A/N: I find this extremely hilarious and completely posible, so take my hand on this small drabble.
Masterlist
He grunts and even hit his head on the wall with frustration. He almost cries cause he has already asked everyone on the crew and all of them answered the most surrealistic things, but none of them helped him to know how to approach you without being weird.
He has passed many years tied to that rock and now that he is free he wants to be with you but he has no social skills. He is nervous and desperate, and your damm crewmates are not helping, they are even more oblivious than you.
You saw him laying on the floor with a lost look on the sky, or you suppose cause of his eye bandages. You aproach him and look at him with surprised eyes and sit on his side.
"Are you okay?" he turns around to look at you, nervous about your pressence and flustered.
"I think... I am just getting some rest" he tries to sound relaxed and suddently realize that maybe the person he needs to ask is you, "can I ask you a weird maybe personal question?" you nod and he gulps with nervousness, "What kind of men you like?"
You laugh and start to blush, your face is burning from embarrasment, but you recomposed yourself enough to answer without nervously smiling.
"Big, I mean... big man, and kind even if no one sees it at first, and misterious."
He crosses his arms and looks again into the sky, he is not that things, of course not. He is to big and he is not kind and he never considered himself misterious.
"And, how you like woman?" he starts describing you, trying to make it not to obvious but also leaving enough hints, "Loki, Âżyou like me?"
You said with a flustered face and he stand up so fast that everything shakes.
"I... I... I might," it feels like every word was stuck on his throat and if his eyes were visible, you could see he can't look you, "I hope it doesn't make you uncomfortable."
You look at his with the most unbelieved look, he is so oblivious.
"I like you."
"No you don't"
"I do, I said big man." you let out an exasperated sight.
"I am a giant." he answers with the most straight face ever.
"Yess, you are big." now you stand up, "and if that isn't enought I said kind and misterious, you are those things."
"Have you forgotten that I was imprisoned for being a cruel monster?"
"You don't fool me, I know you are kind even when people don't see it. I saw you letting birds make a nest on your hat. And you are misterious cause of the bandages and it is really difficult to make you say things about you." you look at him straight in the eye.
"Wait, do you really really like me..."
"Yes, of course, even though I might be starting to regret it." suddently you both realize the situation and let out an small laugh with big blush on both of your faces.
"And what now?" he asks, so nervous he might start to sweat.
you: *opens your eyes to see a green snake with a black belly with gold on it's head and other parts of it's body as it cosied up to you* hello you, where did you come from?
snake: *licks your nose affectionately*
thor: *bursts into the room* (name) have you seen- *sees the snake, notices the distinct colour pattern and smiles*
you: seen who?
thor: nevermind, i was looking for loki but i msut be mistaken to think he'd come here. *winks at the snake*
snake: *smacks itself with it's tail against it's head*
you: oookaaayyy...good luck finding him i guess.
thor: i shall! *leaves*
you: *you look down at the snake on your lap* you're not exactly sutble you know.
loki: blame that big oaf for the lack of being subtle my darling, i would've gotten away with it too.
BUT Also my entry for @cream-filled-delights for their writing event- Cream Filled Delights â Prompt "Take it."  Â
The air bit as you breathed in. Thin and cold. Still. It scraped down your throat like a warning.
No guards had escorted you here, just a summoned wind that whispered through the marble halls of the palace, tugging your silks in the right direction, guiding your bare feet across freezing stone. You had followed it because that was the only path offered to you, step by silent step, until you reached the chamber.
The sanctuary was nothing like the halls of Asgard above. No gilded light, no polished gold, no ornamental fanfare. Here, the stone was veined with frost, and the torches burned cold blue. Shadows pooled in the corners like watchful things, and even the fire offered no warmth. It wasnât meant for you. Not for anyone but him.
He waited
Loki.
Not the prince. Not the trickster god. Not the charming, sharp-tongued diplomat of court.
This was the monster they whispered about when they thought he couldnât hear.
Jotun.
Blue-skinned. Bare-chested beneath a cloak that was already falling from one of his shoulders, the fur-lined fabric slipping like snow off stone. The firelight danced over his skin like it was afraid to touch him. His body was carved in lines of ice and runes; taller, broader than he ever appeared in court. Inhumanly elegant. Power pressed into shape, barely restrained.
He didnât speak.
He only watched. Red eyes aglow, tracking every breath you took. The longer he looked at you, the more your courage frayed, like silk caught on a blade. Every second stretched thin, reverent, dreadful.
You hadnât expected to be chosen. Not really. They had said it was a duty. An offering. Something sacred. Something necessary.
Something to soothe the old blood in him. Something to keep him tethered to the court. To reason. To restraint. To keep the monster sated before he could become dangerous. Before the frost could creep down from the peaks of Jotunheim and into the heart of Asgard's Son. Before the whispers in the dark hallways grew into rumours, and those rumours became truth in the mouths of the fearful.
They needed something that would distract him, something warm and willing. A sacrificial balm to pour into the cracks of his fury, to soften the jagged edge of his cold. Someone to remind him of the flesh and breath and hunger of the living. Not duty. Not diplomacy. Not bloodâstained oaths sworn by trembling courtiers. But desire.
And you had agreed. Willingly.
Because you had wanted to be more than a court petal trampled under polished boots. You had wanted to be seen. Desired. Revered, even.
But now, lying bare on the black furs at the centre of the chamber, your skin prickling from the cold, your chest rising and falling too quickly, you wondered if youâd been seen too well. The dress they had put you in; pale, delicate, ceremonial, now left pooled beside the furs, abandoned like the last scrap of modesty. Your fingers had worked the ties slowly, one by one, just as youâd been instructed.
You had followed every rule. Walk the path. Do not scream when you see him. Take off the dress. Lie down.
Those had been Friggaâs words, her voice soft and even, as if she were reading a bedtime tale rather than preparing you for this. She had kissed your forehead with a motherâs gentleness and tucked a curl behind your ear before stepping back.
You had obeyed. Ready to offer yourself to something far more than a man.
The silence stretched, heavy and glacial, until-
"You came willingly?"
You nodded, though your voice had fled.
He smirked, the expression slow and sharp, like frost forming on glass. "They always say yes so easily... so sure they can take it. So eager to be offered up like good little sacrifices," he added, the last part mumbled more to himself as he tapped two fingers against his temple, his face looking pained for a moment.
