#it’s just flat it’s static

[manqo]

i wish my distractions weren’t sabotaging but rather productive

[hinamie]

hi hina ok ok fun challenge for u: for yuuji megumi nobara and gojo pick one shot from the anime and one panel from the manga where you think they look s tier <3

ooh okokok challenge accepted

yuuji:

megumi:

nobara:

making me include gojo smh i know u did this on purpose

can u tell i have a a thing for fight scenes....

[stormbreaker-290]

Ca n

Can someone just

Can I pretty please be rid of my booba I don't want tgem-

[dragonpropaganda]

something I love about rain world lore is that it gestures towards the sky being solid like two times and doesn't elaborate at all

[oswednesday]

its one of those things is it a Rule of Threes style joke like one thing obvious one thing less obvious one thing a complete joke, or are they all related as One thing and i feel with gf writing style is could go in either direction fdfd

[shootinwebs]

alastor: i love you, angel, but sometimes i can't fathom how you're "employed" by a man who has sex with a TV.

angel: i know, and he's not even a tube TV anymore. you wouldn't even get tickled in the face by the static if you kissed him.

alastor: ...why am i surprised that you've thought about this.

[doctorbrown]

aaaaaaaa not me seeing lightning on my dash and thinking of the irony of how, like Tesla, Doc's motif is lightning (and time/clocks but shhhhhh), it's something that seems to follow him wherever he goes, but he's had terrible luck with lightning and because of his and Marty's past adventures, thunderstorms spike a bit of anxiety when he sees the lightning lashing across the sky. nothing debilitating or panic inducing, definitely not, but he remembers the close calls and definitely doesn't want to be out in a severe one if he can help it.

[timegears-moved]

tbh i gotta take back what i said before. totk hasn't really done anything to make me care about this version of zel*nk

[dragon-subway]

so I like looking through housing listings for entertainment and honestly something I've noticed is that if you can get that initial 10% the mortgage for a decently sized place can be cheaper than rent for much shittier places

[vstheworld]

bout to fuck around and become a prep cook

[arthyritis]

The bad thing about my hair being at the length I have to brush it now: STATIC ELECTRICITY OUGJ

[inkykeiji]

so many new silent hill projects (*/ω＼*)

[tojisun]

simon grunts, his chest heaving as he palms at his chub, tracing the twitching muscle of his cock and letting out a hiss at the muted pleasure that razes through him. he shivers at the heated look you give him, your pretty eyes awash with desire, scalding as it trails down the lines of his bulk until it settles on his flesh.

“ah,” you whisper and simon nearly moans at the awe in your voice.

“s’right, baby,” he says, feeling the way he pulses underneath his low-hanging sweats. “s’all f’r you.”

there is a whine that drags itself from the base of your throat, so primal in the way it scratches your vocal cords, and simon has to fist his cock to stop himself from rutting against his palm.

“i can’t,” you whine, pouting, your eyes still trained on his groin. “‘m gonna be late for work.”

“please,” he croaks out, breathless himself. “how about jus’ the tip, love? jus’ give daddy a taste of you ‘round me, yeah?”

simon knows it is playing dirty to pull this card on you—to exploit your one weakness—but simon’s guilt is tucked underneath his stretching need, the desire bloating as it leaks past his rationality, leaving him with thinning restraints.

your sharp inhale is all the answer he needs.

he bites the inside of his cheek to tamp down the smirk dancing to the corners of his lips.

“okay,” you reply, tentative and quiet. “but just the tip, you promise?”

“swear,” simon murmurs.

like a goddamn liar.

he relishes in the squeals dripping from your parted lips, only for them to be muffled into your pillow.

he’s got you on your knees, your front all but pressed flat on the bed, your arms having lost the energy to keep yourself up as simon fucks you from the back. he’s got fistfuls of your ass, using them as sweet, sweet leverage as he manhandles your body back to his cock.

