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The soft chirping of birds pulls you from your slumber, gently guiding you into consciousness. Outside, the chitchat of people reaches your apartment, and sunlight peeks through a small gap in your curtains. Blinking awake, you lift your head from the pillow to check the time.
Then you jolt upright. You’re extremely late.
You were supposed to open the shop at 8 a.m. – but it’s almost 10. The alarm clock never went off, you didn’t wake up, and now you’re scrambling to brush your teeth, throw on some clothes, and rush downstairs.
But when you arrive, the shop is already open. Your employee Lizzie stands behind the counter as if it were any other day. You have yet to hire a new employee, but the scent of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air. Lizzie is making it. Someone else is serving.
Deep down, you already know who, but your eyes scan the shop either way until they stop on him. The reason why your alarm didn’t go off.
Dressed in black slacks and a deep green shirt, the shop’s apron tied over it, Loki moves between the tables, serving an elderly couple who keep asking him a bunch of questions. Tourists, probably. He listens, offers polite nods, even smiles.
Something stirs inside you. Something tender and unsettlingly familiar.
You hover near the entrance, unsure whether to speak with Lizzie or with him. But before you can decide, Loki looks up, and his eyes catch yours. A warm smile spreads across his face, eyes soft and sincere as he makes his way towards you.
“Loki,” you say, looking around to see a somewhat full house. “What…?”
“You looked peaceful this morning,” he responds, holding the tray to his chest, “I thought you could use the rest.”
You stare at him for a second, unsure how to respond, but Loki simply flashes you a grin and moves toward another table, leaving you standing there, a little too aware of the quiet flutter in your stomach.
Lizzie snorts, watching the scene unfold, and only then you remember – you have a job to do. Shaking yourself from distraction, you slip behind the counter, tie on your apron, and start helping her with the orders.
“He wanted to help,” Lizzie says when you ask about Loki. “When I got here, the shop was already open. He said you were… sleeping.”
Your eyes drift to Loki’s back as he takes another order. You’ve never really noticed how broad his shoulders are, how defined his waist is. Heat creeps up your neck, and you snap your gaze away, swallowing hard.
“Are you two…?” Lizzie lifts an eyebrow, tilting her head toward him.
“What?” Your voice shoots up an octave. “No, no, we’re just– we’re just friends.”
“But he did spend the night at your apartment, didn’t he?”
“Well, yeah.” You shrug. “It’s not the first time.”
Lizzie hums, unconvinced. “But this time was different, wasn’t it?”
Loki had crashed at your place before, always at your insistence. And always on that ridiculously small couch, his legs dangling off the edge. He never took the bed. Never even considered it.
Not until last night.
Loki is a man of masks. He’s good at pretending that everything is okay, that he is in control no matter the circumstance. But last night… something had really bothered him. Otherwise, he would never have knocked on your door at three in the morning, regardless of whatever excuse he offered. You had seen right through him. Maybe he only needed a friend and you were simply there. He could have gone to anyone.
Right?
Either way, you’re glad he came to you. Over the past few months, your friendship has grown, and you can’t deny anymore just how much you started to care for him. Maybe convincing him to sleep on the bed with you wasn’t just about his comfort. Just this once, you allowed yourself to be selfish.
You know your feelings for Loki are shifting. Maybe you see him as more than a friend. But he is the prince of Asgard, and you… you are in no position to do anything about it. Technically, you are still a commoner, and princes do not simply choose whomever they—
The thought makes you shake your head. Here you are, still trying to figure out your feelings for him, and you’re already thinking far beyond reason.
“Thanks for the help,” you murmur that afternoon, once rush hour has died down. Lizzie is collecting dirty dishes from the tables and you’re cleaning up the coffee machine area. “You… you didn’t have to.”
Loki leans against the counter, a slow smile curving his lips.
“I wanted to.”
His gaze flickers between your eyes, then – just for a heartbeat – dips to your lips.
You swallow hard, your tongue darting out to wet your lips on instinct. But you don’t look away. Neither does he.
“Listen, Loki.” You take a deep breath, lowering your voice so only he can hear. “I’m sorry about last night. I was sleep deprived, and I wasn’t thinking. But… I shouldn’t have made you sleep in the bed with me. I know you always take the couch, even though I think you really shouldn’t, but it wasn’t right of me to just… force you into it, and–”
You cut yourself off when you catch the hint of a smile on his lips. Your heart stutters. That warmth again, spreading from the inside out.