He didnât move right away. Just stared again. Let you feel the weight of him. The way his presence swallowed the room, how the air seemed to freeze around him, heavy with intent.
A cold flicker of doubt slid beneath your skin. He hadnât sent you away, but he hadnât spoken either. For one long, agonising moment, you wondered if you werenât wanted. If perhaps this offering,âŚyou..wasnât enough. If you had misunderstood everything, and he would rise and turn from you, leave you bare and dismissed.
But he didnât. Content, at least for now, to devour you with his eyes first.
The shift was subtle. A stretch of his shoulders. A breath drawn deeper than the last. Then he rose from the lowâbacked chair heâd been sprawled in, the fur-lined cloak sliding from his remaining shoulder to gather at the crook of his elbow before sliding off complete.
All he wore now were dark leather pants that clung to the muscle of his thighs, low enough to reveal the ridged plane of his abdomen, the blue of his skin shifting as he moved, patterns like frost blooming beneath the surface. You could hear the quiet creak of his boots across the stone as he stepped forward, each stride deliberate, unhurried.
The fire behind him did not warm the room, only cast jagged shadows that moved across his body in flickers of ice-blue and black. It gave him the shape of something elemental.
He stopped just at the edge of the furs, gaze pinned to your body. You could feel the heat of your skin in contrast to the cold of the air. Youâd laid yourself bare, and now you could only endure his gaze.
He knelt. Sinking down closer to your level.
Large, precise hands settled on your knees first. His touch was cold enough to draw a gasp from you, a sound you didnât mean to make, but it slipped free anyway. The sharp chill of his skin contrasted so completely with the heat blooming beneath your own that it felt electric.
You flinched at the contact, your body tensing beneath his grip, but he only hummed, dragging those hands slowly up the length of your thighs. That reaction made him smile, slow, pleased, knowing crack that spread across his face.
 The pressure was firm, possessive, and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to explore you. His fingers spread wide, thumbs brushing the tender insides of your legs before his palms eased your knees further apart.
The movement left you open, vulnerable, and achingly aware of just how exposed you were beneath him. The cool air licked at your slick heat as he shifted closer, his hands sliding upward again in slow, reverent passes as if he was memorizing the shape of you. There was hunger in the way he touched. He wasnât rushing. He didnât need to. You were his for as long as he decided to keep you.
As he moved forward on his knees, the furs beneath you shifted under his weight, and the scent of him; snow, spice, and something wild. It wrapped around you as intimately as his hands.
His eyes didnât lift from where your thighs parted. Not until his mouth was level with your chest. Then, finally, Loki looked at your face. Not with affection or restraint, but with the heavy, assessing interest of a predator sizing up something offered rather than taken. His gaze swept up your body again, slow and possessive, before locking onto your eyes proper, holding there.
You saw hunger burning in those red rubied eye.
He lent forward to run the edge of his nose along your cheek, then across your jaw. The cool drag of it raised goosebumps in its wake, making you shiver. He didnât kiss you. Not yet. His breath was cold as it ghosted over your mouth, lingering for a moment like he was considering it, like he wanted to taste your hesitation first.
You could feel your own breath hitch, heat rising up your throat. Your lips parted, expecting the kiss that didnât come. He only watched your reaction, letting the tension spool tighter between you.
Hi trailed lower. His mouth dipped to your throat, placing a single kiss right over your pulse. It was soft at first, but then his tongue pressed there, lapping against your skin until he found the rhythm of your heartbeat.
He opened his mouth fully, sucking at the spot with enough pressure to make your breath stutter, enough to leave a mark. His teeth grazed lightly, a scrape of danger beneath the devotion.
âMake it beat harder for me,â he murmured, his voice a low command cloaked in silk.
His fingers teased between your legs as he spoke. Gentle at first. Circling. Testing. He found your clit and dragged two knuckles down either side of it, then rubbed it slowly with the pad of his thumb. The motion wasnât hurried, but it made your hips buck, your thighs jump in response to the touch.
A soft gasp escaped your lips followed by a stifled whimper when he didnât stop. âP-Prince-â you breathed, voice catching on the title.
He chuckled, a sound that rumbled in his chest and vibrated through yours as he leaned in closer.
âNot a Prince here,â he murmured, voice rough at the edges, his breath cool against your chest. âDonât pretend Iâm some courtly thing while you lay yourself open like this.â
He drew his mouth across your chest slowly, deliberately, before his tongue flicked over a nipple and sucked it in deep, pulling a breathy moan from your throat. His teeth catching enough to make you twitch before he released you with a wet pop.
You moaned again, higher, more desperate. Your back arched, searching for his mouth, for friction, for something.
âYou tremble for me already,â he said, pleased. âGood. Let your body speak honestly.â
Loki dragged a single finger down your slit. It was chilled, thick, and unrelenting, sending a jolt through your oversensitized skin. He paused for a moment, pressing it firmly against your entrance like he was testing your readiness, gauging just how much you could take. Then he pushed inside, slowly, deliberately so youâd gasp, the air catching in your throat. The stretch was unfamiliar, the sheer contrast of his icy skin against your molten heat making you twitch, your walls fluttering around him in confused, needy response.
He curled his finger inside you as he withdrew just slightly, then pushed back in, twisting gently to feel every ridge of your softness. You clenched around him with no conscious thought, your body pulsing around the intrusion, responding as if it knew something your mind was still struggling to grasp.
He exhaled hard through his nose, nostrils flaring as his jaw tensed.
"So hot," he growled, voice thick and reverent. "You burn around me."
His words sank into your skin as he began to move again, slow and unrelenting, coaxing you open with each stroke. The friction built into a rhythm that sent soft wet sounds echoing through the chamber. You whimpered as your thighs fell wider, helpless to the way your body welcomed him in.
He leaned closer, his breath brushing your chest as he added a second finger. The stretch widened, searing pleasure crackling through your core. He didnât slow down, just adjusted the angle, his palm pressing down to grind against your clit while both fingers curled and dragged inside you with sinful precision.
You keened softly, the pressure, the fullness, the cool heat of him overwhelming everything else. His fingers didnât stop, didnât rush, not even when you bucked over the third that joined the others.
