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high-functioning-lokipath · 2 years

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48 - One person has to bend down in order to kiss their partner, who is standing on their tip-toes to reach their partner’s.49 - Short and sweet kiss after meeting up for a date.50 - A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck.

A/N: Here it is! I simply cannot believe it! The last of the Lokisses series...I might cry...gimme a sec...

Okay...I hope you enjoy the last installment of this series and continue rereading it for a long time! Happy reading!

“You look great, Y/N!” Nat says, wolf-whistling at you. You grin and twirl for her. “Hot date? This early in the morning?”

“Actually, my date’s pretty cold,” You smirk, winking at her. “Breakfast date today.” Nat nods at your explanation as Loki walks into the room.

“Good morning, Widow,” He greets. Nat smiles at him, heading off to refill her mug. "And good morning, my love," Loki smiles, pulling you into his arms and bending down to kiss you. He leans his head on your forehead and then frowns. "Are you standing on your tiptoes to kiss me?"

"Yes," You reply, blushing brightly.

"By the norns, you're short!" You cross your arms, pouting at him. "I love it! You're so adorable!" He laughs and you roll your eyes at your silly boyfriend. You reach up to peck his cheek before walking towards the door.

"Come on, dear giant of mine, we'd better get going before all the chocolate chip pancakes are gone!" He hurries after you, the two of you laughing gleefully as you run down the street to the restaurant.

When you got to the restaurant the waiter informed you that there was only one more order of chocolate chip pancakes left. Loki tried to give them to you but you insisted he have them as long as he saved you part of the last one. Loki was still savoring his pancakes by the time you finished with your plain ones.

"I'm going to run to the restroom real quick, love, and then how about we go for a walk in the park?" You ask him. He nods, mouth full of pancake and you giggle. He stares after you, smiling like a fool as he realizes once again just how good you are to him.

As you walk out of the bathroom, he goes to take another bite but his fork hits the plate. He looks down and realizes he absentmindedly ate the whole thing.

"Loki, what's wrong?" You ask, approaching the table.

"I'm so so sorry!" He exclaims.

“It’s okay, Loki,” You chuckle. He pouts but nods slowly. As the two of you continue on your day, he keeps apologizing, trying to buy you little gifts from various stores you pass. “Loki, I promise it’s okay. But if you’re really upset over it you can make it up to me later at the tower. I’m sure Tony has enough ingredients in the kitchen for you to make me some!”

“Alright,” Loki smiled.

Hours later, the two of you returned to the tower. He bolted straight to the kitchen, setting his phone up with the recipe he’d found. You watched happily as he rushed around the kitchen trying to get all the right ingredients.

As Loki settles in at the stove to cook them, you walk up behind him. "Don't steal the chocolate chips," He smirks. You reach around him, as he goes to swat your hand away when you instead lean on him, hugging him from behind. "That is-" He says, pausing to find the right word. "Acceptable."

Once they're all cooked, he serves you your plate. "Did you-" You grin, staring at the plate. "Did you make them heart shaped?"

"I did," He admits. You hug him tightly and kiss him.

"You're amazing, Loki!" He blushes brightly and kisses you again. When he pulls away you kiss his cheek, jaw, and trail down his neck.

"Darling, your-ah!" He gasps. Grabbing your shoulders, he pushes you away from him. "Your pancakes will get cold!"

"But you're tastier!" You whine. Loki chuckles and shakes his head.

"Eat," He says, holding out the chair for you. "When you're done, then we go upstairs and you can devour me," He purrs in your ear.

"Mm, sounds wonderful," You smirk.

Hours later you and Loki are cuddling in your room. "Loki?"

"Yes, my dove?"

"Thank you. For everything."

"Always," He smiles, kissing your forehead. "Oh, I have something for you!"

"What is it?" You ask excitedly.

A large scrapbook appears in his hand. "I made this for us. I know we've only been together for a short time-"

"Loki, it's been 10 months," You say. "In human standards in this day and age, 10 months is practically forever!"

"Okay," He frowns. "Midgard never fails to surprise and annoy me," He mumbles. "Nonetheless! I made this."

You take the book from him and start flipping through the pages. "Loki, are these-"

"Every kiss we've ever shared," He says.

"Oh Loki! That's beautiful! Thank you!"

"I only hope we keep filling the pages forever," He whispers, looking away slightly. "Will you allow me that privilege?"

"Of course, Loki," You say, kissing him again. The kiss was nothing spectacular, not particularly long or short. It was simple. But for both of you it meant so much. "Always and forever."

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divine-mistake · 3 years

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The Cracks in Our Reality (1)

Summary: Loki hates the Executive Manager of the Avengers Tower because she’s too loud and too sarcastic and too kind and too soft, especially to him, who really doesn’t deserve it.

Characters: Loki/Plus-sized (f)Reader

Warnings: 18+ (no smut), language, violence

A/N: Thanks for reading my first ever fanfiction! Updates weekly on Saturday.

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The first time he hears her voice, it is shrill and shrieking and about his brother, so of course he hates it.

“Thor’s here?” Loki hears as they walk down the hallway. When he gambles and glances to his side, Thor’s lips are split with the biggest grin Loki’s seen him wear since they touched down in Midgard. Vacantly, he guesses it’s a fangirl who’s waiting for his brother—how typical.

It’s always like this.

And as they approach the room from which the light is bleeding into the hallway, Thor’s fangirl shouts again, “Why didn’t you tell me? Where the hell is he?”

Thor crosses the threshold into Loki’s new world in three long strides. Unlike his brother, Loki sticks to the shadows, only moving close enough to see what is awaiting him past the corner of the corridor. It’s all one big blur of motion, really, as Thor strides through the Avengers Tower and scoops a young woman off her feet, into his arms, and Loki’s reflex is to curl his lip in sneer.

He looks away and ignores the girlish giggles, choosing to survey his new surroundings instead. With one wide sweep of the room, he indexes four familiar faces.

Stark, who's watching his brother and the fangirl, shoulders drawn up and tight in defense.

Rogers, America’s Golden Boy, with his biceps bulging from where his arms are crossed.

Banner. He smiles and Loki feels a mixture of fear and guilt swirl viciously inside him.

And Romanoff, who’s staring right at him, her eyes narrowed, a twitch in her index finger. Evidently she’s not forgiven his sins either. Not that it matters—as quickly as she could pull the handgun strapped to her thigh on him, he could vanish in half that.

There’s only one person Loki can’t catalogue, can’t connect her face to a name, and it’s the fangirl Thor is spinning around the room with, her legs swinging wildly in the air.

She shouts his brother’s name jubilantly, the loudest sound in the room, their laughs mingling together like the sweet and spice of mead.