“What?” Heat creeps up your face.
“I haven’t said a word,” he replies, shrugging. The smile remains.
“You’re looking at me weird.”
“I’m merely listening.”
You narrow your eyes.
“Okay…” You clear your throat. “Either way, I apologize.”
Loki shakes his head, a quiet chuckle slipping from him.
“There is no need,” he says. “In fact, I may take you up on that offer more often. It was the best rest I’ve had in months.”
Before you can respond, he turns toward a customer who has just walked in, effortlessly shifting back into his role.
“Is that why you’re acting so strange?” you call after him.
He merely glances back, walking backward as he lifts a finger to his lips with a silent shh . Then, he turns away again, offering the customer one of his well known smiles.
“Are you sure there’s nothing going on between you two?” Lizzie’s voice startles you, and you jolt. You hadn’t even realized she was there.
“Just get back to work,” you mumble.
The truth is… Loki isn’t acting strange.
Loki is simply in a good mood.
Sure, that mission was dreadful – those insufferable heroes testing his patience every second he was there – but last night, something shifted. Something settled. Because after everything, after he spoke his thoughts aloud for the first time, after you fell asleep beside him… he had finally said it.
The words he had fought so long to deny. You hadn’t been awake to hear them, but that hardly mattered. It was enough that he had admitted them.
He loves you.
Loki loves you and he can’t pretend he doesn’t anymore. He has known for – what, half a year now? And still, it feels like twenty, since the first time he saw you sitting alone on that dock.
That night, when he saw the stars reflected in your eyes, as the ocean waves played their tune against the shore. That night, where you spoke of Asgard, of home , your voices laced with shared grief. Where you didn’t ask him to be anything other than himself.
He holds that memory close, warmth settling in his chest.
You became part of his world, slipping past his walls, and making yourself a home in his heart. You filled spaces he thought empty, settling with warmth and laughter and a shoulder to cry on.
Now, as he watches you, he wonders if you have any idea. If you realize how much you consume his thoughts.
One day, he might tell you.
But not yet. Not when he still enjoys the feeling of keeping this truth close to his chest.
For now, it is enough.
…
Loki started coming over more often, helping around the shop during the day and spending the night at your place. You got used to it quickly – so quickly that the thought of complaining never even crossed your mind.
He would always say that your bed was perfect , that he never slept as soundly anywhere else. You let him stay, and in return, you got to spend more time with him. It's a win-win.
“You cheated, didn’t you?” you accuse, narrowing your eyes at your deck of cards.
Loki feigns offense, placing a hand over his chest. “I would never deceive you, dearest.”
You snort, the sound slipping out before you can stop it, and Loki simply watches you, amusement and something softer glimmering in his gaze.
“Right,” you say, tossing your cards onto the coffee table between you. “So it’s just a coincidence that you somehow ended up with every high card in the deck?”
Loki smirks, leaning back against the couch with effortless elegance.
“Perhaps the gods favor me.”
You narrow your eyes. “Or maybe you’re just a sore loser who can’t play fair.”
He chuckles, reaching for his wine glass and taking a slow sip.
“I am many things, darling, but a loser ? Hardly.”
You roll your eyes but can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. It’s easy with him like this – comfortable. The kind of companionship that doesn’t demand anything but exists naturally, as if it has always been there.
The clock on the wall ticks past midnight, and you don’t even realize how late it is until a yawn escapes you. Loki notices, tilting his head.
“Tired already?” He asks.
You stretch your arms above your head, groaning slightly.
“Well, some of us actually need sleep to function.” You rub your eyes, like a child.
His lips twitch, but he says nothing. A quiet beat stretches between you, the air thick with something unspoken.
“Well.” Finally, Loki exhales and gathers the scattered cards, stacking them neatly. “Let me help you with the mess.” He takes your empty wine glasses and stands, moving toward the kitchen.
“It’s fine, I can do it tomorrow,” you murmur, already heading toward the bathroom to go through your nightly routine.
But when you step out, he’s already cleaned the dishes and tidied up the living room, every trace of the evening neatly taken care of.
“You know, you’re surprisingly good at cleaning for a spoiled prince,” you remark, crossing your arms.
