#the stove is on some weird shit where it doesn't work when the pot is too small for the hotplate | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kangaracha · 2 months

Text

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 11

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n getting kicked out my house this week, got a new job, blah de blah. here's a chapter. oh, and a shameless self promotion, go read my skzflix fic leave? pretty please? it aint my finest work but i promise it's good?

previous | masterlist | next

---

The door is already open when you arrive, inviting you inside. Like someone had known exactly when you'd gotten in the elevator, or sensed the moment you stepped foot in their hallway. Or this was just how they lived, the door open to invite each other in and out, though that didn't seem likely. You shut it behind you when you enter anyway, the creak and slam of the heavy door loud enough to alert the occupants of the apartment to your presence.

The sound of Changbin shouting over someone follows, drowning out the noise of the door. Everything is normal, then.

The short hall by the front door is empty except for a pile of scattered shoes - you add yours to the line as you pass through, glimpsing a group of the boys sitting on a couch at the other end. It feels weird to stand there and see them at the other end, the way they've been for years before you came; your empty hands feel awkward, and your feet are too soft against their floorboards, and the closer you get, the more rowdy they become, their eyes so fixed to some game they're playing on the TV that they don't even notice you slipping into the room. You pause for a moment, listening to them howl as their game characters slip off the screen, and then continue on your way to the kitchen, your fingers twisting together restlessly before you.

Chan and Minho are there, sequestered away from the chaos erupting in the other room while they move between the benchtop and the stove, avoiding each other in a way that seems practised. The air is filled with the smell of food cooking, the steam rising from the bubbling pot on the stove warming the air in the small kitchen. Chan turns as he sees you out of the corner of his eye, smiles, and then points back towards the other boys.

"Out," he says, in a voice that brooks no argument; and you'd almost think that you'd broken some rule, except for the grin that eats at his face, amused at himself without even trying.

You stop in the doorway, hovering between the two groups. "I was just going to see if you needed any help," you say.

"Nope," he answers. "You're not allowed in here. Go and sit down."

You pull a face, one that must be funny if Minho glances away, a smile struggling to break through the blank face he's trying to pull. "I already physically kicked Felix out of here," Chan adds, a wooden spoon brandished in the air in warning. "I'll do it to you too."

Your hands come up, your feet backing out of the doorway, and yet, you can't help but laugh. You're feeling...relaxed, here, in a way you haven't since leaving Midnight those two months ago. Maybe it's because you'd spent those months grinding away at what seemed like an insurmountable hill of work, maybe because in the last week, the days that had passed since you'd walked home with Han and Chan, things had suddenly become easier within this group. The reason doesn't matter, you suppose, only that you know now that he's joking, and that it's something you can laugh at. That he's included you in the same joke he's used on Felix.

"Hey, hey, hey," a voice says behind you. "Watch where you're going. You have enough trouble walking forwards."

You turn on your heel, already rolling your eyes at the shit-eating grin on Seungmin's face. Funny, how easy it to fall into cameraderie with him once you've broken the ice between you; only a day ago, it'd still felt like you weren't much more than acquaintances, until you'd made the decision to fall over on the way to their shared vocal lesson, the only thing Seungmin had ever reached out to offer to you.

Well, made the decision is a stretch. Falling over is too. You'd only stumbled over the sidewalk, and you certainly hadn't planned to make a fool of yourself. Maybe the story that Seungmin was selling was so convincing it was starting to affect your memory. He wasn't mean about it at least, for all that he was known to pretend to be mean when the opportunity arose; if anything, the last few hours of him spreading increasingly wild tales and the others relaying them back to you had been fun. Something different than the usual grind of your days, a joke that might stick around longer than the few minutes in which it's being laughed at.

In this moment, you stand up a little bit straighter and hope that your cheeks don't turn red. "I'm great at walking," you posture, and then struggle not to laugh at how preposturous you sound, your lips fighting against you as they curve into a smile. Something to work on, maybe, if you wanted to compete with his and Minho's deadpan humour.

"Except for the part where you hit the concrete," Seungmin says, unaffected by the way your eyes crease and your mouth splits in two. "Then you're really bad at walking."

