"Counterclockwise"
Inspiration: "Good Days" by Smoke Season
Married Loki x Reader
Dearest?"
"Yes, Loki?"
"Some strange magic is about," Loki called from the den of the cottage you'd shared on Midgard for nearly twenty-five years, sheltered away from the worlds and realms that would pursue Loki and push you apart.
You ran into the den, where Loki stood in front of the mirror above the mantle. He was observing himself, using his long, thin fingers to touch every crevice on his face, occasionally running them through his long, black hair.
When he saw you enter the room, he bade you to come up beside him and observe what he was fearing. “I’m wrinkling,” he said, quiet concern in his voice. “And my hair is beginning to lighten?”
“You’re fine,” you insisted. “You’re just aging is all!”
Loki shook his head. “I’m Asgardian. I’m thousands of years old, I don’t age.” He said the last word as if it were the worst fathomable cuss word.
You looked at his face, a small pang of worry for him growing in your chest. “Well, you age like the rest of us here on Earth, apparently. Maybe it’s a realm thing?”
Loki suddenly looked horrified. “I, who have avoided death and come back from the supposed grave more times than one could count, am going to just shrivel and wither away like mortals do?”
You shrugged. “I’m not sure. We can try and find Tony and Bruce and do some tests.”
“I will not be tested like some animal,” Loki insisted. “Yet, even now, my immortal body feels as if it tires faster than it ever had before.”
Nodding, you put a comforting hand on Loki’s shoulder. “Yep, that’s aging.”
His face drained of any color it had as Loki absorb the idea that he was now aging at the same rate you were. Which meant…
“...I won’t be able to run from death forever.” He sounded as if everything he’d ever come to take for granted had suddenly abandoned him, and you could see the pride and confidence drain from him like water rolling off of skin.
“You sound almost insulted,” you answered. “It isn’t as if you were ever entirely immortal.”
Loki looked at you, surprisingly helpless. “I…don’t want to age. I don’t want to die. Not here, not in a bed looking like an ancient hag. There is no dignity in it…no good…” He looked at you, and he suddenly felt self-conscious. “Perhaps I shouldn’t--”
“--no, please let it out to me, Loki. That’s what we’ve been doing for the past 25 years, right? Banishing the world, no longer caring about anyone but us, and turning to one another to find the good days.”
“Yes, but how many good days are left?” Loki said quietly.
You were stunned. You thought that the God of Mischief, the near-immortal Asgardian, would have long accepted that death was a part of life. “Do you need some time to yourself?” you asked. “Perhaps you want to move away from here, and slow your aging again? You have that choice, you know.”
He shook his head. “No,I wish never to go back to Asgard. I don’t want you to leave me, not now. ”
“Then I never will.”
You took his hand and put a gentle kiss on his knuckles. It was a simple gesture, but Loki was a tactile person, and you discovered over time that it was a response to being so touch-starved growing up. You could already feel his skin go warm.
His eyes were beginning to gloss over as his mind retreated into deep thought. “What…what do you think it’s like? Death? Dying the mortal way? With no Valhalla to look towards?”
You shook your head, dismissing the musing. “Loki, it isn’t important. We still have time, you know. Years, decades, probably.”
“I’m not a young god anymore. It’s as if all of our best times have since left us. If there was a way I could go back…”
You took Loki over to the sofa and sat down with him. “That is impossible, but we can always find new good times, you know? Just us two against the realms for as long as we can fight, right?” Taking a hand, you brushed a small gray hair from Loki’s brow. “In fact, I find the prospect of letting ourselves go and doing whatever the hell we want quite invigorating. Many people feel entitled to do so after a certain age.”
Loki finally smiled and put a head on your shoulder affectionately. “What is that Midgardian term you use for such a situation? Not giving a piss?”
“Close enough,” you laughed. “Not giving a shit.”
Nodding, Loki fiddled with your intertwined fingers. “Asgardian life doesn’t prepare you for this stage of it.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you aren’t on Asgard,” you answered. “Now, kiss me, and let’s just forget about everything else for now. Good days are still ahead of us. We just have to squint through bifocals to find them!”