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It had been an eye-opening read. Never before had a suitor been so bold, so open about their affections towards you. And yet, they had remained completely shrouded in mystery, lest for a few supposed clues in their letter. It felt like a game of intrigue had landed right into your lap. A simple game, perhaps, or yet, a person much too bashful to confess to being its author. Oh, you’d felt pleasantly lit up with curiosity. You wished to know what this was, game or not.

You’d kept the letter, and its contents, a secret, and reread it multiple times throughout the following days. You wished so badly to reply, but you could not figure out who had sent it. You’d even decided to subtly thank the servant that had brought it to you, hoping to ask them subtly where they had received the letter from, but they’d only shrugged and said that ‘it was like it had appeared on its own’. No help there, then.

With the letter’s arrival (and sender) remaining a mystery, you did not quite know what to do as the days passed. With no hope to answer or to decode who was wanting you to reply, you began to think of it as a mere trick from someone. And as your family’s visit to Asgard’s Palace loomed closer over you, it became easier to spend your time thinking of other matters. However, about a week after the first, you received a second letter, that same seal pressing you to remember whose it was. It had been a simple red the first time, perhaps for subtlety. But its sender seemed to have forgotten the definition of subtlety, as their seal came to you in a deep green this time, making the details of the design pop out at you. You opened the letter, your hands trembling slightly, eager to find out more. Eager to find out that this was not just a mere jest at your expense.

“My dear,

I must admit, and it pains me to say this to you, but I am disappointed. I have gotten no reply, and so I must assume that you have not guessed at who I am yet. I am quick to forgive when it is you, though, for it is quite likely that your beautiful mind is simply too full of things for you to spend every waking moment thinking about which noble out of them all could be writing to you now. I am certain that you’ve hundreds, if not thousands, of suitors knocking upon your doors every day and every night (no matter how improper that last one may be). I only pray that you can wait until I join them in their desperate ploy to speak to you in person for even a moment. To hear your laughter, to see your smile, to glimpse at a sparkle of your soul from the outside that keeps it protected and lets it shine through.

As I said earlier, it seems that I remain a mystery to you. The thought is fun to someone like me, but I have come to realize that it is not quite so fun when I am the one remaining a mystery. I wish for you to know me so desperately, but I wish the credit of my discovery to be completely and wholly yours. And so, I shall give you more hints as to who I am in the hopes that it shall set your thoughts onto me and only me for but a few seconds.

We have met, as previously established, and though I said you might have forgotten me, I do not actually think that to be possible. If I explained why that is, I would be revealing too much. Simply remember that I am memorable, and this time, this claim does not come from my ego. Moreover, I do not wish to give myself too much credit, but I am tall, and I am, by some, considered moderately attractive, though, I obviously cannot compare to my better. What’s more, and this you might have guessed by my seal, I am a lover of green. Not of gardens, pray, though I would gladly take you on a promenade through any gardens if you wished it of me, no matter how distant or how small they would happen to be. Finally, I shall claim boldly that I am seen by many as a fool, though, if they were all to see you, they would surely see why, for you are radiant enough to make anyone feel a fool, no matter how powerful they might be.

I feel like a meddlesome jester relaying riddles onto an attractive noble so that they might be entertained, and I, compensated, with their laughter. But the only compensation I seek here is for you to speak my name whilst I watch you, close enough for me to touch your hand if you so desire it.

I await your letter, but I warn you, I shall not be as slow this time to write a third, for I find your company, albeit indirect, liberating. I pray to the Norns that the next time, I shall receive a letter in return, and I will feel embraced by your words, just as I hope you feel by mine.

Yours, and yours alone,

Your meddlesome jester.”

You placed the letter down onto your desk with a trembling hand. My, but they’d gotten bolder. And these clues this time… your mind hastened you to guess as to their identity, and you wracked your brain, thinking back to all the hundreds of nobles you’d met and eliminating the ones that did not match. Then, as you sat there, your eyes landed onto the seal. Tall, handsome, green, a fool according to many… a knight, then? A knight who’d grown up in the palace? They were hard to forget, attending feasts with their crests proudly embroidered onto the front of their tunics, the details of them unmistakable. Already, you could feel your mind opening up as it remembered one knight in particular, one with a crest of green, and an easy charm to him. His face was surely handsome enough, but was often compared to another knight’s, just as the letter had said. Your heart sped up, enchanted by the daring of it all. These secret, mysterious letters. Any man capable of something so clever was surely a man worth knowing, worth a promenade in the gardens with, too. You hoped that most of the knights would be in attendance for when noble families from across the Realms joined together in Asgard in a few days’ time. You would see him with your own eyes. And, you thought, a visit to the royal libraries would do you good, too. In order to find his name, his family’s history, as they escaped you. You could not recall anything but his crest at the moment, for you’d never much been interested in the knights growing up in Asgard’s palace. Clearly, that was set to change. You suddenly found yourself daring enough to seek him out whilst your family was there.

