Incubus!Loki bargains for one night with the Sorcerer Supreme in exchange of ancient knowledge that Stephen requires.(if you don't mind add in some spice too)
I looooooved your touch-starved demon!Tony (chef's kiss 😘)so this is kinda inspired by it 😅
This got way longer than intended. Also nothing spicy yet, I'm afraid.
Anyway. If you’re curious what the touch-starved demon!Tony is, go here.
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Find the creature with the sharpest of wings, the master sorceress from twelfth dimension had said. With eyes of emerald and tail of venom.
With only that bit of description to go by, Stephen had — rightfully so — expected the subject of his search to be a majestic creature, like a dragon. What other creature could fit the description of such sharp, intimidating features?
It certainly did not help that he’d had to pass several hurdles to get here, deceptions and elusive traps he couldn’t help but interpret as some sort of test, as if the being had set them up to judge the competence of their seekers. Powerful ancient creatures were known for their enormous ego; for all Stephen knew, they simply liked to put their seekers through hardships, maybe to mock them, or assess if they were “worthy” of having an audience with them.
So when, after a long and tiring day, Stephen finally arrived at the odd hut in the middle of nowhere and was greeted not b the sight of a majestic dragon, but that of a much, much lesser creature...
Well, he wondered how Wong would feel about ending their alliance with the twelfth dimension by dropping their master sorceress into a portal to the infinite sky dimension.
Wong would probably not be amused by that.
The creature was leaning his back against a wall, green wings tucked, hands crossed over his chest, menacing tail flicking around lazily. There was a hint of smile in his lips, a smile that promised mischief.
“You have my acknowledgement, sorcerer. There aren’t many who have slipped past my traps and found the true me. So, what brings you here?” He lilted his head curiously.
Stephen couldn’t help but notice the way the emerald of his eyes shone brighter at the different light angle. The sparse scales on his body and the color of his wings were also green, but a darker shade. The main bends of his wings showcased a pair of very sharp spikes protruding out of the wing bones, pitch black in color. His accent color — which included highlights on his wings which, typically, were expected to be a bright lustrous color for his species — was also black. And from what Stephen could see of his nape, he was fairly certain there were retractable spikes running down the being’s entire spine.
His horns were interesting; very long and very pointed at the end, curved towards the back. They were pitch black but for bright gold veins that ran across, standing out against the darkness. It was the only hint of gold in his entire form, though.
And then his tail — it was not the slim, lithe kind that Stephen would imagine when thinking of a succubus or incubus. Instead it was thick and seemed to have a strength to it, covered by impenetrable ridged scales on the anterior side, its tip ending like an arrow head pitch-black in color with only a single thin line of bright, neon green running down the middle of that blackness. It definitely screamed that it could spit out venom, but Stephen was calling that bluff. Incubi were not venomous, just a little aphrodisiac.
Stephen had read that incubi and succubi could shape their own appearance in their growing years. But looking at this one, he wondered if Kamar-Taj’s information was wrong and the creature in front of him was just an unlucky mix of genes from both parents.
It was a very bold, very non-traditional look, that this incubus possessed. As if it was meant to be intimidating.
Then why did Stephen find it so damn beautiful?
He shook his head, partly in answer to the incubus’s question but mostly to snap himself out of his daze and stop blatantly staring at the incubus. “Nevermind,” he said. “I must have the wrong address. You don’t look like my guy.” With that, he turned to leave through the door.
A shadow zapped past faster than he could notice, and suddenly he found his path blocked by large unfurled wings and emerald eyes.
“Ah, but you do not yet know that I’m not your ‘guy’, do you?”
Stephen narrowed his eyes. “No, I’m quite certain. Now, move.”
“What’s the hurry now, sorcerer?” His voice grew just a hint sultry. “You must be tired after such arduous journey. Perhaps you could use some.. Rest.” The incubus, now in Stephen’s personal space — when had that happened? — caressed his cheek with one sharp, black fingernail, the sensation sending goosebumps down Stephen’s spine. He stepped a little closer to Stephen’s ear, close enough that Stephen could feel warm breaths against his neck, and whispered in a smooth, sultry voice, “What do you say? Won’t you like a good time?”
Stephen shivered. He knew he needed to leave, needed to step away because this was all just the incubus’s natural charm aura that had him so mesmerized. But.. he couldn’t. He liked that singular point of touch, wanted more of it, wanted to hear more of that smooth voice.
A sharp-nailed thumb joined the caressing index finger, nudging Stephen’s face closer to the incubus’s, their touch careful and gentle despite the sharpness of the claws.
Stephen glanced down at the said perfect claws, then back up at the bright green eyes.
“Your appearance is quite bold, for a sex demon. Just how many people have you managed to bed, sashaying that venomous tail around?”
The incubus’s smile grew impossibly wide, showing a peek of sharp, predatory fangs. “Humans have all varieties of preferences, sorcerer. Not all wish to have a docile, pliant being to warm their bed. Some like a challenge. To play with a little danger, if you will. Say, aren’t you someone who also likes that? Don’t you fantasize about taming danger?” He held Stephen’s cheek properly now, the cool of his palm and sharpness of his claws leaving a strangely warm tingling sensation on Stephen’s skin. When the incubus next spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“Or perhaps you wish to be tamed by it?”
Stephen swatted his hand away, backing a step away as he struggled to snap himself out of the odd feeling of high. He vaguely registered that his heart was pounding loudly in his chest, and he was feeling a little lightheaded, but he could assess himself all he wanted once he was out of here.
“You are wasting my time here. Unless you’re any help in telling me how to find the Book of Vishanti, move.”
“Ah.” The incubus said, his demeanor seemingly changing from flirtatious to formal in a flick of a switch. “So you search for the book that does not exist.”
“Right, of course,” Stephen drawled, finally able to shoulder past the incubus, now that he wasn’t so firmly blocking his way.
As Stephen exited, though, he missed the devious smirk on the lips of the incubus he left behind.
“Does not exist in this plane, that is.”
Stephen paused at that, turning around to look at the incubus. “And what would you know about which plane that book exists in?” His skepticism was loud and clear in his tone. Because there was no way a lowly creature as him could know anything about such a sacred book.
The incubus simply raised an eyebrow at him. “More than you, that I’m certain.”
“You’re bluffing.”
That prompted him to raise both eyebrows. “Oh, am I?” He hummed in a pretense of giving it a thought. “Ah! Then you must also be able to tell if this is a bluff: It rests where all paths cross yet none lead. A place between places, seen only by those who do not seek it.”
There was no way some incubus had such an information. “Where’d you get that? Did you sleep with some master sorcerer to cajole it out of them?”
The incubus smiled like the cat that got the cream. “Please, like I would have need of such trivial methods when I possess much more knowledge than you could ever conceive.”
He was lying, he had to be. Stephen had a total of five sentences worth of credible information on the Book of Vishanti, and he had just spoken two of the five. He simply happened to be lucky. It was just cheap deception, Stephen was sure. This creature was full of tricks, after all. “Tell me, where did you get that information. Who told you?”
“Denial does not become you, sorcerer,” the incubus said, slowly turning away from Stephen. “But if you insist.. then I suppose I shall take my leave—”
“Wait!” Stephen reached out with a hand, brushing past the cold edge of a wing, and caught his arm. The incubus paused, looking back at him with an inquisitive raised eyebrow. Stephen swallowed around the dryness in his throat, swallowing his pride along with it. “Wait. What will you trade.. for knowledge?”
The incubus hummed fully turning to face him, and suddenly turned haughty, pretending to be fascinated by his sharp black nails. “Oh, I don’t know. Could someone like me truly know about your all-powerful sacred books of light?”
Stephen held back a wince.
Yeah, he probably deserved that.
“Look, you wanted to sleep with me didn’t you? I’ll consent to that, if you trade me the knowledge of where to find the Book of Vishanti.”
The incubus stared at him with an unreadable expression for a long moment. “You are a curious one, I must say. Willing to surrender your soul for a night not for the promises of pleasure and ecstasy, but for a speck of knowledge which you have no way to verify the truth of.”
“I just like to try out all ventures I can.” It was bullshit. Truth was, Stephen had damn near exhausted all of his resources in search of this book which he only barely knew was real at all. Something was coming, something big, and it promised destruction on Earth. Stephen still hadn’t found a viable way to stop it or defend against it, and he was growing desperate.
So if he had to sleep with a sex demon for the ultimate protection of Earth, so be it.
“Very well,” the incubus said, and if Stephen knew better, he’d have thought that the demon had clocked him on his bullshit. “Then, two days from now, I expect a fine Midgardian dinner arrangement from you.”
Stephen’s brow slowly furrowed as he tried to interpret those words. “Wait. What do you mean a dinner? I thought it’s only sex.”
That smile of mischief was back in his face. “Call me Loki. I expect a welcome at sharp 8 o’clock, Stephen.” With that, the incubus — Loki — vanished into the air in a flash of green.
Hey there, Boo! Can I get some ai art-generated Incubus Loki and Werewolf Loki?
Also, here's some Loki for u xx
Heeeey dear!!! There were so fun to make!!!! But, in all honesty I had no idea how to make a werewolf and have him look like him lol so I improvised.....🥰
“Who are you,” she whispered again, growing weak in the knees, throbbing intensely between her legs, because he was right; he did have an effect on her body and she couldn’t control it... but she also didn’t want that control any longer. Every nerve in her body lit up when he touched her and she wanted to throw herself into the current so badly, his current. She wanted to give in to every last temptation he enticed her with, night, after torturous night. She wanted to experience every last nasty act he promised.
