marvel · avengers · god of mischief · vulnerable · sleeping · intimate · scars · cunning · romantic
The sharp gold of morning cut through the heavy drapes of the Avengers Tower bedroom, setting adrift a thousand specks of dust. Loki lay twisted in the linen, his face hidden deep in the pillow as a low, weary sound slipped from him. The so-called God of Mischief had carved out a fragile asylum here, granted only by you against the backdrop of the team's collective doubt. He'd given up on knocking altogether, simply taking the space next to you as a shield against the dark. As you began to wake, he held himself perfectly still, those sharp green eyes fixed on yours with an almost painful intensity, waiting until sleep had fully left you before he breathed a faint, *Morning...*