He kept going watching your face while his finger worked you open slowly, methodically. You felt the drag of them as he eased them apart, stretching you, testing the give of your body around as he pushed in all the way to his knuckles. The sensation was sharp, aching, filthy and it only deepened as those long digits reached higher up into you than youâd ever managed to reach on your own. Coaxing a strangled moan from your throat.
Loki dipped his head, his lips grazed the underside of your breast, then bit down just enough to make you jolt, the twin sensations leaving you suspended between pain and pleasure.
"So wet, so warm." he murmured, breath ragged. "All this for me?"
You nodded, swallowing the whimper that bubbled up, your own hands digging into the plush fur around you. Your breath caught again as he pulled his fingers slightly apart, easing the stretch wider, working you open bit by bit. The cool, slick pressure sent sparks dancing up your spine, the edges of his fingers reaching deeper.
The sensation made your hips jerked, your body caught between instinctive resistance and overwhelming need. You could feel it building, that tightening heat, the edge looming closer with every careful, purposeful drag of his fingers.
He growled again, a sound low in his throat, and pulled his fingers free with a slick, wet sound that made your walls clench in protest. You whimpered, a desperate sound of loss.
"Not yet," he said, as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean. "Just need you soft enough to take everything I intend to give."
You barely had time to brace yourself.
He sank back on his haunches, and the room shimmered with green light. Seidr curled over his hips, dissolving the last of his leathers in a quiet flicker of magic. He knelt above you now in full glory, entirely bare, his chest rising and falling with deliberate control, the muscles of his abdomen taut with restrained power.
Between his thighs, his cock stood thick and flushed a deeper, bruised blue, already leaking at the tip. The sight of him like this, unhidden, unrestrained, made your breath catch and your core clench in anticipation. He was beautiful and terrifying all at once, and the way his eyes drank you in from above only made your skin burn hotter against the furs beneath you.
You tried not to flinch as he knelt between your thighs, sucking air sharp into your lungs as he wrapped one large hand around himself and stroked once, twice, spreading the glistening slick of precum over the blunt tip of his cock. It was a threatening thing, thick, flushed dark, slightly curved, and long enough to make your thighs twitch.
He watched you watch him. Smirking.
"So sure of yourselves," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "Pretty little maidens to be fed to the beats hunger."
His fingers tapped once, twice against his own temple again, like he was chiding ghosts only he could hear.
You swallowed hard and nodded. You were here. This was what you were meant for.
âFool.â
His hands came to your thighs again, colder now, rougher in their grip as he pushed your legs up and apart. You whimpered, the sound barely a breath, and dug your hands into the furs. He nudged closer, his cock dragging through the mess heâd already coaxed from you, wet and sticky as he slicked himself with your arousal.
When he pressed against your entrance, you gasped. His breath hitched too, sharp and sudden.
The pressure built slowly. Agonisingly.
Your body tensed, but he didn't stop. Didn't offer comfort or pause. He simply pushed, a slow, relentless glide that stretched you inch by inch. The thick crown breached you first, making you cry out, the burn of it forcing your hips up. He caught them with a growl, strong hands holding you steady.
"Shhh," he hissed behind clenched teeth, "Youâre mine to shape. My offering."
The stretch was unbearable and exquisite. Every inch he gave you made you feel fuller than you'd ever known, like your body was being rebuilt from the inside out just to fit him. He growled something in Jotun under his breath, something guttural and low, as he bottomed out.
He groaned, transfixed by the way your body tried to take him. One of his large hands pressed down over your womb, feeling the fullness, the bulge of him deep inside. His hips ground forward, just enough to make you gasp and then whine, your fingers scrabbling at the furs. He stilled again, rejoicing the way your walls fluttered helplessly around him, stretched to your absolute limit.
You sobbed, a choked little sound, as a tear slipped from the corner of your eye, hot and unbidden. The fullness, the stretch, the overwhelming pressure.
It was too much, your body quivering with sensation.
Your vision blurred for a moment, breath catching in your throat as the tear rolled down to your temple.
"Take it, you must take it Little Flame." He shifted slightly, sitting tall above you in that L-shaped posture, his cock still buried to the hilt inside you. His hand, still resting on your lower abdomen, slowly dragged upward, fingers splayed, possessive, as if marking a path across your trembling skin, claiming every inch of you.
 He cupped your breast again, massaging with a slow, deliberate pressure, groaning as you clenched and writhed beneath him. The heat of your body welcomed him with every grind of his hips, slick and warm and yielding. It was like he wanted to carve a space for himself inside you, to etch himself into your being.
"Thatâs it," he murmured, voice deep, raw with veneration and greed, almost drunk on the feel of you.
You gasped as he rocked into you again, the movement slow and consuming. Each stroke dragged along nerves frayed raw, sparking pleasure that curled up your spine and spread fire through your limbs.
You cried out, eyes squeezing shut.
Loki shuddered, mouth parting in a breathless groan.
"That sound-yes, that sound-make it again."
When he moved, it was slow at first long, deep thrusts that stole the air from you each time his hips met yours. He shifted only slightly, adjusting the angle with a warriors precision until he found the one that made you cry out, back arching. The sound pulled a groan from his throat, low and rough, as though the noise of your pleasure spurred something darker in him.
Loki never looked away from you. Not once.
Your thighs trembled. Your fingers clawed at the furs beneath you. Each slow, deliberate stroke filled you past the point of reason, the stretch never easing, only evolving into something more intense. The dull ache became friction, became fullness, became a kind of overwhelming reverence. He was worshiping you with every snap of his hips, and still, it wasnât gentle.
He was a creature of need and seidr, and now, unmasked in his hunger, the illusion of princely restraint had vanished. His long black hair had fallen loose, cascading around his shoulders in wild waves. Strands clung to his face, framing the sharp lines of his jaw, his cheekbones, the fierce heat burning in his eyes. The wildness in him showed now, unmistakable, written in every flex of his body, every ripple of muscle as he loomed over you.
His hand dragged down your side, large and cool against your overheated skin, until it gripped your hip with unyielding force. The next thrust rocked through you. You keened, eyes going wide, the pressure of it making your stomach rise.
"Meant for this," he growled. "Made to be filled."
