Could you do one of loki in a tattoo parlour with the quote "if you keep moving like that we will have a problem." With smut please? Thought the reader could be getting a tattoo across the shoulders and loki is sat right against her ass and whenever he hits a soft spot she wriggles her ass or even moans, if that's okay. I love your writing by the way! ❤
Well this ruined me. Tattoo artist Loki?!
Thank you so much for your kind request and for bringing tattooed Loki into my life! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did putting it together 🖤
This fic is a part of A Dark Celebration.
Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Loki x fem!Reader
Words: 6,256 (I couldn't stop, okay!)
Summary: After a stroke of luck, you manage land an appointment with the legendary tattoo artist, Loki Laufeyson.
This is work of fiction is 18+!!!!, and contains graphic descriptions of sex, HOURS OF TEASING, fingering, sex (m/f), dirty talk, and it mentions the tattoo process aka needles. Please do not interact if you are a minor or are sensitive towards any of the themes mentioned above.
Tagging: @lokistoriesblog @sineads-art
Thank you so freaking much to my followers for all of the amazing requests for this challenge! Likes, reblogs and comments mean more than you know 🖤
~~~
You scrolled through the instagram page for the tenth time that day. You peered over the intricately laced designs tattooed so delicately on the skin. Each design was unique, beautiful, perfect in an imperfect way.
No one could hold a candle to the way he tattooed. No one could hold a candle to Loki Laufeyson.
~~~
“The guy’s a vampire,” your friend had told you over drinks once. “He only takes appointments at night, alone in his private studio. He refuses to let anyone in his space except the client.”
“Sounds like more of an axe murderer to me,” you mused. “You’ve got to admit he’s talented. I’ve never seen even a hint of blowout on his lines. And those designs- unique and seriously fucking detailed.” You took a sip of your drink, shifting the glass between your fingers. “If I ever got a tattoo it’d be one of his.”
Your friend smiled pitifully at you. “If you ever get an appointment you mean. He is good though. I’ve seen some of his work from over a decade ago and it still holds up. May be worth being drained of all your blood after all. Too bad he rarely takes appointments anymore.”
~~~
You bit your lip, absentmindedly toying with the raw hem of your shorts as you tapped through the familiar photos of his page. You’d almost memorised each post.
You swiped up to the one you saw by chance a few weeks back. Your heart raced as you remembered seeing it mere seconds after it was posted. He had a cancellation for an appointment at the end of the month. You could book via email.
You immediately shot off an email to the address provided, assuming nothing would come of it. Then the unthinkable happened. You got a response about a minute later, asking for a deposit to hold a spot for you.
You had the money saved for a few years now and forwarded it off immediately. It wasn’t real until you got the scheduling email from his assistant, telling you that “he’d love to freehand something like that on you.”
He’d never posted a photo of himself, and there weren’t any snapshots in the range of magazines he’d been interviewed in. The only posts on his page were of the work he’d done on clients, and the odd text post update presumably posted by his assistant. There was one particularly good shot of his hands in Inked Mag a few months back, the black gloves straining against his long fingers as he held a tattoo gun.
You took a deep breath, checking the time again. You could probably head over now.
Zipping up your knee-high boots and sliding on your jacket, you left your apartment, your stomach full of butterflies.
~~~
You made it to the painted brick building five minutes before your appointment. It was a stand-alone, one-floor building painted black. The tinted windows and lack of sign made for a stylish, discrete shop.
Double checking the lengthy email his assistant had sent you a week ago, you typed in the code on the keypad and were met with a loud buzz. Gripping the door handle, you stepped inside, greeted by a space that was breathtakingly well designed.
The cool concrete floors were accented by various sculptures, photographs, and expensive-looking plants. You could hear the distant sound of Joy Division’s “Disorder” echoing through the space. There was a dark brown couch by the front door, which you remembered was the area you were instructed to wait in.
You slid onto the leather, your hands clammy. You tried to calm yourself, nervous for both your first tattoo and finally meeting the elusive Loki Laufeyson. You took a deep breath. God you hoped you didn’t faint.