“My lady!” Thor squeezes her to his body in a tight grip once they stop twirling in place, and then she’s kicking her feet until her polished black heels slide off and hit the floor, fists pounding on his shoulder.

Well, a fangirl surely wouldn’t do that.

“Put me down you big puppy man, you obnoxious God, you are killing me—” The woman is wheezing even as she yells, quite dramatically really, and Loki’s sneer starts to turn into a frown. Who is she to talk to the King of Asgard with such disrespect? As much as Loki loves to see Thor ridiculed, her casual relationship with his brother irritates him more than he anticipated.

Thor drops her onto her bare feet with a delicate softness Loki’s never witnessed before, and the woman settles herself, pulling her dress down and brushing imaginary dust from the fabric, and then she turns up to look at his brother and she wears the most gorgeous smile on her face Loki might ever have witnessed.

“Welcome back to Earth,” she quips, her voice much gentler now, and Loki decides right then and there that he doesn’t just hate her voice.

He hates her.

“It’s good to be back, my lady. Have you been well?”

She opens her mouth to speak, but Stark cuts her off immediately.

“Pleasantries later, ” he says, taking a step toward Loki’s direction. “Reindeer Games is lurking in the shadows over there and it’s making me second guess this whole shebang.”

That’s his cue. Loki slinks out from the corridor and into the light of the common room, and all eyes are on him. He basks in the attention like a cat basks in the sun. This is the first time in a long time he's been on Midgard without chains seizing his hands and feet—his mouth is free of a muzzle and he’s going to use it.

“Stark,” he purrs, but his eyes flit around the room, passing over every single Avenger that’s now standing defensively. “Always a pleasure to be in your presence.”

Vaguely, he’s aware of how the woman has taken to Thor’s side, where his brother is sheltering her under his arm, but he doesn’t break Stark’s stare to look at her. What care does he have for one of Thor’s fangirls anyway?

“You brought your brother here?” she asks, and Loki relishes in the hint of fear hiding itself within the confusion in her voice.

“Did they not tell you?” Thor sounds increasingly worried.

“No,” she hisses, “they did not. What the fuck is going on, Tony?”

Rogers moves closer now, and Loki lends his gaze to the way the super soldier’s hand falls upon the woman’s shoulder, swallowing it. She bristles slightly at his touch and it amuses him for a moment. Maybe she dislikes America’s Golden Boy just as much as he does.

“We meant to tell you, sweetheart,” Rogers says, his voice gentle.

Disgusting. Is she everyone’s fangirl in this cursed tower?

“It slipped my mind after the mission a few nights ago. I’m sorry we didn’t warn you.”

She shrugs Rogers’ hand off her shoulder, but Thor holds onto her tightly. Loki feels like his eyes will burn out of his head from how long he’s been staring, how rigid his body, how much he wants to be anywhere but here right now.

“Are you serious?” Loki isn’t sure he’s seeing the same woman who was just looking at his brother like he was the sun, what with the way she’s glaring at Stark now. “Was I the last to know about this? Is there a room ready for him? Does the press—oh god, the fucking press doesn’t know about him, do they? Tony, I’m going to have to call a press conference. I’m going to have to rebook all the schedules. Are you shitting me?”

Then, she whirls on him, slipping out from beneath Thor’s arm and marching up to him like he isn’t the crazed man who tried to subjugate New York a few years prior. As if he isn’t a God. As if he couldn’t crush her frail body beneath the nail of his smallest finger.

He doesn’t know whether to be impressed or frightened, so Loki settles for the burning hatred that’s been crawling over his skin since he entered the Tower.

She juts out a hip, places her hand on it, and looks straight up at him. “Do you even want to be here?”

No. Of course not.

But no one ever bothers to ask Loki what he wants, and now this puny Midgardian has done so within the first five minutes of even knowing him, and he doesn’t even know her name but there is so much heat searing through him and he hates her.

She isn’t much, really. She’s small in stature, her head barely grazing his brother’s shoulders, forcing her to crane her neck as she addresses Loki. If she were to kneel at his feet now, she’d be the perfect height for him to take his pleasure. He quickly rips the thought away and throws it to the fire growing in his veins.

But she is curvy, that much is sure. She is much thicker than the slim Midgardian women he’s seen on his journeys here, much softer than the Asgardian warriors who are built with muscle alone. Loki can’t keep staring at her, he can’t. Her eyes are narrowed, but bright in the lighting of the common room. Her lips, painted a brilliant shade of red, are twisted into some sort of puckered frown that makes him wonder how well she’d fare when he played tricks on her.

He scoffs at her, rolling his eyes and looking away, because Norns, what is he supposed to say?

The truth?

“Banner, why don’t you walk Rabbit to her room?” Stark calls, and when Loki looks back at him, they’re locked in another stare. Loki feels a wave of something new, something bordering on shame, something that has him grasping for a scepter not in his hand and eyeing the bright blue beam of light in Stark’s chest. He still remembers what it felt like, that day he invaded New York.

It doesn’t feel good to remember, so like with all things, he pushes it to the back of his mind and replaces it with a smirk.

“What?” The woman—Rabbit, her name, perhaps—turns her glare on Stark once again. “You can’t just drop an Asgardian in the middle of my living room, ruin all my carefully crafted schedules for the next month and a half, and then tell me to go to my room like a child!”

“Run along now, little girl,” Loki mocks, and when she recoils at his words and takes a step back like she’s shocked, the heat that’s been building in his blood is suddenly ice. Her face is different now, brows drawn in anger, and her whole body stiffens and Loki feels like he does when he changes back into his native form.

Until she draws up a finger at him, storming toward him, ire flashing in her eyes with every step she takes, and Loki is alive again. His tongue is sharp, ready to meet her shrill demands, but Thor reaches out and grabs her with one sweep of his arm. She’s tugged back into his brother’s grasp, held closely to the broad expanse of Thor’s chest, and Loki stamps out his rising excitement. His brother ruins everything.

“My lady,” Thor says, “my brother lacks tact around pretty women, but he is harmless, I assure you.”

Loki lets his eyes drag from the top of her head down to the tips of her bare toes, still twisting against the floor as if she’s trying to break away from Thor’s hold, their lacquer catching the shine of the light. She painted them pink. Loki doesn’t think she’s all that pretty—he’s seen better in Midgard alone.

But then she mumbles something under her breath that sounds wickedly similar to “He’ll be harmless once I maim him with my shoe,” and Loki has to swallow back the laugh threatening at his lips.

The woman rips herself out of Thor’s grasp, shoving him away. Comically, Thor pretends as though her strength is enough to move him, feigning a stumble backward. Then, she picks up her heels from where they dropped to the floor and slips them onto her feet, and suddenly Loki could press his nose into the top of her head at this height.

“C’mon then, Bruce.” Without looking, she begins to stride toward the hallway, brushing past Loki. “We’ll let the boys pretend they have their shit under control.”

