UNRAVELING - JUNGKOOK
⠀⠀TO BE LOVED IS TO BE KNOWN.
HOW JUNGKOOK FALLS IN LOVE
⠀⠀distractedly and gently.
there was no guide that Jungkook had to read, no map to learn, much less an advisor that Jungkook had to meet to fall in love with you. without meaning to, without seeing, it just happened. he didn’t even notice. when he realized, Jungkook had already fallen into the complex webs of your tenderness and love. but it wasn’t like Jungkook wanted to leave that web. he made a home in your sympathy, sitting with your fascination and talking with your devotion, never wanting to go back to where he was. his home in you was bright, radiant, like an intense fire warming every particle of Jungkook — how could he go back to his darkness when he just found the sun?
Jungkook felt like he was levitating in your presence. as if your soul was holding his soul, Jungkook allowed all your sweet words and soft laughs to guide him towards the eternal path of devotion. with your every touch, Jungkook felt complete, as if with a single fingertip you were able to glue together all the broken fragments in Jungkook. what other destiny was there for Jungkook other than loving you and allowing himself to be loved by you? your soul called out to Jungkook on the coldest winter nights and he could have sworn he heard the call of your heart before he even met you. ‘is it really me who is reflected in your heart? are you sure it’s my soul that calls you every night? please don’t leave me deluded. i guess i’m too caught up in this love to see it as fake. no. it is not fake. it cannot be fake. not when i feel like every choice in my life has led me to this exact moment. to this moment when i love you. to this moment when i swear to you that i will love you forever.’
WHAT JUNGKOOK'S LOVE FEELS LIKE
⠀⠀euphoric.
like fireworks exploded inside you, colors and happiness danced in your heart every time Jungkook loved you; entire rivers of passion flowed inside you, flowing into an eternal sea of pure comfort and love every time Jungkook worshiped you.
fairs and carnivals made stops in your heart, each attraction being an extension of Jungkook’s words, each stall selling all the comfort and fascination that Jungkook offered you so innocently; hand in hand with you, Jungkook went through every nook and cranny of your heart, collecting all your broken pieces and gluing them together with an eternal glue of pure love.
fascinating and inspiring was Jungkook’s love, something capable of creating the most beautiful works of art that existed; of vibrant colors and precise cuts, of delicate symphonies and shy soliloquies, Jungkook’s love had created a gallery inside you, exposing without any fear or shame all the love, all the devotion, all the fascination he felt for you.
JUNGKOOK'S TYPE OF LOVE
⠀⠀twin flame.
it was cruel the way the gods separated you, the way they ripped you from each other’s arms and forced you to walk incomplete endless eternities. it was cruel the way the gods envied you, how they wanted a connection as deep and genuine as yours. it was cruel the way they did everything to keep you from meeting again, too angry to witness your love once more. ‘i think i know you.’ five words. five words and the your entire destiny was rewritten in a matter of seconds. five words spoken by Jungkook that dictated a whole new path in your lives; for now that you have finally found each other, after lives of grief and anguish over losing something you didn’t even know you had, nothing would be able to tear you apart. the comfort of his arms, the kindness of your words. the blossoming of a new love that had long seemed withered. finally you two had arrived home. finally the two of you had found the peace and happiness you had been looking for so long. you were his better half, the good part he begged to still possess. you were the hope that was stolen from him, the certainty of a doubt that insisted on remaining in the back of his mind. you were part of Jungkook, you were a need he was looking for so much. but above all, you were part of Jungkook’s soul that was torn from him. you were his passion. the eternal love he would never lose, not again.
JUNGKOOK'S ROMANTIC TROPE
⠀⠀destined to be together.
‘blame the gods for holding me to you. for, in all my life i have never been able to walk a path where you were not at the end of it. and if it wasn’t your smile that i longed to see in the darkest moments, it was your words that gave me the hope of a better day. blame the gods for not having the courage to take you away from me, because they know that our souls only feel complete when we are together, because there is no fire brighter than that of our hearts when we are in each other’s arms. blame the gods for making me love you. but also blame me. for i didn’t fight my fate when i realized that you and i, like all the constellations, were destined to be guarded by the gods, our passion being an eternal tale of love only compared to the legends of yore, since a love like ours, a love so sincere and carved by the gods themselves, seems so surreal. and yet i love you. i love you now, that’s me. but i loved you before i met you, that was the gods. and yet, i know i will love you after i’m far gone, for the memories of our love will remain carved in the stars that witnessed our love blossom and it will last forever. my love for you will last forever.’
HOW JUNGKOOK LOOKS AT YOU
⠀⠀as if spring would never end.
a feeling of being at home settled in Jungkook every time your arms welcomed him when the days were longer and the nights were colder. the warmth that emanated from you comforted him in his most difficult moments and carried him to a safe haven that would always protect him. finally Jungkook had found his shelter. the definition of the word ‘home’ felt deeper, more magical, when you entered Jungkook’s life.
you brought with you a new color pallet that you used to paint Jungkook’s heart and his entire soul. the yellows mixed with purples painted beautiful sunrises inside Jungkook; all the blues and greens danced in unison in so many forests of emotions and oceans of promises. a whole new world seemed brighter, more vivid, because you were in it. simply that. Jungkook knew that you were the bringer of all the beauty in the world. it didn’t matter how corrupt his heart was with all the malice in the world. it didn’t matter how black your soul felt when he woke up. for Jungkook, you would always be the one who carried the colors of this world. Jungkook looked at you with the lightness of a new chosen dream.
he lived in the conviction that all the flowers would bloom at your every step. he knew all the birds sang romantic songs just for you. he was sure that nature only existed because it was an extension of your beauty. Jungkook looked at you like someone admires spring: hopeful for better days brought by your laughter, cozy with the light you radiated so naturally, grateful to be alive at the same time as you.
WHEN JUNGKOOK LOVES YOU THE MOST
⠀⠀when the gods whispered in his heart.
among the smiles of thousands and the dreams of hundreds, amid so many promises and stories, in the refuge of various memories and details, Jungkook loved you the most when he believed. it was when hope began to dawn on Jungkook that he could love you more. when Jungkook was consumed by that feeling so pure, so intense, only one goal moved Jungkook’s entire body: taking you in his arms, leaving the whole world silent for a few moments, Jungkook loved you. it was the magic of possibilities, the complex spells of stories that could happen, the delicate dust of memories that could be fabricated – it was the idea of a future that made Jungkook love you more.
Jungkook knew from a very early time that it was you: the way your hearts beat in sync at the end of a date, the way your hands fit together perfectly, the way he only felt like himself by your side – you brought out the best in Jungkook, qualities and flaws that he learned to love because, quite simply, you loved them. and Jungkook was sure it would always be you. that person who would wake up next to him when he was old and the music was too loud; that person who would hold his hand when the sun said goodbye to the day and tranquility stretched across the horizon. in every way, you were always the one by Jungkook’s side in every future he could think of. and it was imagining these futures, creating plans for an eternal life by your side that he loved you most. when Jungkook’s eyes shone most intensely, when his lips uttered the sweetest words, when his hands caressed you with grace – it was in the privacy of your home that Jungkook loved you the most, because it was there that he believed in a true love, in an eternal love that would go far beyond that physical life.
JUNGKOOK'S SPECIFIC COLOR
⠀⠀the melancholy yellow of an early sunday morning in winter.
everything stopped. in Jungkook’s being, there was nothing; nothing but a great void that corrupted him with the ease with which the world changes seasons. all the emptiness, all the nothingness that existed inside Jungkook was suffocating, of a tremendous thickness that consumed him every time he woke up, every time he decided to exist. beyond his beautiful eyes, hidden behind the light that masked the melancholy he lived in, Jungkook existed. vulnerable, full of nostalgic memories and outdated hopes, Jungkook allowed himself to exist only in front of you, only in your comfort. for, beyond the beauty of Jungkook, far from seductive looks and empty words, hidden in a corridor of promises and desires, there was someone. a soul that stopped being Jungkook to be just himself – in your comfort, in your peace, in your presence. nothing prevented him from feeling, from existing. allowing melancholy to wrap him in a mantle of fragility, letting it embrace him in a hug of uncertainty and helplessness, Jungkook felt everything. all the memories that weighed on his shoulders and forced him to walk more hunched over; all the words he wished he’d said and now overused among his loved ones; whatever was became, and Jungkook was still, motionless, vulnerable. with you and only you. all his energy was drained, too tired to get it back, too lazy to get more. it was as if a sun of coziness, laziness, comfort – of everything he wanted most – embraced him in words and caresses. all because you, divinity of hope and future, allowed Jungkook to choose you to be the winter sun of all eternity that will exist.
Jeon Jungkook x reader (one shot; bts jungkook on tour, summer days off with his girlfriend.)
- soft, fluff, bts idol Jungkook, concert days off, summer, sweet. word count 3.9k
“he kissed me at minute eleven”
“new york, july, you” …. “until london, september, you”
___
new york in the summer felt louder somehow.
maybe it was the golden light reflecting off glass skyscrapers at nine in the evening, or the warm air carrying the smell of street food and rain through crowded avenues. maybe it was the way the city never really slept, even under the heavy july heat.
or maybe it was just jungkook.
after months of stadium lights, hotel rooms, rehearsals, and endless flights, he finally had four days off between tour stops. four whole days in new york with you.
you spent the entire flight replaying his voice notes in your headphones.
“i miss you.”
“hurry up and get here.”
“i found this tiny bookstore in soho you’d love.”
“baby, seriously… i can’t sleep without you anymore.”
by the time your taxi crossed the brooklyn bridge, your heart felt too big for your chest.
the city glowed gold beneath the setting sun. people crowded the sidewalks in tank tops and sunglasses, music spilling from rooftop bars and open restaurant windows. summer in new york felt electric.
your phone buzzed the second the cab stopped outside his hotel in manhattan.
you see you in 10
three dots appeared instantly.
jungkook 🖤 kiss you in 11
you laughed quietly to yourself, pressing your forehead against the taxi window for a second because god — he still did this to you.
still made your stomach turn warm and nervous after all this time.
—
jungkook opened the hotel room door barefoot.
that was the first thing you noticed.
barefoot, oversized white t-shirt, black curls messy from sleep, eyes soft and tired in the prettiest way. the second he saw you, his entire face changed.
like relief.
like home.
“there you are,” he breathed.
you barely had time to smile before he pulled you into him.
his arms wrapped tight around your waist, your suitcase abandoned in the hallway while he buried his face into your neck like he needed proof you were real. the room smelled like his cologne and clean sheets and summer air drifting through the open balcony doors.
“you cut your hair,” you whispered against his shoulder.
“you noticed?”
“always.”
he leaned back just enough to look at you properly, hands warm on your cheeks now. his thumb brushed under your eye softly, almost disbelieving.
“you’re prettier than i remembered,” he murmured.
“you saw me on facetime yesterday.”
“still.”
then he kissed you.
slow.
not rushed or desperate — just deep and warm and full of all the missing. the kind of kiss that said i thought about you every day i was gone. his lips moved carefully against yours while sunset light painted orange across the room, and your fingers curled into the soft fabric of his shirt automatically.
when he pulled away, he stayed close enough for your noses to brush.
“eleven minutes exactly,” he whispered with a sleepy smile.
you laughed softly. “you’re ridiculous.”
“but you love me.”
“i really do.”
something in his expression melted after that.
tour exhausted him in ways he rarely admitted out loud. you saw it in the shadows under his eyes, in how tightly he held you now, like he could finally let go for a little while.
the city buzzed outside below you, but inside the room, everything felt still.
jungkook took your hand and pulled you toward the balcony.
new york stretched beneath you in glowing gold and blue. yellow taxis moving slowly. distant sirens. rooftop music somewhere nearby. warm air against your skin.
he stood behind you, chin resting on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your middle.
“this is my favorite part of tour now,” he said quietly.
“the shows?”
“no.” his lips brushed your temple. “the part where i get to come back to you after.”
your chest ached.
you turned in his arms, reaching up to smooth his hair back gently. “you need rest.”
“i know.”
“real rest. no practicing choreography at 2 a.m.”
he looked offended. “that happened one time.”
“three.”
“okay, but—”
“and no checking emails.”
“baby.”
“and you’re sleeping tomorrow.”
he stared at you for a second before smiling — small and genuine and so full of love it nearly ruined you.
“yes, ma’am.”
the next few days passed like a dream.
late mornings tangled in white sheets while sunlight spilled across jungkook’s tattoos. walks through central park with iced coffees melting in your hands. tiny cafés hidden down side streets where nobody bothered him and he could just be a boy in love during summertime.
at night, he’d pull you through busy new york streets with his hand locked around yours, laughing when you complained about him walking too fast.
one evening, rain started suddenly while you were walking through times square.
you shrieked when cold drops hit your skin, neon lights reflecting across wet pavement, but jungkook just laughed — loud, carefree laughter you hadn’t heard in months — before grabbing your face and kissing you right there in the middle of the rain.
tour made him shine for millions of people.
but this version of him?
sleepy smiles. warm hands. quiet kisses against your shoulder while you brushed your teeth together. him tracing invisible hearts into your skin before falling asleep.
this version belonged only to you.
and on the last night before he had to leave again, you laid together with the windows cracked open, listening to the sounds of summer rain over new york.
jungkook traced circles into your bare arm lazily.
“i hate leaving you,” he admitted into the dark.
you turned toward him, fingertips brushing gently over his cheek. “then come back to me.”
his eyes softened instantly.
“always.”
that night felt too short.
maybe because both of you knew exactly what waited after sunrise.
the packed suitcase near the hotel door. the airport. another country. another stage. another goodbye.
rain tapped softly against the windows while the city glowed dimly outside, blurry gold lights melting into the wet glass. jungkook had pulled you impossibly close sometime during the night, one arm wrapped around your waist beneath the blankets while his face stayed tucked against your shoulder.
like if he held on tightly enough, morning wouldn’t come.
you were half asleep when you felt his fingertips tracing lazy patterns along your skin again.
“you awake?” he whispered.
“mhm.”
his voice sounded rough with exhaustion. “can’t sleep.”
you turned carefully in his arms until you could see him properly in the dark. moonlight caught the soft outline of his face — sleepy eyes, messy curls falling over his forehead, lips slightly pink from biting at them too much.
you brushed your thumb across his cheek gently.
“you’re thinking too much.”
“i’m thinking about how i have to get on a plane in six hours.”
your chest tightened instantly.
he looked away for a second before quietly adding, “and how the next break isn’t until september.”
september.
london.
nearly two whole months away.
you knew his schedule already. europe dates, interviews, rehearsals, flights stacked on top of each other until there was barely room for him to breathe. there wouldn’t be surprise visits this time. no stolen weekends.
just facetime calls across different time zones. missed messages. falling asleep with each other on speakerphone.
jungkook let out a tired laugh against the pillow. “that sounds horrible when i say it out loud.”
“hey.” you nudged his nose softly with yours until he looked back at you. “we’ve survived worse schedules than this.”
“yeah, but i don’t want to survive you.” his hand slid into yours beneath the sheets automatically. “i want you there.”
god.
he always said things so simply. like love was the easiest truth in the world.
rain continued outside while silence settled softly between you.
then—
“come to london early.”
you blinked. “what?”
“before my break starts.” his eyes brightened slightly now, suddenly serious. “stay with me while i finish the last few shows.”
“jungkook—”
“i mean it.” he pushed himself up onto one elbow, curls falling into his eyes. “i’ll barely sleep anyway if you’re not there.”
you laughed quietly. “that is not a convincing argument.”
“okay, fine.” he leaned closer dramatically. “i’ll be devastated. heartbroken. weak. miserable.”
“dramatic.”
“but accurate.”
you smiled despite yourself, fingers brushing through his hair slowly.
“i’ll see what i can do.”
his entire face softened immediately.
“really?”
“really.”
the smile he gave you then nearly ruined you completely.
small. sleepy. hopeful.
yours.
he kissed you softly after that, slow enough that it barely felt real, and eventually the two of you drifted back to sleep tangled together while summer rain covered the city outside.
—
morning came too fast.
it always did.
new york looked pale and quiet through the car windows on the drive to the airport, the streets still damp from last night’s storm. jungkook sat beside you in a black hoodie and sunglasses despite the early hour, fingers intertwined tightly with yours the entire ride.
he hadn’t let go once.
inside the private terminal, everything suddenly felt heavier.
announcements echoed somewhere overhead. suitcases rolled across polished floors. staff members moved around you carefully, giving him space, pretending not to notice the way he kept looking at you like leaving physically hurt him.
because it did.
you fixed the collar of his hoodie quietly while he watched you.
“you have to sleep on the flight,” you said softly.
“yes, ma’am.”
“and eat actual meals.”
“you sound like my manager.”
“someone has to.”
his mouth twitched into a smile, but it faded quickly.
“i’m gonna miss you so bad.”
there it was again.
that honesty.
completely unguarded.
you reached up carefully, fingers brushing beneath the edge of his sunglasses. “facetime exists for a reason.”
“not the same.”
“i know.”
his jaw tightened slightly.
for a second neither of you spoke.
then jungkook suddenly pulled you into him, arms wrapping tight around your waist while he buried his face against your neck exactly like he had the first night you arrived.
you held him just as tightly.
people moved around you. time kept going. planes kept leaving.
but for a moment, it was only him.
only this.
“september,” he murmured against your skin.
“september,” you promised.
he pulled back just enough to kiss you once more — soft, lingering, full of all the things neither of you could say out loud in an airport terminal at eight in the morning.
then he rested his forehead against yours with the smallest smile.
“london’s prettier with you in it anyway.”
your heart ached so hard it almost hurt to breathe.
and later, after his plane disappeared into cloudy summer skies, your phone buzzed before you’d even left the terminal.
jungkook 🖤 already miss you
you smiled instantly despite the tears burning your eyes.
no closer could i be to god ⋆˚࿔ spencer reid x reader
summary: spencer's love language is acts of service. he'll happily do anything for you, including helping you apply lotion after a shower.
genre: fluff! (suggestive, MDNI) word count: 1.8k
tags: fem!reader, nudity, spencer puts lotion on reader, non-sexual intimacy, with a singular boob squeeze, they're so in love it's disgusting, clothes sharing at the end, mentions of body odour, spell-checked but not proofread
notes: this is so revoltingly self-indulgent
Your reflection is veiled under a thin film of condensation, stripping your form to its bare foundations: the hazy shape of your shoulders; your face, reduced to little more than a flesh-toned blob; and the stark white of the towel wrapped snugly around your body. Secured under an armpit. Bound to come undone if you breathe too deeply.
You drag your palm across the mirror, and, for a moment, you see yourself in your entirety—face heat-flushed, hair sopping wet—before the condensation makes its brusque return, taking you with it. You vanish in the mist, gone before you can so much as fix the parting of your hair.
Somehow, you anticipate the knock at the door before you hear it. It’s your sixth sense, or something akin to it; knowing where he is, where he will be. You can almost feel it through the wall, that magnetism. The slight shift in the air whenever he’s nearby. Invisible. Barely felt. But there.
“Can I come in?”
Spencer’s voice lights your face with one of those involuntary, almost girlish smiles that you’re never quite able to fend off. It’s the kind of smile you’d expect from a highschooler whose crush just said hello to her by the lockers, and not from a grown, mature woman such as yourself—if you can call yourself that.
“No.”
Damn it, you can hear it in your voice.
You don’t know what it is about him that makes you so…kittenish, almost. You’ve never been a particularly bashful person; you don’t blush easily, you don’t smile at the sound of someone’s voice, your stomach doesn’t do somersaults when you catch someone’s eye. You’ve always been confident. Unaffected. Some would go as far as to call you aloof.
