A/N: This is an overdue birthday present for @boosyboo9206. I’m so sorry it took this long to post!
Prompt: Technically, it was a recent conversation we had about Arkham Knight Jason. I had an entire other story half-written, but scrapped it for this one 😂
Pairings: Reader x Arkham Knight!Jason
Warnings: None, really. Just a lot of fluff 😉
It’s been two years since Scarecrow tried to take over Gotham, with Arkham Knight being his manipulated tool, and things have finally started becoming the Gotham-esque version of normal.
You sigh, resting your arms on the counter next to the register you’re working today. Looking out at the customers relaxing in the shop, you smile. There’s a customer in the corner who’s reading a book, a couple sitting in a booth chatting as they drink their coffees, and a group of adorable college geeks typing away at their laptops. Several other people litter the coffee shop, but all of them are relaxed; they’re content with life at the moment.
Working in a small coffee shop hadn’t been your ideal career of choice a few years ago, but you can’t deny the fact that you’re pretty good at brewing some decent coffee. You’ve gotten Timothy “Never Sleep” Drake’s decree of “best coffee creator” and that simple fact makes you warm inside. Tim’s a regular to your small establishment, and you always enjoy his entertaining visits. You’ve grown fond of your little shop, if you must admit, and can’t imagine permanently leaving. Even if some days customers are especially rude.
Today isn’t one of those days, though, and you’re in a really good mood.
A few hours later, you’re closing up shop for the day as you whistle some random tune. It’d been a rather peaceful day today, and your mood from earlier hasn’t swayed. You’re really, really content.
Once you’ve finished, you don’t have to wait very long for the escort your boyfriend assigned to protect you. He walks over with the familiar militia-emblemed sweater on and the hoodie down off his head.
He’s showing off the new razor fade haircut, and it makes you smile. “Hey Antoine!”
Antoine smiles back. He’d been your boyfriend’s most trusted soldier, so whenever he’s not with you, Antoine is the only one he trusts to protect your life. “[F/n]! How’s my boss’ girlfriend doing? Like the new cut?”
“Today, actually, has been one of the better ones,” you cheerily reply as you two start walking to your apartment. “And, yes, it’s a pretty nice one.”
He hums, wrapping an arm around you for a brief side-hug. “Thanks!”
Being someone who’s naturally talkative, you chatter on about your day, filling one of your good friends in on your peaceful day. Antoine listens politely, commenting every now and again to show he’s listening.
Soon enough, you’re unlocking the door to your apartment, and hugging Antoine good-bye.
Once you’re inside, you hang your keys on the keyholder beside the door, and shed your coat. You know your boyfriend won’t be showing up for another while, so you make your way to the kitchen to get dinner started, humming as you do.
Sighing, Jason slides the window to the apartment he shares with you open, slipping inside silently. Today’s been a slow day, and he isn’t sure if he should be grateful or worried, but he knows one thing for sure: Jason can’t wait to see your smile.
The smile that he never doubts; the smile that chases away his nightmares and demons; the smile Jason’s come to look forward to the way a normal kid does Christmas.
Because that’s what you are to him. A gift from the heavens, and one Jason never dreamed he’d get in a million years.
Taking off the helmet, Jason reaches up to make sure the bandage covering the scar on his cheek is still on. You haven’t seen any of his scars, and he’s hesitant to let you. What if they repulse you? What if you leave him because of them?
The first inhale without the mask on makes his mouth water. You must be in the kitchen.
Jason hesitates to see you, instead going to change fully. The entire time, he mentally debates letting you see his scars tonight–specifically as he holds a dark green t-shirt in his hands. Making his decision, he bites the inside of his cheek and walks out of the bedroom shirtless, holding both the shirt and bandage in his hands.
When he walks into the dining room/kitchen, you’re watching as a cup fills with water, and he can only stare at you.
Because you’re so… perfect, and beautiful, and so many things he doesn’t deserve, that he has no idea how someone like him, ended up with someone as breath-taking and amazing as you.
