#cueloki writes

Loki lifts his head from the pillow, his soft curls move with the motion, now spilling down his back as he looks at you with furrowed brows.

“Does that mean what I think it does?” He asks with the utmost seriousness he can muster.

“What?” 

“You'll paint my back? Do you even know the insinuation you're making there? I mean, honestly…”

Your face falls. Loki trails off into a fit of laughter.

“Way to ruin the moment.” You pout at him. 

Loki turns onto his back, pulling you on top of him with ease, making quick work of soothing your reaction to his crudeness, and you know your pout's gotten under his skin. He hums softly, studying your expression, and because he figures he can get away with the joke, he cracks it, without giving it much thought.

“Well, why wait, darling? Desecrate your god today!” Loki purrs. He expects a retort or a laugh, instead it takes exactly five seconds for your devilish grin to break through and for Loki to know he's in trouble.

“Awesome! I'll get the paints!” You exclaim, scurrying off him and out of the bedroom.

You’ve prepared for this.

“Darling! That was a jest and you know it!” He calls after you, grumpy at your abrupt decision to leave him all alone in bed. The only thing Loki's met with is the distant sound of your giggles. Then you return with your basket of torture. Overridden with excitement, you jump on the bed, nearly scattering the paint brushes and skin safe paint tubes out of it.

“Turn around!”

“Must I?” Loki deadpans.

“Pleaseeeeee?” 

With a grumble Loki is shifting position, exposing his back to you. 

You press a soft kiss to his shoulder blade, a silent thank you to Loki for indulging you before you begin painting.

“Name one other god who would let you do this, I'll wait.”

“Thor.” You say without missing a beat.

“You are doing nothing of the sort to Thor.” Loki forbids sharply.

“Then you'll just have to suck it up and make peace with being my canvas.” 

Loki groans. You're a little manipulator and you have him wrapped around your finger, but it’s not all bad, because Loki finds he rather enjoys feeling you paint on him, how you vary the pressure of your brush strokes; soft when you're feathering out paint, and more pressure when you wish for your lines to be bold.

Unlike the first time when he grumbled through most of your impromptu paint session, as the painting thing becomes your little pre-sleep ritual, Loki starts to ask questions, making you describe your process and what you're painting.

Eventually, there's a time, you realize the god has been entirely snoozing on your painting commentary when your ‘all done!’ is met with his rude snore.

***

There’s a folder in your phone gallery full of pictures of your paintings on Loki's body; back, biceps, thighs, chest, because eventually you can't resist painting somewhere he's able to watch you.

When you suggest painting his ass, Loki tells you ‘we’re a long way from fifth base yet’. You tell him to get his mind out of the gutter and strip or so help you– ‘god?’ he offers, helpfully.

His revenge is turning the tables. He plans to paint something silly on your back, then changes his mind and creates a masterpiece instead.

Though, to get revenge out of his system, he insists you should let him paint a curly mustache above your upper lip. With a roll of your eyes you do. Since it happens post your bed routine, you keep it until next morning when you wash it off with your skincare routine.

//

Loki’s grumbling makes you stir from sleep that morning.

“You okay, baby?” You ask through sleep-ridden eyes, not awake enough to face him and too cozy to change positions in bed. His arms tighten around you.

“I never disrobe before a gunfight,” he hisses.

“What?”

“Get off me, you mewling quim, I’m already betrothed!”

Your initial confusion fades as you realize Loki’s sleep talking, you burst into a fit of giggles.

“You dare laugh? She’s the love of my life!” Loki sounds offended. Taking pity on him, you maneuver around to press soft kisses along his jaw. “Wake up, baby,” you murmur against his skin. His eyelashes flutter until sleepy blue eyes stare back at you.

“Mhh… My love? What are you doing?”

“We’re gonna get married?” 

“Pardon?”

“‘I’m already betrothed’, ‘She’s the love of my life’...” you quote him. Loki’s face flushes, recognizing the words from his dream. “You weren’t talking about another, were you?”

“Certainly not!” Loki’s eyes widen, he clears his throat. “Are you accusing me of being unfaithful in my dreams?” He raises a skeptical brow.

“Depends on what you did,” you say stone faced, exuding seriousness. 

“Some woman tried to seduce me!” Loki scowls. “Believe me, I did nothing, did not feel anything for–”

You start laughing at his defensive words. 

Loki’s face falls. “You play tricks. You’re playing with my heart,” he frowns.

“Awh, baby, want me to kiss it better?” 