Every relationship you’ve ever had has settled into a kind of mundanity, and that isn’t at all meant in a negative way. Sparks dim, honeymoon phases fizzle out, butterflies go into hibernation—it’s normal.
And your relationship with Spencer Reid, by that logic, is decidedly abnormal. You live with him, have lived with him for over a year now, and yet every time he walks into the room you still find yourself staring. Transfixed. Your heart flutters, your stomach flips, and your lips curl into that cursed smile. It’s disgusting, really, how much you like him.
You aren’t surprised when the bathroom door opens. Steam rushes out into the dimly lit bedroom, and Spencer pokes his head in. He, too, is smiling like an idiot. And he, too, is desperately trying not to; he’s trying to pout, by the looks of it, and he isn’t doing a very good job.
“What’s up?” you ask.
“Nothing.” He shrugs and steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. “I missed you.”
“I’ve only been in here for—”
“Forty-three minutes,” he says, “and fifteen seconds.”
“And you can’t last forty-three minutes and fifteen seconds without me?”
Spencer puts his entire face into that pout: he frowns, closes his eyes, juts out his bottom lip far beyond what should be natural, and he crosses the room with his arms outstretched like a touch-deprived, attention-seeking zombie as he wails, “no.”
You press your lips together, suppressing a grin as his hands settle on your shoulders. He pulls you into a hug, pressing your body flush against his.
“Ugh, Spence— I’m all wet…”
“Don’t care.”
He mumbles this into the damp skin of your shoulder, just above your collarbone, and he presses a kiss to where the words landed before pulling back to gaze at you.
You tilt your head slightly, looking up at him with mock sympathy. “How on earth do you survive without me at work?”
“I languish,” he whines. “I sit at my desk, and I wither away.”
“You…” you sigh. “…are so dramatic.”
“I thought it was one of my charms?”
“Maybe. The—” he cuts you off with a peck on the lips, and you gently push him away. “The shower’s free. Go on.”
Spencer hums, acknowledging your words, but he doesn’t move.
“Just one more minute,” he murmurs.
You roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile at his affections—and you do allow him one more minute before pushing him away. You scan the bathroom in search of your lotion, but Spencer grabs the bottle before you can.
“Thanks—”
…and he holds it out of your reach as you try to take it from him.
Your face falls, and you cross your arms. “What?”
“I was thinking…maybe I could help you,” he poses, keeping his voice light and innocent on the off chance that you might not see straight through him.
“Help?”
“Get the, uh…hard-to-reach areas,” he clarifies with a smile.
“Uh huh.” You nod, eyeing him sceptically. “You just want to feel me up.”
Spencer’s jaw drops, and his mouth contorts into this comical, overly surprised ‘o’ shape. He shakes his head adamantly, brown hair falling into his eyes as he says, “that’s not— …the only reason.”
You click your tongue, trying to keep up your façade of mild disinterest even as you begin tugging at your towel. “At least you’re honest.”
Spencer does not try at all to hide the way his gaze fixes on your body as you remove your towel, trailing over every inch of you before putting on this big, stupid-looking grin. He leans in to kiss you—properly, this time—anchoring one hand at the back of your neck whilst the other keeps a tight hold of the lotion bottle. You let him have his way for a moment or two, or three, before pulling away.
“Hey,” you snap your fingers, donning the sternest expression you can muster, “moisturise me.”
He sighs, puffing air into his cheeks before pressing one final kiss to your forehead. “Okay, Lady Cassandra,” he mutters, unable to keep the amusement from his voice. “Turn around for me.”
You turn away as he pops open the bottle of lotion, and you hear it sputter as he squeezes some onto his hand. The pause that follows as he sets the bottle aside is oddly anticipatory, and then his hands come, gently, into contact with your back.
That’s another thing about Spencer Reid—he’s more or less a human radiator. His hands are always warm, no matter the conditions. You seek him out for warmth in the winter, snuggling up to him at any chance you can get, and you avoid him like the plague in the summer. He does, however, have a profound fondness for cuddles, so you often end up toughing it out and letting yourself overheat—for his sake.
His touch alleviates a tension you didn’t know you were carrying. You feel your shoulders loosen as you breathe out a quiet sigh. Spencer works the lotion into your skin with great care, working in sections as he advances down your back until he’s crouching behind you, massaging lotion into your sides, your hips and, finally, your ass.
“Your favouritism is showing,” you mutter.
“I—” Spencer scoffs. “I’m just ensuring that there is even coverage—”
“You’re ensuring that you get to fondle my ass,” you interrupt, correcting him. You’re sure he can hear the smile infiltrating your voice. “Meanwhile my legs are drying up.”
You hear him huff, and his hands briefly leave your body as he squeezes more lotion into his palm before turning his attention to your right thigh. He tends to each leg separately, and even throws in a brief, unexpected calf massage before rising to his feet.
“You’re very…shiny,” he notes as he picks up the bottle for a third time.
“This is how I stay silky smooth.”
One at a time, Spencer works his way down your arms. He stops at your wrists, avoiding your hands—clearly, you’ve complained one too many times about hating the feeling of lotion on your palms. “I don’t moisturise like this,” he says, “and I’m silky smooth.”
“You can always be silkier and smoother.”
“Mhm. And would you do this for me? Slather me in lotion until I’m all slippery?”
“Ew. Don’t say it like that. But yes, I would…slather you, if you asked me to.”
Spencer leans in to kiss your cheek as his hands trail down to your stomach. “So kind,” he murmurs, grinning. “How lucky I am to have someone so willing to smear lotion all over me.”
“I hope you’re grateful.”
“Always.”
His lips meet the side of your neck just as his hands move up to your chest. He squeezes you, gently, just enough to make your breath catch just before your hands close around his wrists, and you pull his hands away.
“And we’re done,” you announce, turning back to him.
Spencer frowns. “But I didn’t do your collarbones.”
“I can do my own collarbones—”
“Please?”
He’s pouting again, staring at you with those big, stupid brown eyes like you’re depriving him of something sacred.
“…fine.”
Spencer steps forward, and he carefully massages the last of the lotion into your collarbones with a proud smile. His fingers dance along your skin, touch so light it almost feels reverent.
Crushes are supposed to subside with time. The giddiness, the novelty, it’s all supposed to wear off within the first few months of dating. And yet every time you find yourself like this, face to face with him, close enough to feel his breath on your skin, giddiness is all you can feel.
As much as you try to hide it, you have the biggest crush on your boyfriend. And you can’t see it going away any time soon. You don’t want it to go away. Ever.
“There we go.”
Spencer backs up a little to admire his work—or, more accurately, to admire you—with a grin that almost stretches from one ear to the other, splitting his face with a joy that is almost infectious. Almost.
“Thanks, Doc.” You give him a nod, maintaining a perfectly neutral expression as you gesture to the shower. “Now go, it’s your turn.”
“Actually, I was wondering if—”
“I’m not showering with you, Spence,” you say. That damn pout returns full force as you turn him down, but you don’t let it dissuade you. “You just emptied half a bottle of lotion onto me. That’s like, four dollars.”
“But—”
“Shower. Now. You stink.”
“I don’t stink.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Well, actually, statistics show that couples often enjoy each other’s natural body odour, so—”
“Yes, but you have work tomorrow. I doubt the BAU will appreciate your stench as much as I do.”
“Fine.”
He begins fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, hurriedly undoing them as you turn to leave. He catches you by the arm before you make it to the door, and he presses the shirt into your hand with a sly smile.
“I love you.”
Barely able to bite back a smile of your own, you take the shirt off his hands. It’s warm, worn, and smells unapologetically of him. You slip it on like it’s your own.
spencer ‘doesn’t do handshakes’ reid is absolutely obsessed with touching fem!reader
18+ (smut)
wc: 705
starts as fluff then transitions into smut, i couldn’t help myself
⋆ he’s a cuddlebug in the most extreme and literal sense.
⋆ like he can’t get enough, he’s constantly touching her.
⋆ if they’re holding hands and she needs to pull away to do something, he’s whining and wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her close.
⋆ if he needs to pull his hand out of her grasp, he’ll hold it with the other hand, or wrap her arm around his waist, or place her hand on his arm to maintain the contact.
⋆ she wasn’t sure how he’d be about pda, especially around his coworkers, but he’s completely insatiable with his touches and kisses.
⋆ obviously he loves kissing her on the mouth the most, but he loves kissing her forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, anywhere and everywhere he can reach.
⋆ he’d even ask her to give him a forehead kiss when he’s feeling especially needy (always).
⋆ he loves wrapping his arms around her waist from behind her, fusing his chest to her back. he’ll dip his hands under her shirt or her waistband, just wanting to feel her skin.
⋆ when they’re at home and he’s reading next to her on the couch, he’ll try to keep a hand on her leg, but it’s easiest if he just lies with his head in her lap. this way he can hold his book properly and still be close to her. she’ll play with his hair and his eyes will start drooping and he loooves falling asleep like that. he’ll turn to press his face into her stomach and wrap his arms around her waist in his sleep.
⋆ in his sleep he still tries to get as close to her as possible, enclosing her waist with his arms and nuzzling his head into her neck.
⋆ obviously spooning her is his favorite, but she’ll wake up on her back or stomach with him all over her in any way possible, even if it’s just his legs tangled with hers.
⋆ he encourages her to lay completely on top of him.
⋆ he’ll even wrap his arms around her thigh and hold it to his chest when they’re lying together, just constantly holding her in any way possible.
⋆ he loves cuddling with her on the couch the most because of the forced proximity.
⋆ if she’s across the couch from him, he’ll pull her feet into his lap, wrapping a hand over her ankle and running his hand up and down her shin as they watch tv together.
⋆ they are absolutely that couple that sits on the same side of the table at restaurants.
⋆ god forbid he has to sit across from her for any reason, he’s playing footsie with her under the table: linking their ankles together and holding one of her feet between his.
⋆ and she worries about him when he leaves for cases and he has to sleep all alone, so she sends him with a sweater that smells like her. she jokes about making him a build-a-bear with the voice recording device inside so he can still have a piece of her when he’s away.
he doesn’t realize that she’s kidding and nods excitedly, wide-eyed, because ultimately him being away so often is one of the main reasons he needs to be as close to her as possible when he is home.
⋆ (oh and nothing is better than naked cuddling with her. he neeeeds the skin-to-skin contact.
⋆ he’s absolutely into cockwarming and fingerwarming(?): he’ll keep his fingers inside of her, not moving them, just feeling her, until she’s begging and whining and grinding on him.
⋆ if he finds her lying on her stomach, he’ll lay his head on her ass. she’ll ask him if he needs something, and he’ll say nope. eventually, he’ll start playing with her waistband, needing to get his head between her thighs. you know, just to get even closer to her.
⋆ he loves having her sat between his legs, his chest to her back, as he slowly toys with her breasts and pussy. he’ll wrap his legs around hers to keep her even closer to him and to spread her open for him to play with.)
kind of part 2 regarding spencer's germaphobia during sex
A/N: hellooo! Inspired by the first snowfall for me a few days ago (a good amount of it, too), I wrote this fluffy oneshot. It wasn't planned, but this became a sort of pt.3/oneshot continuation of mint confetti, which I will link here BUT this can totally be read on its own :)
pt. 1 and pt. 2
@cafekitsune divider credit :)
CW/TW: Nothing at all, just tooth rotting fluff, teasing, one (1) innuendo or two, AND Loki being a good parent <3
You huddled closer to him, eyes not willing to open yet. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer, your legs tangling together as he grunted softly.
"Are you insinuating something, darling?" He purred, voice tired and therefore less devious than his usual.
You grunted back. Laziness and lethargy seemed to be running amok in the air this morning.
"No... 's cold."
"And you come to me, love? I'm not the best solution, I'm afraid."
You huffed.
"You're warm."
"Tepid."
"Warmer than what I'd find outside of these blankets."
"... Fair enough." He agreed finally, kissing your head.
"Why is it so cold?" You muttered, voice muffled against his neck.
He sighed, as if annoyed (though not really) by your repeated question. You felt him turn his head towards the windows in your bedroom.
"Probably because snow seems to be covering everything outside, darling."
You looked at him in disbelief, pulling away slightly and sitting up so you could take a look outside yourself. The first snow of the year was always a sight to behold, everything getting covered in a fresh, marshmallowy white.
"I knew it would snow, but I wasn't expecting this much..."
"Mm. A wintery surprise, then." Loki replied, clearly barely interested in your fascination with the first snow of the year.
As you laid back next to him again with a sigh, annoyed at his nonchalance, you found yourself relaxing nonetheless, his hand finding your back and gently caressing it at a soothing speed.
The patter of feet against the hallway floor broke the peaceful quiet. Then, even more of a disturbance came in the gentle creaking of your door as it opened eerily slowly, a tired sigh coming from the culprit as they caught their breath.
"Sweeping?" Came a tiny whisper from the door, likely unable to see your forms on the bed due to her height.
"No, darling. We're both awake." Loki replied softly, voice immediately warmed by affection, his free arm moving to the edge of the bed so his hand could hang off it aimlessly, encouraging Freyja to come closer.
She let out a sound of glee at the news that both her parents were awake as she stomped over to Loki's side of the bed, curling herself around his hand as she hugged it. Loki grinned down at her, moving his other arm from around you so he could pull her onto your bed.
Loki grinned up at her, petting her head and gently caressing her black curls.
“I do believe you mean ‘good morning’, my sweet darling.” He cooed, pinching her cheek ever so gently.
She giggled at the gesture, nuzzling her cheek into his fingers.
“Funny.” She announced before turning to look down at you, still curled into Loki’s side.
She smiled wide, extending her hand out towards you and waving excitedly with her hand only a few inches from your face.
“Hi, mama!” Freyja said, now bouncing slightly on Loki’s chest and making him let out a grunt of discomfort.
“Hello, baby,” You greeted your daughter lovingly, sitting up just enough to place a kiss to the palm of her hand.
Freyja suddenly gasped as if remembering something important.
“Snow out!” She squealed, pointing clumsily out the window.
“Yes, my sweet. Is that why you’ve woken up so early?” Loki rubbed her back calmly.
Freyja nodded, so excited she couldn’t stand still. She moved again, little hands now squeezing his cheeks together.
“Snow!” She repeated, bursting into shrill laughter once she noticed the face Loki was now making because of her.
Loki grinned at her laughter, his eyes swimming with warmth and love. He pulled another face at her, sticking his tongue out, which only made her laugh harder before mimicking him as best as she could. You watched on, smiling at the sight. It was something you never thought you’d be able to give Freyja; the three of you, together, like you’d always hoped for. Loki had become so different with her. Because of her. Never before had he truly and genuinely seemed so light, his heart evidently softened from having such pure love surrounding him every day now that he was finally a permanent fixture in his daughter’s life. And yours, too, naturally.
The two eventually stopped, Freyja struggling for a bit to catch her breath from her laughter as she rested her head against his chest, giggles still leaving her occasionally. Loki seemed to have a smile stuck to his face, too.
“You wish for us to go play in the snow, is that it, my darling?” Loki asked, encouraging her to voice her desires clearly and with pride.
She shook her head adamantly, making her curls bounce gently.
“Oh? Well, then what do you wish for, my princess? Anything you would like.”
“’Cakes!” She told him, looking down her nose at him. Truly, if her looks weren’t enough, that exact expression instantly proved who her father was.
It only seemed to make him prouder of her, though. If anyone else had tried that with him, he likely would’ve had a few choice words for them, but for her, he would only spew the sweetest of praises.
“Pancakes once more, my princess? You seem to ask for these every week-end.” Loki sighed dramatically, throwing his head back and making her laugh.
She booped his nose, just like he so often did to her, thinking of it as a way to resuscitate him from his ‘collapse’. Loki took in an exaggerated breath and sat up slightly, making her grin proudly at her supposed skills.
“’Cakes now, daddy!” She repeated, not having forgotten, much to his chagrin.
He sighed and turned his head towards you, blinking his lashes innocently at you. You did the same back at him, the two of you finding yourselves very suddenly in a battle of wills.
“She seems to have asked you for pancakes, dad.” You said, your words innocent as you inched him towards doing the work.
He raised a disbelieving brow.
“Are you trying to manipulate me, darling? In front of our perfect daughter?” He gasped for effect (for Freyja’s sake), covering up her eyes with one hand.
“She asked you!”
“Yes, and you’d risk me going at this alone? I’d bloody well burn it all to the ground! A homemade Ragnarok in our very kitchen, if you so wish it, my love. Free of charge and made with love.” He grinned brightly at you, his snark palpable.
You huffed.
“I’ll help.” You announced reluctantly, to which he replied with a pleased grin while Freyja blew spit bubbles (intentionally) against the palm of his hand, trying to irritate him.
“You really are the very best of all, did you know that?” He cooed, that air of false innocence still working overtime to make him see anything but ill-intentioned.
That’s how all three of you found yourselves in the kitchen at 7 in the morning, Freyja dancing circles around the both of you and Loki trying to stop her from getting in the way (too much) whilst you gathered the simple ingredients for pancakes. Freyja had insisted on music, and Loki had obliged by using his magic to make a nearby speaker play all the classic holiday hits at a soft volume.
Loki eventually picked her up, deciding that keeping her in a single spot would be better than letting her tornado around the kitchen.
“I see snow!” She squealed into Loki’s ear, making him wince, as she looked over his shoulder and out the windows, now able to see clearly from being held (much) higher than her usual vantage point.
“Yes, dear, there is still snow outside. Not much can change in mere minutes.” Loki replied calmly as he watched you finish up the batter.
Freyja sighed dreamily, resting her cheek against his shoulder as she watched the snow blowing about gently outside. Loki smiled fondly down at her, rubbing her back, which was a habit he didn’t seem intent on breaking.
As you got to cooking the pancakes, Freyja gasped and pointed at something out the window yet again.
“Santa!!!” She shrieked.
Loki turned his head at her words; eyebrow already cocked in disbelief. He chuckled once he saw what her little hand was waving towards.
“No, my dear. That is simply someone wearing a red coat with their hood on.” He kissed her cheek to ease her pout.
“But Santa…”
“Santa will visit you on Christmas Eve, hm? With all the presents you have wished for, if you’ve been a good girl.” He reminded her patiently.
“Been good!” She announced immediately, looking at him innocently.
He smiled, kissing her head.
“Of course you have, my darling. I am your father, after all. What else could you have been besides good?”
They giggled together, Freyja bumping her forehead against his briefly, before Loki turned his attention towards you.
He wrapped his free hand around your hip while you slowly worked on getting the pancakes done, though you mostly watched their dynamic unfold with a gentle smile.
“Look at mama, hm? She is making us breakfast diligently. She is so very kind and generous with us, Freyja, don’t you agree?” Loki said, kissing your temple. Freyja quickly followed suit, craning her neck to reach you until Loki turned her so she could kiss your temple, too.
“Is she not the nicest mama?” Loki asked Freyja, to which she replied with enthusiastic nodding.
“She deserves all she could ever want for Christmas.” Loki’s eyes twinkled as he spoke, gaze set entirely on you. You rolled your eyes fondly at his incessant innuendos. “Perhaps even a kiss from Santa Claus himself.” He suggested, surely mentioning you guys’ secret plan to have him dress up as Santa for Freyja’s benefit on Christmas in order to have the holiday come alive for her. She was only nearing 4 years old, but she had been talking about Christmas for months and was unbearably excited for it.
Freyja frowned, shaking her head adamantly.
“Daddy kiss mama onwy!” She insisted fiercely, placing one hand on your shoulder and one on Loki’s, keeping you close. “Not Santa!”
Loki laughed at her protectiveness; she was just as fierce as him.
“Of course, my darling. Only daddy kisses mama.” He soothed her, his grin nothing but devious as he looked at you.