Loki glances at you, amusement flickering across his face. “When we first met, you could hardly speak to me without an honorific, and now I’m merely ‘spoiled’?”
You shrug. “You’re the one who insisted I be informal with you.”
“If I recall correctly,” he counters, stepping closer. He’s so tall, so handsome that it almost takes the breath from your lungs. “I told you to call me by my name.”
“So… should I start calling you my prince again?” You lift your eyebrows, teasing.
He laughs softly, his gaze locked onto yours as if looking away might make you disappear. A quiet moment lingers between you, heavy with something unspoken, until you clear your throat.
“Are you coming to bed?” You ask, your face burning.
“Of course,” he murmurs, his fingers twitching at his sides, aching to reach for you.
Loki has stayed at your apartment so often that it no longer feels temporary. His clothes hang in your closet, his toothbrush sits in your bathroom, and his presence has quietly become a part of your everyday life. You welcomed him so effortlessly, so completely, that resisting you was never an option. You are kind, forgiving, impossibly warm…
The thought brings a smile to his lips.
As he lies down, keeping to his side of the bed as always, he watches the back of your head while you settle in. Normally, you talk yourself to sleep – rambling until your words fade into soft breathing – but tonight, you’re unusually quiet.
He wonders if tonight will be the night he finally says it. Every evening, he tells himself he will, that he’ll finally speak the words that have been heavy on his tongue for so long. But they never come, not when you’re awake, at least. Instead, they slip out in the quiet, when you’re already lost to sleep.
“Goodnight, Loki,” you murmur, switching off the lamp and plunging the room into darkness.
“Rest well, dearest,” he replies.
But you can’t. Sleep doesn’t come as easily as it usually does. You’re hyper-aware of him tonight, every shift of the mattress, every quiet breath. Maybe it’s because he insisted on cleaning up. Or the way he made you laugh over cards. Or the way he looked at you just before bed – like he wanted to say something but held back.
Either way, you’re drifting between sleep and consciousness when you hear the whispered words:
“I love you.”
Your heart pounds in your ears, a sudden rush of warmth spreading through your chest. For a moment, you wonder if you imagined it, if it was just a dream. But the weight of his words lingers in the air, beyond question.
You lie there, wide awake now, the words echoing in your mind. For a moment, you wonder if you should say something, if you should let him know that you heard him, but your breath catches in your throat, and the words just won’t come. You take a slow breath, trying to calm the pounding in your chest. He doesn't say anything else, the silence stretching out between you two, until his slow deep breaths start filling the room. He's deep asleep.
Finally, you roll over, your body moving almost on its own, and in the quiet darkness, you reach out, your hand brushing against his. His fingers twitch slightly, but he doesn’t move – he’s out cold. Even in the darkness, you can make out the shape of him, his hair on his forehead, eyes closed, eyebrows relaxed.
And then, you smile in the darkness, your heart rejoicing with hope.
…
It’s hard to look at Loki the next morning, while you both work together at the shop. If he notices you’re acting weird, he doesn’t mention it.
You're not entirely avoiding him, but you don't speak to him as much as usual. He doesn’t bring it up until Lizzie is on her lunch break, leaving you both alone.
“Darling?” His voice is careful as he watches you wipe the same spot on a table for far too long. “You seem… distracted today.”
You pause, gripping the cloth in your hand. His voice from last night echoes in your mind, telling you he loves you. You won't confront him about it, even if you feel the same. You want to hear him say it again, with conviction, when he’s sure he wants you to hear it.
“I–” You start, but Loki’s gaze flickers over your shoulder, and his expression changes instantly. His soft smile vanishes, his brow creasing, and his eyes darken with something close to hatred.
Your heart stutters at the look in his eyes. You’ve seen him irritated, exasperated, even amused at your expense, but this? This is something else entirely. Confusion washes over you, and you turn to follow his line of sight.
A man has just taken a seat in the outside area of the café, pulling out a chair for a red-haired woman. He looks completely ordinary. You take a breath, moving to greet them, but Loki’s hand clamps onto your shoulder, holding you back. He says nothing, just keeps his gaze fixed on them, his body tense.
“Do you know them?” You ask him, but before he could respond, the man barks out a laugh, so loud it attracts the other customers' attention.