“That would be adequate, yes,” Loki raises his chin pridefully–lowers it, his eyes glinting with softness and vulnerability, he chews on his bottom lip nervously. “Would you?”

“Would I what, Loki?”

“Take me to be your husband…?”

“Yes,” you smile widely.

Loki takes your hand, his thumb caressing over your ring finger, magic making a silver band appear. 

“My future wife,” he murmurs.

//

//

“You're going to make me come again,” you pant, sweat covered, heartbeat still racing, a mere moment since collapsing on the bed. 

Loki's eyes open to watch lazily through lashes. “Am I?” He regards, dazed. “Such demand… Haven’t had enough?” Turning onto his side, his arm snakes around you, pulls you closer. 

“Please?” You try your luck. 

“Darling, you can’t possibly have this much libido,” he scorns playfully. Has he counted rounds? You haven't.

“Am I out sex driving you, god?” Your brow arches with smugness.

“God? Thank Norns you told me, finally I know what I am." He kisses your temple, softening his sarcasm. Your hand swats his chest, no fire behind it. 

“No,” he finally answers, “simply consider giving your god a rest.”

“Rest? Admitting you're old, are you?” You grin.

Defeated, Loki's face dips into your neck, lips mumbling against skin. “What did you say?” You giggle from the sensation. 

“Why torment me so, mortal?” Loki lifts his head, eyebrows practically stitching together above his nose. 

“How dare you accuse me of that, speaking such li–” you stop abruptly. He’s moved lower on the mattress, pushing your legs apart, bending your knees. 

“What’s happening?”

“Well, darling, I'm getting ready to make you come… again,” a soft, coy murmur. His hand grazes your ass. 

Your teasing turns to a dying ember as Loki's kisses trail along the softness of your inner thigh. “Still old,” you mutter.

Nose pressing into your skin, his smirk bleeds through it, into your skeleton, bone marrow deep. 

His ravaging lick along your slit steals your breath. “Oh god…” Your ass lifts from the mattress, chasing after his mouth, fingers laced in his curls. Loki chuckles, his thumbs digging into your hips.

He'll give you a few more rounds, make sure you remember them… and just how old he really is.

//

/

You’ve just gotten yourself another coffee. Sat back down behind your laptop.

“Wow.” Loki mutters flatly.

“Hm?” You prompt, only half paying attention to him, lips too busy pressed against your mug, eyes already running over the page again. You rack your brain for possible adjustments.

“Oh, nothing,” he brushes off your half-assed curiosity, “only starting to see your parents might’ve had a point.”

Loki sets the bait flawlessly, the corner of his lips tugging with barely contained amusement at what he’s just started. Of course, that comment gets your attention immediately. You set the beverage on the table, narrowing your eyes at him across the room.

“Excuse me?” You say sharply, straightening in your seat.

Ever the sensitive one. Loki didn’t even make his point yet, and your voice is already slipping into a warning tone, trying to intimidate him into backtracking.

He won’t. You should know better than that by now.

“You’ve practically emptied the whole cupboard of the mugs.” Loki props his head on his palm, remaining factual and strikingly calm as he observes your reaction from the couch.

He gives it a good two minutes before your temper comes out to play.

Despite Loki’s prediction, you dismiss him with a roll of your eyes, returning your attention to your keyboard as if the matter is hardly worth your time.

“Baby, I’m a writer, it’s what we do.” You mumble half-heartedly, backspacing on a sentence that just isn’t working anymore and cursing the editing process in your head. 

“Mmm, ah yes, writers… the species that dirties heaps of mugs.”

You slam your laptop closed. 

There she is, Loki thinks. You’re finally giving him the proper attention for the talk he’s trying to have. 

Domestic bliss is rarely natural and it sure can’t be maintained if this matter isn’t resolved soon. 

First you complain it’s unfair he gets to use magic to do chores, making him do it the mortal way. And then you start piling up dishes like there’s no tomorrow. Oh no. Loki is not playing this game with you.

Loki loves you dearly. He also loves not spending forever doing the dishes.

“Okay. What is your problem?” You scoff. You’ll never finish editing if he keeps interrupting your train of thought every few seconds. “You know I drink a lot of coffee.”

“And what exactly prevents you from doing so out of one mug?”

“If I was in a coffee shop they’d bring a clean mug each time.” You cross your arms. 

Petulant. Like a child. Such is your nature, and it amuses Loki.

When it’s not aimed at him.

“Well, you’re not. You’re at home, where you refuse to do the dishes, and your god has been suffering.” Loki complains. You narrow your eyes at his whining tinged tone. 

