite. But instead…” He tilted his head, his grin wicked. “You blush.”

You groaned softly into your hands, refusing to meet his gaze.

Loki smirked and decided to stroke your tail once again but gentler and slower this time, massaging the fur at the base of it. 

Your knees trembled a little, you would have fallen down if you wasn't sitting right now, warmth crept up between your legs that you didn't feel for a really long time. "L-loki... Stop."

Loki, merciful enough not to push further, released your tail with a little flourish. “How very… enlightening. I shall keep this knowledge close. For now.”

Your glare was weak at best, cheeks still flushed, ears pinned flat as tail swished furiously behind you.

~

Later, Loki settled into his armchair again, book in hand, pretending to read while you sulked on the bed. He savored the flicker of your ears, the occasional dart of your eyes toward him, the way your tail betrayed your mood.

Eventually, sulking gave way to curiosity. Quiet as a shadow, you crept across the bed and then—before Loki realized what you were doing—climbed onto him.

“Kitten—” he began, but stopped short when you planted yourself on his chest, paws pressing rhythmically against him.

You were making biscuits.

With your  claws out.

Loki sucked in a breath through his teeth, wincing as sharp little pricks dug through his tunic. “Gods above, woman—what are you doing?”

You purred faintly, eyes dreamy as your claws flexed in and out, kneading into his chest.

“Ah,” Loki groaned, rolling his eyes heavenward. “Of course. Cat behavior.” He caught your wrists gently before you could pierce deeper. “If you insist on treating me like a cushion, at least retract the daggers, hmm?”

Your ears flicked sheepishly, and though claws retracted, you continued kneading with the soft pads of your paws.

Loki sighed, resigned, letting you stay perched upon him as he set his book aside. “Unbelievable. Son of Odin, prince of Asgard, reduced to a pillow by a stubborn feline.” His lips twitched despite himself. “And yet…”

Your warmth against him, the gentle pressure of your paws, the steady thrum of purring—it was strangely soothing. Against his will, his chest loosened, the ever-present tension in his shoulders easing.

When you grew drowsy, Loki shifted carefully, lifting you  into his arms. You were heavier than you looked, your form warm and pliant as he laid you upon the bed. He tucked the covers around you, smoothing the blanket with a gentleness he would have denied if questioned.

“There,” he murmured. “Sleep. You’ve wreaked enough havoc for one day.”

He himself layed down on the other side of the bed, was about to turn his back to you but paused when you made a soft sound, ears flicking. Your eyes half-opened, unfocused but intent. With sudden, decisive motion, you rolled over, pressing herself against his side.

Loki stiffened as your head nuzzled against his chest, tail curling over his hip like a claim. Your purr rumbled faintly, warm and insistent.

“…Of course,” Loki whispered dryly, staring at the ceiling. “Why wouldn’t you invade my side of the bed as well?”

But he did not move you.

He lay there, watching you breathe, feeling the gentle vibration of your purring seep into his bones. For the first time in years, Loki felt an unfamiliar calm settle over him—not empty, not restless, but full.

His hand hovered above your head for a long moment before he finally relented, fingers brushing lightly against your hair between her ears.

You sighed in your sleep, leaning into the touch.

Loki closed his eyes, a smile ghosting across his lips. “Very well, little comet,” he murmured softly. “For tonight, you may stay.”

Chapter Text

The bed was too warm. Too soft. You shifted, ears twitching as you huffed against the blanket, paws flexing restlessly. Something about how Loki tugged and caressed your tail earlier just didn’t sit right in your bones. Tail swishing, you rolled, pressed against the cool side of the bed, then rolled again, making the sheets rustle in quiet protest.

Your face flushed as you turned on your side, feeling warm in your tummy, one hand reaching down to your underwear and started rubbing your core through clothes. A whimper escaped you, replaying the feeling of Loki's hands on your fluffy appendage over and over. Your hand was about to get under the clothes. 

The movement tugged Loki from sleep. His eyes opened to darkness—the sky outside still black, the faint chill of late autumn seeping through the glass panes. He blinked blearily, then glanced down at you.

“You,” he muttered, voice rough with sleep, “are determined to deny me rest, aren’t you?”

You froze and turned to see his face and couldn't help a small meow at seeing his handsome, pale face. You rolled over to his side, one leg going over his hip and Loki could feel the warmth and slight wetness against his hip bone. 

God raised one eyebrow "kitten...?" He put a hand on your forehead and felt that it's warmer than usual, then noticed how cloudy your eyes are and the blush on your cheeks. Realization hit him like a truck, his face flushed up a little bit but he didn't say anything, choosing to just forget about it and pet you behind ears, earning a purr. 

