Chapter Text
The headboard, you think, is unfamiliar: pale wood wrapped in ivy and fairy lights, which twinkle innocently in the low light of the bedroom. They cast dark shadows against the emerald green wall as you get railed into oblivion—but by who, you can’t remember. The only thing you know for sure is how good it feels, the sensation of him pounding into you from behind.
He hits that beautiful spot so deep inside of you over and over and over until you feel dizzy – delirious – drunk on every thick inch of him, and all you can do is lay here and take it. Take him. You can feel his fingertips digging into the meat of your hips as he pulls you back onto his cock so harshly, so fervently, that your worrisome bout of amnesia pales in comparison to the utter desperation you feel so under his control.
He’ll break you, whoever he is. He'll ruin you like this.
“Y-Yes,” you gasp.
Maybe he already has.
The pillow under you fights for its life as you start to slump against it, boneless, your cheek mashed into the black silk sheets. Drool pools at the corner of your mouth, smearing wet against the luxurious fabric as every single one of your senses sparks alive—a perpetual state of overwhelm induced by the vibrator trapped between you and the pillow, held fast to your clit by nothing but the weight of your own body.
It’s too much. It’s not enough.
A slurred swear trickles out of your throat like honey, and you fumble a hand out behind you—to stop him, maybe, because you probably should when you don’t even know who he is, but it’s just so good.
Instead, your fingers brush against the expanse of his bare chest, where a smattering of soft hair tickles the pads of your fingertips. It’s impossible to even try to push him away, what with how roughly he’s fucking into you, how perfectly he’s taking you apart. His destruction of you jostles your body – causes your nails to rake down his toned abs by mistake, rather than helping you to put a stop to this like you really know you should.
It’s a blessing in disguise, because it feels so fucking good.
He lets out a hiss of pain, before he weaves a hand through your hair to shove your head more firmly into the mattress, absolutely feral in his complete and utter claiming of you. The fingertips of his other hand dig into your hip, harsh and unyielding, leaving bruises beyond a doubt.
“You will take everything I give to you,” he snarls. “Is that understood?”
“Yes, yes, fuck me, break my fucking cunt—”
Your saliva saturates the bedsheets as something similarly primal takes you over – swallows you whole.
He responds with a groan that shoots straight to your core, and the sound of his pleasure washes over you like a sinful melody – a hymn of praise that leaves you wanting more. Your hand comes to rest on his lower thigh, where you can feel the muscles flex with every merciless cant of his hips.
“Oh—Oh my god,” you choke out, your nails biting into his flesh in an act of worship—or a prayer.
He’ll make you come like this.
Something tells you he already has. You don’t know how you know, but you do.
Your inner thighs ache from the strain when your knees slide further apart under his brutality – particularly when he leans over you, moulding his body to yours, pushing you to sink even more into the plush bedding. You can feel the sweat on his skin mingling with your own, feel his arm snake around your waist to hold you flush against him, feel his hot breath fan against your neck as he murmurs, “Breathe, love.”
As if you even could with the way the vibrations upon your clit suddenly increase, leaving you writhing and inconsolable against his solid body. Your hips buck of their own accord in an attempt to escape the maddening sensation, but all you manage to do is grind even more against the toy.
A muffled sob escapes you from the overstimulation.
You can feel him so, so deep inside of you, aided by the firm pressure of his other hand as he brings it to press into your abdomen, allowing the tip of his cock to angle against your g-spot with every glorious thrust.
“I knew you had one more in you,” he whispers into your ear, punctuated with a low moan – perfect kindling to the fire roiling in your belly. Your back arches as his velvet voice surrounds you, each word another nail in the coffin. “That’s it, that’s my good girl, come with me, milk me dry—”
One, two, three more thrusts, and you fall apart for him at last, lips parting in a silent scream as you come harder than you ever have. Your body convulses as you ride out wave after wave of pleasure on his cock until he spills himself deep inside of you, splattering your cervix with hot ropes of cum.
It feels good. It feels right.
But your head feels hazy, and your vision goes fuzzy, and you find yourself gasping for breath in the aftermath, unable to fill your lungs back up quickly enough after the intensity of your orgasm.
Everything goes dark.
——
When you wake, you find yourself cradled in his arms.
His fingers gently thread through your hair as he brings his lips to your temple, sweet and affectionate in his aftercare – not at all like the savage, animalistic fucking he’d just put you through. Not that you’re complaining.
