#his hair feels like cosmic silky cloud me thinks

[podoro-vines]

[oc] Constellation William 💫✨

[helahades]

Worthy, Yes

(A Thor Odinson Drabble)

the vibes: husband thor. he’s happy and content and healed and loved. dad Thor. break your back thor. loves you like he’s always falling in love for the first time. his mom is alive.

note: this is just a lil thing for me to get back into writing. and i love thor and endgame was so wrong to him. so here! ♥️

warnings: fem reader. a bit of trauma related talk. vague smut. mentions of his losses and feeling undeserving. mention of reader being pregnant with one of the children.

word count: about 1.4k

—

As he enters your home again, for the millionth time, he eases the main door shut behind him. He’s a soft father, and indulges each child as they run back to the porch, saying they forgot a hug. When the third and final blows you both a kiss, they all scamper across the driveway to where Freya is waiting.

The excited questions of your children curl into sweet, summer air before fading from you, this time for the last time. You hear as they are helped into the car, and their whoops when they are promised sweet treats before bed.

The car retreats, and Thor holds up his hands as he steps away from the door, smiling warmly, as if to say “We’re free!”

“We have the place to ourselves,” you beam from the couch, giddy with longing, “even if just for the night”.

“Then let's not waste any time, sweet wife.”

When he’s happy—when he’s deeply and soulfully content with love, when it just overcomes him, he can’t help but wax poetic. He muses about a soulmate, though his mother calls it something different, and tells you how you complete him. Tells you how much he loves to make love to you, and how he would make you round with another child, if it were in the cards, if it was what either of you wanted, even if just to have a longer happy ending with you.

It doesn’t make any sense. You wonder if he’s drunk on it. The smoothness of the summer sky. Is it clear, or are there so many clouds, the difference evades? The concept is poetic in how it mimics his healing. You’re glad he loves you, and his love is a truth as evident as the knocking of the headboard onto a wall worn with marks from many past nights.

He carried you to bed long ago, and he loves you not fast nor slow, but with powerful thrusts that have you clutching at his forearms. He watches himself disappear inside your wetness, just for a bit, before training his adoring gaze onto your eyes. It’s almost too much, the directness of his eyes, or it would be, had he not always chased this connection to you every night you shared a bed.

On a particularly hard thrust, you gasp and drag your nails down his sides, pulling a shudder from him, and the warmth of his tummy presses against yours. It is no longer the hard ridges of an overzealous warrior, but the softness of a family man and father, finally resting. The softness of a cook that tastes so much of his own foods, and moans in encouragement at the taste of yours. Running the pads of your fingers over the softness of it, you think of his kiss the cook apron that stretches around him. You think of when you gave him head while concrete scratched at your knees as he grilled, the massive smoker being your only cover from neighbors.

You push your hands into his hair and think about how he would let you braid it during your first pregnancy. Your hormones led you to cry with anticipation, excited to meet your daughter, and devastated you could not yet hold her. You would brush his hair, and he would encourage it, keeping you close so that he could keep you balanced. Your husband. Your eternal and cosmic love.

Rolling as one, suddenly, you’re on top, and you gently push him back as he is about to sit up and cradle you in his arms, no doubt planning to do most of the work, chasing your euphoria. Your hips roll and curve and bunch against his in a soft, mismatched way, in the comfortable way you can languidly chase pleasure with someone who loves you. Then, you find a bouncing rhythm, born from years of familiarity,and his hands find the flesh of your hips, and he squeezes, pulling you closer.

You push your hands up against his belly to find purchase, a balance on the sea of his now upward thrusting, and you smooth a hand over his happy trail, then two over his chest. He’s beautiful, and his heart melts when he finds you admiring.

How could you not? Then, you need your mouth on him, so you’re dismounting, aching at the loss of his thick length as you pull it from you.

You kiss everywhere. Lips for last. Then you’re taking him in your mouth, ears carefully tuned to catch each catch of breath, skin receiving the heat that rolls off of him when he is stimulated, each nerve alive with the pleasure his magic pushes into you.

Lying back, and just slightly propped up by the pillows, his whole body relaxes, deep groans fading into soft moans as you suck gently at the tip of his uncut cock.

Tipping your head up, you take a moment to appreciate the sight of him pliant to you, before using one hand wrapped just under the head, wet with both precum and your saliva, to pull down slowly, revealing the wide and sensitive tip as his foreskin exposes it.