Before you could spin out any further you heard footsteps coming around the corner. Looking up, you swallowed hard at the man in front of you. He was tall, lithe, and dark-haired, his black trousers and pointed leather boots making his legs look endless, his crisp white shirt tucked in perfectly. His sleeves were rolled up to expose forearms covered in tattoos, all in black ink. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing a fair amount of his chest, littered with more black designs that ran up to his neck, stopping just below his sharp jaw. You could make out the tip of a green tattoo at the base of his sternum though you didn’t dare to linger your gaze there long. His hair was slicked back into a low bun, the dark black of it a sharp contrast against his pale skin. His cheekbones were pronounced, his dark brows accenting his clear, blue-green eyes.
“Are you my seven o’clock?” His voice was deep velvet, his accent crisp. He held his hands in his pockets, forearms flexing as he looked down at you with bright eyes and a hint of a smirk. Fuck. You were in trouble.
“I think so,” you smiled, losing yourself in his gaze.
“Loki,” he offered a hand and you stood to take it. You stumbled over your name as your hand slid into his, the feel of his warm, calloused hands against yours made your heart race.
“Nervous?” He asked, his eyes running up from where he held your hand steady.
Fuck.
“A bit,” you smiled. “This is my first time.”
His eyes widened at that. “I’m honoured. It’s not often someone asks for such a big piece for their first tattoo.”
He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it from his grip. “This way, darling. Promise I’ll be gentle.” He gave you a grin before leading you towards the back of the building behind the large wall separating the shop.
You took in the room before you, the open space well-decorated with modern, comfortable-looking furniture. There was a sturdy, sleek tattoo bed in the middle, with a large trifold mirror against the side wall. Your eyes fell onto the record player, the antique thing holding a stack of vinyl discs above the turntable as it spun. The large speakers were playing “Candidate” off the same album. There was a Japanese style garden through the back window, a warm light illuminating the few plants immaculately kept before a dark concrete wall.
“You’ve eaten recently, right?” He asked from behind you.
You turned to him and nodded, remembering the advice your friends had given you to prepare for the process. “I’ve kept hydrated too.”
He smiled. “Good girl.”
You did your best to ignore the way those two words made your heart race. You made your way to the centre of the room where a sleek tattoo bed was set up. The black padded leather of it looked soft and comfortable, covered in a dark sheet.
“Take off your top half and lay down on the table. Leave those boots on if you want,” he paused. “I’ve got a sheet there for you. I’ll give you a moment to get undressed, okay?”
You turned towards him and noticed his eyes flickered up to your face. Had you just caught him checking you out? You quickly shook it off as you gave him a small smile and a nod.
He spun on his heel and his footsteps followed him out of the room. You slipped off your jacket, your top and bra quickly following, placing them with your bag on the seat by the wall. You laid down on the sheet covering the bed and perched your head atop your folded arms, angling it to look out the window towards the garden. You took a breath, feeling your muscles loosen on the exhale.
After a minute you heard his footsteps approaching. “Are you decent, darling?” He called.
“You’re clear.” You watched him approach from the reflection in the glass. You could see his eyes moving over your form and wondered once again if his gaze had lingered a little over you.
He came to your side, pulling on some black surgical gloves. You looked up at his hands, straining against the nitrile of the gloves. Just like the picture. You squirmed a little at the thought.
You didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered down to your waist momentarily before he sat in the stool facing you.
“I’m going to have to shave the area first. Is that alright with you?”
You nodded. “Sounds good.”
You heard a cap snap a few seconds before you felt his hands rubbing over your shoulders, covering your skin with shaving cream. It took you every bit of will not to moan at his touch. His hands felt like heaven on you. You felt yourself grow wet at the idea of his sinking his hands lower, or having you turn over and-
“Okay, so you mentioned in your email that you wanted some snakes and peonies. Do you have colour preferences? Any type of snake in mind?” His hands were gone, replaced by the feeling of a safety razor dragging across your back.
You licked your dry lips. “I was thinking of a deep red for the peonies. As for the snakes, I don’t know- really anything but a garden snake I suppose.”
He chuckled. “I was thinking of something a little more dangerous.” The movement of the razor stopped. “How’s this?” He showed you a photo on his phone, a brown snake with black stripes going from its wide, flat head to its skinny tail.
“She’s a beauty,” you angled yourself up slightly to get a better look, your front still mostly covered. “What species?”
“A death adder. Nocturnal,” he put his phone down then rubbed your back lightly with a cloth. “Quick to strike, it’s one of the most venomous snakes in the world.”
You looked up to give him a curious grin. “What made you choose this snake?”
“You seem like trouble.” He met your gaze momentarily and smirked.