Snapping out of his awe, Jason awkwardly clears his throat, fidgeting self-consciously. He’s painfully aware of the cold air on his chest and face as he speaks. “Hey, doll.”
You smile at the sound of Jason’s voice, turning off the water and placing the cup on the counter before turning to face him.
The minute you do, your eyes widen, the smile slowly melting away. Jason’s standing in the entrance to the room, hands fidgeting and head slightly bowed, shirtless and scars exposed for your eyes to see. He’s avoiding your gaze, staring at the floor.
And see the scars you do. They’re ugly ones that leave almost no skin unmarred, curling and snaking around to his back.
You take slow steps forward, reaching out to trace the scars delicately once you can reach them. Goosebumps raise under your touch, and Jason tenses a bit, but you hardly notice.
The scars, to you, spell out a painful story of torture and hardship; they tell of a story filled with agony and suffering.
But the amazing part is that here Jason stands. He endured through all the pain and lived on to beat the shit out of the wicked, eventually killing them, to make sure they never touch an innocent again.
Because he’s your Jason. Your strong, loving, self-conscious, nerdy, haunted, protective Jason. He’s the man you love.
Jason’s hands grab your own, and you look up to his face to see him staring at you with his gentle blue eyes. Your own focus on his left cheek, where the letter J stands out plainly against the otherwise smooth skin.
You look back to meet Jason’s anxious gaze and free a hand to pull his face closer to yours. He sighs, but lets you do so, closing his eyes. You press a gentle kiss to the brand on his face, and Jason’s eyes fly open in surprise.
You smile. “Jason, you’re so amazing.” Reaching up, your other hand tangles itself in his hair, and you press your forehead to Jason’s. “You’re so beautiful.”
His eyebrows furrow in that way you find adorable, and he says, “No, I’m not… Don’t you see all–”
“The scars?” Cutting him off, your smile turns a bit sad. “They’re what make you… so wonderfully you. I love you, Jason Peter Todd, not flawless skin. Your scars are part of who you are, and I love every inch of all of you.” Smile brightening, you continue, “I’m madly in love you and your scars, okay? If I had to choose between this you–this raw, real, scarred up, wonderful you–and a flawlessly skinned you, I’d pick this you every. Single. Time.”
Jason’s arms crush you in a hug, pulling you flat against his chest. His head moves to your shoulder, and his hair tickles your neck. You feel something wet your shoulder, and your love for this boy who suffered so much–impossibly–grows. “I love you, [F/n]. I love you so much. I–I don’t deserve you but, fuck, I’m so in love with you.”
You return the hug just as tight. “And I love you, Jason. I love you more than you can imagine, and I’ll always be here, no matter what. I’m not going anywhere, Jay.”
The two of you stay like that until dusk, turns to dawn.
I hope you guys enjoyed it! I certainly loved writing it.
I love Gunhead! I added in a couple of domestic HCs too, just because I want to live with this guy. ❤ – Mod Rig
Gunhead – Gunhead has a scary Pro name, a scary build, and a scary Quirk. Does that stop him from being a babe and a sweetheart? Not a fucking chance. He’s a wonderful guy and being married to him is an exercise in domestic bliss. – This is a guy you never have to worry about shirking his chores or taking you for granted. He’ll appreciate everything you do for him, and do his share too. Whatever chores you don’t want, he’ll take on quite readily. He’s got a preference for doing laundry and ironing. He says it’s a good workout for his arms, and the steam is good for clearing his pores. – He’s a fan of skincare! He wears a mask all day, so that causes friction against the skin on his face. He’s not the type of guy to have a whole range of products on the bathroom counter, but a select few that he has tried and tested. In the evenings, you can sometimes find with him a cooling mint face mask and his spiky mane tied back. – He’s an active guy so a healthy, balanced, and protein-rich diet is a must. If you were to make him a bento box for lunch he’d be over the moon. He eats with his sidekicks at work, telling them what an amazing cook his s/o is, and inviting them to try bites. He eats every last grain of rice and washes the bento box out before he brings it home. A good man! – If you hate cleaning, he’ll take on that part of the household chores. Grocery shopping is something he insists on doing with you on his days off. He’ll let you load him down with the bags and haul them all up to the apartment in one go. – When the ceiling needs to be dusted or the lightbulbs need changing he’ll lift you up so you can reach. – I imagine him with a bit of a secret sweet tooth. He’s no good at baking, but if you make the occasional cake or batch of cookies, he’s leaning right over your shoulders to get a lick of batter or frosting, laughing when you swat him away.
