A Link to my Masterlist is HERE
Summary: Just a dirty, praise-filled railing.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Loki x Female Reader. Mirrors. Language. Established relationship. Smut. (w/c 1.2k)
"Urgh, gods..." Loki slurs as his head falls back.
A year. It's been a year. But every time you see that face lost in the pleasure only you can give it's like the first time.
In the mirror at the foot of the bed, the hard angles of Loki's jawline set like an anvil. He tips his chin to the ceiling and sinks so deep, so slow, it's like he never wants it to end.
Your best lingerie clings to damp skin, the modest slit in your crotchless panties tugging against Loki's thick cock.
Slow, liquid thrusts slip against your walls and slurp when he circles his hips; hands guiding your ass against him. He teases himself at the entrance while you moan his name before easing back in with a groan.
"What did I do..." he breathes as his sex-drunk face falls forward and he meets your eyes in the mirror. "What did I do to deserve this sweet, perfect cunt?"
You clench your fingers against the bedsheets, swaying on all-fours. Loki slips his cock from your pussy and slides it against your throbbing clit, still swollen and humming from the worship of his mouth.
He watches with dark fascination as you start to squirm at the halt of his movements, knuckles whitening. “Well?” he asks again with playful menace.
"I'm just made for you I guess," you sigh as his large palm skates down the ridges of your spine, settling at the base. There’s no getting any sense out of you at times like this; he should know that by now. And he does.
"You are,” he growls approvingly, rubbing the curve of your ass. “Made to take me like a Queen. Made to take my cock like a Queen; made to fuck me like a Queen.”
Queen.
The word sends a thrill down your spine that blossoms new fire in your pussy and you clench tighter around the tip of his cock. Loki pushes back in just when you’re tightest. “Norns,” he gasps, half-lidded eyes smouldering down from his station.
There’s something about when he fucks you from behind that’s utterly primal. Like he’s mating you. Like you’re a bitch in heat and he’s powerless to resist the scent he craves; the urge beating through him like the drums of war.
He’s not a god in moments like this. He’s just a man that wants to shake you up and fuck you out and love you harder with every filthy, curse-laden groan from his throat.
“Talk to me,” you plead as you sit back against him, inhaling the fresh sweat clinging to his hair, his cock never leaving the grip of your cunt. Where he belongs. Your fingers skate up his cheek.
His heartbeat thumps between your shoulder-blades, the flat planes of his chest and stomach pressed tight to your back. Your thighs spread as he readjusts on the mattress, guiding you down to the root of him with a rumble of pleasure.
Loki moves hair from one side of your neck, placing a messy kiss on the curve and pulling the flimsy strap of your lingerie between his teeth. It stings your heated skin with a tight thwack.
“You love when I talk,” he goads low and filthy in your ear. “You love when I talk, and you love when I fuck.”
“Only me,” you whine.
Loki chuckles darkly. “Only you, my Queen.”
His thrusts make your body rise and you lose yourself in the fullness of your walls fluttering to the rhythmic lilt of his hips. Loki’s hands massage your breasts, palming upwards, pinching your pebbled nipples as he does it.
“No one,” he groans as you reach between your legs and graze his balls, “no one has ever carnally eviscerated me like you can.” They tighten beneath your gentle touch, drawing lazily against the velvet skin.
“When I fuck you… all realms cease to be,' he chokes, 'Only b-burning worlds and…f-fuck, erupting galaxies when I…”
He jolts against your ass, a hiss searing between his teeth. “When I see you trussed up for me like a gift,” he pants, tugging at the flimsy lace cupping your breasts, “when I feel your pussy grip me like wax on a finger.”
A wet groan erupts from your mouth into his and Loki’s fingers move to your clit, rubbing slow, wet circles just the way you like it. His kiss is hungry and dark and dangerously loving. He still tastes like your cum.
“The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he mutters as climax tightens in your belly, tensing your thighs, “is your face when you come undone for me.”
You whimper, the hand wrapped around his neck clutching at long waves of his sex-damp hair. “Yes, my beautiful queen,” he praises, unable to keep the tremble of impending orgasm from his voice as his thrusts become heavy. “Take me, use me; use my cock like no other in the nine realms can. Give me what I need.”
“Not yet,” you beg and he smiles against your cheek. The mirror shows what the two of you are: sweaty and unbearably perfect together.
He’s huge behind you; a colossus of muscle and lean lines and luminous skin. His dark hair hangs against your shoulders, his exquisite profile nuzzling into your neck.
The god of mischief works one expert hand between your legs, the other grasping against your chest like you might vanish as his powerful thighs pump slowly beneath you.
Obsessed. He’s obsessed. Another threat of orgasm rises in your centre.
Loki groans loudly and his shoulders tense as you clench, feeling the thick vein running down his length throb.
“I think you may take me a little too well,” he chokes as your grip on his hair tightens.
A series of feral grunts burst from Loki’s throat at the smallest increase of speed against his cock. He's ready to burst. Wetness coats the inside of your thighs, his knuckles, his mouth, your fingers.
You cover the hand working against your clit, feeling his fingers while they lightly strum you over the edge. He knows your body like it's his own.
“Loki,” you moan like a whore, head falling back to his shoulder.
“I’m yours,” he whispers, breath catching. The hand cupping your chest flies to your stomach and he pulls you closer with a stuttering gasp. The flat of his abdomen curls to your back: sweat sticking, curses thundering, stars bursting in front of your eyes.
He erupts with a long, guttural groan that shakes the bed.
The swell of his cum is immediate; squeezing against the tight throb of his mighty cock and the final, fluttering spasms of your cunt. You see it glistening in the mirror, dripping down the thick root still buried inside you and pearling at the curve of his balls.
Loki’s mouth fastens to your cheek like he’s trying to eat you - and maybe he is. His pants are hot against the skin as he slides down your face, top lip dragging before his forehead comes to rest.
“What did I do to deserve…?” he pants quietly as he feathers weak kisses along the angle of your jaw. You silence the impending question with a kiss, pulling him closer.
“I’m your Queen,” you say with utterly feigned humility.
Loki bites his lip, glancing to the mirror. His eyes drop to the sight of him still sheathed deep in your pussy, a thick spindle of cum dangling to the mattress.
“You are,” he whispers lovingly in your ear, eyes nailed to yours in the reflection. "Always."
A link to my Masterlist is HERE
Summary: A trip to Asgard means a visit to Loki's childhood bedroom - and his teenage fantasy. (w/c 1.9k)
Warnings: 18+ only. Loki x Female Reader. Established relationship. Smut. Body fluids etc etc. Language.
“This is your childhood bedroom?!”
Loki’s arms spread wider, turning in a lazy circle as you gape at the high ceilings and golden cornicing. Open archways lead to a balcony which runs along the full side of one wall, Asgard sprawling below in afternoon sunlight.
It’s huge.
“What did you expect?” Loki shoots a lovingly indignant look over his shoulder. “Some kind of hovel-sized quarter the kind of which Stark has bestowed on Lang?”
His boots thud in quick succession on polished marble before he jumps through the air and lands on the modest queen-size with a bounce – a hand balled at his temple.
The sheets have clearly been replaced since he last laid in it, but old habits die hard. The green and gold of his colours is in full effect in this room from the curtains to the tapestries and the quilt draped across the mattress.
“Lie with me,” he says, looking up through his lashes. “Please?”
Something about seeing Loki dressed in his, what he still calls, ‘Midgard garms’ suddenly seems ridiculous in one of Asgard’s royal bedchambers.
A pair of tight black jeans cling to his muscles, denim shifting as he draws one knee over the other to rest on the bed. His forest green t-shirt has ridden up at his lower stomach, a victim of the obscene measurements of his stretching body. He chuckles lightly, making a thick line of his obliques tighten as he slips his fingers further into mussed hair.
"I told you I was a prince," he says sheepishly.
You make your way to the bed and he flips to his back, releasing a happy groan as you straddle him. His eyelids droop, a flash of his upper teeth as he bites his bottom lip.
"Frigga will be expecting us," you say as you roll your hips against his crotch.
"Uhhh...gods-" he grunts, large palms rubbing up your thighs tight on either side of his chest. ‘Frigga can wait. I said I would give you a tour, and give you a tour...I shall.’
"Not from down there you won’t."
You yelp as Loki sits up and his lips fasten to yours, hand cradling the back of your head and forcing you in a violent kiss. He bites your bottom lip, sucking out gently. You moan softly as his hands begin to rub your thighs again.