“Well, I'll be damned,” he says, as he locks eyes with Loki. “This is the last place I thought I'd see you. And working ?”
“I suggest you leave, Barton.” Loki spits out, approaching the table with purpose. “If you want to keep your tongue.”
“What happened to customer service?” Clint Barton shrugs, smirking and leaning back on the chair as if he’s watching a show. You tense as Loki’s magic crackles at his fingertips.
“Clint, maybe we shouldn’t–” The woman with him tries to speak, but Loki speaks over her.
“Exactly.. Leave .”
“Or what?” Clint tilts his head. “You gonna turn me into a frog? Oh wait, that’s your brother’s thing.”
Loki takes another step forward, but you quickly move between them, pressing a hand to his chest. His heart is pounding beneath your palm.
“Loki,” you say, softly, meeting his eyes. The rage burning in them never fades away, but you don’t back out. “Why don’t you wait at the counter until Lizzie gets back? I got this one.”
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue. With one last venomous look at Clint, he turns and stalks away.
With a sigh and a polite smile, you introduce yourself to the two Avengers as the owner of the café, as you usually do when you see a customer is going to give you trouble. The man named Clint and the woman that you’ve come to know as Natasha rattle off their order. She watches you carefully, like she’s trying to figure something out. You ignore it, just take their order and walk off.
“Where’s Loki?” You ask Lizzie when she returns from her break.
“I saw him heading to the back.” She shrugs. “Did something happen?”
“I’m about to find out,” you mutter, already following his path.
When you step into the break room, Loki is pacing, his shoulders tense with restrained fury.
“Loki?” You call softly. “You okay?”
He doesn’t stop. “I should have struck him down the moment I saw him.”
You’ve never seen him like this. So angry and tense, on the verge of exploding.
“ Loki .” You try again, but he simply ignores you and keeps pacing. You see the shakiness in his hands, his magic dying to be let out. “Is that one of the heroes you told me about?”
Loki scoffs, a bitter sound. “ Hero . As if that word means anything to the likes of them.”
“Why does he upset you so much?” You ask, stepping closer with caution.
Loki finally stops, turning to face you. His expression is sharp, guarded. “That is none of your concern!”
His words sting more than they should. You know he’s upset but still– you thought you were friends…
“I was just asking if you were alright.” Your voice is thick with hurt, so small, but he doesn't even notice.
“I don’t need your pity!” He snaps at you, baring his teeth. Before you can respond, he pushes past you and storms out the back door.
“Loki!” You call for him, stepping into the hallway just in time to see him rip the shop’s apron from his body and disappear in a flash of magic.
You’re left standing alone, tears pricking at your eyes. Taking a deep breath, you swallow them down, pick up the discarded apron, and return to the café – pretending everything is fine.
…
Loki doesn’t come back to the shop after his outburst, and, to be honest, you don’t wait for him to close up either.
At first, you were too stunned to react, but as the minutes passed and it became clear he wasn’t coming back, a slow, simmering hurt settled in. You understood he was going through something, but that didn’t make it right for him to snap at you like that.
When you arrive home, you unlock the door with a sigh, take off your shoes, and shrug out of your coat, hanging it up as you always do. The apartment is quiet as you climb the stairs to your living room – until you flip the light switch and your heart leaps to your throat.
Loki is sitting on your couch, hunched over, elbows resting on his knees. The moment your eyes meet, he straightens and rises to his feet. You freeze by the stairs, caught between surprise and irritation.
“You’ve been here all this time?” You ask, moving past him toward the kitchen, needing something to do with your hands.
“Yes,” he admits, stepping closer. “Darling, I’m–”
“Sorry?” You cut him off, voice sharper than you intended. “Yeah, me too.”
Loki exhales sharply, hesitating as he carefully approaches you, keeping his distance.
“You misunderstand me.”
“I don’t think so.” You keep your back to him, focusing on filling a glass of water, anything to keep your hands busy. Your heart still races from the sight of him waiting in the dark. “I think I understood perfectly. You snapped at me, stormed off, and then didn’t bother to show your face until now.”
His heavy silence stretches between you, and regret starts making its way to your heart. You’ve never talked to him like this, your voice is always soft and understanding, but hurt starts taking over the irritation. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer, hesitant in a way that catches you off guard.
