Of Gods and Memories (LokixFemaleReader) [COMPLETED]

14

I wake with a body pressed against mine, my hands clasped over a larger, longer, slenderer one and cool breath stirs the hair at the back of my neck.

"Shit," I mutter, carefully removing Loki's hand. I sit up slowly, trying not to disturb my fellow sleeper, to find that the pillow barrier I made last night is kicked off the bed and that Loki is pressed right against the back wall, the duvet wrinkled around him. We only took up about a third of my double bed.

"Respect the barrier," comes the sleepy voice, and I look down to see Loki's eyes fixed on me, a smirk playing around his lips.

"Shut up," I mumble, rubbing my eyes and looking around. Sun streams through the windows, so I guess it's some time around mid-morning. I get up, completely forgetting that I'm only wearing underpants and a t-shirt which is currently scrunched up around my chest until I get to the floor and it drops back down.

Loki pokes his head over the edge of the bed, his usually immaculate hair falling around his face in waves. He folds his arms under his chin and watches me, the same penetrating green gaze that the cat gave me.

"Stop it," I say, breaking eye contact and going to the pantry.

"Stop what?" he yawns, making to come down.

"Staring at me," I say, grabbing a can of baked beans and two slices of toast.

"I'm not..."

"You are." I open the can, tipping the contents into a bowl and chucking it in the microwave before getting out my toaster.

"Do you ever eat anything but baked beans?" Loki enquires, leaning against the bench.

"Can you make coffee?" I ask, ignoring his question.

"Yes, how hard can it be?"

"I'll take that as a no," I say, grabbing the mugs from last night and rinsing them in the sink.

"I can make coffee," he scoffs, "it's just mixing powder."

"Be my guest," I say, stepping out of the way to get the baked beans from the microwave, "but don't fuck it up, I need that."

"I'm still confused as to what that means," he remarks, getting out the instant coffee from where I keep it in the top cupboard.

"What?"

"Fuck," he says, "you use it all the time, but every time it's a different context."

"I know that I've always used it," I begin, "so I'm guessing that at some point you've asked me this before."

"No," he says, "I haven't."

"Prince of Lies," I grin.

"I've never asked you," he protests, "I'm curious."

"I think that somewhere along the way I probably swore never to tell you what it meant," I smirk, "let you work it out."

"That's not true," he says, but I'm sticking with this theory. It makes sense, it's something I would have done, and it's just like Loki to lie about it in search of answers.

"Just don't fuck up my coffee," I shrug, getting the toast from the toaster and spreading butter over it.

"How can I fuck up a coffee if I don't even know what fucking up is?"