By breakfast, Loki seemed his usual composed self again. He sat among the other royals in the grand hall, the table spread with food enough to feed an army. Thor spoke too loudly, Odin grumbled, and Frigga’s serene presence kept order as always. Though he couldn't get rid of the memories of last morning, the way how you looked at him, distant, dreamy, eyes half closed, he couldn't throw it out of his head. 

Loki ate little, though he made a show of sampling enough to avoid suspicion. When the meal concluded, he rose smoothly, calling a servant over. “Another tray,” he said, gesturing with a flick of his hand. “The same variety, if you please.”

The servant hurried to obey, and Loki carried the tray himself, leaving the hall with measured grace.

But Frigga’s voice called after him. “Loki.”

He paused, tray balanced in his hands. His mother’s gaze was knowing, her brow gently arched. “You ate already, and yet you carry a feast as though you’ve starved for days. Will you tell me why?”

Loki’s smile was practiced, charming, evasive. “Must I explain every indulgence? Perhaps I’ve grown greedy. Or perhaps the food tastes better in solitude.”

Frigga hummed, unconvinced, though she let him go. Still, he felt her eyes linger on his back long after he slipped from the hall.

When he returned to his chambers, you were waiting. Your ears twitched sharply the moment he stepped through the door, your nose flaring.

Something about the air around him—the faint trace of perfume, or soap, or something not you—made your chest tighten. You bristled, tail puffing slightly as a hiss rattled low in your throat.

Loki raised a brow. “Oh? What’s this now?”

You stalked forward, eyes sharp, furious . With a suddenness that startled him, you pressed against his chest, your face burying into his tunic as you inhaled deeply. Then your hands clutched his sleeves, dragging the fabric closer as you rubbed your scent along him—nuzzling, brushing your cheek over his shoulder, across his collarbone.

Loki froze, tray still balanced in one hand, as you growled faintly and kept rubbing, marking him.

“…Are you—replacing another scent with your own?” His tone was incredulous, but his lips curved upward, amused.

You shot him a glare, cheeks flushed. “Yours. Mine,” you said firmly, as though it explained everything.

A laugh burst from him before he could stop it. “Possessive little creature. Very well, then. I’ll consider myself properly claimed.”

He set the tray down, poured himself a glass of wine, and lounged in his chair while you finally sat to eat.

“You’ve avoided telling me one thing,” Loki said smoothly, swirling the dark liquid in his goblet as his eyes watched you with feline sharpness of his own. “How you ended up here. Falling from the sky like a comet.”

Your ears twitched, tail curling tight around you. You chewed slowly, reluctant to answer. But his gaze was insistent, patient.

“…Banished,” you admitted at last, voice low.

Loki tilted his head. “Ah. So Asgard is now a refuge for the exiled. I should feel right at home.”

Your claws tapped the table lightly, irritation flaring at his sarcasm. “Not… funny.”

“On the contrary,” Loki murmured, sipping his wine. “But I see your meaning. Who banished you?”

Your eyes flicked down. “…Vanaheim.”

The word held bitterness, and Loki caught it instantly. His smile faded to something sharper, colder. “Cruel folk. They squander treasures without understanding their worth.”

You blinked at him, startled, but said nothing.

When you finished eating, Loki noticed something unusual on the side table. One of his books—old, rarely touched—lay open.

He narrowed his eyes, then looked at you. “You were reading?”

Your ears twitched, embarrassed. “…Yes.”

He plucked the book up, flipping through the pages with idle fingers. “And what conclusion did you reach from my library, little cat?”

You fidgeted, paws flexing against the floor. “…That we are… dating?”

Loki almost choked on his wine. “I beg your pardon?”

Your cheeks burned, ears flattening against your head as you explained, stumbling over the words. “The book… it says… if people sleep in one bed, live together, eat together… they are… couple.”

Silence.

Then Loki set the book aside, a wicked smile playing at his lips. “So that’s what you think we are?”

You huffed, glaring at him, tail flicking furiously. “Not—my words. Book’s words.”

Loki leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he studied you, eyes glimmering with delight. “And yet, you blush so sweetly when you say it.”

You turned away, ears burning, muttering something under your breath.

Loki chuckled, sipping from his goblet once more. “Oh, this will be entertaining indeed.”

“You do realize,” he murmured, swirling the last of his wine, “that by your book’s definition, we are already far more than acquaintances.”

You bristled, ears twitching. “You’re just… teasing.”