As she speaks, her eyes cut back to Loki, gaze burning. He isn’t sure a woman has ever looked at him with this much contempt before and gotten away with it. Banner quickly follows her and Loki listens to the rhythmic click of her heels all the way down the corridor until the elevator dings, and then she’s gone for good.

Her scent, floral and clean, clings to his nose for the rest of the night. He hates it.

“They call it community service here in Midgard!” Thor says, beaming. Loki wants to tear his brother's lips from his face, to burn that smile off his visage.

“You say that as if I should be proud,” Loki snarls back.

His room in the Tower is quaint. It’s more than Stark should offer him, that’s for sure, but Loki guesses it’s only more than a prison cell for the sole reason that it’s connected to Thor’s apartment and they don’t want the brothers to be separated. At the very least, it’s furnished. The bed is soft and big enough to share with a partner. He has a bathroom en suite. A walk-in closet to fill with clothes he doesn’t own.

Loki doesn’t own anything. Not even himself, now that he’s doing this community service on a planet he’s tried to conquer. Community service as a probationary Avenger in the stead of eternal damnation.

Thor only claps him on the back. “‘Tis better than serving a jail sentence, is it not?”

He raises a brow. “As if it isn’t imprisonment itself.”

“You should be thankful, Loki. Stark has been very cooperative with allowing you to stay here as an Avenger—”

“As a prisoner,” he interjects.

“—without threat of cells or cages or even chains.”

“And yet I am not allowed to leave the Tower.”

Thor frowns. “You tried to subjugate New York.”

Loki peruses this for a moment. He could say anything, but would it ever matter? It isn’t as if Thor’s ever understood. He didn’t understand when Loki let go and fell from the Bifrost and he sure didn’t understand when Thanos forced Loki to destroy New York. He never understands.

So instead of saying anything, Loki rolls his eyes, stalks into his room, and slams the door shut. He hopes it’ll make Thor finally leave him alone.

But Thor just stands on the other side of the door, shouting through the wood.

“This is your chance, brother. This is your chance at redemption. Do not let it go lightly, and I beg you, do not screw it up.”

Redemption—what a joke. If Odin taught Loki anything, it was that there was never going to be any redemption for him. He was lost. Irredeemable. A cold monster in the warm skin of an Asgardian. A snake who spoke in tongues, in lies and misery. Loki was nothing more than a puppet who didn’t see how his strings connected him to his master.

Loki waits until he hears Thor stomp away, until he hears the slam of the door across from his own, before he conjures an image of his mother in the palm of his hand.

He doesn’t know how long he spends looking at her, a vision spread against his fingers. The only sign that she isn’t real is the shimmering edges of Loki’s illusion. Once upon a time, when there was so much blood and sweat and tears running into his eyes, he wasn’t able to tell what was real and what was magic. Illusory images are only illusory to those of a sound mind—something Loki hasn’t always been.

Even he, the God of Lies, has a reality that can be broken. A truth that can be muddled by pain and fear until it shows what he wishes, what he would beg, the truth to look like.

A knock at the door almost sends him into a panic, flashes of the monster who haunts his nightmares creating new colors behind the back of his eyes. The illusion of Frigga dissipates into the air. Loki throws himself to his feet, flies from his bed to the door in a handful of steps, anger like a hot knife through the parts of his brain the terror hasn’t yet eaten through.

“Leave me be!” he roars at Thor from this side of the door. His hand twitches to conjure a dagger. If he opened the door, would the Mad Titan be on the other side? No. It’s only Thor. The Mad Titan is dead.

But Loki never saw him die—how can he be sure he is truly gone?

He cannot. His reality has been bent and broken and shattered a thousand times by the Mad Titan and Loki cannot remember what is real and what is false anymore.

With a dagger in hand, Loki throws the door open, prepared to see anything—Thor, Thanos, the father he slaughtered without a thought—and yet he is still surprised by what he sees standing just outside his room.

The dagger disappears from his white-knuckled grip. The Midgardian woman’s eyes are wide, like moons, the depth of color in her irises the crevices and craters. She takes a step back and Loki sees her hands trembling.

His lips part to apologize. Pride seizes in his chest and he closes his mouth. His breathing is labored, chest heavy with the rise and fall of every tight contracting of his lungs. She’s holding something in her arms. A tray is set beside her on the floor, a few scattered plates of Midgardian food sitting atop it.

The silence between them is deafening.

In a moment all too soon, her eyes narrow into slits and she rolls her shoulders back, straightening her spine and drawing up to her full height. Loki reminds himself that he can crush her. He could kill her with one strike of his boot. She is nothing, and the ice that is making a slow crawl up every disc in his back isn’t guilt, it’s caution.

How dare a mortal as small as she look at him like that? He is the Prince of Asgard, the Rightful King of—

“Fuck you,” she spits, and it’s Loki’s turn to recoil. Instantly, the edges of his vision turn red and he hopes, shamefully, that his eyes are flashing the same dreadful, savage color as a means to scare her into submission.

His nostrils flare with his indignation. “How dare you—” he starts, but she throws whatever she had been holding at his chest and Loki instinctively grabs it. It’s soft against his cold hands.

“I thought you might be hungry,” she hisses, venom dripping from every word. “I thought you might need some extra fucking blankets. Excuse me for being nice, Your Highness.”

The way the word rolls off her tongue makes his fingers tighten in the downy fabric she’s given him. He should feel good. In fact, he tips his chin upward to look down upon her from the slope of his nose. But he doesn’t feel good.

“I don’t need anything from you, little girl,” he sneers. “I have no business with you.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, jutting out that damn hip again.

“Actually, you’ll have much more business with me from now on, Your Highness.” With a grace he wasn’t sure she had, she draws up a hand to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, eyes never leaving his. “I’m the Executive Manager of the Avengers Tower. You’ll be seeing much more of me, and unfortunately, I’ll be seeing much more of you.”

Loki scoffs. “A mortal such as yourself could hardly provide me with anything satisfactory.”

He glances, almost imperceptibly, at the dinner tray she’s brought up to him. Loki swallows a lump in his throat.

She shrugs. “Whatever. You can be an asshole if you want. I’ll still do my job whether you like it or not because I’m a professional and I’m damn good at what I do.”

Her eyes flash with something dangerous, and then she’s taken two steps forward and is craning her neck up to look at him, on her tiptoes in an attempt to match his height. Her pointer finger is just below his chin.

It brings him an exhilaration he hasn’t felt in centuries, a thrill trembling through his nerves.

“But if you ever draw a knife on me again, you’ll regret it.”

He laughs, flashing her a predatory grin, but she doesn’t back down.

“I sincerely doubt that,” he says, his tone mocking.