“Darling. I am tired of dishwasher duty. There’s two of us. The dishes say there’s at least seven people living here.” He deadpans.

“Ohmygoddddd, I’ll use one mug if it gets you to let me finish this in peace.” 

“That’s all I ask.” Loki says softly.

The tension between you dissipates. You bite your bottom lip.

“Love you,” you mumble, eyes searching his expression for reassurance. It’s not like this was a fight, but the whole thing put you somewhat on edge. 

Loki smiles, disappearing in front of your eyes and reappearing behind your seat. He leans down to press a kiss to your hair.

“I love you too,” he murmurs into it. 

“Remember. One mug.” Loki says before he’s gone, leaving behind empty air. You swat at it anyway. 

What a menace.

–

In theory the one mug thing goes great. You wash it out, reuse it… Except… Something about this method doesn’t quite work for your brain.

Particularly the memory part. As in memorizing exactly how much coffee you’ve had.

The next day Loki watches you as you bounce your leg while working. It’s not something you usually do. The god has observed you enough times where he knows your typical movements when you write; rubbing your face, pushing back your hair, readjusting your sitting position… But never this. 

You told him you were starting a new chapter, and Loki wonders if you’re anxious because you’re self imposing another ridiculous deadline, but your face doesn’t show any of its usual signs for nervousness. You look focused, like you don’t even notice what your leg’s doing.

Once Loki realizes he might not be able to pinpoint what exactly is going on, he decides to inquire about it.

“Darling?” He asks gingerly.

“Yes, baby?” Your head shoots in his direction with lightspeed. 

Loki grimaces as he quickly theorizes what’s going on with you, the fast reaction can only mean one thing – he suspects you went overboard with caffeine again. His theory is confirmed when he tunes in with his magic to listen to your heartbeat. 

Your poor heart is working overtime, pounding in your chest way faster than it has any business to.

“How much coffee have you had?” Loki narrows his eyes, frowning at the thought of you treating coffee as meals. Again.

“Uhmmm,” you look at your mug thoughtfully, mentally trying to run through each time you’ve gotten yourself your writer fuel that day, “you know… a few… Not a worrying amount.” Avoiding eye contact you add a quiet: “Probably.”

Your memory is blurring together. Was it two or three cups of coffee?

You had tea first and then switched over… Was it three with the tea? You think this is your second cup of coffee. A little voice in the back of your head wonders if it’s possible that it’s really the third and you’re completely blanking.

“Yes, but how many?” Loki cocks an eyebrow at you.  

“What are you, the coffee police?” You huff, refusing to look him in the eye and choosing to use the laptop between you two as a shield. 

“You don’t know, do you?” Loki sighs, starting to feel guilty because he knows your memory tends to be flaky. He more than likely caused this issue with yesterday’s complaint.

“What? Don’t be silly. That would be implying I can’t count.” You laugh nervously, avoiding admitting your memory troubles.

“If so, then give me the number.” He challenges.

You hesitate.

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

“It blurred together.” You groan, shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Perhaps one mug wasn’t such a bright idea.”

“Maybe not.” You shrug.

//

“That's it, that's it,” he gasps, breathless, above you. He’s not tired. It's Captain America. More than that, it's your Steve. 

The duty of the shield is nothing compared to the care of the man behind it that came first. 

That's the only context he comes first. 

Whether it's the 40s still embedded in him, making him a gentleman, or Steve's insistence that the serum’s benefits be used to your pleasure's advantage…

The soldier's deep thrusts make you stretch around his cock, cunt tingling as he works to draw another orgasm from you, ruining you thoroughly with each roll of his hips.

“That's my girl. Squeeze me baby, squeeze my cock.” He praises with that devastating grin, catching your lips with his, all tongue as he licks into your mouth, filthy and caring at once. 

Steve swallows your pathetic whine like it's the very thing keeping his heart beating.

“You're getting so damn tight, baby, you gonna come again for me?” The tease leaves Steve's lips. You only manage a nod.

He gives an encouraging squeeze to your hips. “Yeah? Do it, baby.” An order, only way softer. “You want my babies, honey?” His blue eyes glint with something too filthy for Captain America's image.

“God, yes Steve.”

“Then you're gonna have to earn it and milk me dry,” he whispers in your ear. His teeth to your neck make your pussy clamp down on him like a vice. You get lost in the blinding white heat of release.

When he pulls out, Steve makes sure to push his cum back into you with two fingers.