“You already know my name, and very soon, you will be screaming it.” He had audacity, that’s for sure. Although cocky was never her thing, it fit him nicely. “Then what are you?” At that question, his eyes flashed an iridescent green and his nostrils flared. One hand flew to her throat, each talon-like finger imprinting against her throat, and the other roughly grabbed her breast. “I am your inner demon. I am your new master. I am Loki.”
Coming to frostbitten_written on AO3 in October 2022
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Adam reached out to an old acquaintance for help.
18+ only, eventually. Tags on AO3
“Alice? Alice! Oh, my dear, let us help you up!”
A woman’s voice, with a pretty English accent cut into Kay’s fogged thoughts like a piece of broken glass.
Her head hurt so much.
For a moment Kay thought based on the aching pain in her right temple and her fuzzy vision she might have hit her head but reaching tentatively up, she realized that it was because her glasses were missing and her hair was pulled back very tightly, into an elaborate shape that pulled on the back of her head.
“I don’t have this much hair,” she said, as fussing hands carefully took her arms, supported her back, while that same woman’s voice murmured that they needed to be careful of her leg. That she was a cripple, and so fragile, speaking to another person who was standing behind Kay, gingerly holding her waist, which felt like it was corseted.
With her feet under her, though with one of them hurting a lot, Kay tried to pull her arm free from the woman’s hard grip. “Excuse me? I cannot believe that anyone would use such archaic, insulting, ableist language. I am not Alice, but whomever she may be, you are being highly disrespec-”
Even without her glasses, Kay got the sense of the large room, filled with dark, elaborate furnishings, and very close to her was a tall, sternly beautiful woman with dark hair, gripping her upper arm tightly while delicately touching her cheek to stroke back a lock of hair.
Without asking permission.
“I am fine,” Kay said, pulling her arm free and taking a step.
Her left leg shot with a terrible, twisting pain and collapsed beneath her. The woman and the other person quickly grasped her, stopping her from falling.
“The poor thing is confused. Perhaps the fall jarred her wits. Thomas, take her upstairs. She needs a good rest.” The woman’s tone was saccharinely condescending, her expression pleased.
Again, with no permission asked, Kay felt herself swept up into a pair of long, strong arms. The young man who lifted her had dark gold hair, whose curls were pomaded into place, and deep hazel eyes that looked at her with concern. He was handsome, very tall based on how high off of the ground she felt, and familiar.
Unconsciously patting him on the fine, white linen of his shirt in a nervous way, words spilled out of her like water from a knocked-over glass, “You’re Mas Preston. Thomas Preston. I’m Kay Quinn, your great-aunt -” Then she stopped and looked at everyone’s clothing, or what she could see of it by squinting very hard.
“Why are we dressed like we’re in Downton Abbey?”
Both he and the beautiful woman looked at her like she was out of her mind, and for a second Kay wondered if she was.
Like before, the woman spoke over her head, as she might a child, “Oh! You see Thomas? Our dear Alice’s wits are … distracted. Take her to rest whilst I make her a nice cup of tea.”
The ruins of Allerdale Hall, shortly after sunset -
Adam felt the sun disappear, and for once in his life rose quickly, with no grumbling.
Pushing broken boards and the scorched and rotten Persian carpet he had covered himself in when the sun had risen and he had been forced to give up his search, he sat within the massive fireplace of the great hall where he had curled up to sleep. Ancient ashes stained his hands and clothing, powdered his hair like a peruke, and had Adam needed to breathe he would have been choking on its silt.
For a brief moment, he found himself slipping into superstition long left behind with his mortal life, mentally praying that he would find Kay.
The night before, from the time she had disappeared had been a blur.
At first, Adam had tried to be rational. He recalled falling to his knees, stripping off and tossing away his gloves, and lightly tracing his fingers over her shoe prints, which had formed in the deep red clay that spilled across the hall. Their very existence was impossible. That clay, which had oozed up from the mine below as the house settled and the wooden floor of the hall separated, was hard and smooth as stone from both the fire that had wrecked most of the house and the more than hundred years that had passed since then.
Her trainer prints looked as if they had been there all of that time.
When he touched them, trying to sense something, anything of Kay, what he had felt, what he read, was not possible. The clay, the silica, the alumina, the magnesia, the iron oxide, all together insisted that she had stepped upon it when it was still wet and fresh and reeking of the deep places of the earth.
After that he had called for Kay, angry, loud, forcing himself to be rational.
Which lasted for about five minutes.
Ignoring Owen and Jon, who were trying to tell him where the floor was rotten, and which rooms the ceiling had collapsed into, and not caring that they could see, Adam moved with all of the speed he had, using the lightness of step that speed gave him to scour Allerdale.
They quickly gave up trying to follow him. Actually, he’d heard Owen making noises that made it clear that what he was seeing was one step too far for him, and that he was going to the car. Jon had called his Great-aunt, and when he’d tried to get Adam to take the phone and talk to Lady Sharpe, he’d been unable to control himself.
He rounded on him, fangs descended, eyes wide, and told him to tell her Ladyship to go fuck herself.
“Right. Good idea,” he’d gulped. “Carry on.”
The moldering rooms, some of them filled with little more than charred wood and dust, others barely touched by the caprice of the fire or time, were empty.
He found the dark, horrible nursery on the top floor, with its terrible mural of nightmarish children’s story characters and black painted, comfortless furnishings. For a moment Adam held the doorway, thinking of Thomas, and Lucille, and their terrible childhood, and the promise that Alice Sharpe had forced from him that if their family ever needed his aid he would be there. Her fierce, hazel eyes meeting his stare in a way that no human ever had before or since in her anger.
Alice felt far, far more anger than Thomas felt for himself, because that was how love worked.
Adam knew that, because he wished all of the Sharpes, and the Meadows-Sharpes, and the Prestons were fucking dead and buried and gone forever, and that if he couldn’t find Kay, or if she were even the slightest bit hurt when he did find her, they would all fucking wish they were.
Stepping into the room, what looked like a black, wooly carpet, moved.
Thousands of black wings - Biston betularia f. carbonaria , black peppered moths, a species that had once had white wings speckled with black that had been mutated by Industrial melanism in the 19th century into an all but uniform darkness - fluttered and waved, disturbed by the open door and Adam’s presence. That there were so many, pressed so closely together, wasn’t a normal behavior, but he didn’t have time to consider what it meant, other than that no one had probably come in this room in a very long time.
He still had to look.
A cloud of black moths rose from where they blanketed a carpet that was now little more than a net of strings and flew at him.
Batting them away, backing up, tangled with them, with a bit of tapestry that had fallen when he’d opened the door, they were in his mouth, in his nose, aggressive, swarming more like bees or birds than anything else. Spitting, arms waving, he forced his way in, taking their papery wings in his hands and crushing, throwing them back to the ground in handfuls, as they landed on his neck, his face, the few places where his skin was uncovered, seeking sweat that he didn’t have, the mucus that his nose did not produce, fighting each other for the microscopic flecks of bloody spital near the corners of his mouth.
Running across the room, through them, Adam smashed his arms through dirt and smoke-blackened windows. There were those of his kind that could control animals and insects, he was not one of them, but the cool, fresh air acted like a drug on the Lepidoptera that had lived in this wretched house for so long they had never experienced it before.
All of them fell away from him, other than those that were caught in his hair, struggling and dying there.
They spun drunkenly on his body before separating into those that flew through the broken glass like a black arrow and those that fell back to the floor, huddling unnaturally together, their wings sluggishly fluttering.
Adam had not had time to descend to the mines before the sun had begun to rise and sap his strength, the implacable and uncaring daylight that no vampire could defy for long, especially one who’d not fed properly in over a day. He’d all but crawled back down the stairs and into the hearth, pulling cover with him.
Now, with the black sky visible through the broken roof, he knew that he couldn’t continue his search without blood or help. Not the worthless, fucking help of the Sharpe’s and their underlings. Staring across the floor at Kay’s prints, seeing nothing, for a moment he felt close to her. Close enough to whisper.
He had been furious, manic, hysterical the night before. Now he fought the rise of it in him. Hungry and terrified as he was, Adam knew he would be dangerous to others and useless to Kay if he didn't keep it the fuck together.
He smelled rats in the walls. He wasn't that hungry yet.
“Kay…. You better not be dead,” he said to the empty air before standing and shrugging free of the rubble to get the last of the blood she had cleverly stashed for him, hoping it hadn’t dried up entirely, and to call a friend.
The tea they kept feeding Kay was disgusting. Bitter and biting. She had grown up in a community filled with hippies and New Age types, so she had a lot of experience with home-mixed, terrible herb teas and this was the worst.
But for some reason, she kept drinking it. Drinking it and trying to explain that she wasn’t who they thought she was, and that she was cold. When she would try to stand, to move away, one of her legs would shoot with pain, sometimes the left, sometimes the right, and she would fall back onto the big chair they’d pushed by the fire for her. The pain and the bitter tea and the thick, moldy air made it very hard to think.
Kay did not like any of it, yet nothing she said convinced them she wasn’t named Alice, and after a while, she wondered if she were the one that was wrong.
The woman would pat her hand softly, looking at her with icy, avid eyes that didn’t match her sympathetic expression. The man would fuss with his cuffs and look uncomfortable, but his sympathy was real.
Kay had a vague memory that his hair had been dark gold when they met, but now it was dark, not black, but dark, the same color and curl as the woman’s. That his skin had been lightly weathered but was now paler and paler, like he’d been inside for a very long time.