Her lips peel back to reveal a set of pearly teeth, and though her mouth softens, her eyes are as sharp as the blade of his dagger.

“I do the bidding of every Avenger in this tower,” she tells him. “You, included. Every single person in this entire building owes me a favor. I’m not beneath calling on every one of them to knock you down a peg, Your Highness.”

Loki watches as she lowers herself back down, rolling off the balls of her feet. He’s gripping the door frame so hard he can feel the wood giving beneath his fingers. There is something so vexatious about this woman that he can’t discern.

“If you need anything, you can ask FRIDAY to let me know. You can call me Rabbit—it’s what everyone else here calls me, and Tony’s annoyingly programmed the AI to call me that, too. Enjoy your lonesome night, Your Highness.”

She turns on her heel before he has a chance to reply, strutting out of his apartment and disappearing around a corner. He hears the quiet ding of the elevator, just as he did earlier, signaling her departure.

Loki looks down at the tray of food she’s left behind. With one angry breath, a wave of magic bursts forth from his body, sending the plates crashing against the walls of the apartment. Food smears down every surface. Ceramic and glass mingle in shattered pieces. It’s immature. It’s childish. He knows this, but he can’t stop himself. Fury pulses at his fingertips, hot like the burn of ice.

He hates her.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @poetic-fiasco @suffocatinglypositive @melancholic-metanoia

#loki x reader #loki x you #loki love #avengers loki #plus size reader #redemption loki #loki fanfic #the cracks in our reality #loki pov #loki series #thanks for supporting me!

405 notes · View notes

iamanartichoke · 4 years

Note

Ficlet Prompt: Brodinsons, Post-Ragnarok. Thor and Loki having to share a bed and getting annoyed with the other's sleeping habits. Sibling hijinks ensues! :3 (some normal, some magical :D)

I had a lot of adorable fun with this one. Ignore my questionable biology re: allergies and fake gravity. Thank you for the prompt, @ms-aqua-marvella!

Word count: 1644

_____

Loki would be horrified if he knew, but norns, he was snoring.

It had been centuries since they’d shared a bed, so Thor had forgotten all of Loki’s unconscious little quirks. He’d especially forgotten that, when Loki traveled by airship for long distances, he snored when he slept.

He never snored at home, or anywhere else as far as Thor knew. It was just that something in the artificial gravity on board spacecrafts disagreed with Loki’s constitution, made it hard for him to breathe properly.

It was simply one of those things, or so they’d always thought. Some Aesir were intolerant of specific berries and could not eat them without breaking out in a rash. Others found it difficult to breathe in the springtime, when fresh flowers bloomed and pollen drenched the air.

There was no real reason. Eir simply said that biology worked that way sometimes. Neither Thor nor Loki gave it much more thought.

Now, though, Thor had to wonder if it had something to do with Loki’s being Jotun.

It was not a question he could ever ask.

Thor sighed and rolled onto his side, facing his brother. Usually, their roles were reversed: in the days that followed Ragnarok, as they existed on this massive ship with its tiny, cramped cabins, Thor would spend his time trying to be in several places at once.

There was so much to do and, each night, Thor would drop into bed thoroughly exhausted; he’d be asleep practically before his head hit the pillow.

Loki, on the other hand, slept very little. He made himself scarce during the day and in the evenings, he spent more time reading or practicing spells than he did in their bed. Thor only knew this because, without fail, each time Thor woke up in the middle of the night for one reason or another, Loki was always awake and occupied with something.

Tonight, Thor couldn’t remember what had woken him - if he’d ever managed to fall asleep at all. There was an odd restlessness in his bones, an itch to be up and moving and working. Anxiety-driven, most likely. That happened sometimes.

At some point, Loki had climbed into their bed and fallen asleep, and now as Thor watched him, listening to the soft purr of his snores, he had to reflect that never did Loki look younger or more peaceful than when he slept. The years and his troubles simply fell away.

He slept on his side, somewhat curled up, hugging his pillow. His black hair obscured part of his face, and his chest rose and fell gently. Thor had a sharp memory, then, of a little boy with the same dark hair, curled up beside Thor in bed; it felt like yesterday, and it made tears spring to Thor’s eye because they were not those children anymore and would never know such innocence again.

To distract himself, Thor reached out and nudged Loki’s shoulder. “Loki,” he whispered.

Loki didn’t move.

“Loki,” Thor said, louder this time. He nudged Loki again.

Loki stirred a little, blinking sleepily at Thor. “What,” he murmured. “What’s wrong.”

“You’re snoring,” Thor informed him, with yet another nudge. “It’s keeping me up.”

“I don’t snore.” The words were automatic, and even mostly asleep, Loki sounded offended. “Leave me alone.”

“You do snore,” Thor continued. “On ships, remember? You always have. You’ve not outgrown your allergy.”

“My allergy to what? Spaceships?” Loki groaned and rolled onto his back. He rubbed his eyes.

“No, to artificial gravity. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

Loki frowned, and then yawned. “Oh, that.”

Thor waited, but Loki didn’t elaborate further. His eyelids were already drooping; he was already finished with the conversation, ready to doze off again.

Thor should have let him sleep - Loki did not sleep nearly enough - but the idea of spending even one more minute staring into the darkness, restless and awake, made Thor’s skin itch.

He didn’t want to be alone.

“Hey.” Thor poked Loki’s arm. “Has it been bothering you? The gravity? Have you been feeling unwell?”

“No.” Loki’s eyes drifted closed.

“You would tell me, right?”

“Mhm.”

It took less than a minute for Loki’s breathing to even out as he fell asleep again. Thor propped his head up on his elbow, watching his brother, and waiting. Sure enough, after a few minutes, the soft snoring started again.

“Loki.” Thor nudged him hard, and Loki woke with a jolt.

“What?” Loki batted Thor’s hand away. “What do you want now?”

“You’re snoring again.”

“I am not - but, if I were, clearly it’s because I can’t help it.” Loki’s green-eyed gaze slid over to Thor; somehow, he managed to give Thor a look that was both withering and adorably sleepy. “You’re welcome to sleep elsewhere, if you’re so bothered,” he added.

“Me?” Thor squeaked. “Why should I be the one to leave? If anything, you should sleep elsewhere.”

“Why? My alleged snoring isn’t bothering me.”

Thor groaned. He flopped over onto his stomach, pulling his pillow to his chest and using it to prop himself up. “You are the most impossible brother,” he said.

“You’re the one waking me up at norns o’clock in the morning to nag me.” Loki turned onto his side, barely lifting his head from his own pillow. “Don’t talk to me about impossible brothers.”

“Fine, fine.” Thor shook his head and then let out a snort of laughter. “I feel like we’re children again,” he went on. “At least you aren’t kicking me in your sleep. You used to do that.”