Summary: The palace is quiet, the sun is rising, and there’s no rush to be anywhere. Loki and Y/N spend the early hours tangled in silk sheets and slow kisses, the soft curve of her tiny baby bump glowing in the light. She’s wrapped in nothing but a loosely tied silk robe, and to Loki—she’s never looked more divine.
The golden light of morning spilled slowly across their bed.
It touched the marble floor first, warming the edges of Loki’s discarded cloak. Then it reached the sheets—silk, tangled, sleep-soft. And finally, it kissed the curve of her stomach, where it peeked bare beneath a barely-tied robe the color of moonlight.
She stirred slowly, nestled against him. One leg draped over his. Hair tickling his chest. Her robe had slipped lower in the night—untied and forgotten—so that now it hung open just enough for her belly to glow in the sun.
Loki didn’t dare move.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t even breathe too loudly.
He just watched her.
Watched the slow, steady rise of her breath. The way her fingers curled in his. The slight shift of the bump when she shifted in her sleep.
Four months.
Still small.
But undeniable now.
He moved carefully, brushing a knuckle along her stomach, feeling her warmth beneath his skin.
Their child.
Alive. Growing. Already so loved.
Y/N blinked slowly awake, humming softly as her hand came up to rest over his.
“Mmm,” she whispered, voice rough with sleep. “You’re staring.”
“Every morning,” he murmured.
“I haven’t brushed my hair.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I haven’t tied my robe.”
“Don’t,” he said, voice low. “I like seeing you like this.”
She smiled, eyes still half-shut. “You always say that.”
“And it’s always true.”
He leaned in, kissing her forehead, then her cheek, then her collarbone. She shifted closer, her leg tightening around his hip.
“I can feel your magic,” she whispered.
“It’s humming,” he said, hand cradling the side of her belly now. “It always does around you.”
“And them?”
He nodded slowly, pulling back just enough to look at her.
“They’re quiet this morning. Dreaming, maybe.”
“Already more like you, then,” she teased. “Elegant and still.”
He smirked. “Let’s hope they don’t inherit your need to steal the blankets.”
“Excuse me?!”
“You’ve cocooned yourself in that robe like a silken burrito.”
She laughed, full and soft, shifting so her belly brushed against his stomach. He stilled at the contact.
“I’ll never get used to this,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the swell of her skin. “The way you look. The way you feel.”
“You mean tired and sore?”
“I mean divine.”
She flushed, hand sliding into his hair.
“Stay like this with me,” she whispered.
“I have nowhere else I’d rather be.”
They lay together in silence for a while, the weight of the world shut out behind gold curtains and marble doors. The only things that existed were warmth, and breath, and the miracle growing quietly between them.
Loki reached down and traced a slow circle over her bump with his fingertip.
“Do you think they can hear us?” he asked.
“Maybe.”
“Then I should tell them something important.”
He kissed the center of her belly, right where the silk parted.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Both of you. More than this realm. More than all the stars combined.”
Y/N blinked hard, her throat tightening.
“Loki…”
“You don’t need to say it back,” he said, eyes glowing. “Just let me stay here. In this moment. With my entire world wrapped in silk beside me.”
Summary: Nearing the end of her pregnancy, Y/N has been hiding just how much discomfort she’s in—how every breath is tight, every step heavier than the last. She doesn’t want to worry Loki. He’s already so protective. But when she collapses during a peaceful walk in the royal gardens, her body finally betrays her silence. And Loki? He shatters.
Content Warnings: collapsing/fainting, fear of loss, protective Loki, pain (non-graphic), hurt/comfort, panic, reader feeling like a burden, Loki fiercely reassuring her
The gardens were quiet.
The late Asgardian sun warmed the marble paths and filled the courtyards with golden light. The breeze was gentle, and birds flitted lazily from tree to tree.
It was the perfect kind of day.
And Y/N could barely keep her eyes open.
She walked slowly, one hand braced under her belly, the other pressed gently to the small of her back.
Every step sent pressure rippling through her joints. Her hips ached. Her feet throbbed. Her skin felt tight and hot and wrong.
But she kept going.
Loki had begged her to rest. He always did. He noticed everything—every grimace, every wince.
So lately… she had gotten better at hiding them.
Better at faking a breath that didn’t catch in her ribs. Better at smiling when her spine felt like it was splitting.
He had enough on his shoulders. She didn’t want to add to it.
“I’m fine,” she whispered to herself.
The lie was thin. She kept walking anyway.
Until her vision blurred.
Until her knees buckled.
Until everything tilted.
She didn’t remember hitting the ground.
Only the feeling of her body giving out.
Only the sudden coldness of marble against her cheek, and the sound of someone screaming her name.
Loki.
He had only been gone for a moment.
He’d stepped away to speak with the royal healer about enchanted birthing salves. When he returned to the path they always walked together—the one that curved beneath the blooming starlight trees—she was gone.
Then he saw the crowd.
Then he saw her.
His wife—his everything—collapsed on the stone, unmoving.
He barely remembered how he got to her.
One moment he was across the garden.
The next, he was on his knees beside her, hands trembling, magic flaring uncontrollably beneath his skin.
“Y/N—Y/N!”
She stirred weakly, eyes fluttering.
He gathered her into his arms, holding her against him, feeling her heartbeat flutter like a trapped bird.
“I’m here,” he breathed. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
She winced, clutching her belly.
“I—I’m okay. Just dizzy.”
“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped—then softened instantly. “Please. Don’t lie.”
Frigga was suddenly there, kneeling at her other side, hands already glowing with calming runes.
“She’s overheating,” she said quietly. “She’s been pushing herself.”
Loki’s jaw clenched.
He cradled Y/N closer, hand splayed over her bump.
“I didn’t want to worry you,” she said hoarsely. “You already do so much—I just wanted to be strong for you.”
Loki shook his head, his own tears slipping down now.
“You don’t have to be strong for me,” he said. “You are carrying our child. You are already the strongest soul I know. Let me be the one to hold the weight now. Let me protect you.”
“I thought if I told you how much it hurt, you'd panic.”
“I would’ve. I am.” He leaned his forehead to hers. “But I would never want you to suffer alone just to spare my feelings.”
She let out a quiet sob and clung to his robe.
“I’m so tired.”
“I know, dove,” he whispered. “We’re almost there. Just a little longer. Let me carry the rest.”
He brought her back to their chambers himself—arms around her, voice never stopping.
Soft, loving things.
Ancient words in old tongues.
Promising her peace.
Promising her she’d never fall again.
He tucked her into bed, placed his hand over her belly, and whispered to their unborn child:
“Your mother is a goddess. But even goddesses deserve rest.”
You know, I see a lot of Loki x readers where reader is obviously mortal and it's all angsty because Loki first must overcome realizing he loves a mortal, then there's the added angst of knowing she won't live as long as him, and how he'll grieve but loving is better than loss and he must accept it
Honestly, I don't think Loki would ever allow someone he cares for, even a mortal, simply grow old and die once he's sure they're "the one." Loki literally is the type to burn the world down for someone, so you think he's going to let the natural order of things get in the way? Nope! He's the living embodiment of chaos and doesn't like rules.
Now, the loophole for this in fics I think would be the golden apples of immortality mentioned in Norse mythology. Of course, in the MCU we have no idea if these are canon or not since there's several parts that deviate from the original mythology, but for the sake of plot let's say they do. Loki would definitely do anything to get his hands on one for reader, even if it meant causing a war with Odin. It would probably just be a bonus to him!
But no, Loki would not just sit around and accept you being mortal. It's not in his nature
Loki Laufeyson/Odinson x Reader || 10k Words || You've been training and waiting many years to be the perfect bride. Obedient, caring, non-revolting. The day finally comes when you are hand-picked for a husband. Once that day arrived, you never expected to be selected as a childhood friend of yours, the friend who would grow up to be the king of Asgard.
A/N: To the poor anon who requested the President Loki fanfiction, I PROMISEEE you I'm working on it, I'm reposting this story from my AO3 in the meantime, I apologize again, and this goes for my other wonderful requestees!! Please enjoy this one, as this was one of my first fics I've written after 3-ish years!!! This is also a DIRECT rip from my AO3 page (CoralChutes) so there may be a bunch of spelling errors!!
Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, smut, minor angst, mutual pining, enemies to lovers, arranged/forced marriage, slow burn, hate sex (?) but not for long, "You cum first," taunting and teasing, cunnilingus, fingering, sloppy makeouts, hair pulling, edging, hand/blow jobs, deep throating, nipple play, you're playing hard to get somewhat, doggy style, riding, choking, creampie, squirting, slight breeding kink. If I miss any, let me know!!
The two of you sat at an elegant table with countless choices of food scattered amongst the fine fabric of the tablecloth that had a beautiful gold trim with a fancy white pattern as the base color.
Loki’s hand rested beside his plate, which only had small crumbs remaining. His finger taps in frustration against the table, looking straight across from him to you as you slowly eat your food, still trying to process the events from today.
It was all so sudden. You're now married to the King of Asgard after being selected, a maiden who was trained to be an excellent wife, not knowing you would get selected for the God of Mischief. Not by a long shot.
The day you received the news was like a fever dream, you were dazed from shock, your body fighting between fainting or having a heart attack out of anxiety and panic. Your closest friends, those who were trained with you were quick to comfort you, some saying to be happy to be married into wealth, others saying to be cautious of Loki.
Despite being a childhood friend, the king was celebrated yet frightened many with his mischievous looks and actions, the women you trained with were quick to warn you of said events. You have known Loki for years, yet it has been years since you two last connected. To connect in an instant as such was a genuine shock to your mind, wondering if the king had felt the same way.
You were somewhat excited, being able to be in such a high power, having the authority to help your soon-to-be subjects, yet you were still so concerned over the idea that Loki didn’t truly want this, considering he was not the one who chose you.
Despite your nerves nearly jumping out of your skin, you couldn’t help but feel so attracted to the god, looking so ravishing in his wedding attire. He was wearing a tailcoat tuxedo that reached down to the middle of his calves; the ends of the tuxedo had a beautiful embroidery with a bright gold color.
Loki was wearing a green button-up beneath the tuxedo, a luxurious gold chain that drooped over his chest, and a dark, small emerald weighing down the chain just a bit. His slacks showed the curves of his hips and legs, displaying how thin yet muscular they seemed.
The way he would show you such gentle care in front of the guests who have traveled far and wide to your ceremony, his fingertips barely grazing your shoulder as the two of you danced, the tender kiss you shared- it all felt like bliss to you. But as the festivities carried on, you noticed the glances he would give you behind the backs of the many who watched you all.
He seemed irritated, his eye twitching occasionally, even rolling as the corner of his mouth hitched just enough to show his canine and gum. His nose scrunched slightly, yet all of the wrinkles were quick to fade once guests came to greet you both, his seeming disgust turning into a cheeky grin as he shook their hand.
Did you upset him? Was he not satisfied with the quality of the reception or the guests? Many questions continued to swirl in your mind as you two sat in silence. You wished to have talked to him before the events of the night, yet you were forced to be separated until the vows, practically only speaking to each other if needed. As your brain continued to scramble for any words, Loki decided to break the ice himself.
“Allow me to clarify something for your small, feeble mind.” He spoke sternly, “This marriage is nothing more than a political facade, an ordeal that we have to endure for the sake of our Kingdom. I hold no affection for you, nor will I ever. I will not attempt any unnecessary acts of love in public unless the people wish to see, but I expect you to do the same.”
His words were so harsh and sudden, like a doll being pricked at the heart with needles. The words from the man harshly weighing on your stress that followed after the events from today, the constant greetings, the so-called “affection” you two were showing off for the world just crumbling to bits in a matter of seconds.
You knew better than to snap at a god. You’ve learned from some of the best-kept maidens of the kingdom, teaching you to keep your stance, to clean properly, and to nurse, bathe, and so much more. In the heat of your thoughts, with overwhelming emotion overflowing mentally, you forgot about any “decency” a woman should have in marriage.
“My hopes were already low when you would scoff at me behind the backs of our guests.” You said plainly, not an ounce of attitude being shown but to Loki, it was a clear sign of your annoyance.
“Oh my, how my actions must’ve wounded your spirit. Do you expect me to swoon over anything you had to say at the ceremony?” He spoke, cackling lowly at the thought.
“I've been taught to hold my tongue if I were to get married, I'm afraid I must for you, I suppose." You shrugged, using your utensil to pry at your food slightly. You tried to shake the feeling of his eyes staring you down, looking at your figure without a change in his demeanor.
“I could've cared less if you would’ve responded to every word I spoke at the gathering, but even an ounce would be better for me, for our arrangement. To have communication whether it’s in public or behind these walls is important, even if you don’t believe so.”
Loki leans forward in his chair, intrigued by your words. He let his head rest in his palm while he listened.
“You've been taught to hold your tongue, have you? How obedient... truly amusing." Loki mocked. "It’s a shame you didn't learn to sharpen your mind but perhaps that would be too much for you.”
He wanted to twist the dagger he had in your heart even more, continuing to speak harshly of you. “I need you to draw my attention, my dear. Not beg for it now. Not to mention you haven’t done anything too fascinating to the eye.”
"My mind is quite sharpened unlike yours.”
“Doubt it. As for I am a literal god, dear.”
“Doesn’t make you smart. Not to mention how quick you are to assume that I’m not appealing. You find comfort by dripping insults like a candle rather than getting to talk things out like a proper king.”
“My mockery is a kindness, my dear. You should be treating it as if it was the greatest honor bestowed upon you.”
Your fingers wrapped around your glass with frustration, taking a sip before continuing.
“If you truly didn’t find any interest in me you wouldn’t say a word. My years of efforts seemed to have worked in another way rather than being a loving wife to a loving husband.”
Loki grinned. "Your attempts to grab my attention? Pathetic at best, honestly.”
"Yet you still boast on, Lord Loki? I have a position of authority as you do, and if you believe I'm still beneath you, I'm far from it." You spoke, punctuating your words by standing and pushing the glamorous golden chair into the table.
Loki watched as you rose and pushed in your seat, your defiance irritating him as he did to you. “Ahh, the newfound queen is attempting to play royal.” He tutted, wagging his finger.
“Nobody said that you were beneath me, but your newfound authority has not impressed me nor ever will.”
He leaned back in his seat for a moment as he took in the sight of you. You were wearing such a large dress that truly made you stand out from any other guest at the reception.
The base of your dress was pitch black and you had many layers of fabric that circled your waist. These hoops were a lot lighter in color, a small variety of uneven cut lengths of an emerald tone drooped down your body like a veil, trailing down to the small train on the ground. The fabric has the same golden embroidery that Loki does, wrapping around the edges or ends of the dress.
Your shoulders were exposed along with your collarbone and cleavage, a large, heavy emerald pendant with a gold chain resting above it and almost snuggly sitting between your breasts. You and Loki both had matching wedding rings, his just a golden band with your initials carved into the inner area while yours had another green gem, Loki’s initials carved in as his does.
You shrug before making your way to Loki’s end of the long table, him sitting there as if the conversation hasn’t just occurred which left you just a bit more irritated than before. You lower your head just enough for your lips to be close to his ear, your hand resting on the armrest of the chair. “You’re a fool to try and reduce me, Loki of Asgard. You’re an utter fool.”
You then took your leave, the long and airy layers of your dress flowing and following with you. The duties of today made you tired, not to mention Loki’s bickering, so you wanted to go back to your quarters and rest. Unfortunately, the two of you had to share a room so as not to create unwanted suspicion between the maids and butlers of the home.
You opened the large door and closed it without attitude, now wandering the long halls as the click of your black heels echoed constantly until you found two maids interacting while dusting a few portraits that hung on the walls. You had requested their help to get out of your royal garb and into something comfortable, to which they happily agreed.
The two maids led you to your quarters and began to gently undo the layers, getting each ring that settled around your waist and lifting it carefully above your head. As they continue to carefully remove and store your current clothing, Loki is taking his time to reach your shared chambers, knowing that you will be there.
Once you had left, his face had turned into a displeased frown fueled by his irritation and a sprinkle of anger. He couldn’t believe how you pushed away every word he had to say, truly raising his interest slightly. He muttered words under his breath as he slid out of his chair before heading down the same path you did.
You soon were out of all of your clothing, changed out of the large dress, and now into a new set of black lacy lingerie paired with a tulle robe. The feathered ends circled your wrists, neck, and ankles in a pitch-black color. The sheer fabric was a green color to match your dress, making your eyes roll at the thought. Although you were getting sick of being placed in the same color palette, you couldn’t help but admire the view of every outfit you wore.
You thanked the ladies assisting you, wishing them goodnight as they did to you while they stored the garments in your large closet and left you in the room. You took hold of the large sheet that spanned over the bed, covering your body up to your neck.
The sheets were so soft and cozy over your skin. You finally felt the emotions from today slowly exert from your mind just before the door opened, a light cackle filling the silence.
“Did I bother you so intensely that you had to rely on the maids of the palace?” He grinned, “Pathetic, really.”
You scoffed, turning your body from facing the ceiling to the large window that faced the city below, the glass taking up the entire wall with long and large curtains on both sides.
“I’ve been on my feet this whole damn day like you, give me a break before starting to belittle me at least.”
“Oh, my lady is so dearly tired. Well, you aren’t the only one who’s had a difficult day.” Loki’s hand movements emphasized his feelings, his fingers contracting and expanding with each sentence. “I’ve had to endure this tedious ordeal of a marriage, stuck with someone as insufferable as you.” He continued to walk over to the bed, sitting down in the corner.
“If you’ve been dealing with heaps of issues like me, why don’t you go and rest then?” You spat back, fully covering your head with the blanket.
“Now you want to act like a child?” He spoke, his irritation now rattling within his mind. “Hiding yourself from me will do you nothing just as sleep won’t do me any good.”
“I’d rather keep pulling this blanket over myself rather than have a broken record in my ear. Just let it go.”
Loki leaned further while still sitting on the corner of the bed. “How about letting go of that ridiculous blanket and talking properly?” He then grabs the end of the blanket closest to your face and yanks it back, revealing your lingerie outfit from your shoulders down to your waist.
You immediately grew flustered but were too angry to even display an ounce of your true feelings. “By the gods, just give it up, Loki!” You now shouted, grabbing and yanking the blanket out of his hands. You were able to drag it with ease due to the slight shock that had hit him from the view.
Although both of your emotions were boiling over, he couldn’t help but appreciate the curves the outfit displayed, your skin tinted green by the coat and your chest rising and lowering with shaky, anger-filled breaths.
“I’m not giving up to someone as lowly as you. Not. A. Chance.” He punctuated his words by growing even closer to you, his body caging and towering over you as he leaned forward, the fabric of the sheets dipping with his body on the bed.
“You’ve gotten under my skin this entire day and you expect me to just let go?”
“Yeah, hilarious really!” You shouted angrily, moving your body away from him until your back hit the headboard. “Genuinely so hilarious the King of Asgard is going to such an extent to mock a woman he hardly knows still.” He continued to grow closer and you placed your hands on his shoulders in response, gripping them while trying to push him away in which you were failing to do so.
“Is this amusing to you? Trying to get out of something you started, getting a rise out of me? Successfully getting a rise out of me?”
“Looks like I did receive an ounce of interest from you if you’re so hot and bothered.” You sneer with a grin, “Just say you want to fuck your lady out of anger. That’s pretty common for husbands, is it not? I had to learn how to please them after all.”
Loki’s eyes narrowed, his anger flaring once more. “Would you like me to admit that?” He asked exhaustedly, “To admit that there’s even a pinch of desire that rests within me for you? A pinch that finds you fascinating, maybe even irresistible?” You then notice his eyes running over your body again, catching the fact that he nearly raised a hand to rest on your body.