“I was… unkind. I’m sorry.” Loki takes another step forward, carefully, like he’s testing the ground between you. When you don’t speak, he continues. “I didn't mean to direct my anger at you.”
“I get that you and… that guy have history. I get that seeing him distressed you. But, Loki.” You finally turn around to face him. “I just asked if you were okay. And you made me feel like an idiot for caring.”
He tears his gaze away from you, shame written all over his face.
“You’re not an idiot,” he says quietly. “Not at all.”
“Then why did you yell at me?”
Loki doesn’t answer immediately. He runs a hand through his hair, glancing away as if the words he needs are somewhere in your apartment.
“Because you are the one person I don’t want to see me as weak.”
Your heart races, but you keep quiet, waiting for him to speak more.
“I– I don’t expect you to forgive me. My temper is… a curse of mine. But it was never – never – meant for you.”
His words settle in your chest, heavy and raw. You chew on the inside of your cheek, the last bits of frustration melting into something warmer, something aching.
His hands are curled into fists at his sides, like he’s resisting the urge to reach for you. To touch you. You heart tugs at that, you want nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and tell him it’s okay.
But Loki is waiting. For you to push him away. For you to tell him to leave. For you to reject him, like everyone does.
“Of course I forgive you, Loki.” You sigh, running a hand over your face before shaking your head. “But sometimes you drive me insane.”
Loki tilts his head, that tiny smirk returning. “I do seem to have that effect on people.”
A smile tugs at your lips as you step closer to him, fingers twitching to take his hands, massage them until he uncurls his fists, and lace your fingers with his. Which reminds you about the night before, when he confessed his feelings when he thought you were asleep.
“Can I ask you something?” Your voice is quieter now.
“Always, darling,” he responds, grinning now.
“Why do you always come here, Loki?”
He exhales, something flickering across his face – hesitation, yearning, fear, all at once.
“Because you're my friend,” he replies, and you have to resist the urge to visibly deflate.
“Is that all we are?” you mumble looking away.
A hesitant pause lingers between you two, the air thick with tension.
“I come over because this is where I want to be,” he admits. “With you.”
Your chest visibly rises with the breath you take, heart racing like crazy as you finally take his hand in yours, so big and cold. You take a step closer, and then another, eyes on his, searching for any sign that he wants this too. You swallow before speaking, choosing your words carefully.
“I heard you last night.” Your voice is nothing but a whisper and you watch him carefully. Loki almost gasps at the confession, but manages to hold back, waiting until you speak again. You watch as his eyes widen for a fraction of a second and as a faint shade of pink paints his cheekbones. “If… if it's true, I-I want you to know I feel the same.”
Then you don’t think. You just move.
Your fingers curl into the front of his black shirt, tugging him down just as he leans in to kiss you.
A quiet inhale is all you manage before you melt into him, your hands grasping at his collar, his fingers finding your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on.
Loki kisses you like he’s starving for it, like this is something he’s thought about over and over, something he never let himself have until now. He’s careful at first, almost uncertain, but when you sigh against his mouth, when your hands slide up into his hair, he groans softly and pulls you closer.
You don’t know how long it lasts – seconds, minutes, a lifetime? – but when you finally pull back, you’re both breathing hard. His forehead rests against yours, his fingers still curled at your waist.
“Is that okay?” he asks, voice rough, breathless.
You huff a laugh, pressing your nose against his. “Do it again and find out.”
Loki doesn’t hesitate. The moment the words leave your lips, his grip tightens at your waist, and he crashes his mouth against yours again. This time, there’s no uncertainty, no hesitation – only desire, the desperate way his lips part yours and the low sound that rumbles in his throat when you tug him even closer.
You barely register when he backs you up against the kitchen counter, his body pressing against yours, solid and warm. One of his hands slides up your side, skimming over your ribs before curling around the back of your neck, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss.
You gasp, and he swallows the sound eagerly, his tongue sweeping against yours in a way that makes your knees weak. Your fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt before unbuttoning half of it and slipping your hands underneath, pressing against the firm muscles beneath. He shudders at your touch, his grip on you tightening like he never wants to let go.
The kiss becomes deeper, hungrier. His teeth graze your bottom lip, a teasing bite that sends a shiver down your spine. Your breath stutters, and Loki pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide, lips slightly swollen. His fingers brush over your jaw, his thumb ghosting over your lips, tracing the place he just kissed.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispers, pressing the pad of his thumb on your lower lips with just enough pressure to make you shiver.