all of his body hair is like this, i make the rules
“Look,” Kaminari whispers, “all I’m saying is that it’s been like three years and we still don’t know.”
“We could just ask him?” Kirishima says back. “Is that weird?”
“Dude, it’s totally weird.”
Sero drapes his arms over their shoulders. “Honestly weirder than trying to spy on him while he’s naked, though?”
The other two deflate.
“No…” Kaminari admits.
“Spying on your bro is not very manly,” Kirishima agrees.
“Well, what about Midoriya? Do you think he knows?” Kaminari asks. From across the room, they hear a high-pitched squeak, which means that Midoriya a) is eavesdropping and b) doesn’t want to be asked. “Hey, Midoriya!”
Midoriya turns around so slowly that it’s possible he’s hoping they’ll all forget he’s there by the time he makes a full rotation. “Y…yes…?”
“Do you know?” Kaminari asks. “If it is or not?”
“If what is… or not…”
“Just, like,” Kirishima says, waving his hands vaguely through the air, “okay you know how Todoroki’s hair, like the hair on his head, is red and white? Like, half and half, down the middle?”
Midoriya nods. “Yes, that’s… that’s what it’s like.”
“Okay, but.” Kaminari pauses for effect. “What about the rest of it?”
Midoriya is beginning to look stressed. “What do you mean?”
“The rest of his hair,” Kirishima explains, “everywhere else. What’s… what’s going on there?”
“I don’t understand the question,” Midoriya says.
Kaminari throws up his hands. “Is it evenly divided down his whole body?!”
“Wh-why are you asking me?” Midoriya splutters.
“You are his best friend,” Sero points out.
“Is that a thing best friends normally know?!”
“His chest hair,” Kaminari clarifies, “his pits. Do the curtains match the drapes?!”
“What does window dressing have to do with any of this?” Midoriya asks. He sounds like he’s near tears.
“His pubes, man,” Kirishima says, dead serious. “Are they half and half, too?”
“His what?!”
“For FUCK’S sake—” Bakugou finally explodes. The others all wince as he punches his locker closed and disappears into the shower area, his yells drifting back out to them. “Todoroki, get the hell out here!”
“Wait—Bakugou—” Kaminari hisses.
“Bakugou, what’s wrong—can I get dressed first—”
“Just cover your dick, Icyhot, so you can shut these idiots up before I have an aneurysm—”
They both appear in the locker room, Bakugou incensed, Todoroki stark naked. He looks confused. Bakugou waves his hands at him in a there you go gesture.
“Oh,” Kaminari says.
“That answers that, then,” Kirishima says.
Todoroki stares at them, still standing there awkwardly, his hands clasped in front of his crotch. He is, it is now revealed, completely symmetrical—half red, half white, split evenly down each side of his body.
“Are you guys arguing about my body hair,” he deadpans.
He, out of everyone, relates to your situation the most. All his life his morals have been questioned, so he can sympathize whole-heartedly; this also makes him the best person to go for comfort.
He’s heard about you through the grape-vine, and he doesn’t like what the rumors imply. He knows you, your heart is good and intentions pure– makes him angry and frustrated that someone like you is getting that kind of treatment.
The first time he heard any negative comments directed towards you, Shinsou immediately questioned if you were alright. It broke his heart, your sad smile and quiet “It’s fine, I’ve gotten used to it over time” he’s used to it too, but he knows he shouldn’t be. You shouldn’t be either.