He’s needy. The sentimentality of bringing you Asgard for the first time is doing a real number on him. Your fingers run down his neck, down the hard dips and ridges of his abdomen through the t-shirt.
“I used to pleasure myself in this bed, dreaming of a woman like you-” he says huskily, beginning to thrust upwards.
The painfully tight erection bursting against denim rubs against your gusset, toying back and forth. You feel a swell of arousal web between your folds as your eyes dart towards the open door. Just a crack, but it’s enough. The guards are never far in the palace it seems, even for a Prince who’s all grown up.
“Say more,” you tease.
It’s a whisper, but it seems to echo. Loki chuckles quietly into the curve of your neck before he tips you easily to the side. You meet the mattress with a bounce, your head disappearing between the crevice of two plush pillows. Loki’s long form rises above you, impossibly rectangular, spread on his knees, the denim screaming around his crotch.
“It may come as a surprise to you that I was an awkward young man,” he starts, riding up the hem of his t-shirt. His leather belt sits maddeningly at the dent of his hips, perfect alabaster skin of his stomach flashing into view.
“No!? I would never have guessed...” you joke, surprised at your ability to think straight as Loki’s shirt pops over his head. He throws it away, skittering gently across the marble floor. His eyes flash mischievously.
“But I had urges, of course; fucked myself night after night like a demon; elaborate fantasies formed in my head with excruciating detail.” He falls forward against the pillows, the bulge of his shoulders tensing as he cages you.
“I wouldn’t let myself cum until every detail in my head was perfect,” he breathes, letting long tendrils of hair drag against your throat in time with the filth of his dulcet syllables. “Again and again. It was enough to drive a young man to madness.”
“Did you ever have-?” you start, cut off by a pathetic moan as Loki drags his bound cock against your clit.
“Never," he whispers. "This bed is as virginal as myself when I left it.”
The warm glow of his magic pulses from his skin. Loki’s jeans are gone, replaced by a green silk robe open at the waist.
It's Asgardian craftsmanship, that much is obvious. Gold weaving edges the hem, its age betrayed only by the sleeves which are a little too short. The sage shimmer melts into the wave of his hair, and for a second you can’t bring yourself to believe there wasn’t a line forming outside his bedroom every night after he came of age.
He rests back on his haunches between your legs, flipping out the robe at the nip of his taut waist. Loki’s eyes smoulder, waiting for you to ask.
“Which one do you want?” you say. It times perfectly with a twitch of his proud cock as he draws a finger back and forth along its length. His chin dips and a small smile creeps at the corner of his lips.
Loki raises a hand, a theatrical snap of his fingers making the ceiling height door to the chamber swing closed with an almighty clang. Even under normal circumstances, doors don’t close quietly in the palace; it is by design.
“My goddess riding me,” he says, raising his gaze to yours. “Then once I’ve filled her, she crawls to my face; smothers me with her perfect, dripping sex; calls my name so loudly in ecstasy that my brother hears it all the way in the taverns.”
Your brows raise. “That’s quite specific.”
Loki shrugs. “I told you. It needed to be perfect. I spent a lot of time thinking about it.”
You shuffle up on the pillows, curling one side of his silk robe in a fist and pulling his mouth to yours. He manoeuvres around, lying back against the pillows with bright eyes while you crawl on top of him once more.
“Are you my sweet virginal Prince?” you ask, batting your lashes.
Loki snickers. "If you like."
“I do.”
“Aright then,” he sniffs. “Although I should warn you, for a virgin – I am rather an expert.”
“Shhh-” You press a finger to his lips.
"I read a lot of books," he explains with overly-earnest eyes, muffled against your finger.
“Let’s get you some practice, then..” you whisper, rolling your hips up the length of his cock. Loki whimpers, brows slanting. You can't tell if that part is for show.
With a slip of his hand against your ass you feel your dress dissolve, the nip of a breeze through the open arches making your nipples stiffen. Loki’s head leaves the pillow and catches one in his mouth as your hand guides his cock between your legs. You rub the tip against your slit, slipping back and forth as guttural groans roll in his throat.
"My virgin Prince," you coo.
Loki’s head falls back to the pillow, a warning brow rising. But his eyes sparkle. Slowly, you sink down onto his cock; each hard inch of muscle tugging against your walls as you settle to the hilt.
“Every time you do that,” Loki rasps, “it’s everything I ever dreamt of in this bed, I swear.”
You flatten a curl of hair back from his forehead, rocking your hips back and forth. His hands slide up your waist, cupping your breasts as he pants beneath you. A vein in his neck throbs as he grits his teeth to the ceiling. He won’t last, not today. And that’s just fine.
You press his shoulders down, limiting his thrusts. If he wanted to, he could overthrow the touch in an instant. But he wont, not today; not in this bed. Every time you reach the tip of his cock you squeeze and his lips part; every time you sink him deep into your cunt they press together, like he doesn’t trust himself not to howl.
The squelching is louder now. The moaning, too. You and Loki have fucked many times, in many places – in every conceivable position, each time you think you could never be more aroused, he proves you wrong. But something’s different about him here. When his beautiful eyes open, the dark fan of his lashes seem to pop against the vibrant blue ringing blown pupils.
Loki’s fingers sink deep into the plump of your ass. He pulls in time with your rhythm, drawing the flat of his feet up. In seconds, he sits up to meet your mouth; his tongue lapping against yours with quiet desperation. Your fingers run down his abdomen and you feel his stomach clench.
“Fill me, baby-” you whine into his open mouth, “show me what Asgard’s finest cock can give me.”
Loki grunts in pleasured anguish, thrusting in erratic shudders as he erupts inside your heat. The angle is tight. Fresh seed creams at the seal of your slit and wells around the rim of his half-sheathed cock as he comes undone with a ragged exhale of your name.
He captures you in a messy kiss, falling away from your mouth to your chest before collapsing back to the pillows.
He squints with one eye, a lazy hand beckoning.
“You sure?” There’s an unusual shyness in your voice. Loki nods with a wolfish, lopsided grin; drunk on sex.
You shuffle up his abdomen, feeling a thick roll of hot cum settling against your inner thigh. Your fingers curl around the wooden headboard, Loki’s large palms settling on your ass and keeping you high. His head tilts, warm tongue tracing your inner thigh and sucking his seed from your skin. A violent shiver of desire rolls down your spine, making you thrust towards his face.
“I’ll try my best-” he purrs in character from between your legs.
His eyes are all you can see as his tongue outstretches. They disappear as he dips further back, running his warmth between your folds. He tilts his chin up, a white pool collected on his tongue.
Loki of Asgard looks up from bottomless eyes, the planes of his cheekbones sharpened. You shoot down and jam your tongue into his open mouth. His cum swirls within the kiss, mingling with the earthy taste of your own pussy – swallows and moans and filth sliding down your throats. Loki gasps loudly as your kiss breaks with a slurp.
“Was that in your fantasy?” you ask innocently, resuming your position above his head.
“I regret now, that even in the depths of my teenage depravity, it was not,” Loki growled, squeezing your ass-cheeks. He nudges you closer. “Now, finish me,” he orders as he pushes you down against his face.
The flat of Loki’s tongue meets your plump clit. Each flush and fat stripe of the muscle has no pretence – he intends to make you climax; and climax hard. Your nails dig into the headboard, scratching down pristine oak lined with gold. Images of Loki as a virginal youth rear in your mind, thrashing in these sheets, under this very ceiling, twisting and unravelling beneath the beat of his fist.
Your thighs begin to tremble, held steady by his fingertips sinking deep into the curve of your ass.
Loki’s tongue is relentless; it swirls and captures every flush of sparking orgasm and tends it with the next lap of his attentions. Before long, your legs tense – and somehow, one of your hands has tangled in his hairline, pushing him deeper, his nose slotted perfectly at the lip of your mound. The sight is all it takes.
“Loki-” you choke, punctuated by a final devastatingly soft lick of his flat tongue over your sex.
“Mmrph…” he grunts, brow furrowing. You hold your breath as climax shatters you, the exhale a strangled sob of his name that sings around the ceilings and tumbles out the archways.
You collapse on his chest, the two of you panting heavily. A thin sheen of fresh sweat clings to his skin. You trace the angle of his jaw, smiling as a dream-like peace descends on his features.
“Do you think Thor heard?”