“Only to get you off of me,” Loki returned. He closed his eyes again, but seemed to be more or less awake now, which pleased Thor. “You’re a sleep cuddler. Treated me like a stuffed animal companion.”

“You liked it,” Thor said with a grin.

Loki made a face. “I most certainly did not. You took up too much space. You suffocated me. I’m lucky to have made it to adolescence alive and in one piece, as a matter of fact.”

“Alive and in one piece, but certainly dramatic as all hell,” Thor retorted. “A trait that has persisted through adulthood, I might add.”

Opening his eyes, Loki flashed an unexpected grin. “Yeah,” he agreed. He looked over at Thor and then, as if on cue, they both started giggling.

Oh, how Thor had missed this. He had not even realized how much he missed it - there had not been time to realize how deeply he felt not just the loss of Loki, but the loss of Loki-and-Thor, the single unit they’d been for so many centuries.

Everything had been so chaotic since that ill-fated venture to Jotunheim. A millennium of life could not have prepared Thor and Loki for the worst ten years they’d ever have to face. There had been banishment. There had been death. There had been untold loss and so many lies that truth became more of a concept than something real to hold onto.

All culminating in Ragnarok - the end of the world.

Now, here they were on the other side. Laying close in this small bed aboard a drifting ship. “How did we get here?” Thor wondered aloud. “You and I.”

Loki made a show of pulling his pillow over his head. “Don’t get philosophical on me now, brother.” His voice was muffled, and a moment later he tossed the pillow aside. “Does it matter? We’re here now.”

“I suppose.” Thor reached for Loki’s discarded pillow and tucked it under his own.

“Hey,” Loki protested.

“Sorry, did you want this?” Thor hugged both pillows, pressing his face into the soft cotton. “Mm. So comfy.”

Loki scowled; a moment later, both pillows abruptly vanished into thin air. Thor’s head dropped to the mattress and he let out a little yelp of sheer surprise.

Loki waved his hand. The pillows reappeared under his own head. He made a show of fluffing them up, then arched an eyebrow at Thor. “Oh, sorry, did you want these?”

“Worst brother ever,” Thor grumbled.

“Best brother ever,” Loki corrected. “You love me.”

“Yeah, but I don’t like you very much.”

Loki laughed at that, reaching out and kicking Thor’s ribs with his bare foot. “Ass.”

Thor smiled at him and adjusted his position. He edged closer to Loki and settled his own head onto the pillows, shoving Loki - gently - aside to make room. “If you wanted to cuddle, brother, all you had to do was ask,” he remarked as he settled in.

“Yes, but subterfuge is much more my specialty,” Loki said. His words were accompanied by an eyeroll, but he didn’t protest Thor sharing the pillows. Perhaps, he felt a little nostalgic, too. “Now, are you going to let me get some sleep or not?”

“Only if you stop snoring.”

“For the last time, I do not snore.”

Thor reached for the blankets and pulled them up around his shoulders, making sure to tuck Loki in, too. “Yes, you do. But I’ll try not to hold it against you.” In fact, Thor was feeling much sleepier than he had before. The restlessness had eased from him without his even realizing it. Loki had that sort of soothing effect.

“Good, because if you wake me up again, I’ll turn you into a frog.”

“I dare you to try.”

Loki smirked and reached out. Green seidr flickered at his fingertips and, despite himself, Thor shrank back a bit, which made Loki look immensely pleased with himself. He wiggled his fingers, the light fading away. Then he turned onto his side and - to Thor’s surprise - laid his head on Thor’s shoulder.

“Goodnight, Thor,” Loki said, his breath ghosting along Thor’s collarbone.

Thor smiled. He patted Loki’s hair, just like he used to do when they were children. Then he settled in and wrapped his arm protectively around his brother. “Goodnight, Loki.”

#tumblr prompts #brodinsons #sleepy loki #thor being an insomniac #cute fluff #sharing a bed #post ragnarok fic #ms-aqua-marvella

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ashenhawk · 4 years

Note

random nsfw & sfw hcs about boys from Norn? plz and thank u!

om HECK YEAH I was hoping I’d get some Norn9 requests at some point! I decided to write for my fav boys from each heroine, but if you have a specific boy you wanna hear about later let me know.

Heishi Otomaru:

Heishi really likes stuffed animals. Even though he’s an adult, he finds sleeping with a teddy bear comforting. My specific headcanon is that when he was abandoned, he had a teddy bear from his childhood that he slept with every night, and since then its become a habit to sleep with one.

Sometimes Heishi wonders if he deserves to be happy and experiences anxiety / depression. He struggles with feeling like he’s not good enough and needs reassurance; he refuses to directly ask for that reassurance because he also doesn’t want to be a bother, but it spills over and he projects it with his telepathy. Give him a hug and remind him you love him!

The first time he tried drinking beer, he thought it tasted so disgusting that he was convinced it was expired / gone bad.

His hair is SO soft!! Heishi has very petable hair and if he rests his head on your lap you are required to run your fingers through it. He might also jokingly purr, especially if it makes you blush for him to do that.

His laugh is really dorky sounding when he’s laughing wholeheartedly. He’d absolutely snort while he laughs, I think.

Bonus smut headcanon: Of course, being known to leak out his thoughts to others when he gets too emotional, he very much has a struggle with keeping his intimate thoughts to himself when he’s around someone he likes. He probably leaks out his desire before he would even dare say it out loud.

Senri Ichinose:

As children, Senri was the type of kid that wanted to always be with his brother Akito. He’d grab Akito’s shirt sleeve and walk along behind him everywhere he went and wanted to be just like him when he grew up.

His pessimistic attitude is unfortunately very apparent when he talks about himself. If Senri were asked to describe himself, all of the words to pop into his head would be negative. Which, in turn, is why an optomistic partner or at least one who looks on the bright side for his sake is best suited to Senri (such as Koharu).

He really does appreciate beautiful things despite his pessimism though. Its not something Senri would generally say aloud but he likes the beauty of nature, especially creatures and life within the ocean.

If his partner likes wearing jewelry he’d give them a necklace with a seashell on it!

Please give this boy a hug. Once you manage to get a hug from him, he’ll become more touchy and want to hug you a lot.

Akito once told him he’d look cute in a dress. Senri never wore one but the thought stuck in his head - even after memory wipe - so while he’d take a lot of convincing to actually do it, he is genuinely curious about it.

Sakuya Nijou:

If he does not end up with Mikoto, convincing him to enter a romantic relationship with someone will be VERY difficult - but I don’t believe its impossible. He’s got a lot of baggage and takes his bond and promise with Mikoto very seriously, so he needs a patient suitor that will be willing to help with that... and who accepts that at least for the time being, they will be second in priority to Mikoto.

When his guard is down with someone for a bit, he relaxes, but quickly goes on guard again if he begins having feelings for that person. Sakuya will put distance between himself and anyone he begins to like.

