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literally-noone83 · 2 months

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Silver Tongue

18+

A/n: Idk what this is. This thing has been sitting in my drafts for so long, and I haven't posted in forever... so. I finally finished it. Here we go, enjoy.

He could listen to you for hours...

The God of Mischeif, the silvertongue of Gods, he's the God who loved to hear himself speak. Words dripped from his lips like honey, or boomed from his depths in power. He enjoyed talking, it was his tool beside his dagger he welded equally graceful and skillfully.

He'd use it to spark the fear in cowering swine, use it to make snide and conniving comments to wound up midgard's heroes, or to caress your ears just to see you go flush red. His words were his way to get what he wanted but... he found your words all the more captivating.

It wasn't like you were doing this on purpose. On the contrary, you found yourself trying not to spiel thoughtless things to the closest person. For the longest time, Loki saw you for your reverence, your shyness as you worked away in the Avengers Tower. He did know your voice tk be tender and sweet in the caveats of days that passed with your kind greetings, small talk with colleagues and phone messages at your desk, but the moment you got latched on to a topic... Loki found himself listening a little bit more closely.

He watched as your eye lit up, your soft lips breaking out into a grin, one that twitched hesitantly as ti contain the visible excitement he saw bubble up inside you. He'd interrupt anyone in the room that may have been talking over you just to inquire on this small matter with you — a book, a movie, a part of history, a niche topic, a notion — and naturally a blush threatened your cheeks. His eyes softened, nodding to letting you know he was listening and the ends of his lips lift to see that was all you needed -- a greenlight that someone cared. Your hesitant words grew to rants, knowledge flowing from you. Your articulation, the fine words you kept in your hidden reputiore, alongside these thoughts. Soon there were days it was just you and him, sitting somewhere hed catch up, comfortably laxed as he hummed at your shared conversations that transformed into your personal monologues hed sit audience to. All of which hed constantly instigate...

"The- then I read an article about ahh- uhm, L-loki?" You breath hitched and he smirked.

"Yes, darling?"

"You- uh, you sure you want me to..." You breath hitch at the way his breath fans your sensitive neck, "Oh yes, dear." His slender hands trail over you hips and god-perfect thighs under that hideous coat.

"Keep talking to me, you know how much I love your voice." His voice hums lowly, kissing that spot under your ear making your shudder slightly. "So sensitive..." He comments smugly.

He had you situated on your desk. Useless things in his eyes pushed to the side to make room for you. How you got into this situation, who knows. And most importantly, who cares? He stood between your legs, up and close tasting your skin and finally feeling how fucking maluable you are in the palm of his hands. Atlas, hearing you shudder and stutter in his ear, under his touch, it was like he was in Valhalla.

"mm darling~" He purrs. "I don't hear you talking..."

You face flushes. You couldn't think straight. "R-right."

"What this article about, hm? I'm listening..." His words end with another wet kiss to your collar bone. A badge of his sincerity.

"it... it was about mythological.... p-paintings." He hums against your skin, kisses trailing your delicate skin.

"Is that right?" He murmurs, before sucking experimentally on a spot only to smirk at the gasp and sigh he elicits from you almost instantly.

"A-about gods and hah..." Loki rubs circles over your hips. "About their heavenly battles," his hands run over your underside of your thighs, smoothing over the plushness before gripping it needily, "them as legends... their- their beauty." He pulls you close to the edge, and your eyes widen at the feeling of his bulge against your inner thigh.

"No need to read about gods when you already have one in the palm of your hands, darling." His snake-like gaze meets yours, his nose brushing yours. His emerald eyes glimmer at your flushed complexion. His fingers graze the band of your leggings. "May I?" He asks softly.

You nod your head.

In a rough yet swift motion, he easily pulls down your pants past your ass and down to your thighs. You watch as his gaze darkens at the sight and you blush, embarrassed. The way his eyes are glued to the wet patch over your clothed pussy makes you squirm. "Lokii..." You whine softly at his long silence. He ignores you. His slender fingers suddenly brush your damp panties, marvelling at the way your cunt involuntarily quivers. He could feel his cock twitch at the view.

His hand comes up hard against the underside of your thigh. The harsh slap echoes in the empty office space. He towers over you and your knees held together by the band of your leggings, hugging your thighs deliciously. One of his large hands pinning you in this position from the back of your knee while the other rubs the pink mark of your skin in forgiveness.

"You stopped speaking, my pretty dove~" He says. His palm travels to your drooling pussy, and he glances at it. The smug grin on his lips widens ever so slightly, satisfied by the growing dark spot on the thin fabric. He audibly groans at the feeling; the wetness pressed against his skin, the heat that radiates from you. All for him, he thinks.

"I want to hear it. Your melodic voice, darling." He continues. Your breath hitches as he drag his middle and forefinger down your slit so easily. "You may think no one's listening... the way you murmur and talk so sweetly, to even the most unworthy of such a sound..." His flattery words drip from his silvery tongue akin to honey and poison. "You have no idea the state you reduce me to when you whisper instructions in my ear when I'm on those god-awful missions... it's the only reason I keep attending." He preens, and he sinks a thumb in your clothed fold, a devilish smirk gracing his lips at your shocked and broken moan.