“To hear that from you is a shock.” You scoffed, “You probably don’t even mean those words. Just trying to swoon me to produce an heir, then to discard of me immediately...” Your eyes darted from Loki, looking out the large window beside the bed. The city glimmered below, still bustling with celebration from the wedding hours ago.
“I’m not that harsh of a person, my dear.” His voice was low. “I’m not a monster that would use you in such a way. I wouldn’t discard you.” He then took his hand and let his index and thumb pinch your chin gently, forcing your attention back to him.
Your eyes twitched in reaction to Loki’s sudden gentleness. Although he kept his bratty demeanor, you could recognize that his feelings were strangely sincere. Your lip curled, trying to fight back any feelings that were trying to spill from you, but your face didn’t show a single sign of emotion. The two of you remained silent in your positions, your grip on his shoulders lessening gently while Loki felt your resistance slowly melting away.
He still kept his hand on your chin, locking your gaze with his gently. Watching your expression grow just a bit softer made him grow at ease. You were finally shedding off the defensive barrier you had due to his harsh words from earlier, the pang of regret hitting Loki hard. He released his hand from your chin and moved it to your cheek, his slender fingers cupping your skin softly.
The gentleness was strange to you, making you want to retract from it, but you couldn’t help but give in. Your hands moved away from his shoulders to cover your eyes, a shaky exhale leaving your lips before Loki used a hand to pull one of yours away.
“Don’t hide from me, let me see you.” He said with an ounce of concern, moving the other hand away. “I want you to look at me.”
“You’ve already won your little shouting war with me and you’re still here trying to comfort me at my lowest… I don’t understand.” You hissed through your teeth while you adjusted your position so Loki wasn’t above her anymore, both of you sitting up. “Your pity towards me is so infuriating…”
“Pity?” Loki repeated, a small hint of sarcasm in his tone while he allowed you to sit up. “You truly believe this is pity? No, no my dear, this has nothing to do with that. It’s something else that’s completely different.” Loki then let his hand rest on your thigh, his touch practically melting through the thin fabric of the gown. “Can you not think of any other reason why I followed you?”
“Why possibly?” You snorted at Loki’s change in demeanor. Although you were a bit anxious about how he would’ve responded, you could still tell his pride was still sky high but he wasn’t letting it have full control over his actions and words.
The small giggle made his jaw clench, even if he knew you were trying to overpower his irritating attitude, it was working without a doubt.
“Desire. The purest and rawest.” He said shortly, his large, dark eyes piercing straight through your soul while his hand remained on your thigh, the other going up to your cheek.
A chill immediately shot through your spine, eyes widening slightly to his confession. Yet without any emotion in your expression, after a few quiet moments you spoke, “…Are you just going to let your desire bubble?”
Your words acted as a switch within Loki’s mind, his hand moving to the underside of your thigh to caress your skin while he leaned into your ear. “Oh, my dear, I thought I would have to let it boil for a lifetime.” He was quick to capture your lips in a passionate kiss, the hand on your cheek moving away to grip your waist, his touch desperate and possessive as he thrived from your lips. You closed your eyes quickly as your faces clashed, bringing up a hand to grip his dark locks while you forced your tongue into his mouth, enticing a groan out of Loki. Your other arm wrapped around his neck and shoulder, pulling him even closer to you so your back was fully on the bedsheets.
The kiss was fueled by desire, resentment, anger, lust, and heaps of other emotions that drove you two into animalistic urges, both of your touch desperate and pleading.
The kiss felt like it had only lasted a few mere seconds when Loki pulled away from you to give the same attention to your neck, littering your skin with bites and kisses as he ventured lower., removing the measly coat off of your body without wasting any time to give your neck attention.
“You’re driving me mad.” He spoke huskily.
“I can tell, Loki.” You nod, whimpers now spilling from you as he bites at your collarbone and around your chest.
He hummed in response to your whimpers, further fueling his desire as he lowered, ignoring your heaving chest and moving straight down to your thighs. His hand snaked up both of your thighs, his thumbs sinking below the waistband of your panties and pulling at them teasingly, watching your thighs squeeze together in response.
“How lewd… You must’ve been so eager for me at the gathering. Marrying someone you once knew before by selection, getting to see him in such ravishing attire… I could say the same to you. The dress I had selected wouldn’t have looked better on anyone else.” He continues to sing praises to you while he kisses your thighs, nibbling just enough to leave small marks on your skin that make goosebumps appear.
“Would you like me to satisfy you dear? Awake the urges that I know you’ve kept this entire day?” He asked, looking up into your lust-filled gaze with hunger, his thumbs remaining under the bands of your panties.
“If your skills are satisfactory, I will allow it.” You huffed jokingly, your hands both resting on his head, massaging his hair gently.
“I may have an infamous silver tongue, but you think it’s only good for running my mouth?” He snickered before tugging your garment down, taking in the sight of your soaked cunt, a bridge of your wetness connecting and breaking away from the gusset of your panties as Loki pulled them away.
“Oh my…” he whispers lowly, his breath fanning your slickness, causing the butterflies in your stomach to stir. His hands roamed all over your body, running over the peaks of your clothed breasts and your stomach, feeling your soft curves sinking beneath the pressure of his fingers. They returned to your thighs, caressing them gently before one hooked a leg over his shoulder, the other using a thumb to spread your folds gently.
“A truly dirty woman indeed.” He cackled, pressing a kiss to your clit, causing your hips to instantly buck into his mouth, the bundle of nerves barely grazing the tip of his nose. “…and greedy may I add?”
“You’re the one who said you had a desire for me.” You rebutted, tugging at his hair, enticing a groan out of Loki.
“Well look at you, undressed and flustered.” You immediately looked away but quickly brought your attention back to Loki once he licked a slow stripe up the slit of your cunt, making you shiver deliciously.
“Allow me to continue further. I would like to worship you, as a queen.”
“I suppose— oh…” you moaned lowly as he was quick to lap at you, the flat of his tongue gliding through your folds with ease. His fingers dug harshly into your thigh, almost hard enough to draw blood, amazingly contrasting with the immense pleasure that flooded your senses. Loki didn’t move his attention anywhere but your eyes, yours watering slightly and constantly rolling back in bliss, making him hum proudly into your cunt while you gasped from the vibration.
He continued, fueled by your hushed gasps and moans as your hips instinctively bucked into his luscious mouth. “That’s it, make a mess, my dear.” Loki spoke, looking into your eyes with a burning desire.
“Keep going…” You said, commanded even, tugging his hair roughly. He happily obliged, closing his eyes as he now truly savored your aching heat. He peppered kisses on your inner thigh and clit, suckling occasionally while flicking his tongue rapidly against your nerves, successfully making your hips buck further into the sensation. Many minutes passed, nearly hours in your mind, and Loki continued, almost bringing you to full tears as he continued to tease your sensitive body, quivering from overstimulation but also from the fact that you didn’t want to give in to his pleasure.
You did not doubt how well his tongue was, how he was able to nearly make you cum countless times, yet his words from earlier were still negatively itching your brain, you wanted to prove him wrong. As your brain scrambled between the thoughts of giving Loki his satisfaction or trying to hold your “powerful” demeanor, Loki’s lips finally detached from your cunt, his mouth and chin glossy from your juices. Both of your eyes had locked for just a moment, a hint of vulnerability as you looked at each other with lust, your eyes both half-lidded and dazed while your chests heaved to regain air.
As you finally catch your breath, you quickly feel the wind get knocked right out of you when Loki inserted a finger into your heat, your eyes widening.
“Is this satisfactory for you yet? Look at the mess you’re making…” You immediately started to moan quietly as he began to pump his finger within you at a slow pace, resting the side of his cheek on your plump thigh.
“Shh… I know, I knowww my darling. I want you to lose yourself, your composure, everything. I know how badly you want to hear me speak, and I can’t help but oblige. Watching you writhe beneath me… your legs twitching and cunt hugging my fingers so tightly… ahh— couldn’t be more satisfying than watching endless galaxies fall into my hands…” He cooed between his desperate and sloppy kisses to your clit, each kiss deepening with every tug you gave to his hair.
Loki’s pace began to quicken, adding a second finger in unknowingly which caused the heel of your foot to dig into his lower back. He then went from two digits to three now pistoning brutally against that delicious spot within you, making your toes curl mindlessly as your teary eyes continued to stay on his. Your hips lifted in the air, trying to fight back against the looming feeling of release. Words spilled from your lips, a mixture of quiet pleas yet slightly louder calls of Loki’s name.
You’re eyes squeeze shut as you felt your orgasm approaching closely, body so incredibly sensitive as Loki continued to use his fingers within you without breaking a sweat while suckling on your clit with pure hunger, his tongue darting out just enough to graze the bundle of nerves. “Close…” you muttered hazily, stars in your vision and the grip on his hair tight.
“Ah, ah, darling. Not quite yet.” He stopped his motions as soon as you spoke, a wet bridge of your juices connecting with his lips, soon breaking after a low chuckle rose out of Loki.
The ruined orgasm made you flustered, cheeks red from embarrassment as you rolled your eyes in annoyance, thighs squeezing tight together once Loki lifted his head from the junction of your legs. “You shouldn’t play with your food, my husband.” You teased lowly.
“Fair.” He shrugged, his eyes roaming over your breasts as you spoke, “Although it’s a bit difficult to resist. Maybe I should truly dig in, hm?” Loki’s body leaned forward, capturing you into another lust-filled kiss, pressing your back into the soft comfort of the bed. One of his arms possessively wrapped around your back, his other hand resting on your hip.
Your tongue instantly darted into his mouth, the mixed taste of yourself and Loki on your tongues as they swirled, coating themselves in sweet saliva. Your hands pulled Loki further into your body as you two turned over in the bed together, your thumbs right in front of his earlobes while the rest of your fingers tangled in his short curls as his back rested against the sheets while your hips were straddling his lap.
“I may return the favor…” you hummed teasingly, moving the rough kiss to his jawline, peppering kisses down from his neck and slowly down his toned torso, occasionally leaving the faintest hickies whilst removing his tuxedo and his lavish green button-up below. His skin felt incredibly cool in comparison to your warm cheeks. You had even flicked your thumb over one of his nipples, earning a groan that interrupted a starting sentence, most likely another bratty remark towards your sudden change in demeanor.
Loki watched, his brow furrowing as you looked into his eyes as your kisses trailed low, leaving small smudges of lipstick just above his belt line where his pants remained. “Hm… What a needy, feeble girl…” The god couldn’t help the snicker that left his lips once you began to tug his slacks down his slender legs, revealing the large bulge straining against his briefs, practically throbbing with a small patch of wetness right where his wanting head was.
“Have I really worked you up this much, my lord?” Your brows raised just a bit, a small smirk on your face although your face was blushing madly. Another dark chuckle filled the room after your question, a small hint of frustration in Loki’s laughter. “Oh, my dear, you have no idea. With every touch, you make it even worse.”
“Shall I stop?” You hooked your fingers beneath the band of his briefs, tugging ever so slightly so you could see his engorged head barely peek over, slick with his pre-cum.
“ No… no.” his voice shook, “Gah… you truly are a fool…” The primal urge that Loki was holding back to just pounce on you, giving in and devouring you whole was so painful as you could clearly see by the way his length throbbed beneath his briefs.
“I’m glad you believe that. What would you do if I were to stop?” You rest your cheek against his clothed shaft, both hands moving from his waist and now resting on the meat of his thighs while you look up into Loki’s eyes innocently.
“A punishment would suffice. But I wouldn’t dare to spoil the surprise of what that possibly could be.” As Loki spoke he let his palm rest over your head, fingers gently threading themselves in your hair and tilting your head just a bit.
“I have many ways I can make you listen like a proper royal.”
“How… Attractive.” You then tugged his briefs down fully, his length springing in your face, the head barely tapping your nose for just a moment. “Oh my…” you cooed, feeling Loki’s hand expand in your hair with a hint of shock, even relief.
“You look tempted… do you enjoy the view?” Loki hummed, a sly smile on his lips as his free hand lowered to your plump lips and the thumb parting them gently. “That is one way to put it.” You chuckled lowly, your laughter being interrupted with a small tug of your hair Loki did to bring your face closer to his cock, practically feeling the warmth radiating from the shaft.
“Ahh, I can tell my sweet thing, you look utterly starstruck. You’re not planning on stepping down now after coming so far, are you?” Loki let his thumb push a bit deeper, sinking between your lips into your warm mouth, pressing down on your tongue just enough to make you squirm. You were quick to swirl your tongue around his thumb, pulling away with a wet pop. “Maybe I need assistance?” You hummed, resting your head against his muscular thigh.
“Dirty girl.” Loki grinned, changing both of your positions quickly so your back was to the sheets, head lolling off the end of the bed while he stood Becky to your shoulder. He crouched for a moment, leaning in to give you another sloppy kiss, his hand wrapping around your neck and squeezing gently, making you gasp into his mouth. He withdrew from your lips before planting a kiss on your forehead.
“What assistance do you possibly need?”
“Maybe your guidance to my lips. Your shaft seems to be too warm to the touch for me to hold…” You pouted teasingly, breath growing heavy once he allowed his cock in your view, hovering just inches away from your lips once more. His member is just as big as your face which made your cunt drip with your wetness.
The god laughed at your innocent-sounding response, truly enjoying the game you were playing with him. “It too looks like your hands wouldn’t be able to hold such a size. I wouldn’t mind helping you.” He lowered his body and leaned forward slightly, the tip of his cock pressing right against your lips. “Open your luscious lips, my wife.”
You nearly turned into putty from his command, quickly obeying and opening your mouth to allow his head to slip in, his member being met with your tongue against his slit. Loki groaned as he felt you suckle the tip, tongue lapping against the opening to collect his pre-cum. He allowed you to continue sucking him but he also waited to see if you were comfortable. You pulled away from his cock for a brief moment, catching your breath and nodding before heading back to his head, taking it within your mouth once again.
“Oh you’re so eager to please your god— what a good girl. Slowly now.” The trickster praised, easing himself further in as he felt your tongue run along the veins that webbed his shaft. It took him a few moments until Loki could fully sheathe himself in your throat, a small bulge forming, the sight making him groan deliciously.
While he let his cock rest in your mouth, Loki leaned forward to trail kisses from your belly to the swell of your breasts, quickly taking off your bra and discarding it to the side before taking a nipple between his lips. Your legs pressed together in response, your body squirming as you whined around his cock, sending heavenly vibrations throughout Loki’s body. His free hand toyed with the other nipple, rolling it between his index and thumb, occasionally tugging to get those extra cries out of you while his tongue circled your areola.
As soon as he was about to move, you quickly tapped Loki’s thigh, needing to get air for a moment. He was quick to withdraw his cock from your throat, coated with his pre-cum and your saliva. Both of you shivered, breathing heavily at the sudden loss of warmth. “By the heavens above…” You heaved, eyeing his glossy length as it remained close to your face.
“Too much now?” He hummed, the free hand that was toying with your nipple moving down to caress your hip.
“Not at all. It’s plenty.”
“That’s my wife.” Loki praised you before he lowered his cock into your mouth once more, rocking his hips back and forth slowly within you. Your mouth was practically stuffed full with his shaft, slowly entering and exiting while you gagged every time he was fully sheathed inside of you. “Careful now, darling. You’re making me lose my composure…” Loki moaned, using his four fingers to rest behind your neck, his thumb resting over the bulge that would form each time he filled your throat.
The image was so lewd that the god couldn’t get enough, although he knew he was reaching his limit. Loki didn’t want to release within her and spoil the sexual banter between you two, knowing you’d poke fun at him for finishing so early. “You’re such a mess. I cannot allow myself to— gah… turn you into shambles so soon.” He withdrew with a pleasured sigh. You coughed once his thickness left your throat, your chest shakily expanding and contracting to catch your breath.
“My days, Loki…!” You coughed, your body rolling over so your face was buried in the sheets, cheeks red with shock as your jaw ached.
“Are you well? You didn’t break, did you?” He purred, moving around the bed and sitting right by your hip, his hands coming up to massage your back while his fingertips occasionally dug below to run over your nipples. Your back arched, hips rising in the air like a cat, and your knees kept you grounded in reaction to his ministrations, groaning in relief. You turned your head just enough so that half of your lips and eyes were visible.
“I need you… my lord…” You pleaded, hunger in your eyes as you looked back at Loki while he continued to knead your skin firmly.
“Patience, my sweet.” Loki responded, bringing a hand down to your ass roughly while the other continued to massage your shoulder. You gasped from the sudden pain, quickly digging your face back into the sheets to muffle the small moan that slipped from your lips.
“Loki, you can’t do that…”
“Why possibly? Your body is telling me otherwise… you’re completely drenched.”
“Please, my husband…” You murmured, gasping once he smacked your skin once more, the stinging sensation making your toes curl.
“What is it that you’re begging me for, my wife? Use your word now.”
“…For you, my husband, I… I beg for your cock, please…”
“Your pleas are so divine. I’ll give you what you want—but I would’ve loved to hear you for a few moments more.” Loki ended his sentence with one last harsh smack to your ass, soothing the reddened area with sweet caressed circles by his palm. He teasingly let his middle and index finger drag against your clit for a brief moment which caused your hips to jolt from the sudden pleasure. You continued to whine into the bed, thighs pressing together to try and shorten his movements, ultimately failing when you felt Loki insert a digit within you, making you melt under his touch.
He curled his middle finger just enough to press deliciously against that sensitive spot within you, eliciting a loud moan muffled by the sheets. “How sinfully delightful.” He murmured into your ear, his breath fanning against your burning skin while he added his ring finger, the two digits adding just enough pressure to your gummy walls to nearly make you cum. You arched your back and hips in the air while you kept your face buried in the sheets while your hands gripped the sheets until your knuckles turned white as you continued to cry out.
Loki continued his motions, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt, juices coating the digits and dribbling around your sensitive folds while you continued to moan Loki’s name, the symphony-like music to his ears. He eventually pulled his fingers out of your sopping heat and took them into his mouth to taste you, humming in delight after a few long seconds of sucking his digits. He let them go with a wet pop, teasing cackles following after.“Forgive me, darling. I needed to indulge in you once more. You’re irresistible.”
Your body shook from another near orgasm lost to Loki and his little games, which irritated you, yet you couldn’t pry yourself away from his misleading tactics.
“Please, Loki. Don’t make me plead any further…” You huffed, hips still arched in the air. Loki gave you a devilish grin, massaging your lower thigh gently. “Of course, my dear. You’ve been such an obedient wife after all.” The hum of his voice sent chills down your spine, deliciously enticing the previous butterflies in your stomach to flurry. To have sex with a god, one that you used to know years ago, before different duties had grasped both of your attention.
You were still fighting back against the idea of Loki being so dominant over you, concerned about how one night in bed with him would make you seem weak and inferior despite being on the same wavelength when it came to royalty. You didn’t want to look like a helpless woman in his eyes, even in the public’s view. Fortunately, Loki understood the stance you took earlier while at the dinner table. Every time he would stare into your large eyes, he would feel your resilience. How you were able to change his emotions, even dare to leave him alone at the table without an ounce of fear, drove the god mad with an insatiable hunger for more.
To have a woman who knew her values was something he had been wanting, praying for—and he knew that you were the one.
You felt the bed dip beneath you and Loki’s weight as he fully rested behind you, his hands running down your arched spine, goosebumps breaking out over your skin, all the while you felt his length resting against your thigh. His cock pulsed, twitching against your skin, making you tremble at the lewd idea of him sheathing inside of your longing cunt.
The god took a glance at your wetness once more, using a thumb to spread either fold to reveal the sopping mess you’ve become. “Purely divine…” He muttered, causing you to shudder. “Enough with the teasing, Loki…” You adjust your arms so they’re on either side of your head, hands catching and dragging a pillow close to rest your head on.