You bit the inside of your cheek. “Tough talk from the guy who’s about to jab me with a needle for four hours.”
He smiled, shaking his head. “You’ve got me there.”
He stepped around to the other side of you and you heard him uncap a marker. You could feel him start to mark up your back, one gloved hand firm against you. You could smell the slightest hint of him, a combination of something peppery and deep, almost cool.
“So what made you decide to get a tattoo?”
“I’ve always wanted one,” you closed your eyes, focusing on his movements. “But I wanted to find the right artist and commit, you know? Let them run with something.”
“A purist,” he commented, sweeping a line across your shoulder blade.
You smiled against your hand. “I guess I like what you do, and I like how you do it.”
“So,” he guided one of your hands from under your chin, laying it by your side. “How does it feel to be the ideal client?”
“Hmm, pretty much the same. Do you have any gold stars?”
He chuckled, sketching more lines on you, these ones felt curved. He sighed, “that’s why I stopped taking so many appointments.” He came over to the other side of you. “I love tattooing,” another stroke, his other hand smoothing down your spine, “but I don’t love customer service.” He swapped your arms, bringing your left down by your side.
“I get it,” you suppressed a shiver from the feel of his hands running over your back. “And now?”
“Much calmer. I take a maximum of four clients a week,” you stilled at the feel of his breath over your shoulder, his pen stroked focused. In the reflection of the glass you could see his form bent over you. You swallowed hard. “I can take my time with it and do things right. Speaking of which,” you heard him cap the marker, “time to take a look.”
You sat up, holding the sheet to your front as you followed him over to the set of mirrors. He guided you onto a wooden step in the middle, and you caught a glimpse of the lines he’d drawn on you. He angled one slightly and your mouth fell open at the sketch of the two snakes, one over either shoulder, their tails intertwining between your shoulder blades. He’d drawn rough peonies and leaves to accent their shape, already beautiful and complimentary to your form.
“Wow.” You turned, catching his eye. He was leaning up against the mirror, hands in his pockets as he watched you, the tiniest hint of something simmering behind his gaze. “I love it, Loki.” You found it hard to keep your cool as you faced him, knowing he’d just sketched out an insanely beautiful design in under 10 minutes.
“Thank you, darling. Are you ready to start?” He held out a hand for yours, helping you off the polished step.
“More than.”
He led you back to the table, bringing an angular pillow wrapped in black silk for your front. He helped you prop yourself up so you could lay comfortably.
He pulled a stool over to your side, adjusting it before pulling on a new pair of gloves and turning to squeeze out some blank ink into a little cup on his side table. He picked up the tattoo gun, adjusting his setup so the cord would allow him more reach.
His eyes searched yours. “Take a deep breath for me, okay?”
You nodded and filled your lungs with air.
He turned and the gun started to buzz. In your periphery you could see he’d brought it closer to your skin. “Breathe out.”
You did as you were told and felt a vibrating little scratch on your shoulder, almost as if a cat was scratching your skin. It got a bit harder but it wasn’t unbearable, more annoying than painful.
“Good girl.”
You took in another deep breath at that, the velvet of his voice pushing the feeling further away. You could feel him leaning over you, one hand firm on your back.
“You’re doing so well,” he spoke by your ear, eliciting goosebumps. With that voice, he could talk you into anything. “It doesn’t hurt too much, does it darling?”
You shifted a little. “No,” the distant pain and his voice drawling in your ear had your breath uneven. You bit your lip, feeling yourself grow wet from the combined sensations. “It doesn’t really hurt at all.” Your voice sounded small in your ears.
“I promised I’d be gentle,” you could hear the smile in his voice. “Try to relax a little more, and keep your eyes forward for me. That’s it, right there. Perfect.” He whispered that last word and you held in a little whine.
You let your eyes slip closed, trying to focus on something other than him- his hands, his scent, the warmth of his body radiating against you.
You fell into an easy conversation through the outlining process, though every now and then he’d come a little closer to tell you something, his breath on your shoulder forcing you to grip the pillow harder. Each time he whispered a word of encouragement in your ear you could hear a hint of a smirk in his voice, as if his comments weren’t entirely innocent.
“And,” he added another long line above your shoulder blade, “there we are. Lovely.” He looked at you from his stool, smiling and nodding. “Let’s take a break.”
He got up, stretching as he went, discarding his gloves, massaging his hands. He stepped over to the record player, the stack once elevated now fully on the turntable as it spun. “What kind of music do you like?” He asked, flipping through the shelves full of records in the back.