“I want you , Loki,” you breathe, pressing your lips against his again.
“Please, darling.” His lips leave yours, tracing a path down your neck with feather light kisses. His large hands cradle the base of your skull gently, his fingers threading into your hair. Then, Loki sinks to his knees, arms wrapping around your waist as he presses a kiss on your navel, the fabric of your shirt the only barrier between you. Your skin burns under his touch, breath coming in uneven.
“Please,” he murmurs against you. “Tell me how you like it.”
He looks up at you, pupils blown, cheeks flushed. Ready to serve you. It’s almost ironic – he’s the royalty here, not you. Still, his hands find your hips, sliding lower to squeeze the curve of your ass, his face nuzzling against your stomach. His breath is hot through the fabric, brows furrowed in desperation. Loki is like a beast in heat, hips twitching forward, barely restraining himself.
“Loki,” you repeat, cupping his face between your hands. Your lips part, but hesitation creeps in. You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, looking away as the words tumble out, barely audible. “Put… put your mouth on me.”
A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. Then, he moves.
Loki doesn't hesitate. Nimble fingers make quick work of your jeans, pulling them down along with your underwear. You almost stumble back when he helps you step out of one leg, his grip firm but still holding adoration for you. He grunts, eyes locked onto you as his fingers dig into the softness of your thighs. He’s savoring this, holding himself back just enough to make you squirm.
You can see it in his face, the battle between restraint and hunger. His fingertips ghost along your folds, teasing, barely touching where you need him most. You open your mouth to say his name, to urge him to touch you already – but then he snaps.
Loki buries his face between your thighs so eagerly that he pushes you against the kitchen counter. Your hands grip the cold marble surface, looking for support behind you as his tongue licks you recklessly. Centuries of experience have sharpened his ability, each flick and suck perfectly precise. His dark lashes flutter, eyes rolling back as if he’s drunk on the taste of you.
“Oh, shit,” you gasp, fingers tangling on his hair, pulling him closer. “Shit, Loki, just like that.”
Your praise makes him hungrier. He moans against you, the sound sending sparks through your limbs. His tongue alternates between circling and sucking your clit, fingers teasing your entrance, waiting for permission. When your gaze meets his, you give the smallest nod – that’s all he needs.
Loki groans as he slides a finger inside you, and then another – stretching, curling, pulling the pleasure from you with effortless skill. You feel the tension coil low in your stomach, that familiar, dizzying heat building too fast to contain. You try to warn him, but Loki is lost in you.
Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, stealing your breath, making your back arch as pleasure pulses through your veins. But he doesn’t stop. His fingers move with a precision that has you shuddering with overstimulation, and before you can catch your breath, another release slams into you.
You didn’t know that was possible.
“Loki!” Your fingers tug his hair, urging him back, but not before you catch the whimper that escapes him. Your legs tremble, muscles spasming, and if not for his hands holding you steady, you’d collapse.
“Can I give you one more, darling?” His voice is hoarse, lips glistening, eyes pleading. “Please… just one more.”
You reach down, coaxing him up until he’s level with you, still kneeling, his fingers still inside you, teasing. He leans in for a kiss, and you let him, your own taste lingering between you.
“Yes,” you whisper, “but on the bed. My legs feel like jelly.”
Loki is on his feet in an instant, fingers slipping from you as he grabs your wrist, leading you to the bed like an eager pup. He’s ready to drop to his knees again, but you stop him with a hand on his chest.
“Wait,” you murmur. “Take off your clothes.”
His breath hitches. Then, with a smirk, he obeys.
His shirt is the first to go, followed by his black slacks and underwear. You barely have time to take him in before he’s already kneeling in front of you again. You’re still half-dressed: shirt on, one leg still tangled in your jeans, a stark contrast to his bare skin.
Loki drags his knuckles along your folds, barely grazing your clit. Now he wants to take his time, to tease, to savor. He’s seen you fall apart twice already, and the hunger in his eyes hasn’t dimmed. He has the same look on his face: pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths. You whimper at the slightest pressure he applies at your entrance, his fingers poised as if considering whether to slip inside.