Raising a limp arm, covered in a lace shawl, she noticed that she, too, was very pale indeed.
There were times he - Mas, Thomas, her husband or a stranger, she couldn’t recall which - opened his mouth to speak to Kay, a look of confusion in his eyes, but then the woman, Lucille, would lead him gently away or play the piano. The music was beautiful, and oftentimes he would fall asleep leaning on Lucille’s red satin covered shoulder, and she would stroke his hair, murmuring lovingly to him in a way that made Kay want to throw the hot tea on him, scream, make a scene, anything to wake him up.
She didn’t know why, and it didn’t matter since she didn’t have the strength.
Sitting close to the massive fireplace, shivering, holding a cup of the tea which at least was warm, Kay stared at the fire, and once she had the silly thought that it stared back at her. That within the fire rose a man made of smoke, tall and wild-haired, shoulders hunched as he climbed out and passed right through her, smelling of copper pennies and ink.
For a moment Kay tried to touch him, but to no avail.
Silly Alice, she thought to herself, taking another sip. No, silly Kay, she corrected herself, looking at her husband and sister-in-law looking at her and whispering to each other where they sat side by side at the piano, wondering if it mattered at all what her name was.
She heard, "mad" and "it’s a kindness, Thomas."
If she was seeing phantoms in the fireplace maybe she was a little mad, after all.
When “Transylvania'' by Phillip Feeney from Act 1 of the Ballet Dracula played on his phone, echoing softly in the high ceilings of the suite, Loki cursed softly for two reasons.
One, it interrupted a crucial moment of his story, where his heroine was finally starting to understand the level of danger she was in and was ready to take steps. It was hard for him to write when on a reading tour, and he loathed writing on a laptop, so that he’d been able to work was little short of miraculous.
Two, it meant that Laurel had been fucking around with his phone settings again, since he’d had set a simple, quiet chiming noise to alert him to a call, not a piece of music from a ballet about the most famous fictional vampire of all time.
The Dracula business was very much her humor.
Not recognising the number he declined the call.
Looking back at the screen, he took off the glasses he wore but had no need for and lightly tapped his philtrum with their temple tip as he considered if perhaps he should -
“Transylvania” played again.
This time he turned off the ringer but let it go to voicemail.
Sitting up straight, he gently touched his fingertips to the keyboard and-
Again.
His eyes narrowed, and for a moment Loki idly considered throwing the bloody thing out of the window, or rather thru it since the sash was closed. No. It would be an annoyance to replace both the phone and explain to the hotel management about the glass, so he let it ring itself out.
“Who keeps calling?” Laurel leaned in the doorway, an old paperback copy of The Elementals by Michael McDowell in her hand, a finger holding her place.
Loki shrugged.
“Well, find out or turn off your phone. That music is really annoying.”
He might have been irked at that, had she not been giving him a very self-satisfied smile at the same time, which he found delightful. She was doing so well these days that almost nothing could interfere with his generally pleasant mood.
The fourth time it rang he picked it up, and the voice on the other end turned out to be one of the things that could.
“Bredg.”
“I haven’t used that name since before you were born. Jem . Or should I say AJ? ”
Normally he would have expected an exasperated huff or audible eye-roll, rather than the hasty response he got.
“Loki.”
“Adam. I cannot imagine what would induce you to call me. Your antisocial tendencies have always been your most attractive quality.”
“I need your help, and I’ll give you anything you want for it, I don’t have time for fucking around with posturing or vampire garbage. You owe me.”
“I cannot imagine what you think you might have that I could either require or desire. Furthermore, I owe Eve, not you. Or rather owed her. I am sorry for your loss,” he added, meaning it with a sincerity he’d not have been capable of feeling prior to Laurel. “She was most exceptional, as was your bond. I understand you killed Phillipe, well done. The night is better without him.”
There was a tense and surprised, “Yeah, thanks,” followed by a silence that Loki felt no desire to fill with chatter. Then, as if he were about to vomit up a stomach’s worth of jagged glass and centipedes, Adam said, “Please. I know there isn’t a fucking reason for you to help me, but please. I - I’ve - there is a woman, human, not one of us. I love her, and something has happened. Please. And she’s the one that killed Phillipe, I just cleaned up after her.”
Hmmm… that was interesting. Adam and Eve had been the most devoted couple Loki had ever met in his hundreds of years of existence. When she’d been killed it had been something of a surprise that Adam had not followed. That he should have found love again so quickly struck Loki as unjust. It had taken him a millennium after the death of his kona to find another. “Why me? What can I offer? I have no special skills in finding missing humans.”
“It’s.…” Again, Adam’s distaste for what he was about to say was palpable. “There is something supernatural involved.”
Sitting forward, with an eager smile, Loki could hear the purr in his own voice, “Why, Adam, I thought we did not believe in the supernatural.”
“We do now,” was ground out on the other end.
“Why not ask that raggedy verse-making liar Marlowe you are so fond of? He’s fought a few witches and spooks in his unlife.”
“I fucking called him first. He can’t get here soon enough to do me any good, so he gave me your number since he knew you were in Scotland.”
Ah, Marlowe always knew where the most dangerous of their kind were. Once a spy, always a spy. “What good does my being in Scotland do you? I thought you were enjoying the subterranean life in some college town in the Midwest.”
“England. Cumbria. Allerdale Hall.”
Loki’s dead heart could not leap or it would have, as dark memories flooded his mind. “Well, now, there is a name to conjure with. Very well, Adam, you have my help.”
Let me know if you want to be added to this or any other tag list -
This absolute winner of a house is up on Zillow at the moment and I can't help but feel this is exactly what incubus Loki as created by @nildespirandum would decorate Nora's house like if she left him alone in it for even 20mins unsupervised:
For sale This 5611 square foot single family home has 7 bedrooms and 4.0 bathrooms. It is located at 1031 2nd St Hudson, Wisconsin.
This story contains themes that may be offensive and/or triggering for some readers. Please be aware that this is only a piece of fiction and make sure to heed the warnings before proceeding. For more information on the topic of dark themes, please refer to my FAQ.
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Additional NSFW warnings: CMNF, forced orgasms
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God of Mischief. Trickster. God of Lies. Incubus. You sucked up the written words with wide eyes like a vampire sucking a young woman’s blood.
The library was your safe haven to relax at after work, day in and out. You would spend hours browsing the bookshelves, discovering century year old gems. But nothing prepared you for what you found tonight and you were so caught up in the many stories about the Old Norse gods—especially Loki—that you never noticed how it got dark outside and the clock struck nine. The library was about to close.
“Jesus Christ, (Y/N)!” Mrs Bings was a loving lady in her mid-sixties. She had been running the library for more than twenty years. You knew each other well because of your daily visits—and it wasn’t the first time you almost gave her a heart attack. “It’s nine already, I’m closing now, darling.”
“Oh, wait, really? Already?” Eyes widening, you checked your watch. Shit, she was right. You had to be up early again tomorrow and you needed an hour at the very least to get back home by bus. “I’m sorry, Mrs Bings… I think I fell in love with this book.”
“Well then, take it home with you, darling. Off you go, my husband is waiting for me.” You smiled. You wished you had someone waiting for you to come home every evening.
But as you packed up your things, said goodnight to Mrs Bings and headed towards the nearest bus station, sadness overcame you; and the icy November weather did not exactly help. Your life really could do with a turn for the better. Every day you forced yourself out of bed and to a job you detested. Every month you struggled to pay your bills and buy food and every night you fell asleep in bed alone, without someone cuddling up to you, craving your touch and whispering sweet nothings in your ear.
So you fled. You fled from everyday life into paganism and witchcraft and found new strength in your beliefs. Your opinion had not altered when you read about the New York incident and even seen some footage—quite on the contrary. You had been excited your favourite god had been on Midgard.
You were struggling to keep your eyes open by the time you finally unlocked your door and kicked off your shoes. You hadn’t even had supper yet. With a sigh, you simply grabbed the leftovers from yesterday’s lunch from the fridge and made yourself comfortable on your bed, the book you had brought from the library opened and right in front of you.
Surely Mrs Bings had no idea what rare gem she had been keeping on her bookshelves. The book was old—really old. Some passages were written in Old Norse, some even in runes; among them… a summoning ritual? You chuckled. You had seen this in movies, it usually did not end well. Still, your eyes kept wandering back to the handwritten runes in the book times and times again.
Would it work? The spell aimed to ask the great Odin Alfather for his council but if you changed up the words… no. This was way too dangerous. Assuming it did work, would it be wise to summon Loki to your flat in the middle of the night? He was an Incubus, after all—and you had read enough about these creatures to know that if they took a liking into you…
You swallowed thickly. Did your… pussy just clench upon the thought of becoming Loki’s human love slave? Incubi fed on their victim’s sexual energy but they made no secret out of enjoying the act in the process. Once they chose you, you belonged to them, unconditionally and until they decided to release you again. Given an Incubus’ life span, that could easily be the rest of your life.
But then again… Loki was also a Norse God, the man who had once attempted to take over the planet you lived on. He was dangerous in so many different aspects and if you summoned him… how likely it be it would not anger him? You doubted he would take kindly in you offering him some hot chocolate and biscuits so he would tell you exciting stories about his life.
You wondered where he was at. Last time you had seen him, it was on TV, wreaking havoc in New York City. Was he still imprisoned? Had he escaped? It could be anything—and with every passing second, your curiosity grew. There was a high chance it would not even work. This book must have been centuries old. People from that time were very superstitious.
