#loki braid

JSJJDHSHAUAXNDNEB IM SO. honoured. woah. hope this answers your question!

have another fic biscuit, yall.

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“You do realise I am over a thousand years old, don’t you?”

Your fingertips lightly scratch against his scalp as you separate the next chunk of hair to cross over the rest. “Yeah, of course I do, babe. I don’t care though. You’re my baby.”

Loki whips his head around to glare at you, and the intricate Dutch braid you had been weaving in his hair for the past fifteen minutes promptly falls apart. “I am the furthest thing from a child.”

“Loki! You ruined it!”

He doesn’t look all that apologetic, so you sling a leg over his shoulder and push him to face forward again, keeping him in place with your bent knee. “Hold still this time, baby.”

Half-heartedly scowling at you, he leans back against the foot of the couch and once again settles between your knees. He had finally agreed to let you braid his hair—well, you hadn’t really asked. You had snuck up behind him while he was reading on the couch, pushed him to the floor, and thrown your legs over his shoulders, effectively pinning him despite his protests…

…protests that quickly quieted and faded into barely audible groans when you started running your fingers through his hair, leaning down to kiss his forehead and smugly noting how his eyes had fluttered shut with a content smile on his lips.

“Don’t you dare stop this, darling.”

You had wanted to laugh so badly and rub it in his face that he likes this, but you bit it back and he kept talking. “This isn’t completely terrible. But I am not happy about it.”

Now fifteen minutes later, he’s still on the floor in front of you, and you’re fairly certain he had ruined the last braid just to get you to start over. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” You separate the top half of his hair into three sections. “Cause you, Loki, the mighty god of mischief…” you give his hair a good yank. “You like this, baby.”

“Ow! Norns, love, easy with the pulling,” he yelps, reaching a hand up to grab yours. You tug his hair again and tilt his head back, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose.

“See what I mean? A baby.”

“Awfully bold, coming from a lowly mortal.”

You give a hearty laugh and reach down to pat his cheek. “You’ll have to do better than that, sunshine.” He scowls at your other dreaded (but definitely secretly loved) pet name for him, but you ignore him. “‘Mortal’ doesn’t exactly offend me.”

Fingers tight in his hair, you cross and weave strand over strand, pulling his head this way and that with your movements. He grabs your leg over his shoulder to try and steady himself, and an unfortunate, completely uncontrollable chill rushes to your skin under his touch.

“‘Mortal’ doesn’t sting, hm? I can do better.” He doesn’t miss how your leg twitches at his touch, starting to slowly trace his fingers up your calf. “Perhaps…perhaps I will call you a headache,” he drawls, at this point just trying to get back at you for taking advantage of his “softness.”

“I’m a headache?” You laugh and lightly flick the back of his head. “You can be more original than that, come on.”

He leans his head back to look up at you, a devious grin on his face. “Yes, a headache. Because you are a pain in the arse, and I just can’t seem to get rid of you.”

“Hey!”

“Only teasing, I’m only teasing, love!” He laughs and squeezes your leg, turning his head to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “I can’t and would never want to get rid of you, darling.”

That barely-there kiss on your thigh makes you freeze, fisting your hands in his hair. “You know, I like that one a lot better,” you sigh, tying off the troublesome braid and resting your chin on his head.

“Which one? Darling?”

“Mmhm, ‘darling,’” you hum, sliding your hands down his chest. “That one is so…classy. Makes us sound like sophisticated lovers.”

He’s back to drawing cold lines and patterns over your leg, and he turns—this time careful not to mess up the braid—to look up at you with a soft smile. “Sophisticated lovers…is that not us?”

You just grin and lean down to kiss him, a hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Sure is, snowflake.”

Loki rolls his eyes and sits up straighter, wrapping an arm up around your neck as he meets your lips with his. You’re expecting him to try and slip his tongue into your mouth as usual, but instead he kisses you softly, gently, treasuring every little movement of your lips against his. A kiss like this…one so rare that you’re left breathless and desperately trying to memorise exactly how he feels in this precious moment.

“Darling,” he whispers into the kiss, “my love…my queen.”

Your neck is starting to ache from leaning down to him, but you’re sure as hell not going to be the one to pull away from the sweet musings being whispered against your lips. Luckily he does first, the smile on his face brighter and gentler than the rising sun. “My saviour,” he continues, turning back around and resting his head on your thigh. “My eternal light, the joy of my life…”

He turns his head again to just barely brush his lips along the inside of your thigh, grinning into your skin when he feels your muscles tensing under his touch. His voice drops to a much huskier, fairly worrisome, guttural sound, more of a growl than anything. “My tempting minx, my needy little wh—”

“Watch it, snowflake.”

The god chuckles, squeezing your leg softly. “I haven’t even told you my favourite yet.”

You gently tug his frankly quite beautiful braid until he tips his head back to look up at you, and you dip your head once again for another this time upside-down kiss. “And what might that be?”

“Mine.”

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hope you enjoyed, feel free to send me ideas!