#Loki / You | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

snowflakesnsundry · 1 year

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Loki/F!Reader Summary: It has been some time since you have attended a large event, and it is made all the more difficult by the fact that you and Loki decided it would be safer to keep your relationship a secret. All is well and good, but as the hours pass late into the night, resolve weakens and you wonder- one dance couldn’t hurt, right? Tags: Romance, fluff, some references to alcohol, some sexual innuendo, not edited (yet), reader is bisexual Someone over on AO3 asked me to write some Loki/reader fluff based on the dynamics in my fic Until Dust, and I wanted to get it out before Christmas was over. It is currently 11pm…so I will edit it later. The dances themselves are based on Scandinavian folk dances, and those gave me a time and a half trying to put into words- so searching those might give you a picture of what im trying to convey if you need! This is my first time posting something like this to tumblr so, please bare with me while I get my footing! Sorry, and thanks!

You had not set foot in the Palace’s ceremonial hall since the Crown Prince’s failed coronation six years prior- and although a great deal had changed, there were some things that had -quite comfortingly- remained the same.

Just as you had then, you stood in the crowd.

The Allfather sat upon his throne, the Allmother standing at his right hand. Just as then, the steps of the dais were occupied by those held in highest esteem by the crown; and-in what seemed like no small miracle- Loki remained, standing proudly at his mother’s side. Thor too stood with his mother and brother, eager as any other for the night to truly begin.

Guests had begun to arrive in the hall two hours prior- trickling in slowly as the sun dipped low towards the horizon. The palace servants had begun their preparations a good many days ago, and the product of their efforts was a sight to behold.

Yule colors adorned every inch of the room. Banners of red, gold, green, and silver hung from every towering column, shifting gently in the winter winds. Massive iron braziers crackled with flames that chased away the chill from the open-air hall; though you were sure you would long for it soon. The air was perfumed by the boughs of spruce and pine that festooned the few tables that had been prepared at the far reaches of the hall; and from somewhere beyond the space, the scent of a decadent feast wafted in.

In the center of it all, stood the pyre.

From the balcony of your quarters you had watched them haul in massive slabs of stone the day before- quickly followed by enough wood to warm a small town for a year. It had been painstakingly arranged into elaborate shapes, the details of which you were sure would be lost not long after the fire was lit.

The crowd that had gathered was paltry compared to the number of souls the hall housed during Thor’s near-coronation, but that event had welcomed all of Asgard, where as this?

This was an event never intended for the likes of you.

The Feast of the Yule Flame was meant for the highest of nobility alone. Those who held positions of influence and power across the nine realms gathered here each year to pay homage to the royal family, and to welcome in the return of the warmer months.

You had fretted for some time over attending since, as a somewhat involuntary resident of the palace, your status was more questionable than ever before- and the sudden influx of dignitaries from across the nine realms did nothing to settle your nerves. Each one was an essential connection- a possible stepping stone towards becoming a diplomat to the nine realms- and if you were to fail here and now, you feared the damage would be irrevocable.

It was under the pressure of that mindset that you had snuck down the familiar corridors to Loki’s quarters the night before. He had welcomed you gladly, but nothing worthwhile came of it.

At least, not as far as the feast was concerned.

The following day you had returned to your quarters to find a dress of green and gold draped across your bed, and in the pocket you found a note that simply read:

“Keep their secrets and you will be fine. Try and enjoy yourself. “

You found him absolutely infuriating.

The Allfather had been speaking for several minutes, and you had not heard a single word. Your eyes had long since wandered from him, to his youngest son- and it had not gone unnoticed.

From his place on the dais, Loki had caught you staring almost right away.

When he first found your eyes, you watched as his face softened. His shoulders relaxed, and the grip he held on his own hands seemed to ease. A glimmer of warmth came to his eyes when he noted you had accepted his gift-but your frustration would not be so easily assuaged. You wanted him to know- in no uncertain terms- that you could not simply be bedded and bedecked out of your anxieties. It took him a split second to note your expression-and you assumed a good half second less to brush it aside.

Fighting back a smile, Loki returned your glowering with a level and unyielding gaze; squaring his shoulders and letting his chin lift high when at last he turned away. You could almost hear him in the back of your mind.

You’re wearing it, are you not?

As if that mattered.

You fell asleep quite easily when we were through.

That was not what you had asked of him- and yet…

As the King continued to speak, your strange staring contest continued on- Loki staring dutifully across the crowd, doing all he could to smother a smile; and you, hoping to burn a hole through his skull without being the first to break.

God of Mischief indeed.

The game continued until the Allfather struck his spear sharply against the floor of the dais.

A surge of cheers filled the hall as the pyre roared to life. The flames surged high above the heads of the crowd, each tendril of flame shimmering a different color- a veritableBifrost of flame, painting every corner of the hall.

For a fraction of a second, you managed to find him- grinning wildly as his eyes met your own.

It has only just begun.

All at once music filled the hall, and the revelers moved like a surging tide to encircle the fire. It was impossible not to be taken in by the unfettered joy that had prevailed in the hall. Cries of delight blended with the racing music as people grabbed whatever hand was nearest. You didn’t notice who took yours. Instead, you marveled at how quickly the attendees formed concentric rings around the brilliant flames- at how uninhibited they had become- and how quickly the divide between you and them melted away.

With little success, you attempted to pick up on the weaving footwork of the dance- the centrifugal force dragging you along faster and faster as foot over foot you spun.

For a time those around you did their best to adhere to the steps of the dance- but as the heat of their bodies mingled with the heat of the flames their resolve began to waver.

Faces quickly grew red from the heat and drink. Carefully crafted braids began to slip free of their clasps, elaborate coats and shawls were discarded without a second thought, and shoes were kicked away- abandoned wherever they came to lie. You yourself fell victim to the same influences. Loose strands of hair brushed across your face, and the heat left sweat to drip down your burning skin. You had not realized just how broadly you had been smiling until you felt the ache in the muscles of your face. Heart racing, joy bubbled up in your chest-any fears of first impressions or unflattering reputations were abandoned, and you allowed yourself to become fully lost in the current around you.

It was in such an unraveled state that his eyes found you.

Loki’s eyes shone brilliantly. His fears and inhibitions seemed to fade, and he had surrendered to the wild night air. The heat had undone his hair- black tendrils beginning to settle into their natural waves. They bounced about his face with every lithe step, catching the colors of the fire burning between you.

He was flanked by his brother and his friends, all enjoying themselves as if past transgressions had been forgotten. Time, warmth, and good mead seemed to have set them all at ease, and you couldn’t help but delight in his effortless smile.

With a flick of his head Loki removed the hair from his face- his features shifting into a wicked grin that set your blood aflame. You wanted nothing more than to break free from your place in the ring and join him, and there was no doubt the impulse was mutual.

Tempting as it was, however, there was little either of you could do now that you had found each other. You were both just as locked into the dance as any other- hands clasped tight with those at your sides, and caged from all angles by the other circles in front and behind. It wouldn’t be until the heat won out, and sweat soaked hands slipped free of one another’s grasp that the rings were finally broken.