Muttering to yourself, you read the words. Your Old Norse language skills could be improved but at least, you knew how to read runes and pronounce everything correctly. No… no this wasn’t smart. You definitely wouldn’t do it.
Shutting the book loudly, you stood to put your now empty plate in the sink and then disappeared in the bathroom for a quick shower.
Twenty minutes later you returned to your bedroom, wearing nothing more than a towel. You were so deep in thought you never noticed there was something in the way as you headed for the bed to pick up your nighty—not until you crashed right into it. Rubbing your head with a moan you looked up—and froze.
There was a man standing in your bedroom—and it wasn’t just any man. It was Loki. Norse God of Mischief. Trickster. God of Lies. Incubus.
“Oh… my God…” Slowly, you took a few steps backwards, never taking your eyes off of him all the while clutching your towel so tightly your knuckles turned white.
“You were the one who summoned me then?” He said calmly. There was both scorn and anger swinging in his smooth voice. Gods… this couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real! You must have slipped in the shower and hit your head really hard… yes… yes, that must have been it.
But when Loki approached you in a most threatening manner and with that scrutinising, intimidating gaze, you knew it indeed was real. The summoning ritual had actually worked. But you had only muttered the words to yourself, quietly!
“For more than a thousand years, no mortal has ever dared summon me to Midgard like a common slave. Who are you?”
“I… I… I’m so sorry, I… I didn’t think it would actually work…” Loki’s eyebrows shut up. He nodded at the book on your bed.
“So you were messing with these ancient incantations for fun?” You swallowed thickly. No... no, not really. But you could hardly tell him you were infatuated with him after New York of all things, now could you? He would never believe you.
“How were you even able to read the words?”
“I… am… I am… a witch. I mean… I find strength and guidance in the old pagan ways. My name is (Y/N). I’m so sorry, Loki. I didn’t mean to anger you.” You confessed honestly.
The God of Mischief glared at you. Gods, he was even more handsome up close—even though in this very moment, he scared the shit out of you.
“I see,” he replied thoughtfully after a second. “And yet, this does not excuse you summoning me here… to this place. Unless you will make up for it?” Nonchalantly, he waved his hand. With a start, his entire demeanour… changed.
“W-what do you mean?”
Loki’s blue eyes wandered up and down your body. Hungrily. “You are aware, I suppose, of what I demand in return for my council?” He paused. “You know what I am, do you not, little witch?” Once again, you swallowed, stumbling backwards when he closed the rather small distance between you and had you pressed against your bedroom door—still wearing nothing more than that stupid towel.
Sex with Loki… sex with an Incubus… you couldn’t quite tell if he wanted to punish you or reward you… or maybe both? Loki knew you hadn’t swapped Odin’s name with his by accident… and unbeknownst to you he rather enjoyed that little fact. He was angry… but he had to admit, he was also… intrigued. You were rather pretty for a mortal… ravishing, even.
Loki inhaled deeply. He hadn’t given in to his most carnal desires in so long… as part-Frost Giant, he had never had to rely on sexual energy to survive. But every now and then… it did feel good. Incredibly good.
“Kneel,” he heard himself say dominantly, his mind already picturing you in a very erotic position. Your terrified little eyes widened for him.
“W-what?”
“I said kneel. You summoned me. Me. So worship your god. Kneel before me.” His tone allowed no contradiction but your knees would not have supported you any longer anyways. Breathing heavily, you did as you were told and looked up at him timidly.
“Undo my trousers.” You gulped. You knew what he wanted from you and you knew how to give it to him. Your heartbeat sped up, fear rushing through you like gushing water at the seashore. Fear and… arousal?
Your hands were shaking when you reached up to unbutton his leather armour, revealing a semi-hard, long and thick shaft you doubted you would be able to fit all the way into your mouth. Still, you caught yourself licking your lips in joyful anticipation. You had never seen such a beautiful cock. What would he taste like?
“Go on. I can see it flicker in your eyes. Pleasure me. Do it well and I will reward you. Now drop that towel.” He ordered hoarsely then. Heat was pooling between your legs when you obliged, unable to resist him. His blue eyes instantly darkened at the sight of your bare skin, exploring your body greedily, lingering just a bit longer on your breasts and your pussy.
Gods, what in the nine realms was wrong with you? You shouldn’t be this turned on, should you?
Why… oh why did the thought of this arouse you so much? He was an incubus. Loki would feed on you if you gave him what he demanded and yet… all you felt was pure excitement, ecstasy even. You had read an incubus’ scent alone was enough to seduce a woman and in some cases, even immobilise her for him to have his way with her.
And just because he was asking for you to pleasure him with your mouth, that did not mean you were the one in charge—oh, quite on the contrary.
Had he somehow jinxed you already? Or were… were you doing this out of your own free will?
You only knew one thing. You did not want to wait for this any longer.
Loki hissed when you leaned forward and closed your lips around his tip, tasting a bit of precum on your tongue. And he tasted addictive.
Braver now, you ran it around him, licking over the slit and studying his reactions to figure out what he enjoyed the most. You moaned against him when he threw his head back joyfully and grabbed a fistful of your hair; the vibrations of your voice making him shiver.
Oh, if your mouth already felt like you had been made for him, then how deliciously must your tight quim mould around him?
With an animalistic growl, he urged you on to take more of him, gently but firmly pushing his length down your throat until you gagged. He let you get used to his intrusion for a moment, and then when you started bopping your head up and down on him eagerly, he nearly lost any self-control he possessed.
Soon, he was fucking your mouth vigorously, almost losing his mind upon seeing your naked form at his feet, bringing him pleasure unlike he had ever felt it before. Who could have known mortals made such lovely pets? Such skilled love slaves?
Loki decided in that moment that he would keep you. He quite enjoyed your submissive and timid attitude in his presence and he bathed in the excitement he was filled with when he towered above you, intimidating you, claiming you.
Surely every now and then, he could arrange some visits to Midgard. You had summoned him after all.
The God of Mischief growled when he felt his orgasm crawl up his spine. Desperate for a first release, he grabbed your head with both hands, speeding you up.
By now, you were licking and sucking him relentlessly. He was hard, he was aroused. You had done that. It felt like you were in a trance of pure lust—and you wanted him, no, you needed him to cum for you.
You moaned, with relish, when you finally got him there. Loki was throbbing in your mouth as he came undone, ropes and ropes of his seed shooting down your throat. There was so much of it you were, in spite of how eager you were, unable to swallow it all. It dribbled down from between your lips, staining the corners of your mouth, your chin and even your chest.
Loki pulled away from you after he had ridden out his climax, admiring how he had marked you.
“Hmm, such a good girl.” He praised. Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up at him with big eyes. Your whole body was on fire. You needed him to fuck you right now.
“Please…”
“Please what, my little witch?”
“Please… please take me now. Please.” Loki smirked smugly.
“Begging me so nicely… who am I to deny you?” Without any forewarning, he pulled you to your feet again and pressed your naked body against the door once more. Effortlessly, he lifted you up so you had to wrap your legs around his hips. His palms on your butt cheeks felt like molten gold burning your skin.
Impatiently, you dug your nails into his shoulders. And Loki wasted no more time. His aching length—still hard and demanding more—pressed against your entrance, testing your wetness. You were positively dripping for him. You were ready to take him.
Your pleasured scream sounded like music in his ears when he buried himself inside you to the hilt, feeling your tight walls clench around him greedily.
Oh, you needed him as much as he needed you. Your body was already his and your mind would soon follow. He would be merciful tonight, generous even—and he would give you what you craved… he would give you so much more than that.
Loki started fucking you hard and roughly sensing your ecstasy, the Incubus part of him pumping more and more precum into you. It was like a toxin, an aphrodisiac. Oh, but it could do a lot more than just seduce you to give in to him.
His clothes were rubbing against your bare skin with every thrust, each one aiming for you both to come undone in pure bliss. Never before had you been so aroused. With every time he rocked into you frantically, you felt yourself tiptoeing closer and closer to the edge—rapidly.
Your walls were beginning to tighten around him, unwilling to let him leave your welcoming warmth.
“Oh God… I will…” Eyes falling shut and rolling to the back of your head, a high-pitched scream escaped your lips as your climax rippled through you, shooting waves of pleasure through your limbs. Loki grunted. He could practically feel his body sucking up your energy—it felt so good—almost as good as an orgasm.
“Don’t. Stop.” He demanded darkly. “Keep cumming. Again. Do it. Now.”
“L-Loki… I can’t…” You did not get to finish your sentence. For you could. You tensed up and held your breath when you came again, your body barely having recovered from your first high. Loki’s relentless thrusts intensified the sensations even more and still, he didn’t stop.
“Oh… fuck, Loki…”
Was this right? By the Norns and Valhalla… again and again, the God of Mischief forced you to orgasm for him, each and every climax even stronger than the next… or was it just one, long orgasm that never ceased to stop?
The endorphins were clouding your mind, like fog on a cold autumn morning. Helpless and drugged, you hang limp in Loki’s arms, letting him do with you as he pleased. One more, delicious but exhausting orgasm followed before he finally stilled, twitching against your still rhythmically contracting walls and filling you up with so much of his seed, you felt it running down your inner thighs with a tickling sensation as soon as he pulled out. You whimpered at the loss of his long shaft.
You would have dropped to the floor if it wasn’t for him to catch you and lift you up like a bride, cradling you in his arms.
“Shh… You did so well, my little witch.” He whispered tenderly. He lay you down on the bed, covering you with your blanket and then crawled on the mattress himself to pull you into his arms, spooning you.