“You haven't swooned in quite some time.” His voice sounds like soft silk, you think, as another kiss follows – this time upon your forehead. “Are you well?”
The fingertips of his other hand gently stroke your stomach. In the moonlight, your eyes catch on the shine of his wedding ring on their journey to sweep across the room. You see an antique dresser made of similarly pale wood, the myriad of cosmetics atop it almost seeming out of place. A mirror hangs just above, opposite the window, and on the far wall, you see a door to the ensuite. Another one leads out of the room.
The floor plan reminds you of your own quarters in the Tower, but it’s larger than yours—and, very much to your discomfort, unfamiliar. The man holding you so tenderly is even more so.
The moment that realisation finally clicks into place, you jolt up and out of his arms, whipping around to face him and find out who, exactly, has just fucked you to the point of passing out.
You immediately recognise him, and your stomach lurches with dread.
Loki of Asgard.
You’ve just had sex with Loki of Asgard.
Your heart pounds a fearful tattoo against your ribcage as you recall his bid to enslave humanity just a few short months ago, a fight during which you’d very nearly lost your life – as had many of your teammates.
How the fuck is he free?
How the fuck is he here?
How the fuck is he here with you?
Loki’s once-relaxed posture instantly shifts to something more tense as he stares at you, his green eyes trailing over your face in alarm – no doubt taking in the terror that’s settled into your features. Because it is terror. You can’t move, so terrified you are to be naked and vulnerable like this in his bed.
He’s Asgardian—every part god and monster for what he did to your planet. He could kill you with just his little finger, never mind his magic. And yet, he speaks to you so softly – hesitant, but no less kind – as he pulls himself up to sit beside you. “What is the matter, my love?”
My love. He reaches out for you, to rest his hand upon your thigh, and you jerk away.
A flash of hurt comes across his features.
“What have you done to me? Why am I here?” you demand, feeling the panic rising within you like a spring tide. Your thoughts come in a frenzy, a flurry of unanswered questions that lead to only one conclusion. “You must have cast a spell on me! That’s—That’s what you do, isn’t it? Magic? Because I—I would never, not with you—”
Your breaths come out shaky and uneven as you start to hyperventilate. Hands trembling, you try and fail to cover yourself with the blanket, and your vision starts to blur with tears because he’s laying on it – of course he is – and you can’t pull it free, each and every desperate tug only solidifying the fact that you’re trapped here with him. A monster. A murderer.
His adam’s apple bobs as he audibly swallows. “Darling—”
But you’re already on your feet in a sprint. It doesn’t matter that you’re naked, someone, anyone might help if you could just get outside—
Loki easily catches you from behind, one strong arm swooping around your middle to pull you back against him – similar to just minutes prior, but far less pleasant. His hipbone digs into your side when you turn to try and slap him, claw at him to escape.
His nostrils flare when you land a hit, leaving red marks down the side of his face – after which you feel yourself shrink under the weight of his anger as he snatches up both of your wrists in one large hand, holding them at the small of your back.
“You will tell me what is wrong,” he says, tone sharp – biting – but there’s a waver of something in his voice, something you’d almost think is fear. “Now.”
Even still, you continue to struggle against him, despite the fact that your SHIELD training clearly doesn’t hold a candle to his inhuman strength – gentle though his grip may be. “Let—Let me go!”
He doesn’t.
“Darling, if this is a jest, you have gone entirely too far.”
The clear warning in his tone sends a shiver through you.
“A jest? A jest?” Even you can hear the hysterics in your voice as your chest heaves for breath, and the fight finally starts to eke its way from your body, adrenaline fading away to heavy fatigue. “Why are you doing this to me?” you sob. “Let me go!”
You hate crying. It makes you feel vulnerable; even more so than standing before your captor, naked as the day you were born.
Loki’s hold on you loosens immediately, and you rub your eyes in frustration.
Carefully, his hand comes up to cup your cheek like you’re something delicate, like you’ll shatter to pieces if he doesn’t hold you together. His eyes search yours, reflecting concern – and terrified though you may be, you can't help but appreciate the rich emerald green of his irises, the regal slope of his nose, the sharp line of his cheekbones.
He's a murderer. A killer. A malevolent god.
Another sob escapes, because he’s beautiful.
“I’m sorry,” Loki says, full of remorse as his cool fingers shift up to your temple.
It’s the last thing you remember before your world fades to black once more.