“From Midgard? I doubt it,” Loki sighs, letting one of his legs fall open to the side. He’s hard again.
“But I can let that part of the fantasy slide. Everything else was...perfection, my love.”
You prop a fist beneath your chin. “Maybe we just need to try harder.”
“Fuck harder, you mean?” Loki says, a smirk curling the corners of his lips.
“You did promise me a palace tour…” you say, drawing your knuckles up the velvet skin of his cock stretching against his stomach. Loki’s smirk grows wider.
Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, enemies to lovers, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex (fem receiving), teasing, p in v sex, vaginal fingering.
A/N: I’m kind of fascinated by the concept of a soulmate AU where Loki wins and this is just another take on that thought. If you've read my fic Surrender, this one is a different universe (an AU of an AU? Is that a thing?)
I am indebted to @infinitystoner, who was kind enough to talk me through some of my doubts about this fic. This one is for you, K. (Also, everyone should go read her work, it's fabulous).
The king intends to take a bride.
At first you think it’s just a stupid rumor, but with time, it becomes clear that it’s not merely a stupid rumor, but a true rumor about a stupid plan. He hasn’t found his soulmate; the speculation is that this is about producing an heir or something similar. Which is also stupid because he’s the one who took over your fucking planet. He can make new rules for succession if he wants to. He doesn’t have to make other people suffer.
You, like most people, still harbor a lot of anger and resentment toward Loki.
You don’t know who he’s going to rope into this plan, but you feel bad for her already. Imagine not only having to be married to that monster, but being in this weird second place to whoever is unfortunate enough to be his soulmate. Imagine having to fuck him, to try and have his kid, all the while knowing you’ll be discarded once he finds his soulmate. Imagine having to go along with all of this and never being able to say what you really think.
The only person you feel sorrier for is whoever turns out to be his soulmate.
Later, all of this will strike you as absurdly ironic.
But you don’t know any of that yet.
*
You took a job at the hotel because you needed a change of pace after Loki took over. It was just a front desk job—you checked people in and out, answered questions, and said “let me get my manager” whenever there was a serious problem with a guest. It wasn’t glamorous or fun, but it was straightforward and you never had to bring work home with you.
The one thing that you never really considered was whether you were inadvertently choosing a job that would bring you into closer proximity to the man you were trying so desperately hard to not think about at all.
You probably should have considered it—you knew when you took the job that he did a fair amount of travel. You never really understood why—he conquered the entire fucking planet, you think he’d be content to just chill in his palace or whatever. But no. He was constantly on the move, constantly showing up and demanding to be accommodated, and people put up with it because what else are they supposed to do? You can’t exactly persona non grata the guy that successfully took over your planet and made himself king. If that worked, he wouldn’t be here in the first place.
You kind of assumed that he wouldn’t show up to your hotel—it wasn’t conveniently located to anything useful and while it technically had a five star rating, you didn’t think it offered the same caliber of accommodations as the places he was known to stay.
As it turns out, you were wrong on all counts. Hilariously wrong. Because now his steward is here in your hotel lobby. Or his…emissary? You’re not sure what this guy’s official title is. You recognize him from the news—he can often be spotted in the entourage of guards and staff that accompany Loki everywhere, but you don’t know his name. He is rattling off a monologue of sorts—the king requires accommodations, only the finest rooms, and so on. You feel as though you are having an out of body experience as you click through the booking software and confirm that the penthouse is available. You breathe an inner sigh of relief—it would have been manageable to evict whichever rich person had booked it, but it would have fucked up the cleaning crew’s scheduling for at least the next week and you know that corporate is already up Marisol’s ass about your location’s overtime.
You don’t really expect him to show up during this transaction. If you had, you would have said “let me get my manager” and washed your hands of it—you don’t get paid nearly enough to deal with self-proclaimed kings. But as you are booking the room (who the fuck are you supposed to list as the guarantor on the invoice? This wasn’t covered in your training), Loki storms in, followed by a cadre of guards.
You’re not really prepared to see him in person—that’s partly why you freeze. He’s so tall and well…real. It sounds stupid, but it’s jarring seeing him in front of you instead of on a screen or in a picture. He’s not exactly more frightening, but looking at him makes your pulse quicken.
He’s scolding the steward (emissary?) about something—you’re so distracted that you miss exactly what it is that has him so annoyed.
And then you realize that the mark on your left wrist is burning.
You swallow hard. No. Not him.
Loki looks up and his eyes lock with yours.
Fucking hell.
*
The wedding is a spectacle, to say the least.
Your dress is fucking ridiculous. Instead of the traditional white, you are draped in yards of green fabric covered in thousands of emeralds and diamonds and painstakingly embroidered with thread made of real gold and silver. It is very much a statement about who you are and who you belong to. You don’t care for it, but you don’t really have a choice—the details of the ceremony have been largely left to other people to decide. Part of you thinks they must have been planning for this for years, based on the number of things that are already prepared. Or maybe having access to magic negates the need for planning ahead.
You are much too angry to actually ask Loki about any of this. Not that you see much of him before the ceremony anyway.
You go through the motions of the ceremony, trying to keep your cool. It’s only been a week since he found you at the hotel, so the fact that you haven’t consummated your soulbond is more akin to an annoying itch than anything more disruptive, but when he kisses you at the conclusion of the ceremony, it's…intense, to say the least. The mild ache that settled itself between your thighs last week seems to swell, sending a fresh wave of arousal to your core. When he slides his tongue past your lips, all you want to do is release a wanton moan directly into his mouth and rub yourself shamelessly against him. The fact that you’re standing on a platform while the entire world looks on is really the only thing that stops you.
The fact that this is your immediate reaction scares you a bit. You know it’s biology—soulbonds are meant to be consummated isn’t just a saying—but there’s part of you that feels like you should have a stronger handle on that impulse. You are mad at him, you remind yourself. He took over your entire planet, installed himself as king, and then had the audacity to be your soulmate. Focus. Be angry.
You wonder if your family and friends are watching. Your phone ran out of battery the night after he found you and you haven’t had the heart to charge it. You’re barely managing your own emotional reaction—you’re not ready to invite anyone else into it just yet.
The rest of your wedding day is a blur. You meet a bunch of important people and retain exactly none of their names or roles. There is an elaborate multi-course feast and you manage to eat without spilling food on your dress, which feels like a small miracle. You meet more important people and somehow retain even less information. You dance—a few dances with important people whose names you’ve forgotten, but mostly with Loki. The sun sets. They bring out an elaborate dessert course. You dance again. Loki’s hand on your waist fans the flames of desire that you’re trying so hard to ignore.
Finally, you’re whisked away to prepare for bed. It took three people to get you into your dress, and it takes just as many to get you out. They help you into a nightgown that you also didn’t get to pick out—and in fact, it’s the first time you’re seeing it at all. It’s almost too pretty to sleep in, though you suppose that’s the point—you’re supposed to fall asleep naked and sated in the arms of your new husband (god, it’s so weird that you have a husband). You’re not so sure that this is the specific fate that’s in your cards, but you anticipate the nightgown will be coming off at some point this evening. In the interim, you look stereotypically virginal in white lace and chiffon, a glittering emerald pendant resting in your cleavage.
You’ve been staying in a guest suite since he found you, but tonight, they bring you to his rooms. Your rooms, you suppose. Somehow, you doubt he’s the sort who believes that husbands and wives should sleep separately.
The lights are on, but it’s quiet. You wonder if he’s even here.
You approach the couch that sits in front of the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city. You can see fireworks and twinkling lights of different celebrations and your stomach clenches like a fist. It’s supposed to be in honor of you. Earth’s new queen. A title that shouldn’t even exist, let alone belong to you.
You turn away from the window and sit down on the couch. You stare at the wall, hands twisting the delicate fabric of your nightgown in your lap.
You hear a sound in the other room—his study, you think—and your heart leaps to your throat, practically buzzing with an emotion that feels like the strange cousin of anxiety and anticipation.
You keep your eyes locked on the wall as you listen to his footsteps draw closer.
“It’s customary to announce yourself when you enter someone’s quarters, you know.”
You pause for a moment before letting your gaze trail to him. It’s a conscious, obnoxious power play on your part—you are trying to show him that you still have agency, that he has not yet won your respect or admiration.
You’re not even sure that it registers, which only serves to irritate you further.
He is still wearing most of his wedding clothes, though he’s taken off the fine surcoat from the ceremony, exposing the soft tunic he was wearing underneath. He is smirking—that seems to be his expression of choice, you’ve noticed.