“And if I am?” His voice was velvet, low and sly. “You don’t deny it, do you? That you’ve thought about it? Especially, considering what you did this night? Care to tell me if you were thinking about me while those hands of yours touched yourself, hm?”

Your heart pounded in your chest. The warmth on your cheeks only deepened the more his grin grew. “I—no—I didn’t—”

The words tangled in your throat, too flustered to make sense. With a frustrated little growl, you pushed up from the chair, intending to storm away, to hide somewhere in this cavernous palace.

But you didn’t get far.

The moment you turned, Loki was already standing. His hand caught your wrist in a sure, unyielding grip, tugging you back toward him. You stumbled, ears flicking wildly as you found yourself pressed close against his chest.

Before you could protest, his lips brushed yours.

Your eyes widened, frozen in shock.

He pulled back just enough to see your stunned expression, his grin smug, triumphant. Then he leaned in again, slower this time, his mouth warm against yours in a kiss that stole your breath.

And then—his hand slipped lower. His fingers brushed your tail.

A shiver shot through you so suddenly your knees nearly buckled. You gasped, which he took advantage of and slipped his tongue into your mouth, exoloring everywhere and tangling with your tongue. Loki massaged the base of your tail, making you whine and even mewl for once, clutching at his tunic for balance, your ears dropping flat against your head as your whole body betrayed you.

When he drew back at last, Loki’s expression was nothing short of delighted. He looked as though he’d just uncovered the realm’s most delicious secret.

“Well,” he drawled, lips still curved. “That reaction was… enlightening.”

You swayed on your feet, cheeks flaming, your chest heaving with the effort to breathe. Your mouth opened, words tangled and dying on your tongue—

And then came the knock.

A gentle, measured knock on the chamber door.

“Loki?” Frigga’s voice carried through the wood, calm but certain.

Your ears shot up, tail puffing, panic slamming through you. Loki swore under his breath, his grip tightening on your wrist.

Illusions were useless—Frigga knew his tricks as well as he did, she was the one the taught him those. 

He cursed again, dragged you toward the balcony, and ushered you outside. “Stay quiet,” he whispered urgently, shutting the doors and pulling the curtains across.

The cold hit you instantly. Rain poured from the dark autumn sky, drenching you within moments, chilling your skin beneath the oversized tunic. You curled up instinctively, tail wrapping around yourself as you crouched low, shivering against the golden balcony rails.

Inside, Loki composed himself and opened the door.

“Mother,” Loki greeted smoothly, inclining his head.

Frigga stepped inside, her presence like the calm glow of candlelight against the storm outside. She glanced around the chamber, eyes lingering on the set table, the second chair pulled out, the faint disturbance in the air.

“You’ve been… busy,” she said gently.

Loki smiled, sharp and defensive. “I keep myself occupied.”

Frigga’s gaze returned to him, steady and knowing. “You carry meals from the hall. You vanish before the court disperses. And when I call, you delay before answering.” She tilted her head, soft golden hair catching the lamplight. “What are you hiding?”

He chuckled, though the sound was thin. “Always suspicious, Mother. Perhaps I’ve simply taken a lover.”

Her eyes softened. “Then why not admit it? Why such secrecy?”

“Because secrecy is what keeps me safe,” Loki said simply, his voice harder now. “Everything I have cherished, everything I have revealed, has been used against me. If I do keep something—or someone—close, would it not be wiser to shield it from prying eyes?”

Frigga studied him for a long moment, sadness shadowing her smile. “You have always guarded your heart too fiercely, my son. And yet, when you let it slip, you are not half so careful as you think.”

Loki’s smirk faltered. He swallowed, voice lower. “If there were something to keep, Mother… I would protect it. With all that I am.”

Her hand lifted, brushing lightly over his cheek. “Then I hope, when the time comes, you will not push it away in fear.”

And with that, she withdrew, leaving only the faint scent of lavender and the lingering weight of her words.

Loki stood in silence, jaw tight, hands curling at his sides.

The moment the door closed, Loki moved swiftly. He tore open the curtains, unlatched the balcony doors, and was met with the sight of you.

Curled tightly against the railing, drenched and shivering, your ears flattened as you looked up at him— eyes wide, betrayed, like a kitten abandoned in the storm.

For once, Loki’s smugness vanished. His chest clenched, guilt cutting sharper than he expected.

“Damn it,” he muttered, striding out into the rain. He swept you up into his arms without hesitation, ignoring your startled gasp. You were freezing, trembling against him, your tail heavy with water.