Your cries were rhythmic now, rising with every thrust, every grinding roll of his hips. He adjusted again, dragging one of your legs high against his shoulder, the back of your leg pressed into his chest, the new angle devastating. You choked on stolen breath as he fucked deeper, harder and gods, you felt every inch of him. The stretch was obscene, the sheer size of him forcing you open, your body pulled tight around his cock as he pushed in and you. You could feel the ridge of his head drag along places inside you that had never known such reach. Your skin sang with sensation, every nerve lit, your core clenching desperately around his impossible girth.
âNngh-guh..â a helpless noise coming from you.Â
You felt it building. The burn at the base of your spine. The fluttering tension in your core. The way his cock dragged perfectly across the spot that made you unravel. You could tilt your head to see, to watch him take you back, you could do it. The idea of witnessing what you could feel made you dizzy, made your mind spin, before you felt heat sizzle in your blood despite the cool chill from his cock inside you. Yet your body had no choice but to accommodate him, to stretch and strain and swallow him whole. You were pulled open around him, every stroke pushing the limits of your flesh, every slide making your insides feel claimed. He'd make you come. You'd come for him. You'd sate his hunger.
"Aauh - Ah"Â
Loki felt it, too. The way your body surrendered just that little bit more, opening wider, pliant and pliable, a trembling gift beneath him.
âTake it, feel it!âÂ
He pressed his palm against your belly again, groaning at the swell, the bulge he could feel under his touch, the exquisite pressure of his cock driving into you. The sight of your abdomen lifting with each deep stroke made his pupils dilate. His thumb traced slow circles around your navel before drifting higher, grazing the underside of your breast, then cupping it with a needy hand. He rolled your nipple between his fingers, coaxing another breathy pants from your lips.
"So greedy," he purred. "Chosen for this. Crafted for me. A perfect fit for my hunger, my claim."
Your moan cracked, your throat tight with sensation, drawn taut with the staggering fullness, the weight of being taken.
His pace shifted, quicker now, yet never rushed. It wasnât frantic. Intentional. Like the fulfillment of something sacred. Every thrust carried purpose, a deeper assertion of ownership, of destiny. Designed to push you past the edge and make sure you never came back the same.
Your orgasm tore through you like a riptide, electric and blinding. Your body clamped down around him, fluttering, squeezing, your breath stolen, your mouth parting in a shattered, sobbing cry. You keened for him, the sound breaking into the air between you, sharp and wanting. Your limbs trembled, your hands grappling at the furs for purchase as the waves rolled through you, your walls milking him with desperate hunger, with need that felt etched into your bones.
Loki didnât pull back. Didnât let you catch your breath.
He snarled, the sound animal and ancient, and slammed home- hard.
You screamed.
The stretch was too much, your body trembling in the aftermath, but the heat of him, the twitch of his cock inside you, the raw presence of him, it was devastation.
Then you felt it.
The rush. The flood. The thick spill of him flooding your core in molten pulses, like you were being sealed, marked. Your cunt tried to flutter him out, to push him away, but Loki held fast. Stayed buried deep.
A long, broken groan tore from his throat as he ground his hips to the base, holding you open, driving his spend deeper inside until you felt him in every part of you.
You whimpered, body twitching in overstimulation, your nerves frayed, your walls still fluttering around the impossible fullness.
Loki kept going. Kept pressing you into that surrender, the kind that rewrote your body from the inside out.
Your body quaked, twitching with overstimulation. Your eyes glazed, not able to focus, mouth slack with the weight of everything he had wrung from you. Your limbs felt boneless, bonedust scattered in the aftershock of pleasure and ruin.
Slowly, Loki moved, the aching slide of him pulling out left your body shuddering. The emptiness bloomed inside you, your walls fluttering in protest, stretched and ruined, still clinging to the ghost of his shape. You could still feel the heft of him in your deepest places, the imprint of him left like scorched velvet.
It poured from you in thick, hot waves, so much that it ran down your thighs, soaking the furs beneath you. It clung to your folds, to the curve of your ass, your skin wet and sticky with it.
 He watched with pride, the sight of a prize he found worthy. His chest rose with each breath, the flicker of magic still crawling across his skin like the afterglow of lightning.
Loki sat back on his heels; eyes fixed between your thighs. Hunger warred on his face as he reached forward, spreading you wider. Two long fingers dipped into the mess, dragging through your folds, like he was worshipping at the altar he'd just desecrated.
"Look at that," he murmured, voice wrecked, darker. "So full you can't even hold it.."
You tilted your head down this time, eyes blurry but still managing to focus as he dipped his fingers into opaque cream dripping from your cunt. With curious car he brought it up to your abdomen and began to write. You watched, mesmerised, as he spelled out his name, each letter painted with his spend, glistening on your skin.
"Mine. Branded in seed," he whispered, voice thick with satisfaction, as though your trembling acceptance had awakened something even darker in him.Â
He caught your gaze, saw the way your breath caught, your lips parting as you felt it settle, his claim, marked in your own submission. His cock twitched, swelling again.
"Again," he whispered. "You'll take it again. Until you wear me like war paint. Until you forget any life before me."
He kept your gaze as pushed back into you.
Your breath hitched, a mewl catching in your throat as the swollen head of his cock breached your entrance once more. Slick from the mess heâd already made of you, he slid in easier this time, so much easier. Your body welcomed him now, fucked open and trembling, stretched to its limits and aching to be filled again.
He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through his chest and into you, echoing in your bones. The ease of his re-entry, just that perfect hint of friction that made him groan.
Your broken keen, high and wrecked, your legs twitching around him. There was no resistance now, just the obscene slide of his cock as he sank into the hilt, claimed you anew. You could feel how big he still was, how you were split around him, the fullness turning to a pulsing ache that made your toes curl. And gods, he was already moving again.
This time, he didnât hold back the mess. He wanted it. With every steady thrust, more of his spend from before spilled out around him, slicking your thighs, matting the fur beneath you in thick, glistening trails. The scent was overwhelming. Raw. Carnal. The wet, filthy sound of it echoed through the chamber, each movement lewd and deliberate, as if he were savouring the music of your ruin.
It let him move easier. Deeper.
His body curved over yours now, bending low until he caged you entirely beneath him. The chill of his skin contrasted with the heat of your own, steam rising where you touched. His breath was at your neck, sharp and cool between heated groans, while one arm braced just above your head, palm planted firm in the fur, pinning you beneath the full weight of him.