“A little bit of everything, really. Wait, is this a test?” You asked, rolling your neck to relieve some tension. You took a few deep breaths, attempting to calm yourself after the past hour or so. You could feel how wet you were as you rolled your hips a bit, working out one of the many knots your body had formed while trying to hold yourself still. You sighed.
You looked back over to him, he was leaning against the shelves, the stack in his hand frozen in place as his gaze slid along your body. You gripped the pillow a bit, your heart beating fast. His eyes met yours and he smirked, his forearms flexing as he continued to flip through the catalogues. “No test, just wondering if you’d like to hear something specific.” He kept flipping through records, choosing one every now and then to rest on top of the growing stack elevated above the turntable.
“I guess if I could put in a request with the management, I’d ask for a little Warpaint.”
He smiled before he turned to pull out a record, flashing the cover at you. “Management says good choice.”
He placed the vinyl on top of the stack then flipped the switch, the machine dropping the bottom record onto the turntable. He came back over to you. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine, a little stiff,” you stretched your shoulders back, feeling your muscles loosen a bit.
“Let’s move you,” he nodded towards an angled chair, and your rolled up off the bed, wincing at the distant ache in your body. You loosely held the sheet to your chest, still rolling your shoulders as you settled into the seat, your chest supported by the leather platform in front. The new position definitely felt more comfortable, and you felt your muscles relax into the support of the chair.
Loki came up behind you, lowering his stool to be level with the seat. “Here,” he handed you a glass of orange juice. “Drink this. I’m going to put some numbing cream on you before I start the colour.” He carefully rubbed some cream onto your skin with his gloved hands. You shivered lightly, the pain fading almost immediately as you drank the juice.
“Good girl,” he nodded, taking your empty glass from you. “I won’t lie to you,” he got to work assembling reds, greens, browns, and orange inks from a cabinet. “Shading and colour usually hurts a bit more.” He brought over a sterile package, opening it and holding it up between you. “I need to use a few more needles.” The cluster looked menacing but you nodded. How bad could it be?
He gave you a reassuring smile once you met his gaze. He turned to assemble the dyes in more small cups, and swapped out the head of the tattoo gun with the needle he’d shown you. He wrapped everything back up in sterile cloth and tape. Before moving his setup closer to your new position and settling in his seat by your side.
He turned to you, his face level with yours. He was close, his gaze travelling up from your lips. “Tell me if I need to stop, okay?” His brows were drawn together, eyes serious.
“Okay,” you whispered, suddenly finding it a bit hard to breathe.
“Try to relax,” he rested his hand on your leg. You nodded gently, holding your breath as you kept your eyes on his. “No shame in coming back again to finish things up.” He brought his hand away, rolling his shoulders back as he shot you a grin. “I wouldn’t say no to seeing you again, darling.”
You smiled at him and nodded. You took a deep breath and straightened your posture as he moved behind you, his knees warm on either side of you.
“Ready?” His voice drawled in your ear once more.
“Yes,” you breathed, leaning into the leather a little more. You heard the telltale buzz of the needle and winced as it hit your skin, letting out the breath you’d unknowingly held. Okay, you thought, fuck this hurt a lot more.
“How’s the pain?” You distantly felt his free hand wiping away gently at your skin between strokes.
“It’s definitely worse,” you bit your lip, squirming a bit.
“Don’t focus on it. Relax,” he came up a bit closer to you. You could feel his legs against your own, his trousers soft against the bare skin of your lower thighs. “That’s it, good girl. Relax, just listen to my voice. You’re doing so well.”
You felt him stiffen- and you realised you’d absentmindedly moved your hips back against him. You shifted forward and gripped the leather, taking deep breaths.
“There we go,” he spoke by your ear, “just breathe through it.”
You focused on your breath, but couldn’t help letting out a little whimper. You felt absolutely overwhelmed. The pain was one thing, but the feel of him behind you, so very close, had your heart racing.
He stopped to pick up more ink before coming back over to you. “It’s looking good,” he felt closer to you now.
You moved your hips again, half out of discomfort, the other half out of most of your thoughts slipping away as you felt him against you.
This time he kept going, though you could feel his strained breath against you.
He kept on for a few minutes, before stopping to pick up more ink. Coming back, he drew some repetitive circles and you gasped, gripping the leather tight between your fingers, your hips pressing back farther.