When he finally lets down those walls entirely and accepts loving someone, he’s devoted and loyal beyond belief. A gentleman to everyone, but to you he will devote all his intimate gestures and affection.

He’ll want you to be close friends with Mikoto, though! It would make him smile to see you get along well with her and be a good friend to her.

If Sakuya tragically does die protecting you... in her grief, Mikoto will vow never to forgive you, even if she knows its irrational to blame you.

Sakuya would be open to a polyamory relationship with you and Mikoto as well if you both consented to it.

But, even though that’s an option, over time he will come to devote entirely to you if its what you want, and Mikoto will stay a special part of his heart, but not one that has a hold on him.

Bonus smut headcanon: Sakuya is a gentle lover, with generally vanilla interests. He is the guy who’ll want to go slow with foreplay and spend a lot of time kissing and touching before the act begins.

#norn9 #norn 9 #heishi otomaru #otomaru heishi #senri ichinose #ichinose senri #sakuya nijou #nijou sakuya #otome #my writing #headcanons #queen-of-pastel-hearts

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mentalmimosa · 6 years

Text

safe and sound

Prompt: Journeys (odysseys and quests; time-travel; being lost and trying to get home; road trips; pioneering and exploration, including space travel). Prompt from this generator.

The journey home was a lengthy one and therein, for Thor, lay the problem.

Or perhaps problem was too strong a word; perhaps quandary.

He was, of course, immensely grateful that Natasha and Wanda had been kind enough to accompany him. It wasn’t every day that one had to ask one’s friends for such a favor, one that required some weeks away from home--from Earth, even--and promised to stretch his colleagues’ skill and cunning in ways they had never encountered before. To defeat Malkeith, he'd needed a magician and he needed a thief and in Loki’s absence, he could think of none who could match his brothers’ talents better than Wanda, the quiet, dark-eyed witch, and Natasha, the ever-watchful spy.

That they came as a matched set these days had, admittedly, made his task somewhat easier, made it far more likely, he had figured, that both would say yes.

So they had. And what a team the three of them had made. Malkeith and his vicious band of marauders had not, as the humans liked to say, known what hit them.

That the Dark Elf had taken to space at all was vexing enough; surely he would not have dared in Odin’s prime, or had Thor himself been on Asgard’s throne. But Odin was old and sick, far less inclined to cling to life now that Frigga was gone, and Thor was an Avenger now, charged with the particular protection of the peoples of the Earth, and if there were moments when he felt a fist of guilt in his gut, a momentary wave of regret, then so too were there more when he understood that he had made the right choice; Asgard, he felt deep in his soul, was no longer his place.

But there was little doubt that his absence had emboldened the enemies of order that his father had fought for so many millennia to protect; creatures like those of Nifelheim felt it their right to stretch their slimy fingers beyond their Realm to grasp at the next, to test their mettle on the peoples of some far distant star, and it seemed they’d been counting on Asgard’s disinterest.

Asgard may not have stirred when the first cries for help rang out, but the Avengers had. And by the Norns, he and the sorceress and the spy had trapped Malkeith in a web of his own avarice and overconfidence and sent he and his foul friends back to Niflheim for good.

Or until Malkeith’s next great idea, anyway.

And now, he and his friends were on the long arc journey back to Earth, cradled comfortably in a spacecraft of Stark’s own design, with little to do during the coming days, it seemed, except to enjoy each other’s company and wait.

Herein, then, lay Thor’s quandary.

For there was little question that while Natasha and Wanda liked him well enough, they also appreciated spending time together in ways that most assuredly did not involve him. Which of course they did, for they were, as any fool could see, very much and deeply in love, and that was none of Thor’s concern; the difficulty lay, though, in the, ah--the, ah, how could one say it? His cheeks colored merely at the thought--the volume at which such time was often passed. Although when the three of them were together--or indeed, he’d observed, when they were in any sort of company--they were affectionate towards one another but decorous; Natasha might keep her hand twined in Wanda’s hair or Wanda might nuzzle Natasha’s shoulder, but such was the usual extend of their public affections.

It was a different matter, however, on the way back, when they disappeared into their quarters each evening and left Thor alone.

For the walls of Stark’s ship, for all their strength and solidity, were in practice quite thin. Thor hadn’t noticed it on their outward journey, not once, but as they made their return, oh, he could not help but do so.

The first time, some two nights towards home, he’d been awakened from a dead sleep, from a dream of Loki’s mouth at his throat as golden clouds battled overhead; the smell of fresh rain, of ill-tempered wine.

Brother , this dream-Loki had whispered. I am yours still. Are you mine?

But he’d been ripped from Loki’s arms by a moan, the cry of something wounded, of something sweet being pierced.

He lay still for a moment, fist flexing, breathing too hard in the dark, and then the sound came again, the same but different; a moan, yes, but one that was not made of pain.

“Tasha,” he heard, muddled and yet clear. “Tasha, no, stop teasing me, please.”

A rumbled voice in return, the words low and indistinct, and then, after a moment, the slap of skin on skin, moaning replaced by a pulse of hungry whines, of pleasure strung high and tight.

He lay there, that first time, his face hot with desire and shame, and listened to his friends drive each other towards pleasure; the sounds of their bodies colliding, of their mouths moving greedily over the other’s flesh, each of these, he knew, was not his to hear. He should slide from his bed and take himself to the bridge to stare out at the wide vista of cold, sullen stars, but he found himself pinned, held firm in the sheets by the wail of Wanda’s voice, the aching growl Natasha found when she came.

He was embarrassed; embarrassed to be tuned in to so private a thing, to the echoes of an intimacy that was very much not his to share, much less to find so keenly arousing; it was all he could do, that first time, to keep his hand from his cock, to keep from pleasuring himself to the sounds of their voices, to thoughts of the many different ways in which their flesh might be entwined.

He held firm that night, clenching his teeth. The second and the third, too.

He was lonely, he told himself. Still yearning for what he couldn’t have, for that which never again could be. Of course he was tempted.

But by the fourth night, he knew he was beaten when he found himself staying awake, lying in the cold, unforgiving bed and stiffening merely from the anticipation, from the possibility that they might be kissing now, that Natasha might be unfastening Wanda’s blouse and peeling it from her arms; that there was no sound yet because she had her face buried between Wanda’s breasts, her hands sliding up the girl’s sides to find the heat of each, the soft weight, and truly, there was only so much temptation that even a god could bear.

And then he heard it, heard them, heard Natasha’s voice curled in a purr:

“Look at you,” Natasha said. “I barely have to touch you and your pussy’s like cream.”

Wanda keened, a high, fluttered cry.

“Oh yes?” Natasha murmured. “Is there something you want, my sweet girl?”