His hips are rolling, body shifting, and you cannot bring yourself to tease him into behaving. It is too lovely to see him so comfortable, so unapologetic as he chases his pleasure because he trusts you.

You kiss him. From tip to base, then base to tip, as short breaths signal restraint, and his hands seek you. Bliss. Quiet. Almost.

When you take him in your mouth, it’s slow. He wonders how the plumpness of your lips is so soft and sweet, and how it never stops feeling so new.

Wet and warm and silky—and now, he feels the texture of your tongue licking along him with each dip of your head, with each gentle pulse of your mouth.

He closes his eyes because he can. Because even though he would prefer to see you, something is too lovely to let go about this: Your moans are soft and greedy like the pleasure you’re chasing is your own… because in some way it is. He processes somewhere the sounds of buzzing, of humming, of thrumming distant processes like the air conditioner.

They haven’t stopped for you like they seemed to when you were both younger—they shouldn’t, because now, you’ve both built a world of your own, which goes at its own speed.

It doesn’t care if the clothes are still in the dryer, or if there are a few cups in the sink. It pauses only for the catches of breath, for the confirmation of pleasure, for the fond gazes.

He feels it building. When he was younger, the brink of orgasm was a cliffs edge. He would shake with anticipation. Sometimes—he cannot help that he still does. But it isn’t something to catch in his hands like it will run away. It is gentle and safe, like a low ocean tide rolling stronger still. Safe, yes. Because he’s with you, and you’re a sure guide. You’re the moment.

His groans start to crackle at the edges, and he opens his eyes up, tilts his head just a bit to see the lewd motions of your head bobbing. His hips shift just slightly, and you can’t help but chuckle at his tells.

Your thumb strokes softly at the skin that bridges his tummy to his right hip, and he’s cumming hot spurts into your mouth, with one hand still curving around, jerking his cock right under your mouth, milking every bit of his pleasure.

Deep, resonating, earthquake grunts and groans escape the broad chamber of his chest. Something about the cum over your hand, the bit you couldn’t catch, appeals to something strange in him.

After you slowly release him from your mouth, there is a lighting quick spurt of just a little bit more, and you squeal with delight.

He smiles sheepishly, only for you, and with a rolling appreciation of you. For your openness. For allowing strange pleasures. For being so present, that he knows closed eyes do not mean he will wake without you.

He thought the multiple losses, all the family stolen, were consequence for a lifetime of war. He thought they were the end, that the fates ruled he should not have family.

As you crawl over to kiss him, eyes full of stars, he’s sure. This is perfect. And finally, yes, he deserves it.

—

thank you!

tags: @spacelabrathor @inthorantine @xbuchananbarnes @saintsebastian-stan @tropicalcap @threeminutesoflife @peachyteabuck @mariahthelioness29 @thorsthot @hurricanerin @venusbarnes @damienwitcher @avintagekiss24 @allaboardthereadingrailroad

[wordynerdygurl]

Birth the Stars

Author’s Note:  Hello all!  So, this story is shamelessly and selfishly just for me.  It’s my birthday, you see, and I was inspired by @sherrybaby14​ and her delightful Loki birthday wish story.  Should you like it, as usual, leave some love! Tag lists, asks and requests are open! P.S. The gif is beautiful and I thank the OP! P.P.S. I will be on vacation for the next week, so, no planned posts, but I’ll make it up to you!  Promise! Summary:  Your special day coincides with a cosmic event and Loki helps you celebrate it grand fashion. Pairing:  Loki x Female Reader Warnings:  SMUT, just sweet birthday SMUT

How could you describe something that no earthly words were designed for?  

Through the massive glass shield you had an expansive view of the galaxy unfolding in burning stars and kaleidoscopic clouds.  Clouds that came in every color Crayola could possibly conceive, and a few they would never believe, curled closer, lit from behind by the strength of a foreign sun.  

Scientifically, you understood that it was gas and dust and light bending, blending, to create the spectacle you were staring at, slack jawed.  But seeing it?  Watching it rise on the unending horizon of space from the security of Loki's state room was something else entirely.  And you were lost in wonder.

"Glorious, is it not?"  Sneaking in on silent feet, his handsome face reflected in the glass, Loki offered you a small smile.  His voice is silky and soft, reverent and respectful of your contemplative quiet.

Your nod is barely perceptible, "I… I can't bear to look away.  It's magnificent."