“Fuck,” he sighed, pulling back the needle. “If you keep moving like that we will have a problem.” His voice was rough against your ear.
You could hear the exasperation in his voice. You felt high- the pain, the heat between you two finally too much. You kept your hips angled back against him. You were keenly aware of your situation, essentially naked except for your leather boots and shorts. Pushing your hips back farther, you turned to the side, looking him up and down. “Like this?” You moved a little more against him.
The buzzing stopped and he set the tattoo gun down on the side table. He pulled off his gloves and ran his hands down your sides before stopping at your hips and pulling them back against him. “You are playing a very dangerous game, darling.” His voice was low, full of warning.
You could feel how hard he was behind you and instinctively rocked yourself back against him. “I’m sorry,” you gasped.
“I don’t think you are,” he brushed his fingers down your exposed thighs.
“You’re right,” you gripped his knees through his trousers. “I’m not.”
“Wicked little thing,” he hissed then backed up and helped you out of the chair, his eyes hungrily taking in your exposed chest. “I knew you were going to be trouble.”
“Likewise,” you eyed him up and down, before he pulled you to him, sliding one hand along your hip to press against your lower back. He brought the other up to graze your cheekbone lightly, fingers slipping down towards your jaw. He angled your chin so your lips were inches away from his. He held you there, his chest heavy against you as his eyes searched your own, his expression dark.
“Is this what you wanted?” He slid a leg between yours and you whined at the sensation.
You swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Do you want me to fuck you, darling? Right here?”
“Please,” you breathed.
He quickly closed the gap between you, kissing you hard, your hips rolling against his. He swallowed your moans, his teeth dragging across your bottom lip. He pulled away, breathing hard against your lips. “Take off everything but the boots and lie on the table. Face down. Like before.”
You let out a shaky breath and did as you were told, sliding the shorts off before your damp panties. He kept his eyes on you the entire time, watching you darkly as he leant against the side table, one arm over his midsection, the other angled up as he rested his thumb against his lips.
You laid over your hands, letting out a little gasp as your skin stretched and moved. You were faced away from him, but watched in the reflection as he put on another pair of gloves and brought a bottle over. You felt him spray your shoulders with something, gently wiping it away before he returned with a little tub. You could feel him smearing something over your sensitive skin.
“Apologies darling,” he rasped into your ear and you whined. “But I couldn’t fuck you properly without covering this up.” He covered the area with a bandage then some medical tape, securing it to your skin before peeling off his gloves.
“Now,” he was back beside you, “be a good girl and stay still for me.”
“Okay,” you whispered, your thighs pressing together.
“Relax.” He let his fingertips trail up and down your spine, eliciting a shiver from you. You relaxed your muscles, consciously letting yourself melt into the bed below you. You let out a little hum at the feeling, most of the tension you’d built up slipping away.
“That’s it, good girl.” His lips ghosted against the shell of your ear and you felt an electric warmth spreading through you. “You don’t know how hard it’s been to keep my hands off of you, darling. Every little whine,” his fingers moved down your spine, this time trailing them lower. “Every little gasp,” he brought his fingers even lower, curving them along the inside of your thigh, inches from your dripping heat. “Every little tremble had me wanting to hear more. To see more. It made me curious,” he lightly trailed a finger up your slit and you inhaled sharply. “Will you let out those lovely little gasps as you come undone on my fingers?” Quickly finding your clit, he gently rubbed it in small circles as he took your earlobe between his teeth, flicking his tongue against it. You moaned, the sound loud in the empty room. He drew back, “I wonder, darling, what you’ll look like when I make you cum on my cock.”
Your breath was heavy, and you were whimpering, already so close.
“Loki I’m-“
“I know. You’re fucking dripping.” His voice was making your head spin, and when he dipped a finger within you you saw stars. “All for me?”
You swallowed and nodded, your fingertips diffing into the leather as you held yourself still.
“And how long has this pretty cunt been wet and ready for me?” He traced his tongue along the shell of your ear as he added another finger to lightly tease your dripping hole.
You tried to answer, you really did. But you found yourself completely overwhelmed, every coherent thought gone.
He slowly moved his fingers within you, curling the digits as he went. You were mewling, your hips absentmindedly angling up to meet him. “Oh, pet. Has it been hours?”