He’s protective; finds a kinship with your shared issues, he won’t let anyone bring you down if he can help it. His looks to anyone who dares insult you are deathly; strikes fear in anyone’s heart. He’s touchy a bit too, afterwards– holds your hand or stands closer than normal. He’s very honest, will honestly tell you how much he admire you and your quirk– it’s hard no to believe him
Aizawa Shouta
Aizawa is not a shallow man. He doesn’t look at physical features as much as he looks for how well their personality fits him, or if he can logically see himself with said person. It often takes him by surprise when he remembers not everyone thinks this way.
He finds it a waste to judge people on their quirks– a person can’t help what they were born with, why is that so hard for people to grasp? While he isn’t one to take insults to heart, it does bother him when he sees someone being ridiculed for something they can’t control.
He’s never thought much about your wings besides their functions and usefulness; they’re hard not to notice but they’ve never bothered him. It’s a little shell-shocking for him, to hear insults thrown your way for a pair of wings…the surprise turns to anger of course, when you tell him you’re used to it. It’s a stupid thing to be used to.
Like Shinsou, he’ll glare. Cold, bone-chilling black eyes staring at you with a promise of death is enough to send anyone for the hills. If there’s someone who won’t leave you alone–he get’s physical, using his capture weapon or activating his quirk for extra intimidation points. He compliments your quirk in a more…logical way– often pointing out all the good you could do with it, or how the colors look nice against your skin. He tries, he really does.
Hawks
All his life, he’s been praised for his wings. His quirk is strong, useful in every sense so it’s no wonder how loved it is. He’s never really dealt with harsh feedback before– anything similar is easy to brush off.
That being said, when he meets you his first focus is your wings. Doesn’t really pay attention to how they look other than the fact that they’re fucking wings, and he can totally bond over that. It gets lonely in the sky sometimes, having someone who can accompany him is so ideal!
Honestly, it’s never past his mind how creepy your wings may come off. He’s too nice and excitable for his own good– and while he’s very aware of the cruelness and unfairness of the world around him, it’s still a surprise to see people wary of you. He may be cocky and a little bit egotistical, but if he cares for you he’s always ready to make sure you’re alright. His heart breaks with your sad smile, the words making it even worse.
He’s more vocal than the other two– taking time to gush about you and your quirk until you’re red in the face, more gentle touches against the skin of your wings and other parts of you when he notices you feeling down. He’ll call out anyone on the spot who makes harsh remarks– since he still has to keep up public appearances he doesn’t let himself look too angry, but his calm expression matched with tense words can be very scary to cross with. He makes it known that you’re with him, and anything wrong said about you does not fly.
He seems to be very interested in your blood temperature…and what a more convenient place to feel it than your neck? It’s got it all. Warmth, the soothing pulse from your veins…the smooth and sensitive skin he loves to put his lips on.
However he’d be up for something a bit more…out of the ordinary, today. The sensation of his teeth pressing hard against your skin feels nice to both you and him, but the thought of taking it to the next level excites him a lot. You shudder at the thought of what he is planning to do to you- since most of the hints he had dropped to you were creepily vague. He reassures you, before explaining what he wishes to perform on your poor neck. Hearing it brings a strong shiver along your spine. This way of warming your lover up…is pretty much vampiric. But it’s him who is doing it, so it gives off a sense of safety, somehow. But fuck, man. He’s going to give you a hickey- rainbow drinker-style!
Strange! He’s not even a rainbow drinker. But you get the picture. He’s going to bite you and suck your sweet, sweet (and hot) blood. God. It sounds neat to you, but what if it hurts? Will you get ill from the blood loss? If it all happens to end up being a huge failure, will you even survive? You discard all of this paranoid bullshit from your mind. Mallek’s your lover! He surely knows what he’s doing. At the worst possible outcome, he will manage to make sure you end up alive. Plus, his affectionate licks and begging eyes are too much for you to handle. At this point, you’d be glad to neck-feed him. Oh, my. “neck feed”. This sounded silly.