His eyes glimmered at the way you struggle to walk the line of thought and the abyss of pleasure. He leans down, his lips just tickling the shell of your ear. He breathes steadily compared to your laboured breaths, pausing for a moment to resist the urge to bite you before speaking, "So I want you to speak, my love. I want to hear you babble every frivolous thought as I ravish you. Fucking you to the sound of you trying to retain a single coherent notion. Choking on your words as I listen intently... giving you the attention you deserve, darling."

He pulls back slowly, his nose lightly caressing your cheek as he meets your cloudy eyes. Through hooded lids, his intense gaze flickers over your flushed expression. Your desperate eyes and parted lips, swollen from how much you bit them just to controll yourself — only makes him want to try harder to push you over the edge. You feel his thumb press up against the hood of your clit, and the way you whimper and pull at his clothes, tells him he's the first to ever touch you like this.

"Mm, would you like that?" He whispers. "Finally give you the attention you always deserved?"

He presses on your clit, "m- y-yes! Yes Loki, please." You blurt, you felt like you were going to cry.

"Oh darling..." He removes his hands off you to cup your face. A wanton whine bubbles up into your throat until the feeling of his lips against your forehead, dissolving your pent-up frustration for just a moment. "Patience." He says softly. "I'll give you want you so clearly desire..." His forehead touches yours. Burning hot skin against his contrastingly cool complexion.

However, looking up into his eyes, they were burning with want.

"Let's start with the article's first paragraph, shall we?"

He was going to eat you alive.

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knivesncrows · 5 months

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The games we can play

Pairing: Loki × original female character

Genre: Fluffff

Words: 1.7k

Summary: Loki meets a beautiful stranger at one of Asgard’s celebratory balls, helping his evening go right.

Notes: Hello everyone! This is a pairing I’ve been obsessed with for the longest time. Helia is a product of so much lore and passion and I just recently realised how good these two would be together! This is a part of a bigger universe that I’ve been brainstorming for a while but Loki season 2 gave me an incentive to finally start writing about it. This oneshot is based on the Taylor Swift song ‘Blank Space’ which fit perfectly with how I envisioned them to meet. Hope you enjoy the both of them as much as I loved writing them!

Part of when we’re all alone, I will reach for you series of non chronological oneshots.

Today was another one of the celebratory banquets that everyone on Asgard seemed to love so much and Loki was tired of mingling with the same people over and over again.

He liked a good celebration, don’t get him wrong but these formal ceremonies were much more stifling than the ones he preferred, the more….indecorous ones. There hadn’t been one in a while and it was such a shame, for only at those times did the uptight nobility let loose, forgetting their inhibitions, indulging in all kinds of vices. And Loki was definitely the one who savoured those gatherings the most.

A few people had come up to greet him, two ladies and three lords, engaging him in conversation about the trivialities they get up to and asking about his.

Alas, the heavy burden of social responsibility fell on his mother and himself since the other two members of his family could hardly communicate in a manner fit to converse with the gathered people, though due to different habits. His brother could not stop himself when he started talking, boasting rather, while his father rarely spoke outside of what was necessary.

Loki on the other hand had been blessed by the natural charisma like that of his mother and people certainly took note of it. He was pretty sure that he knew much more about these nobles than Thor did, no matter if he was still more admired than him. Loki never did understand how that worked.

He could not wait to end the night with a warm cup of tea and an excellent read, hidden somewhere amongst the vast columns of books housed in Asgard’s library.

“Hello there.”

Loki turned away from the group of nobles he was conversing with, to look at who had spoken. Even though it was a little boring to chat with the same people for the umpteenth time, Loki didn’t like being interrupted.

His furrowed brows smoothed when he saw the person who had spoken. The silver haired woman was holding a glass of bubbling drink in one hand, a circlet of gold around her head showing that she was probably of high status, in a gown of white that Loki had to admit looked really attractive on her. Her smile, while genuine as far as Loki could tell, also contained a bit of a sly upturn.

“Where have you been?” Her words brought the furrow back to his face. He was pretty sure he didn’t know this woman, which was admittedly a shame, but true nonetheless. However, he wasn’t about to blurt out his confusion unlike one other member of his family that had no such filter.

“It is nice to make your acquaintance, madam but you must excuse me for my poor memory. I fear I cannot quite remember where we have met before.” His words were smooth, a polite smile on his face and he was sure the woman would blush and tell him she admired him or something of the same manner and he would thank her politely and that would be the end of that. Her reply, voice dripping with honey and suggestion, however had him and the nobles around him speechless.

“Ah, the incredible things I could show you.”