“Aren’t these my rooms too?” you ask. “Is it customary to announce myself in my own space?”
You are trying to be rude, but it doesn’t seem to matter: he simply laughs.
“You are spirited,” he says, looking you over appreciatively, stirring a wild and burning need in your hips, slickness collecting in the lacy white underwear that had been chosen for you.
“And you intend to break me, is that it?” you snap with more venom than is perhaps wise.
“Of course not.” His answer surprises you, though you are determined to not let that show in your face. “Your will is part of your appeal. I’d no sooner crush a rose beneath my boot.”
You are skeptical of this claim given the amount of damage he did to New York City, but your traitorous cunt throbs at his words nonetheless.
“I’m not happy about any of this, you know,” you say, hoping that your anger will act like roiling floodwaters on the firestorm of lust that’s continuing to build in your hips.
It doesn’t, of course. What’s worse: he laughs. Again.
“I’d gathered,” he says. “You are wonderfully unsubtle when you’re angry.”
“I mean, are you surprised?” you say irritably. “I didn’t even get to pick out my own wedding dress, for fuck’s sake.”
“This is the burden of the office, I’m afraid,” he says. “Your wants and desires are often secondary to the needs of the crown.”
You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from screaming at him. “I think you’re missing the point.”
“I think you’ll find I’m not.”
You let out one long breath. “Are you trying to irritate me?”
Another smirk. “I’m afraid I simply have a gift for it.”
You finally give in and scowl. “Great. This is going about as well as I had expected.”
His eyes drift down the column of your throat to the emerald pendant resting in your cleavage and then to the bodice of your nightgown. “Perhaps it’s time we concern ourselves with activities that require less talking.” He licks his lips and brings his gaze back up to yours.
“I’m not entirely convinced anything would stop you from talking,” you say.
“I suspect letting me bury my tongue in your cunt might do the trick.”
For the first time today, you are entirely speechless. The fire burning low in your hips roars into an inferno, like someone has poured accelerant along your nerves and Loki has struck a match. You take in one shaky breath, your heart thrumming in your throat.
“That’s what I thought,” he says with a dark sort of smugness. “To bed, wife.”
You steadfastly ignore the way your stomach jumps when he calls you ‘wife.’ Why is that hot? It shouldn’t be hot.
You’re tempted to argue with him some more—you don’t like giving him even the vaguest impression that you’re following his orders or anything like that—but one smoldering look from him has your heart pounding and another wave of fresh arousal flooding between your legs. You follow him to the bed, trying to keep your expression neutral and indifferent.
He pulls you firmly against him and you wonder if he can feel your heart pounding in your chest. There’s no space between you—you can feel his stomach muscles expand and contract with every slow intake of breath, the press of his slowly hardening cock against your stomach.
He tilts your face up to his and claims your mouth in a devouring kiss, and this time, the moan that you’d held back during the ceremony slips from your lips almost immediately. He makes a low growling noise in return, his hands sliding to the row of small pearl buttons that hold up the back of your nightgown.
You suspect that beyond aesthetic and functional value, the purpose of these buttons is to facilitate a slow, sexy reveal; Loki undoes exactly two and a half buttons before roughly pulling the edges of the fabric apart, the remaining buttons snapping from their threads and pinging against the floor.
You pull away from him, immediately annoyed. “Do you make a habit of ruining other people’s things? What if I wanted to wear that again?”
He laughs, tugging the fabric off your shoulders. “Perhaps you forget the extraordinary powers I have at my command,” he says, staring greedily at your breasts as he tugs the nightgown down your waist, pulling it off your hips so it falls to the floor. “I could tear this gown off you every night and remake it every morning with no more than a click of my fingers.”
Fucking magic powers undercutting your goddamn fucking point.
“Yeah, well, you’re still a jackass,” you say sourly, unwilling to concede the point any further.
His smile is sharp in a way that makes you shiver and he slips his hand into your underwear, his smile growing as he feels how slick you are. “It doesn’t seem to bother you all that much, does it?”
You try to keep your expression stern, but his fingers find your clit and you can’t help the moan that falls from your lips.
“Your sweet cunt is so ready to come.” He slides a finger into you and you whimper. “It’s obscene how wet you are for me.”
You bite back a plea and kiss him instead. His mouth is rough on yours, teeth nipping at your lower lip, tongue plundering your mouth. He slides a second finger into you and you keen.
“Yes,” he groans against your mouth. “Take it like a good girl.”
You clench around his fingers and your hands seek purchase in his hair. You tug on it lightly and he growls with pleasure before he pulls away, his hands moving to the waistband of your underwear and tugging it off your hips.
“Get on the bed.” His tone brooks no arguments. “Now.”
It’s tempting to talk back, tempting to resist. You are still angry about every aspect of this relationship and this stupid fucking wedding. But you know you need this—the dull ache in your hips is only growing more pronounced with every passing moment and the brief feeling of his fingers on your clit was nothing short of heaven. Soulbonds are meant to be consummated and your body seems to be doing everything it can to propel you toward that end.
You kick your underwear the rest of the way off before sitting down on the bed and lying back on the pillows.
He pauses for a moment to look you over, his gaze trailing lazily over your bare skin, his hand absently moving to palm his cock through his trousers. “Spread your legs,” he says. You do and you catch a breath of a groan from him as he stares at you. Your cunt throbs in response and you bite your lip to keep yourself from whimpering.
He allows himself one moment before he crawls on the bed to join you. He kneels between your legs, staring greedily at your exposed cunt, running a thumb along the edge of your folds. Your hips rock upward involuntarily, chasing his hand, seeking friction.
“Such a pretty cunt,” he murmurs. “So soaking wet, so desperately needy for my touch.” He pauses again, licking his lips. “I think I might need a taste.”
Your breath stutters in your chest and he kisses the inside of your thigh, slowly licking and sucking his way upward in a tantalizing preview of what’s to come. You’re already soaking and you can feel yourself growing wetter as his sinful mouth draws closer and closer to your aching need.
You’re not entirely sure whether it’s a moan or a whine that passes your lips when he finally licks that first long, lazy stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. He groans low and wanting against your cunt, his tongue rolling over your clit once more before he catches it between his lips and slowly begins to suck.
There is no getting around it: Loki is a pro at eating pussy.
It would be easier if he wasn’t, you find yourself thinking somewhere in the haze between orgasms. If he were mediocre, it would make it so much easier to be angry at him, to resent your current situation. This is not to say that you’ve abandoned your anger at all—you are still mad. But your anger feels so much less effective when he’s spent a solid ninety minutes with his head between your legs and you’ve lost track of the number of times he’s made you come.
He is—predictably—infuriatingly smug about all of this.
Your first orgasm arrives so quickly that it seems to take you both by surprise. And indeed, he lifts his head moments later, already smirking.
“That was awfully quick, wife,” he says. The glint in his eye tells you that he absolutely noticed how you reacted to that name earlier and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from scowling.
“Maybe you’re out of practice,” you say. Even as you say it, it doesn’t sound convincing (it doesn’t even make sense when you think about it later) and Loki laughs outright.
“I think not,” he says, carefully sliding one long index finger inside of you. “I think your poor cunt has been sorely neglected, either by you or some subpar lover you took to ease the ache of missing me.” He adds a second finger and you bite your lip to keep in a moan. “I think you’ll be begging for me before the night is out.” His fingertips press teasingly against that spot inside you and you take in a sharp breath.
He starts lazily moving his fingers in and out of you and while it feels good, you know it’s not going to be enough to get you there. You suspect, from the way that he’s smirking, that he knows this, too.
“Do you want my mouth again? I don’t think you’re done.”
“You’re trying to be a jerk and I don’t like it,” you say.
He laughs and draws his thumb briefly over your clit. “Darling, I only want you to tell me what you want.”
Your eyes narrow. “Why?”
“I think you can understand the appeal of hearing a beautiful woman beg for your touch.”
His compliment immediately clashes with the suggestion that you begging for him is a possibility.
He smiles, catlike, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.
“You need my mouth again,” he says, fingers curling inside you. “You need more. I can feel how wet you are, sweet thing.” His thumb presses against your clit and retreats as soon as your breath hitches.
“I could keep you like this for hours. Days, even,” he says, lazily stroking his fingers inside you. “I could keep you right on the edge, begging for your release. But I don’t think you want that. Even I don’t want that. I think you want to come again right now and I think you want my mouth.”