"I tripped," you insist, and you move forward as if to slide past him to get to the couch that the others sit on. He falls in beside you without hesitation rather than letting you pass by, a ghost at your side. "I wasn't even close to falling."

"Everyone says that you fell though," Seungmin insists. "You think everyone would lie?"

"I think you would lie when you told everyone else the story."

Grinning, Seungmin strides out in front of you, leading the way around the couch so that he can stand right in front of the TV. "Move up," he tells Felix, who sits at the end of the couch, neck craned to watch the game the others are playing around Seungmin.

His eyes slide from Seungmin to you, trying your best to stay out of the way despite having been dragged into mischief. "Y/N," he says, shifting over and patting the seat next to him. "You wanna sit here?"

A smile spreads out across your face. "I do," you reply, and slide past Seungmin to fit yourself in the small space he manages to make beside him. "Thanks."

"You said you would save my seat," Seungmin says, pointing a finger at Felix, who waves him out of the way. He sits on the arm of the chair instead, balancing precariously as he pulls out his phone.

"They kicked you out of the kitchen as well?" Felix asks sympathetically, one eye on the TV and the other on you.

You nod. "I was just going to see if they needed help."

"Yeah," Felix sighs. "I'm not even bad at cooking."

"I'm banned from the knives," Seungmin puts in without looking up.

You glance at him, staring intently at his phone. "Why isn't that surprising?" you question.

"Because he's Seungmin," Felix puts in. "Same way I know he's lying about seeing you fall over."

Seungmin sighs. "I didn't fall," you say, before he can decide which lie to seed this time. "I tripped. I didn't fall."

"It's no fun if none of you believe me," Seungmin grouses.

The game on the TV finishes with a fanfare that fills the whole room, drowned out only by the racous cries of cheating from the boys playing it. The sound makes you wince, leaning away from them; Felix's hands come up to cover his ears, his cry for help also disappearing under the noise they make. You wouldn't be surprised if the neighbours were doing the same thing, or marching towards their door with pitchforks in hand. How do they even have neighbours, when they're capable of noise like that?

"They're going to get complaints again," Seungmin says, like he'd been reading your mind.

"Hey, hey! Hey!" a voice calls over the noise, and you turn in unison to see Chan's head poking out of the door, the wooden spoon waving in his hand once again. "No yelling!"

"I'd say he looks like he's our dad, but he just kind of looks unhinged," Felix comments, only his eyes and the blonde hair that tufts up on top of his head peeking up over the back of the couch. The rest of him has slid down out of Chan's sight, like if he hides, he won't get caught up in whatever trouble the others are causing.

"He looks like my grandfather," Seungmin adds as the older boy disappears, making no effort to hide at all. "He was crazy too."

Felix grins, wild and wolfish. "He just keeps getting older."

"It's so sad he's going to die so soon," Seungmin agrees.

The noise dies down, the game switched back to a more neutral home screen as boys wander off this way and that. Felix shifts over, enough that you can give Seungmin a space on the couch - you think, for a moment, about making him go around to the other side, but Changbin is still sitting there, looking peacefully unbothered by whatever chaos Seungmin is surely capable of unleashing and it's much easier to just shift over and let him slump down in the corner than to set him off. It disturbs Changbin anyway, somehow; as Seungmin sits down, he sits up straight, leaning around Felix to look at you.

"Hey, Y/N," he says, drawing your attention over to him. "Where were you this morning? I didn't see you in the practise rooms."

"She left the room?" Felix questions, turning to stare at you like such a thing is unheard of.

"I was there for three hours," Changbin confirms, "and I didn't see her at all."

"I was tired," you say, trying to ignore the feeling of your cheeks turning red, "so I slept in. And I left the room twice today, actually. I went to a vocal lesson with him."

Seungmin nods as your thumb jabs towards him. "She won't be dancing tomorrow either. She fell over on the concrete."

You don't even think twice about reaching over to push him off the couch. It catches him so off-guard that he actually does fall, sliding right onto the carpet and staring up at you in disbelief. The other boys howl with laughter, loud enough that you glance back at the kitchen door to check if Chan is coming back.

"I'm glad you took the morning off," Felix says warmly, ignoring whatever Seungmin mutters under his breath as he drags himself up off the floor. "We've all been worried about you."

"So I've been told," you say. "I promise, I know what I'm doing."