It was with a thrill, for the first time in your life, that you arrived in Asgard a few short days later. Every other time you had visited, it had been with a nervous tug in your belly, the worry of making a good and lasting impression on everyone weighing on you. Not now, though.

Your family were settled in by the servants, and then escorted to be greeted by the royal family. Your manners were as good as ever, but your mind was elsewhere as you thanked the royal family for their hospitality. It was to the point of you barely paying attention to the Allmother’s apologies for someone not being in attendance.

Once your family were excused and you all went your separate ways until the feast that was to be  held that same night, you did not waste a moment, your feet taking you towards the royal libraries (one of the only places you could remember properly from past visits). As you got closer, your heart sped up, excited at the thought of being so close to the truth.

You slipped in through the big doors, hearing them shut slowly behind you. The sound was loud among the deep quiet of the unused bookshelves. The library seemed entirely deserted, probably because none of these new guests would be spending their time in Asgard among its books. Better for you, as you could search for your knight in peace. You walked quickly past many bookshelves, searching for the large section on history. It seemed to take up at least a third of the library, an impressive feat indeed, and happened to be near the desks where people could sit to pour over manuscripts or write their own. You slowed down here, searching for any and every book on knights and historic crests you could find. Once you had a good amount, about five books, you opted to place them on one of the desks, so you did not have to carry them. However, it was then that you noticed that the library was clearly not empty. The desk you had selected to place your books on already had papers strewn about it. They seemed new, however, and not belonging to the library. Your curiosity spurred you on, taking you closer, making you lean over to get a glimpse at the papers.

It all happened very quickly. Just as you leaned over and caught a glimpse of the handwriting, you heard a voice behind you.

“Can I help you?”

You could not tell if your heart seized at being caught, or at recognizing the handwriting.

You spun around slowly, your heart nearly stopping as everything seemed to click into place all at once. Your mind lurched in embarrassment. How could you have been so stupid? Of course. You caught up quickly, bowing your head, though it was not as dignified or calm as you’d wished.

“Prince Loki,” You said, lifting your head quickly so you could look at him again. Of course!

He’d seemed startled the moment you’d turned around, and even more so now that you were looking at one another, even though he seemed to try very hard to look composed. He bowed his head in return, spending the time he was looking at the floor to plaster a charming, easy smile onto his face.

“An honour.” He replied.

Did he know that you knew? He knew that it was you standing in front of him, clearly, but did he know that you knew it was him writing the letters?

“I… am sorry for daring to look at your things. I did not know I was not alone in the library, and was pleasantly surprised to see someone else here.” You found yourself saying, still dazed at the knowledge that it had been him.

All while berating yourself for not recognizing that damned seal earlier, with the snakes coiled into his symbol. It could not have been more obvious. And you suddenly realized what he’d meant by having a large ego. He had not been subtle, had not hid himself in the least. He’d been desperate for you to know him, you realized with a thrill.

“I cannot fault your curiosity, I suppose. ‘Tis only normal to want to know what a prince spends his time doing.” He replied easily, charm coating his words.

“And… what are you doing, your grace?” You mused cautiously, testing the ground you stood on.

“Ah… perfecting my poetry.”

“Whatever for, my grace?”

“A prince must be ready for anything life might throw at him.” He explained, seeming more relaxed now that you seemingly hadn’t put the pieces together.

Though, you could see that he looked at you with something akin to yearning, desperate to feel closer to you, for there to be little space between you.

“Even possibly posing as an entertainer?” You asked with a smile, arm gesturing towards his papers.

“An entertainer?” He mused, tilting his head.

“Yes… as they often recite poetry? Bards, or… sometimes even a most clever jester, no?” You spoke softly, watching his eyes and the way they sharpened in realization.

He seemed to flush ever so slightly, his feet urging him towards you.

“You… how long have you known?” He whispered.

“Your handwriting has just given you away, I am afraid, your grace.”

“Just Loki, from you. I beg of you. Only my name.” He breathed, watching your mouth.

“Is that not treason?”

“I shall decide what is and isn’t treason. Please.” He retorted stubbornly.

You smiled, feeling a tad coy now that a damned prince of Asgard seemed so eager to hear his mere name from you.

“As you say, Loki.” You murmured.

He took in a staggered breath, his pupils dilating.

“I knew… from the few times I had seen you speak and had spoken with you, I knew you would be so. Daring, witty, and coy…” He rasped, enraptured with your face and the way it moved and revealed your emotions plainly to him.

“You have watched me, prince Loki?” You teased, having the sudden urge to see him squirm slightly.

“Watched, admired, become enraptured…” He nodded dumbly, so different from the tales you’d spent your whole life hearing.