“I’m not begging you for it,” you say.
“I’ve only asked you to tell me what you want,” he says. “I’ve merely expressed that I find the idea of you begging very appealing.”
You want to smack him. With your luck, though, that would turn out to be one of his kinks and then you’ll really be in for it. Your fingers flex against the sheets.
“Do you want to come, darling? Do you want my mouth again?” he asks with a feigned innocence that suggests it’s not a loaded question, even as the glint in his eyes tells you it is.
You’re silent for a beat and then his thumb returns to your clit, pressing and stroking as his fingers curl inside of you. Your hips rock with his hand and you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from moaning aloud when he stops a few seconds later, his eyebrows raised like he’s expecting your answer.
This exchange repeats four more times. On the fifth, you finally break.
“Please,” you whimper. You sound more desperate than you would prefer, but your overwhelming need to come has quickly superseded whatever shreds of decency you have left.
“Please what?” he asks, radiating smugness.
You’re not quite so far gone that you can’t manage a scowl, which he only laughs at.
“I’m waiting…” he says, his fingers curling in a teasing way.
You know there’s no getting around this. “I need to come.”
He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, like he’s expecting more.
You resist the urge to sigh. “I need your mouth. Please.”
He barely spares a second for a wicked grin and a growl of praise that only elevates your need before he’s lowering his mouth again to your clit.
Your second orgasm is somehow even quicker than the first, only this time, you’re already whimpering for the next one as soon as you catch your breath.
Mercifully, he doesn’t lift his mouth from your cunt this time, though he does give you a wicked look that more or less says the same thing.
His fingers are wonderful, but you know they’re no substitute for his cock. And while he has made you come so many times already, the need to have him inside of you continues to grow, settling into a dull ache in your hips.
“I need you to fuck me,” you finally breathe as the aftershocks of your latest orgasm fade back to that ache.
He lifts his head for a minute. “I intend to, but I don’t think you’re done yet.”
Your eyes widen as he seals his lips back around your clit.
“I mean, I’ve just—fuck—I’ve just had more…c-consecutive orgasms than I’ve ever had before in my life, you’re—oh my god, yes—you’re not exactly leaving me wanting—oh fuck.”
He stays silent, but it’s because his tongue is working over your clit. You, on the other hand, are in the process of undercutting your own point. A few more strokes of his tongue and you are coming again, your hips jerking hard against his mouth.
He doesn’t stop after that, either—he draws more orgasms from you, groaning into your cunt when you pull on his hair.
Your pleas for him to fuck you become increasingly desperate with every orgasm, until he finally lifts his head.
“What was it that you wanted?” he asks with a smirk that tells you he needs absolutely no clarification whatsoever.
“Fuck me, please. I need to be fucked, I need your cock,” you say. You feel restless and desperate, the ache inside you growing with every passing second.
“Oh, darling, all you needed to do was ask,” he says, his tone overly cloying.
You’re not quite so far gone that you can’t manage a scowl. “I have been asking. Repeatedly.”
He laughs and begins to undress. You suspect he’s doing this to torture you—you know he could remove his clothes in one go if he wanted to.
He peels his shirt off first and your lips part involuntarily as you take in the firm expanse of muscle of his chest and abdomen, your fingertips itching with the need to touch him. You grip the sheets instead in the vain hope that it might make a difference (it doesn’t).
But even the enticing expanse of his chest is no match for what’s to come.
He removes his trousers with achingly precise slowness. You expect him to be hard; what you’re not expecting is the primal response that it invokes in you. His cock is long, thick, and hard, the head already slick with pre-come. It’s not just for you—it’s because of you.
You swallow hard as he turns to face you fully. You’re so distracted by his cock that you almost miss the smug smirk, which he makes no attempt to hide. He knows he’s hot, he knows he has a beautiful cock, and he knows that you are absolutely aching for him. It is profoundly irritating.
He wraps his hand around his cock, wetting his lips as he casually strokes himself once. “Do you want me?” he asks with the sort of tone and expression that tells you he absolutely knows the answer.
You could yell at him. The prospect is certainly tempting. But you’re not sure that it’s worth it, not with the way your cunt is throbbing with the need to be filled with his beautiful, thick cock.
“Loki, please.” It comes out as more of a whine than you’d like, but you decide that you can live with it.
You are treated to a particularly wolfish grin before he starts stalking towards you.
There’s a large part of you that expects him to flip you over and take you from behind, rough and fast and impersonal. But instead, he climbs on top of you and draws you into a kiss. It’s deep and slow and heightened by the heavy weight of his bare cock pressing against your belly, drops of pre-come smearing against your skin.
Your back arches and your right leg snakes around his waist, trying to pull him closer, urging him to finally ease the ache inside of you. But he takes his time, kissing you slowly, running his hands over your breasts and hips, rocking his cock against you, but not inside of you.
You don’t like begging—it feels too much like offering up a vulnerability—but it becomes increasingly difficult not to give into the urge the longer he stays on top of you like this.
“Loki,” you finally say when he starts peppering sharp, sucking kisses against your throat.
“What is it, my love?” he asks with a faux confusion that you can see through right away.
“You know what I want,” you say as evenly as you can manage.
“Mmm, let me hear you say it just once more,” he says.
“Please fuck me.”
You’re expecting another negotiation, another battle of wits, but instead, he gives you a rather sharp grin and adjusts his hips so he can rub the tip of his cock up and down the length of your cunt. And then, to your surprise, he lines his cock up at your entrance and slowly begins to ease inside of you.
There’s a part of you—a large part of you—that’s surprised by how careful he is. He’s gentle, slowly pressing into you, giving you time to adjust, his movements careful. He does this all in such a way that you might not notice if you didn’t think to look—he wants you to think that he’s not doing any of what he’s doing. He wants you to think he’s not thinking of you when he is, that the care and precision of his movements are merely a pleasant coincidence. You’re not sure how you know this, but you feel certain.
He waits to kiss you until he’s pressed fully inside you, and you realize this is another illusion, another cover so you don’t realize that he’s giving you another moment to adjust to him.
It’s oddly considerate—irritatingly so. The coals of your anger still burn bright in your heart, but they flicker for just a moment.
But then he begins to move and coherent thoughts flee your mind entirely.
He feels so good. You’re not sure if it’s the soulbond itself, the dopamine and serotonin, or if he just knows the perfect way to move, but the first thrust has your toes curling and that warm heat stirring in your belly. You’ve already come so many times tonight that it feels impossible that your body should be capable of more, but you know immediately that he’s going to bring you right back over the edge if he keeps moving the way he is.
And he’s showing no signs of stopping, either.
“Norns,” he breathes, pressing a kiss against your neck, “you feel perfect. So warm and tight.”
You shiver, your cunt clenching reflexively around his slowly stroking cock. He grins and presses his lips up against your ear.
“Do you like hearing how your snug little cunt fits me like a glove?”
You would prefer to be able to lie in this particular moment—instead, your body immediately betrays you and your legs tighten around his waist as your cunt shudders around him.
You can practically feel his sharp, hungry smile as he nips at your earlobe. “I can feel how much you do,” he murmurs. A devastating swivel of his hips has you uttering a gasping whine that you are not at all proud of.
“That’s it.” He’s swiveling his hips on every other thrust now and you know the moment he switches to that exclusively, it’s all over. “You’re so close,” he purrs with confidence that annoys you just a little, even in your pre-orgasmic stupor.
But then he swivels his hips again and you shudder before you can hide it and he notices…and does it again.
And again.
Fuck.
Your orgasm starts barreling toward you at an impossibly fast pace and his eyes glitter because he knows.
“You’re going to come for me.” It’s not even a command—it’s just a statement as he rolls his hips in those devastating thrusts.
You whimper, your back arching.
“Give into it. Let me feel you.”
One more push of his cock against that sweet spot inside you and you can’t fight it any more. Your muscles tense one last time and you cry out as you come hard on his cock.
“Oh, beautiful,” he groans, his eyes closing as he fucks you through it.
It seems to last a long time, drawn out every time the head of his cock drags against that sensitive spot that sent you over the edge in the first place. He pauses briefly to bring your legs up over his shoulders, which makes his cock hit a spot even deeper inside you that feels so good it pulls a strangled sob from your throat.
Loki groans, his pace increasing, one hand falling between your legs to rub at your clit. It’s so much, but it feels better than anything. You feel another orgasm rising in your hips and you whimper.