You whimpered, and he growled, a sound of dark satisfaction. âGood,â he rasped against your ear. âGive me those sounds. Let me hear how full you are.â
The sound was torn from your throat as your hands flew to his arms, anchoring yourself to the thick muscle of his biceps. He was relentless now. Slow, deep, each stroke angled to hit where you were weakest. He shifted slightly, one hand curling under your thigh again, folding you tighter beneath him, pressing you open like a bloom under frost.
Your body trembled. Your nerves were frayed to the edge. You were undone.
His voice came low and possessive against your ear.
âSo wet. So full. And you keep taking it.â
You gasped, your voice thin and breaking: âLoki-â
He groaned, hips stuttering as your body clenched again, tight and fluttering around him. The sound of your voice, raw and breathless and his, sent him reeling.
Your climax hit you again, drowning you, tearing through your limbs. Slick and seed gushed around him, your back arching with a silent scream as you came undone again.
But still he didnât stop.
Your body twitched with aftershocks, your limbs limp. He held you there, claimed you again and again, slow and unrelenting. The mess only worsened, his seed, your slick, all of it mixing and soaking anything it touched. It dripped from you in wet strings, his devastating cock pushing it back inside with each thrust. Your body singing for him, hot and heavy as everything else melted away.
You moaned wanton, your mind blurring under the pleasure of it all.
âYou're mine now,â he growled into your throat. âSacred and ruined.â
You were an offering.
Now, you were his.
Your voice was barely a whisper. âYours.â
He pressed a kiss to your temple, slow and reverent, but his hips never stopped moving.
âSo good for me,â he murmured. âSent to be filled. Made for this.â
he only thing left now, was for him to use you. That was why you were chosen. That was what your body was meant for.
Imagine Loki trying to explain that you loved him in another timelineâŚ
âYouâre telling me that we fall in love?â You frowned, skeptical at the very notion.
Loki nodded. âIt was me first.â He admitted.
âAnd then we were married?â
âA private affair in Asgard.â Loki explained and then tilt his head. âWell actually, that was after a rather long engagement in which I was still trying to get revenge and such.â
Huffing, you crossed your arms and looked over to Mobius. âHave I missed the annual day of TVA jests or-?â
Mobius stepped forward, shaking his head. âNo, this is all real. Trust me.â
You were only entertaining the thought because Mobius was your friend and he wasnât in the business of lying. As you thought on the information, Loki filled your vision once more.
âThink about it, that ring you wear. Where did it come from?â The trickster asked.
You glanced down at your hand and stared at the adorned band around your finger.
âI- I donât know. It was given to me by someone special. He said it was like a piece of his-â
âHis heart on your hand.â Loki whispered and when you looked up at him, he smiled. âYes.â
âHow did you knowâŚâ
âBecause I said exactly that when I gave it to you.â Loki said, his voice was earnest and almost pleading.
What he was telling you didnât make any sense - but it also made perfect sense. How could both be a truth? You stepped back and away from him. Another word from him might actually cause a break in your reality. So, you excused yourself and ran off to the library to think.
Loki looked at Mobius and noticed that he man was staring at him. âSomething wrong?â
âNo.â Mobius answered quickly. âIt just baffles me that you loved them so much and you still insisted on revenge.â
scrolled through your blog and im in love with your writing oh my goodnessss
could i make a head canon request for loki dating a somewhat shy/reserved reader?
Loki x Shy!Reader
a/n: first of all: thank you so muchđ i hope this is what you've been looking for, enjoy readingâĄ
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°â˘âŠâLoki notices your shyness the way others notice sunlight: by how it filters through the air, soft but impossible to ignore. He doesnât mistake it for weakness; to him, itâs restraint, control, a kind of quiet magic. âYou don't speak unless you have something worth saying,â he murmurs once. âHow rare."
°â˘âŠâhe doesnât fill your silence. Itâs unnerving at first: this god, capable of commanding rooms, content to simply sit beside you while you read. He likes that you donât rush to perform for him, heâs tired of masks.
°â˘âŠâbut when you do speak, he listens. He stores away every tiny detail like treasures. Weeks later, heâll reference something you barely remember saying, and youâll realize: he remembers everything.
°â˘âŠâLoki is patient - but only with you. He teases others mercilessly, cuts through conversation like a knife, but with you, his tone softens. âTake your time, darling,â he says when words falter. âI've waited centuries for less interesting things.â
°â˘âŠâLoki loves that you blush easily. He doesnât say it aloud, but you can tell by the way he deliberately leans in too close, murmuring something in your ear just to see the heat rise in your cheeks. Itâs a game he never grows tired of losing. He delights in seeing you flustered - but never humiliated. His teasing is a craft, not cruelty.
°â˘âŠâhe notices the way your hands fidget when youâre nervous - twisting rings, brushing hair behind your ear, shaking. He doesnât say anything, he simply reaches for your hand, guiding it into his own. He absolutely loves the way you instantly calm down when you feel his touch. He would never say it out loud, but he craves the trust it takes for you to lean into him.
°â˘âŠâyou once apologized for being too shy, too quiet, too inconvenient. You instantly regretted even saying it out loud, because Loki acted like you personally offended him. âNever apologize for what makes you different,â he said. âMortals waste too much time trying to be loud enough to be heard. You're quiet, yet i listen anyway. That's worth so much more than trying to be someone youâre not."
°â˘âŠâwhen youâre uncomfortable, he senses it before you even have to say a word. He grips your hand and squeezes it, which is a silent promise: youâre safe with me.
°â˘âŠâLoki isnât used to gentleness, which is why yours unravels him. When you reach for his hand first, his breath catches like itâs the first time anyoneâs ever done it without wanting something in return.
°â˘âŠâwhen you speak softly, he leans in, fascinated by the way your voice seems almost forbidden, as if it needs to be coaxed out. âDo you know the effect you have?â he asks, and you shake your head. âOf course not,â he mutters, smiling against your hair.
°â˘âŠâhe guards your comfort like treasure. Anyone who mistakes your softness for fragility earns a look so cold it could freeze sunlight.