“Quite improper, but I suppose you are a prince…”

“Allow me to make it up to you, starting now. For you to forgive my indiscretion, I shall do anything you wish. Take you on a million walks, no matter how weary I become, gift you the rarest items that cannot be found but in the farthest reaches of our world, beg on my knees, anything. Anything for the honour of your gentle company.”

You smiled, despite yourself, offering him your hand (much to his boyish surprise).

“I only want for you to apologize-”

“-Forgive me most ardently for my improper behaviour.”

“-For lying in your letters.”

He paused, eyebrows furrowing.

“Lying? I often lie, yes, but I bared my soul in those letters, I swear to you. I did not lie, unless if you are referring to my anonymity.”

“No, I am referring to you lying, something which you did do.” You scolded gently, softening as his thumb rubbed over your knuckles with a ghost’s touch. He seemed afraid of your closeness being something he would experience only once, something he could very well ruin for himself in the next few moments.

“Whatever you are referring to, I beg you, explain, and I shall apologise.” He swore, bowing his head slightly.

“You wrote in your second letter that you cannot be compared to your better. I now know who you meant.” You tilted your head, meeting his befuddled gaze. “Your brother, Prince Thor, yes?” He nodded subtly, eyes darkening slightly in shame, as if a sudden shadow had come over him. “He does not compare to you, you are right.” He seemed to shrink in on himself. “For you are more handsome than he is.” You murmured, feeling his hold on your hand tighten.

“Most would not agree.” He whispered.

“We are lucky then, that you did not write that letter for all to read.”

He nodded dumbly again, struck by your words and your opinion, as he leant down to kiss your knuckles.

“I would not be opposed to a walk through the royal gardens, either. To see them through the eyes of a royal prince is not an opportunity to be missed.”

It started innocently enough. You had just casually made a joke about a horror movie, the iconic Scream movie no less, and Pierrot had just stared at you with his big, adorable, clueless eyes. A look that said he had no clue what you were talking about, as deeply fascinated as he was.

“Wait, have you ever seen the Scream movie?”

The bells on Pierrot jingle as he shakes his head, the revelation catching you by surprise. It felt obvious that a clown from a creepy circus would have at least seen such an iconic horror movie. You had expected that just because of the job he would have seen a lot of them, but in retrospect, why would that be a job requirement? A job is just a job, not someone’s entire character.

“Do you want to come to my place tonight and watch it?”

You didn’t even mean to ask; the words just slipped out. You had expected him to turn you down, since he probably had work that night anyway, and even if he didn’t, why would he want to spend his little free time with you? But his eyes widened so far you thought they might pop out of his skull, nodding his head so fast his bells sounded like a toddler banging on a piano.

So you gave Pierrot your address and told him to arrive at 8pm, giving you a two-hour gap to get ready for him. Then off he went back to his circus, where, unbeknownst to you, he begged on his knees for the night off. He only was granted it after he started sobbing on the ground; that’s when Jester finally broke down and relented.

Pierrot knocked on your front door at 8pm sharp, not even a single second too soon and certainly not too late. The horror movie marathon started not long after, both of you taking opposite sides of your couch. Your good host instincts had told you to prepare some snacks for you both, but with his circus’s rules not letting him eat in front of others, that made the snack idea pointless. What was even the point of that rule? If it were not for his figure, would just nibbling on some popcorn for a night ruin his tall, lean figure that easily? The others wouldn’t even have to know, but you weren’t about to pressure him into anything if he didn’t want to do it.

You had started off with Scream, of course. That was the movie that got you two to do this. The movie was nothing new to you, so none of the scares actually startled you with it being your umpteenth time seeing them. Pierrot, on a completely virginal viewing, seemed to react far worse than you expected even from a child. The first jump scare of the movie nearly caused him to jump off the couch, spurring you to pause the movie so you could make sure he was okay. He insisted he was fine, that he wanted to continue watching the movie, so you two of you continued.

With Scream being an older movie, back from before horror movies relied on shock factor to get a reaction, there wasn’t much over the top gore. The gore, thankfully, didn’t seem to even faze Pierrot, not in the early scene with the jock’s disembowelment, the tad silly garage door neck breaking, or the ending scene where blood is much more on display than before. Obviously, all the gore was fake. The special effects were good for their time, but nowadays they were noticeably fake. Perhaps Pierrot had seen his own fair share of similar things, perhaps his family were butchers; nah, not your sweet, adorable Pierrot.

But ‌of everything, he reacted ‌most strongly to nudity. Scream wasn’t even that gratuitous with it; the characters talked about it nonchalantly, but on-screen only one character took off her bra, and her breasts were never even shown. You had glanced over at Pierrot during that scene; you had felt him shift, and found him covering his face with his hands, peeking through his fingers. Neither the scares nor the gore shocked him as badly as just a woman’s bare back did.

