So I wrote a little fic inspired by a silly "Loki waiting for you in chains" GIF drabble  I made on Tumblr. I got to thinking about what I might actually do with a chained Loki...and I would 100% play with his hair. That idea somehow led to this smutty little fic, which happens to be my first EVER reader insert fic.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: GIFs NOT mine. 100% Credit to their creators.

1. (The Original Tumblr GIF drabble)

You: *walking into your bedroom*

You: Uhhhh...

Loki:

You: You...What are you...?????

Loki: Waiting for you, of course.

You:

Loki:

You: Why are you tied up? Is this some kind of prank? I don't get it.

Loki: It was my brother's idea. He seems to think you have a crush on me.

You:

Loki: Is that true, by any chance?

You:

You: *stuttering* That's not...I don't...

Loki: 

You: *cursing under breath*

You: Did you let Thor tie you up and leave you here just to mess with me?

Loki: ... Not exactly.

You: Explain.

Loki: We had a bit of a wager.

You:

You: What kind of wager?

Loki: I can't tell you until I've won.

You:

Loki:

You: 

You: Let's say I want you to win.

Loki: *grins* You do like me.

You: *ignoring him* What would I have to do?

Loki: Whatever you want.

You: *frowning* Whatever I–?

Loki: *smirks*

You: *Looks at chains*

You: 

You: Whatever I want, huh?

Loki: *smugly* Whatever you want.

You:

Loki:

You: I hope you realize you're gonna be in those chains for the next few hours.

Loki: *grins*

Loki:

2.  (minutes later)

"This is really not how I was expecting this to go," drawls the God of Mischief, perched on the cushioned stool before your vanity. His expression in the mirror is wry, green eyes hooded, lips compressed.

"Shush," you murmur, repressing a smile. Your hands are buried in his glossy black curls. His hair is softer than it looks. Heavy, cool.

Standing behind him, you run your fingers up the back of his neck and scrape your nails very lightly along his scalp, pretending not to notice how his expression flickers with unwilling pleasure.

His shoulders seem almost impossibly broad, especially encased in dark leather, and you want to plaster yourself to his back, curl your arms around those shoulders, and put your face in his hair. You don't though. He'd probably say something mocking and ruin the moment.

Then again, he did let Thor chain him up and leave him here for your entertainment... You haven't asked for specifics, but you're pretty sure their little wager involved whether or not you would do anything sexual to the God of Mischief while you had him at your mercy. You're almost positive that Loki bet you would. You've been lusting after him for months and apparently, you haven't done a very good job of hiding it.

Thor, on the other hand, probably bet you'd keep it PG, so to speak. You are a lady, after all.

But right now, you're not feeling very ladylike, because Loki's hair is slipping between your fingers, and his muscular back is only inches away, and he smells like leather and bergamot, and damn you really want to wrap yourself around him and rub your face into his neck.

"Are you just going to play with my hair all day?" he asks, sounding bored.

As you draw your fingers back down to the ends of his hair, you glance at him in the mirror and see that he's not quite as unaffected as he'd like you to believe. His eyes are still hooded, but it's not with boredom. There's heat in that look, and a melting sort of pleasure you understand very well. You know how good it feels to have someone play with your hair like this.

"Can I braid it?" you ask in a low voice–and then you feel yourself flush a little because you sound like you're asking for something much more intimate.

Loki hears it, too. Amusement creeps into his expression, and a very masculine sort of satisfaction that has your heart doing the jig.

"I am at your mercy," he murmurs.

His voice has gone deep and dark. Velvety.

Erotic.

This is heady as hell, you think, feeling a bit lightheaded. 

Trying to breathe normally, you lean over him to pluck your hairbrush from the vanity, and your breast presses the back of his shoulder as you do so.

He makes a sound at the contact. A sound that sends electric currents of arousal straight down your body.

He purrs.

Jesus God, Almighty, you think, nearly dropping the brush in his lap.

You straighten. The movement is jerky. Loki is watching you in the mirror with that satisfied look again.

You want to say something–something smart and snarky to regain a bit of your composure–but the language centers of your brain seem to have shut down.

All you can think about is the big masculine body sitting negligently before you. Long, muscular legs splayed wide and chained at the ankle. Arms folded back. Elegant hands relaxed between your body and his. If you were to press yourself against him right now, those hands would be trapped somewhere in the vicinity of your pelvis.

The thought has your blood pressure spiking almost unbearably.