Feeling his masculine presence at your back, blue eyes on you, "Magnificent… truly."

Sighing sweetly, stepping closer to the protective crystal window, "I'm talking about the nebula."

A hand skates over your hip, hugging your curves through the layers of your frock.  The other brushes lightly over your bare shoulder, fingers toying with the strap, and you cover them with your own.  

"I am not."  

Acknowledging him with a slight bow, "You, dearest, are just as rare…"  Loki's soft lips press against that tender place behind your ear as you tilt your head, "Just as beautiful…"  Now your jaw, "and more than magnificent."

Seeing your smile in reflection, "Liar."

"Me?  I would never!"  His mock innocence makes you chuckle which Loki uses to his advantage, shamelessly.  Lacing his fingers through yours, Loki gently pulls your arms between your bodies, effectively pinning you against your window to other worlds.

Standing there, breathing synced with Loki's, you lose yourself in the incredible view.  So easily lost to the streaks of stardust swirling in space, as if the ancient arcs of light and color were a painting hung in the sky of Creation's museum,  "On Earth, it takes eight minutes for the light of the sun to reach the planet, the people… Did you know that?" 

Sensing his head shake, continuing, "How many light years ago did this nebula begin, I wonder?  How long does it take to bring a star… a galaxy into the world?"

Those lips, his lips, trailed over you making strategic stops along the nape of your neck.  Brushing over your tight tendon, his sharp teeth nip at the junction, your cooing response music to Loki's ears.  "Making something so… perfect takes time, love.  Which reminds me.  Do you know what today is, dearest?"

Still looking out at the scenery, you shake your head, "Loki, since coming aboard I have lost track of so many things… the month, the day, the time… my sense of modesty."

Raising his eyebrow with a sly smirk, "I like to think I helped with that last one…"

"Oh, most definitely!  But, sorry, no… I don't know what day it is."

Wrapping your hands around Loki's trim figure, his back to your chest, grounds you to this place.  To him.  But it's true that your world has gone topsy turvy since Loki entered your life.  You haven't missed the way things were, instead, enjoying the amazing moments only a person like Loki could offer had become your new normal.  

Things like a front row seat to the ever expanding universe.  It startled you and delighted you.  So like the man you loved.  

"It is your birthday, my darling.  And everyone is waiting now to celebrate with you."

Cheeks turning crimson, you burrowed further into Loki's arms, "No!  Is it really?"

"Yes… really."

"Good thing someone was keeping track…", you answer softly.

Stepping snuggly against you, Loki's chin to your collarbone, "Just think, you and this cluster of stars will share a birthday."

Another twinkling laugh escapes you at the idea of billions of brilliant brothers and sisters.  Deepening silence returns as a streak of yellow collapses into a flash of green, swirling into teals before pulsing purple.  "Intergalactic fireworks for your special day, sweetling."

Shivering at the awe inspiring sight before you and the nearness of the God behind, Loki hums huskily, "Cold?"

Still gazing into the cosmos, "My dress isn't terribly thick."

"But it is lovely.  Perfect for tonight…"  Layers of gauzy chiffon in emerald and mint flowed from the thin straps tied at your shoulders.  It was a gown without a waist, falling in waves to the floor, after accentuating your abundant bust, of course.

Whining, just a little, "I had almost forgotten about tonight.  What time is it?"

"Early still."  Wandering hands trail up your arms, caressing the roundness of your shoulders, kissing each one in turn.  A strong hand turns your chin, your mouth parting for Loki's, his tongue eagerly licking over your bottom lip.  

Deepening the kiss, Loki kept you from turning into his arms, instead his hips held you in place.  "Keep watching, little dove.  Put your hands on the glass, like this." 

Bending at the elbow, Loki folded your forearms forward, fingers spread.  The glass is smooth and cool to the touch.  Crowding into you, trapping your body like a butterfly on display, Loki's hold on you tightened.  His mouth, suddenly savage, sampled the sugared skin of your neck, swept over your clavicle, stroked the shell of your ear.

Whimpering in want, forced focus on the star nursery expanding ahead of you, your head rested back on Loki's chest.  "It is creation… that glowing swirl of color in the distance.  Hot and cold, dark and light, all of those… contrasts colliding."

Slim fingers fidget with your dress.  First the right tie drops, the weight of your gown shifting to to the left, throwing you off balance for a beat.  Loki's palm falls to your freed breast, his skin warm compared to the space chilled glass in front of you.  Moaning, the startling difference between your gossamer garb, his petting paw and the chilled wall is suddenly too much.

