i just read that submissive!loki and bOY am i THRIVING
Your fingers grip his wrists, pushing them above his head and he visibly shudders – enough that you relinquish your hold and meet his lips with a worried kiss. Your eyes search his face and he seems… scared.
His voice is hoarse. “No, no –”
You sense the apprehension in his voice, and you settle back on his hips. Peeking down at him sprawled against the sheets, you’re flush with worry. He seems distant, more so than ever before and you can’t help the sinking feeling in your chest when he speaks again.
“Perhaps…” he’s slow, “Nothing preventing my hands from moving.”
You’re reminded of shackles – of Thanos holding him down and ripping his mind apart, piece by piece. Imprisonment and torture punch you in the gut and you can’t help the guilt that floods your chest.
“I’m sorry,” you breathe, eyes wide as you dip to touch his jaw, “I should have asked – I didn’t mean to…”
Loki’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his own guilt washing over him. He sits up, bare back pressed against the cold headboard as he tugs you close for a lingering kiss. “You didn’t know.”
“I should have asked,” you mumble, fingers curling into his hair as you press yourself close to his chest, “I’m sorry. I feel horrible.”
“Don’t,” Loki chides, eyes roaming your face. His heart aches, fighting off the waves of memories that came rushing back with that simple push of his hands above his head, “Now you know – I would not have told you out right regardless. It makes me feel weak.”
Loki’s mouth dips to your shoulder, peppering kisses there. You sigh, hands skimming his bare waist. You’re thankful for this moment – learning about one another is the whole other part about love.
“Well, I certainly don’t think you’re weak because of it,” you mumble, “I don’t like my hair pulled.”
Loki blinks up at you, eyes soft with admiration at your ability to counter his worries. “Really?”
“I mean, a little tug is nice,” you shrug, fingers carding through Loki’s hair. Your voice is light with humor, “But grabbing fistfuls and yanking is a bit much. When I was younger I got my hair caught in a fan and had to chip like 8 inches off. Reminds me of that too much.”
“Good to know,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse with an amused laugh, lips moving against the flesh of your collarbone. “And if I press your hands above your head and have my way?”
Just like that, you’re both locked in the rolling tides of lust once more.
That was always
Sabine’s first thought whenever Tom Dupain crossed into her line of vision. He
stood a head taller than most of the boys in school, sticking out like a thumb
that had unwittingly strayed into the path of a falling hammer. Naturally,
anyone who saw him would assume he was an athlete of some type, with that
height and his strong arms and broad shoulders…so anyone who didn’t know him
was always shocked to find that he was a baker.
baker’s son, to be more accurate. But he helped knead the dough, so the point