“so good f’r daddy, sweet’art,” he rumbles, his voice so deep it even sounds foreign to him. “so, so fuckin’ good, love.”

he punctuates his words with hard thrusts; drawing his cock out slowly, deliberately torturous so he can watch the way your hole grips at his cock, not wanting to let him go, before punching it back in. he doesn’t stop and keeps pushing his cock past the gummy press of your walls until his hips are pressed flush to the fat of your ass.

then, he repeats the process—sharp snaps of his hips leaving you twitching, and simon watches with a crazed giddiness as your hands uselessly scratch at the sheets as though that could tether you.

he bends forward, his bulk covering your trembling body. “such a cute darlin’ for me, lovie.” he ruts his cock along a particular sweet spot. “say ‘thank you’ to daddy?”

he hears a warbled reply from where your head is pressed to your pillow.

“hmm? wha’s ‘at?”

simon cups a hand on your forehead and carefully pulls, tipping your head up just enough that he can hear you.

he hears a hiccuped sob, then, “than’ you, daddy.”

simon giggles and presses a kiss on the back of your head. “what a good doll y’are.”

something about that makes your body tremble, spasming in his hold, and simon watches with awe as your toes curl, before he has to let go of you at the sudden tightening of your walls. his eyes go white, his ears ringing with a sharp static.

he feels so, so overwhelmed at the expanding euphoria that washes over him, lapping at the synapses from the back of his skull to the cavity of his ribs.

“you came,” simon mutters in awe, his voice passing through his teeth like a gritted hiss. “christ, lovie-”

-

[jaewritesfic]

Melon!AU

Actual writing now, based on this post:

“What,” Tim breathes out faintly, “the fuck is that?”

Language, Bruce thinks faintly, though he doesn't manage to get it past his lips.

He is a man who prides himself on being ready for anything, but he most certainly didn't expect something like this when responding to the Batsignal tonight.

“That is a Pit Demon,” Damian's voice asserts through comms, grave in a way that betrays his collected mask. He's unnerved. “There is nothing else that could be.”

Bruce is unnerved too, though he refuses to show it.

Gordon had half the block cordoned off so no civilians would come through by the time Bruce and Tim - the closest at the time - had arrived on scene. The alley itself is blocked in by police cruisers, though the officers are staying very firmly behind the line and not approaching.

It's no wonder why.

The…thing backed into a dead end alley looks like it's made of smoke and shadow, all long sinuous lines and dangerous angles.

It's vaguely Humanoid in the sense that it has a long torso, arms and a head. The arms are too long, the fingers curved and wickedly sharp. The face is a well of deep shadow, a smooth slate broken only when it opens its jagged mouth to show off a full arsenal of fangs.

The only other facial features are the solid, glowing Lazarus green eyes. Wide and lamp-like, they give the distinct feeling that the creature's sights will not miss anything.

There are no legs. Just the sinuous curves and overlaps of a long smokey tail. It whips about with agitation.

Floating like mist on the water is a head of white hair, edges fuzzy and undefined like it can't decide whether it's a solid or a gas.

The creature lays with its chest nearly flat to the ground, propped up only by those horrifically sharp hands and poised like a predator ready to push off into a sprint.

Glowing Lazarus water seems to pool slowly beneath it, streaked here and there as evidence of past movement.

Bruce finally finds his tongue to question Damian. He can see his youngest standing on the opposite roof of he and Tim, the two buildings that form the alley their perch.

“You've seen something like this before?”

Damian hesitates. “...no. But there are stories of things coming out of the Pits. I doubt I need to explain why this seems to be one of them.”

With that color green shining out of its face and streaked across the alley? No. No, he doesn't.

“Do your stories have any clues on what to do when one shows up?” Tim asks, unable to tear his eyes away from the creature.

Damian scoffs. “Close your eyes and hope your end is quick.”

“Lovely,” Tim bites out, voice a little higher pitched than normal.

“We won't be doing that,” Bruce responds dryly, two taps coming through the comms notifying them of Black Bat's arrival.

Bruce looks up and has to search for her for a few seconds before he can make her out in the shadows of Damian's rooftop.

“I'm still five minutes out,” Dick comms in. “What exactly are we looking at here? Can Oracle give a visual with any cams?”