Wanda cried out again and Thor imagined that Natasha was petting her, teasing her fingers through Wanda’s soft, hot folds.

“Oh, I know there is.” Natasha’s voice was a smirk. “I can see it. You don’t even have to say it. Look how wide your legs are spread. I can see how much you need it.”

“Please,” Thor heard Wanda say, tattered. “Please, Nat. Let me have it.”

“Ah, ah. That’s not for me to decide.” The sound of a kiss, a half dozen more. “You want it, you know what you have to do, don’t you?”

“Mmmm. Ask.”

“That’s right. Good girl. You think you can do that?”

A soft, eager sigh. “Yes, Nat.”

He heard Natasha chuckle. “Do you want to do it right now?”

“What?”

“It’s ok. Go ahead, возлюбленная. I’ll wait.”

Wanda sounded aghast. “No, no! I can’t.”

“You can and you will. You’re not going to get it unless you do.”

“Not right now, no. Please. Don’t make me.”

There was a loud creak--the bed, Thor though?--and then a wet sound, like a slow, messy kiss and a moan like the one that had awakened him that first night, as if something sweet had been torn.

“You can have my mouth now. How about that? I’ll give you my fingers and suck on your clit and tomorrow, when you’ve remembered your manners, you can go to him and ask.”

“Yes,” Wanda said, and Thor could imagine her now, her dark head tipped back, clutching at Natasha’s hair as she nuzzled between Wanda’s thighs. “Yes, yes. God please, just--”

And then they were both moaning--Natasha’s voice low and damp, Wanda’s soaring like a bird--and Thor was touching himself, sliding his hand in his trousers and pulling heat out and whatever shame he should’ve felt was wiped away by the need in his body, by the sounds of his friends fucking, by the image of Wanda’s breasts, of her fingers on them, teasing her nipples as Natasha snarled and ate her out and the picture was so vivid, so fucking clear--Wanda’s leg strung over Natasha’s shoulder, Natasha’s fingers pistoning in and out--that it tore something out of him, a great, trembling roar, and he came in one long, hungry tear, spunk that shot up his chest, pleasure like a thousand tongues lapping at him, biting gently at the curves of his flesh.

Sleep, when it found him again, spent, wore Loki’s face; dreams with dark hair and quicksilver eyes.

*****

In the morning, of course, he felt terribly ashamed. What in all the Realms had been thinking, spying on them like that, using his imagination to reshape the words they fed to each other for his own means, for himself?

So much so that he found himself blushing when Natasha strolled onto the bridge, her face settled into its usual careful mask.

“Any change?” she asked, leaning her arm against the back of his seat. "In our course? Direction? ETA?"

“Ah,” Thor said. “Has there been a, um. No.”

In the viewscreen, he could see her reflection raise its eyebrow. “Ok. Let me take the watch a while, huh? You look like you need some coffee.” She clapped him on the shoulder. “I think Wanda’s made some. Go on.”

It was not, Thor noted, anything other than a command. But then, that was Natasha’s way.

“Very well,” he said, rising. “Thank you.”

He ducked his head and very nearly managed to avoid meeting her eye, hiding his face behind his curtain of hair. But still, there was a glimpse, and to his surprise, she didn’t look suspicious or even mildly perturbed, no; instead, for a moment, he thought what he saw was a smile.

Or not?

“Bring me some when you’re done, please,” she said brusquely, sliding in behind the controls. “Two sugars, no cream.”

In Thor’s head, an echo of the night before: I barely have to touch you and your pussy’s like cream.

His whole face went cinder and he backed away, trying to outrun his guilt, calling: “Consider it done.”

He found Wanda indeed seated outside the small galley, one mug on the table before her and another curled in her hand.

“Thor,” she said, lifting her head. “Good morning.”

“Morning.”

She smiled at him, a soft curve of her lips, and something in him fluttered. She was, he thought, so very lovely. Where her hair had once been rust, now it was darker, deeper, a warm, rich brown; it made her eyes stand out, this change, made them glow gold and green. It helped, too, that she was dressed in scarlet, a blouse that fastened at her neck and trailed down to her wrists where it seems to him he could see the tenor of her magic curled, lying hot just beneath her skin, waiting for her to summon it to escape.

“Coffee?” she said, a gentle prod, and realized to his horror that he’d been staring.

He snatched at the mug on the table. “Ah, yes. thanks. But Natasha, um, she’d like some, too.”

Wanda chuckled. “I’m sure she does. She’s never very pleasant in the morning, have you noticed?” She turned her fingers in the air and a third mug came at her summons, settled like a bird in the palm of her hand. “I think she takes waking up personally, as if the universe has conspired to cheat her out of her sleep.” Her mouth turned up again. “If she’s said something to you, I hope you don’t take it personally.”

Thor found himself smiling back. “I hadn’t.”

“Good. You know her well, then.” Wanda tilted her head. “What about you, though? How did you sleep?”

Oh hell. “I, uh--well enough, I suppose.”

“Really?” She studied him, her deep eyes sinking in to his. “You do look peaked.”

Thor gritted his teeth and hid behind a few steaming sips. “No, no,” he managed after a moment. “I’m fine.”

She stood up, one brilliant flow of red, and then her hand was on his cheek. “You’re a bit warm, aren’t you?”

“Coffee,” Thor said weakly. “It’s very hot.”

Wanda’s fingers found his forehead. “Oh, my,” she said. “You’re sweating. Do you have a fever?” She was so close now that Thor could see each delicate line on her cheeks, the way each creased as she laughed. “Can gods get colds? I suppose I should’ve started with that.”

She smelled good, like cinnamon, like something sweet and hot, and that she was touching him, albeit only kindly, made the catch in his throat, his dry tongue, that much fucking worse. She was such a powerful creature, he thought; she reminded him of a storm: a red thunderhead facing downwind and still building its strength.

He looked down at her, feeling helpless, feeling his body stir, and he wanted nothing so much as to kiss her, as to turn her small, strong body in his arms and help her to reach for the sounds he knew now she could make.

“I’m not ill,” he croaked. “I didn’t get enough rest, that’s all.”

Wanda smiled at him, her fingers sliding through the long strands of his hair, tugging gently on the thin rope of his mourning braid. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “Did we keep you up?”

He dropped his damnable coffee. “Did you--did you what?”

She stepped through the mess, her breasts brushing his chest. “You heard me.”

“Yeah,” Natasha said from behind him, her voice all spice and swagger, “and you heard me, too.”

Then their arms were about him and he was surrounded, one weight at his back, the other curled tight against his chest, her head tilted up and up towards his, and there was a great deal his body was busy with in that moment other than his brain, but still, his logic was not totally lame.

“You wanted me to hear you,” he said, the words in full stagger. “Is that it?”