"You're flushed," Loki rumbles archly. "Are you feeling unwell?"

"Shush," you say again, avoiding his eyes in the mirror as you work your brush through his tangles.

Surprisingly, he shushes. And after a moment, during which you can hear only the pounding of your own heart and the gentle scrape of the bristles against his scalp, he leans back a bit, eyelids drooping with pleasure.

"Mmmm," he sighs. The sound is so deep it's almost inaudible.

For some reason, it makes things low in your body clench and tingle.

When you lean forward again to put the brush down, you're careful not to let your breast touch him. Of course, he notices.

His lips curve smugly.

You tear your gaze away from his and set about braiding his hair. When you're done you look into the mirror again. He's watching you very steadily, green eyes shrewd.

"You look better with your hair down," you say, and the words are just a tiny bit unsteady.

Loki smiles. "I agree."

So, you undo the braid, and then you run your fingers through the glossy black mass one more time–because God it feels good–and then you finally step back.

"Is that all?" Loki asks. "I was just beginning to enjoy myself."

"No," you say, and it comes out a bit defensive. There are a thousand things you want to do to him, and only about a hundred of them aren't in some way sexual, but you aren't sure you can. Not with the God of Mischief actually looking at you and talking to you.

Maybe I could blindfold him? And gag him?

Oh, Holy bejeezus, that is a dangerous line of thought!

"Is something the matter?" he asks, voice dripping that signature smugness.

You frown at him, thinking. He is chained specifically for your...pleasure. And he did say you could do whatever you want.

And you want to touch him. Like, with your whole body. But again--you can't, not with those green eyes watching your every move.

Suddenly purposeful, you go to your closet and pull out a thin red scarf.

"What's this?" he asks, as you return. One of his dark brows arches. "Are you going to blindfold me? By the fates, you are."

"How many times do I have to tell you to shush?" you say, irritated.

He chuckles as you position the scarf around his head. "I must say, this is very encouraging."

"Will you please just shut up?"

He grins, eyes now covered, scarf knotted around his head.

"If I'm quiet, will you play with something other than my hair?"

You're immediately happy about the blindfold. You've just turned a very unflattering shade of pink.

"I promise nothing," you reply, struggling to keep your voice level.

Loki's smile is wicked, but thankfully, he says nothing more.

And so, you've reached the moment of truth.

Am I really going to do this? you think, Is this really happening?

Standing behind him, your hands settle on his shoulders. Loki shifts slightly under your touch and you feel lean muscle bunching under your fingers.

You swallow. Your hands dip forward, down his chest. A moment later you're flush against his back with your arms around his neck and his hands are pressed low into your belly.

Bloody hell, it feels good. He's so big, and solid, and he smells amazing, and you forget your awkwardness, press your face into his hair, burrowing for his neck.

He shudders slightly when you find it, and the reaction is so intoxicating that you start to feel bolder. You drag your mouth up to his ear, nibble experimentally. He shudders again. You take his earlobe into your mouth and he lets go a little gust of breath that has you feeling like a million bucks.

The God of Mischief is responding to you. He likes this. He likes you.

"More," he rasps, and that single syllable sets you on fire. Makes you feel reckless.

Your arms unfurl from his neck and your hands travel down his chest, over soft leather and several loops of chain to feel the muscles in his stomach flexing in response.

He purrs again. His hands curl against your belly, cupping you, urging you on.

You bite him, right on that vein in his neck. Again, he shudders, so you suck the spot a little bit, and then he groans.

The groan shatters any remaining reservations you have.

You pull back and spin the stool around so Loki is facing you. You want to press yourself against the front of his body but he's sitting too low and his chained ankles are in the way, so you nudge his legs together with your knee and perch on his lap. You curl your arms around his shoulders.

"Mmm," he purrs, turning his face up to you, blindfold still in place.

You're going to kiss him. You're going to kiss the unbearably sexy God of Mischief, and he knows it.

His lips part.

Here goes.

They're softer than you expected. Warmer too.

You take the lower one between yours and suckle experimentally. He makes that sound again–that outrageously arousing little purr of pleasure. His mouth opens and you dip your tongue inside.

He tastes like tea and sugar. His smell is making your head swim. The sensation of his tongue sliding against yours has you burning all over, and you can feel the little sounds he makes rumbling against your chest, against your lips.

It's so good you feel like you're going to lose your mind.

