As a child, Loki would often glare at the words running in a curve over his upper chest: I am going to kill you. What kind of a soulmate did he have? How were those the words that would make him realize he loved them? Was it a serious threat? Was it a joke? Was it a despairing promise? The questions were endless and the answers were elusive.

He spent centuries in wait for the one who was destined to say those words to him. When he couldn't find them on Asgard, he travelled to Vanaheim, returning defeated. For a long time, his only solace was that Thor hadn't found his soulmate either; his words read: This is your normal look? It's a great look.

Of course, that was a moot point after his banishment to Midgard. A mortal for a soulmate. Who would have thought? If Loki hadn't been busy being so angry at Odin and Frigga for having lied to him his whole life, he would have felt sorry for his brother for having a soulmate so fragile and short-lived.

Then he fell into the void and he found himself silently apologizing to a person he'd never met. Well, perhaps they were better off alone than with a Frost Giant.

After Thanos' death, Loki, amazingly enough, found himself getting closer to one Anthony Stark. He would die before admitting it to a third person, but the mortal was one of the few individuals he enjoyed the company of, the other two being the Parker boy and, strangely enough, the stuck-up sorcerer.

But Anthony... Anthony was his favourite.

"Reindeer Games!" Anthony entered the lab, singing the ridiculous nickname in the most obnoxious way possible.

Loki barely looked up from his book. "Dwarf Child," he greeted bluntly.

As always, Anthony made a face at the joke about his height. "Just because you're a giraffe," he muttered.

"Thor is the giraffe," he corrected. "As is the Captain. I am of ideal height."

"The only thing ideal about you is that snarky mouth."

"I'm almost honoured that you pay such close attention to my mouth, of all things," he replied dryly.

The response was as expected. "Only because you spend so much time staring at my ass, darling."

Their banter tapered off just as comfortably as it started and they both sank into their respective interests; Loki focusing on his book and Tony working on his machines.

But, as was usual nowadays, Loki often found his attention wavering, eyes drifting to land on his company instead.

Anthony was rarely silent or still, always in motion. But when he was, it was a sight to see and Loki looked his fill. Deep in concentration, Anthony's warm gold eyes were narrowed like lasers, gloved hands skilfully manipulating machines and holograms alike, hips swaying lightly to whatever atrocious music he played.

It helped that he was an exceptionally beautiful mortal and Loki felt no shame in openly staring at the toned arms and muscular back, or the plump lips being bit into.

Still, Loki mused to himself, as Anthony felt his stare and met his eyes with a cocky smirk, if he had to pick the most praise-worthy thing about him, it would have to be either his mind, which had proved to be of a higher intelligence than most, something that Loki had always valued, or his heart, which had accepted and forgiven Loki far more gracefully and genuinely than anyone save his brother. Either one.

In hindsight, he shouldn't have trusted the innocent smile on Stephen's face as he handed him a mug of freshly brewed coffee. But Loki had been slaving to master an old spell for three days straight with barely an hour of sleep and the coffee would help him feel a little more awake for the training exercise Carol had set up. He needed to be alert if he was going to be in the same room as the blasted Flerken of hers.

So he had just accepted the mug with a sullen hum of gratitude.

He'd barely begun to take a sip of it when a screech sounded across the kitchen, making him wince.

"Are you actually drinking my coffee?" Anthony demanded. "My coffee?"

Loki blinked blearily at the fuming mortal standing in front his chair, frozen with the mug cradled to his chest.

"I have one rule, Rudolph, just the one rule. Do not drink my coffee. Ever."

Maybe it was the drowsiness, but Loki had a random thought that Anthony looked more attractive than usual; hair tousled and devoid of products, jeans slung low on his hips, the sleeves of an old sweatshirt covering his hands.

"What's a man gotta do around here to keep order, huh? First, it's Barton in the vents, completely ignoring the point of elevators. Then Stephen with his portals. Peter and his memes. And now you, stealing my coffee?"

In fact, there was something to be said about how all of the above observations, coupled with Anthony's height, made him so... Adorable.

"I mean, I trusted you, you wannabe Jack Frost. How could you betray me?"