Giddy laughter filled the hall, along with whoops of delight and appreciative applause amidst the madness. You took this chance to escape- to break free of the crowd before the next dance began lest you be caught in it until dawn.

And without a moment's hesitation, Loki followed.

He was at your side before you managed to emerge from the sea of dancers- creeping up so quietly you nearly leapt out of your skin when he spoke.

“Do you intend to abandon the festivities so early in the night?” He hummed, tone lilting and smooth from the drink.

“Heavens no,” you laughed. “I just need a moment to catch my breath.”

Loki beamed, his eyes so trained on you he was nearly knocked off his feet a few times as the two of you broke free of the throngs.

His wide mouthed grin did not fade for even an instant, mischief apparent in his every step.

“So soon? Has it proved too much for you, my lady?”

You rolled your eyes. “And if it has? What would you do, my Prince?”

Almost instantly you realized he had taken your words as an invitation to a game- a challenge.

“It would be my duty as a member of the royal family to ensure you engage with every delight the night has to offer.”

“It would seem that you have had your fill of delights- perhaps enough for the both of us.” You teased.

“To be fair, it is incredibly difficult not to indulge when in my brother’s company.” He smirked. “Somehow, that oaf manages to make it fun.”

“That is not what I would have expected.” You admitted, finally coming to a stop as you pressed your back against one of the towering columns- letting the cold balance the burning of your skin. “In fact, I would have presumed it to be the other way around.”

Loki deftly snatched a glass from a passing servant, offering it to you with a theatrical flourish.

“You would not be alone in that-” he chuckled “-but I have never been all too fond of the mornings that come after.”

“How very sensible of you.” You replied, taking the drink with a flourish of your own. You hadn’t the mind to down it quickly- the dance having already left you dizzy enough.

“Always.” Loki grinned, running a hand through his hair. “But enough, you still have yet to answer my question.” He pressed.

“Pardon?” You laughed. “What question?”

He abruptly frowned. “The one I have only just asked you.”

You furrowed your brow. “I fear you have not managed to ask it aloud; as you have yet to ask a single question of me.”

“I haven’t?”

“No, my Prince.” You replied, trying to hide your laughter behind your glass.

A deep crease formed across his forehead as you watched the wheels turn in his mind- reviewing the conversation to the best of his ability.

“No matter.” He said, shaking his head and dismissing it with a wave. “ I will simply ask it again.”

A wicked grin slipped across his features, and it took some effort to settle the butterflies that began to stir within you.

“Do you intend to abstain tonight, or will you allow me to show you the best of what this feast has to offer?”

You examined him closely, unsure if he was serious. After all, you had both promised to keep your distance.

But then again, what harm was there when both of you agreed to break it?

Loki had enemies-more than you could count, and some you were sure you had yet to discover; and while your relationship could be used as leverage, what would be the harm in a dance or two?

He would simply be a Prince socializing with his people.

You tapped your chin thoughtfully, pretending it was a difficult decision to make. “I suppose it would be possible, but I have been waiting for the perfect partner to appear. Imagine my distress if I escaped with you only to miss them!”

Loki bit back a wry grin. “Well heavens, what is keeping them?”

“If only I knew.” You replied with a dramatic sigh.

He shook his head with a laugh. “Well, I suppose I will help you look for them, then.” He moved to stand at your side, arms half crossed as he took another sip from his drink.

“How incredibly kind of you.”

Loki grinned, and the two of you stared out across the floor for a short time. Neither spoke a word, but you drifted every so slightly closer each time you shifted your weight.

Once close enough, you felt him lean down towards your ear-his balance unsteady, but his voice remarkably even.

“My lady,” he whispered, just loud enough to be heard above the music and crowd “-do you know what I think?”

“Thankfully not.” You teased-though it was quite handily ignored.

“I think you are afraid.”

“Am I now?” You shifted so you might look him in the eye. “And what is it that I am afraid of?”

His blue eyes seemed radiant against the warm tones of the hall, and you could not help but picture throwing your arms around his neck and sinking your teeth into his lip; and from the way his eyes moved across your face- he knew.

“I think-“ he said, leaning just a fraction closer. “That you are afraid they will discover that you are, in truth, a terrible dancer.”

There was a loud “thwack”, and it was not until it began to sting that you realized you had struck his arm with the back of your hand.

Loki pulled back, looking taken aback for just a moment before he surrendered to a fit of wild laughter. “Well that proves it, doesn't it?”

“Oh it proves nothing!” You huffed, a bit embarrassed you had struck him so readily in public.

He deftly took your drink from your hand, placing both it and his own aside. As his fingers slipped between yours, you watched unfettered mischief shine through in his eyes.

“Then show me.”

There was a sharp change in his tone that, although not angry, made it clear he was not asking anymore.

But if you were to be known for anything- it would be pushing your luck.

“I take it you think yourself my perfect partner then?”

“Oh heavens no-“ he scoffed, a wicked spark in his eye. “But I do intend to monopolize your time in the interim.”

The moment the laugh left your lips he threaded his fingers through yours, leading you backwards towards the dance.

There was something irresistible about this side of him. It was the side he kept hidden away-the one with a passion for all aspects of living; the one that thrived amongst others, unburdened by the weight of expectation- unhindered by that which lay in his path. He was himself-without trappings and tricks, without ego, and without the walls he kept so fortified around him.

The moments where you found yourselves alone were often this way, and you could not help but wish he did not have so much to stand watch against; because then, and only then, he could finally let go of all that held him back.

Or so you hoped. Reality is rarely as cut and dry as expected.

Loki guided you, and with both your hands clasped, you stood with them crossed in an X between you.

“If you truly can dance-“ he teased “-you should be able to manage this just fine.”

As a matter of fact, you could. It was surprisingly simple considering, but it would keep him close, and you were almost certain that was why he had picked it.

“I will be more than fine.” You said with a coy grin.

“Fantastic.”

With a twirl your hands were lifted above your head, and by the time they were drawn back down, you and Loki stood side by side. Hands still clasped, you had drawn your left to rest beneath your chin, pulling his arm tight across your chest- and he had done the same with his right- forming the image of an infinite loop between you.

Together, you waited for an opening in the current and the rhythm of the music before throwing yourselves headlong into the fray.

You had long since forgotten the correct footwork, but it hardly mattered. Hand in hand you spun, moving across the floor, weaving through other attendees until they seemed to dissolve into the background. Loki led, knowing full well it had been some time since you had attended an event such as this-but the steps returned to you quickly.

Three steps and a turn, moving you from his left to his right.

The next time, from his right to his left.

Once more, from his left to his right.

Three steps and your hands would lift over your head, he would pass behind you as you turn, taking you from his right to his left.

And then from his left to his right.

And again, from his right to his left. Never once breaking your grip on his hands.