“There,” he licks the last traces off his digits, “that should do it.” He smiles, returning to his misleading innocence.

If only the world knew how Captain America fucks.

//

/

You’ve been itching for an art project when the brilliant idea found you. 

Much of the pictures you and Loki took lived in your phone. Sure, there’d been the occasional times you happened to catch moments on film, but most of it was digital, much like everything in this day and age.

Well, no more. Strategically, you gathered all the supplies you might need and soon enough it was you, a pair of scissors, a glue stick, markers, stickers, washi tape and way too many containers of glitter, having the time of your life as you worked to make a little you-and-Loki themed scrapbook. 

It would be perfect. All this time, you’d been collecting memories in a box and now they’d get their home. Notes you’d exchanged with him at the beginning of your relationship, the receipt from your first date that you sneaked into your purse when he wasn’t looking, pressed flowers, movie theatre tickets, even wrappers of treats he’d shared with you, as ridiculous as it sounded. You’d kept it all.

You were gluing down a particularly silly picture of Loki. One of your favorites and one of the very first where you’d caught him so carefree in a photo. His grin was wide, making the corners of his eyes crinkle as he hunched over in laughter.

It was only a matter of time before Loki showed up to investigate what had you hiding out in your bedroom for so long. Your place had been so unusually quiet while he worked on cooking lunch, it struck him as strange.

You grinned as he stepped into your bedroom, pulling your headphones down to snuggly rest around your neck. “Hiiii!” You beamed at him from your spot on the floor, surrounded by complete chaos. 

Loki gasped, let out a breath, then planted his hands on his hips, giving you a stern look that bordered on amusement. “Tornado in our bedroom. I wasn’t invited?” He teased.

“It’s coming together very well, thanks for asking,” you rolled your eyes playfully, rebuking.

Loki’s hands shot up in defense. “No, no, I know. I should not be one to judge. But darling, whatever fandom got its claws into you this time, there’s still time to escape, I’m sure of it!” He dramatized in true Loki fashion.

You smoothed out the picture of him as you replied.

“No fandom. Just us.” 

Loki’s head tilted curiously as you said that. He didn’t rush over, not wanting to appear too eager but he very much needed to see this. He sat by you on the floor, frowning as he took in the picture of himself.

“That’s hardly flattering, darling.” 

“What are you talking about? It’s one of my favorites!”

Loki pressed his fist to his mouth in contemplation. You narrowed your eyes.

“I’m not joking.” You said finally, leaning over to pick up green glitter. Loki quickly took it out of your hands, shaking his head disapprovingly.

“What?”

“Not in here, unless you intend to vacuum.” Loki said flatly, making all the glitter disappear with his magic.

“Hey!” You complained. “Don’t be a damn glitter thief, you can use magic to clean it up.” You crossed your arms, grumbling at him.

“You can do it in Thor’s room.” Loki offered.

“We’re at our place.”

“I can teleport you.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Too late.”

Things around you shifted and in a blink of an eye, you were surrounded by bright red walls instead of the soothing green of your own bedroom.

On your left was a shelf with boxes of poptarts, and under it a clothing rack full of poptarts merch. Hoodies upon hoodies and shirts upon shirts lined up in various shades of blue and some white.

“Your brother has poptarts merch?” You gasped.

“It’s his dirty little secret,” Loki grinned. “If you look in his dresser you might even discover he owns several pairs of poptarts socks and even hats. It's his leisure attire.” 

You slapped your hand to your mouth in a poor attempt to hold your laughter, Loki, however was already chuckling.

“Oh no, by all means, do laugh, it’s hilarious,” Loki’s eyes glinted, “I am positive that my brother is their number one fan and the sole reason why they stay in business. I would not be surprised to find he begs Stark to stock a warehouse with boxes of the stuff for ‘Avenger purposes’, just to inhale it all himself.”

“Loki! Don’t be mean.” 

“The truth can’t be helped.” Loki shrugged, easing off nonetheless.

Perhaps Thor could do with a few poptart plushies or a poptart phone case for Christmas. You were sure he’d appreciate it.

Looking around the room, you noticed Mjölnir laid on one side of the bed on an elaborately decorative pillow. You raised an eyebrow at it, pointing it out to Loki. He shook his head, lips pressed into a line, eyes betraying his amusement. “Best not to question it.” He said.

“Do you fancy raiding their fridge while we’re here? I’m starving.” Loki smirked slyly.

“You cooked lunch.” You reminded him pointedly. “You did cook lunch, right? It was your turn–”

“As I said; I’m starving,” Loki laughed, peeking out the door before sneaking his way to the kitchen.