You pull the collar of your hoodie down, exposing your bare neck, rich and veiny, for Mallek to sink his sharp fangs in. He starts by sucking and lapping at the perfect spot for his “meal”. You whimper softly. A hand comes to your cheek and caresses it, in an attempt to reassure you. It certainly does make you feel better, but the tension and anticipation of the actual bite still terrifies you. He hisses a bit to try to distract you from the pain. It just makes it sound more animalistic, of all things. Uugh.
And out of nowhere…you begin to feel pointy tips pressing hard into your skin, with an initial acute, stinging pain that soon was dissipated by the coldness of his mouth as he pierces it. Surprisingly enough…they didn’t hurt too much. Damn, his canines truly are sharp. If they were any more blunt they’d hurt like a motherfucker. You feel the area of the bite become hot and your lover’s licks beginning to become more frequent. A sigh comes from his mouth as he swallows the first streams of the constantly-leaking crimson fluid. Is he liking the taste? If he is…it’s, uh, not creepy at all! He’s a carnivore, right? Liking blood is something that he just gotta do. However you don’t just sigh and moan while chomping away at a cheeseburger, no matter how much you like them. That’s something that only freaks do. But hey, Mallek IS a freak at this point. Just look at him.
You end up distracting yourself from the feeling of his lips latching onto your red-smeared skin and sucking at the scars he gave you, coaxing a thicker gush from your neck right into his mouth . It drains you of your blood way more than just letting it drip freely. He gulps down the rich “drink” hungrily and eagerly. Boy, he’s enjoying himself a bit too much. You’re not dizzy yet, but you don’t doubt you’ll soon be if he doesn’t stop his eager bloody feast, his breathing becoming heavier by the second. His tongue licks away at the wound, as if trying to savour every drop that comes from you.
When you start thinking you’ll both stay there until Mallek sucks you dry, he pulls away from your neck, and wipes any remaining fluids from you with his sleeve. You turn your head to face him. He’s got a delighted look on his face, cheeks flushed a light cobalt and his lips stained red from what he just did to your poor flesh, a little trickle of blood and drool coming from a corner of his mouth. The hickey left near your nape is complete with all of the dents left from your lover’s fangs- two big ones on top, plus the other two in the bottom complement the look. It feels pretty warm to the touch, and at this point it no longer hurts, save for the occasional throb. It’s a mark you’re proud to leave exposed, so everyone knows who owns you.
As a possible apology for any distress caused by his feeding, he kisses you on the lips, his bloodied tongue sliding smoothly into your slightly agape mouth. It is surprisingly warm at this point- and as it wriggles inside, it tastes metallic and weird. Is he beginning to bring you into something new?…
Summary: Norway can get pretty effing cold in the winter, even for a frost giant, and Loki finds himself seeking out new ways to keep warm against the chill.
Word Count: 1,800
Author’s Note: I’ve been sick for about three days and honestly, some cuddles from a handsome British daddy would probably do wonders to speed up my recovery. Instead what I got was some creep asking me where he could buy weed and trying to get my number while I waited for the bus outside my building this afternoon. So you know. I’m feeling pretty fucking splendid about the men I have to work with around here. Also, I could really do with some colder weather because all this heat and humidity is getting old, but it continues to be hot as balls every day and I can only further contemplate all the reasons I really, really want to move to the UK sooner rather than later. At least I have my imagination and sense of humor. Without them I’m pretty sure I would have irreversibly snapped by now.
~ Muerta 🌸💀🌸
Living in the Arctic Circle was, shockingly to nobody, unbearably cold. If the merciless Nordic wind and the thick sheets of ice and snow that coated every available inch of land for six months out of the year weren’t sobering enough to drive you insane, the near twenty-four hours of darkness certainly were. And yet, there you sat; huddled in a secluded cabin in the northernmost part of the Norwegian wilderness, keeping yourself warm with a scalding pot of tea and constant reminders of how wealthy this job would make you once it was finished.