Without a word the god plunged his cock within your cunt, slowly sliding himself further inside. You gasped loudly into the sheets while Loki groaned at the feeling of your walls gripping him like a vice. He didn’t give you much time to react, only breathing heavily into the pillow as he filled you slowly.
He paused for a moment, hand coming up to rest on your shoulder to make sure you were alright, not a peep leaving his lips, only ragged breathing. You nod, not turning your head around whatsoever before he began to work himself in further, filling you straight to the hilt of his cock. You couldn’t comprehend how full you felt, walls gently adjusting with the help of Loki’s previous work of his fingers on you. “You feel incredible, darling… Just truly—truly tight…” Loki spoke, his voice wavering just from being inside of you for a few moments. His hand remained on your shoulder while the other gripped the side of your hip, fingernails digging lightly into your soft flesh.
“You can move—“ As you were about to finish your sentence, Loki removed himself, leaving only his tip within before thrusting back inside of you, making your eyes roll back instantly. He continued this motion, agonizingly slow as he wanted to make sure your body was warming up to his length and girth. The head of his cock kissed your cervix multiple times as he continued, slick noises emitting from your entrance as you moaned thoughtlessly into the pillow, hands gripping the sheets before you turned your head around. You and Loki’s eyes met, your teary orbs locking with his half-lidded ones.
Oh, how gorgeous you looked to the god, beneath him, shaking and moaning with tears building in your eyes. In comparison, Loki looked like he was relishing the moment. His hands were holding you in place, hips actively moving back and forth to drag his member within while panting like a dog in heat, seeming so possessive of your body. “Don’t look at me in such a way, my dear— Oh, how shameless you look right now…“ He panted, warning you while he looked down at where you were taking his cock and how it disappeared and reappeared with each drag of his hips.
“Or what, my King?” You spoke wryly, a shaky chuckle leaving your body despite being at his mercy.
“Oh, you think you’re clever?” He snapped his hips harshly against your ass, a penetrating sound resonating in the air as he pressed himself full of the hilt once which earned a loud mewl from you. “What confidence… But do you truly believe you can beat me at my own game?” As his words spurred on while he drilled himself into you, Loki’s hands kept you down as his cock pulsed within you, the god groaning over the feeling of your walls clenching him tight.
You moaned loudly into the pillow beneath you, hands continuing to claw at the silky sheets as you felt Loki grind harshly at the same area that made you melt, causing your thighs to quake with each harsh slap of his own. Your eyes rolled back when his balls would slap against your clit, the sudden touch driving you both mad.
At one point he stopped, allowing a brief moment of rest for the two of you, bodies heaving shakily. You adjusted your upper body slowly so you used your arms to keep yourself sitting upright. He used this moment to press kisses to the back of your neck and shoulders, letting his tongue drag occasionally over your burning skin. As your hand was about to rest on his forearm, Loki gripped your hair, tugging it just enough for you to look fully back at him.
You winced, a small tear forming in the corner of your eye as you looked up into his eye, dark with lust. “You’re losing yourself. It’s a delight to see, considering you were teasing me moments before, darling.”
“Did you not call me a nuisance earlier?” You pried, a teasing yet raspy voice due to all of your cries. Your body shivered in delight as Loki pressed his own to yours.
“You are MY nuisance, every little part of you.” Loki runs his other free hand along your skin to gently grip your neck, his other hand occupied in your hair.
“It s-seems you can’t get enough…” you huffed, eyes still locked on Loki’s as you teased each other, feeling his cock twitch within you with each sentence. “You had so much to say at the table about me, what a strange way to exert them.”
“Exerting them deeply.” He punctuated with a thrust, causing you to yelp loudly. “I’ve learned to express my feelings in a new fashion. It seems like you’re enjoying it just as much as I am.”
“It’s definitely a change, just like your feelings had changed about me and all of what you spoke at the table…” You felt guilty as your thoughts were dragging you out of the moment, dragging you back to how you felt so angry at the table, yet so upset from how Loki was speaking towards you.
Your voice caught in your throat, but the sheer feeling of the mutual back talk was comforting, a sense of ease washing over you. It felt like an intimate challenge, a satisfying challenge of who could ruin the other first.
“The time when I had called you many names?” He hummed, “Idiotic? Shameful? Incapable?” He punctuated his words with a slam of his hips to your ass, his hand moving from your neck to your hip, gripping harshly while his other hand remained in your scalp.
“Y-Yes- oh.. those exact words you stapled on me…” You moaned hoarsely.
“Such cruel, awful words that I had said… Is it sick…? Me, a god, wanting you even after what I had said?”
“Just a little.” You admitted, “But I’ve got to say, the sheer hatred you showed me earlier, the sudden words along with your looks, your facial features, and the way you looked, so formally dressed for the marriage… it was so gravitating, the hatred you had fueled my own, yet here we are in such a wild position.”
The hand he had around your neck loosened as he hunched his head close to yours, voice turning into a low growl. “And what exactly fueled that hatred of yours, darling? Was it my words, or was it something more severe?”
“Your words flooded my mind, making me rebut every sentence,” you hissed between your teeth as his pace slowed down, sensually thrusting his pulsing cock in your sweet gummy walls. “I couldn’t stand your remarks, they angered me, brought me almost to tears in all honesty…”
Loki’s expression softened just a smidge, a small pang of guilt resonating within his body. Before he got to speak, his thoughts interfering with his thrusts, you spoke first once again. “I know you meant those words, but I meant mine as well. Our hatred is strong, but we are just expressing that right here and now.”
“I didn’t truly mean to hurt you.” He spat out of self-shame.
“You didn’t. But those words did hurt. But I will make you pay, of course. I’ll simply ride our hatred out of each other.”
Your words were just as bold as your actions, moving yourself away from him and his cock, the length slipping from your heat while you lead Loki in changing positions. You were now straddling his hips, your thighs caging his own while his cock throbbed right in front of your pelvis.
Loki couldn’t help but grin mischievously, a mixture of excitement and awe brewing within his mind as your confidence shone through, almost blinding. “Will you last to ride out every last drop?” He teased, clenching the meat of your thighs with both of his hands. He massaged your skin with his thumb, digging just enough to further rile you up.
“Another challenge?” You questioned, your voice quickly turning into a groan as you sunk yourself onto his cock, feeling his hot length stretching you quickly, drowning in your wetness. You braced yourself against his torso, your lower hands flat against his toned stomach while Loki groaned with you. His eyes locked on yours once again, licking his lips with a smirk. “Another challenge won’t hurt… I’ve thrown so many at you after all.” Loki purred.
“If you finish first, you have to pull out. If I finish first, you can stay within.” You spoke, not an ounce of shakiness in your voice despite your darkened cheeks, your body remaining still while trying to readjust to Loki’s cock. The king couldn’t help the cackle that left his throat, his chest heaving. “How tempting… What if we were to finish at the same time? What then, hm?” He teased you further, one of his hands moving from your thigh to the flat of your back, fingertips hardly ghosting your skin to have you arch like a cat, goosebumps sprouting through your body.
“A-A silly thought…” You muttered, “We shall see, my husband.” You slowly began to move your hips, trying to keep yourself from losing your power and just plopping your rear down on his thighs while you raised and lowered yourself hesitantly. Your legs were experiencing aftershocks from your previous orgasms, your cunt still so sensitive as you stretched around his cock as it pulsed with every movement you offered. Countless moans left your lips, a mixture of pleasure and slight pain being expressed through how hard you were gripping Loki’s strong shoulders, fingertips digging into his skin.
A low groan tore from Loki’s throat, your walls gripping his length like a vice while you moved your hips. Your breasts were practically bouncing in his face, hypnotizing him as small, mindless whimpers slipped from his mouth. “You truly are— ngh... testing your limits, aren’t you, dear?” He hummed, voice wavering. “You wouldn’t want to lose this bet.”
Although your motions were slow, the pleasure was immense, Loki’s tip constantly coming to press against your cervix, which made your head spin. You began to slowly speed up despite your tired legs, Loki’s words sparking another wave of competitiveness over your mind. Before you even had a chance to protest you felt a hand grope one of your breasts, causing a groan to escape and your body to rest on his thighs again, grinding your clit right against his pelvis since you couldn’t lift yourself in the moment. It will suffice.
Loki’s thumb tweaked your nipple when you began to speak. “I know you’d love for me to lose, to even have us finish at the same time…” you were about to speak further when you felt Loki thrust harshly into your cunt, a grunt slipping from the god and a cry from you. He had noticed your exhaustion miles away, intending to help you in his best interest. His cock was able to hit such a sensitive spot within you, a spot that made you see stars as your head rolled back.
“You know me well. It’s a shame you must always test my patience…”
“And yet you always succumb to my words.” You interrupted his words with a messy kiss, leaning forward and swirling your tongue with his and pulling away. “A pathetic man who would lose himself for his wife—“ your statement quickly being shut down when you felt Loki’s cock twitch within your cunt, threatening to unleash the load he’s been holding back for days since the announcement of you two being wed.
The moment his cock had reacted, he unleashed a fury of rushed thrusts into your desperate heat, his thighs slapping against yours quickly. Loki’s hands continued to toy with your nipple, the other moving from your thigh to your pelvis, using his thumb to press and rub circles into your clit. You moaned out in bliss, feeling like you were being attacked from every sensitive angle you had.
“You don’t have a single clue of what I'm capable of…” he spoke, voice cold and husky, “I want you to finish… lose this silly bet first…” he continued to mummer your name lowly, pressing kisses over your collarbone before heading to your other breast, suckling the nipple and letting his teeth graze the sensitive skin.
You buried your head into his neck, teeth grazing his skin while moans continued to spill from you, jumbled words and pleads spurting out when you began to meet Loki’s thrusts. You both rocked in synchronization, Loki cackling as you lost yourself in pleasure before tugging your hair sharply, dragging your head out of his neck, a yelp from you following when he forced you to look at him while he continued to massage your clit.
“Do you enjoy toying with me like this?” He huffed, voice shaky from his constant movements that soon grew even more erratic. He took in your form, shaking and begging for more as your cunt clenched around him so tightly as if he was going to leave. Your eyes were watering, small tears streaking down your cheeks out of pleasure. “B-But of course— oh! My husband…” You muttered feeling your orgasm inch closer with every second.
Loki’s eyes widened ever so slightly, continuing to take in the sight of you unraveling, strands of your hair sticking to your face with your eyes rolling back constantly. “Again. Say it again.” He cooed, the grip on your thighs harsh as he helped guide you on his cock while he slammed his hips up into you.
“M-My lord… husband… gah—! Loki! I’m close..!” Your words were rushed, quaking as Loki grew more erratic, his thrusts becoming more sloppy.
“Keep going…”
“With me— cum w-with me..! Please, my lord..!” You cried, tears fully flowing from your eyes. It only took Loki a few more of your cries and moans before he started to curse beneath his breath right before he lifted his hips as high as he could, his cock pressing deeply against your cervix before he removed his hands from your hair and clit to hold both of your thighs down, rope after rope of his seed spilling within you.
He groaned as he felt your walls convulse around his cock, your cum mixing with his while your hips bucked madly for that few extra feelings of heightened ecstasy with how your clit ground against his pubic bone. You both moaned madly, panting like animals before you realized you had squirted just above the base of his cock, his tip pressing deeply enough writhing you to cause your system to stir.
The pleasure that had been repressed due to Loki’s persistent halts had finally boiled over; your juices pooled and trailed down his torso while Loki watched you ejaculate in small waves which caused him to snicker in between his moans.
As you both rode off your highs, Loki’s body was still shivering over the aftermath, his breathing ragged while he still felt your walls twitch around his cock, cum oozing from the smallest openings where your intimate parts met. You too had your aftershocks, your hip bucking slowly coming to an end as you allowed your full weight to rest on Loki’s body, your breasts pressing against his chest while he ran a hand over your back to massage your skin sweetly. Both of your chests rose and fell with each breath, a look of pure lustful intoxication still laced in each of your looks.
“…You came so much…” you squeaked hoarsely, breaking the silence while you stared at Loki with half-lidded eyes, noting the cum slowly dribbling from your entrance despite his cock remaining inside of you. He looked up at your fucked out look, chuckling over her words. “You look… utterly wrecked, darling.” He smiled warmly before pulling you in for a passionate kiss, his tongue messing with yours for a brief moment before pulling away.
A dreamy sigh came out of you as Loki gropes your sore ass, kneading your flesh gently before slapping it. You whimper in reaction, a bit more of your combined cum seeping out from your cunt. “How messy… tempting...” Loki hummed.
“Tired…” you mutter, too spent to attempt to form another sentence. You bury your head into the crook of his neck just like before, cuddling him and wrapping your hands around his shoulders and neck. Loki’s hands continued to pamper you, one massaging your back and the other caressing your shoulder, taking in your worn-out form lovingly.
“You did so well, my wife.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek.
“…I never want to hear you call me a ‘feeble mind’ ever again…” you spoke with a throaty laugh.
“Oh, I won’t,” Loki agreed with a playful tone, “…But please know those words… I no longer mean. I know you have a sharp mind, I just wasn’t too fond of admitting it.”
“Amazing to hear. I had a feeling you weren’t so heartless at that dinner table. Besides, we knew each other many, many years ago… But now I am most likely to have your heir to the throne. It’s so soon… we’ve only just wed today!” There was a pang of concern in your voice that Loki quickly picked up on.
“It’s all happening so fast, yet that’s how it usually goes for us, no?” Loki would pause, his expression growing serious. “But you’re right, we have expectations from our people, to raise the proper heir being one of them.”
“I wouldn’t mind having a child with such a rowdy man who can be quite stubborn, as I.” You laugh loudly, pressing a kiss to Loki’s cheek. “A man who thought he had complete control over me the second we laid eyes on each other after the wedding.”
Loki smirked, moving one of his hands to cup your cheek tenderly, his thumb swiping over your skin. “Talk about stubbornness. You were the one throwing remarks back and forth with me.” He snickered playfully. “As for control, sweetheart, we both know who truly has that. But let us not ruin this moment with our bickering.”
“I suppose.” You roll your eyes, adjusting your position to rest your head beneath his head and collarbone, Loki resting his chin on your forehead while he continues to stroke your back lazily.
“Comfortable?” He hummed, his voice notably tired. You nod in silence, letting your body finally rest as you begin to drift off to sleep.
“Rest up, my dear.” Loki presses a kiss to your temple before you fall asleep in each other’s arms as the bustle of the wedding continues throughout the night.
spencer never needed to define what this was, until you did. now, the box is open, the outcome inevitable, and he has never been so happy to lose an argument.
pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader
warnings: situationship (ish? it gets resolved fast lol), mutual pining, friends to lovers (except they've been kissing for months), mention of heavy makeout, lap sitting, shirt removal, spencer kissing you to shut you the fuck up, cat does not survive the experiment (metaphorically speaking, there is no animal killing in this fic LOL)
wc: 1.4k
request: here
Your body is warm in his lap, your weight pressing down just enough to be distracting — no, disorienting — and Spencer is trying very hard not to look at your lips. Not just because they’re parted, slick, and kiss-swollen, but because the soft smudge of your lip gloss is evidence that this has been happening. That he’s been kissing you long enough to leave proof of it.
Mascara has clumped just slightly at the corners of your lashes and there’s a half-moon of pink polish chipped at the very edge of your thumbnail.
He’s obsessing over details. Your pupils are dilated, swallowing every fleck of color. He knows it’s a physiological response. That it’s dopamine, norepinephrine, oxytocin, all working in tandem to make you look like this, flushed and increasingly pretty on his thighs.
It’s easier to focus on biology than it is to focus on the fact that this moment exists in a state of suspended reality.
This was new. Not just in the way that everything between you had been new, in the way that months of small, careful steps had led to this, but in the way that Spencer had never felt like this. Overheated. Overwhelmed. Overrun with sensation. It had started as everything else had, soft and slow, the kind of kissing that didn’t lead anywhere except to more kissing.
And for months, he convinced himself that he could exist in this purgatory of lips meeting and parting, of hands resting politely at your waist. That he could always pull away before the ground gave away beneath him.
Today the ground was gone.
Spencer had never been particularly drawn to categories, not in the way people seemed to crave them. Labels had always felt limiting, reductive, forcing the complexities of human relationships into neat little boxes that never quite fit. He had been content in ambiguity, had never needed something to be named in order to understand it.
With you, the lack of label wasn’t liberating, it was frustrating. Because if this wasn’t something that could be named, then what was it?
“I’m just saying, I feel like if Rossi can write a whole book about a case, then I should at least be able to mention it in passing at brunch.” Your fingers skate absentmindedly across the dip of his throat, and Spencer, entranced, forgets to do something as basic as breathe. Oxygen is apparently optional. “But no, apparently that’s an inappropriate topic over eggs benedict. Which, okay, sure, but if I have to sit through another conversation about Carly’s fiance’s fantasy football league, I think I deserve to liven it up a little, you know?”
Your genuine need for an answer is clear, but Spencer can’t even remember what brunch is.
You gesture when you talk, and it’s so innocent, just for emphasis, but right now, it’s destroying him. Your fingers drag absently up his arm, over the soft material of his sweater, mapping the line of his forearm before skimming back up his neck. And then, like you don’t even realize you’re doing it, your palms smooth over his chest, fingertips tapping lightly against his collarbone like you’re idly counting his heartbeats. Spencer is painfully aware of every single one.
This is it, he thinks. This is how he dies. But he can’t decide what would kill him faster — how you touch him, or the moment you stop.
Spencer manages to clear his throat, barely.
“I think your friends don’t appreciate you enough.” His voice sounds strained, but any attempt at analyzing tone evaporates the second his fingers breach the barrier of your shirt.
Warm fingertips skim over bare skin, and suddenly, the conversation seems wildly misplaced. Because what was that about appreciation? If he’s trying to prove a point, he’s making it very convincingly.
You hum, shifting against him, not intentionally, probably, but it doesn’t matter, because he feels it all the same.
“Well, I can’t just hang out with you constantly.”
Spencer isn’t sure how to respond, because if he’s honest, that’s exactly what he wants. You, constantly. No breaks, no buffer. Just you.
Instead, he stares at your mouth again, because his brain is broken, and this is the inevitable destination. He never really understood the appeal of making out before you, before that first time, when he was supposed to just kiss you once and somehow ended up losing entire minutes of his life to your lips, to the sheer pleasure of pressing against you, of drinking in your sounds.
His broken brain is built to reinforce pleasure-seeking behaviors. Neurochemical feedback loops, all of it designed to keep him coming back. To keep him wanting. As if he needed the help.
Spencer doesn’t even pretend to think about it before saying, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Your lips twitch. You’re about to tease him, he can tell.
“It wouldn’t be a bad thing at all,” you say, tilting your head. “But wasn’t it you who went on that tangent about how platonic relationships significantly improve cognitive function?”
Spencer tries to find a loophole in that statement.
“And we,” you say, tracing a path down the trail of hair at his navel, “are not exactly fulfilling the platonic requirement.”
There was a time when he would have insisted — vehemently, even — that their relationship was strictly platonic. Fool’s errand.
“I mean, technically, if we wanted to be platonic, we could just… say we are.” That alone is egregiously incorrect. Spencer prepares to say as much, but then you pause, rolling the thought over like you’re actually considering it, before adding, “Like if we don’t label it, then it doesn’t count, right?”
His first instinct is to argue. His second instinct is to really argue. But neither one survives the sensory overload of you pressed against him.
“It’s like when you don’t open your credit card statements,” you continue, lips pursed. “Sure, the debt exists, but if you don’t acknowledge it, then it doesn’t feel real. So technically, if we just never say what this is, then it’s…”
“Schrödinger’s relationship?”