The second strap lets go and your fancy shift puddles at your feet with a sigh.  Loki covers your exposed chest with his hands, kneading your sensitive globes in a way that walks the line between too hard and not hard enough.  His iron chest leans into your back as your tender nipples harden against the window, held down by the exquisite weight of Loki's lean body on your own.

"Loki… I… What if…?"

Cutting you off with a husk, "Hush… there's no one to see you but me.  And infinity."

Feather light, Loki's touch scorches down your ribs.  At the swell of your hips he hooks your flimsy panties at the waist, tugging them down to your knees.  "Spread your legs for me kitten.  That's it.  Just like that."

Boxed in, nowhere to hide your body, your want, he grants you enough room to accommodate his wayward wandering hands.  Maybe you should feel shame at being so casually exhibited to the expanding universe.  But you don't.

What you do feel is powerful.  It's as if you are manifesting the molecules which are dancing in that disco ball of unimaginable energy, calling them to you, bringing forth a million stars and with them a thousand planets.  It is life!  It is beautiful.  And it is terrifying.  

Loki's fingers find your silky slit, spreading your saucy excitement over your straining bud.  Circling you in slow, simple, strokes your body starts to sing.  Simpering, you're breathing in short gasps, fogging the glass in front of you and distorting the stellar symphony of light and color beyond your vessel.

Using his unoccupied hand to tangle your short hair, Loki pulls your head back from the window, attaching his hungry mouth to your throat.  His fingers grind against your firm clitoris, intent on releasing your sexual tension.  Cold, so cold, your collapsed breasts are sensitive and screaming for respite.

As you are forced to feel all of this competing stimulus, the fibers of your feminine form have compressed closer and closer and closer together.  Just like the nebulous cluster before you, to grow you must crack, shatter into a galaxy of glowing gaseous orbs.  Expanding, your excitement is matched by the spreading of stellar space dust, colors swirling as Loki's digits dance deliciously.

His own breathing hitches as your body vibrates under his hands.  You can't face him, he's too close, the clear glass ensures that.  So you have to endure hot kisses on your chilled cheeks, your icy shoulders, your cool clavicle.  When he sucks on the base of your neck, you hiss, pushing your hips forward, seeking more.  Undone, Loki's teeth break through the thin barrier of your skin with a flash of pain.  

Your ecstasy explodes from deep within.  Sweaty palms slide down the see through barrier, barely supporting your weight.  Legs shaking, you flood over Loki's fingers and your thighs, grateful for his Godly strength, his sturdy support.

He lingers, letting you catch your breath, his strong hand resting over yours as if together you could reach out and capture the haze of colors in the clouds rolling by.  It takes you a moment to come back to yourself, trembling at the power of your pleasure, overcome by the intimacy of Loki's attention.  Shivering, goosebumps break over your bare arms.

Pulling you back into his chest, Loki rubs his hands across you, warming you.  Dropping low, he lifts your panties, placing them on your hips where they started.  As you struggle to calm your racing heart Loki glides your gown back over your bruised bosom, "Can you hold this, darling?"  And with your help the straps of your dress are tied properly once more.

Tearing your eyes from the fiery furnace of creation in front of you, your head rolls onto Loki's chest, "Wow..."

You spin in his arms, molding yourself to him, staring up at Loki, the chaotic center of your own galaxy.  Finding your dewy mouth eager and accepting, ready for his talented tongue, Loki kissed you deeply.  Curling your hands into his raven locks, returning to Loki all of the pleasing passion he had given to you, and soon your body was craving more.

"Hmm… we have to stop now.  People will come looking for us."  

His voice was ragged from pleasure denied, something that pleased you greatly, so you purred, "Let them look!"

Sliding your hands up Loki's chest, he grabbed your wrists, "Oh, darling!  There will be time for that later."

"Promise?"  Wiggling against him, teasing Loki shameless had your smiling.

Pressing a kiss to each of your palms, releasing his grip, "Promise."

When you stepped back, smiling, Loki whispered, "Happy Birthday, sweetling."  

And it was.

--- Tag Team:  @just-random-obsessions​ @iamverity​ @brokenthelovely​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @archy3001​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @mizfit2​ @jamielea81​ @jessiejunebug​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @procrastinatinglikeabitch​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​ @lots-of-loki​