Over and over you whirled, finding your spotting point in his eyes- but growing dizzy all the same. Each missed step and stumble brought laughter and subtle teasing; every time you struggled to reach quite high enough when his hands passed over his head was a chance to draw you just a little bit closer.

Time passed differently- minutes felt like seconds, and the hours passed without notice as the fire burned lower and lower on its stage. He made no effort to hide how looked at you; no effort to pull away or attempt to spare so much as a second for anyone else. Any trace of the promise you had made vanished with the smoke; blown away by the whirling pocket that seemed to contain no more than you two. But when, at last, your aching feet won out you let your fingers slip from his grasp.

At first he simply tried to pick it back up, but when you withdrew again he looked at you confused.

“I will be back!!” You called, hoping your voice would rise above the din.

“Where are you going?” He replied, a deep crease forming between his brows.

You thought he looked like a child whose favorite toy had been stolen away.

“I must go see if my perfect partner has arrived!” You gave him a teasing glance, but he rolled his eyes reaching out to retake your hand faster than you could react. He pulled you tightly to him, leaning down so his lips brushed your ear as he spoke.

Warm and low, his voice seemed to resonate within you. His hold softened, thumb meandering slowly over the burning skin of your hand- and you felt that same fluttering at the pit of your stomach.

“Stay.”

You looked up into Loki’s eyes, face so close your nose brushed against his; any hope that your feelings for one another might go unnoticed abandoned.

And you couldn’t have been happier.

Both of you fought to level your breath as the dance continued on around you. He relinquished your fingers slowly, and struggled to remember why you had considered leaving at all.

“At this point-“ Loki continued, “I think you can safely assume you have been stood up.”

“Do you really think so?” You grinned.

“Mmm. Perhaps they’re not so perfect after all.”

“I think you may be right.”

Your feet could wait. His eyes were too bright and his touch too sweet. The colors of the flame caught his hair so it seemed to dance in the light, and an evening such as this would only last until dawn.

Gently, your hand returned to his- and as delight bloomed across his face again, you were pulled laughing back into the dance.

Three steps and turn, move left to right.

“You know-” Loki called “You never told me much about this perfect partner of yours!”

Three steps and turn, move right to left

“Did I not?” You shouted back. “I suppose I didn’t want to make you jealous!”

Once more: three steps and turn, move left to right

“A wise choice! Though I must admit, I am incredibly curious.”

Three steps, hands up, and turn-

“Of who they are?”

-Pass right to left

“Of course!” Loki laughed.

Three steps,

“I am afraid you wouldn’t know them, my Prince!”

Hands up and turn,

“My good lady, I know everyone- whether they want me to or not.”

You could only laugh as you struggled to pull your attention from him just long enough to create a proper character in your mind- but he hardly gave you the chance.

Pass left to right

“I’ll tell you what- how about I guess, and you tell me when I have it right?”

“Allright then! But only three tries!”

“Five!” He countered.

“Four!” You echoed, feeling like a dealer in the markets.

“You drive a hard bargain, but I’ll take it!” Loki grinned.

Never let go,

Begin again.

“What is your first guess?”

“Hmm….”

Three steps, and turn-

“With a lady such as you, it would have to be someone of note-“ He continued

Move right-

“Flirt.” You scoffed under your breath.

“-so shall we start at the top?”

To left.

As you turned your head to glance at him over your shoulder you shouted in shock. The man with whom you were dancing was no longer Loki, but his brother.

Your hand broke free as you pulled back, observing who now stood with you. Long golden hair -braided as it had been before the night tore it free-shifted about his rounded jaw; his face completely indistinguishable from the real thing.

Had you not known better, you might have thought they swapped places when you weren’t looking.

“Loki!” You cried, unable to contain your laughter.

“No, no, you’re right-” he said, reclaiming your hand once more. “Thor simply isn’t your type.”

Again, and turn

“Besides, he can’t dance to save his life.”

“You are ridiculous!” You called, almost terrified to let him out of your sight- but it was no use. His strength, and the sheer momentum of the dance pulled him from your view before you had a moment more.

Move left,

“Perhaps you need someone more charming, and dexterous!”

to right.

You were met with blonde hair once again, but this time it’s bearer had a far more agile frame. With blue eyes, and a well combed mustache you recognized him almost immediately.

“Fandral?” You asked with appropriate disdain. “Absolutely not!”

“Are you sure?” Loki asked, now taking on the man’s voice. “He can be quite charming when he so desires!”

Three steps

“I simply have no taste for blondes!” You replied.

And turn

“Ahh! I see! Well if that’s the case, then-“

Move right to left

“-Perhaps this suits you better?”

Loki’s hair had returned to its familiar black, but the head upon which it was placed was- expectedly- quite different from his own.

“Far too stern!” You replied

“Good Sir Hogun?” Loki said with feigned surprise. “ I could hardly believe that!”

“You will simply have to trust me! These men aren’t my taste!”

Three steps, hands up-

“Well then perhaps-“

Turn past, move right

“-She might be more of your type?”

Lady Sif looked down at you as you turned around- and while you could not help but blush, you shook your head.

“Tempting, it’s true-“ you called. “But it’s just not right!”

“You’re sure?”

“I am! And you’ve only one guess left!”

Shifting back to himself in a flicker of green, you continued your steps asLoki took his time to think-hemming and hawing over his final guess. All at once, he gasped-dramatic as ever- his hands gripping to yours like a man in shock.

“My good lady, you wouldn’t.” Loki growled playfully in your ear.

“What are you talking about?”

Loki quickly spun you into a turn, and when you found him again, black hair turned a strawberry red, braided beard swinging freely in the dance.

“A married man?” Loki exclaimed as you burst out laughing. “And with children too!” He continued, enthralled by your squeals of delight.

“I could never!” You replied as he spun you again-the song coming to an end- leaving facing your Loki once more.

Both of you beamed as brilliantly as the flames, chests heaving from your efforts amidst the pulse of the dance. You heard those around you applaud the musicians, but neither of you bear to break the other’s line of sight.

“Certainly you don’t see me being as wicked as that.” You teased.

“Perhaps not.” He grinned, lifting your hand to his lips. “A lady such as you would need something…more.”

Offering you his arm, the two of you moved to the edge of the floor where the cold night’s breeze could refresh your overheated skin.

“Then how might you picture that person to be?” You asked.

“Well, obviously they must be appealing to look at-”

“What a shallow place to start!”

“-but, it would also be important to find you someone who might keep you entertained.”

Releasing Loki’s arm you turned to face him, and he casually leaned against the pillar beside which you had stopped.

“They would need wit- sharp enough to keep you in line.” He continued. “Tenacity to keep up with your… baser desires.” You rolled your eyes. “Someone versed in politics, but not overly immersed- who shared your pastimes and passions but could bring new ones as well.”

You reached for his hand, and he accepted it with a smile- but you noted the smallest of shifts on his face. “You, dear lady, would need someone who could bring you adventure-but never danger; who could keep you safe. Who would wake by your side every morning without question.”

You squeezed his hand- an ask for him to say nothing further, and surprisingly he yielded.