Spencer doesn’t know why he gives you the words, why he hands you the metaphor like a loaded gun and watches as you take perfect aim.
“Exactly! We exist in a state of undefined possibilities. We’re both platonic and not platonic until we open the box.”
Spencer sighs, rubbing at his temple, because now his entire brain is consumed by the implications of your logic.
Schrödinger’s cat was never meant to be a real experiment, just a way to illustrate how, in quantum mechanics, particles can exist in multiple states until measured. The cat is placed in a box, along with a vial of poison triggered by a completely random quantum event. Until the box is opened, it’s both alive and dead, trapped in an impossible in-between, a paradox that shouldn’t exist but somehow does. The problem is, that concept doesn’t translate perfectly to relationships. People aren’t quantum particles. Relationships don’t exist in probability states.
Except, apparently, this one does. Because as long as neither of you put a definitive label on what’s happening here, you exist in an undefined state.
He glances at you, at the expectant look in your eyes, and something about it makes him laugh, not because this is funny, necessarily, but because of course it would take a physics analogy for him to see what’s been obvious all along.
“I’m fairly certain that if we opened the metaphorical box, we would find that the cat — that is, our relationship — was decidedly not platonic.”
He hopes you’ll take the words for what they mean. That, for once, you won’t take the obvious escape route, won’t let yourself tuck this moment nearly into the realm of plausible deniability.
Because what he really said, what he really meant, was that he wants you. Only you. Singular, exclusive, definitively. If you pressed him for stronger language, he’d give it to you.
Your face was quick to light up.
“Are you asking me to go steady? Because Spencer, that’s a serious commitment. That means shared desserts, and, like, the expectation that I text you goodnight. And what’s the policy on PDA? Full access or —”
The rest of your sentence vanishes into fabric as Spencer pulls your shirt over your head, words muffled into cotton. You let out a muffled protest, momentarily caught in the fabric, and Spencer swears he’s never been more tempted to laugh at anything in his life.
By the time he tosses your shirt aside, you’ve recovered, blinking at him like nothing happened, hair adorably mussed.
“ — case-by-case basis?”
Spencer drags his hands down your hair, smoothing out the worst of the damage. He sighs dramatically, but his lips are twitching. “If I had known going steady required this much paperwork, I would’ve reconsidered.”
You grin at him. “Oh, you think this is bad? Just wait until we get into the holiday gift-giving policies and date night scheduling. Speaking of which —”
He doesn’t let you finish. He kisses you mid-sentence, less because he wants to shut you up (though that’s a nice bonus) and more because he can. Because he gets to. Because somehow, without him even realizing it was happening, this wonderful, impossible thing has become real.
This thing between you, this thing that was supposed to be undefined, a quantum maybe, it’s never been uncertain. It’s never been both platonic and not platonic, no matter how long he tried to pretend otherwise.
No, the box is open now. It probably always was.
And Spencer had never been so happy to kill the cat.
💌 masterlist
taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs
synopsis: You and Loki have an understanding about what it means when you touch each other: sex, not intimacy. Heat, not warmth. Contact, but certainly not comfort. So when the lines are crossed, you both fight to keep them from blurring into something complicated.
based on this ask/prompt <3
pairing: Loki x reader (no pronouns used, but Loki calls reader "witch" once)
wc: ~4600
content warnings: MINORS DNI. fwb/casual sex, no explicit smut but sex is heavily alluded to (the door is closed but the walls are thin if you catch my drift), swearing, reader has anxiety & shame surrounding it, anxiety-driven compulsive behaviour (skin-picking), teasing/dirty talk, some very gentle tickling
Everyone is exhausted. A little too spent for ego. So the briefing is quiet, Hill actually getting through her points without wisecracks from the cheap seats.
Everyone else around the table dons a loose posture, listening as she drones through the aftermath - what went wrong, what almost went worse, how they’ll prevent it next time - but everyone just wants the feeling of hot carbs and clean sheets.
But you're not really there. You can’t hear a word of it. Shoulders too stiff, brow too tense, and your hands won’t stop moving.
Your fingers twist in opposite directions, knuckles pressing to discolouration, then released again. The skin along your palm stings faintly from earlier, from where you’d rubbed too hard in the washroom, trying to feel something that would ground you.
You don’t realize you’re doing it again now, subconsciously tearing at the callused line of your thumb with a ragged fingernail - until a moon-pale hand quietly places itself over yours beneath the table.
Your stomach turns, and you glance sideways a little too obviously.
But Loki doesn't look at you. His gaze is still on the debrief, his eyes unreadable and distant, but his fingers - they lace gently through yours, easing your hands apart with care that feels... foreign.
It's so different than the touch you’re used to with him.
His thumb brushes over your raw skin with an idle softness. Your breath catches. This is very different than the touch you’re used to with him; those late-hour slips into each others’ rooms, the desperate clash of breath when it’s been a while, the slow smirking gravity when it’s only been a day or two.
But it’s never tender. Never… this.
But you don’t pull away.
Instead, you let your fingers explore his. Smooth. Strong. Faintly scarred. His hand is warming from contact. You trace the tendons, the groove of his knuckles. The slight ridge of a scar at the base of his index finger.
And he lets you. He never flinches. He just stays still while your anxious fingers map him, committing his shape to your quiet collection.
You don’t say anything when the meeting ends, and neither does he. His hand leaves yours before you both stand, but even then… it’s a slow release. Like he’s giving you the choice to hold on. To keep him there.
You almost do.
An unlocked door means the other is welcome. And when you approach Loki's room later that night, the faint light beside the door handle is green.
You don’t knock when you slip inside his suite. You never do.
And he never tells you to.
The door clicks shut, you flick the thumb-turn to lock it, and the hallway air vanishes - replaced by the warm, earthy scent of wood and silk and leather and magic that clings to the inside of Loki’s space.
The lights are low - just one bedside lamp, dimmed amber - no fire in the hearth tonight. His boots are by the door, his overcloak draped over a crushed velvet armchair. The walls sparkle with the flicker of half-burned candles dripping wax onto a polished stone dish. This room always looks like he's halfway between a battlefield and a throne.
He’s already in bed, propped against the headboard, a book in hand. Loose black pants, half-done button up shirt on top. He doesn’t look surprised to see you. He closes the book slowly, methodically, and sets it against his thigh, his gaze lingering on you, quiet but intense. The weight of it pressing hot against your skin.
You've showered. Cleaned the grime. Slipped into some shorts and a black tank that's slightly too short but not quite cropped. Your face is set with that look he knows well: hunger, that just barely hides how tightly you’re wound.
It’s never been spoken aloud - whatever this is. But the rules were understood early: no expectations, no confessions, no strings. Just stolen hours, harsh kisses, heated minutes or hours, controlled withdrawal. Never staying the whole night unless your legs were too tired to walk. Never touching unless it was about sex. There’d been words exchanged, yes, whispered filth and teasing and his unfair way with words, but never anything soft. Never anything real.
Loki watches you cross the room, and he doesn’t say anything.
He just extends a hand. An invitation. A command.
You slide into his lap with a breath that’s more exhale than greeting, your knees straddling either side of his thighs as you settle against him. The Compound is smooth walls and echoing cold, and the heat of his body is a relief - your loosen a little purely from the contact.
Your hands find his shoulders. His grip comes to your waist like a habit.
Not wasting time, you lean in, brush your lips over his throat, then murmur low against his pulse, "What are you reading?"
His hand flexes on your waist. "A reminder," he murmurs, "that even mortal novels can have... some semblance of value."
You smirk faintly, "God forbid." Then your mouth is on his neck, trailing heat in slow kisses, your hips shifting just enough to pull his breath from his lungs. Your hands begin to explore - shoulders, nape, then lower. Familiar territory. But when you lean back and reach for the buttons of his shirt, Loki catches your wrists.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks.
Then: "Your hands."
You glance down. The skin is still raw. Sore in places you hadn’t even noticed. Embarrassment flares in your chest, but you sniff a nervous breath and try to brush it off. "Yeah. New soap’s shit."
He doesn't buy it.
His thumbs run over the raw patches gently. You feel the hum of his magic as he mutters something under his breath - just enough to soothe the irritation, seal the skin. You inhale slowly. The sting fades. But you don’t look at him. You’re afraid of what might be in his eyes.
Loki tilts his head. "Why do you do this?"
Your eyes lift to meet his, caught. "It’s not on purpose."
"Fidgeting?" he asks.
You nod. "Yeah. Or- nerves. Habit, I guess. Happens before I notice."
He raises a brow. "Don't you mortals have some... soft hand-held object for this sort of thing?"
You let out a soft snort of laughter through your nose. "You mean a stress ball? Not really a good look for a trained operative."
"I disagree," he argues.
"Doesn’t matter. I don’t want or need people asking questions. Besides-" You reach up and run a slow finger along a button of his shirt, voice dipping, "-skin feels better. It’s warm. Real."
He doesn’t move. He just watches you, and you can feel him thinking. Calculating. Then, when your hands find each other again, tugging faintly against where they rest between you, he takes them. Gently. Firm.
"Use mine," he says.
You blink. "What?"
He nods once, unwavering. "If you need something to calm yourself, use my skin."
There’s heat in your stomach now, different from earlier. Something less urgent. Something deeper.
You scoff lightly, trying to shake it off. "What, like this?" You start to slide your fingers down, teasing, toward the waistband of his pants, but he catches your hands again.
He clicks his tongue, eyes half-lidded with amusement, and murmurs, "Always so eager to misbehave."
But he sees it. That flicker of unease still in your gaze. The way your hands keep twitching - moving, restless, desperate for contact, for anchor, but to not be seen reaching for it.
So he shifts, slightly, pulling you closer on his lap, and he slips your hands up beneath the hem of his shirt. Onto his stomach.
The heat is immediate. His skin is warm, firm, alive under your palms.
Your breath catches.
"I said," he repeats softly, "use mine."
He presses your palms flat, and then gives you his trust - that you'll stay put - and he slides his hands over to your hips to rest there.
"Calm yourself."
The low timbre of his voice washes over you - it's that tone he uses when he's telling you what to do, and you're letting him, and you're listening, obeying - and it sends heat to your lower belly. But he doesn’t move further. Doesn’t press. Just lets you decide, in the silence, whether to explore him.
Tentatively, your thumbs stroke lightly along the lines of his abdomen, tracing the edges of muscle, the dip above his navel. You watch your hands move beneath the fabric. You can’t really see anything, but the feel of him - the steady rise and fall of his breath, the twitch of muscle when your fingers brush too close to the edge - it's grounding. Soothing. Real.
Your shoulders start to drop. You hadn't even realised they were so tight. So close to your ears.
Your lips part, about to say something - an apology, maybe, or a joke to defuse the moment - but he moves and gently guides your hands again. Up. Sideways. You follow. You trace. He watches you.
When the backs of your nails graze faintly along his ribs, his skin twitches. You blink. Your eyes lift to meet his. There’s a softness in his gaze. Curious, and patient.
But you see the edge there, too. The tension.
You draw a new pattern along his side. He twitches again. Involuntarily. The reaction makes your mouth quirk.
"Are you... ticklish?" you murmur.
Loki exhales through his nose. "Unfortunately."
You lift a brow. "You’re letting me tickle you?"
His voice is low. Unamused. "I’ll stop you if I must."
You start to reply - a teasing line already forming - but before the words make it out, your fingers brush a spot near the side of his ribcage and he lets out the tiniest, breathiest laugh.
You freeze.
He narrows his eyes. "Don’t start."
You shut your mouth, biting the inside of your lip to hold back your tease, and you keep going - gently, reverently - tracing the shape of him, letting the feel of his skin against your fingertips calm the anxiety still moving through your chest. And he lets you. Head leaned back against the headboard, breath steady but slow, his hands back on your hips.
Eventually, one of them slides up your back, warm and strong, not demanding - just there. Anchoring you.
And for the first time when you're alone and touching him, you don’t try to take it further.
Neither does he.
And it becomes a pattern. Routine. Ritual.
At first, it’s only when you’re anxious.
You don’t always mean to seek him out. Sometimes your hands just won’t stop moving - clenching, scraping, curling tight into fists - and you find yourself at his door before you realise you’ve crossed the Compound. Sometimes it’s after missions. Sometimes it’s after meetings. Sometimes it’s for no reason at all except that something in you buzzes, and nothing else seems to work.
You never have to explain.
When you open Loki's door and he sees it in your eyes. In your shoulders. He’s always quiet, always already holding out a hand.
The first time after that night, you kiss him like you want to go further - but he catches your wrists again. And this time, he doesn’t tease. He guides your hands under his shirt and murmurs, "Is this what you need?"
You hesitate. Then nod.
You don’t fuck that night. You don’t even kiss again. You just press your palms to his stomach while he sits there against the headboard, and let your fingers move lightly until your breathing evens. He watches you, saying nothing, one hand resting loose on your thigh.
The next time, he doesn’t wait for you to reach. As soon as he sees the tremor in your fingers, he lays beside you, pulls you in, guides your hands to his stomach, his ribs, the line where soft skin tightens over bone. "This," he says simply. "Only this."
You want to kiss him. You want to distract yourself the way you always have - through sex, through heat, through that physical power that lets you forget how small you sometimes feel. But if you're anxious, he stops you. Every time.
He says it quietly, kindly, but firmly enough that it holds.
And when you’re not anxious, it’s sex. Messy, hungry, clever sex. The kind you can’t stop thinking about for hours after. And he's infuriatingly good at it - at drawing heat from you with just a look, just a bite to your lower lip, just the sound of his voice at your ear when he says something filthy and chases the path of his words with his tongue. There’s magic, sometimes. Sometimes he lets you pin him. Sometimes, he holds your wrists above your head until your legs shake and you're gasp his name against his throat. It’s always good.
But you begin to learn the new rhythm:
Touch, when you’re restless. Pleasure, when you’re not.
He never mixes the two.
If your hands twitch, if your voice trembles, if you hesitate when you undress - he slows everything. Pulls you close. Presses your palms flat against him and murmurs, "Just this."
Sometimes it’s his abdomen again. Sometimes just one side. Sometimes you find yourself curled into him, tracing the angle of his collarbone or the curve of his neck. You learn his body like terrain, and he never stops you. Even when your hands drift over ticklish places. Even when he squirms.
He’s ticklish, yes - but never pushes you away. He lets you feel everything. Even that. Even his softness.
You come to crave the way he breathes through it. It's tight at first, then soft. You learn the way he ducks his head, tries not to laugh, but his mouth tugs at the corners. He doesn’t suppress that around you either. Not anymore.
One night, you’re both beneath the covers, facing each other.
You hadn’t meant to stay. You’d planned to slip away after. But his arm had found your waist and you hadn’t moved. Now your legs are tangled, and his chest is bare, and your hand is idly brushing against the edge of his hip.
Neither of you speaks.
Your fingers trace slow, deliberate patterns just under the hem of his pants, not teasing - just moving. You follow the ridge of his hip bone, up, around, back down. He’s warm. Solid. A heartbeat you can feel against your fingertips.
He’s watching you. You know he is. But you don’t look.
Instead, you smile - quietly, to yourself - when you feel him tense. Just slightly. Not because he’s aroused, but because he’s trying not to laugh.
You press a little harder.
Loki buries his face in the space between your neck and your shoulder, half a groan, half a breathless sound that almost counts as a laugh. His shoulders twitch.
Your grin widens. You keep going.
Your finger drags lazily around the line of his hip again. You feel his mouth part against your neck.
"Witch," he mutters low.
You smile, light and slow.
But then - just before he can shift and grab your hand - you move. Slip your fingers up his side and brush your thumb along the ridges of his ribs.
He laughs. Properly this time. A stifled, breathy sound into your neck, full of surprise and restraint. His hand flinches at your back like he’s going to retaliate, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he exhales. It sounds like he might say something, but he doesn't.
So you just let your thumb circle there again, lighter now, feeling the way his body reacts before he can control it. His twitch. His grin against your pulse. His held, stuttering breath.
The feeling of him not fighting you. Not fighting at all.
And it grounds you more than anything else.
You ease your hand away after a moment. Let your fingers trace lazy paths over his lower back instead. You feel him settle again. His breathing slows.
Then his arm curls more tightly around you, pressing your bodies close. Not possessive, not commanding. Just there.
You press your nose under his jaw and whisper, "Thank you. For this."
Loki doesn’t answer right away. But he brushes his knuckles along your spine.
A moment later, you feel his lips at your hairline, and a wordless exhale that might’ve been something like always.
Weeks pass.
And it works - whatever this strange, tender ritual of yours has become. The grounding touch. The feel of his skin under your hands. The way he offers it like a gift, like a secret only you’re allowed to hold. It helps.
You stop rubbing your hands raw.
You stop waking with that buzz in your bones that only pressure and contact could tame.
You still come to him, often. But for something else.
For the other things. The late nights. The laughter. The sex.
Stealing away to each other’s rooms when it’s late and the halls are quiet.
You’ve kept that part of the rhythm, and it’s never less than what it was it's still good, still charged, still searing in a way you both chase with teeth and laughter. Some nights he’s rough with it, hungry, biting your neck and pinning your wrists with sharp fingers. Other nights it’s slower, more deliberate, his magic curling around your ankles while he draws you open inch by inch, whispering things into your mouth that make your knees weak for days after.
And you always leave when the air cools. So does he.
That’s the rule.
It’s been almost two months since your hands needed to glide against his ribs to steady your breath. You haven’t brought it up. And neither has he.
Until tonight.
You’re both already in his room. You’d kissed him the moment the door clicked shut behind you - lazy, heated, with the kind of tension that had been building all day. He was still dressed in one of those soft, half-buttoned shirts you liked to tear off his shoulders, and he looked every inch the pleasure you wanted.
You think that’s what this will be. What it always is. What you both agreed to without really ever saying the words.
But as you're moving towards the bed with his lips on your neck, he slows. Stills. He pulls back, steps past you toward the bar cart by the dresser.
It doesn't phase you. He always offers a drink unless you're both too feral to consider it.
He pours. Amber liquor, smooth and dark. Two glasses. His shoulders shift with each motion, strong and elegant and familiar.
"I take it you’re here to be properly humbled."
You hum as you walk slowly past his bed, fingers brushing the edge of his blankets. "Something like that."
But then - without turning - he says, "Have you learned how to deceive me?"
You tilt your head. "Hmm?"
He turns, holding out the glass to you. You take it, brows lifted. His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes are steady.
"You’ve seemed better," he says. "No trembling hands. No sleepless pacing outside my door. I haven’t had to pry your fingers open in weeks."
Your subconscious works faster than your thoughts. His tone. His stance. That look in his eye; this... this is delicate.
"And... you think I'm hiding my stress. From you."
He lifts the glass to his lips, faintly lifting one brow, "I'm not sure." He takes a sip. Still watching.
You lean back slightly, inspecting him over the rim of your drink as you lift it. Shrug with one shoulder. "I've been good. Haven’t really needed... just that." A beat. Then, lightly, "Which means it probably worked."
You take a sip. He watches your throat dip as you swallow.
He’s quieter than usual. You see something shift behind his eyes. He’s trying to keep it casual, but his voice is a touch too careful when he says, "Well, perhaps it would be wise to preempt your need. Rather than wait for the fallout."
Your eyes narrow a little. You know him too well. You do. You see it now - that flicker of vulnerability underneath the dry amusement.
Your mouth curls. Slow and satisfied and with an edge of endearment. No taunting.
"You miss it."
Loki scoffs softly, eyes flashing. He opens his mouth, probably to deflect - but before the words can form, you step forward and say again, quiet but sure:
"You miss it."