"I trust you," Felix says, and there's a glint in his eye that says he's telling the truth. It warms you to your core, just as sitting here surrounded by these boys does, and the sound of Minho's voice calling for Seungmin from the kitchen. It's nice, to come into the middle of their group away from the stage or the dance floor and feel like you're just in the midst of friends, somewhere where you belong. It's nice to see how they live. You hadn't let yourself see this before, too tied down to practise and the dream they've achieved that you're still chasing.

"Seungmin-ah! Come and help!" Minho calls again, and then he can be seen at the door, waiting with an unnerving kind of patience. You're not sure if the smile on his face is supposed to be encouraging or threatening, and you don't really want to find out; mostly, you're just kind of glad that he's not calling for you.

Seungmin isn't bothered by it, dragging himself off the couch with a sigh that reverberates through the room. "Coming, old man," he calls across the room, and ignores the double take that Felix does beside you, his eyes growing wide.

"Ai-e," Changbin says, the sound whistling through his teeth. "Is he crazy?"

"You want to go in the oven?" Minho questions as Seungmin crosses the room.

"You'd have to get me in it first," Seungmin says, and then yelps as Minho's arm wraps around his neck, dragging him into the kitchen in a headlock.

"He's going to die," Felix says gleefully.

"Winning the bet was not worth it," you agree, your eyes still on the empty doorway to the kitchen. No one emerges except Chan, holding a pot of whatever they've cooked for dinner and looking disturbingly peaceful despite the chaos he has just left behind.

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids @hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts @puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night @d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk @minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification @starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace @amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002 @hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff @splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit @jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @slutfortits @duhgurl @cheshireshiya @worcesheshestershiresauce @defnotfertilizedtoesw @rensahazard @greyyeti

201 notes · View notes

lunapwrites · 11 months

Text

It's summer.

You're standing in your parents kitchen, wearing your little brother's shorts and hoping no one says anything about it. (They don't even notice.) It's hot as hell, stuffy; windows open, since you've got the sort of parents that have air conditioning but don't like to use it. There's a little breeze that flutters the weird lacy half-curtains, wind chime ringing, but it dies halfway across the countertop. So there you are, bare feet and sticky linoleum floors. Everything's fucking Pepto Bismol pink.

Mom's fussing at the stove, smacking pots and pans and cussing under her breath (and over it too) and you can see the hair sticking to the back of her neck too. Stubborn. She smacks the pot down, grabs her purse, rifles around in it. Calls your name. Turns around to shove five dollar bills into your hand, run down to the store and grab a gallon of milk. You're, what, fourteen? Fifteen? So no car yet, but you've got a bike you like to ride down the hill at the end of the road - no hands, no pedaling. Just cool, easy breeze.

It's a shame the store's a mile in the other direction, on an incline.

Still, you could go for a ride. Beats sweating your ass off here.

You grab your backpack and your Diskman, headphones hooked round your ears, and set off at a good clip while still in sight of the house. (Slower once you get past the fuck off huge rhododendrons lining the drive. You're in no rush.) It's still hot, but you can lift your elbows a bit now, get a breeze flowing. Glide along the pavement a bit - you're not at the uphill bit yet. It's bright out, clouds making a valiant attempt but the sun's not fucking having it, not today. The sky's a faded sort of blue. Jeans that went through the wash half a dozen times too many, knees all worn out. There's honeysuckle thick on the air, twisting up and into the pines. Little white blooms dotted all along the deepest green. If you were walking, you'd grab one to chew on, sweet like red clover.

There's a low hum of life around you, loud enough to hear over the music blasting in your ears. A rattle and seethe of insects and frogs and birds, chirping and chattering in the woods as you ride by. They don't bother you. (The ticks won't either if you keep off the grass.) The only cars around are the ones parked in driveways, half-hidden by trees and bushes and custom mailboxes. Some of em have little signs with last names you don't recognize but your parents probably do. They know everyone.

You weave around the middle of the road, lazy like, one hand dropped to your side. It's quiet. Speed limit's 45, and no one's around to hit it. Certainly not you. There's horse shit on the side of the road, somewhat fresh, and a long-dead deer, less fresh - nothing but a few bones and a pile of fur melted into the dirt like mold. You wonder if that's where your dog got the ribcage from. He'd brought it home slung over his back like Santa Claus with a bag of toys, ho ho... ohhhh. Little shit was so proud of himself.