“I wish,” Oracle chimes in. “Even through the mask footage I have no idea what they're seeing. The feed is corrupted to hell and back whenever it's in frame.”

“Really? In person it looks like-”

Tim is cut off when the officers below make some kind of movement the monster clearly takes issue with, the snarl that almost physically ricochets off the brick walls making everyone wince.

It's like TV static and the crackle of lightning striking a tree, like glaciers cracking and shifting underwater all rolled into one.

The hair on the back of Bruce's neck stands on end.

“Fuck. It's like a living shadow, but all sharp and wrong and angry-”

“No,” Cass cuts in quietly, silencing everyone.

“...Black Bat?” Bruce questions lowly.

“Not angry,” she responds, as sure as ever when assessing a target - no matter what kind of target.

“Scared, hurt. Guarding chest, trying to hide it. Wants to scare us away, but making no move to attack. Posturing.”

The thing about Cass is that they trust her reads implicitly - her reads of people.

She wouldn't speak up if she wasn't certain, and she wouldn't be certain if she didn't see something painfully human in the creature below.

“...what do you suggest?” Bruce asks after a moment of tense silence, trying to reassess the creature and see what she sees.

He at the very least wants her opinion, so they can weigh it in formulating a plan here.

Cass keeps looking for a long moment, before she looks across the gap at him. “Needs help. Reach out - at least try.”

Masterpost

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Prompt #4

When they all convene at the cave, Alfred is silently wrapping Dick's knuckles. Damian hovers beside him. Tim and Barbara are hunched over the batcomputer, not even sparing Bruce a glance as he strides over.

"Report," Batman grunts. No one reacts.

"Report!"

"Hood pushed his panic button at 2:34 AM," Barbara says shortly, straightening.

The button had been a joke, mostly because Jason would never use it and everyone knew it.

"I patched into his comm at 2:35. This is what I heard initially." At her nod, Tim presses play. What occurs next is a garble. There is the sound of high winds, as if Hood is rushing through the air, even though the comms are designed to filter out any ambiance otherwise the Bats would never hear each other. Interspersed is a mixture of static punctuated by high, inhuman screeches of metal and something else unknown.

"This goes on," Barbara says after thirty long seconds, switching it off. "Red Hood failed to respond to any attempts at contact. I dispatched Nightwing to Hood's location at 2:36 AM. He was approximately two miles away." She pulls up a GPS map of their respective locations, their beacons blinking.

"At 2:41 AM, Red Hood's comm goes off, as does his GPS," Barbara says, swallowing softly as the red beacon indicating Jason disappears. "Nightwing arrives at 2:42 AM."

Dick doesn't say anything, head hanging low as he grips the metal table he sits on. Damian glances between the two of them, expression flat but fists clenched.

"Nightwing, report."

"..."

"Scene was empty, B," Tim speaks up. "No trace of Hood, no sign of a struggle. No cameras in the alley. We've been checking the ones nearby but so far there's no sign of anyone but Hood heading in that direction...and no one, Hood included, caught in the cams heading out, not within that time frame."

"So he's still in the area," Batman concludes. "The local buildings?"

"All the entrances have cameras, which showed no evidence of Hood nor any evidence of being tampered with," Barbara says. "Nightwing, Red Robin and Robin canvased within a half mile radius to check for any signs of disturbances in any of the windows or rooftops but found no evidence to support Hood being taken. A scan confirmed several serial offenders, but when interviewed and searched there was no sign of Hood. Several in the area reported an unusual quiet for Crime Alley."

Batman forces the next question out. "Did you check the dumpsters?"

"Yes," Nightwing grits out. "Empty."

Barbara clears her throat. "I have attempted to reconnect to Jason's GPS and comm as well as restart both remotely but there's no signal at all. The thing is, when there's a disruption like that it usually leaves some sort of sign" she pulls up the audio waves, pointing at the end where the spikes conform into a straight line that makes everyone deeply uncomfortable. Upon playing, the noise from before plays before going abruptly silent. "But there is no large spike, this is clean. It just ends. His GPS is much the same. It's not off, it's just gone."