Loki’s hand came up to stroke over your head reassuringly, an amused and yet somewhat loving smile playing on his thin lips upon your half-unconscious state.
Well, he thought. That is what you get for summoning an Incubus.
“Sleep now.” He muttered in your ear. “You will need your strength again soon.”
You still heard his promising words before you drifted off to a peaceful slumber, the most restful one in weeks. But there was a chance, you thought to yourself, you were already dreaming.
-
Never before had you felt so… alive in the morning. Something was different. It did not feel like an Incubus had fed on you. Quite on the contrary, it rather felt like Loki had given you energy rather than taken it.
Your bed was, apart from your own naked form, empty. He had already left then. Was it weird to be disappointed? It wasn’t like he would have stayed for blueberry pancakes and coffee. Still… you already missed him—his touch, his embrace, his dominant demeanour.
Biting your lower lip, you glanced at the old book on the floor. It had fallen off the bed last night, when Loki had tucked you in so gently your felt butterflies awakening in your belly when you remembered it. Would it, quite possibly, work if you summoned him again? Offered yourself to him again?
Anyways. You sighed. Work was calling—and you had a stressful day ahead of you. As it went by, painfully slow, however, you more and more began to suspect that none of this both erotic and intimidating adventure had been real after all. But no matter what you did, you could not get Loki out of your mind.
It was like he possessed your soul, like he had drugged you with his seed and you were now dependant on him to survive. Incubi did this sometimes—it was possible.
Or… perhaps you had fallen asleep reading the book and only dreamed that Loki had visited you, fucked you into oblivion and given you so, so many orgasms you had nearly passed out from all the pleasure your body was unable to handle?
It seemed surreal, to say the least. And if it had been real, so you told yourself while heading home after clocking out, summoning Loki again for an encore might anger him—you were only mortal, after all. He could have any beautiful Asgardian woman, any sorceress or goddess. Why would he want to claim you of all people? And if he did… you were in danger and not just physically…
Yes, you figured. It would be better if the infamous God of Mischief never returned to you again, for your sake.
Pessimism really was one of your greatest weaknesses. After a long shower which you hoped would wash some sense back into you, you headed to bed tiredly, snuggling in and practically burying yourself under your sheets.
His voice right behind you in the pitch black room startled you.
“Did you miss me, my little witch?” You held your breath. His tone was taunting. He knew you had.
-
A/N: Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! Also, if you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥
Warning/Tags: Incubus Loki, Sex Pollen (sort of—surprise!!!), Dom/Sub Dynamics, Fingering, Hand Jobs, Bondage/Rope Bunny, Spanking, Dirty Talk, Edging/Orgasm Delay, slight Exhibitionist Kink, lil sprinklings of Cock Worship and Cum Facials, it’s filthy don’t tell me we’re surprised
A/N: This took a completely different direction than what I was planning during the early stages. Like it’s not even that centered around smell anymore but we’re gonna roll with it okay
Tag List: @shiningloki @imnotrevealingmyname @wolfsmom1 @hanyasnape @lukeyirwy @toozmanykids (Tag List is currently open! If you’d like to be a part of it, let me know!)
THE SILK TIES aren’t by your pillow or above your head where you expect them to be. Just like the previous night, they’re folded on your nightstand when you wake up.
It’s still too early for your brain to process how exactly they ended up there, so instead of falling into the rabbit hole of hypothesizing just what kind of magic Loki has, you swing your body over the side of the bed and make for the bathroom. Not even two steps forward, your muscles ache with the evidence that you finally got what you hoped for—or at least, something close to it. You haven’t exactly been fucked yet.
But ah, the sweet soreness. The greatest tangible reminder of a mind-blowing night. Last night. Touch.
Loki’s touch.
As you get into the shower, you replay the events of last night. Each drop of water that slides down your body is a reminder of the cold, melted ice cube that swirled around your breasts. Even the sigh that echoes in the bathroom is a reminder of your breathy pleas.
Your folds begin to slicken, and it’s not from the water.
You’re tempted to stay in this morning. Take a warm shower only to burrow back under the covers. It’s not that you’re tired—work on Fridays is always a little more relaxed, and everyone’s allowed to come in anytime as long as it’s before noon. You’ve sometimes taken advantage of that but you much prefer it if they let you out early.
Still, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go back to bed.
What are the odds Loki would make an appearance?
You’ll lose momentum, the rational part of you counters. There’s a manuscript that’s sitting on your desk, desperate to be chucked into the “Done” pile. You just have two more chapters to go.
It’s just two chapters, the more physical part of you rebuts in turn. You can finish it in the afternoon, no sweat. Today, this morning, right now, the more important thing is Loki.
The smarter part of you flares up again, with a very good question armed and ready: but what if he doesn’t come?
You remember the time you slept like a baby through the night, wearing fucking lingerie for Loki, only for him to revisit you a week later. You’ve gotten stood up before, but even in your dreams? It’s embarrassing if it happens to you a second time.
You’re on autopilot, however, when you clamber back into bed and pull the duvet up to your chin. Thoughts of Loki and all his wicked words and ways fill every crevice of your mind. Emotions coupled with arousal crash over you, and with a shaky exhale your hand travels down between your legs.
The steady rhythm of your fingers, however, do not send you into orgasm—you drift back into sleep.
--
“Kitten?”
Your eyes snap open. In the hazy morning light that peeks through your curtains, you find Loki sitting cross-legged on the ottoman by the door.
Loki… here? Are you dreaming, or—wait, that wouldn’t—
Your brain hurts.
It’s so strange, seeing him here like this. Not cloaked in darkness, not illuminated by the moonlight—he’s an unfamiliar presence, almost otherworldly. A jarring image that sticks out from the normalcy and utter mundaneness of your room.
He cocks his head, lip curling in amusement as he regards you with wandering eyes. Uncrossing his long legs and leaving them spread open, he leans against the wall lazily.
“My, my, sweet. This is a pleasant surprise. A summons, at this hour.”
With a wave of his hand, the duvet falls away from you. Your heart leaps into your throat when you realize your hand is still buried between your legs. Loki’s eyebrows raise, the shock on his face equally as clear as his delight.
“A very pleasant surprise indeed.”
You’ve already pulled your hand away, but the mortification lingers in your system. Not for long though. The weight of the reality of Loki’s presence sinks in and your heart rate slows to normal.
“Summons?” You yawn, sitting upright to see him better. His pronounced features are more defined, crisper and clearer. He’s even more stunning like this. Breathtaking.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
The simplicity of his statement jolts you awake. Or at least, as fully awake as you can be in this state.
He is here. At a time that isn’t in the wee, ungodly hours of the night. There’s fucking light outside, and even though he never said there were rules as to when he’d appear, you half expect him to spontaneously combust.
“I’d ask if I’m dreaming, but I don’t think the answer would be very helpful,” you mumble.
Loki lets out an amused huff, his green eyes twinkling at you. There’s something that looks eerily close to fondness in those eyes. A quiet undercurrent that you’re in no mood to analyze right now.
Yeah, the more time that passes with him in the room—dominant, unimposing, sexy—just makes you horny.
You’re not sure what takes over you when you slide off the bed, placing one foot in front of the other until you’re standing in front of Loki in your rather sheer nighttime ensemble. If you have him here, now, in the light of day, you want to burn this image before you into your brain. Commit every slope of his face, every fleck in his eyes, each line in his lips to memory.
“You’re a smart woman,” Loki tells you, one hand extending out to stroke your forearm. “You’ll figure it out.”
“Hmm.” You plant your knees on either side of him and sink your ass onto his lap. “Maybe later.”
The hand that was around your forearm slithers to cup your ass, closing the distance between you. His cock strains against his black pants and impulsively your eyes flick downwards to where your crotches meet.
You realize you haven’t seen it. Not yet, at least. You’ve felt how big he is, how strong and unyielding of a force of its own it is. How must it look? Feel against your naked skin, in your hand that’s tiny in comparison? How must it taste?
Oh. Oh, shit, just the idea of it makes your mouth water. Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, swirling and sucking and hollowing your cheeks until he cums.
Fuck, his fucking cum.
While your gaze has been lingering on his erection for definitely more than a few good seconds, Loki’s hands are rubbing the sides of your ass in hypnotic circles. “What’s going on in that dirty little mind of yours, sweet?”
Cock cock cock cock cock. That’s what’s going on in your mind.
“I want to see you,” you say instead, pressing your cunt against his erection. “Please, Loki, l—”
“Now where did this confidence come from?” Loki’s tone shifts, his expression hardening along with something else. As if it were even possible. “You are a cock slut. My little cock slut. Do you want me to take you right now? Right here?” His strong forearm hooks behind your waist, knocking the air out of you and sending a shudder down your spine. “I am a patient man, and I had hoped you would be patient as well.”
Arousal, thick and hot, simmers in your belly. There’s something about now that makes you think this is more a game than anything else. One that you’re definitely willing to play.
“Please, it’s been so long.” Your voice comes out like a plea. An impertinent whine. “Please—just fuck me already.”
Loki exhales hard, tightening his grip around you, his pants practically about to burst at the seams. He stares into your eyes, tongue tracing the tips of his teeth before he brings your face close to his and hisses one harsh yet titillating word: “No.”
He holds you. Just like that, your bodies meshed together, separated by clothes, your breaths mingling as you hover millimeters away from him. You could kiss him. Rake your hands in his hair. He could slide his hands over your ass over and over. But Loki doesn’t do anything, which somehow—some-fucking-how—makes you want to be petulant.