(You also wonder when your parents will put up a fence, but you know the answer to that already.)

After a while, you see the store up ahead, stuck in the middle of a criss-cross of intersections no one ever uses. There's a patch of dirt across one street that everyone calls a parking lot (it isn't.) The shop's the same color as your house, same pale yellow siding, but taller. The gas pumps are all gone now, though you don't know why - something about insurance, you can't remember. You were too young then and can't be bothered now. You swing your leg over the side of the bike and dismount while it's still moving - a little trick that always makes you feel fancy. Less so the kickstand that doesn't work. You lay your bike next to the rusty ice box, pause your music, and walk in.

The bells hung on top the door jingle as you walk in, metal-frame door slamming back into place as if to scold you for letting all the cold air out. You probably had.

The place is real dingy on the inside, like some relic of the fifties gone to shit. It's cramped, hardly bigger than your kitchen with shelves so low you can see over them, condensation dripping from every glass door. Dark wood panel walls and yellowy tile floors that were probably white once upon a time - the counters are clean, at least. The AC's on, but you wouldn't know it. There's one of those metal fans with the little ribbons on it perched behind the deli counter, and the owner's sat in front of it melting like a snow cone in his little folding chair. He's watching the world's smallest television from across the room. Local news or something. Looks sweatier than you feel. He grunts hello though, so you know he's not dead yet. That's good; he makes some damn good sandwiches, even if you always pick off everything but the meat and cheese (especially the tomatoes.) Not today's mission, but maybe next time.

You could walk that floor blind, making a bee-line to the fridge - ignoring the siren call of the Good Humor ice cream chest - and popping open the door. You wrap your hand around the cold, wet handle of a gallon of 2%. The sharp plastic seam bites into your knuckles like it always does, and you wince but carry on. You eye the Snapple case; pink lemonade sounds real good. You grab one of those too, and a Twix bar; call it a finder's fee. You take em to the counter, set em down and the owner heaves himself up and over to you. Rings you up on a register older than God while you debate on whether or not to add a pack of Bubble Tape (you decide against it this time.) He drops everything but the milk in a little plastic bag for you. No receipt; you both know you're not bringing anything back. The milk you stuff into your backpack and swing it up onto your shoulders, straps chafing hard against the bare skin there. For the first time, you regret the tank top.

Say hi to your dad for me. Sure thing.

The bells jingle again as you step back out into the sun.

Golden hour's almost over now, sun at your back, kissing the tree tops. You've got the plastic bag wrapped over the left handlebar, and the Snapple bottle keeps clinking against the head tube - glass on metal - so you hook your thumb around it to keep it steady while you're racing back home. The way back is faster, slightly downhill. A good thing, since the bag you're carrying is a little colder, a little wetter than you'd anticipated - you hope to every God you can name that you didn't pop the cap when it smacked against the small of your back. Fingers crossed.

The scenery's the same: still green, still blue. Only now a little darker, a little cooler, a little more crowded as a Ford whips past you going too fast in the other direction. Diesel. You know he's got until the store to slow his ass down to 25 unless he wants every cop in town - all two of them - on his tail. They're hungry out this way. Bored. You all are.

Takes two songs until your front tire hits the dirt of your driveway, crunch of pebbles and dust as you drive straight up to the garage, dismounting just like you did at the shop. Haul your spoils back into the house - still stuffy and eye-searingly pink. Screen door slams behind you. The backpack slips off your right shoulder, swinging onto your left hip as you open it, extracting the prize. One gallon of milk, delivered straight into the fridge, lid intact. Your mother doesn't ask for change; she knows better.

Dinner'll be ready in a bit.

Your shoulders are burning. You head back to your room and swap your CD from your Diskman to your stereo, and lie down on the worn, scratchy carpet. You can hear your brothers fighting in the basement, your mom ripping the door open to shriek full names down the stairs. She mixes them up; it ruins the effect.

You take a long sip of your Snapple - a little sour, a little cloyingly sweet. A little warmer now than you'd like.

It's too fucking hot for this shit.