“That is all well and good, but what one needs and what one wants do not need to align in order to find something good.”

Loki’s mouth opened, only for him to catch himself; closing his eyes. With a frustrated sigh, he opened his eyes. “But some of it is simply not optional.”

“True.” You admitted. “Then may I tell you what isn’t optional so far as my partner is concerned?”

Loki shifted uncomfortably, as you watched his insecurities go to war with his near constant need of praise.

“Well, I will tell you anyway.”

Loki merely laughed.

“What I need- what I cannot live without, is someone who loves me-of course- and who knows me well. Someone who delights in the new, but does not disregard the old. I do not need them to be predictable, but I do need there to be constancy in their love- they do not need to be at my side every night so long as I can count on their safe return.”

You saw the tiniest glimmer of panic in his eye-the one you saw when he wanted to pull away. The one that came when a compliment was too precise, or he felt there was a promise he felt you could never keep; but you held his hand tighter in the hopes he wouldn’t break free.

“I need someone who I love, who remains in their worst moments-and in mine. Who knows what it is to make a mistake, and to try and make amends.”

The gears in Loki’s mind turned as he fought the urge to dilute his discomfort with an offhand remark or joke-and his resolve could only hold out for so long.

“Do you not think that is enough?” You asked.

Loki sighed, studying you carefully for a moment.

“You are the biggest fool I have ever known-do you know that?” He said, hooking his finger under your chin.

“Shockingly, you are not the first to say that to me.” You replied without flinching.

Some of his tension faded as he laughed- letting the more languid Loki return- and you could not help a sigh of relief that you released in turn. Gently placing his lips on your forehead, he slipped his fingers gently into your hair.

“So long as you want me, I will be here. And if you realize you don’t, then tell me, and I will let you go on your way.”

“Thank you.” You sighed, placing your hand upon his chest-feeling how little his heart had slowed since you had come to stand at the party's edge.

“But if you don’t mind, the sun is far from rising- and I do believe I have yet to put that tenacity of yours to the test.” You teased.

“Another dance, then?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Once more, Loki took your hand and pressed it to his lips. “Then let's make fools of ourselves, shall we?”

With a roll of your eyes you followed, taking a few quick steps so you might slip your arm into his and keep pace at his side. Without hesitation you found your way into the sea of revelers once more- and until the sun rose once more you would do so again, and again.

#Loki #loki fanfic #loki reader insert #loki you #loki fluff #loki x you #loki fanfction #loki x reader

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cleo-fox · 8 months

Text

Surrender

Summary: Finding your soulmate is supposed to be a romantic, life changing experience.

No one tells you what to do when a). your soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of your planet and made himself king and b). you kind of still want him anyway.

(Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering.

A/N: look, I was intrigued by the idea of a Loki Wins AU and also a soulmate AU and this just sort of happened. I may write more of this concept because it gave me IDEAS. This is also available on AO3.

The mark on your wrist begins to burn the minute he walks into the room.

At first you think it’s a coincidence or a mistake—there are guards walking with him, perhaps it’s one of them. But then he flinches, his right hand going to his left wrist and your heart sinks to your knees. It could still be a coincidence, you tell yourself halfheartedly.

He scans the room and when his eyes land on you, it’s like the tumblers of a lock clicking into place and you know.

He’s much taller than you thought he was—that’s the only conscious and coherent thought you manage to have as he approaches you. Being the subject of his gaze is overwhelming in a way that you sort of expect, but it still makes you want to sit down and close your eyes. He looks you over, his gaze lingering briefly on your nametag from work.

“Show me your wrist,” he says.

You don’t think he’s using his powers, but you comply automatically, extending your arm toward him, wrist turned up. There’s a frisson of electricity that buzzes along the back of your hand when he touches it—if there were any remaining doubts about who he is and his relationship to you, that feeling surely puts them to rest. You know that he must have felt something too from the way he looks at you sharply, as though he thinks you’ve done something intentional to cause this. You can only hope that your wide eyed bewilderment convincingly conveys your innocence.

His expression betrays nothing as he examines the mark on your wrist, which is now glowing a bright gold that would be pretty if the circumstances were different.

It’s funny, you think. You’ve been waiting for this moment your entire life and all you can think is that you wish it wasn’t happening.

He releases your hand and looks at you in a calculating sort of way. “Come with me,” he says finally.

You do, of course. What other choice do you have?

The next several hours are a blur.

You are shuffled from place to place. Usually there is at least one guard—you’re not sure why. The idea of you being able to do any damage to him is laughable and escape doesn’t exactly seem like an option. Where could you go that he could not find you?

It’s a depressing thought; you try not to think much about it.

You know exactly when the news breaks because it coincides with your phone basically becoming unusable due to the flood of notifications, calls, and texts. You put it on airplane mode to compose a short message to your family and friends. Your reassurances feel a little trite given the circumstances: I’m fine, I’ll call when I can.

You can’t exactly type what you’re really thinking, which is more along the lines of I’ve just learned that my soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of our planet. I’m doing about as well as you’d expect.

You turn airplane mode off long enough to send the email. Once it sends, you power down your phone. It doesn’t seem prudent to leave it on, at least not right now—right now, it only serves as a reminder of a life you know you’re going to have to leave behind and you’re not at all ready to confront that particular loss.

They eventually take you to what you assume are his rooms. You’re surprised by how traditional the decor is—you had expected a cold sort of minimalism, but there’s more wood and warm colors than you would have thought. You are informed that there are clothes for you in the closet; you nod and say nothing, though you wonder how they managed to pull an entire wardrobe together in the span of only a few hours. Magic, perhaps.

You are finally left alone, though you’re fairly certain that you would find guards stationed outside if you were to look.

You take one of the elegant velvet throws from the bed and wrap it tightly around yourself before settling on the couch next to the window. You’re not exactly cold, but it feels like a necessary armor between you and this unfamiliar place.

You stare out the window for a long time. You’re too high up to people watch and you’re not sure that you could handle that anyway—it would be yet another reminder of the fact that your life has changed in a massive, earth shaking way that you can’t even begin to understand. Instead, you stare at the tiny cars on the city streets below, snaking their way to destinations that feel so far out of your grasp that they might as well be on a different planet altogether.

It’s late when he finally shows up—so late that you’ve actually gotten ready for bed, donning one of the silk nightgowns that had been left for you. You can tell it’s more expensive than any sleepwear you’ve ever owned in your life. You’re just glad that it’s modest—you had half expected to find that all your pajamas were bustiers, thongs, and thigh highs in some sort of ill considered attempt to seduce you. But this is elegant and understated, with a matching robe that you cinch tightly around your waist.

You sit on the couch, the throw still wrapped snugly around you. He looks at you, the corner of his mouth curled up in a slight smirk.

“I hope you don’t intend to stay there the entire night,” he says.

“I hardly know you,” you say before you can even contemplate whether it’s wise.

He looks…amused isn’t quite the right word, but there’s a subtle tilt to the corner of his lips—not quite a smile, but maybe somewhere in the vicinity.

