bloodiedrogue

[bloodiedrogue]

your heart's a mess

pairing: loki laufeyson x female reader contains: 18+ sexual content, cunnilingus, mentions of rough sex/toxic relationship. also, unedited. wc: 964. note: this is a little treat for the sluts and the sluts only. y'all know who you are, merry christmas ya filthy animals. <3

Loki kneads her flesh with heavy hands. Hungry fingers poking and prodding and prying —the sheer force of which he pushes her thighs apart making her heavily breathe. 

It’s like music to his ears —that simple puff of air. It’s sound spurring him further; threatening to tear what little resolve he last left to pieces. Only to leave the ill-intentions of ruin behind his mind’s eye. The sights of wanton moans and twitching nerves taking shape in his thoughts while his hands explore.

Gripping her calves, he sees her lips part to create another breath, the lack of weight compared to the first making his brows pinch together and his hands get more rough, wanting more. 

“You’re being rather quiet for someone who was just ruthlessly bragging about their ability to keep quiet.”

As he speaks, his voice takes on a gravelly hum. The almost ragged tone reverberating straight from his chest onto the skin of her knee as he takes a quick bite —teeth sinking through the wicked grin that pulls across his face when she huffs out a laugh. 

“Well, you’re being distracting.”

“Am I?” 

In addition to his tease, he runs his mouth up her leg with a smirk, allowing his tongue to languidly slip out between each open-mouthed kiss. The mere taste of her causing a sound of approval to release. 

It makes her smile. A big, toothy grin that steals the breath from his lungs, prompting him to bite her hip to suppress the feeling. To distract him from the ache that spreads throughout his chest, threatening to undo all the work he’s done to block it out. 

“You’re being awfully gentle tonight.”

As expected, he feigns the obvious, pretending as if the uncharacteristic way he touches her is the result of exhaustion rather than desire. 

“Bit sore,” he ends up telling her, using the excuse of mistreatment and injury to cover up the fact that he merely wants to touch her. To hold and caress and memorize. To take his time shaping her to his every whim. 

“Rough job?”

“Somewhat.”

Her brow quirks up in time with the hand that slips down to caress his face in response. The simple gesture —soft and warm— making him nod and pull away, knowing that if he doesn’t he’ll only offer more mercy.

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Instead of replying, he merely nips her hip, offering his usual brusqueness. The instant shift from gentle to rough making her knowingly hum, expecting as much, considering it’s how he always is —pushy, aggressive, impatient. All the things a lover shouldn’t be, and yet, she seems to know just how to bear the brunt of such qualities, taking them in stride. Enjoyment, even.

Which is a thought that truthfully scares him when he focuses too hard on it, realizing how little he deserves to earn such reactions after using only the parts of her he finds amusing. If anything, he deserves to be denied these pleasures he often seeks out —barred eternally for even thinking of harming something so fragile. 

And yet, each time he creates those blooming marks across her skin, carelessly leaving them in places where everyone can see, she hardly bats an eye. Instead, she just lets him pour the heat of all the fury that sits within his gut out onto her flesh like it’s nothing. Like it’s something she truly wants.

It completely vexes him. Not because he isn’t used to women fawning in response to his abuse, but because the more it happens, the more guilty he feels, watching her reduce herself to nothing more than a casket of flesh he continually retires his rage into.

It makes him want to stop, sometimes. To truly feel the texture of her skin, whole and unharmed. Healed and nurtured rather than beaten and broken. 

So, tonight, he does. Slowly forcing himself to hold back the urge to inflict as he remaps every dip and curve. Foolishly allowing himself to take on the kind of reverence he knows he should not be bestowed.  

Taking his time, he starts by lapping the apex of her thighs before he shifts the fabric of her underwear down for easy access, revelling in the sight. Releasing an approving hum, he then presses careful kisses to the edge of her entrance, feeling her arch instead of round. The obvious desire for more only spurring him further as latches onto her clit to suck. 

And at first, it feels odd to move so leisurely —to slow things down and simply feel as his tongue runs careful patterns over the bundle of nerves. Given their usual routine, it seems wrong to not already be buried inside her, taking what’s his in a matter one would definitely describe as brutal. 

Yet, despite all that, he somehow finds peace —silence— as if the sudden taste of both her melting on his tongue and the discovery that he’s capable of violent restraint in the name of worship erases the anger and resentment. Every minuscule flicker of displeasure wafting away with the sound of her gentle voice calling his name; begging for more. Something he’s offering over with protest in the form of wandering hands that pull her further into wanting lips. The position of his hands acting as a tether, holding her down with every squirm each time he curls his tongue or applies more pressure.

Against his mouth, he can hear those wanton moans he imagined not too long ago paired alongside the twitching nerves. The sound, making his own throat well up with an undeniable longing as moves his hand to spread her further, prodding her centre with the base of his nose as he begins to bury himself within her, embracing praise instead of condemnation. 

[bloodiedrogue]

“Watch it, Fangs.”

zayis & astarion by @qwiqwiaqwi (i’m still screaming about it, thank you so much for making this for me, it’s perfect!)

also you can now read about them here!