#summer gothic #my writing #a little time capsule.

8 notes · View notes

stjarnaloki · 2 years

Text

cherry on top (loki x f. reader)

Loki's messed up. you're mad, and he knows it. so what does a demigod who is learning to be in a functioning relationship decide to do? make you cupcakes. and then fuck the shit out of you.

who doesn't love romantic possessive groveling Loki? come on now.

Word Count: 3300 Warnings: 18+ heavy smut. AO3 here

Relationships with a god are a weird thing. Particularly one that was still trying to unlearn his sociopathic tendencies.

You thought about this as you angrily washed the dishes, suds flying onto your sweatshirt as you slammed pots into the soapy water. The dirty dishes were just another thing rubbing you the wrong way. It was totally his turn.

First, Loki was gone for two weeks. Something urgent on Asgard. As if you could verify that. He hadn’t given you any details, just suddenly appeared in the doorway one morning with his gold breastplate on, telling you he’d be back as soon as he could.

When was he going to start inviting me? you thought, angrily scrubbing some two-day old pasta sauce from a bowl. You’d think six months would be enough.

Six months of waking him up from his night terrors, the kind that left him drenched in sweat and disoriented. Holding him until he believed that Thor was still alive, or he wasn’t under the Tesseract’s control, or Odin wasn’t here to lock him up. Six months of discovering the Loki he showed to no one else.

Anxiety took over in his absence, convincing you that Loki had returned to his realm permanently, without you. Your heart had leapt when you heard the familiar roar on your balcony, but he hadn’t seemed excited to see you at all when the Bifrost spit him out. He just swept in, looking distracted and worried, a quick peck on your cheek instead of his warm embrace. So you’d decided to withdraw.

And now, despite your anger, you missed him. Even though he was in the same house as you, he felt unreachable.

“Loki, I’m going for a walk,” you called through the closed door of his office. No answer. You scoffed in frustration as you laced up your tennis shoes, the hurt landing like a dull thump in your chest.

____________________

As soon as Loki heard the door click shut, he emerged from his office, getting to work right away. He didn’t know how long you’d walk, but it was usually an hour. Considering how cold you’d been toward him, he felt like you might be gone at least two.

Loki knew it was his fault. He saw the way you shut down after he’d returned from Asgard, and it broke his heart. But he couldn’t tell you why he’d gone. He had no reason for this mental block that was keeping him from you, besides fear. Tonight, he hoped, would be different.

He grimaced as he saw the heaping pile of freshly washed plates and bowls that you’d just finished. He didn’t have an excuse for those.

The dark-haired man sent a green flash over the dishes, drying them instantly. He whisked them away with a flick of his wrist and took a deep breath.

Loki set to work, filling your tiny apartment countertop with flour, eggs, sugar, vanilla, cinnamon, nutmeg, mixing bowls and spoons. He raced back to his office where he’d so carefully printed out a recipe and taped it to the cabinet above the stove.

All right Laufeyson, absolutely no magic for this, he told himself, tying an apron around his waist.

For the next hour, Loki succeeded in covering himself in flour, cracking an egg on the ground, and spilling the vanilla. To his own delight, the twelve lopsided cupcakes that emerged from the oven looked perfectly edible. He pried each one out of their tin with the dexterity of a surgeon, wanting every detail to be perfect for you.

He whipped the frosting until he was sweating, then carefully spread it with a knife on top of each cupcake. Finally, breathless but utterly proud of his hard labor, he placed the twelve cupcakes on a plate and stepped back, anxiously waiting for your return.

_______________

You returned to your front door, flushed but refreshed from your long walk. You sniffed the air in the hallway, confused. It smelled…good for a change.

You turned the key in the lock and jumped. There was Loki, sitting expectantly on one of the kitchen stools. Your eyes landed on the piles of dirty dishes in the sink, the eggshells lying on the counter.

“Did you…fucking…bake?” you asked incredulously to the grinning man in front of you.

Loki’s cheeks were flushed. Flour coated his apron and had landed in his black curls, tinting the ends of them gray. He looked so proud of himself, you couldn’t help but smile a little bit.

“All by myself,” Loki said. “No seidr.”