Damn menace and his schemes.

You followed after him. After all, Loki was your way home, you would not walk.

So much for your scrapbook.

/

You were spending your time like you usually did when you were free of work and chores, or were ignoring that pile of laundry that was growing at a steady rate – doom scrolling, because sometimes the burnout took over and even though you knew the endless videos and bombarding your brain with useless information and stimuli didn’t give it an actual break, it was a bad habit you had a hard time breaking.

What you really wished for was to return to your hobbies, only you didn’t think that’d happen anytime soon.

“Enough of that,” a pale hand gently took your phone right out of your hand, placing it onto your nightstand.

“How the hell did you get in?” You squinted at Loki, sitting up on your bed.

“Really? After all this time? As if I ever needed a key to begin with. Do you forget your bedroom has no working lock?” The God of Mischief said, feigning nonchalance just for the sake of theatrics before the corners of his lips graced you with a soft smile.

You thought back to your afternoon, replaying what you did before he got here. 

“I never locked the front door, did I?” You deadpanned, one more mistake away from banging your head against the wall. Your fatigue had started manifesting in peculiar ways – forgetting things like leaving car keys on your car door, leaving your house unlocked and even trying to put the tea kettle into the cupboard… Not that Loki wasn’t perfectly capable of invading your space either way but he loved to take note of the easy human access you provided. 

“Such an unsound habit really.” Loki teased you, shaking his head with a huge grin plastered on his face. “Although that’s not why I’m here. We’re going somewhere. No phone allowed. Oh and–” He conjured a glass of colorless liquid in his hand, shoving it into yours. “Drink up.”

“Is it vodka?” You smiled sweetly.

“Ha. No.” He said flatly. “It’s water, you dehydrated… mortal.”

“Only you could make mortal sound like an insult.” You snorted before gulping down the water.

“It’s not.” Loki said defensively, nodding as you put the glass down. “Good girl,” he smiled, “now, away we go.” He grabbed your hand pulling you up on your feet.

“Will you at least give me the decency of telling me where we’re going?” You complained. Loki chuckled as he linked your arms, a green glow of his magic dressing both of you into something appropriate for the outing.

“I think you know the answer to that, however let me assure you, you’ll love it.”

“That’s your ego speaking.” You muttered.

–

“So… was it my ego speaking?” Loki raised an eyebrow as the two of you sat in a secluded spot, right by a small natural waterfall. Moss covered rocks and greenery spanned the space around you. Tree branches extended up into the pale blue sky, full of puffy, paper white clouds.

The chirping of birds and the sound of water hitting the pool beneath offered a peaceful background noise to your little talk and paint session. 

You dipped your paintbrush into green paint again. Everything you wanted to say rushed through your mind at once and yet all that made it out were three words.

“Thank you, Loki.”

Loki softened as if understanding what you really meant by those simple words.

//

At the exact moment your cake-full palm grazed Loki’s cheek, his expression fell. The noise of your wedding reception practically faded into the background, leaving you aware of only the two of you, despite many pairs of eyes witnessing your perfectly executed wedding crime.

“Darling, what have you just done?” Loki frowned. 

The white frosting alone wouldn’t suffice against his pale complexion, so you had smushed all layers of the red velvet cake onto his face. The very one Loki had wondered if it was ‘necessary to sully your day with’, sulking about the dye being his brother’s color.

“It’s a Midgardian tradition, baby,” you giggled at the offended expression on your husband’s face. 

“No, no, I believe the Midgardian tradition is to feed each other, which we were just doing until you rudely decided to decorate this god with cake.” Loki complained, reaching to scrape it off his cheek to make himself presentable again.

Perhaps you’d misread his mischief levels tonight.

“Loki, I’m sorry–”

“Well, I hate to do this, you leave no choice,” Loki announced, “since I believe in equality in our marriage.”

“Oh no!” You squeaked, already turning to move away, and escape the red velvet on Loki’s fingers flying your way.

“Oh yes!” He grinned maniacally.

Loki’s arm snaked around the middle of your waist pulling you into his broad chest as his middle finger elegantly drew a simple ‘L’ on your cheek, after which Loki made sure to touch up your lipstick with some cake too, then finally pressed a kiss to your other cheek as you gave up your struggle and relaxed into him.

“You’re insufferable,” you burst out laughing, resting your arms over his that still held you securely.

Loki fake gasped at you. 

“Hey, you married ‘insufferable’.” He pointed out.

//