Natasha laughed and scratched at his sides. “Wanda did. She wanted you to do her dirty work, Thor.”

Wanda’s fingers found the edge of his tunic and crept under, nails kissing his bare skin. “That,” she said balefully, her lovely face now the color of her dress, “is absolutely fucking true.”

He reached for Wanda’s waist, lightheaded, and turned his hands about her hips, squeezing at the soft there, the flesh, befuddled and joyously aroused. “What dirty work is this, hmmm?”

Wanda made a soft noise and buried her face against his chest, her fingers on his flesh going hot and still.

“She wants you to fuck her, Thor.” Natasha bit at the base of his neck, hummed: “But she’s too afraid you’ll say no to ask.”

Later, it would all seem a blur: the first time he kissed Wanda, the feel of her hair in his hands, the way her head fell back as she eagerly let him in. Natasha’s amusement, the sound of her laughter; the taste of it when Thor reached for her and she barged into the kiss, standing on her tiptoes and sucking hard on his tongue.

They found the bed, somehow--Thor remembered not a single step; only the rush of Wanda’s breath across his neck as he lifted her, carried her there in his arms--and when they unwound her from her dress, when Natasha knelt behind her and cupped her sweet, heavy breasts, Thor fell to his knees and gave his mouth to them, kissing each curve and lapping at Wanda's nipples, dark and soft but stiffening from Natasha’s firm pinches, from the hungry curl of his tongue.

They made Wanda come like that, he and Natasha; stripped down while the two of them were still clothed. He gave himself to Wanda's cunt, stretching his fingers through the mess, through her wet, and moaned when Natasha told him to lick this way and that; how hard to suck and when to give Wanda his fingers; what she’d feel like inside when Thor made her come.

She flew apart into a thousand butterflies, her hands in Thor’s hair, her head pitched back into Natasha’s shoulder; another stroke, Natasha’s thumb on her clit, the tip of Thor’s tongue, and Wanda was lightning, the cabin suddenly filled with crackle and flash.

“Oh, god,” she cried, her folds fluttering against his face, “do that, just like that, oh please. Make me come again.”

Natasha laughed and slapped the inside of Wanda’s thigh, the blow glancing over Thor’s cheek. “Greedy little girl,” she said as Wanda writhed. “Save something, hmmm? Thor wants to feel you come on his cock.” Her eyes found Thor’s, dark and sharp. “Don’t you, Thor?”

Which was how Thor came to be perched at the edge of the bed, Wanda spread over his lap, wailing, his cock shoved up and in. He let her set the pace, tried to, but it was near impossible with Natasha between his knees, licking hungrily at the place where he and Wanda are joined.

Wanda was a beautiful mess, trembling fine like a leaf at the slide of his fingers over her stomach, around her hip, up to her breasts, and yet she was fucking herself on his cock, her cunt spread and incredibly, impossibly wet.

Natasha sucked at his balls, fierce and perfect, and he grabbed at her hair, one arm still braced around Wanda’s waist.

“Yeah?” Natasha gritted, pitching her voice over the slap of their flesh. “Is that where you want me?”

Thor groaned, drowned the sound in Wanda’s damp curls, but he felt Natasha’s lips turn; answer enough.

Natasha took him in again and his hips kicked and Wanda screamed, a clawing, lovely shriek of want, and then he was fucking her hard, holding her down on his cock and rubbing his mouth against her shoulder, a desperate open-mouthed kiss, one hand still speared in Natasha’s hair.

“Come,” he begged. “Wanda, sweet, please. Please come.”

“Natasha,” Wanda panted, “Nat, oh fuck, I need--”

And then Natasha was moving, her head shooting up, and Thor felt the moment she kissed Wanda’s clit, felt Wanda’s cunt bloom from the inside and out, and somehow, he was deeper inside her and she was clutching at his arms and his cock and he came with a roar, a noise he did not know he could make; filled her helpless with heat and bright summer light.

He caught her wrists as she writhed and felt the spark there, the promise; a hint of all she contained, deep inside.

“Fuck,” Natasha said, a wet slur against the inside of his thigh. “Now I need to know what you taste like.”

“I might,” Thor panted, “say the very same thing to you.”

Time rippled, the bed shook, and he found himself stretched out in the sheets, his face caught between Natasha’s thighs, Wanda’s shaking knees on either side of Natasha’s head as she rubbed herself against Natasha’s mouth, dripped Thor’s spunk on her tongue. She was a fist on the inside, wet for them, ready, and it did not take very long to unwind her, their spy; to send her up and over the edge with three of Thor’s fingers and a shout she muffled in Wanda’s sweet, eager flesh.

Thor kissed her, after; they pulled them up between them, grinning, and he took their mouths each in their turn, watched them turn their faces to each other and kiss slow and lazy, each humming low against his chest.

Natash cupped Wanda's cheek. “Was that everything that you wanted? Having that big cock inside you?”

Wanda sighed, a tremble in her back that Thor couldn’t help but chase with his thumb. “Better.”

Natasha leaned back and smirked into Thor’s face. “What about you, Odinson? Did you like fucking my girl?”

Thor scooped his arm around her shoulders and drew her close, kissed the top of her head. “Well,” he said. “I supposed that depends. Will I get to do it again?”

“ Yes ,” Wanda said, fervent. She tucked her face against Thor’s neck and snuggled up close to him. “Mmmm. Please thank you and yes.”

Natasha chuckled, spread her hand over the dip in Thor’s chest, then reached up to tug gentle at Wanda’s hair. “Eh,” she said. “Maybe. But only after I show you how it’s done.”

“Well,” Thor said with a grin. “If you insist.”

*****

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong with the comm equipment?” Stark said, frowning at FRIDAY’s display.

“Yes, boss. Everything up there is ship and shape.”

“When’s the last time we heard from them, again?”

“18.4 hours ago.”

“Hmmm.” Tony sat back from his desk. “Maybe they’re just busy, huh? Or spending some quality time admiring the view. Gotta be pretty up there. All those nebulas and quasars and stuff.”

“As I said, there’s no sign of trouble with the ship.”

Tony sat back from his desk. “Well, then.” He squinted at the chronometer. “Give ‘em another couple of hours, till 1600? Then try opening a hailing frequency again.”

“Yes, boss.”

Stark gave the monitor one last look and strode away, his mind already moving on to other things, and FRIDAY? FRIDAY reconsidered the question. Opened the channel as wide as the beam would allow and, instead of asking for a response, listened instead.

And if what the system heard--three voices at great volume, each on its own pitch and dive, a cry of pleasure, a slap, a roar of warm laughter--surprised it, it give no sign.

Instead, FRIDAY generated a text message to Tony: Trust me, boss: they’re fine.

#scarletwidow #wanda x natasha #wanda x natasha x thor #plot what plot

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