When Thor had returned with the entirety of the Asgardian population in tow after Ragnarök, work began immediately to find the alien nation a new settlement on Midgard. Tony Stark – the disgustingly rich and technologically gifted Avenger who signed your paychecks – was head of the project, and had plucked you from his public relations team to be one of the management leads on it, noting how ridiculously talented you were at managing others to benefit everyone. Thor, Asgard’s new head honcho, had taken an instant liking to you, finding a deep respect for your passion and wit, and keeping you close to his side throughout the process of moving thousands of his friends and family members from a makeshift shelter on the outskirts of Manhattan to the middle of Absolutely Nowhere, Scandinavia, onto land that the government of Norway had generously offered up to become the new Asgard.
In his endeavors, Tony had neglected to tell you that Thor and his handsome, borderline psychotic brother, Loki, were a package deal. Having lived in New York during Loki’s attempted hostile takeover a few years before, you were hesitant to work so closely with him at first, to the point that you threatened to castrate him or worse if he tried any of his usual tricks to prompt world domination. Your threats had done little to deter the god – much to your disdain – and over the spring and summer spent laying the foundations for a functioning Asgardian sect, Loki had grown fond of you, spending every waking moment at your side and observing you with rapt interest.
Your unlikely friendship had started with biting, contentious banter, Loki only getting more amused the more you became frustrated with him, and you spent much of your free time trying in vain to avoid him. Many late nights working together changed the tone of your relationship, however, and you began to grow fond of him when he started asking you about Midgardian literature, history, and culture – subjects that you were passionate about and found you loved sharing with him. After many long nights awake with the Trickster God, you were willing to admit you liked him, and even came to consider him one of the greatest friends you’d ever had, though you would never fuel the lovable bastard’s ego by telling him that to his face.
When winter had rolled in, work on rebuilding Asgard was put on pause due to the relentless and unpredictable nature of Arctic weather. By that time, most of the residential cabins had been finished, with yours nestled within walking distance of the impressive stone mansion that served as Thor’s palace and furnished with every amenity you could possibly want or need. You were especially thankful for the panels that had been installed on every window, laced with Loki’s Seidr so that they changed their scenery at will depending on your mood.
“A little something to make the darkness more bearable,” he’d explained.
It was nearly two in the afternoon, and although you had the fireplace roaring and the heat on full blast, you still couldn’t manage to get warm enough to be comfortable. A snarling, furious wind shook the eaves of the cabin’s roof, causing the wooden rafters to creak under its unforgiving pressure as an unyielding storm roared outside. You were curled tightly beneath piles of soft blankets in your living room, cradling a cup of tea in your chilled fingers in the hope that it would inspire some of the circulation to return to them as you watched some frivolous home design show on the TV above your mantle, trying to distract yourself from how inadmissibly cold you were. Without warning, the front door of the cabin flew open, letting in a barrage of inclement wind and sharp snowflakes that stung your cheeks as they whipped by, the blizzard beyond the threshold framing the towering silhouette of a man with searing crimson eyes. The lofty man slammed the door shut behind him as he stomped inside, panting as he shook the snow from his shoulders.
“You’re blue,” you greeted Loki, not moving from your bundle of cushions and blankets beside the couch. He sneered, shedding his fur-lined jacket and placing it on the hook beside the door.
“I thought it would help me stand the wind,” he mumbled. “I was incorrect.”
You smirked at him as he stalked over to the fireplace, kneeling before it to warm his hands, his skin maintaining its icy hue.
“You’re cold?” you asked, amused. “Aren’t you like a snow fairy or something?”
Loki’s eyes flicked to the side at you, his brow furrowed into a vexed glare, but he didn’t turn to face you.
“Frost giant,” he corrected, annoyance dripping from his tongue. “I needn’t remind you that although I am of Jotun blood, I was raised on Asgard, in a much warmer climate.”