You press closer and he shifts in his chains like he wants to hold you–like he wants to put his hands on you.

The thought steals your breath. You pull back and Loki tries to follow your mouth.

"More," he growls.

You realize he's aroused. You can feel it pressing against your thigh.

Thank God he's blindfolded. You're pretty sure your face is bright red again–and not just from embarrassment.

You look down at his body beneath you. His chest is rising and falling a little more quickly than normal. His thighs are tense under yours.

"I can't just molest you like this," you say, voice a little rough. "I feel like a complete pervert."

"Don't stop now," he replies darkly. "You were doing so well."

"Haven't you already won the bet, though?" you ask. "Do I need to do more?"

You want him to say yes and no at the same time–because you want to continue, but not just to satisfy some stupid bet.

He growls wordlessly and the hairs on your arms stand up.

"Woman, if you stop now I will break these chains off myself, and then there won't be any more hair braiding or blindfolds or ridiculous feminine teasing."

Jesus Christ!

"I'm not teasing," you blurt, heart pounding, face on fire.

He growls again. "Yes, you bloody well are."

"You said whatever I want, remember?" you reply defensively. "I wanted to play with your hair. That's not teasing."

"Touch me," he demands in that sexy growl. "That's what you really want, isn't it?"

"I am touching you, Loki."

"Not enough."

You're a little angry--and embarrassed--but he's right, of course. You do want to touch him more. Finally, you say, "I will, but you have to shut up, okay?"

"You like my voice," he replies stubbornly. "It arouses you. Why do you keep telling me to be silent?"

Mortified, you close your eyes for a moment. Apparently, you've done a really piss poor job of hiding your attraction. That or Loki has been eavesdropping. 

"I do like your voice," you admit when you've regained a little composure. "It's your words that are problematic."

He smiles a slow, wicked smile. "What words, exactly, would you like me to say?"

"None," you grumble. "But that's not going to happen, is it? Maybe I should gag you after all."

His grin makes you realize what you've just said. Out loud.

Shit.

"You're quite a bit kinkier than I expected," he says smugly. "What a lovely surprise."

Mortified again, you close your eyes and bite both lips, forcing yourself to take a slow, deep breath.

"Have I upset you?" he asks, still grinning.

When you don't answer, he says, "There is a simple solution, you know–if you really want me to be quiet, that is. No gag necessary."

And then he licks his lips.

He wants you to kiss him again. That's gratifying as hell. You lick your lips, thinking about it.

You don't take the bait though. Instead, you ask, "Are you going to tell Thor about all of this?"

He frowns. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"The bet, remember?"

Loki is silent for a few beats, and then he gives a big, martyred sigh. "Bloody hell, woman. There is no bet. I just got tired of waiting for you to act on your attraction to me."

You're stunned.

"I–you–what?" you sputter.

"I've been flirting with you--blatantly--for weeks. Did you think I wasn't serious?" he says, sounding amused and irritated at once.

Blinking, you think about it.

He has been flirting. A lot. And you haven't taken it seriously. At all. Loki enjoys making people uncomfortable, and his flirting makes you deeply uncomfortable. You'd figured that was the only reason he did it. 

Your silence seems to irritate him. Loki makes a low sound of frustration. "By the Fates, you are unbelievably dense."

You clear your throat. "Well. That's..." You flounder, curse under your breath. "Thank you for... clarifying."

Loki grunts. "Will you take this blindfold off me now?"

"Absolutely not." No way are you going to let him look at you with those penetrating, mocking green eyes now.

He sighs again. "Kiss me, then."

You frown at him repressively, even though he can't see it. "You are being awfully bossy."

He shifts his weight under you and you realize he's still hard.

"I'm experiencing enormous sexual frustration," he says grumpily. "I could be persuaded to behave more obediently, however, if you would just touch me."

"Fine," you say, "I'll touch you. But if you talk again, I'm going to stop."

He scowls around the blindfold, thin lips compressing. But he doesn't say anything.

You wait. He stays silent.

You look down at his body for the dozenth time, still floored by the idea that you can do whatever you want to him--but now you're also buzzing with the knowledge that it's not just some joke. He put himself in this position because he actually wants you.

One hand slips away from his shoulders and down the front of his body. The chains are annoying. The clothes are, too. You want to touch his bare chest. His belly. The curves of muscle above his hips.

The chains aren't blocking his trousers though. You're betting that's no accident.