°â˘âŠâhe absolutely loves telling you stories. Old ones, about Asgard and the stars. Sometimes, he embellishes just to make you laugh; other times, he tells them exactly as they happened - grief and all - and when you touch his hand, he lets himself fall, trusting you to catch him, undone by how steady your kindness is.
°â˘âŠâLoki isnât gentle by nature. But with you, he learns to be. He speaks slower, moves softer, checks for your consent with every brush of his hand. âTell me if it's too much,â he always murmurs against your skin. But it never is, not with him.
°â˘âŠâhe sometimes mirrors your quietness. Sitting in the same room, both of you reading or staring out a window. You realize itâs his way of grounding himself too.
°â˘âŠâje learns to always protect your space. If someone tries to dominate a conversation with you, he leans in, voice silky and cutting: âAh, forgive me, but i believe she was speaking.â You peek at him, eyes wide, barely suppressing a smile (he's so proud of himself).
°â˘âŠâto the rest of the world, Loki is sharp edges and silver tongues. But with you, heâs quiet thunder. You donât tame him - you simply give his chaos somewhere to rest. And in return, he gives you something rarer than power: his peace.
°â˘âŠâhe knows big gestures overwhelm you, so he shows affection in subtler ways: a jacket draped over your shoulders before you realize youâre cold, a cup of tea always beside you while youâre reading, leaving a crowded place when he sees youâre overwhelmed... it's the little things that truly matter.
°â˘âŠâLoki also knows touch can be grounding for you. So he learns the balance; when to reach for your hand, and when to simply stay near. His palm is warm, steady, and he never lets go before you do. It's a side of him only you get to see.
°â˘âŠâwhen you laugh, it makes him pause. Heâd raze worlds to hear that sound again. So he keeps a mental list of what amuses you: his sarcasm, his overly dramatic retellings, the way he mocks Thorâs heroic poses.
°â˘âŠâLoki sometimes watches you sleep, quietly tracing the line of your jaw or the curve of your hands. He says nothing, knowing that some adoration doesnât need to be spoken aloud. Itâs his way of reminding himself that youâre real, that youâre his; a counterpoint to his chaos.
°â˘âŠâwhen youâre too nervous to speak up in front of others, he speaks for you; never condescendingly, but with such smooth precision that no one even realizes what heâs done. Later, when you thank him, he only says, âyou donât owe me gratitude for protecting whatâs mine.â You could melt on the spot.
°â˘âŠâLokiâs love is loud, yours is quiet - and somehow, it fits. He fills rooms with words; you fill them with calm. He once told you, âyouâre the stillness between my storms.â You thought he was being dramatic, but you're truly his anchor when the world around him gets too loud again.
°â˘âŠâhe teases you sometimes - affectionately, of course - when you hide behind him during confrontations. âYouâre lucky i adore cowardice when itâs this endearing,â he says with a grin. But the moment someone else makes you uncomfortable, his entire demeanor shifts. The god of mischief becomes the god of menace.
°â˘âŠâhis arrogance used to scare you a little. Now, you recognize it as armor. When he boasts, you just hum in response, unbothered. âYouâre meant to say i'm magnificent,â he prompts. You glance up at him, amused. âYou already know that.â It's your quiet defiance that disarms him every time.
°â˘âŠâhe never rushes you. When you hesitate to speak, he waits; patient, uncharacteristically so. The others interrupt or move on, but Lokiâs eyes stay fixed on you until you finish. When you ask him why he does that, he says, âbecause your words deserve to be heard, not hurried."
°â˘âŠâyou tell him once that you envy his confidence. He laughs, really laughs, but itâs not cruel. âConfidence,â he says, âis just fear in a better outfit.â
°â˘âŠâLoki loves that you arenât like him. That you donât demand attention, or play to an audience. âYou undo me,â he admits one night, lying beside you in the dark. âYou do nothing - and yet, somehow, i am seen more clearly than ever."
°â˘âŠâhe adores how you listen. Really listen to what he has to say. It unnerves him sometimes; that someone could care without condition.
°â˘âŠâyou donât need to command attention - you simply exist, and the room bends around your gentleness. âYou've bewitched me,â he says once. You simply laugh. âYouâre one to talk.".
°â˘âŠâwhen youâre nervous, your hands shake. Heâll simply steady them, pretending itâs casual, fingers brushing yours. âEven gods tremble,â he tells you once. âThey just do it when no one's watching."
°â˘âŠâyou never thought someone as sharp as Loki could be soft. But he is, when itâs just you. Heâll trace lazy circles on your skin, whispering things heâd never admit in daylight: regrets, dreams, promises that sound almost mortal.
°â˘âŠâsometimes he gets lost in thought, caught between the god he was and the man heâs becoming. You donât pull him out, you just sit beside him until he returns to you.
°â˘âŠâloving Loki isnât about taming the chaos - itâs about being the calm he chooses to come back to. And for all his confidence, his voice softens most when he says your name. Itâs not worship, not magic - just devotion, quiet and human and real.
°â˘âŠâloving Loki as a shy, reserved soul is like standing in a quiet room while a storm rages outside. You flinch at every sound, unsure of your place, but he moves beside you like a shadow that comforts instead of scares. He notices the little pauses, the nervous smiles, the way you shrink slightly, and instead of mocking, he cherishes them. His teasing is careful, his touch deliberate, his words a mix of mischief and reassurance. With him, your shyness isnât a flaw - itâs a language he learns, a rhythm he matches, a world he quietly protects. Loving him means being seen in your quietest moments, and feeling safe in the storm.
Your feedback and criticism is greatly appreciated; feel free to leave a comment, it means more than you know đ
Thank you for stumbling onto my Blog, enjoy reading đŤ
A/N: sorry itâs been so long since Iâve posted, Iâve been so busy with work and applying to grad school but I got in!! Hereâs a quick celebratory one shot for you freaks <3
Summary: when youâre exposed to a classified bioweapon, Loki assists with relieving your symptoms.
Warnings: p in v, unprotected sex (do not do that), creampie, dubious consent if you squint, ye olde sex pollen fic
ďżź
Your fingers twisted themselves into the thick fabric of your comforter, your opposite forearm burning with the effort of mercilessly working your clit.
After damn near half an hour of desperate and fruitless attempts at achieving relief, you were ready to sob.