“Give it time,” he says, and something about that makes you shiver.

You intend to sleep on the couch, at least for these first few nights when everything still feels so raw and strange.

Or that was your plan, anyway.

Loki doesn’t say anything else as he prepares for bed and you stare resolutely at the window so as not to invite any more conversation or prompt any invitations to join him in bed. Eventually, the lights go out and you are left alone with your thoughts in the dark.

The room is much colder at night.

You’re not sure if it’s on purpose, though you wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Perhaps he likes it like this. Perhaps it’s to lure you to him, to tempt you into seeking out the warmth of his bed and body.

You pull the blanket more tightly around your shoulders. Eventually, you allow your eyes to drift shut.

You wake some time later in the middle of the night. The room feels even colder, the velvet of the throw and the silk of your nightgown and robe a scanty defense against the chill. You burrow against the couch cushions and it’s sort of bearable.

But you also have to pee.

You hold off for as long as you can, but you eventually summon the will to leave the couch and seek out the bathroom.

The bathroom is even colder—perhaps it’s all that glass and marble that makes the difference. You’re wearing your robe and you’ve still got the blanket wrapped around you, but your teeth are chattering by the time you wash your hands. You run the water as hot as you can stand, but it only does so much. If you were braver—if it wasn’t your first night here, you would run an extra hot shower and stay under the spray until your fingers and toes pruned and the chill was chased from your bones.

Instead, you hustle back to the couch, burrowing against the cushions, throw and robe wrapped tightly around you. But you still can’t seem to shake the cold. You huddle on the couch, shivering, trying to calm your body.

Time passes and you don’t grow any warmer. You wonder if you can steal another throw from the bed—surely he won’t miss one—when a voice speaks from the darkness.

“Come to bed,” Loki says.

You clear your throat. “What?”

“I can hear your teeth chattering from here. Come to bed and stop being absurd.”

You hesitate, staring into the dark. You consider the cold, the slight kink in your neck from the way you’ve been sleeping on the couch, the late hour, the way that sleep pulls at your eyes. A bed is appealing. Maybe more appealing than it should be.

You find yourself getting to your feet and slowly making your way across the room.

You pause on the other side of the bed—your side, you suppose, though calling it that still feels too intimate. You can just make him out in the dark.

“You’ll stay on your side,” you say, like making it a statement will make it so.

“Well, you hardly know me.” His voice is clipped, more bitter than you expect as he echoes your words from earlier.

You can’t help but scowl. “I’ve known you for less than twenty-four hours and it’s the middle of the night. I’m not doing this right now.”

He laughs. It’s sharp and brittle and unexpected, but it’s a laugh all the same, and something about that helps, if only a little.

You don’t say anything else as you climb into bed. You find that the blankets are warm—warmer than you expect—and heavy. There’s a part of you that expects yourself to be too nervous and on edge to fully relax, but the coziness of the blankets piled around you is oddly calming, even with Loki mere inches away. You hunker down underneath the blankets, situating yourself on the pillows.

He doesn’t say anything and it’s not long until his breathing becomes steady and even.

And after a while, yours does, too.

Consciousness creeps up on you slowly the next morning, a far cry from the jarring alarm on your phone that usually disrupts your slumber. You are warm and cozy, cocooned in the blankets, safe from all of the bullshit that had happened yesterday.

It’s such a peaceful, easy awakening that it takes you a moment to realize that you aren’t alone.

It takes another moment for you to realize that your cheek is pressed against Loki’s chest. And to make matters worse, not only are your arms wrapped around his him, your right leg is also flung across his waist, like you can’t bear to be parted from him for even a moment.

But before the panic sets in, there is a barely perceptible moment where your body just enjoys the feeling of being pressed against him. It’s quick and you’d deny it if asked, but the rush that you get from giving into the pull of your soulbond for even that brief moment is nothing short of incredible.

But it’s just a moment and your mind quickly turns to the matter of extracting yourself without drawing his notice. Ideally, he’ll just stay asleep and you won’t have to deal with any awkward fallout. If you move very slowly and carefully, perhaps he won’t notice.

You carefully start to move your leg from his waist.

“To be clear, you’re on my side of the bed,” he says.

God fucking dammit.

You abandon all subtlety and quickly peel yourself away from him.

“I must have rolled over in my sleep,” you say, incredibly conscious of how stupid that sounds.

He smirks, which is somehow worse than if he’d said anything.

“It won’t happen again,” you say.

It does.

This is your new routine: you start every evening on the couch, wrapped up in your robe and throw. You wake some time in the night, teeth chattering. Sometimes, Loki will tell you to come to bed. Other times, you quietly give up and slip under the covers on your side of the bed.

But every morning without fail, you wake tangled around him.

Sometimes, he’s spooned up behind you; more often, though, you’re the one clinging to him. It’s as though your body has a homing device that leads you over to his side of the bed in your sleep, dutifully ignoring all of your stern warnings about who stays where.

The worst part of it is that you’re fighting your own instincts. On a very basic, physical level, you yearn to be close to him. There’s a part of you that revels in these unintentional moments of closeness, that wants to allow yourself to enjoy the feeling of him, to allow him to put his hands on your body, for you to put your hands on him.

The fact that he wakes up noticeably hard most mornings does not make this any easier.

This is a problem that you’re not entirely sure how to solve and the second week in, your desire for information finally outweighs your desire to avoid social media and the deluge of emails and texts that you know are waiting for you on your phone.

You turn your phone back on and immediately delete all of your social media apps. You don’t know what they’re saying about you and you don’t care to. You turn off all of your notifications, even the little number icons that show you how many unread emails and texts that you have. You want absolutely no distractions.

You open a private browser window and pull up Google.

Newly connected soulbonds are the hormonal equivalent of pouring out a bunch of gasoline and striking a match. Soulbonds are intended to be consummated. You know this. There are people who wait it out for one reason or another, but that’s very much the exception—it’s a physical and emotional test of endurance. And you’re beginning to understand why.

The internet is not very helpful. You already know what happens when you don’t consummate a soulbond promptly—increased arousal, restlessness, vivid dreams, and so on as time goes on. You’re more interested in mitigation. You find a few blogs that have entirely irrelevant suggestions like cuddling on the couch or holding hands. “While you’re waiting for intercourse, why not try some outercourse?” one post muses with a level of earnestness that causes you to immediately turn off your phone and fling it across the room.

You’re going to have sex with him at some point. That’s inevitable. On a very basic level, you want him—it’s more or less coded into your DNA. But that is at odds with the reality of who he is and what he’s done. It might feel good to wake up tangled around him, but it only takes a minute to remember the battle of New York and it nearly extinguishes the desire burning within you.

But only nearly and only for now.

The third week is when things start getting increasingly difficult.

Loki seems content to wait things out. You can feel the burn of his gaze on you, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t prod.