You hummed, sipping your tea and returning your attention to your show. After a moment, Loki stood again and paced over to the coffee table where your tea pot sat nestled in its cozy, steam curling from its spout. He took up one of the spare mugs beside it and poured himself a generous serving, manipulating it so that it hovered overhead while he made himself comfortable within the cocoon of fluff you’d built around yourself. You whined at his intrusion but did nothing to fend him off, instead shuffling to make room for him as he settled himself into the cushion beside you. He curled the blankets around both of your shoulders and removed his mug from where it floated above him, sighing contentedly as he drank from it.
“Isn’t the palace warm enough?” you asked him, your tone unaccusing as you were genuinely confused as to why he’d chosen to weather a blizzard to come to your cabin instead of staying within the safe confines of his own home.
“Yes, but sharing body heat is much more effective than huddling in front of a fireplace,” Loki nonchalantly replied.
“And Thor didn’t want to snuggle with you?” you teased, cackling as Loki dipped his still-blue fingers under the surface of his tea and playfully flicked some of the liquid at you in retaliation.
“That tongue of yours will get you into trouble someday,” he chided. You smirked.
“Look who’s talking.”
The two of you relaxed together in silence for a while, each sipping your tea and paying little attention to what was playing on the screen before you, your concentration stolen by the wind whistling outside as it lashed against the cabin’s walls. Three cups of oolong and a slew of finicky couples shopping for houses far above what their means allowed later, the fire in your hearth had nearly burned itself out, reduced to simmering embers and a subdued orange glow. The loss of the fire’s heat caused your body to shiver gently, and although a stack of logs was piled high beside the fireplace, ready to spark more heat where it was needed, you opted not to move from your shelter, far too comfortable and warm to brave the cold of the cabin’s hardwood floors.
“Shall I start the fire again?” Loki whispered. You shook your head.
“No,” you replied. “Don’t leave; you’ll make it colder.”
Loki let out a quiet, exasperated sigh as he worked himself closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you up against his chest. With your body flush to his you could feel his freezing temperature, as he was still in his Jotun form, and you squirmed in an attempt to distance yourself from his frigid flesh.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Loki scolded, holding you firmly in place. “Don’t move, little one. Let me work.”
Without hesitation, he slipped his hands under the heavy fabric of your sweater and splayed his large palms and spindly digits across your stomach, causing your breath to hitch. You peered at him quizzically over your shoulder, wondering just what the hell he thought he was doing, and he grinned back at you, resting his chin in the crook of your neck as he began to (literally) work his magic. The chill you felt where his fingers met your skin soon faded into a soothing warmth, spreading from your torso out to your limbs like you were slipping into a hot bath. Your body went limp in Loki’s arms and you melted into him, your head resting against his shoulder as you closed your eyes, sighing blissfully at your newfound comfort.
“Oh my god,” you murmured, your hands moving to meet his where they rested underneath your shirt. He chuckled as he laced his fingers between yours, placing a gentle kiss on your shoulder.
“Better?” Loki hummed, his lips now pressed softly against your cheek. You nodded, and as you turned to face him, the tip of your nose brushed against his, and you could feel the whisper of his icy breath on your cheeks.
“Much better,” you breathed.
A faint smile fell across Loki’s features as he leaned forward, closing the gap between you and snaring your lips in a gentle kiss, his lips as warm and as soft as his hands had been upon your stomach. Much to your mind’s surprise, your body took control and reached up a hand to rest at the back of his head, fingers knotting in the silky locks of his hair as you kissed him back. You felt a tickle against the walls of your chest, and as you parted from Loki, you ran your tongue against your lips and gazed up at him, eyes wide and full of splendor. He couldn’t help but let out an endeared snigger at the sight of you, one of his thumbs moving to stroke at your cheek.
“I have wanted to do that for so very long,” he admitted softly. You grinned, a tender, pink flush creeping over your skin.
“Was it worth the wait?” you asked cheekily, biting your lip. Loki chuckled.
“Better, my darling,” he purred, pulling you into a second, more pious kiss as he pressed his chest against yours, closing every possible gap between your bodies.
Toad's Cave 