"I know you don't like to hypothesize this early on, B, but we think this involves a meta," Tim says, rewinding the audio. "We've been running the audio from Jason's comm through different filters, playing with the levels and isolating what we can and, well, take a listen--"

The screeching drops to a sort of muffle and in the background, distantly, they can hear bits of Jason's voice.

"No, I'm not---"

"--don't need--"

"get AWAY from--"

a particularly desperate yell that makes Tim flinch, "I am NOT--!"

and almost a whimper that makes Batman's blood run cold, "please..."

And then, unfairly clear even through the faint garble, Jason says "I don't have a choice, do I."

And a minute later, quietly: "Ok."

The audio cuts off.

The defeat in Jason's last words is palpable, and fundamentally wrong. Jason has never sounded defeated a day in his life, and no one knows how to process Red Hood all but giving his hands over for the cuffs. Nightwing pushes himself off the table.

"I'm going back out there," he growls. No one tries to stop him as he stalks out the cave, not even Alfred.

"I will accompany Nightwing, make sure he does not punch any more walls." Damian says, nodding tightly.

"B?" Barbara asks.

"Keep working on it. See if you can identify what could be making those noises if Hood was standing still in an alley," Batman says, walking towards the zeta tube. "I'm going to make a few calls."

[lokisgoodgirl]

Awful Things [TVA!Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Fresh off the interrogation, Loki is emboldened to make a move. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Heavy smut. Dom! Loki.Bondage, impact play. (w/c 2.8k)

You register your door pad beep through the clink of plates as you slide them into the sink. Strange, you think briefly. I didn’t think anyone else had the code.

Turning, you immediately collide with something hard and flat. But there was no mistaking the scent of him. “Loki!?” was all you could muster in shock, gripping the lip of your tiny kitchenette. “I brought you some pie,” he growls, punctuating the statement by tossing it to the counter beside you.

His bicep presses against your own, hard as rock through the thick jacket hanging open at his torso. Those eyes that you’d studied so often were darker now. Deeper, somehow.

Dangerous.

“Everything okay?” you squeak.

There’s an energy radiating from him, a heat that seems to charge the air. It hums like static. The intoxicating scent of him wafts from the open top of his shirt, tie askew like he’d yanked it loose on his way here.

You clench. “I just had a very...interesting experience” he rumbles, leaning towards you. His lips are an inch away from yours, tilting his chin upwards as he looms appraisingly. You realise you haven’t been breathing. “O...Oh?” you gasp, as he presses his body closer.

His chin lies nestled to his collarbone, the popped collar of his jacket framing hollowed cheekbones that flex as he breathes in and out through his nose. His trunk is so solid and flat you’d swear it was marble if you couldn’t feel the beat of his heart through his shirt.

“You don’t seem...yourself” you say cautiously, watching the ring of his pupils explode outward. You’re suddenly reminded of a wolf, stepping on a rabbit before it tears its neck out. “I’m feeling more myself than I have in a...long time,” he purrs darkly.

Loki trails a long finger down your cheek, curling at the angle of your jaw and tipping your chin up to face him. There is a calculated pause.

“And do you know what I want to do?” You shake your head, eyes wide like a virgin. Loki smirks, and it makes your pussy melt into your underwear. He leans closer, inhaling against your hairline. His crotch rubs against you, a low rasping sigh escaping his lips as the weight of his cock drags against the bare skin between your standard issue loungewear set.

“I’ll give you a clue,” he rasps lower and dirtier than you thought possible. “It’s not eating that pie.” His eyes narrow, and stay like that.

A curl has fallen down his forehead, black and slick and every bit as out of place as he is in your apartment. And yet – it belongs there.

The counter-top digs into your spine, Loki’s body crushing into your own with the mass of his towering form. You bring a hand to his chest, pressing lightly against the hot flesh you’ve longed for.

“What happened out there-?” you start, feeling desire slide between your thighs as he shakes his head with a chuckle. “Someone reminded me of past transgressions,” he mutters, fingers toying with the sides of your top.