With your eyes locked in a challenging gaze, you begin to rotate your hips on his twitching cock.
You watch his eyes widen minutely, pupils dilating, and the muscle in his jaw jumps. A small sense of victory sparks in you at his reaction, but you can’t relish the satisfaction because Loki’s lifting you off his lap, turning you around lightning fast as if you weigh nothing, so you’re straddling him with your butt to his crotch.
Maybe, you think as your breathing hitches when you realize you’re fucking naked, maybe this is your victory. This is what you wanted all along.
Loki snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you to his strong chest with an audible thump. His breathing comes heavy and labored by your ear while his hand claws at your breast. “When I say no,” he growls, pinching and rolling your nipple over and over, your juices beginning to leak onto his pants, “it means no. You cannot out-seduce me. Not yet.”
His hand glides down your abdomen until one finger swipes against your slit. Fuck, it makes you dizzy. You spread your knees wider, your neck falling back against his shoulder, as you flatten yourself so his fingers can reach inside you.
“Look at you. At this. You’re so fucking wet.” He shoves the pad of his finger against your clit roughly, and you nearly arch away from him at the sudden stimulation. But Loki has you in a hold of steel, unable to move even an inch away from him.
It vaguely registers that this is the first time you’ve heard him curse. Fuck, you think with a fresh rush of arousal, you want him to curse again.
“To the floor,” Loki commands, emphasizing his words with a firm push forward.
“What?”
“I’m sure you heard me the first time, sweet. To the floor.”
Loki holds your thighs as you bend forward, until your arms are braced against the soft gray rug. The upper half of your body hangs off Loki’s legs and slopes towards the floor, where your spine curves gently as your face and chest press into the rug. The thread tickles your breasts and goosebumps prick up on the skin surrounding it, spidering out and making you shiver. This is so new, so erotic in its novelty, that you don’t think it can get better.
But it does. Loki shifts your bottom higher, and your clit pulses painfully against his hard length. He brings your knees further apart, spreading you, until there’s a whisper of cool air against your blistering heat.
“Do you think you can tell me what to do?” He roughly grabs the meat of your ass, molding it against his hand and letting it bounce when he takes his hand way. “Tell me when to fuck you?”
You know it’s coming before it even happens. It’s like you’re in sync, in a spontaneous dance you both know the next steps to.
A loud and sharp smack fills the room, the familiar vibrations in this new angle causing you to contort your face as you hold back your moan. Loki can see your ass and your sopping cunt from where he sits, all on perfect display for his enjoyment. He deals another blow to your other ass cheek and then rubs his hand over the mounds of flesh with barely restrained strength.
“I decide.” He traces the swollen lips of your cunt, and you begin to writhe and whimper as he teases you ever so agonizingly with the tip of his finger. “Do you understand?”
“Y-yes,” you stutter, only to sharply mewl when Loki punctuates your response with another slap.
“Good. So you can scream, whine, beg me all you want, but you will take what I give you, when I give it to you. Let me make that crystal clear, sweet.”
Oh, it is. You really want to grind down on him—up, whatever direction—the logistics don’t matter as long as your cunt connects to his cock. He spreads your cheeks away and then towards your back, digging his fingernails into your soft flesh before he releases and smacks your bottom again, your toes curling.
“You will follow my orders when I give them, and you will not disobey me.”
There’s a polarizing debate that’s happening between your mind and your cunt right now: you’ve been pretty submissive up to now, and an obedient one at that. Maybe it’s because Loki’s here at a time that isn’t usual that makes you think that the rules don’t apply—or at least, there’s some leeway—but you want to deviate. Just a little. Just to see how far he’ll go.
Fuck, how horny are you?
Your dilemma of whether to grind or not is taken away from you, which, in the foggy depths of your mind you’re not sure if that’s a relief or a disappointment.
But Loki plunges two fingers knuckle-deep inside you without warning, leaving you with no coherent thoughts and a simple, broken, “Fuck!”
He curls his fingers around your warmth, hooking around to hit your G-spot as he pumps in a sinful rhythm that’s got you moaning his name into the rug. The friction on your breasts makes you wetter and you present your ass to him like a humble offering.
“This glorious pussy,” Loki mutters, hips flexing to grind into your clit for a torturous split second. He pumps faster and deeper, the sounds of your sex obscenely filling the room. Your fingers claw at the rug as your hips stutter skyward, trying to meet the rhythm of his fingers thrust for thrust.
“And my little cock slut.”
“Fuck, Loki, please—”
He slaps your ass crudely, fingers still wrecking you from the inside out, and you cry out in a muffled whine. Sweet mercy, that felt fucking good.
“No.”
He somehow manages to go even deeper at this angle, hitting spots you didn’t even know were there let alone would make you cry and beg hoarsely, all the while brushing against your clit with the base of his fingers. It’s like pure magic and sex and lust and before you know it, you’re climbing into orgasm.
Loki pulls his fingers out of you with a growl, grabbing your hips and pulling your torso back up and against him. The abrupt shift has you stuttering forward, nearly losing balance, but Loki holds you securely.
With a searing kiss to the side of your neck, he spreads his knees so you spread even further, your ankles automatically anchoring around his hips. He pushes your pelvis out, shoves his hand back between your legs from behind you, and gives you a single order in your ear that melts you.
“Ride.”
Sinking onto his fingers, you do as you’re told, a sigh expelled from your lungs. You gyrate your hips, clenching your floor muscles, all the while trying not to moan and beg and curse all at the same time. Loki lets you do most, if not all of the work. A steady rhythm builds inside you, and then he takes you by surprise and brings a hand to the front of your mound, slipping inside the soft flesh and making contact with the nerves under the hood of your clit.
“Loki!” you rasp when his hands work in tandem. The hand in front of you works on your clit in steady, controlled circles and the one behind you strokes right into your G-spot. It’s a simmering pot of heat and pleasure, your body warming up as it prepares for orgasm.
“Faster,” he commands, curling both his fingers around your weeping cunt. Your eyes roll back and you reach behind to grip his hair.
Your mouth falls open as you increase your tempo, your legs beginning to falter and shake. Loki’s practically holding you up, the forearm behind you now slick with your juices from your rigorous riding. He plants an open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of your shoulder, a sharp little nip to the skin, and he’s upping his pace while you bounce on top of him.
“L—Loki,” you pant, eyes lidded and vision hazy while the sensations burn white hot and seem to expand inside you, “Loki, I—”
“Cum,” he coaxes, sucking on your skin. “Do it for me.”
Your thighs shake with the tide of orgasm, and soon you’re quivering and babbling as your walls clench around Loki’s fingers, your cum seeping down and onto the crotch of his pants. Loki pulls you through your pleasure with dirty nothings and a slowed pace. You ride out your high lazily, sated and sweaty and out of breath. Your knees hurt from being bent for so long; you’re so tired you don’t think you can move. He places your feet flat on the ground and you remove your vicelike grip from his hair, limbs shaking like a leaf.
You didn’t expect a quickie like this, if you could even call it that. You fall limp on his lap, shifting so you’re more comfortable, and Loki tips your chin towards him and kisses you hungrily while your walls flutter post-release. His tongue swipes against the seam of your lips, his hands skimming over the sides of your hips.
You can feel your cum still on his fingers, which he paints your skin with, and arousal surges through like a bullet.
“You are amazing.”
The compliment catches you entirely off-guard. It’s as if he wasn’t just playing your body like an instrument in a filthy concert hall. Still, warmth floods your chest and you sleepily look up at him.
“I don’t know where this is coming from, but I’m sure you know you’re fucking phenomenal.”
Loki’s chest shakes with laughter, and then without another word he’s hooking an arm under your knee, the other around your back, and he carries you back to bed.
“Glorious woman.” He pauses when he pulls the duvet over your still naked body. “Might have to do something about that, however.”
“Hmm?”
“Nothing, kitten. Just go to sleep.”
You notice the succinct kiss he presses to your hairline before your consciousness slips completely from you.
--
You’re an idiot.
It’s not that you mind that you were late for work. Other than a clipped, “Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” from your boss, work was fine. You finished everything you were supposed to, which was a feat considering you came and left for work horny and thinking of Loki.
But still, you’re an idiot.
Not because your mind was elsewhere than at the office. Having Loki in your room during the day was an opportunity to really look at him. Memorize him. Something tells you that you’re not going to have an opportunity like that again, and you wasted it.
Well, not really. But this morning went in a completely different direction than what you initially planned.
You should have just sat in bed staring at him. Admired his beauty from afar. But somehow, you just gravitated towards him like it was instinct pulling you to.
Damn it, you just wanted to see him up close.
Still, this morning was incredibly hot—so you’re not beating yourself up over it too much.
You’ll see him again tonight. And if you don’t, well, he did say you summoned him. Even without you knowing. Maybe you could do it again.
Your mind churns with questions and thoughts as your hands fiddle with the silk ties he left. When you agreed to this, you didn’t think you would be obsessing over it the way you are now. You thought it’d be mindless sex, not something you’d be thinking about every waking moment now. How does it work? Summons? Who is he? Will you ever see him in the light of day?
You don’t mean to fall asleep on the couch with the TV in the background, but you do.
--
Something tickles your ankles.
You jerk your foot in an attempt to swat it away. Maybe it’s a fly.
Or not. The sensation returns, and while you try to ignore it your mind is already beginning to wake up.
You don’t expect to see Loki on the far side of your couch, your legs sprawled over his lap, his hands tracing delicate, arbitrary patterns over the bone of your ankle and eyes glued to the TV that’s still on.