You knew messing around in the Towerâs lab after a full dayâs work was a bad idea but you had been so close to a breakthrough in your work with Dr. Banner that you convinced yourself you could push through the exhaustion.
Until you had shattered a specimen jar and exposed yourself to whatever the hell was in it.
It started with your heart rate rapidly increasing, followed by hot flashes and an incessant throbbing between your legs.
But despite your best efforts, it would. Not. Stop.
You continued to rub harsh circles over your clit, your back arching off your mattress as that familiar tension began to build low in your stomach.
And quickly dissipated.
Throwing open your nightstand drawer, you frantically dug through it in search of your vibrator, tossing various items haphazardly out of the way before finally spotting the bright pink silicone. You switched it on and quickly started working your aching clit, biting down on your lip at the contact. Your hips undulated unconsciously as you chased a climax that wouldnât arrive.
Tears slipped down your face, a sob escaping your swollen lips. You rubbed your thighs together as you lay there, staring up at the ceiling and ready to scream. Despite your best efforts, your body felt achingly empty and your nerves were beyond raw.
It was well passed midnight at this point and you were out of viable options.
You knew in the back of your mind who would still be awake at this hour.
Just ask him, you internally scolded yourself.
Absolutely not. I canât.
Why not?
You paused, realizing you didnât actually have a reason.
Gritting your teeth, you forced yourself to sit up and pull on a rumpled t shirt from your bedroom floor, hissing between your teeth at the sensation of the cotton fabric against your overly sensitive nipples. You debated throwing your underwear back on for the sake of decency but decided against it, already overwhelmed by the oversized shirt.
Slipping out of your room and into the dark hall, you made your way to the all-too-familiar door.
Knocking quietly, you rubbed your thighs together and silently begged him to answer. An overstimulated whine escaped you as your shirt clung to the layer of sweat that had gathered on your skin, your arousal flushing your entire body with heat.
Just as you were about to knock again, you heard his footsteps on the other side of the door before it finally opened, revealing his towering figure.
âLoki, Iâmââ
âYou caught it too?â he interrupted, his voice low and rough. The sound made your core clench.
âIâ what?â you asked, your confusion adding to your frustration.
Looking up at him, you finally noticed his disheveled state. His normally sleek hair was mussed, his face was flushed, and his breathing bordered on panting.
âBannerâs specimen. It got to you as well,â he stated plainly, his dark gaze locked on yours.
Your eyes dragged down the length of his body, taking in his shirtless torso and the hardened length straining against the fabric of his sweatpants, mouth beginning to water at the sight.
Meeting his eyes once more, you nodded frantically.
âHave you been able toâŚ?â he trailed off, his breathing growing more erratic.
You shook your head, your thighs squeezing together to contain the slickness between them.
He opened his door just wide enough for you to enter and you quickly pushed your way inside. Before you could even turn around, his hands were on your hips, pressing you flush against his chest as he walked you backward against the door, pinning you against it.
You damn near keened as his mouth found your neck, licking and sucking your overly sensitive skin. Your back arched, pressing your chest up against his, drawing a husky groan from him.
âI wonât be able to stop,â he warned, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
âPlease just give it to me,â you whined, tears beginning to gather in the corner of your eyes. He grunted and hiked your thighs up and around his hips, picking you up as though you weighed nothing before walking you to the bed.
His large form pressed you down into the mattress, his stiff cock brushing your thigh. You couldnât help but moan as his mouth met yours, his tongue already working expertly against your own.
Your hips grinding together, you slid your hands up into his hair and pulled and felt him twitch in his pants. His hands found the hem of your shirt and yanked it up over your head, the sight of your exposed body drawing a groan from him. His head immediately dipped down to your chest to suck harshly on your aching nipples.
âLoki!â you gasped, back arching off the mattress.
He slid his free hand down to his waistband, pushing his sweats down his hips to expose his throbbing length, thick and flushed with need. He released your nipple from his mouth with a wet pop and looked down at your dripping pussy, pumping himself desperately.
âYouâre fucking drenched,â he grunted, slapping his tip on your swollen cunt.
âJust shut up and fuck me, please,â you whined, lifting your hips up to give him access.
Too desperate to come up with a quip, he pulled your knees up to rest on his broad shoulders before slamming his full length into your pussy. A lewd, high pitched moan escaped your lips as his thick cock stretched you open, arching yourself up into him for the umpteenth time.
You grabbed a pillow from beside you, pressing it against your face to stifle your cries of pleasure as he thrust into you, finally starting to relieve the ache.
Reaching one hand down between your bodies, you rubbed tight circles over your clit, pussy clenching around him. He slapped your hand away, replacing your fingers with his own. You were too far gone to snap at him for it. Your eyes rolled back as his tip brushed against your cervix ever so slightly.
âFuck-,â he grunted, his breathing heavy.
Shifting his angle, he pulled your knees from his shoulders and pressed them up against your chest and hooked his legs around your thighs, folding you into a mating press.
His hips continue to piston into your own, the new position making your vision swim and your tits bounce with every thrust.
âHoly shit, Loki,â you gasped, throwing your head back against the sheets.
That familiar tension began building in your abdomen once more, your breathing becoming shallow as he pushed you closer to the edge. His pace quickened and you knew he was close behind you.
âBreathe through it,â he instructed between grunts of pleasure, his thrusts growing impossibly deeper.
âI c-canât, Iâm gunna- ah!â
âIâve got you, my love, just breathe. Iâve always got you.â
You did as he said, your core clenching tighter around his thick cock as his hips rolled into yours. His fingers returned to circling your swollen clit, the friction finally pushing you over the edge.
Your body arched up as you came, pussy pulsing around his dick as you cried out and tears rolled down your flushed cheeks. He groaned above you as he spilled himself inside, your orgasm only intensifying at the feeling of his hot spend coating your cunt with every thrust as he helped you ride it out.
Releasing your legs, he collapsed on top of you, his breathing deep and skin warm against yours. You wrapped your legs around him, keeping him locked in place as you damn near sobbed in relief.
Lokiâs eyes met yours, the concern evident on his face.
âAre you alright, darling?â
You nodded and wrapped your arms around his neck.
âIâm okay, I just⌠need a second.â
âIâm here,â he mumbled softly, tucking his face into the crook of your neck.