“Good girl, fucking take it,” he slurs. You can tell that he’s getting close from the way his thrusting is becoming more frantic, how he tips his head back and grips your hips even harder.
“Come for me,” he growls. “I’m going to fill your lovely cunt with my seed. Come for me.”
Your vision whites out and your back arches as you come. If you were capable of rational thought, you would be angry that your body simply obeyed this simple directive; as it is, it’s hard for you to process anything other than how good he feels inside of you.
You can tell he’s approaching his end and he’s utterly captivating to watch. His eyes are screwed shut, brow furrowed and lips parted as he lets out a low groan that makes your toes curl.
His eyes open in the final throes and he surges forward to kiss you. He moans softly into your mouth as he comes, his whole body shuddering.
You feel dreamy and sated as he slows to a halt, lowering his head to the crook of your neck. The restless ache inside you is finally quiet—at least for now.
You expect him to roll off you and fall asleep—the portrait of a cliche. Instead, he stays with you, the warm heat of his breath ghosting over your shoulder. You can feel his cock still throbbing inside of you.
You should push him away, reclaim the distance between you. You’re angry at him, after all.
But also…it feels nice.
It’s just the endorphins, you tell yourself. It’s hormones. It doesn’t mean anything.
You can feel the lie prickling at the edges of the thought, sharp and needling, like ground glass pressing against bare skin. It means a lot of things; you just wish it didn’t.
Be angry.
His lips brush against your shoulder. More of your muscles relax. It’s nice.
Be angry.
You’re tired though. It’s been a really long day and the bed is soft and the weight of Loki on top of you is oddly reassuring.
Maybe just for tonight. Maybe just this once you’ll allow yourself to fall asleep in his bed.
“I’m still mad at you,” you say. It feels too sharp, too strident. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. He doesn’t know you, though, not really, and so you can only hope that he misses the subtle catch in your voice, that little note of uncertainty.
“I’d expect nothing less.” His voice is slightly muffled against your shoulder.
Goddammit, why does this have to be so comfortable?
He shifts slightly, easing out of you. You feel the resulting mess vanish before it even hits your thigh. At least he’s considerate.
You scowl at the thought.
“Sleep,” he says after a moment. “You’ll need your strength to rage at me in the morning.”
“I can rage at you in my sleep,” you say as your eyes slide shut.
“I’m sure you can,” he says. “Sleep.”
And despite all your complicated feelings—your anger, the inherent feeling of ease you get from his embrace, your unease with your new title, your homesickness—you find that the pull of sleep is too tempting to resist and the world slowly fades away.
Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, mentions of wax play and bondage, some self-deprecating thoughts, fluff, established relationship
Minors DNI
Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library
5k Follower Celebration
“Loki, I don’t know about this.” You pulled your robe tighter around yourself, nervously avoiding eye contact with your boyfriend who was currently lounging on your bed, his perfect naked body cradled by the mountain of pillows against the headboard.
There was no doubt that you were both incredibly sexually adventurous, experimenting with everything from bondage to wax play and everything in between but this felt so much more daunting than anything you had tried before, even if it was relatively vanilla.
“There is nothing to be scared of,” he cooed, reaching an inviting hand out to you, “It’s just me my love.” You slid your hand into his, letting the god pull you into his lap. You tried to lift some of your weight from him but Loki kept you pinned to his naked thighs. “If you truly do not want to do this, then we don’t have to. You have the power.”
His touch was cool but comforting all the same. The silk material of your robe slipped on your skin, exposing more of your chest to your boyfriend, yet he didn’t let his eyes wander away from yours. “We stop if I say stop?” You knew the answer already but you craved the gentle reassurance he always gave before starting any scene.
“Always.” His eyes sparkled, knowing that he was already getting his way. Your legs parted, allowing you to straddle him comfortably as Loki’s smile broadened. “So, are you going to finally ride me or make me wait some more?” He teased, making you shiver with anticipation.
It was the one thing you were hesitant to do— be on top. To be so vulnerable and have your whole body on display as you worked for both your pleasures, it was terrifying. But the way that Loki looked at you, like you were worthy of worship, it made you want to give him this piece of yourself, even if it made a chill settle in your bones.
“Loki.” You whined but it soon bled into a moan as his hands journeyed beneath your robe, cupping your generous ass in his palms. His smirk sent fire racing through your veins and you felt his length throb against your soft thigh. You rocked forwards in an attempt to escape his firm grip but only succeeded in letting his length slide against your cunt, his tip bumping against your sensitive clit.
Your gasp bounced off the bedroom walls as it had done countless times before but this time felt so different. Loki’s blue eyes stared right into you, he refused to look away for a single second almost as if he were worried about scaring you off. With a gentle touch, he guided you to your knees.
“Take me.” His hand slid between your bodies and lined the head of his cock to your weeping entrance. Your lips pressed against his in a starkly gentle kiss as you slowly sank down, taking every glorious inch of him inside your cunt.
Your moans and Loki’s quiet groans twisted together in a beautiful symphony of pleasure. His touch travelled across your plush thighs, up past your hips, grazing your breasts briefly before he cupped your cheeks. You relaxed on top of him, the burn from his thick cock now lessened to the deliciously addictive stretch you could never get enough of.
Loki’s tongue brushed against your bottom lip as your kisses quickly became more desperate. Your cunt squeezed around him making the god buck up into you forcefully. His chest rumbled with a pleased sound as he ripped his lips from yours. “Perfect girl, c’mon start riding.”
Tentatively, you rocked forwards onto your knees, rising up on his cock before slamming back down to the hilt. You could feel the way your flesh moved with the force but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about what you may look like, not when you could feel Loki everywhere. Your next bounces were more confident and quicker until your rhythm made the bed squeak beneath your bodies.
Loki looked up at you unwaveringly, his gaze a mixture of lust and adoration. His hands touched every part of you that he could reach, needing to feel your body move as you took your pleasure from him. “Good girl, that’s it. Give yourself over to ecstasy.”
Your legs shook with the strain of the position. You huffed and sat back, trying to rest your poor legs but Loki had a different idea. His palm clapped loudly against the fat of your ass. “Keep bouncing like my good little bunny.” He growled through clenched teeth. You shivered at the power in his voice, biting down on your lip as you lifted yourself up once more.
You whimpered, the knot in your lower stomach steadily drawing tighter. Your thrusts down grew sloppier the tighter the knot became yet Loki didn’t relent his determination to have you ride him. “Please Loki.” You begged, tears gathering in your eyes as your orgasm seemed so close and yet so far.
Loki clicked his tongue as if he were annoyed but the delighted sparkle in his eye and the way his cock throbbed from deep within you said otherwise. “Is that right? Does my bunny need her god to make her cum? She’s too soft to do it herself?” You whined and ground your hips down, making Loki’s smirk broaden. “Don’t worry bunny, I’ll take care of you.”
His hands clamped down onto your hips and suddenly all the pressure was taken away from your knees. Your eyes went wide but before you could ask what he was doing, Loki lifted his hips from the mattress and thrust up into you with such power that you felt the air get forced from your lungs. “Did so good for me, bunny, so so well. You should be rewarded.” Your head lolled with each punch upwards, your stomach tensing as he bashed against the bundle of nerves inside you.
“Loki.” You weakly attempted to call out but he silenced you with a cold thumb connecting to your clit. You hiccuped as the pleasure mounted.
“Cum for me. Do it now!” He buried himself to the hilt, pulling your soft body completely against him. You shattered around him, your vision whiting out as Loki growled in your ear, emptying himself into your cunt.
You slumped against your boyfriend and Loki laughed breathlessly, placing a soft kiss to your temple. “See, I told you there was nothing to be scared of.” Your sleepy smile made him cuddle you closer, exhaustion falling over you both like a thick blanket.
“I guess you were.” You muttered.
And as your eyelids fluttered shut, Loki whispered. “That’s it.”
Just as a reminder you can write entire pieces of JUST exploratory and speculation for your own WIP or story and they don't have to go anywhere. You are not beholden to a character arc or a rising and falling action with a conclusion. Sometimes you just wanna write a side scene with some characters doing some things. Or you need to just need to write what would amount to an academic paper about a certain landscape in your story. Like that's also fine.
Also these things don't need endings. When you finish them they're done. Even if it's in the 'middle' of something. You got out the part you wanted and now you're done and you satisfied the plot bunny demanding blood sacrifice of you writing that specific scene right now. Congrats you're done now.