You whined in response and he chuckled darkly. “Don’t worry, darling. I won’t make you wait much longer.” With that he picked up the pace, and hit that sweet spot deep within you repeatedly. You were moaning, the frantic sound of your breath and his movements filling the air.
He angled your legs apart a little more and brought his other hand under you to lightly tease your clit. You cried out at the sensation, your fingers aching from their grip on the bed. “That’s it- fuck. You’re gripping my fingers so tightly. Come on, be a good girl for me and cum.”
His words sent you so far over the edge, your vision went black as you froze, the pleasure hitting you hard. You were crying out a mixture of curse words and his name over and over, your hips eventually riding it out against his hand.
As your breath returned to normal, you turned to look up at him. He smirked down at you, bringing his fingers to your lips. You quickly took them in your mouth, swirling your tongue over them as you held his gaze.
His smirk fell at that, brows knitting together. His jaw was hard as he watched you suck his fingers. He pulled them from your lips, and helped you sit up.
“How are you feeling?” He asked, restrained. You could see the bulge in his pants and felt a shiver run through you.
“Pretty fucking excellent.” You were surprised at the gravel in your voice. “But I don’t think we’re done here.”
“Oh?” He raised a brow.
“No.” You stood, stepping closer to him to press your chest against his. He was still fully clothed, his shirt still perfectly pressed.
“Tell me, darling. What else do you need?” He kept still, his expression daring.
“I need you to fuck me.”
He tilted his head, a slow, filthy grin spreading across his lips.
“Please.” You finished.
In a flash he’d captured your lips, his fingers holding your jaw as he held you to him. He teased you with his lips and tongue, making you whimper against him, your hands gripping the thin cotton of his shirt.
Still holding your jaw, he pulled away to kiss your neck, nipping and biting at the skin between kisses. Moving away, he led you over to a couch on the far side of the room, sitting down before pulling you on top of his lap. You held yourself above him, admiring him.
“Come here.” Hand sliding from your knees on either side of him up to your waist, he brought you down to settle over him, your hands smoothing against his chest. Holding his gaze, you slowly unbuttoned his shirt before undoing his belt and pants. He was watching you closely, his chest heaving with his slow breath.
You took him out, breaking eye contact to look at his cock. “Fuck,” you whispered. His skin felt like silk under your fingers, the hardened length of him heavy and hot in your hand. Your eyes traced up to his abdomen, finally seeing his chest piece, a green snake coiled around itself surrounded by the black ink of his other tattoos.
Raising your gaze to his face, you were struck at the sight of him, his eyes heavy lidded, bright blue-green now darkening with your touch. Although his body was covered in ink, you could still see the fine, long musculature under his skin. His jaw clenched as he leant back against the couch, eyes burning a cool flame as he watched you.
He slid a condom out of his pocket, pinching the package between two fingers. You took it from him, unwrapped it and rolled it onto him, his length twitching in your hands as you did so. You licked your lips before looking back up to him.
Gripping your ass, he guided you over him. God, those fucking hands felt so warm against you, his long fingers pressing into your flesh.
Not wanting to wait another second, you slowly slid onto his cock, shuddering in pleasure. Taking him inch by inch, he stretched you, eventually filling you completely. You groaned and took a moment to adjust, your fingertips digging into his shoulder.
“Christ,” he breathed, his mouth hanging open to accommodate his quickened breath. He shook his head at you, his eyes flickering over your chest. “You’re too fucking lovely.”
You twitched a little around him, bending to kiss him. He slid his hand onto your lower back and shifted to press you flush against him, your clit hitting the base of his cock. You inhaled sharply, your hips angling themselves to get more contact.
You had your hand splayed across the side of his neck, your thumb just under his jaw. Holding you tight against him, he broke the kiss to lick against your lips briefly before he started moving his hips up into yours.
You could feel your eyes roll back at the sensation, the angle he held you in somehow hitting you in places you’d never felt. “Loki, fuck-“ you breathed, pulling back to find him darkly staring up at you, his expression hard. You held one hand on his shoulder, the other flat against his chest as you took each thrust he gave you.
He brought one hand up against your breast, his eyes not leaving yours as he pinched your nipple between his fingers, causing you to squirm harder against him. “That pretty cunt is so wet for me, darling. Is this what you needed?”
You nodded, your chest heaving as you arched your back to press harder against his hand.
He let out a breath. “You’re gripping me so fucking tightly. Are you going to cum again?”