You, on the other hand, find yourself slipping into a heightened state of arousal that is becoming impossible to ignore. Midway through the week, you finally give in and try touching yourself in the shower in the hope of some relief and you come so quickly and so hard that you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from crying out and your legs very nearly buckle from the force of it. A few twitches of your fingers has you sprawled on the shower floor and coming again, harder than before. You repeat this trick a few times but even as strong as it is, it doesn’t really help—you’re back to where you started within minutes.

Worse though, is the fact that it’s his face that you see when you come. Every. Single. Time. You imagine him over you, his gaze dark and intent as he watches you come; slack jawed and hissing in pleasure as he pushes into you; growling in approval and impatience as you take his cock into your mouth. The images come entirely unbidden and stick in the forefront of your thoughts like a burr clinging to wool.

When you see him later that afternoon, his gaze lands on you in such a way that it feels like he knows everything you’ve done and everything you’ve seen, from that moment in the shower to the shameful thoughts you had as you came.

The dreams start shortly after, and they are objectively worse.

The dreams are far more vivid than just images. In the dreams, he’s touching you, coaxing you to peaks you could never have imagined, pressing into you, taking you hard and fast and achingly slow and everything in between. The dreams leave you out of breath and shaky, aching for a touch that you know that you should not want, but do with every fiber of your being. By some miracle, they only seem to occur while you are on the couch and not when you’re in bed, but that luck won’t hold forever.

Perhaps more importantly, you know it’s only a matter of time before you give in. Deep down, you’ve known this from the moment the mark on your wrist started to burn. Your resistance is eroding like a sandcastle at high tide and it’s only a matter of time before you crumble.

But not yet. Not yet.

Five weeks after your arrival, you wake sweating and out of breath from another dream.

You take a few deep breaths. It was similar to the ones you’d had before. Thinking about the details makes your core ache and your clit throb so you try to keep them out of your mind.

You’re half surprised that you’re not tangled around Loki, given the content and subject of your dream, but that makes sense when you realize he’s not in bed. Instead, he sits on the couch, staring into the middle distance. Perhaps he is struggling with the same kinds of dreams.

The idea of you making Loki too hot and bothered to sleep is more appealing than you’d like to admit. You hastily dismiss the thought before it can bring any more heat to your already too warm skin or add more fuel to the flickering desire that seems to have settled permanently in the cradle of your hips.

You slip out of bed and go to the window, folding your arms across your stomach as you stare out at the sleeping city.

“You were calling out in your sleep.”

More heat prickles at your skin.

“Hm,” you say, trying your best to sound casual.

“What were you dreaming of?” he asks.

He’s only asking because he already knows the answer. You know this. But the lie still slips from your lips: “I don’t remember.”

He laughs, a quiet and dangerous sound that stokes the fire in your belly. “Have you forgotten, darling, that I am the god of lies?”

You can hear him walking toward you, but you keep your back turned. Has the room always been this warm?

He waits until he is directly behind you to speak again. “Will you lie again when I ask if you were dreaming of me?” His voice is so close, full of depth and a little husky.

“You flatter yourself,” you say.

You can hear the smirk in his voice, feel the whisper of his breath on your neck. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” He pauses for a moment. “But you were calling out for me.”

Your lips are dry. You want to deny it, but it feels useless. Worst case scenario, he’s still mostly right: you were dreaming of him and you can’t even really deny crying out for him because you were asleep and you don’t know for sure.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he continues. His voice drops. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you writhing in pleasure beneath me.” He pauses. “Or I see myself between your legs, worshiping you with my mouth, bringing you to ecstasy over and over before I finally take you.”

Your heart is pounding and every nerve in your body feels as though it’s connected directly to your clit. You are warm—too warm—and you can feel your pulse pounding in your throat.

“What were you dreaming of?” he continues, his voice barely a murmur.

“Nothing,” you say.

He clicks his tongue. “Try again, darling.”

You say nothing and after a moment of silence, he seems to decide that it’s time to switch strategies.

“You must be so wet,” he murmurs, his tone low and soothing.

Your stomach and your cunt clench. If he starts talking dirty to you, it’s over.

“We’re not meant to go this long like this,” he says. “We both know that. It’s been five weeks. Your poor cunt is probably aching for me, just as I ache for you.”

Your breath is coming in shaky gasps. You need him. You can feel your resolve starting to slip.

“Yield to me.” His voice is rough with wanting, like this is just as hard for him as it is for you. “I know you feel it. I feel it, too. You yearn for me, you crave my touch. Let me make you feel good, darling, let me ease that ache. Yield and I will give you everything.”

You draw in a shaking breath and slowly turn to face him. He’s looking at you with an intensity that you expect, but it takes your breath away nonetheless.

The remnants of your resistance are lost to the wave of him and the only thing that’s left in its place is a raw need like you’ve never experienced before.

You don’t know what to say, so in the end, you settle for his name. Just his name, said quietly with all the desperation and longing that has been making your life hell these past few weeks.

You get a glimpse of the fire in his eyes before he’s on you.

There’s nothing gentle about this kiss. It’s the kiss of two people who have been deprived of each other for too long, your teeth bumping against each other, tongues twisting and tangling. You end up pressed against the wall next to the window, your leg wrapped around his waist, his hand supporting your thigh. He presses his hips against you and you moan into his mouth at the feeling of his hard cock dragging against your swollen, sensitive clit. He draws back slightly to look at your face as he slowly grinds his hips against yours, his free hand moving to palm your breast over the silk of your nightgown.

You moan again, your head dropping back against the wall. The soft, slippery friction of the silk of your nightgown against your nipple and the soaked lace of your underwear rubbing against your clit is enough to make you go cross eyed, a slow tease that only fans the burning embers within you. Your body is overheated and too tense, but Loki is blessedly cool in a way that somehow both soothes and inflames.

“You’re drenched. I can already feel that,” he says, his voice thick with desire as he moves against you. “I could make you come like this.”

You whimper, rocking your hips back against him. “Please.”

He shakes his head. “Another time. Tonight I want to feel you when you come.” He drops his hand from your breast, trailing down your stomach and moving in between your legs. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, and you let out a needy whine as he strokes the slick folds of your sex. “Is this all for me?” he asks, his voice slipping into a low growl.

You barely manage a breathy affirmative.

“Sweet thing.” His thumb rolls over your clit as he slides one finger into you, and your back arches automatically, your breasts jutting out. “We’re going to have to do something about this, aren’t we?”

“Please,” you breathe.

“How can I resist such a sweet plea?” he says, sliding another finger into you and curling it just so. “Or such a wet and needy cunt?”

“Don’t stop,” you say.

“I ought to make you beg me for it after everything you put me through.” His eyes darken as his thumb presses against your clit and you moan. “But perhaps I can be generous. I can feel how much you need to come on my fingers.”

You nod, slack jawed and panting.

“You’ve been waiting for this,” he murmurs. “You’ve tried to deny yourself, but you need me, you need my touch.”

You whimper, your hips rocking.

“Say it,” he says, stroking your clit.

“I need to come,” you moan.

“A good start,” he says, his voice a stern purr. “But not quite what I asked, my love. Try again.”