They slide beneath it, his large hands making quick work of cupping your breasts. The rough wool of his jacket grazes your nipples, hard and ripe for his attentions. His eyelids flutter as the flesh moulds to his touch, heavy cock pulsing.

“They reminded me of some terrible...awful things I’d done,” he enunciates slowly. His eyes are alight with mischief, with seduction. Pure godhood is leaking from him like a vapour, saturating the air around you grown heavy with the humidity of sex.

“And it reminded me, of the terrible...awful things I wish to do to you.”

Your legs feel weak. And Loki can feel it too.

His hands slide quickly down your waist, casting the loose sweatpants you wear to the floor. You gasp, gripping the sides of his face and pulling him to you.

Whatever the reason, if this is your chance – you’re taking it.

In moments, his tongue jams into your mouth. It’s wild, unhinged- and for now, the notorious Loki Laufeyson is all you can feel. All you can breathe and taste – every sense alive with his urgency.

He seems to have known the curves of your body for a lifetime, dexterous fingers curling into the perfect dents as he hoists you into the air. Immediately your legs lock around his hips, the flat of his cock pressed against your eager, soaking cunt. “Want me to go easy on you, little thing?” he groans as he spins you round. “Now is your chance.” You decline between grunts as you force his face to yours, tugging at his slut-mussed curls. His chuckle vibrates against your teeth. “Good,” he utters quietly into your open mouth.

Suddenly a cool, flat surface presses against your back. You cast a glance to the side, checking that you are still in fact in your sparse TVA studio. A flicker of green licks the floor beneath Loki’s feet, magic recoiling to its master now that its work is done. A shudder runs down your spine, hips bucking into the thick of his cock still tight beneath the pants.

“A little...theatre, for your initiation.” he purrs smugly as he raises a hand above your head and smacks the newly placed wooden beam twice.

It runs from the ceiling to the floor at the end of your bed. Before you have a chance to process, Loki tosses you to the mattress.

“On your knees, face me.” You comply. The wetness between your thighs is unbearable now, every involuntary clench of your pussy sending pathetic shock-waves of desire rippling across your skin. “Take it off,” he rumbles as he lowers his chin again with a devastating glint. It flickers to the t-shirt.

You pull it over your head, casting it to the floor. Satisfied, Loki raises a hand, curling his fingers. You can feel invisible binds licking around your wrists, winding and whispering against the skin. He pulls the fist towards him with a flourish – and by doing so, you. Yanked forwards, your hands fly to either side of the beam. They meet in the middle, a low hum of magic sizzling as Loki watches on. He widens his legs, the fabric of his trousers creasing and straining beneath the mass of muscle beneath. The triangular stance makes a whine snake from your throat, and a small smile twitches the corner of his mouth.

“Right where I’ve wanted you, all this time,” he hums while his fingers work his belt-buckle with aching slowness.

“Fuck me, Loki” you gasp desperately, clenching around air. It’s all you’ve wanted since the first time you laid eyes on him, but never in your wildest dreams did you imagine this. Loki chuckles mirthlessly, biting his lip. “Oh sweet one,” he coos darkly, “you know not what you ask.”

The leather slides from its holster with a rough hiss as you groan, resting your head against the beam. Anything. You would do anything.

Butterflies soar in your belly as the god loops the belt around one palm. With the other, he pops the button of his trousers, releasing his cock. The obscene bulge you had only fantasised of as you writhed beneath your bedsheets under the cover of darkness lies tantalisingly in the grasp of his hand, pumping slowly back and forth as his head tilts.

Your tongue flattens, already imagining choking on it as he takes his pleasure; saliva dripping in whoreish swathes down your jaw.

“How like you this?” he growls while clasping his hands behind his back with a ceremonial stiffen. He shifts his feet on the floor while you squirm against the post. It's too much to take in. A garbled moan is all you can manage as magic melts the thick jacket from his body, and then his shirt...and then his pants.

But the belt? That stays wound around one hand, the veins taut and thick and pulsing.