You wiggle closer and his chest rises with another sigh. This one isn't martyred though. It's a sound of satisfaction.

You zero in on his mouth. Lean in and let him feel your breath on his lips.

He makes a little sound of encouragement.

You kiss him again. Slowly. His mouth opens and the tip of his tongue touches your lower lip. You let him in and he groans as his tongue slips inside.

And then you're lost to it for a while–to the sensation of Loki's tongue in your mouth, his teeth scraping your lips. His chest and torso pressing into you.

You notice after a while that he's shifting restlessly, and you realize with a flush of arousal that he's pressing his erection into your thigh.

"Alright," you say, breaking away. His mouth is still partly open as you lean back. He's panting, chest expanding beautifully.

You stand up and then sit back down straddling his legs. He makes a low sound of gratification and then swallows audibly when your hands find the closure of his trousers.

"This isn't where I would usually start," you say, a little nervous.

Loki lifts his hips under you when the top button comes undone. He licks his lips. Says nothing.

"I would have liked to undress you first. I've never seen you with your shirt off."

He growls. His fly is open now and he's not wearing any underwear.

Your breath escapes in a rush, looking at the straining flesh you've uncovered.

Big. The God of Mischief is big. And hard. Wonderfully, mouthwateringly hard.

You touch it, fingertips moving lightly over the head. Tracing the shaft. It's hot. You can actually feel his blood pulsing under your fingers.

You wrap your hand around it.

Loki lets loose a quick, shuddering breath.

You stroke him once, tip to base.

"Silky," you hear yourself murmur.

His breath comes faster.

You stroke him some more, using both hands now. Working your left one up under his shirt and the chains so you can touch his belly.

He groans and his sex jerks heavily against your palm.

You take your time with it, watching his face, his body. Listening to his breath become ragged. Amazed that he seems to get even bigger in your hand. Even harder.

He leans back a little on the stool, tilting his chin down as though to look. The thought that he wants to watch turns you on so much that you reach up and pull the blindfold off.

Loki gives you a look of gratitude–brief, but positively searing–and then his gaze in on your hands and he's groaning again, hips rolling.

He's getting close, now.

He rasps your name, low and ragged.

You stop and his teeth click together as he remembers he's not supposed to speak. He meets your gaze, glaring.

You can almost hear him growling, Don't you dare stop, woman. But he doesn't actually speak so you start moving again, faster now. Purposeful.

The sounds he makes as he comes and the look of pleasure on his face are so erotic that your womb contracts. It almost hurts. By the time his orgasm is done and he's slumping forward with his face in your hair, you're vibrating with need.

"Untie me," he rumbles into your neck. "I want to touch you."

The words are like gasoline on a fire. The thought of him–unchained and free to do as he pleases with you–is both wildly arousing and sort of terrifying.

You hesitate.

He bites your neck, just the way you bit his. Gently. Mouth hot and wet. His cock is still hard in your hands.

"Breathe," he murmurs, as your vision starts to speckle.

Your lungs obediently expand.

His mouth glides up to your ear and the pleasure of it sizzles along your body.

"There's nothing to fear. I promise I'll be gentle," he says coaxingly.

You can't think with his mouth on you–with the sight and sound of his pleasure still echoing in your consciousness.

And then he starts telling you very softly what he wants to do. With his hands. His mouth. With your body.

"Loki, stop," you croak. You think you might actually faint if he doesn't shut up.

"I want you," he murmurs, breath tickling your ear. "Let me."

He kisses your throat and you tilt your head back helplessly. Your heart is pounding.

You're going to let him. You know you are. But you can't make yourself say the words.

"The chains," he prompts, still in that sexy murmur, nibbling your jaw now. "Untie me so I can make you come, kitten."

That's it. The last of your reason flees. You start tugging at his chains, searching for the closure.

Loki makes a sound of satisfaction and the chains just...disappear.

He chuckles at your stunned expression. His arms are already around you, pulling you closer. "You wanted them off," he purrs, "and I did say 'whatever you want,' didn't I?"

Before you can fully process the fact that he could have removed the damned chains at any time, he's kissing you again, and his hands are circling your waist, dipping to shape your behind, leaving a trail of sizzling heat in their wake.

He strokes his way up your body again, fingers splayed, and your heart is hammering. He cups your breasts, lifts them, squeezes. Slow and sensual. Little bolts of pleasure spark under his hands and chase each other down into your womb.