He gives you a look. A classic Loki look - arched brow, faintly offended, the kind that used to hold bite. But there’s no venom in it now. He takes another drink instead of answering, drains the glass, then turns away under the pretence of pouring another.
But his hands are too still. Too deliberate.
You follow him, stepping forward, placing your glass down beside his. Then you reach out. Slide your hands under his shirt, up his back. Skin to skin.
He tenses.
Your fingers move slow and steady, tracing the hard lines in his shoulders.
"You can ask for this too, you know."
He swallows. You feel it.
His voice is low, rough. "You're here for a reason."
"Mmm." Your hands keep moving, up towards the place his neck and shoulders meet.
He holds his ground. "And I intend to ensure you are thoroughly well-fu-"
His breath catches when your nails graze down the length of his back, one hand either side of his spine.
You let out another small hum, hands dipping lower - one trailing along his back, the other skimming around his waist. Slow. Soft.
"You’re tense," you murmur.
He shifts, barely, and says with a tighter edge, "Yes. I'm thinking of some very clever new ways to make you beg. Perhaps I'll-"
But before he can finish, before the rising insecurity in him has the chance to retreat into that mask of sex and heat and pleasure, your voice cuts in.
"-Loki, I... I know there's a line," you say, your body now pressed lightly against his back. "We haven't talked about it. But it's there. Between sex and... this."
Your hands keep moving. One traces the space around his navel, light as a whisper. The other follows the ridges of his abdomen, brushing over the firm shape of him.
"But," you breathe, "maybe that line doesn’t need to stay so sharp. Maybe it can blur, and that can be okay. Maybe... it doesn’t have to be complicated."
Loki’s head dips forward slightly. His hands clench on the edge of the dresser.
Your lips brush his upper back, and you whisper:
"Maybe it's all just need."
His whole body twitches when your fingers graze a more sensitive spot along his ribs. That familiar, involuntary reaction.
He lets out a slow breath, like it’s burning him not to move.
"Come to the bed," you ask. "Let me do this." Your fingers curl more deliberately now, tracing lazy patterns across his stomach. "And then you can make me beg. After."
Loki lifts his head. His weight shifts beneath your hands as he turns. Eyes searching yours - perhaps looking for mockery, for game, for an angle. But there's none. Just steadiness. Sincerity. Heat. Just your hands on him, slow and sure.
Something melts behind his eyes. Something gives.
You drag your hand up, and press your palm gently to the centre of his chest.
Then you nod once, subtle, and step back. Taking his hand.
He lets you lead him to the bed.
The room feels quieter now. He sinks onto the edge of the mattress like he’s unsure if this is indulgence or mistake. You kneel around him slowly, carefully, straddling his thighs but not pressing. You don’t reach for his shirt yet. You don’t kiss him. You just take your place in his lap and lift your hands to his sides like you've always done. Reminding him that this is normal between you.
You feel his breath hitch. You see his eyes darken.
He doesn’t stop you.
Your fingers slide under his shirt and up his torso, the pads of your thumbs catching the dips between his ribs. He twitches. Just slightly.
"This okay?" you murmur, watching him.
His gaze finds yours again. Steady. Blue and glowing. "Yes."
You press your lips together, holding that, and start to move again - slow, reverent, your fingers gliding in soft, grounding lines across his stomach, his ribs, his hips. You let your nails trace, sometimes circling, sometimes brushing just firm enough to make him tense. You explore every inch of him without taking more. Without making it about anything but this:
Your hands.
His skin.
Your quiet need.
His quieter one.
At first, he holds still. Then his breath deepens.
Little by little, his muscles loosen. His jaw unclenches. His hands - once white-knuckled at his thighs - relax enough to slide to your waist.
And when you find the edge of his ribs - that spot - you see it.
The twitch. The shift. The quick suck of breath.
You press there again. Delicate. He laughs.
Low. Quiet. Half-ashamed.
You grin. "I love this little spot."
He glares at you, but it’s hollow. There’s a flush in his cheeks now, a breathless lift to his chest. You keep moving - one hand around his side, one along his hip, the drag of your fingertips making him shift again.
"You’re going to be the death of me," he mutters, voice hoarse.
You kiss just under his jaw, lips curled in a private smile. "Hmm."
He breathes another laugh - but then you shift your weight, catch that same spot again with the edge of your nail, and he moves.
And in the next instant, the air crackles.
Faster than you can yelp, you’re on your back. Wrists crossed and pinned above your head in one of his hands. The God of Mischief looms above you, panting faintly, the corner of his mouth curved.
His hand dives to your side, fingers dancing with practiced cruelty. "I’ve let this go on for far too long without-"
He pauses. Because all you've reacted with is a underwhelming little wriggle. Barely anything.
You grin up at him. A twitch. A sniffling giggle. No more.
He frowns.
Tries again - a precise, ruthless attack against your ribcage, something that would've decimated the average person. But you? You just shift a little underneath him, and your grin remains the same: smug, knowing, so fucking pleased.
He stills, releases your wrists and sits back over your hips, hovering his hands over your abdomen as if he's unsure what he's touching. His eyes scan across your half-clothed torso.
"What," he starts flatly, "is this witchcraft."
You laugh then, and shrug as best you can with your hands still resting above your head. "Sorry. Not really ticklish."
His eyes snap up to yours. He stares. "That’s a lie."
"It’s not a lie."
"It is. It must be."
You laugh again at fierce denial in his voice. "Sorry. You’re the squirmy one here, Your Highness."
His eyes flash.
"Oh, you think so?"
You try to smirk, but you're too amused to look cocky.
Loki's eyes narrow, something darker slithering in behind them as he leans in close. His body shifts above yours, expression melting into something smouldering. And he smirks. Slowly.
Lifts a brow. "I think... you forget who's touching you, pet."
You feel the press of his waist sliding down your hips.
"And that there are many other ways to wring some squirms and whimpers from you."
You open your mouth to tease back, but he’s already moving - down, sliding lower, and your breath catches. Your fingers thread through his inky black hair as you giggle once, delighted, anticipatory...
...and then the sound changes.
Your amusement stutters into something else. Something deeper. Something after.
The line between comfort and pleasure blurs into nothingness.
And the world, and all its worries, fades away with it.
SUMMARY: Loki doesn’t leave your side as you recover after severe injuries obtained on a mission.
CONTENT: Angst, mention/description of machine assisted breathing, life/death situation, happy ending, love confession.
A/N: As per usual: please like, comment, and especially reblog – that’s the only way to make sure other people see it too. Here’s my TAGLIST and my MASTERLIST for more.
Gods don’t pray
Loki didn’t rely on others. He’d learned that the only person he could truly trust was himself.
That was until he met you.
He didn’t know when it happened: it wasn’t an explosion of warm fuzzy feelings but a creeping desire to just be close to you. To have your back on missions. To be in the room you were in, even if you were doing different things. He could spend hours pretending to read a book while in reality watching you engrossed in some menial task. There was something soothing about your existence. He felt at ease.
He felt...forgiven.
You didn’t judge him – being one of the first who realized what he’d been put through by Thanos – but you didn’t pity him either, just sought to show him a better day, one step at a time.
So he became your shadow on the battlefield, owing to keep your safe.
And he failed.
Now he’s sitting by your side at the infirmary bed. Still in his leathers spattered by dirt and blood. Holding your hand that feels cool even to his touch.
The others have tried to coax him to rest. To shower. They come by sometimes, offering him nourishment that he silently ignores, all the time watching your face instead. What little he can see of it. He hates the tube going into your mouth even if he can understand it’s helping your breathe – the hiss of the machine a constant rhythm that reminds him of his failure.
He’s drawing on his magic to stay awake. He’d try to seep it into you but his magic is not for healing and all he could do was soothe your dreams. Yes, you dream. He can see it in the flutter of your eyelashes, the movement behind the eyelids. He wish he could be there with you, but entering the dreams of another is not without risks...and he needs to be there when you wake up.
Because you must wake up.
You have to.
Already a part of him is aching at the idea of losing you – a fear he won’t entertain but it keeps pressing into his mind and heart whenever he isn’t actively thinking of something else.
“Norns,” he mumbles, thumb rubbing gently along your knuckles, “don’t cut her thread yet. Give her time. Take of my years instead.” He sighs. Watches your face closely but there’s no difference. Of course there’s not. “Ancestors watch over her. Don’t take her...don’t take her from me...”
It’s selfish, but the idea of living even a day without you now that he has find you is too frightening and he feels powerless. He has to rely on others to tend to you where his own knowledge and skills fail. It’s been days and still there’s no sign of improvement.
Until the third day where your fingers twitch in his grasp.
Scared and exited at the same time, Loki calls for the doctors and while he’s loathe to step aside, he does so to let them work and moments later the tube is removed, causing your throat to spasm for a moment before stilling.
All are quiet. Watching. Waiting.
Then you breathe on your own: a rattling breath that makes Loki’s world blurry.
He’s allowed back at your side, clutching your hand in his and over the next few hours he feels that it gets warmer. Now and then your fingers twitch and each time his own breath will catch in his chest as he studies your face...but your eyes remain closed.
Another day passes and Loki’s magic is running out, he’s exhausted, barely holding it together. Head nodding as his eyes fall shut on their own despite his efforts.
“Llo...Lo...”
His gaze snaps to you.
You’re fighting to open your eyes, face scrunched in the effort of that and speaking. “Lo...ki...”
“I’m here,” he croaks, soothing your cheek with the free hand.
His heart is feather-light all of a sudden. Norns be blessed: they’ve granted you more time!
“S...st...” You manage to open an eye and it swivels in the socket until you spot him. “Stink...” But there’s a tiny tug upwards of the corner of your mouth.
“I love you too,” he whispers, just for you to hear.
At that moment, the doctors have realized that you’re awake and they come rushing in. For the first time in four days, Loki excuses himself to go shower. He’ll be back by your side soon, content to sleep in the chair as you rests and regain your own strength.
i'm feeling dramatic, and therefore, this was made. enjoy!! - ♥️💗
confessions, arguing, the rain, kissing, lots of back and forth, flirting, allusion to nsfw ig
word count: 1,039
"You're behaving irrationally."
You stared at the god in disbelief. "Did you actually just say that?" He refused to meet your gaze, looking anywhere but your eyes. "Screw you, Loki." You scoffed, stalking toward the elevator.
"Please, just-" The elevator doors closed, effectively cutting him off. Leaning your head against the wall, you let out a heavy sigh, reflecting on your night.
Your date had been cut short when you spotted Loki spying on you from outside the restaurant. You knew he'd been following you all evening, seeing his frame at every destination. The final straw had been simple, but enough to put you over the edge. Your date had reached out to hold your hand across the table, only to find that his hand had been turned into a lobster claw.
Funny to Loki, not funny in the slightest to you. Or your date, who was hysterically screaming at his changed hand.
Loki had been sweet to you since before he'd moved into the tower. While you were not an Avenger when he invaded New York, you were a SHIELD agent, tasked with watching him in his cage.
You saw how broken he was, how he seemingly talked to himself in that cage, how he had an evil sort of twinkle in his eye, one that you believed he did not truly possess.
You'd been right, of course.
When he moved in and you were promoted to Avenger, he quickly became one of your closest confidants, a protector. He made sure to keep the brand of tea you liked on reserve, he bought you new books (or stole them, you honestly weren't sure), even going so far as to abandon his post to 'protect' you on missions.
But this, this 'protective stint' was too far. He was now interfering with your love life. You went on this date to try and get over him, and there he was, haunting you. It was like he knew; you believed he did.
He had never said anything to you, and you had never said anything to him. You thought that would be the end of it. The ever-familiar ding broke you from your thoughts, and the doors opened, Loki waiting on the other side.
"Darling-"
You groaned, pushing past him. "They were right about you, you know." You felt horrible saying it, but you wanted to hurt him the way he had hurt you.
"Oh?" You were sure his eyebrow was quirked. "About what exactly?"
"About the fact that you're an ass."
"I was merely-"
"Stalking me!" You yelled, whipping around as the security guard watched with mild interest. "You had no right."
"I beg to differ." Loki's eyes were dangerous, clouded with something you were trying not to think about. "He seemed questionable."
"Is that what you're telling yourself?"
"It is the truth." He didn't look distressed in the slightest, his face as casual as ever. But you knew him better than that, you knew that he fidgeted with his ring when he was nervous, or lying.
You fought against the smirk that threatened to break free. "You would think the God of Mischief would be better at lying."
"I will have you know I am a fantastic liar."
"Not something to be proud of, Laufeyson." You took a step closer, whispering. "You fidget with your ring when you lie, you know."
He scoffed, pulling his hand away from his ring, trying to prove a point. "How observant."
You shrugged, turning back toward the lobby doors. "If you'll excuse me."
"Where exactly are you going at this hour?"
"To apologize." You pushed the door open, frowning at the downpour before you. "You turned his hand into a lobster claw."
He ignored your comment, standing stoically beside you. "You'll catch a cold."
"Do me a favor and leave me alone."
He stared at you for a moment, taking in your features as if he would never see you again. "Don't go to him." He whispered, barely catching it over the noise of New York.
You walked out of the shelter, deciding the cold would be better than facing your fears. "You're being mean." You smiled to yourself, looking up at the umbrella Loki had conjured above you.
He followed after you, hair dripping within seconds. "Was that what that was?"
"You cannot drive away any man who is interested in me. You aren't my-" Your eyes widened, and you panicked, flailing your arms around in the air. "This isn't fair! You can't suddenly find interest in me the moment I'm trying to get over you!"
"Suddenly find interest?" He seemed to be stuck on repeat.
"Are you capable of saying anything original?" You glared, crossing your arms.
His calm facade had faded, eyes hopelessly looking over your features, trying to figure out your thoughts. "You must know, you must have realized how much I-"
"I'm not one to assume." You scoffed. "It's too late, anyway."
"Too late to tell you that I am in love with you?" His voice was strong, certain, and confident. You gasped, entirely caught off guard. "Too late," He stepped closer and closer with each word, your lips inches apart. "To say that you are the only reason I wake in the morning, that you cause my heart to skip with your smile, that I only look forward to those dreaded team bonding exercises because I know I will see you?"
His palm cupped the side of your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. "You must know how utterly drawn I am to you, that I cannot breathe when you are not near-"
You jumped up, wrapping your arms around his neck and closing the distance between your lips. "You talk too much."
"Oh?" His nose nudged yours, pupils overtaking his beautiful blue irises, his other hand wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. "In the future, I will ensure my talking is kept to a minimum."
You kissed the corners of his mouth, grinning at the way his breath caught. "I never said to stop."
"My, you are dangerous." He whispered, eyes full of adoration. "Whatever shall I do with you?"
You shrugged, looking at the tower behind you. "I could think of a few things."
AN: 🩵💗💛 - imagine loki's looks are like 'the dark world' era!! eeeeeek i loved writing this so so much!! enjoy!!
“I still don’t understand how you convinced Odin to release you.” You called over your shoulder. “Your attack on Earth was but a month ago.”
“I assume my mother had something to do with it. Odin himself seemed rather set on allowing me to rot.”
“I’m sure he loves you…” You muttered under your breath so his ravens would not catch you. “In his own demented way.”
Loki laughed, really laughed for the first time since his return. “He has allowed me to be released under the condition that I could not leave the castle grounds.”
“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the woods around you. “And just what would you call this?”
“The Royal Wood, which is an extension of the grounds,” Loki smirked. “I would never break my vow to my father.”
You scoffed, your hands resting on your hips. “Do not lie to me, Loki Odinson. If you recall, we have a vow of our own.”
“How could I forget?” You were children when you made him swear to never trick you. He had held strong, for the most part. “You are possibly the only person I would never lie to. Well…” He leaned against a tree, leaning his head back to take in the summer sun. “You and my mother.”
“If you say so.” You hated when he did this, when he made you feel special. It was horrible, the worst trick of all, mainly because he had no idea what he was doing to you. “I have to bring your mother these ingredients.”
“Allow me to accompany you.”
Your cheeks felt hot, and you shook your head, flustered yet again by his chivalrous behavior. “That’s not necessary.”
“I insist.” He took the basket out of your arms, beckoning you to follow after him. “My mother would have my head if she saw a lady carrying such a load, let alone her favorite lady.”
“Loki.” You scolded, reaching out to take the basket back. “I am not a lady.”
“This again.” He sighed. “You are quite stubborn.”
“You’re one to talk.” You laughed, cowering under the judgmental looks of the nobility you passed.
“Must you deny me this one kind act?”
“It is not proper-”
“You must be the only servant who complains when someone helps you.”
“I take pride in my work, Loki.”
“An admirable quality.” The guards in front of his mother’s suite bowed their heads, opening the doors. “Still, you are stubborn.”
“Loki-” You scowled, curtsying before the queen. “Your Majesty, the ingredients you requested.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
Frigga was the very picture of elegance. Not only was she elegant, but she was also kind to everyone regardless of rank. You had no issue carrying out trivial tasks for the queen, because the queen never treated you as lesser than; she treated you as she would treat her own sons. “Did you have any trouble?”
“Not at all, my lady.”
“Mother.” Loki approached the golden-haired woman, kissing her cheek. “Tell your lady she must not bow when she greets you.”
“Loki!” You gasped, turning to Frigga like you had been the one to say it. “My lady, I would never-”
“Must you tease the girl so?” Frigga chastised her son.
“I am so sorry, my lady.”
“Do not apologize, my son is a prankster, as we all know.” She smiled warmly, tucking a strand of hair behind Loki’s ear. “Among many other admirable qualities.”
Loki grew shy under his mother’s affection, brushing off her compliments. “We must be going.”
“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow.
“You wished to visit the library, yes?”
“I never-” You tilted your head. “Have you developed mind-reading powers as well?”
He shrugged, kissing his mother’s cheek once more before extending his hand. “Shall we?”
You smacked his hand away, walking out of the queen’s room with Loki trailing behind you. “If you can read minds now, please refrain from reading mine.” He laughed, and you smacked his arm. “I mean it, Loki.”
“I cannot read minds. Remember that we have been friends for quite some time now. I know you perhaps better than I know myself.”
“Well, no wonder. You are such a mystery.” You teased. “The rakish, brooding prince. I am surprised some lady has not taken you into her clutches.”
“You think me rakish?” He raised an eyebrow, holding the library door open.
“One observes things.” You shrugged, gliding over to the fiction section, grabbing the first book that caught your eye. “It is not a bad trait, I assure you.”
“If you say so.” He looked rather disappointed, plopping into his favorite leather chair.
“You are also kind, considerate, even. Loyal to a fault.” Your hand found his, squeezing it. “You are many things, but most of all, you are a wonderful friend.”
“Friend.” He huffed, face scrunched like the word left a bad taste in his mouth.
“Are we not friends?” You sat back, hand pulling away from his. Oh, how you wished you could stay like that forever, his forever-cold hand intertwined with yours.
“Yes, we are.” He almost sounded disappointed. You decided not to dwell on it, immersing yourself in the novel. Loki simply stared, admiring your beauty, the way your eyes scanned the page, the way you smiled to yourself, the way your eyebrows furrowed.
“You wear your heart on your sleeve.” He murmured.
Your eyes did not leave the page. “Oh?”
“It is quite-” He stopped himself. “It is quite humorous.”
“If it is so amusing, then by all means, keep staring.” You teased. You were used to this, the staring, the intense gaze Loki held. He loved to watch people, to observe those around him. At first, you had found it quite overwhelming, especially when you looked up to find him already staring at you. His eyes were beautiful, dangerous as they pulled you in. You shook your head, fighting against your imagination.
“My prince.” You looked up, fighting the urge to groan as the nuisance that was the Lady Ness approached. “I thought I would find you here.”
Loki looked entirely unenthused, but still entertained the woman. “Hello, my lady.”