“You look so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, reverent, kneeling before you. His lips press a soft kiss against your inner thigh, then the other. He kisses one lip, then the other. And finally, finally , he latches his mouth onto the most sensitive part of you, sliding two fingers inside at the same time.
Your back arches, hands twisting the sheets, still sensitive from before. But Loki doesn’t let up. He devours you, drawing pleasure from you until you’re gasping, moaning, clenching around his fingers. He doesn’t stop, not even as your eyes roll back, not even as your muscles spasm with another release. Not until you tangle your fingers in his hair and yank him away, as you sit up to look into his eyes.
“Enough,” you command, breathless, staring down at him like a master scolding a disobedient dog.
Loki grins wickedly, shamelessly , drunk on you. One of his hands has its fingers still buried inside you, while the other strokes himself with the same desperation, as if pleasuring you is what truly makes him come undone.
“Kiss me,” you order softly, and he obeys instantly, crashing his lips against yours as he slides his fingers free and rises to his feet.
He cages you, so broad and imposing, his body heat sinking into you. His knee presses between your legs, parting them with ease, slotting himself against you like he was made for this, like he was made for you.
“Wait.” You break the kiss, breath hitching as you meet his gaze. “Help me with my clothes, please?”
His expression softens, something like adoration flickering across his face. He pulls back, kneeling on the bed as he slides your jeans off the rest of the way.
“Anything for my princess,” he murmurs, sending warmth blooming through your chest. He peels off your socks, then reaches for the hem of your shirt, hooking his thumbs beneath the fabric and pulling it up over your head.
Loki pauses, staring openly, watching the way your nipples harden in the cool air. His throat bobs as he swallows.
“You’re astonishingly beautiful,” he says, voice low. “Did you know that, darling?”
Heat creeps up your face, but you smirk. “Yes. But keep talking.”
Loki chuckles, the sound deep and affectionate, as he cups your breast, rolling a thumb over your nipple. Your breath hitches, and before you can respond, he leans in, capturing your lips once more.
Then, in one slow, deliberate movement, he sinks inside you without warning.
A sharp gasp catches in your throat, swallowed by his mouth as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust. He’s so big, stretching you in ways you didn’t think possible, and each measured thrust sends a new ripple of pleasure through you.
He buries his face in your neck, holding you close as he picks up the pace, his breath coming in ragged pants. His body is tense, muscles trembling with restraint, but he still whispers against your skin, voice thick with need.
“Shit, darling,” he groans, cradling your head as if you’re something precious. “You’re so good to me– ah , you feel so good.”
“Loki, don’t stop,” you mumble, sinking your teeth into his shoulder. He lets out a ragged moan, driven by the sting, and his rhythm stutters, and then returns even rougher, deeper, sending sparks rushing through your veins. His hands roam your body, finding your breasts again, and his mouth follows, lips latching onto your nipple.
You’ve never felt pleasure like this before. Loki knows exactly where to touch, what to say, how to move. He knows how to worship you.
“I’m gonna come,” you gasp, the words barely audible through your moans.
Loki only growls in response, snapping his hips harder, chasing your high as if he’s right there with you.
You bury your face into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, trying to stifle your cries as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your body trembles, tightening around him as your fourth orgasm of the night shatters through you.
Loki isn't far behind. His thrusts grow erratic, his breath hot against your skin as he groans your name like a prayer. His hands tighten around your waist, holding you impossibly close as he finally lets go, spilling inside you with a deep, shuddering moan. His body tenses, then relaxes against yours, gasping as he rides out his high.
For a moment, there’s only the sound of your breathing, the warmth of tangled limbs, the lingering sensation of pleasure humming beneath your skin. Then Loki shifts, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, down your neck – slow, adoring, worshipping, as if grounding himself in you. He pulls you into his arms, settling beside you, his grip firm but gentle. His lips brush your temple, then your cheek, murmuring sweet nothings in a voice low and tender.
“You are divine,” he whispers, his fingers tracing lazy circles along your back. “My darling, my heart… I love you.”
Your chest swells, warmth blooming deep inside you. You press a sleepy kiss against his collarbone, nuzzling closer.
“I love you too,” you respond, inhaling the scent of his skin.
With your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep, you close your eyes. His arms tighten around you, as if even in sleep, he refuses to let go.
Maybe he never will. For the first time, he has something to lose.
And for the first time in a long time, you feel safe. Wanted. Loved.