He swore he even heard a gasp from one of the ladies standing near him but the now mischievous upturn of the woman’s lips had him intrigued. Here she was, a lady of unknown - although , he had deduced it must be high - standing, of unknown origins, talking to him like they were more than acquaintances and he didn’t have a clue as to who she was. Maybe he should start paying more attention to who his father invited to these things.

He cocked his head, letting a smirk grace his own face, intent on playing along with her little game. This was the most fun he had seen since the evening started.

“Magic, madness, heaven, or sin? I assure you I have seen it all.” He practically purred, taking a few steps towards the woman. The group he had been standing with, followed along like baby ducklings, intent on seeing this play out. It wasn’t common for people to speak so casually with him, knowing his standing and he knew with confidence that this woman was definitely not of Asgard. He would have remembered such a beautiful and bold lady had she been of its court.

He noticed her eyes brightening, smile turning positively devilish at his response and he felt his heart stutter a little at the way she looked at him.

“Oh, anything that you want. I just saw you standing there, and thought to myself, ‘he looks like he could be my next mistake’.”

This time there could be no mistaking the scandalized whispers of the people around them. But the lady didn’t seem like she cared. In fact, she took a sip of her drink, eyes goading as if wanting to know if he would play along or brush her off in the face of proprietary. Well, she was in for a surprise if she thought he was going to back off.

“A mistake I certainly shall not be, my lady, I assure you. But will the high be worth all that pain?” He let his eyes trace her figure, drinking in her delicious body, made all the more enticing by delicate pieces of gold jewellery that she wore in just the right places.

“Oh, I’ve got a long list of ex-suitors that can attest to that high.” she moved a little closer, voice down to barely a whisper he was sure was meant only for his ears. “And the pain as well.”

He felt a shiver go down his spine at the words, getting a little light headed at the smell of her perfume invading all his senses, her face now a lot closer to his own. Belatedly, he noticed that the people had left them some space, probably not wanting to annoy the prince in case the conversation turned more private, but hadn’t moved their eyes off of them.

“What do you say, my lord? Love is but a game, and I think you want to play it.” She grinned smugly, all too aware of the effect she had on him and it disgruntled him a little that he couldn’t appear as stoic as he wanted to in front of her. Would she think him weak, for showing his appreciation of her words and form on his face and actions? Or would she embrace it, reward him for it with another seductive quip? Although it appeared she did not know that he was a prince, if he put any thought to the way she addressed him. What would she think when she knew?

“So you think this,” he gestured between them, “is going to be a forever thing? A happily ever after?” He didn’t want there to be any illusion between them. Yes he was attracted to her, as was she since she was the one who started this all, but he didn’t want to bind himself , in a manner of speaking, to anyone yet. He had plenty of time to dedicate to debauchery before that happened. And it wasn’t going to be anytime soon.

“Oh, it could easily go down in flames, I assure you.” She smiled sweetly at him and this time, it was he who stepped a little closer, barely appropriate judging by the etiquette. But he was a prince and who was going to admonish him? His mother maybe but he was pretty sure she was not aware of what was happening just yet.

“In that case, will the lady—“

“Your Majesty!”

A shout from behind the woman interrupted his sentence and he raised his eyes to look at a knight, looking as if she had just arrived, with a few more guards in tow, all looking at them with awkward expressions.

The woman in front of her stepped back a little, her body still angled towards him to listen to what the knight had to say. He was surprised to see the woman responding to the title of a monarch. She looked young, around his age, and he had just assumed that she was a lady with a foreign delegation.

“Your Majesty, the king of Asgard is requesting your company. And please, do not slip away from us again.” The knight, who appeared to be the head of the guards, spoke in a low voice but Loki was close enough to hear her.

His brows raised in surprise but he made no move to step away. This woman, no Queen, was turning out to be a complex puzzle the more he heard about her and Loki of Asgard, was never one to shy away from a good academic pursuit.

The woman sighed, and spoke a few words to her guards before turning to him, the same smile on her face, although a little subdued.

“I will be looking forward to that game.” She winked, stepping back but Loki was faster.

He took her hand in his, lifting it to his lips, all the while maintaining eye contact with her, and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. He was delighted at the way her eyes widened at the gesture and he lingered like that for a few moments, caressing her hand before letting her go.

“I will be waiting patiently, my lady.”

The smile she gave him crinkled the corners of her eyes and Loki found himself wanting to kiss the creases. The head of the guards gave an exasperated look to her Queen, as if she was used to it and the rest of them strategically averted their eyes.

“Let’s not delay anymore, my Queen.”

The woman turned then, her guards forming a semi circle around her as she walked towards the other side of the room, presumably to where his father was, the guests clearing out of her way as she walked ahead with poise.

“Your highness the king asks for your presence.” A guard spoke in his ear and he smiled, giving a nod in acknowledgment and walking the same way.

Yes, this was the most fun he’d had since the evening started.

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki × reader #loki fanfic #mcu loki #original character #fluff #sweetness #and so much flirting #these two are going to be so chaotic #i love them #loki odinson

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cleo-fox · 8 months

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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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