Don't let the editor in your mind steal your joy of writing your silly little story. The mind editor is the thief of joy.
A Link to my Masterlist is HERE
Summary: Just some filth in a supply closet tbh. (w/c 1.7k)
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Loki x female reader. Smut. Loki in a V-Neck, semi-exhibitionism, PV/Oral. Established relationship.
You looked over Steve’s shoulder as the door edged open and Loki’s face slid into view.
Steve turned, sighing as he saw the god’s chest sidle through the crack, his fingers curling around the inside handle.
"My sincerest apologies," Loki hummed unapologetically, "-but I need to borrow our darling Agent here. It’s urgent."
Steve raised an eyebrow. "How urgent?" he said.
"Quite urgent, I assure you.” said Loki gravely.
Another sigh rattled Steve’s chest. He fluffed the papers on the desk before scooting them towards you and leaning back in the chair.
“You heard the man-’ he barked, casting a perishing look over his shoulder. He pulled out his phone as you stood with mumbled apologies, saying you’d be back as soon as you could.
“Doubt it.” Steve said while his keypad beeped.
A smirk began to creep across the feigned innocence of Loki’s expression as you pressed your fingertips against his chest, edging him out the door. “What are you doing?” you hissed as Loki’s smirk grew wider. The door clicked shut behind you.
He threw his hands up in remission, mischievous smile in full force. Your fingers grasped around the collar of his v-neck, pulling him into a kiss that knocked the air from his lungs. Loki’s tongue jammed into your mouth, wet kisses waxing and waning against the clash of teeth as you landed him against the wall with a thud. “I missed you,” he gasped as his fingers worked up the base of your neck.
“It’s been thirty minutes-” you said, giving the back of his hair a sharp yank. ‘You said twenty-five.’
Loki hissed. His cock was hard and proud against his chinos, stretching in a thick column up to his hipbone and rubbing against your thigh. The v-neck clung like a second skin to the outline of his abdomen; flexing against the muscle with every shallow breath.
“This is a very compromising situation you’ve put me in, Agent-” he growled wet in your ear. You shot a glance to either side of the hallway.
“Come on.” you said, sliding a hand down the thick meat of his forearm and linking his hand in yours.
Beside the meeting room there was a humble supply closet. You and Loki bundled inside, closing the door as softly as you could. A nervous giggle erupted from your mouth, immediately silence by Loki’s hungry kiss. He backed you against the shelves at the far end of the closet, catching a mop before it fell without even looking in its direction.
The cleaning supplies gave a brief rattle of discontent. Your pulled at his t-shirt, the quietly expensive material that clung so perfectly to every godly inch of him sliding through your fingers. You whined into his open mouth.
The god replaced his lips with a silencing finger. He kicked your feet apart with practiced skill; the finger pulling at your bottom lip as he sank to his knees.
Loki looked up from smouldering eyes beneath a dark line of lashes, brows peaking while his hands slid up trembling thighs.
"I want you to listen to me very carefully…" he said solemnly.
His eyes flashed in the way they only did when he was interrogating a suspect. An enemy. You’d told him how you almost came when you’d worked a mission together recently and seen it in action. And now, it was time to play.
Loki’s voice was commanding even through a whisper.
"You’re going to cum in my mouth, darling..." he said. "I want to be absolutely dripping. Drowning. Tasting you for days. I want you to ride my tongue like its your route to freedom. Do you understand?"
You nodded mutely, hand clasped over your mouth as his thighs spread wider on the tiled floor.
"And then – I’m going to fuck you." Loki murmured menacingly, dragging a manicured fingernail against the plump of your thigh-
"And you’re going to take all of me, everything I have to give. And you’re going to be quiet. Do you understand?"
You nodded again, a small squeak of anticipation erupting. "I’m sorry…" you whispered, unable to contain a smile of utter glee. Loki frowned disapprovingly, but the side of his mouth twitched.
He hoisted one of your legs over his shoulder. Without another word, the god reached up and guided your hands to the back of his head, pressing them into his scalp. On instinct, they tangled in his curls as his tongue met your swollen clit. You let out a shuddering sigh.
The flat of his tongue reached to the back of your slit, already sticky and desperate for him. His nose rested on your mound, disappearing and dragging back on your clit with every breathy gyration of his jaw.
Loki’s hand slid to your knee, steadying it from the shakes that had begun. The other pressed up against the back of your thigh near his face, opening more of you to the leisurely lap of his tongue.
One of your hands left his hair, grasping at the shelf to the side. Your head fell back, unable to take the sight of the god of mischief spread on his knees; eating your pussy with his eyes closed and his brow creased in pleasure. You thrust against his tongue, each thick stripe and suck of his expert movements making you see stars.
"Loki…" you mouthed as quietly as you could manage as your head fell forward.
He suckled at your clit in worship, filthy moans bubbling in his throat. He opened his eyes, meeting your own as he flattened his tongue and withdrew it...making sure you were watching as he slid it back between your legs. Your grip on his hair tightened.
Loki’s cock was even bigger now- fat and straining against the chinos stretched across his thighs. It twitched for freedom while your hips began to shake; your fingernails scraping against the shelf. With a silent scream, you came shamelessly on his lapping tongue. Loki didn’t stop; easing the flat gently against your pussy as he held you steady to his face.
"Loki," you panted again, patting him on the shoulder. Loki shook his head.
In seconds, the crest of another orgasm ran over you like a train; heavy puffs filling the air as you tried not to create a red alert.
"Oh my god, oh my god…" you slurred under your breath, flopping into Loki’s rising body as he stood. He kept your leg elevated, hooking it around his hip. You heard the pop of his trouser buttons, felt the dip of his knees as he hoisted himself free.
"Be a good girl for me, Agent." Loki whispered with a wolfish smile. Hair fell around his face, strands sticking to the glisten coating his lips and chin. You kissed him in response, sucking his bottom lip between your teeth while your arms slid over his shoulders. Loki growled. He dragged his heavy cock between your folds, coating it.
"Quiet." he ordered calmly, before bottoming out with a single thrust.
It lifted you from the floor.
Bottles rattled on the shelf behind, knocking into one another. Loki’s hand steadied one about to fall, his fingers gripping against the shelf when he was done. His hips lilted against your core with the tiniest of movements; stretching your cunt the way he always did. One of his pretty little staggered moans fluttered over your skin. And then, he began to thrust.
Loki’s grip tightened on your bare calf, sinking into the soft flesh as he bottomed out again and again. Your fingernails dug deeper into his shoulders, mounds meeting with every fuck between an obscene squelch. The scent of your cum on his mouth with every increasingly heavy breath made you clench, the t-shirt tangling beneath your grasping fingers at his back. You pulled the neckline down, sucking against his chest as his head fell back.
Loki’s teeth were gritted to the ceiling, shadows carved into his cheekbones under the single fluorescent light that hung as witness. With every nailing buck of his hips, air was knocked from your lungs. But you kept your word – you were quiet; internally screaming his name as Loki of Asgard fucked you against the bleach and paper towels.
His head fell forward, slutty strands of hair sticking to a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. The effort of restraint was getting to him too, it seemed.
‘Going to cum,’ he mouthed with slanted, subby brows. You nodded, mouth hanging open.
Loki’s lips crashed to yours, a force of air pummelling down your throat as he groaned his thundering climax deep into your mouth. His hips shook, the bottles behind you tumbling together. There was a thick crunch as the shelf he was gripping splintered in two. Loki broke from your kiss, moist forehead pressed to yours. He was panting heavily, Norse curses coming jumbled in breathy croaks.
"Fuck…" he choked. You slid your palms up his cheeks, pushing the hair back from his face.
"At least I was quiet," you whispered. Loki chuckled, sighing against your cheek.
"This is what you do to me, woman-" he hummed, carefully returning your leg to the floor. There was a delicious throb in your pussy as his cock slid free.
You paused the work of his hand as he attempted to return it to his underwear; crouching down and sucking the remnants of arousal from the tip. He squeezed it from the base, making a fresh pearl appear. You licked it, placing a lingering kiss on the tip and looking up at him as you did it.
"Fuck." the god repeated quietly. The hard K lingered.
You caught a glimpse of yourself in a dingy mirror in the corner. Cheeks flushed, makeup smeared, hair...un-salvageable. "We can’t keep doing this, Loki.’ you said decisively. ‘Steve’s not stupid."