A twinge of irritation manages to work its way to the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly in a state to be playing twenty questions.”

His eyes light up with a predatory gleam that heralds the arrival of something that you know will end enjoyably for you.

“Oh, darling, that attitude won’t do at all.” His fingers are immediately and conspicuously absent and you very nearly cry out in frustration. But before you can, he is sweeping you into his arms and making the journey to the bed in several long strides. He sets you gently on the bed and looms over you, green eyes flashing as his hands stroke up your thighs. You lift your hips and he pulls your underwear off, tossing it to the side.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” His voice is a growl. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need to come.” You know it’s the wrong answer, but this particular game of cat and mouse and the predatory gleam in Loki’s eyes are making you even wetter and god, you need him.

His eyes flash with a barely concealed delight. “Try again.”

You spread your legs rather conspicuously, hiking your nightgown up to your waist. “I need to come.”

He’s looking at you intently, lips slightly parted. “You’re trying to distract me with that pretty cunt, you wicked thing.”

“Is it working?” you ask.

He lowers his head to kiss the inside of your left knee. “It would work much better if you answered me properly and told me everything you need.”

You think you have an idea of what he wants to hear, but you’re not quite ready to give up the game yet. Instead, you pull your nightgown up and over your head and toss it to the side. His eyes are dark as he looks at you, his gaze lingering on your breasts and trailing down to the apex of your spread legs. You wonder what it would take to make him lose control, to take you in the way that you both need.The thought sends another flood of heat to your aching core.

You lick your lips. “Will you make me come, Loki?”

Another wolfish grin. “Closer. But not quite. Try again.”

You let your hand slide down your stomach and between your legs and you part your sopping folds so he can see the full extent of what he’s done to you—every dripping inch. The look he’s giving you now only heightens the feeling.

“Should I make myself come?” you ask and you’re immediately rewarded with an almost feral look and a sharp smack to your ass.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls.

You put on your most innocent expression, even as his visible hunger makes you ache. “I thought you’d like seeing me touch myself.”

“Oh, there will be time for that later,” he says, his eyes still dark. “I’m particularly interested in seeing what prompted those intriguing little noises I kept hearing while you were in the shower. But every tremor of pleasure that wracks your body tonight will be from me alone. Now,” his eyes glitter and his hand replaces yours on your cunt, his long fingers spreading you open, but not touching you, his expression rapt with undisguised greed, “tell me what you need.”

Your capacity to tease and resist him was well and truly exceeded when he smacked your ass and was further obliterated by the monologue he just delivered. “I need you to make me come, Loki. I need you so bad.”

His smile is filled with dark promises and a hunger that you have every interest in sating several times over.

“Good girl,” he says.

And his fingers slide back into you as his mouth envelopes your aching clit.

You moan as your hips lift and your hands tangle in his hair. He mumbles something that sounds like “perfect” against your clit, first teasing you with the tip of his tongue and then pressing it flat against you and rubbing in slow circles. Meanwhile, his fingers have found that soft, aching spot inside of you and he presses against it in slow, firm thrusts that make you tremble.

You initially think that you’ll be quite quick to come because you’re already so wound up, but Loki seems determined to find the edge and keep you there for as long as possible—and he’s really, really good at it. He falls into a rhythm where his tongue strokes your clit once, twice, three times and withdraws; his fingers pick up the thread, stroking your walls once, twice, three times and withdrawing, only for his tongue to resume where he left off. In this way, he keeps you balanced on the edge in a perfect kind of torture. It feels so good, but it’s not quite enough to get you there just yet.

You make liberal use of his name—it’s a plea, a curse, a benediction, a moan, a sigh. Instinctively, you know that he likes this, but it’s not enough to distract him into letting you fall even a moment before he wants you to.

The ache that’s been building in your hips for the last couple weeks is growing, burning bright and warm. Your body feels electric in the best way, your nerves humming and buzzing and straining for release.

“Loki,” you moan, partly as encouragement and partly because you want him so badly.

You’re so close. Your entire body is tense and trembling; all you can think about is how badly you need to come, how much you are aching for your release.

So close.

“Loki, please,” you moan, truly desperate now. “Please let me come. Make me yours—”

You’re not sure if it’s what you said, the desperation in your voice, or pure coincidence, but in that moment, he shifts his rhythm so that his mouth and fingers are no longer alternating, but are instead moving in sync. And this is what you need to tip you over, to allow that wave to finally, finally crest and then break.

Your orgasm hits you hard, pulling a loud moan from deep within your chest and making your entire body quake. Sparklers are dancing along your veins, champagne bubbles fizzing along your muscles, stars bursting behind your eyes. You have never felt anything like this before—you are satisfied but also aching for more, falling apart and being remade over and over again.

It’s only when you’re decidedly in the blissful wave of the aftershocks that he dares to lift his head and he looks you over like you’re something wonderful. Before you can raise your hands to reach for him, he’s crawling up to you, claiming your mouth in a kiss that feels deeper than the ocean.

He slides his hand in between your legs and you whimper, shivering at the sensation of his thumb stroking your sensitive clit. But somehow, he finds that particular angle and pressure that’s just enough, but not too much. You moan and he slides a finger back into you, rolling in the same rhythm as his thumb on your clit.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Keep going for me, darling. I want to watch you come this time.” His voice is so firm and authoritative and it strikes sparks up and down your spine.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hips rocking with his hand.

“You’re doing so well getting ready for me,” he purrs. He lowers his voice to a rough growl. “I can’t wait to fuck you until you’re trembling and coming all over my cock like the wicked, filthy girl that you are.”

It’s the combination of his words and his voice and his perfect hands that does it this time. A rolling, fluttering shudder fizzes through your body, building to a peak that has you letting out a guttural moan as you clench around his thrusting fingers.

“Yes, that’s it,” Loki says as he watches you through hooded eyes. “You are gorgeous when you come undone.”

He kisses you slowly, fingers moving steadily until the final shudder rolls through you.

Somehow, through all of this, he’s remained fully clothed. There’s an aspect to this that’s appealing—it makes everything feel particularly decadent and a little forbidden—but your palms are practically itching with your need to touch him. You need him inside you, but you also need him close, bare skin on bare skin.

Your hands sneak under his shirt and you suck in a sharp breath when you feel the heat of his skin underneath your palms. You tug his shirt off him and make quick work of his pants before drawing back to look at him.

He looks like art. It’s a silly thought, but there’s some truth to it—there’s an almost ethereal quality in the sharp angles of his face and the elegant symmetry of his musculature.

Your gaze drifts down to his cock. He’s long, thick, and hard, the tip flushed and slick with pre-come. An ache courses through you—something about seeing the full evidence of his arousal makes everything seem more real, makes you want him with renewed ferocity.

You want to touch him and so you do, your fingers curling around his shaft.

“Can you feel how much I need you?” he asks as you stroke him slowly. He is remarkably composed, though you catch the slight hitch in his breath and it sends a thrill through you.