So adorable, in fact, that Loki wanted to kiss him. And, now that he thought about it, that wasn't a rare thing to feel. Loki actually kind of wanted to kiss Anthony quite often. He'd just never given it much serious thought.

"Are you even listening to me? You're not listening to me, are you? Betrayal upon betrayal, honestly, why do I even-"

"You look really cute." Okay, that was not what Loki had meant to say. "Especially with that sweatshirt." This was what happened when he wasn't properly awake and in his right senses. "And no shoes, so you look shorter than usual." Seriously, he needed to shut up and wake up, otherwise he'd say something even more stupid, like-

"I am going to kill you," Anthony said very slowly, very seriously, though his face was flushed pink and Loki wanted to squeeze him into a hug because-

Oh. Oh, no. Oh, Norns, no!

And the sudden realization woke him up much more effectively than any coffee could have.

It was a minor skirmish, really. Just a few dozen of rogue creatures banding together to attack the weakest realm they could find.

They hadn't been expecting the Avengers.

Loki, for one, was rather enjoying himself. He'd been getting bored recently, not to mention his mind-boggling epiphany a week ago that had left him in a huge dilemma. Should he tell Anthony and risk heartbreak and rejection? Or should he keep it a secret, simply wait for Anthony to realize it on his own? A part of him, the small part that still hated his own Frost Giant skin, wanted Anthony to never find out. But as he had no way of knowing what words were printed on his skin, there was nothing he could do to prevent himself from saying them.

So, the battle was a welcome distraction, as was the friendly competition between himself and Stephen.

But then...

There was a scream of terror that Loki recognised as Rhodes and he turned to see Anthony stabbed through the armour with an Uru spear being brandished by a creature with eagle like wings and clawed hands.

The suit sent limp and Anthony fell.

Loki didn't give himself time to scream, before teleporting to him and catching him before he hit the ground.

Anthony under the effect of drugs was an amusing thing to witness.

"And then you were there, just like Santa's reindeers- I told you I'm good at nicknames- and you caught me!" He rambled on, the hand that was not stuck with an IV gesticulating wildly.

"That's correct, Anthony," Loki agreed solemnly, fighting back a grin. It was a relief, really, that his mortal hadn't been wounded too fatally.

"Hey, you think you can steal me some of that heart-of-a-burning-star metal? For my suits?"

"I promise to try."

"You should try wearing different colours, you know? It's always green and black? Like, you could try red, which is my personal favourite. Or, blue? Or white? Nah, not white? Then you'll really look like Jack Frost. Maybe green? No, wait, you already wear green." Anthony frowned in thought.

"My helmet is gold, does that help?" He offered.

"Sure! Another one of my favourites! And hey, my armour has gold! We match! Like soulmates!"

Loki choked. "Right," he stuttered.

"Oh, funny I should mention that," Anthony continued, oblivious to Loki's distress. "Because you totally are my soulmate!"

Now, he was really staggered. "I'm... We're... What?"

"Oh yeah." Anthony nodded seriously, eyes shining with sincerity. "I figured it out a week ago, but I thought I'd wait for you to catch up."

A week? But that was when...

"How?" He whispered.

The mortal giggled, something he never would have done if it weren't for the drugs. "You said my words, silly," he laughed. He lifted one hand to unbutton his shirt and shrugged it off best as he could while lying down.

Loki stared, not dating to believe his eyes. Printed along the side of his torso were the tiny, cursive words: You look really cute. Especially with that sweatshirt. And no shoes so you look shorter than usual.

He swallowed with difficulty, meeting Anthony's hazy, yet bright eyes. "You said my words too," he admitted dazedly. "I just... Didn't know how to tell you."

Anthony clicked his tongue. "Silly, silly, silly god," he sang under his breath. His eyelids began to droop, his body finally giving up on staying conscious.

Loki hesitated only for a split second, before pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of his lips. He smiled when Anthony whined softly, instinctively pouting at the faint contact.

"Sleep now," he murmured, watching fondly. "We can talk when you wake."

They did talk. Among other things. Poor Peter was an accidental witness to the 'conversation' and complained about the lack of brain bleach.