Collection of One-Shots

》invitation only

The plates had been stacked five high, and unfortunately your lack of poise and focus at the moment caused them to slip from your hands and of course, they were ceramic, which meant that as soon as they connected with the tiled kitchen floor they shattered. You expected the noise to at least draw Loki away from the living room and to your aid, but if he did not come willingly you would not call upon him as the spoiled god still had not taken kindly to being given orders.

With a huff, you stooped down to your knees and began to gather the shards into a pile, when a piece cut the skin of your palm you looked at the dripping blood. "Oh fuck! Fuck me!" You hiss, it was those words that caused the God of Mischief to come to your aid, or at least you hoped he had come to help. You stood and clenched your fist, Loki still had not dressed for the day, his bare chest on display, the tone muscles that laid beneath his pale skin was entirely too distracting, the powerfully built legs that were revealed from his plaid boxers also provided a distraction from your bleeding hand. You saw his mouth move, but the words were lost as you had rarely seen the god that had been living in your apartment this unclothed.

"I asked if that was an invitation, my dear." Your throat goes dry at the thought to the lithe body pinning you against the nearest surface, and the compromising shade of red that rushes to your cheeks dispels what you are truly thinking, and damn the god for being able to read your body and thoughts like an open book. Somehow you find a weak voice, and your brain cannot stop the answer that comes out of your mouth, vaguely you realized what you had said, but between the pain in your hand and the heat growing in your belly, you can't bring yourself to care about anything other than the god standing in front of you.

You back into the wall and Loki is quick to take your bloody hand, the tingling lasts for a moment but the wound had been sealed, the blood that remained was quickly smeared against his chest as you and he both meet each other's demanding mouth. He pulls away but keeps his hand fisted in the back of your hair, you groan as he pulls back, exposing your neck to his hungry and devouring mouth, furious purple marks are sure to be left but all you do is dig you freshly manicured nails into his skin.

Your clothes, not that they can be called anything more than tatters and shreds, lay on the floor, his hands exploring the bare skin exposed, you yield to his touch, beckoning him to continue and return the notion, running your hands over his chest, to his shoulders, and then down his back. His name rolls off your lips like a mantra of sorts as he presses his hips forward, the hardness that is still clothed rubs against your lower belly. You find the elastic band and quickly push the last piece of clothing between the two of you away.

"Jump." He commands, and you oblige, wrapping your legs around his waist. You can feel his hard cock rubbing against your folds and despite the urge to throw your head back, you rest your forehead on his shoulder, biting your bottom lips to prevent the obscene noises and phrases you wished to mutter. Loki laughs, the sound is almost mocking as he grinds his cock into you harder. "How many times have you thought about this, my sweet girl? How many times have you imagined me fucking your mortal body until it threatens to break?"

Your heels dig into his back, you whimper at his words, and he is unsatisfied by your pitiful response, with only the wall and one arm supporting you, you can feel Loki drag the blunt head of his cock through you folds, spreading the wetness that seeps out before he pushes forward. You cry out. "How," he draws himself to where just the head is pressed into you, "Many," he surges forward, and you can feel the muscles in his body tense, "Times?"

Your head falls back and through lidded eyes, you look at him, "Too many to count," you mutter breathlessly. He looks positively feral, the lust-laden eyes that are darker than you have ever seen, the way his hair is out of place, hanging before his eyes, and the blood on his chest, even though it is yours, it makes him look dangerous, and you know that he is.

He rules over you with passion, each movement is controlled and precise, but you want to see that composure fade, crumble, like how you had imagined a thousand times over again. "Loki," you slide your hand into his hair, the length since he had cut it is still strange from what you had grown used to seeing. When you pull the handful, he bares his teeth, and moves his hand from your hair to wrap lightly around your neck, his grip does not tighten, but the threat is there, and it is also thrilling.

"Do your fantasies compare to the actual experience?" He grunts as his cock slides back into you. And the hand that loosely squeezes your neck falls to your hips, where his fingertips dig into your skin to the point you know bruises will form, but the thought that they were caused by a god, Loki nonetheless, is enough to make you meet each of his movements with your own.

"They pale in comparison," your breath hitches as he pulls you tighter to him, completely off the wall, you cling to him tighter, almost afraid he would drop you but he doesn't, the sound registers before what he had done does, the table cleared of its contents, the chairs shoved aside, and you can only guess it was the small amount of magic he was allowed to keep in exile.

The varnished wood surface is frigid to the heated skin of your back, and you arch away from it, and into Loki, who looms over you, his hand fighting with yours for a brief moment before both are trapped and held above your head, your legs hike further up his body, and at last you are able to fully reciprocate to his movements, rocking your hips into his with each thrust.

Your nails dig into his palms until finally, he relents, and then they drag down his chest, leaving angry red trails. "Fuck, Loki." He does not sympathize in that fact that you are so close to release you could scream, instead his pace slows and that coiled feeling dissipates, you growl at the loss and dig your nails into his shoulders with such force you think you could make a god bleed. And then the feral look he wore earlier finally surfaces in his actions.

He is not gentle or merciful, you did not expect him to be, and you revealed in every second. Every torrid caress, every forceful thrust, the feeling of his skin rubbing against yours, it's thrilling, and you can feel the tightness quickly growing once more, your toes curl and your walls tighten around his cock, so tightly you can feel every vein, every ridge, as he moves. His teeth are bared again, and you allow every obscene noise and phrase fall from your lips in reckless abandon. Your eyes flutter shut at the pleasure, and to push him closer you clench your muscles and soon you feel the twitching, the slowing of his thrusts until the warmth fills you and he rests his head beneath your chin.

"You never have to imagine me doing this again," he whispers, and you catch a glimpse of the red crescent shaped indentions in his shoulders, the marks that remain from your nails, any harder and he would have bled. You move if only to prevent discomfort from the table's hard surface, but the insatiable god on top of you begins to harden at the movements, and you laugh.

He raises his eyebrow in a silent challenge; you smile, and within seconds are in your bed, hands bound to the headboard, Loki leans forward, testing the knots to make sure you would not be able to escape, but he keeps them loose so not to cause pain. And in your ear, he whispers one of your many fantasies, and you know that there will be no more chores that day.