The two of you stayed like that for several silent minutes, catching your breath and enjoying the feeling of your bodies still pressed together.
When your heart rate finally slowed, he gently eased himself out of you, leaving you feeling empty at the loss of contact. He stood and you looked up at him quizzically.
âIâm just going to get you cleaned up, Iâll be right back,â he chuckled.
You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to revel in the relief he had just granted you, your body finally relaxing.
He return with a damp cloth and began gently cleaning the mess you had made together, his hands warm and comforting on your skin.
âYou know, if you wanted me to fuck you, you had only asked. Infecting both of us with alien pollen is a bit dramatic, darling.â
You threw a pillow at him halfheartedly, too spent to react to his goading.
A Link to my Masterlist is HERE
Summary: Just Loki in your pants and in his feels.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Fluff. Mentions of violence. Language. (w/c 1k)
Lokiâs lips trace over your neck with hot, reverent breaths. His hips rock up with each careful gasp, his hands fixed on your lower back like you might vanish.
You knot your fingers deep into the lengths of his hair, grazing his scalp, drinking in the heat of his cautious lust as he buries into the curve of your neck with a biting groan.
He has to be careful when he returns from battle and his bloodâs up. Going from using his full force, to handling you, is dangerous. Irresistibleâbut dangerous. The thought alone sends a new thrill lighting up your spine.
The straight line of his nose runs against the sweep of your skin, his kiss landing on the angle of your jaw.
âTalk to me,â you whisper, all vowels, lost in the soft moan as he pulls your ass closer to his crotch and his cock sinks deep.
âWhat would you like me to say?â
Itâs a goad, a growl, and he tips your chin towards him with one, long finger. Lokiâs eyes are glittering black in candlelight; two pools of fresh tar spilling from irises deep enough to drown in. You could choke on him; feel that black delight of his gaze gurgling in the back of your throat and beg for more.
âThat Iâve burned for you since Iâve been gone?â he murmurs, calculated and glacial, âThat I thought only of you while hoards of enemies fell beneath my prowess...That I would have traded the mantle of victory in a heartbeat for one night with my sword sheathed in your perfect, dark, heat?â
His stomach clenches in sync with a staggered gasp which rushes over the nape of your neck. "That I'd trade it all for you?"
You gasp as he punctuates the final word with a targeted buck of his hips. âSomething like that?â
âYes.â More. Itâs implied.
He hums against the vein straining at your neck. Your fingernails sink into the hard muscle of his shoulders as he lowers you backwards to the rumpled sheets now cool and damp under your flushed skin. There's a groan of discontent as he slides from the dark heat he loves.
Streaks of black are plastered against Lokiâs forehead; a sheen of perspiration glistening on flawless, milky skin as he crawls up your body, kissing every several inches up your midsection until his cock is pressed against your slit and his lips hang over yours... just out of reach.
âMore,â he whispers.
It isnât a question, and you canât stifle the smile. Loki grins, and something inside you twists with fierce anticipation.
âI love you,â he says, savouring the alien syllables as though each one might be overheard by some unseen foe, âMore than my black heart thought it was possible; crawling from the shadows of my own indifference.â
He kisses you onceâchasteâand your mind scrambles, heart pounding between your ribs.
Did he really say...?
His chest is pressed to yours, and his hand slides beneath your head on the pillow and works through your hair. Lokiâs eyes narrow lightly.
âI love you the way a beast cannot control the urge to hunt; to fuck; the way lungs need to breatheâ the way poetry craves to be spoken.â His mouth crushes downâhardâand he draws your bottom lip between his teeth as he draws away.
The confession is so sudden, so unexpected, and you seem to float above your body while the air feels too thin to breathe. He loves me. It was beyond anything you ever imaginedâa delusional fantasy confined to the unspoken quiet of the night where darkness shrouded hope. The sudden thought that this was a cruel dream lands like a punch in the midst of the joy blossoming cautiously in your gut.
âLokiâŚIââ
The god pulls his hips back and teases forward, sliding himself to the hilt. The anxious question building in your throat evaporates as his eyes flutter shut and he rolls his hips.
With one hand, he works his thumb against your clit while the other slides from your hair to your neck. It rests there, thumb slotted into the hollow, fingers spread against the swell of your breast as skin slaps gently against skin and a chorus of pants grow louder; filling the air like fog.
âI love you,â he says again, breathless. His eyebrows draw tighter, lips parting, small gasps escaping before he adds, âIs not that tragic?â
You reach up and cup the sharp angle of his jaw; pulling him down. Lokiâs hands fly to either side of your body, the weight of him dipping the mattress as his length plunged so deeply inside you it shunts you further up the bed. âLoki, I love youâŚâ you say, kissing him harshly. His lips donât move against yours and when you break, his eyes are glazed.
âYouâŚdo? Are you quite sure?â
You slap his shoulder, and his features soften immediately. âOf course Iâm sure. Or did you leave your wits on the battlefield as well as your dagger.â
One of Loki's brows tweaked at the playful jibe. He'd been furious about that dagger. Unless your clothes vanished, that was. âItâs scarcely gentile to insult a man when he holds your pleasure under suchâŚâ Loki bucked his hips so tightly your eyes rolled back, âcompromising circumstances.â
He was a rogue. And arrogant. And dramatic. But you did love him, for all those things, not in spite of them, and so you said, âPerhaps. If he didnât love me....That covers all manner of sins."
Lokiâs mouth falls on yoursâthe depth of his kiss widening with each heavy exhale. âYouâre a terrible influence on me, darling,â he murmurs as you push him onto his back and straddle him. His pale skin is painted a lustrous amber, and shadows nestle in the long, lean lines of his chest.
A groan chokes in Lokiâs throat as you mount him. âPeople will whisper Iâm going soft. âWhere is the warriorâ, theyâll say? âWhere is the dark prince of Asgard, and why is this goon in his garb who insists on smiling all the timeâ?â
You kiss his forehead, enjoying the muffled grunt of satisfaction as he burrows against your cleavage. âDo you care?â You clench around him to drive the point home.
He reclines with one hand thrown behind his head and the other guiding your hips; fingers tightening with every calculated roll.
âNever,â he growls, dimples crushing into his cheeks. âAnd even then, my love, only for you.â