“Yes- please,” you breathed, “please don’t stop.”
“Not until you cum. I need you to cum on this cock. I need you to come undone for me.”
You whined, so very close. You cried out when he lightly rubbed his thumb against your clit.
“Be my good girl,” he growled, “and cum for me again.”
You moved your hips with his once, twice, three times before you were screaming, an intense pleasure hitting you so hard that your fingers went numb as they clawed weakly at his chest.
“That’s it, fuck-“ he groaned, holding you hard against him as he came with you.
You fell forward against his chest, the both of you out of breath, still twitching from the aftershocks.
You distantly heard Warpaint’s “Whiteout” in the background, the record just hitting the needle. He was running his fingers lightly up your spine, the feeling comforting you.
“Darling,” he spoke, his voice rumbling against your chest, sending a tremble through you.
You leant backwards, wincing a little as you did so, your muscles weak. He held you steady, smirking up at you.
“Don’t you want to see your tattoo?”
Your eyes widened, realising you’d never gotten the chance to see what he’d done. “Shit- I really, really do.” You slowly got up from his lap, his strong hands supporting you.
You walked over to your panties and shorts and slid them on over your boots. You turned to find him waiting by the mirrors, his pants on but his shirt still unbuttoned. He had one arm up against the side as he leant on them, his other hand in his pocket.
“Come here,” he smiled, his eyes running over your still topless form.
You strode over to him and he nodded to the little step. You stepped up and stood still as he peeled off the bandage.
“It isn’t quite finished- there’s still a lot of shading and colour to be done,” he warned. You could sense a bit of nerves in his voice.
You smiled at him through the mirror as he angled the one on the side so you could get a good look of your shoulders. When you caught sight of it your mouth fell open. “Holy shit.”
It was the most intricate work you’d ever seen. A snake on either shoulder, both done in such a beautifully artistic way, so detailed yet they held a hint of abstraction. Their bodies were posed similarly, but you could see he’d added little differences in their scales, eyes and heads. One’s tongue was flicked out slightly, the dainty pointed fork just peeking out from its lips. Their positioning was also altered slightly so it almost looked natural but still remained beautifully symmetrical, their curved bodies accenting your shoulders perfectly. You could make out a branch that he’d added in, the delicate peonies blooming from it as it held the bodies of the twisting serpents. You could see where he’d reached with the shading, the body of one snake partially filled.
“Loki, I-“ you shook your head. “I don’t know what to say. This is more than I could have ever imagined.”
He was smiling from the edge of the mirror, one long leg crossed over the other.
“I absolutely love it.” You turned to him, your eyes searching his, the swirling blue-greens bright once more. “Thank you.”
He tilted his head down, a wide grin across his lips. “You’re more than welcome.”
He helped you off the step and covered you back up. You put on your shirt, not risking the band of your bra rubbing up against your sensitive skin.
He walked with you back to the front of the space, helping you into your coat.
“So, I guess I should book a follow up. Maybe 2 or 3 weeks?” You asked, holding your purse in your hands. You wanted to see him again, but you kept your expectations low. You knew from your friends that a second session couldn’t start until you’d sufficiently healed from the first.
“Here’s my personal number,” he picked a card and pen up off the coffee table, writing on it before handing it to you. “Why don’t you come back tomorrow, darling? We can sort it all out then. Same time, around 7?”
You raised an eyebrow at him, smirking. “Are you asking me on a date?”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation.
You stepped forward and kissed him, your hands snaking up to his shoulders to hold him close. He gripped your hip, his other hand caressing your cheek as he held you to him, his lips still teasingly slow against yours.
You moved to rest your forehead against his, your breath mingling.
“Tomorrow then,” you whispered, licking and biting his lower lip before pulling away. You stepped back, sliding one hand along his forearm as you moved towards the door.
He licked his lips, shaking his head at you. “Trouble.”
“Likewise.” You gave him one last smile before slipping out into the cool night air.
Part II here.
Author's Note: Serious question- do we think Loki kept slipping in "good girl" to fuck with the reader? Cause I think yes.
I like to think his snake tattoo is a green adder (which is also venomous af) and he chose the death adder so reader would match.
I drew on a lot of my personal experience with my first tattoo for this. Especially the part about shading/colouring hurting a lot more than the outline. No one told me this and holy fuck it hurt! Especially after the outline.
Thank you as always for reading 🖤🖤🖤