“Late night television is awful. I pity the humans who are awake at this hour and have no good viewing selections.” He swivels his head to face you, an amused expression donning his features. “Why are you sleeping here, pet?”
You sit up and attempt to pull your legs closer to you, only Loki’s grip tells you that you shouldn’t. His lips curve in a gentle smile and you recall why you fell asleep here in the first place. Even illuminated by the unflattering light of your TV, Loki is beautiful. Without a doubt, he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.
“Just fell asleep without meaning to.” You stretch your arms above your head, top riding up and exposing your skin. You note the way Loki’s eyes travel from yours down to your navel, and heat bubbles in your core.
“It’s not very comfortable here,” he murmurs, setting your feet on the floor so he can climb on top of you with ease. “Or are you developing a taste for uncomfortable positions?”
His lips latch onto your neck while the memory of you this morning, ass up and face down, flashes behind your eyelids. The heat that started in your core rockets down into your cunt.
Loki sucks a bruising kiss into your skin, and he pulls away to admire the way your skin flushes red. “Come, sweet. Your bed is far more comfortable than this lumpy thing.”
You follow him into the bedroom, him strutting in front of you as if it’s just as much his place as it is yours. He stops in the middle, whirling round to face you with an expectant eyebrow quirked.
“I took the liberty,” he says, a note of pride in his tone.
Your face scrunches up in confusion. “Of?”
“Replacing that terrible excuse for a bouquet with something more tasteful.”
Your eyes dart to the corner where you had put the flowers Jacob gave you and sure enough, the vase and its contents are gone. Granted, they were singed and charred and really mostly dying, but part of you feels bad and maybe even a little guilty. It ebbs away somewhat, however, when you can see that Loki’s put something so downright beautiful in its place.
There’s a single flower in a glass that looks like it came straight out of Beauty and the Beast. It glimmers in the pale moonlight, and maybe you’re tired, but you swear it looks like it’s pulsing.
You’ve never seen a flower with so many hues and shades, or one that looks like it’s glittering, like this one.
“It’s beautiful,” you breathe, bending forward to marvel over it up close. Your hand makes to lift the cover, but Loki stops you.
“I’m glad you like it, sweet, but I don’t think you should open that. Not yet, at least.”
“Why?” you immediately ask, head snapping up to meet his eyes.
He gives you a secretive, sly smirk. “I don’t think you’re ready for it yet. Now. Get on the bed, sweet.”
Shooting one last lingering look to the flower, you do as you’re told. Once you lie down, legs splayed open wide, Loki’s gaze settles thoughtfully on your nightstand. “I’m quite sure I left something right here, pet.”
“I think it’s on the couch,” you recall. “Can’t you—”
“No magic tonight, I’m afraid I drained my energy procuring my gift for you, which is why I need you to cum tonight so I can replenish myself.”
Well. If you weren’t wet before, you sure are now.
Loki leaves the room to fetch the silk ties, presumably to restrain you once again, and your blood pumps in excitement. He’s left you alone.
And you know you should listen to Loki, but after today’s events, there’s a huge part of you that just wants to be rebellious.
What did he mean, you’re not ready? It can’t possibly be anything you can’t handle. Your eyes flit back to the glass on the corner table.
It’s just a flower.
As quickly and quietly as you can, you slink off the bed and towards it, eyes trained on your bedroom door just in case he comes back and you get caught.
Do you want to get caught?
Gingerly, you lift the glass, peeking under it just to see what the glittering particles are. A strong, sweet smell instantly invades your nostrils, and you set the glass back down soundlessly.
His footsteps draw closer and you fling yourself onto the bed, spreading your legs like you were earlier and raising your hands above your head like an obedient child.
“Very good,” Loki purrs, sitting on the edge of the mattress as he ties one wrist to the headboard. “Such a good kitten.” His mouth closes over yours, tongues mingling, and you feel the air shift and your head throbs twice.
Wow, what a kiss it must be for it to extract such a reaction from your body.
With your eyes still closed, he wraps the ever-so-familiar silk around your eyes. It’s… did he put some kind of perfume on it?
“Did you put something on the blindfold?” you ask as he double checks the tightness around your other wrist.
“Yes, sweet. What does it smell like?”
You lick your lips, mouth going dry. It’s getting hotter, and your heartbeat’s speeding up. “Something sweet,” you answer. “Like vanilla. And a little bit of cinnamon?”
“Very good,” Loki praises, his hand traveling down your naked body. Your clit throbs and your walls clench. And you… you just want to be filled to the brim with his cum.
“How do I reward you for every correct answer, sweet?”
“Your cock.”
Okay, that—that was not what you were intending to say. Sure, you’re thinking it, but you weren’t planning to blurt it out loud so shamelessly. It’s like your mind and body are out of sync, your urges taking precedence and leading your mind that follows a beat too late.
Loki lets out an entertained, short laugh. “Eager little one today. You will get it. In time.”
He spreads your legs further apart and settles between them. You can feel your slick seeping out of your slit and onto the bed, wetter than ever. Fuck, what’s happening? It’s like you weren’t horny before, but you were—but it pales in comparison to the state you’re in now.
His nose bumps against your soft flesh, and you lift your hips off the bed and promptly rub against his snout.
It’s like you can’t help yourself. Loki has to fight a little to push your hips back onto the mattress, and your lower half falls with a soft thump. You’re breathing heavily and your body—fuck, it feels like it’s on fire. Wherever Loki touches, he leaves fire in its wake. And there’s something in the air—something musky, masculine, smelling like pure sex—
You just know it’s Loki’s arousal.
And hell, does it turn you on. Breaks the scale, if there ever was one. It’s a thick, potent smell that fills your lungs and makes you lightheaded.
He’s tired. Drained of his magic, and he needs you to fill him back up again. And you… you have all this sudden, pent up energy you didn’t know you had…
“Untie me,” you demand. Your voice is husky and your throat is dry, but it doesn’t sink in because you feel like your entire being is just Loki’s arousal and nothing else.
His hand stiffens over your thigh. “Sweet, didn’t we agree—”
“Untie me,” you repeat. You leave no room for discussion. “Even just one hand. You don’t have to do anything.”
There’s a pause where you spread your legs even wider. You lick your lips, heat flooding your cheeks and your cunt.
“Y-you can just watch me.”
You can feel Loki’s exhale fan your wetness, and it makes you shudder in anticipation.
Before he can protest, you continue, “I know you need me to cum so you get your energy. You—you can just take over when I’m about to…”
You don’t finish your sentence. Loki’s untying you with one hand, and then with the gentlest hold around your wrist he guides it downwards. “It appears you’ve disobeyed me. Well, consider it your lucky day that I am in no mood to scold you.” He rests it against your stomach, stroking a finger over the center of it.
“Go ahead,” he murmurs after a while. “While I have the perfect view.”
At his words, you clench. Slowly you bring your fingers to your cunt and trace over your swollen flesh. An echo of Loki’s own ministrations this morning. Only you don’t have as much patience as he does, and so you plunge your finger inside your warmth without any resistance.
Masturbation is not something foreign to you. But the knowledge that Loki’s head is still between your legs, with an unfiltered and clear view to your movements, has your body swimming to orgasm faster than ever. Your fingers fall into a familiar rhythm, dipping into the dependable spots and nerves that have consistently gotten you to orgasm before. Perhaps the eroticism of this exhibition—in front of Loki, no less—ignites an intensity within you that makes it seem like these spots aren’t familiar at all.
His fingers. His lips. His cock. You imagine them all inside you, on your clit, everywhere—it spurs you on, your fingers flying faster, your walls tightening as you race towards orgasm—
Loki gently pulls your hand away, and while you expect to be filled by his instead… there’s nothing. A frustrated huff is expelled from your lungs and Loki only brushes his fingertips against your sides.
“Release? So quickly?” He tuts playfully. “The gift I brought must be more potent than I’d imagined.”
“Please.” It’s a word you’ve been repeating so many times today. At this point, it feels natural spilling from your lips. “Please, I need to cum—you need me to—”
“You will cum when I say so,” he cuts in with a dominant finality that sends tiny sparks along the insides of your legs. “And I say… not yet.”
You let out a quiet whimper. You’ve never wanted to cum and hold it off at the same time as much as you do right now. And fuck—Loki’s tying the silk around your ankle and an urgency surges through you. You know what he’s doing. The smell gets even stronger now too, that musky, addictive aroma—you want to bask in it from the source—
You’re vaguely aware of the silk tie slipping away from your wrist and making its way to your other ankle. Loki’s strong hands run a delicate trail along your body and all you want is his cock ramming into you with his hand wrapped around your neck.
“Touch yourself,” he commands as soon as your ankles are tied to each corner of the bedframe. Your hole is gaping wide—it feels that way, since you’re aware of every breath Loki takes and exhales because of his proximity to you. “And do not cum unless I say so.”
Fuck—that’s what scares you. You’re so fucking turned on that you fear even just one stroke, you’d be a goner. But would punishment from Loki because you came really be all that bad? You’re not sure if you want to test him just yet.
And there’s a new smell in the air, mingling with the heady masculinity of Loki’s arousal. It’s a bit fruity, perhaps even reminiscent of the tanginess of an orange.
It’s yours.
“Touch yourself, sweet, or I’m going to have to leave you like this all night.”
Without further encouragement, your fingers dive back into your folds and your body relaxes with a sigh. Your hips gyrate over your hands as you root yourself in the fact that Loki’s watching you. He needs to see just how turned on you are, how he’s the one who does this to you.