“You asked me to come and save you from your scheduled drudgery with Rogers, so I did.” He stepped closer, drawing his nose down your temple, placing a soft kiss at the edge of your ear.
“I always will,” he whispered, “you know that.”
He wasn’t just talking about the meetings.
"I didn’t think you’d wear the tight v-neck, Loki…" you mumbled, trying frantically to fix your hair into some semblance of non-fucked-outness. "You know what that thing does to me."
"Perhaps next time, you can assign an outfit in my possession that does not provoke this reaction," Loki purred, sliding his hands around your hips.
He kissed your neck, slow and deep; working his lips into the curve.
"Personally I cannot think of one..." he whispered coyly in your ear.
A/N. Just a little note to say that my posting schedule (such as it is) is dropping slightly (actually, it already has - but I like being structured, so here we are) I'm planning to post a oneshot every two weeks for the foreseeable, at least the next few months. This will most likely be a Wednesday, as per 🤗
So, Wednesday March 13th, Wednesday March 27th and so on.
I'm balls deep in a project which I am SO EXCITED ABOUT and it's taking up a lot of time (which is great, because it's fun!) but as you know, my Loki stories and little fantasies mean the world to me and I love being involved here, it makes me really happy, so that's also very important. This way, I can manage both♥️
I know there will be no complaints, I'm aware how lucky I am to have some of the kindest, sweetest readers around. I just wanted to solidify The Plan™️. I'm still here in between posting dates with my usual nonsense obv, no change there 🤣🕵️
I've seen a few posts of Tom's theatre performance of Coriolanus. After doing some digging I was able to find a really amazing version of it on Reddit. Here is the link! Enjoy this wonderful piece 😍😍
I know I've promised a Loki x reader story, but I have no idea how to begin. Then I have the self-doubt, will it be good enough? What if I make it sound cringe?
I want to make one as epic as so many I've read. I just don't know how to start.
Not me, in a movie theatre bathroom stall, freaking out over a Coriolanus screening at my cinema.
Went to check times, locations, etc on the app and couldn't find it 😭😭😭
If anyone knows where I can find this performance somewhere, I'll forever be in your debt. I have seen so many gifs of this and I'm dyyyying to watch it!
A now-familiar sadness crossed his features, followed by a masculine hunger.
“You’re so different,” he murmured, still touching her. Studying her as if memorizing her.
His deep voice rolled over you like liquid velvet, wrapping around you like a summer breeze and sending warmth pooling teasingly between your spread thighs. He had left you clothed this time - if the lacy scraps of black lace could even be described as clothing - but with the predatory glimmer shining in his green eyes, you felt completely bare before him.
Thin, silver shackles complimented the black lace, encasing your wrists and ankles securely and tying them off so that you were spread eagle against the cool wall of the bedroom. You pulled against them weakly, almost as if testing their strength, and Loki only grinned wolfishly as they clinked quietly in the silence.
“Pull all you wish, darling, you aren’t going anywhere until I allow it,” he purred. “And you look so lovely in those restraints that I have no intention of releasing you anytime soon,” he added, the low rumble of his voice having your hips roll shamelessly towards him. You could almost get off on the sound of his voice alone.
His footsteps were silent on the bedroom floor as he began to approach, each slow, measured step sending your heart leaping in your chest. Dressed casually in a deep black cashmere sweater and equally dark black jeans, he didn’t appear outwardly menacing, but the presence of the shackles was enough of an indication that you were in for a very long night.
He stopped directly before you, reaching out to drag one slim finger along your cheek and down between your breasts, sending a trail of goosebumps erupting over your skin. “Do you have any idea what it does to me, darling? Seeing you so helpless like this?” he purred, his fingers having drifted to ghost over your cunt through the thin lace of your underwear, enough to tease, but not enough to grant you any modicum of pleasure.
You bucked shamelessly into his touch, sending the slender chains tinkling musically with each sharp movement. “Please, Loki…” you begged on a whisper of breath, already needing to feel him inside you. His hard cock was straining against his jeans, so tantalisingly close but yet so far out of your reach.
Already, you knew that you would beg for it without complaint if he asked you to.
His hand quickly rose from your cunt to roughly grasp your throat, forcing your head back against the wall and giving you no choice but to meet his gaze. “You’ll address me as “my King” tonight, darling. Understood?” His voice was soft but deadly and sent a thrum of searing arousal coursing through your blood.
You swallowed thickly around his hand, trying in vain to nod against the gentle pressure of his fingers around your throat. “Yes, my King.”
Just as quickly as his elegant fingers had wrapped around you they released you, falling back between your thighs to circle your clit for only a matter of seconds as reward. “Good girl,” Loki said quietly, and let his hand drop.
His brief touch was enough to make you whimper and pull against the restraints, enough to make sharp tendrils of pleasure shoot teasingly through your core and taunt you with the beginning of a release he was hours away from granting you.
If you were lucky.
The anticipation of the unknown was making you restless and caused the unbroken soft melody of the chains to fill the quiet of the room. You ached for him, ached for the barest trace of his touch on your skin, be it the gentle press of his finger along an outstretched limb or the soft brush of his lips against the sensitive underside of your jaw.
You ached for him.
“My King, please can -,” you began, desperate to feel his skin against yours, only to be silenced by his strong hand moving quickly to clasp your jaw.
“Hush,” he said, though not unkindly. “Don’t make me gag you, pet.” His soft voice dripped with warning as he grazed his lips against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver shooting down your spine.
One hand remained gripping your jaw, allowing glittering green eyes to watch your every expression as he trailed the fingers of the other teasingly along the inside of your inner thigh. A stuttered little whimper pushed through your lips at how good his touch felt and at how it had your cunt clench and desperately try to rub against the smooth head of the vibe that he had secured between your thighs.
When his fingers fell away, you expected him to repeat the trail on the other side to frustrate you even further, but he didn’t.
What you felt instead was the pointed tip of a dagger dragging lazily along the skin of your thigh, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough that the sharp sting had you trembling with fresh, undiluted arousal.
“Ah, ah. Careful, pet,” Loki chided softly, still running the tip of the knife along your sensitive skin. “One wrong move and I blemish this beautiful body.”
Oh so slowly he continued running the tip of the blade along your body, letting you feel just how dangerous it was and how one wrong move on his part could easily draw blood. You felt no fear, though, as he dragged it along the soft skin at the bottom of your stomach. Loki would sooner cut off his own hand than hurt you.
The biting cold of the dagger mixed with the threatening sharpness of its pointed blade had the muscles in your stomach twisting and jumping, and for the longest moment you didn’t dare to even breathe lest it plunge the knife into your stomach.
The illusion of fear, though, had your underwear soaked.
“Very good, pet,” Loki purred softly, his fingers digging gently into the skin of your jaw. “I’m impressed.”
Your reply - whatever it had been - faded from your mind when he skillfully hooked the blade through the band of your underwear, easily snapping it until it fell loosely to one side only to repeat the action on the other until they whispered to the floor in a puddle of expensive lace.
“You won’t be needing those tonight,” he continued, tracing the sharp tip of his dagger along your stomach and over the slopes of your breasts. Your already peaked nipples cried out for attention, be in the warm, wetness of his mouth of the chill of the blade pressed against them.
“Or this,” he murmured again in your ear, snapping the straps of your bra so easily with his dagger they may as well have been made of paper. Slowly, so slowly, he raised the dagger so the point was pressing directly into your skin, moving it with gentle force down your breast and lightly over one nipple.
A moan vibrated in your throat, your back half arching in an attempt to chase the cruel press of the blade against your skin again. The danger was intoxicating, almost leaving you drunk in its absence, and you never wanted it to end.
“Barely a movement, pet. I’m proud,” he said lightly, though the edge of mischief coloured his words, so much so that your cunt once again clenched around the still silent vibe. “But I made it easy for you.”
With the quiet click of a finger, the wand between your thighs buzzed to life, the furious vibrations enough to have you double over if it hadn’t been for the chains securing you to the bedroom wall. For a brief moment, you forgot all about the blade, your only thought being to chase the pleasure that the wand would easily grant you.
Shamelessly, you bucked and rolled your hips, your moans sounding whorish to even your own ears, and for only a second, Loki allowed it.
Only to press the cool blade back against your thigh, ready to begin its journey along your body once again.
The wand remained buzzing frantically against your clit. “I hope you can keep very, very still, pet.”