You're not thinking anymore. You can't. Not with Loki's tongue in your mouth and his cock in your hands. Not with his fingers shaping your nipples through your clothing and his breath panting against your lips.

Your shirt and bra are peeled away. One of his hands finds your hair and tugs your head back. He sucks the tip of one breast, and then the other. Murmurs something about how beautiful they are and then sucks them some more.

The heat between your legs is almost unbearable. But then his hand is there and your jeans are suddenly lying open around his wrist. He makes a sound of pleasure when he touches you, and then again when his fingers slip inside.

He says something about how wet you are and you can't stop yourself from moving against his hand. The pleasure is already built so high you can feel the orgasm tickling the edges of your nervous system. If he would just touch you some more–move his hand a little faster.

"My pleasure," he says silkily, and you realize you must have made some sort of demand aloud, because his hand does move faster, and it's just right, it's so good–oh, God, it's so good!

You shatter in his arms, back bowing, shuddering under the white-hot blast of pleasure. Loki makes a deep, animal sound as you pull tight around his fingers, holds you harder against him as you shake and spasm.

And then, just when you start to come back to yourself, he murmurs, "I love winning."

You open your eyes. Look up at him in a daze, still limp in his arms.

He looks terribly self-satisfied.

"You said no bet," you mumble.

He smiles. "No bet. But I still consider this a win."

You have just enough strength to sit up, rolling your eyes. "Does that make me a conquest?"

He lifts you against his chest, repositioning your body so you're resting firmly against his renewed erection.

Your jeans and underwear seem to have disappeared. There's nothing between you and him.

You swallow hard.

"Not a conquest," he murmurs, giving you that wicked smile. "A challenge."

You can't help smiling. "I don't know why you're congratulating yourself now. You're only halfway through the race."

His smile widens, grows darker. You shiver under that look and grip his shoulders in anticipation.

"Point taken," he says in a silky, dangerous voice. And then he's lifting you, carrying you to the bed. Lying you on the mattress and coming down over you on extended arms. He pauses to tear his shirt off over his head and you're struck dumb by the sight of him, pale and smooth and corrugated with muscle.

Suddenly you're breathing fast again, heart pounding. Loki is looking down at you the way a predator looks at its prey.

"Take me to the finish line," he growls, setting his hips against yours. "If you dare."

You can feel him between your legs, hard and hot and ready to go.

You reach up and push his hair back from his face so you can look into his eyes.

"Do it," you whisper.

His eyes go dark. His chest expands, lips parting.

And then the God of Mischief is inside you, gliding deep. Stretching you taught. He lowers himself to you and his belly is pressed against yours, trembling slightly.

"Loki," you whimper.

"Yes," he breathes, thrusting, face slack with pleasure, shoulders bunching as he holds himself steady above you. "That's it. Fates above, that feels good."

You wrap your legs around him, pleasure rising like a slow burn inside. The sight of him thrusting above you drives it higher.

You're already close. Just this–just Loki inside you, his expression of pleasure, his velvety voice murmuring encouragements–and you feel like a nuclear bomb about to go off.

He touches your breasts with one hand and the pleasure spikes.

"Oh, kitten," he breathes, moving faster. "Are you coming already?"

But you can't answer because you are coming, and you're conscious enough this time to think, This is Loki. Loki is inside me.

Everything else in your mind is drowned out by the pleasure, washed away in a searing rush as the orgasm takes you.

He keeps moving–keeps thrusting and thrusting–and the pleasure doesn't stop. It continues to unfurl inside you, driven by the wet glide of his cock. He's pumping hard now, moving fast and deep, breath ragged, chest and belly flexing. And he's talking, too. Telling you how good it feels. How hot and tight you are. How beautiful your body is.

He's worshiping you.

You come again when he does, thrilled by the sensation of his pleasure, and by the guttural sounds he makes. By the sheer beauty of him spasming over you.

And when it's over he's still propped above you on extended arms, breathing hard, looking down at you with glittering, hungry eyes.

"You're mine now," he rasps, chest heaving.

He says it almost petulantly, like he expects you to argue.

All you can do is nod. It doesn't even matter that he isn't asking. Loki wants you. You want him, too. That's enough.

You smile up at him. He looks supremely satisfied.

You pull him down for a kiss, hands tangled in his hair. He makes that wonderful purring sound into your mouth and kisses you back.

And then he starts moving again inside you.

Who's the winner now? you think smugly.

End.