A thrill drops your stomach. You realise that before now, you had only ever met the shadow of Loki Laufeyson which stalked the halls of the TVA. A mirage, dulled by the weight of what he tried to suppress.

Now, somehow, he was free.

But there would be time for understanding later. Loki paced naked around the beam, unwinding the belt from his palm. The muscles in his ass tighten and relax with ever careful pace, cock bobbing with every measured step, muscles in his thighs clenching as he inspects his meal. He’s hungry, it seems. Thick valleys dip in the side of his waist, the ripple of thick shoulder muscle making your thighs tremble as you hold position. “I want to make love to you,” Loki pondered as if to himself. “I want to pleasure you beyond an inch of your sanity, until you are breathless putty begging for release from your amorous torment.” He spins pointedly to face you, gaze afire with an aura you’ve only seen in the archives. “But not tonight,” he says.

Your cheek presses against the beam with a whimper, pussy throbbing. Anything. He shakes the belt out with a dramatic flourish, looking at it and then to you with a jovial air of expectation. An eyebrow cocks. “Just one. For me” he purrs sweetly, undertones of velvet obsidian spicing the air between you. “Two,” you gasp as you squirm. Loki throws his head back in laughter, wild curls tickling down his shoulder-blades. He snaps back up, and with a single graceful bound he positions himself behind you on the bed. Large hands roam your body, biting kisses marking down your neck, your shoulders. There will be marks, you think. It is not a supposition, but a certainty.

He is everywhere at once, fingers trailing through your dripping sex while he utters the filthiest praises the timeline has ever known. The fact he desires you, is touching you – that simple act alone is almost too much to bear.

“I knew this day would come,” he whispers deviously as his lips and teeth make their procession down your spine, your hips, your ass. “An inevitability...perhaps” he groans before sucking the plump round of your ass with an obscene moan. A whizz cuts the air as the belt lays claim to the soft curve with no warning, impact sending your hips flush to the beam with a snap.

You cry out his name, the biting pain followed by the moist slather of his tongue against the tender skin. He bites down, catching only a sliver between his teeth. Groaning against his prize, Loki slips his digits through your sopping folds. “Good fucking girl,” he rasps wetly, thrumming your clit. Bucking against him, you try to slow time as his fingers go about their light work. It’s gentle. Too gentle.

“I knew we’d get along.” he smarms. You can feel his gluttonous smirk thick in the air.

He pulls away, the second smack of the belt coming down in the same precise location as the first.

You yelp, bracing against the beam while Loki moans behind you. He runs his palm across the skin, breathing heavily.

The god’s body presses against your own, flattening you against the pillar while you grunt his name into the wood. Condensation is forming on the grain, the heat making your eyes sting as keenly as your ass. Loki chuckles darkly. A menacing thud sounds to your right as the belt is thrown to the floor, immediately followed by the curl of his fingers around your hips. A sharp inhale sears the back of your throat, realising what is to come.

Your only regret, is that you can’t see his face as he squeezes his huge cock inside your heat with a guttural gasp of air. Another time, you think optimistically; all other thoughts leaving your body as Loki releases a ragged, choking splutter.

He’s settled on his knees, guiding your pussy down his iron manhood with devastating slowness. Your ass meets the expanse of his thighs, the softness of your curves against his animalism making you feel like you might break. And perhaps you would. He thrusts up with the precision of an executioner. Never in your most unhinged fantasies did you think being full of Loki's cock would feel this good. Make you feel this free. The fingers of one hand twist in your hair, tugging it back. If you crane far enough, you can just see the bow of his jawline flex, his chin pointed to the ceiling. The veins in his neck strain, Adam’s apple tight and static with the clench of his teeth. Every filthy, whoreish grunt from his throat is heaven.

The stick of your arousal coats him, every squelch as he fucks into you making your eyes roll back. Your arms ache, but the thrill rising in your blood as orgasm bubbles makes it peel into oblivion. “Who am I?” he growls, the tone seeping into the depth of your soul.

