#sweltering

sweltering

Lord Frederick Kent attended but uninterested in royal box seats

Where's Mary Berry?

Sexy Russel Crowe (Gladiator)

Princess Michael of Kent (wheelchair accessible seat)

Day 4 Prince Michael of Kent

Day 2

Heat Wave

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Implication of smut

Author's Note: I AM STILL LOOKING FOR REQUESTS OF ANY KIND. Please. I'm begging. Send anything in, look for rules under navigation (at the bottom of this fic).

I don't own Marvel. Pls don't come after me.

Do not plagiarize or translate any of my work or its included assets.

“I’m sweltering,” Your head plops down onto Loki’s lap.

Your words practically embody what the last few days have been like- the heat wave in New York has not been letting up. For almost a week it’s been nothing but 38℃ weather, the sun unrelenting in its mission to melt every single person in the state. Even in the Avengers tower it’s hot as blazes. All the air conditioners are on, much to Tony’s chagrin. He’s set on complaining about the electricity bill, even though he’s a fucking billionare.

There’s a reason he’s known as Drama Queen around the tower. Loki is the biggest supporter of this nickname, but right now, he’s supporting you.

“I apologize, my love. If I could, I’d cool you down in an instant,” Loki responds, leaning down to your ear. “But I only know how to heat you.”

You tap his chest, too weary of the heat to move any more. “Loki.”

“I know, I know. I am truly sorry. I do not know what it is you are suffering through right now.” The god sighs in pity.

Something in his tone gives you pause. “What do you mean, you don’t know? You’re right here, in New York- middle of a heat wave? No?”

Your partner chuckles softly. “No. I am a god, you forget. You are merely mortals, incapable of regulating your own temperature.”

That excuse isn’t gonna fly. You sit up, removing your head from his lap. Your back straightens, eyes peering out towards the deck. There sits Thor, accompanied by Tony and Nat. He’s on a lawn chair, spread out for the sun. The god is decked out in the tiniest floral shorts you’ve ever seen, allowing a great view of his chest- which is drenched in sweat. His hair, even, is dampened, giving the illusion of wetness. There is no way in hell that Thor is regulating his body temperature.

Loki sees where your eyeline leads and gulps. He’s screwed now.

“Liar,” you accuse, turning towards Loki with narrowed eyes. “It’s not just that you’re a god, is it?”

You position yourself on his lap again, this time straddling him. “If it were, Thor would be living it up in winter coats. So you wanna tell me what it actually is?” You kiss his neck slowly, trying to get as much information as you can with any method.

Loki squirms. “My love-”

“Don’t. Are you going to tell me, or do I have to ask Thor?” You sigh, too hot to deal with this properly.

“Thor won’t tell you.” Loki answers with uncertainty.

“Sure he won’t. Loki, you’re making this more difficult than it has to be. Just tell me, hun.”

And with that final nickname, Loki lets go. His guard is already somewhat down with the heat and Tony’s endless complaints.

He closes his eyes as he hears your gasp. Squeezes them shut, trying to block himself from the looks he’ll undoubtedly be met with from you.

“Loki-”

“Don’t,” He whispers.

“I won’t,” You whisper back. Shakily, you bring your hands up to his chest, tracing each individual line softly. The marks look perfect on his blue-tinted skin, forming intricate designs and patterns that not even the most skilled artist would be able to recreate. It’s beautiful- he’s beautiful.

Loki opens his eyes when he feels your fingers on him. Ready to snatch them away, remove himself from the room if need be, leave you to your shock and disgust.

Instead, he’s greeted with your awe-struck gaze. Confusion fills his mind, not used to being appreciated in this form.

“Y/n, what-”

“Hush,” You whisper, even softer than a couple seconds ago. “Loki, what is this?”

It’s not asked in a brutal manner. It’s soft, curious. Welcoming.

“My Jötunn form,” he graces you with an answer. Your heart breaks with his response. It sounded so disgusted, so broken. This poor man. Scorned for this his entire life, and he’s even started to believe it.

From then on, your mission is to help him accept this part.

“You are stunning, love. This is beauty personified.”

A hint of a blush shows itself on Loki’s cheeks. He’s not used to anything except hate regarding this form, especially not love or compliments. It sounds almost foreign, repeating back what you said to himself.

Not on your tongue, though. When you compliment him, it feels as though honey is dripping onto him, warming him with sun rays and flowery scents.

“These marks- are they purposeful? Made without thought? Are you born with them?” Your questions bubble out of your mouth, still soft in speech but inquisitive all the same.

Loki laughs, still in shock from your reaction. Of course you’d be curious. To think he’d expect blind acceptance- there’s a reason he chose this mortal, and he’s only reminded of it now.

“My love, slow down. They are not purposeful, no. It's just like hair color, but not able to be altered in any way. And I am born with them, but they develop over time. It’s our puberty, in a way.” He says, hands moving from his sides to your hips.

You settle further into his lap. You’e brimming with questions, but you refuse to overwhelm your lover. It’s clear he’s in quite a vulnerable state.

So you start slow.

“Are you able to… participate in intercourse… in this form?”

The blush that Loki hoped to quell is now raging as though it’s a fire. He’s resorted back to his shock, almost speechless.

“My love, you have found yourself in a relationship with a monster and that is the question you ask?”

“You are by no means a monster to me. You are still Loki, no?”

The god looks down in mild embarrassment. “Yes, dear.”

“So you aren’t a monster. Your character and development is not erased in the form, merely painted in a new light. Or rather hue,” You chuckle under your breath. Your hands trace his marks again, following a new pattern every time. It’s mesmerizing.

“On another note, I am still waiting for the answer to my question,” You reiterate. Loki’s blush might be a cause for concern at this point.

“I am able, my love. Why anyone would want to is beyond me.” He sighs, looking up into your eyes. Of which, he notices, are burning with rage and desire.

Loki is no stranger to that mix.

“We’ll work on the self-esteem. For now, I have a date with a Jötunn, who I will make sure is made well aware of his worth.”

“Your wish is my command, dear.” He laughs, snorting at your hitched breath when he lifts you into his arms.

Yeah, you’d enjoy this new discovery.