The Lady Ness was the eldest daughter of one of Odin’s closest advisors. She was what Asgardians considered to be the perfect beauty, with blonde hair bordering on white, and beautiful pale blue eyes. She was tall, the very picture of royalty.
Which is what she desperately wanted to be. She had followed the two princes around since you were children, treating them as if they were idols, gods even.
They were, but still. It became tiresome.
She had her sights set on Thor for eons, but after she learned of his undying love for the Lady Jane, she gave up, switching her sights to Loki.
There was nothing the younger prince hated more than being the second choice.
There was nothing you hated more than the Lady Ness suddenly finding interest in a man you’d loved since age five. You did not attempt to acknowledge the woman, simply looking back down at your book. It was hard to focus, though, with her constant chattering.
“Will I see you at the Summer Solstice Ball, my prince?”
Loki’s gaze fell back to you before responding. “You will indeed.”
“How wonderful. I do love dancing.” You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Do you enjoy dancing, my prince?”
“With the right lady.” He nodded. “I do.”
“Shall I reserve a place for you on my card?” Your hold on the book tightened. “It would be an immense honor.” A scoff fell from your lips, and your eyes widened. You had meant for that to be in your head.
Loki smiled. “I’m afraid I-”
“Is something the matter?” The Lady Ness interrupted, staring at you. “Have I done something to amuse you?”
You looked up, shaking your head. “No, my lady.”
“Now you remember your manners.” The Lady Ness raised an eyebrow. You simply stared back, your face blank. “When I entered the room, you did not curtsy. Are you manners selective?”
You shut your book, standing up. “You seem rather concerned with my manners. How observant you must be.” The lady proudly nodded. “Allow me to explain, I bow to royalty.” You gestured to Loki before gesturing to her. “Not some common lady with an aptitude for mistreating servants.”
“Why I-” She gasped, stumbling over her words. You made a point to be over the top in your curtsy to the prince, before promptly walking out of the room.
You angrily picked bunches of moss from the forest floor, ripping it from the ground as if it had wronged you.
The Lady Ness annoyed you to no end, with her flirting and her flowy gowns and her touching Loki's arm. It was as if she did it on purpose, as if she amplified her flirting when you were there, like she was trying to tell you he was hers, that you could never have him.
You already knew that, no thanks to her. It was something that kept you up into the late hours of the night, the ‘what-ifs’ haunting you even in sleep.
If you were of some higher standing, you would have smacked her long ago. Unfortunately, you could only verbally attack her.
“Are you quite well?” Loki’s voice broke you from your thoughts. “You did not stop when I called after you yesterday.”
“I cannot stand her.” You complained. “She-she is without a doubt-”
He looked rather amused at your ranting, hands clasped behind his back, his ever-familiar smirk gracing his lips. “I am sorry.”
“Why should you be sorry?” You laughed bitterly. “I’m sure she will mellow with age.”
“Mellow with age?” He raised an eyebrow.
You nodded, going back to your gathering. “Odin must be rather pleased with this match.”
“Match?” It seemed as if Loki was stuck on repeat, parroting you with confusion etched in his tone.
“Between you and Lady Ness.” You grumbled, brushing the dirt off your skirt as you stood. “I’m certain he has arranged for her to be your lady wife.”
“I’m sorry?”
You walked further into the wood, Loki following after you. “She will be a great wife, I’m sure. She seems intelligent enough and could bring you company. Your children-” Your voice broke, and you felt your cheeks grow hot. “They will be menaces, but what child isn’t? I’m sure they will grow out of it, as she will grow out of her rather annoying attributes.” You pulled out your knife, cutting off a section of tree bark, your mind clouded with rage. “She will bring you happiness. I’m excited for you, truly-” You hissed, the knife falling out of your hand as you stared at the stream of blood that ran down your palm. “Ow.”
Loki raced over, taking your hand in his as he observed the wound. “You were being careless.”
“I was not.” Your eyes welled, the pain finally taking hold. “It is just a cut.”
“You are practically crying.” He frowned. “You must be careful.”
“I-” He waved his hand over your injury, the pain subsiding, the cut healing itself. You watched in fascination, the wound glowing green for a mere moment before dissapearing entirely. “How did you-”
“Growing up with Thor meant I had to be prepared for anything.” He smiled, his fingers gently tracing over the once bloody finger. “Does it hurt?”
You shook your head, voice quiet. “It’s like it never even existed.”
“Good.” He looked up, his breath shaky when he met your gaze. “You frightened me.”
“You worry too much.” You hadn’t meant to, truly, but your eyes fell to his lips, heart racing. “I’m sorry.”
His hand found its way to your waist, pulling you close. You gasped, glaring as a smirk grew on the prince’s lips. “Whatever for, my lady?”
“I didn’t mean to-” You swallowed. “I did not mean to insult the Lady-”
“Please, do not speak her name any longer.” He groaned. “She is as tiresome as she is wealthy.”
“She is to be your lady wife, is she not?” You murmured, his hand that had once cradled your injured hand now holding your cheek. “She is quite the match.”
He laughed. “I’m sure she will make some unlucky man rather miserable.”
“Loki-”
“If I have any say-” He whispered, his eyes dropping to your lips momentarily. “I will marry for love, not because my father made some strategic alliance. She is not for me, I assure you.”
“You-” Loki now had your back against the tree, practically pinning you in position. His forehead lay against yours, your breath entwined with his. “You have some other lucky lady in mind?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“Oh?” The reality of the situation hit you like Mjolnir hit its enemies. Hard and true, you accepted that you might just kiss the man you’d loved since before you could remember. “Do I know her?”
He nodded once more, his lips so close they brushed against yours as he spoke. “I believe so-”
“Brother!” Your eyes widened, and you pushed Loki away, cheeks hot as you forced yourself to look as inconspicuous as possible. Thor’s voice rang through the wood. “Brother, where are you?”
“I-” Loki stuttered, hand reaching out to hold you once more. “Just wait one moment-”
“Ah!” Thor’s golden hair came into view, the god haphazardly destroying the forest floor. “My lady, it is wonderful to see you!”
You curtsied, your heart and mind still racing from the moment before. “My prince. I was just leaving.” You couldn’t meet Loki’s eyes, simply nodding. “Loki.”
You raced toward the castle, forgetting your basket full of ingredients.
Loki would bring them to his mother later.
“Have I interrupted something?” Thor’s voice held a certain sort of mischeif that made Loki feel uneasy. “It seems as if I caught the pair of you in a rather intimate moment.”
“I-” Loki could not find the words, something that pleased Thor greatly.
“The great trickster is speechless?” He grinned, patting his little brother on the back. “Oh, Loki, why did you not say something?”
“Like you said. You interrupted.” He was practically glowering, glaring at his brother like it was his life’s purpose. “I-I had almost-”
“Do you want my advice, brother?” Loki continued to glare at him, fighting the urge to stab the golden-haired imbecile in the gut. “You must do something. Be brave, show her you care.”
“I was doing that!” Loki yelled. “You have the worst timing in the world-”
“Calm down, brother.” Thor laughed. “When I first met the Lady Jane-” Oh gods, Loki thought as he rolled his eyes. Once Thor began to talk about Jane, he tended to never stop. “She was rather intimidating, smart, and beautiful. But after I showed her my interest, my-”
Loki walked away, fists clenched tightly as Thor continued, following after him.
You hadn’t seen Loki in days.
You had gone to Frigga’s chambers after the incident, to apologize for leaving the ingredients behind, when you saw Loki just outside her door, the basket in hand.
After that, you’d gone out of your way to avoid him.
It was childish, you knew that, but you couldn’t look at him without transforming into a blabbering mess. You purposely did your chores outside of the castle grounds so he could not follow you or surprise you.
Your room was deep in the ground, chilly from its lack of sunlight and candles. You hadn’t minded before, but now that you were in your self-prescribed isolation, you couldn’t help but wish you had a prettier view.
Just when you thought you’d forgotten, that you’d gotten over your momentary lapse in judgment, it all came rushing back. His hand cradling your cheeks, his lips brushing against yours, his fingertips digging into your hip. A chill ran down your spine, and you shook your head as if that would rid you of the scandalous thoughts.
He was simply being kind, caring for you as you had cared for him.
A handmaiden walked into your room unannounced, gently placing a large box on your simple vanity. You jumped when you saw her. “I did not see you.”
The handmaiden, one of Frigga’s, no doubt, smiled kindly. “I gathered. I was tasked with ensuring you received this package, and was told you must wear it to the Summer Solstice Ball.”
“Wear it?” You tilted your head, rising from your bed to inspect the gift. “Is it a gown?”
“It is indeed, my lady.”
So this had been Loki’s doing.
“You must not call me that.” You smiled. “I am no lady.”
The handmaiden shrugged, glancing over your shoulder curiously as you pulled apart the forest green ribbon that held together the wrappings. “It seems to me that you shall be soon.”
“What-” You choked, shaking your head vehemently. “I- that is-”
“I will take my leave.” She bowed quickly, shutting the door behind her. You cursed the god of Mischief, vowing that when you were done ignoring him, you would scold him for his antics. The wrappings fell away, your eyes welling as you stared at the gown.
After all these years, all this time, he never forgot a single thing you told him, and this gown was proof. It was exactly what you’d described to him two thousand years ago.
You’d been young then, much more naive than now. You and Loki were lounging in the gardens, watching the nobility walk by in their dreamy attire. You sighed, staring down at your robes in embarrassment. “Could you conjure me something?”
“I can try.” Loki nodded, placing his book down beside him. “What is it you wish for?”
“A nicer dress.” You were jealous of their beauty, your simple frock nothing compared to their silky pastel gowns.
“I-” He frowned. “I am sorry. My powers are not-”
You shook your head. “Forget I said anything.”
He nodded, watching you with interest. “What would it look like, your dream gown?”
It would look like this. The gown that he’d sent you, which now hung delicately in your closet, two thousand years later.
You could hear the roar of the partygoers from the end of the hall, your nerves growing more and more the closer you got. You thanked the gods that this was not the kind of ball where attendees were announced, as you would surely faint from the judgmental eyes that fell on you.
The ballroom glowed bright golden, the light the candles provided reflecting off the pure gold walls. Your jaw hung loose, taking in the decorations, the people, the fashion. Your eyes fell to the bottom of the stairs, cheeks growing hot when you met Loki’s gaze.
He was standing by the Lady Ness, who looked livid that you had torn his attention from her.
You couldn’t find it in you to care, not when he was looking at you like that. His smile was bright, and he looked devilishly handsome in his forest green attire, walking up the steps.
You took a deep breath, meeting him in the middle. “My prince.”
“You’ve been avoiding me.” He spoke plainly, as if it were fact. Technically, it was.
“I-”
“Do not try and deny it.” He offered his arm. “Shall we?”
You gladly complied with his request, cheeks growing hot, from the attention or Loki’s gaze, you couldn’t tell. Perhaps it was both. “You remembered.” You looked over, finding satisfaction in the way your words had caused Loki to turn red. “I can’t believe you remembered.”
He shrugged like what he’d done wasn’t the most romantic thing you’d ever experienced. “Only the best for-”
“My prince.” You clenched your fist when Lady Ness’s grating voice met your ears, turning toward the enemy. “I lost you for a moment.”
Loki laughed. “Yes, you did.” His hand tightened, pulling you closer to his side as if to signal he was occupied. You had felt it was rather obvious, but Lady Ness had a history of feigning ignorance to blatantly obvious rejections.
“Shall we dance?” Lady Ness’s steely blue eyes darted toward you, as if she were trying to scare you off. You were not deterred by her weak attempt at intimidation, your hand still comfortably held in Loki’s. “You did promise me.”
He tilted his head. “Did I?”
You laughed, your hand falling to your side. “It is but one dance.” The Lady Ness let out a gasp that neither of you acknowledged. “I’m quite parched anyhow.”
He nodded. “As you wish.”
The Lady Ness looked entirely displeased at his actions, especially over the phrase ‘as you wish,’ which had been directed toward you, and not her request. You made your way to the drinks, taking a flute of champagne as you found your place in the corner of the room. Leaning against the column, you glared as Lady Ness cackled, downing the flute in one go.
Loki had not planned for this to happen.
He had planned for you to receive the dress, to escort you down the steps. He had also planned to confess his undying love for you, but Lady Ness once again interrupted.
She had the most inconvenient timing.
He led her to the middle of the dance floor, putting as much distance as possible. The Lady Ness kept laughing, which he found odd, as he had not said a single thing since the dance had begun. He kept looking around the edge of the room, searching for your familiar frame.
Ah.
You looked radiant. Positively glowing. He’d always loved you in that color. If he was being honest with himself, he loved you in every color. He frowned, watching as you chewed your nails, something you had the habit of doing when you were anxious.
“My prince?” The Lady Ness called out as he walked away from her in the middle of the dance floor, stalking toward you, the crowd parting as he walked.
“Dance with me.”
You jumped, clutching your heart. “Gods, Loki, you scared me.” You guiltily looked at your fingers before meeting his gaze. “I-”
He waved his hand, all the rips you’d made in your delicate skin gone in an instant. “Dance with me.”
“Loki.” You looked over his shoulder, eyes widening at the sobbing lady he’d left in the middle of the floor. “Have you gone mad?”
“Possibly.”
“You cannot just leave her in the middle of the floor.” You leaned closer, whispering so the many eavesdropping ears around you could not hear. “Even if she is quite annoying.”
“I am the prince. I can do as I wish.”
You rolled your eyes at his comment. “You-” It seemed he took your lack of rejection as a yes, holding your hand firmly in his as he pulled you to the middle of the dance floor, the light waltz playing in the background. “You are the most indignant, prideful, scheming man I have ever known.”
He smiled, a squeak leaving your lips when he pulled you much closer than a waltz called for. “Tell me what else I am.”
“You-” You gulped, growing nervous under his ever attentive eye. “You are-”
“It seems you are at a loss for words.” He whispered in your ear, a chill running down your spine from the proximity of it all. “Is that a recent development, my lady?”
“You are arrogant.” You hissed.
He grinned. “I am.”
“You are marvelous.”
“I am.” His reaction was delayed, caught off guard by your sudden compliment.
“It seems you are at a loss for words.” You parroted his words from just a moment ago. “Is that a recent development, my prince?”
“You are a wonder.” He held your gaze so beautifully that any innocent bystander would assume you were both deeply in love. “You look divine, a goddess in your own right.”
“Loki.” You felt as if you could melt, the music slowing to a stop before you could respond. The crowd around you clapped wildly, obviously invested in the show you two had put on.
Loki bowed, his brother catching his gaze. Thor was practically jumping, mouthing the words he had said days before.
Be brave.
It was so unfortunate when his brother was right. You stood upright, following Loki’s gaze to see Thor grinning like a buffoon. “What is he-”
Loki’s hands grabbed your face, pulling your lips to his. Your eyes widened at the action, weak from his touch. Your hands found their way around his neck, pulling him closer. He grinned, a hand falling to your hips, squeezing.
You gasped, your knees weakening. “Loki-”
“Is all that you can say my name?” He whispered, his forehead once again lying against yours.
“You are a-” He leaned down, kissing your lips once more.
“I love you…” His breath was heavy, pupils blown as he stared at you. “Most ardently.”
A tear fell down your cheek, and you grinned. “Most ardently?”
He nodded, voice wavering. “I assume you love me as well?”
“I do.” You kissed the corner of his mouth softly, so softly he had barely felt it. “With my whole being."
꒰ 𝓁ee 𝓂inho x wife.ᐟreader ꒱ 𝔀𝓬 : 750 ˎˊ˗ 𝓼oft 𝄞 𝒻luffy ⸝⸝⸝ « married with baby » ⤷ 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 kysa's catalogue
minho finally had the day off today, and with the sweetest wife and the cutest baby boy, he couldn't wait to spend the entire day with both of you. he had already set an alarm for early after sleeping in early yesterday, getting all the rest he needed before spending an entire day with his family.
minho woke up as his alarm rang, quickly turning it off as you were sleeping beside him, softly snoring away. your little three-year-old baby boy, joonie, was sleeping in the crib beside the bed. after glancing at both of you with loving eyes, he tiptoed into the kitchen.
yes, minho had a plan — every weekend, minho made a breakfast spread to thank you for being there for him and your lil babybun.
he pulled out all the stops. first, he whisked together a thick waffle batter with extra vanilla, pouring it into the iron until the kitchen smelled like a bakery. then, he moved to the pancakes, flipping them into perfect golden circles. for the sandwiches, he toasted thick brioche slices until they were warm and soft, layering them with savory fillings and slicing them into neat triangles. he moved onto fresh berries, washing and mashing some into joon’s warm milk and pouring a tall glass of chocomilk for you.
he looked up from the kitchen counter to find you wobbling out of the room with joonie holding your hand, both of you rubbing your eyes with one hand. the toddler gave him a toothy smile as he ran up to minho.
"appa appa appaaaaa !"
minho's face instantly lit up, abandoning the spatula to crouch down with open arms. "there’s my little baby ! did you have sweet dreams ? come here !"
he picked up the toddler, holding him securely as he flipped the last of the pancakes. you slowly moved towards him, smiling as you hugged him, his free arm wrapping around you as he dropped a soft kiss on your forehead.
"have a seat baby, i'm gonna plate the breakfast."
"you're so sweet, min," you pouted, heart melting at the sight of him.
he put the toddler in the high chair, cutting up his pancakes and topping them with syrup and chopped berries. "here you go, joonie-yah. careful, it’s still a little warm. is it yummy ?"
he assembled plates for both of you and carried them to the table. you all ate together, the room filled with the quiet, happy sounds of a perfect morning.
"min, seriously, how are you so good at everything ?" you asked, taking a massive bite of the brioche sandwich. "the waffles are so crispy, and these sandwiches are literally better than that cafe we went to last month. you're a literal chef, i'm so spoiled."
minho's ears turned a faint pink, a bashful smile tugging at his lips. "it's just breakfast, baby. as long as my two favorite people are full, i’m happy."
"stwabewwyyy !!!!" joonie cheered, pointing at his plate with a syrup-covered finger.
minho laughed, reaching over to boop the toddler's nose. "that's right, joonie. only the best strawberries for you. you like them that much, hm?"
then, suddenly, a lil excited, mischief expression appeared on your face. you leaned towards the toddler and whisper:
"say thank you to appa, baby !! he made yum yum food for us, hm?"
minho watched in wonder as joonie said, "taaank yeww," with a strawberry-filled mouth, singing his words to express his gratitude.
"you're so welcome, joonie ," minho replied, his voice dripping with honey. "appa would make you a mountain of strawberries if you asked."
"and now the special thing, baby ? mumma taught you yesterday right ? for your lovey lovey people ?"
joonie brought his small, chubby hand to his lips and a soft 'mwah' escapes his lips as he blew a flying kiss right at minho.
minho watched, astonished in adoration. his jaw dropped and he actually dropped his fork, his hands coming up to cover his mouth as his eyes crinkled with pure, unfiltered joy.
"oh my god," minho gasped, his voice barely a whisper as he looked at you with a face full of wonder. he looked back at joonie, who was giggling at the dramatic reaction. "did you just... did you send that to me ? joonie-yah, you’re trying to give appa a heart attack ?"
he reached out into the air, 'catching' the invisible kiss with both hands and pressing them firmly against his heart, leaning back in his chair with a breathless, happy laugh as you giggled at their antics. "i caught it ! i’m keeping it right here forever. can you do it again ? appa needs one more !"
kysa's note: another long pending request when the skz code with kids came out >.< oh how i love dad!skz akjsjsjsj — anyways this is a bit rushed but i wanted to get it out today :p lemme know your thoughts in the comments below — hope you enjoy .ᐟ xoxo