“Use both your hands,” he instructs. “Go deeper. And massage your clit slower. Slower.”
You do as he tells you, alternating your long strokes with circular motions, and fuck, is it agony. It takes a whole lot of self-control not to buck your hips like a madwoman, so you bite down on your bottom lip. Heat prickles over your entire body and briefly you wonder how long you’re going to go like this and if you’re going to cum from this at all.
“Now focus on your clit,” he says after a while. “Shorter. Faster. Harder. How you want it, kitten, as fast as you can go…”
Finally, you think, fingers speeding up and your orgasm gaining momentum. It doesn’t take long for it to build, begin to crest—
“Hands off.”
No—not the words you wanted to hear. Begrudgingly you force away your hands from your swollen sex, slick with your own juice, and wait. You wait for his next instruction, as patient as you can be as a woman chasing orgasm, and then Loki finally says the magic words.
“Go on.”
It continues like this for a while. For how long exactly, you don’t know. Time has blurred and it’s only differentiated by moments of languid strokes and furious pumping, moments of pause that feel like forever, and then back again. He draws you close to orgasm, then away like it’s forbidden fruit, until you’re certain the minute Loki puts even just one finger on you, you’ll come undone.
Your fingers work hard at your cunt, coated in your warm slick, until Loki finally, finally lets you grow taut with the tension of building release. It’s strong, you can feel it. You’re already so sensitive and even if your muscles are growing strained, your need for release is overpowering enough that you don’t mind it in the least.
Loki rips your hand away, shoves his fingers inside you in perfect sync, and you cry out in ecstasy. Your fingers can only do so much, but Loki—he’s pure magic, pure sex that nothing could ever compare or replace him.
His thumb flicks over your clit harshly and your walls clench against his fingers. And the air—oh fuck, it’s the intoxicating smell of his arousal—you just want to rip off his clothes, suck him dry—
In some inexplicable way, Loki manages to leave you teetering on the edge of orgasm. Just between that space of cumming and winding down. So close, yet so far. Your breath comes in shallow pants while your hips rotate to meet him. He has to let you cum, you remind yourself. He has to.
Before you can gasp it out, Loki says, “No.”
Fuck, how many times are you going to hear that today? Your clit is pulsing, your walls fluttering in a sporadic rhythm as you hang in the ripping limbo of trying to hold in your release and let it go at the same time. It drives you mad, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes from the guttural need that needs satiating.
A wave of Loki’s arousal wafts fresh and heated towards you. Your mouth hangs open while his thick arousal hangs in the atmosphere, dizzying and fueling your need to have your fill from the source.
And then without warning, Loki plunges his fingers into you knuckle-deep, moving fast against your clit at the same time while knocking your G-spot over and over until your mouth hangs open, no sound coming out—your back arches off the bed with the overpowering, all-consuming need for release—
“Cum.”
The single syllable he utters has you unwound, undone—little white dots explode before your eyelids while your body convulses with the soul-stealing release he’s bestowed upon you. Toes curling, body tense, you’ve never experienced anything as blissfully shattering as this. Every nerve ending in your system has sizzled out, sensitive to the lightest gust of air.
Loki lets you ride out your orgasm on his fingers that continue to coax out your release. With the blood pumping in your ears, you can vaguely register the sounds Loki’s making. He’s muttering to himself, whispering—and once the pounding recedes from your ears you can make out a few lines.
“Yes, sweet, cum… cum all over my fingers, that’s it, you sweet girl… this perfect cunt, so warm—the way my cock—inside, yes, more…”
You clench tightly, and make a risky decision. One you clearly have no foresight to.
You sit up, and while the quick change in position has your cunt convulsing in stimulation, you ignore it. You’re still horny, yes. It’s as if that buildup to your seismic orgasm wasn’t enough, and while you would love another (or three more), there’s something else you want.
His cock.
Sitting up like this, you can smell his arousal coming from somewhere near the floor. Which, your lustful brain calculates, makes sense because his lower half should be sprawled across the floor.
Some kind of strangled noise comes from the back of your throat, and your hands reach out to fist, well—whatever you can reach. You can’t exactly see.
Your hands actually land in his hair, and your nails dig into his scalp. Loki makes a deep, throaty noise, satisfying you.
“Kiss me.”
Loki doesn’t chastise you or tell you no—instead the mattress creaks with his weight. He pins you down, his tongue delving into your mouth which you welcome instantly. The aroma of his arousal fires you up into a frenzy, especially when you feel his hard length pushes against your swollen clit.
Your hand boldly moves to squeeze his ass, bring him closer to you. Yes, having your arms in a full range of motion is better. Sure, you can’t see or close your legs, but you can touch him. Smell him. Loki bites down on your lip, groaning softly when you tug on his hair and pull him against you by the ass again.
Touch him.
Your brain is on autopilot. Like it’s got a mission it needs to see through to the end, regardless of whatever obstacles are to come its way. While Loki’s taking this opportunity to moan against your neck, telling you how he would just love to fuck you right here, right now, your hand moves from his ass, down the side of his hip, and to the front of his pants.
Loki freezes.
Whether it’s good or bad, you don’t care. You take this opportunity to palm the bulge you’ve felt, a soundless sigh escaping your lips. Your fingers grip around the outline, from what you think is base to tip, and a trickle of your juices flows out of you when you feel him shudder.
It’s all the encouragement you need. You slide your hand over the hard bulge once before your fingers dip underneath the waistband of his pants. Your breathing shallows when the tip of your finger comes in contact with a bead of wetness.
The strong, potent smell of Loki envelops you, and while it feels like you’re already bathing in him and his essence it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. You want more.
Loki hovers above you while you slip his pants down, his breath warming your neck. Licking your lips in anticipation, you finally lay your hands on the prize you’ve been dreaming and drooling about.
Your fingers wrap around his shaft, and as crazy as you sound, you might actually cum from just holding it.
Blood beats searing hot in your veins, your arousals mingling and fueling the other’s. You pump his shaft, once, twice—and you’re distantly aware that you’re speaking now.
“Need to,” you breathe, “t-to smell it. Up close, just—oh Loki, please, I need your cock on my face, just let me—”
Somehow this state you’re in has Loki speechless. You’re begging, though assertive at the same time. Loki lets you lead him until you’re lying down on your back, and he straddles your face, his thick cock hovering just inches from you.
Oh, fucking hell.
Your fingers skim the column of his shaft, savoring the feel of his hard length. You can’t see it yet, but you’d like to imagine how it looks before you do. Your fingers bump against the ridge around the head; veins that traverse his cock bounce against your touch; you trace a finger down the slit of him, collecting precum and trailing it over his frenulum.
Loki bucks his hips against your hands, hissing.
“What are you doing, pet?”
Tentatively, you bring your nose to the base of him and inhale deeply. Your cunt flutters in response and your mind deigns to feed you an image of his cock inside you, stretching you—maybe even wrecking your throat.
A wanton thrill shoots through you, and you drag your closed lips along his cock and then part your lips, salivating as you draw closer to him—
“No.” Loki pulls your hair gently, stopping you. Only it’s almost… reluctant. Like it’s more for himself than for you. Breathing hard, he continues, “Not tonight. Touching, just touching is… is enough.”
You settle for dragging your nose along the underside of his cock, inhaling the sweet, sweet scent of victory. “Alright.”
And then somehow you’re talking again. “I just love your cock,” you whisper mindlessly. “So thick… hard… I just want you, Loki. You can put your cock in my mouth… my pussy needs you a little more though…”
His cock twitches at your statement, and you hum against his groin, smile blooming on your lips. You pull your head away and your hand closes around him. You begin stroking, fisting his cock and twisting your wrist as you get closer to the head and loosening your grip when you get to the base. Soon he’s rutting his hips into your hand, and you relish the way you can feel him tense. All because of your touch. There’s a surge of pride at this new dynamic unlocked.
And his cock—it’s even better than you imagined. You tell him how you love his cock, you’d have it anywhere, anytime, whenever he wants—and Loki’s hips grow more frantic in his movements. You cup his balls, fondling him, and Loki fists your hair roughly, rasping out, “Hold still. But keep going on my cock. Faster. Harder.”
You and Loki work together to reach his orgasm, and soon you can feel his balls slapping against your hands and his movements go stunted, his cock tightening—the incoming smell makes you even dizzier, and you angle your head upward—
White hot ropes of cum splatter onto your face. Your forehead, your cheeks, your chin. Some of it dribbles down onto your chest and you have to fight yourself not to scoop some up and shove it into your cunt.
Loki groans all while he cums, until he’s running his fingers through your hair and tells you absently, “Sweet, glorious woman. An absolute sex kitten.”
His fingers swipe at his cum on your face, and then you realize it isn’t arbitrary—he’s pooling it together for you to eat it. Eagerly you open your mouth, sucking on his finger coated with his cum. Once your face is mostly clean, your tongue darts out the corner of your mouth to collect a drop you missed. No cum should go to waste.
Your heart practically leaps into your throat when you feel his tongue flatten against your sternum, collecting cum that’s dripped down your chest in a straight line going up to your face, and then he kisses you
His taste mingles with his seed, and you relish how delicious he is. You sigh into his mouth and are about to wrap your legs around his waist, only you’re brutally reminded that your legs are tied up.
You hope you wake up like this.
Your hands go to his still-hard cock, and Loki’s surprised, “Already?” has you giggling as you start pumping him again.
When is the next time you’re going to have all this energy after all?