“Wow…” you said, closing the door behind you and moving closer to inspect his work. They were…charming. The frosting sagged a little, and the tops of them were a little singed.

“They’re for you,” Loki said, his voice timid.

“For me?” you said, taking one. His eyes widened as you took a thoughtful bite.

“Oh, fuck, are they disgusting?” he said after you didn’t answer.

You chewed a little longer, relishing the suspense you were giving him.

“I’m very impressed,” you responded, finally, unable to suppress your smile even with your mouth full. His eyes lit up, his cheeks creasing with that smile you loved so much. He looked almost bashful, something you didn’t know he was capable of until very recently.

After a few moments, he spoke again.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been awful lately.”

You licked the frosting off your fingers as you considered him.

“Continue…” you said slowly.

“I’ve neglected you, darling, for no good reason except my own anxieties.”

“…so this was a peace offering?” you asked reproachfully, motioning to the cupcakes.

“Yes…,” he drawled. “I know it doesn’t make up for anything, but, I-” his voice trailed off and he looked at his hands.

“It certainly didn’t hurt,” you smiled. His face brightened a little.

“I thought you weren’t coming back this time,” you said after a long pause. “From Asgard.”

He looked at you, his concerned eyes searching your face.

“I thought you were done with me. And then you got back and it’s like you can’t stand to be in the same room as me,” you finished. Your voice was quiet, hints of anger still audible. “What’s with that?” you asked, meeting his blue eyes. “I thought we were a team.”

Loki reached for you and stroked a tentative thumb over your chin.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” he said, raising your face to look at him. “I hate that I made you feel like I’d abandoned you. I would have come back sooner I just-”

“Just what?” you prompted, feeling your frustration at him returning.

Loki sighed, grabbing one of your hands and holding it between his.

“I was putting things in order so you could come to Asgard.”

Your mouth fell open.

“And I didn’t know if it was going to be possible at all, and so I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry for that, I just didn’t want to get false hopes. And….” Loki trailed off, looking ashamed. “Then once I got back I somehow convinced myself that you wouldn’t want to come at all. And so I…shut down. And that made you hate me. And now here we are. Cupcakes.” Loki chuckled ruefully, gazing up at you again.

“Oh, Loki,” you sighed, your anger dissolving instantly. “You want me to…”

“You don’t have to come, if you don’t want to.” Loki said, quickly. “I don’t want to put pressure on you. I think I was…afraid. To ask you.”

You were so proud of him. The Loki you knew six months ago was unrecognizable to the man before you. Feeling real emotions, talking about them, not shoving them down.

“Did…did you talk to Odin?” you said incredulously, sinking to rest on his lap.

“Unfortunately,” Loki grimaced. “There was no getting around it.”

You held his face in your hands, your love for him spilling over unbearably.

“I’m so proud of you,” you said, planting a kiss on his cheek. “That must have been so hard.”

“It was,” he replied, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “But you made me feel like I could.”

Your chest felt like it was on fire. It was such a good feeling after so many days of longing hurt, feeling like the end was in sight. Now, it seemed like this was just the beginning.

You held his face tighter, looking him dead in the eye. His unwavering gaze stared back at you, his eyes full of relief.

“Look at you,” you grinned, playing with a flour-dusted curl. “Prince Loki, absolutely whipped for a Midgardian girl.”

His gaze grazed over your lips, then flicked back up to your face. You saw desire pooling in his eyes, and knew you were done for.

“Guilty as charged,” he whispered, drawing you closer to him.

“Uh uh,” you put a finger up to his tempting lips, a barrier preventing him from enveloping you in a kiss. “Despite your bribe, Laufeyson, I’m not doing the fucking dishes again,” you whispered into his ear, tickling the sensitive skin on his neck with your breath. You took his chin in your hand, turning his entire head so he stared at the pile of sticky dishes in the sink instead of your lips.

His greedy hands grabbed the curve of your ass harder, undeterred. He grinned, a hint of the wickedness that once consumed him making itself visible again. It didn’t scare you anymore. It just meant you might not be able to walk tomorrow.

His eyes snapped back to yours, so cocky in his magic that he didn’t even have to look at what he was doing. One careless flick of his two fingers dissolved the residue on the dishes and the crumbs on the counter. They stacked themselves in the drain, shining and dry.