He carried you inside, kicking the doors shut, warmth rushing back over you as he crossed to the bathing chamber.

Within minutes, steam filled the air, chasing away the chill. Loki lowered you carefully onto the bath’s edge, his expression unreadable but his hands reached for the buttons on your tunic. 

You immediately pulled away, embarrassed and slightly offended. "W-wait-" 

"It's alright kitten, just let go" he planted a soft kiss on your cheek and undid the big tunic, eyes instantly falling on your chest, swallowing hard, then to your eyes, panicked and troubled. 

“You’ll freeze if left like this,” he murmured, guiding you into the steaming water.

The heat hit you instantly, drawing a sigh from your chest as your muscles relaxed.

But Loki didn’t leave.

He rolled up his sleeves, knelt beside the bath, and dipped his hands into the water. With a cloth, he began carefully washing the rain from your arms, your back, his touch precise but lingering just enough to tease.

“Such a pitiful sight,” he said softly, lips twitching into a smirk. “Soaked, trembling… I almost pity you. Almost.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, tail flicking beneath the water. “Not… funny.”

“Oh, but it is,” Loki countered, brushing the cloth along the curve of your shoulder. “And I must say, you look rather fetching in distress.”

You hissed softly, ears flattening, and with one swift motion splashed a wave of water into his face.

Loki sputtered, blinking water from his lashes. For a moment, silence stretched—then he burst into laughter, rich and unguarded. He leaned closer to the tub, hands running along your sides and waist before encircling you from behind and settling his hands on the soft mounds. 

"L-loki!" You squirmed but still whined when Loki began to squeeze and caress, causing your back to arch into his touch. "...ah.." 

You almost relaxed until a gasp tore from your throat when Loki suddenly rolled and pinched your nipples, putting his chin on your shoulder and slightly growling into your ear, sound low and deep. "Relax, my kitten.."

Your thighs clenched together, body tensing, torn between pulling away and leaning in. Loki could feel a vibration of your purr under his hands. "..mmnnh...ah..." 

"Shhhh...it's alright" one of his hand let go and trailed lower, dipping underwater, rubbing your inner thigh before moving a little bit up. 

"L-loki...wait ..I'm...it's my first time..." You managed to say while still squirming. 

"How delightful, I'm honored about being able to be your first one. Don't worry" his slender fingers parted your folds, and circled around your entrance, making your cat ears perk up suddenly and hands to grip his arm, as if to stop but not actually making him do so. Loki just chuckled, his thumb found your most sensitive part, putting pressure on your clit, making you mewl. "Good girl..." 

Loki distracted you by kneading your breast in his palm, pulling onto the hardened peak as the other hand pleasured you down there, making your tail curl around your leg. "Now it might be a little bit unpleasant" you didn't even have time to understand his whisper before one of his fingers pushed into your core, making your claws dig into his arm instinctively but Loki didn't pull away. Loki's digit moved in and out few times before going knuckle-deep and moving his soft finger pad all over you inner wall, prodding and pressing. 

"Ahh...mm.." your sweet sounds were music to Loki's ears, encouraging him to put in another finger, carefully scissoring them while kissing your neck. His lips sucked on the crook where your shoulder meets neck, holding until there was a dark mark left, then nibbled and licked. " Ack-.."

Loki rubbed around your insides until- "ahh-!!" God smirked when he found what he was looking for and began abusing it, nudging it with every thrust of his fingers. 

Your face was flushed, cat ears pin backwards as waves of pleasure overcame you and you began feeling hot in your belly, feeling was completely new but you liked it. 

"You're doing great, my kitten" Loki's voice was husky as he rubbed your clit with his thumb while moving his fingers in and out, speeding up a little when your whimpers and moans got more frequent. "Someone seems to be enjoying themselves" he teased before turning your head towards him and kissing you deeply. With the final stroke, the best feeling you ever felt crashed over you and you moaned his name really long. 

"Loookiiii....ahh..." *Your eyes rolled back a little as he helped you ride out your first ever orgasm, moving his hand until you didn't become oversensitive and pulled it out. 

"Good kitten, took my fingers so well" he planted a soft kiss on your forehead, the lifted you out of the bathtub while you were still in the state of pure bliss and wrapped you in a fluffy robe. 

When you came back to your senses, you noticed a bulge in his trousers "Loki, shouldn't I help you too..?" Your tail, dripping with water, curled around his arm. 

"I think that's enough for you for today" he layed you down on his bed, pulling cover to your chin. "Rest now."

Fatigue overcame you and you didn't even fight and fell asleep out cold, making Loki smile.