“Will you show me?” you ask.

“Every day,” he says.

It’s an answer you’re not expecting. You were speaking strictly in the immediate, physical sense. This feels deeper, more meaningful. You’re not quite sure what to say, so you kiss him and he kisses you back with an intensity and thoroughness that makes your toes curl.

He rolls over you, his body covering yours. It’s almost overwhelming how good his bare skin feels against yours. You take his cock in your hand again and stroke him, slowly rubbing the tip from your clit to your entrance, coating him in your slick.

You expect him to just push forward when you guide him to your entrance and you’re almost disappointed that he doesn’t—you’ve both waited so long for this and your need for him is burning inside you like an inferno.

But instead he pauses, his eyes locked with yours.

“Will you have me?” he asks. There’s vulnerability in the question, a softness in his green eyes that you don’t expect. It feels like a loaded question, though not necessarily in a bad way.

You don’t hesitate. “Yes,” you breathe.

Something like relief flashes briefly in his eyes before he leans in and kisses you. You tilt your hips up again and this time, you feel the blunt head of his cock slowly press into your waiting warmth.

You’d read people describing first times with their soulmates and it had always sounded so hyperbolic and silly. They’d throw around words like euphoric and transcendent and all you could do was try not to roll your eyes.

But the moment Loki is fully seated inside you, you finally get it. Every overwrought, overused cliché seems to occur to you all at once—puzzle pieces falling into place and locks and keys and halves made whole and all that bullshit—and it all makes sense in a way that it hadn’t before.

Loki’s eyes are stormy above you, to the point that you think you may have angered him, but then he kisses you with a ferocity and possessiveness that steals your breath and makes you tighten around him.

“Mine,” he growls against your lips. “Mine.”

There’s a lot of emotion in that word. There’s history in that word. It’s the sort of thing that the two of you will probably need to unpack later. For now, though, you wrap your legs around him and meet his demanding, hungry kisses with your own.

“I’m yours,” you murmur against his lips. “Take me.”

You expect him to respond to that plea with a frantic pace. But instead, his first thrusts are slow, like he’s savoring it. Your body yields to him instinctively, your muscles drawing him in and then tightening further as he withdraws. You are so slick, so ready for him that it almost feels a little obscene.

“You are exquisite,” he rasps as he sinks into you, his head bowing to kiss and nip at your neck. “I have been aching for you.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

You’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for—more of this, more of him—but he seems to know anyway. He kisses you deeply as you wrap your legs around his waist, rolling your hips up to meet his.

In one fluid motion, he rolls you over so that you are on top. He looks up at you, an irrepressible smirk curling at the corners of his lips.

“Go on,” he says, his voice low. “I want to see you take your pleasure from me. Claim your throne, my love.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. This is a man who single-handedly conquered the entire planet and he’s telling you he wants you to ride his cock until you come. It is raw and sexy and undeniably hot and the way he’s looking up at you makes you feel beautiful and powerful.

You lean forward, bracing your hands on the mattress, tilting your pelvis until you find the right angle, the one that makes your stomach tighten and your breath stutter.

A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. “Right there?”

You let out a shaky breath and rock your hips. “Yeah.”

It takes a moment for you to find your rhythm, but you find that you want—or perhaps need—to go slow and steady. Loki watches you, his hips rocking with yours as he lets you set the pace, his hands sliding from your hips to your breasts and back again, like he can’t get enough. His gaze is intent and intense and you get the sense that he’s cataloging every movement, every gasp or sigh, furrowed brow or bitten lip.

The coil in your hips is starting to wind tighter and you know it won’t be long.

As though he knows, Loki slides a hand down your body, palm gently pressing against your lower stomach. A fantastic pressure begins to blossom in your hips and you whimper.

“You’re doing so well,” he purrs. “So tight and wet. You’re perfect.”

“Getting close,” you breathe.

“I know, I can feel you,” he says.

You’re at a point somewhere beyond words, riding that wave, chasing bliss that you can almost feel. A choked whimper falls from your lips.

“That’s it,” rasps Loki. “Be a good girl and come on my cock.” He flicks his thumb against your clit and you completely unravel.

It was good the first two times, but having him inside you as you come sends you to another plane of existence entirely. Your orgasm seems extended, the feeling of his cock against the spasming muscles of your cunt creating more even rippling pleasure. And the noise that he makes, the filthy praise that falls from his lips, the way that his fingertips dig into your hips just makes it all better.

He rolls you over onto your back just as you’re starting to feel boneless, and pulls you into a deep kiss. He thrusts into you, a little faster than the pace you had set, but still slow and steady.

“I want to feel you come again,” he breathes. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this, how good you feel?”

You shudder as his cock drags again against that spot inside you. He repeats the motion and you keen, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“That’s it,” he rasps, bringing your leg up over his hip to press even more deeply inside of you. “Come on, darling. Let me feel you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, meeting his hungry, demanding kiss with your own. You roll your hips with his, chasing the flickers of bliss that he’s steadily stoking to an inferno once more.

“Please,” you mumble against his lips. “Need you. Please.”

He groans and increases his pace just enough to make you whimper. The desire inside of you is catching fire.

“I…fuck, I—” Your hands are gripping his shoulders, your body shaking as you approach your end.

Loki’s eyes are wild, his teeth bared. You can tell that he’s close, that he’s chasing the same incredible feeling that you are.

“I want you to come for me,” he grits out. “And the second I feel your tight cunt start to tremble around me, I’m going to come inside you.

You moan, fingernails digging into his shoulders. You are unbearably close.

“Do you want that, darling?” he says. “Do you want me to come inside you? Do you want your perfect cunt filled with my seed?”

You are almost beyond words, but not quite: “Yes. Please.”

Despite how close he is, he still gives the impression of being entirely in control. He lowers his head so that his lips graze yours and his eyes are all that you can see. “Then come for me,” he says.

Two more deadly smooth rolls of his hips and you do. A guttural, plaintive sound falls from your lips as your whole body trembles with the force of your orgasm, your cunt squeezing around the girth of his cock. He groans, mumbling something in a language you don’t recognize before he, too, starts to unravel.

His face is rapturous when he comes, his head tipping back and his mouth falling open, brow furrowing. If you weren’t so distracted with the rippling shocks of your own pleasure, you would try to commit it to memory. Instead, you simply try to enjoy the feeling of him emptying himself inside of you, the stuttering thrust of his hips, the soft groan that falls from his lips. Finally he stills, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder. You can feel his heart pounding against yours.

You feel…it’s not different, exactly, but there’s a kind of ease and connection that just feels right. The restless ache inside of you is finally quiet and you feel loose and languid and pleasantly sleepy.

Finding your soulmate isn’t necessarily the same as falling in love. Sometimes it all happens in the moment. Sometimes it’s years in between.

For you, though, you can pinpoint the exact moment that seed was planted: Loki raising his head to look at you, his hand curled against your cheek. His gaze is careful, reverent, like you are as warm and golden as the dawn just barely beginning to streak the morning sky.

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