He raised one eyebrow at you as the last dish flew into its place.

“Satisfied, my lady?” Loki teased, letting his hands trail higher up your thighs.

“Not yet,” you told him, biting your lip as you reached down to untie his apron.

“Mmm… good answer…” Loki said, sly seduction in his voice. He gripped you tighter, and in one smooth movement, he rose from the stool, lifting you to straddle him as if you weighed nothing. Your body responded before you could register what happened, your legs wrapping around him and your hands instinctively pulling his lips to yours. He moaned appreciatively into your mouth, your kiss sending shockwaves of heat between his legs. God, he’d missed you so much.

Your tongues collided over and over again, each kiss getting sloppier than the last. Your bodies were on autopilot now, falling into each other as if no time had passed. Loki wasted no time striding into your bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. He kneeled on the bed, still holding you at his waist as he lay you down, refusing to let an inch of air between the two of you. He rolled his hips on top of you, his hungry mouth devouring your lips with such ferocity you thought he’d never let you up for air. You loved it.

His rock-hard cock made its presence known on your stomach as he pressed his body into you. You felt it twitch with every sweet noise you made into his mouth. He wanted you so badly.

“Mmm…babygirl…” Loki breathed into your neck after your lips broke apart. “Did you think of me?”

Your back arched against him, remembering all the nights he was gone and how your body ached for him, an unbearably deep craving. How despite your best efforts, your own fingers could produce only a fleeting climax that temporarily dulled the ache.

“Tell me…how you touched yourself to the thought of me…” he groaned, licking a hot stripe up your abdomen with his wicked tongue.

“I did, Loki…I did…” you gasped, knowing just how to stroke his ego. “So many times. Every night. I craved you and only you.”

“That’s right, darling,” he crooned, tugging the edge of your panties down your hips a little with his teeth. “Only I can make you scream…”

“I couldn’t bear it…” you gasped, three weeks of aching for him much too long. “You drive me crazy…”

“Let me make it up to you…” Loki replied, making your panties disappear in a glimmer of green light, baring yourself to him. The kisses he lay on your inner thighs burned white-hot, your skin on fire from his touch.

“Please…” you begged him. You spread your legs wider, to his delight, desperation evident in your dripping cunt.

At the first toe-curling contact of his tongue against your clit, your back arched and your mouth fell open, curses of anguished pleasure tumbling off your lips.

His teasing flicks soon became deep strokes as your moans encouraged him, his tongue consuming you with such vigor, it was like he thought you were going to dissolve at any moment.

“Fuck…baby…” Loki moaned against your skin, attacking your clit with more of those addicting swirls of the tip of his tongue. “You unravel me…” he said in a lusty voice, sucking the juices that flowed onto his fingers when they teased your entrance. He looked at you when he did this, sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes blazed, showing you how much he loved to destroy you.

His head dipped again, this time his tongue darting in and out of you with incomprehensible speed. You were going to come, so much faster than you wanted to.

“Loki…oh” your voice hitching on another wave of pleasure that ricocheted from his tongue.

“Loki…” you called again, fumbling for his curls. Reluctantly, he emerged from between your legs.

“Mhmm?” he groaned, lapping your juices with a long, slow lick up the length of your slit. God, it was so hard to make him stop. “Darling, what is it?”

“Please…” you felt your pleasure start to deflate with the denial you put yourself through. But you needed something else from him.

“I want…” you whimpered, writhing your hips under him, urging him forward. “I want to come on your cock…” He understood instantly, his hands flying to his belt to rip it off. Your greedy hands reached for him, tearing his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. His cock strained in his boxers, the sight of it sending fresh floods to your cunt. You were desperate to be filled by every inch of him, and you told him so.

In an instant, he was on top of you, pressing his delicious weight into you as he kissed you fervently. The taste of your cunt still lingered on his tongue, a reminder of how he possessed you.

“Augh…” Loki moaned your name as you swiped the head of his cock with your thumb, taking a drop of his precome with it. You raised it to your lips and sucked it off, your eyes locked on his as you did so.

“You taste so fucking good, my prince…” you said with a breathy moan, his salt dancing on your tongue.