Words have left you, rattling around in a haze of pleasure and utter bemusement. Short gasps are all that come out, but Loki’s showmanship will not be thwarted. “Who am I?” he repeats ceremonially, bottoming out with a punishing thrust.

You yank against the invisible binds, clenching around the root of his cock as he drags it out with a thundering groan. Every vein, every ridge of his manhood makes your soul ignite. “Loki-” you pant, muffled by the squash of your cheek against the wooden beam. Another punishing thrust. If his fingertips weren’t digging so much into the dip of your hips, you were sure you’d hit the ceiling. “Who?” he spits.

You feel a spray of venom hit between your shoulder blades, the violent smoulder of his eyes piecing the top of your spine as he rails you like a bitch in heat. His fingers curl around the nape of your neck, massaging gently as the fire between your legs reaches critical levels. It’s not a threat, it’s incentive. Your lips part, climax threatening to undo you from the inside out. And somehow, you know what he wants.

“God of Mis-mischief – urgh-ah, Loki...Laufeyson, God of..fuck, Mischief”

You and he moan in unison, rising orgasm shuddering your bodies as Loki’s stomach folds flush against your back.

The force of his primal need settles on your neck from his breath, twitching cock tugging inside your desperate pussy with shallow thrusts as he comes undone with a thunder of your name. The force of his seed hits like a flood, spurting against your fluttering walls as you clamp around his girth. A mess of shuddering, juddering, raw flesh. He settles back on his calves, rocking you gently as he milks himself to completion.

All you can feel is the haze of his attention in your orgasm-addled state, hands massaging the spill of your sweat-damp breasts while blood thunders in your ears. You’re vaguely aware of him speaking. “Sorry can you repeat that?” you murmur, tilting you chin. He’s right there, soft lips capturing yours in a messy kiss. It hurts your neck, but fuck...is it worth it. “I said, I have to follow up on something,” he whispers conspiratorially.

His hand travels downwards, tucking between your legs before taking hold of the root of his cock still buried deep inside. You can feel it slide side-to-side, his fingers playing in the swell of hot cum from gathered there.

He brings the hand slowly upwards, scissoring his fingers. Strings of arousal glint in the low light as he hovers it in front of your mouth. Instinctually, you point out your tongue, leaning forwards to meet his fingers.

“Ah,” Loki breaths as you take both fingers between your lips, sucking gently; deep to the second knuckle. His hips pump up gently, hot breath misting your ear as he buries his face in your neck. “F-fuck, little thing…” he rasps, “-you’re even more than I thought you’d be.” Sliding his fingers from your mouth, he picks up the wisp of his train of thought. “This was more of a...flying visit.” he says. Your brow knits, trying in vain to tug your hands from the beam. “But I shan’t be long. Believe me, I would rather be here. But what can I say, I am much in demand.” The mattress shifts as Loki swings his legs over the bed, standing with a stretch. You watch the muscles in his back flex, every inch carved by the gods themselves. Naturally, you muse with a thrill as his freed cum drips lazily down your inner thighs. “Forgetting something?” you purr, enjoying the slant of Loki’s brows as he turns. Your smile fades as that look crawls over his face again. “Who am I?” he quips with a smirk. Magic rolls over his body. The trousers unfurl, followed by his shirt and tie – as fresh as ever. There is a rustle of leather as his belt rears from the floor, and with a decadent click of his fingers, it slithers around his waist; cinching in. The brown jacket appears folded over his forearm.

Your brow furrows, yanking at the invisible binds. “Loki-” you say. It’s a warning, not a statement.

“Who am I?” he repeats, arching a brow.

You roll your eyes, teeth gritting. “Loki Laufeyson, God of Mischief.” Loki smiles. The type of smile you’ve seen in the corridors many times. The type of smile that usually precedes something which increases your workload. His gaze flickers from your face to the beam, hands still bound as he begins to pace backwards towards the door. He raises his palms in a gesture of feigned sympathy, a devious tug at one corner of his mouth betraying him.

“Always have been,” he smoulders, a wolfish grin spreading.

“Always will be.”

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