Loki looked at you with a primal intensity, his chest heaving as he watched you. More slick leaked out of his tip onto your chest. It slid down your breasts, an image that made his cock impossibly harder, twitching with want as he panted into your mouth, both your juices mingling between your tongues.

“Gods…you’re exquisite…” panted Loki, swiping his dripping tip up and down your entrance. “You know that?” His velvet voice and your aching core were too much.

“Show me, then.” Your voice wasn’t harsh, but commanding nonetheless. Loki understood, his urgent movements slowing to look you in the eye. He’d let you down when he left, and he knew that he couldn’t in good conscience let you sleep tonight until you collapsed on top of him, utterly spent.

“For you, my darling, anything,” he groaned, gathering some of your juices in his palm to stroke himself with. He positioned himself between your hips, rubbing your clit with a lazy thumb as he began to press into you. You opened nearly instantly, your body so desperate to feel him inside you that he slid in nearly to the hilt.

“Ohh…Loki…oh my god…” you gasped at his fullness, your fingers digging into his back as you beckoned him closer, deeper, further inside of you.

“Mmfffuck…” Loki groaned as he sank himself into you, lips locked on yours. His tongue in your mouth and his cock splitting you open made you feel utterly full, complete in his arms. Your body quivered with pleasure as his hips rolled gracefully, beginning to fuck you in the most sensual way a man could.

“Oh.hh..hh,” you cried as you felt the ridges of his head beginning to ram that sweet spot inside of you.

“That’s it, my sweet girl,” Loki growled. “Look at you, taking my cock so well…Fuck.”

He captured your lips in another deep kiss, but this time, his strong arms wrapped around your waist and rolled you on top of him, his cock still deep inside you. You yelped in surprise, but cried out as soon as you felt his hands on your waist again, pushing you deeper into his length. You moved your hips side to side, enjoying how Loki’s face contorted in pleasure as your walls clenched around him.

“Fuck me, sweet girl, that’s it,” he moaned, his fingers bruising on the small of your waist. “Use my cock…ohhhhmmmfuck…that’s a good girl.”

Your entire body began to feel tense, the denied pleasure from before returning with double its previous strength. Wetness flowed down your thighs as he stretched you open, fueled by the mewling noises he was making as you rode him. Your legs shook as you raised yourself up and down his shaft, rolling your hips onto him faster and faster, your pulses becoming more urgent as you approached your peak.

You grabbed his hands desperately as you fucked onto his cock, guiding them in a slow, sensual trail down your body. First your breasts, then the soft skin of your abdomen, the fullness of your thighs. You loved feeling his hands on you, and you knew it was guaranteed to drive him over the edge. Loki quivered, his breath coming in desperate gasps, his release growing dangerously close as he was enraptured by your body.

“Darling…augh..fuck..” he panted, his cock tightening within you. “I’m gonna come, darling, please, come with me, come on my cock…” he rambled, his voice hoarse with lust.

You took this as an opportunity to fuck him harder. You raised yourself nearly to his tip, slamming down into him until you swore his head hit your cervix. His head fell back with a strained moan of your name, his eyes forced shut as he tried to restrain his release. Your tight cunt squeezed his cock in rythmmic pulses as you fucked down on him again and again, the both of you hurtling towards ecstasy.

You knew you were coming undone when your vision began to blur, the muscles in your core pulsing around Loki’s cock tighter than they ever had before.

“Please…come with me, darling,” Loki’s strangled voice begged you one more time, and you could hold back no longer. You sank down onto him one final time, your head falling back in pure pleasure as you came, throbbing around Loki.

“Holy…fuck…” Your climax sent your prince over the edge. When your walls clenched around him, Loki saw stars as he exploded inside of you. You felt his warm liquid flowing down your walls as you rode out your pleasure together, sweaty and panting as you came back to Earth.

You melted into his chest, your head coming to rest in the crook of his neck. He was still wedged inside you, his release beginning to drip out of you onto the bed sheets. You kissed his damp collarbones, feeling him twitch and shudder inside you with the overstimulation.

“Gods, woman,” he hissed as he reluctantly slipped himself out of you. He held you tighter to his chest, his breath still unsteady thanks to you. “Remind me to bake more often.”

----------------

thanks for reading :) reblogs and comments (!!) are always appreciated smooches

805 notes · View notes