It only got worse with the next movie, Friday the 13th. You had asked him if he had seen that classic either, to which he said no, so you turned that one on next. The scares in that movie startled him the same, and the gore brought no reaction like before. But there was a bit more on-screen nudity in that one, with a woman’s breasts actually shown while in another scene, characters play strip poker but never actually get nude. In those scenes, you thought his half of the couch might light on fire with how embarrassed he got during those scenes. When a couple was even shown about to have sex, you glanced over to make sure he was okay, only for your eyes to meet his. You both looked away quickly, now you yourself were blushing hard. It meant nothing, meeting his gaze in a scene like that, you tried to lie to yourself.

With you having watched two classic horror movie titans, you felt it was only fitting to watch the last of the holy trifecta, Halloween. His reactions were like before; with the scares, almost jumped out of his clown suit; the gore, absolutely nothing. But the nudity, oh boy! You had forgotten the scene where there’s two teenagers in bed, under the covers, writhing and moaning but little is actually visual. But that one scene was so bad for Pierrot that you had looked over to make sure he was okay only to find him curled into a ball, clutching a pillow like it was life-support, and back completely to you.

Out of concern, you sped up past that part before pausing the movie. “Pierrot?” You asked, reaching over and touching his shoulder, only to recoil when he jerked hard at your touch. “You okay over there?”

Pierrot’s head turned back to you, eyes meeting yours, the look in them reminding you of a golden retriever when it gets caught doing something it knows it shouldn’t be doing. It’s adorable, but his distress shouldn’t be so cute to you.

“Do you want me to change the movie? I don’t think there are any more scenes like this, but I’m not actually sure,” you offer.

He, however, shakes his head. “No! No, I’m, I’m fine I swear!” Pierrot blurts out, talking fast. “I want to keep watching!”

Ugh, how can a grown-ass man be this cute? You just wanted to squeeze him. “Sorry, there seem to be so many scenes like that,” you try to explain. “These movies were made a while ago when things like sex were just more taboo, so they often had sex scenes to demonize those who were doing it. Like, um, characters have sex and then get murdered, you know? Premarital sex, that is.”

Pierrot listens to what you’re trying to say, though once you’re done he turns his head away again. “Just… just give me a second, please,” he mumbles out, almost whispering. You, of course, will give him that, but you were concerned for him. Why was he sitting so curled up, clutching a pillow like that?

…

Oh.

Oh.

“Oh! Oh, okay, um okay,” well now you were panicking. You had invited this man into your home and you got him aroused? With horror movies no less? He must think that you had planned this, lured him into your home and purposefully put on movies with those scenes to pressure him into doing that kind of thing. You truly hadn’t thought that hard about those scenes. Movies with a little nudity were nothing new to you, but clearly it wasn’t the same for him. Did he think you were into this? Watching people getting bloodied, gored, massacred; that’s what got you going?

God, if there was a hole you could crawl into and die in, you needed directions to it ASAP.

“Okay, um, hang on. There’s a bathroom over there,” you gesture towards your bathroom. “You can um, you know, do what you need to do in there.”

“I’m fine!” Pierrot blurts out, a little louder now, stuttering and firing out his words. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. I just-. This never happens, I swear. I’m just- I just got so excited being here with you, and then seeing those people like that, I just-. I’m sorry; you must think I’m so gross and pathetic. Please, just, just give me a moment to calm down, and then I’ll leave.”

“No! You don’t have to leave. Unless you want to, of course,” you try to comfort him. You really don’t want him leaving on such an unpleasant note, but you’re also not going to stop him. “It’s fine, really. Things like that just happen sometimes!”

God, how mortifying? Just two miserable adult virgins, sitting on a couch while not far away on your television screen, a teenage couple is about to get murdered post-copulation. It was now your turn to sit there, head in your hands as you stewed in embarrassment.

It takes a little while before ‌part of what he had said finally sinks in. He admitted he was excited to be here; sure, he could have meant that he was excited to hang out with a friend. But how he said it… It didn’t sound like he meant it fully platonically. Did, did he…?

Fuck it, you’ve made it to adulthood a pathetic virgin because you can’t just say what you’re thinking when it comes to this. To love and to sex.

“Pierrot?” you speak up. He flinches at his own name. “When you said that you were excited to be here, what did you mean by that exactly? Like, did you mean you were expecting something else?”

He practically deflates on the couch, like he just lost half a foot and at least 40 pounds. “I’m sorry. I know I must seem so revolting; you must hate me. You’ve let me into your home and I can’t even behave myself; like I’m some animal. But I swear, I won't touch you with any lewd intentions.”

You bite ‌your lip, face growing hotter with every breath you take. At this rate, it’ll be your half of the couch that’ll be lighting on fire. “What if-” god are you really saying this? This already sounds so cheesy and cringey. “What if I want you to touch me, lewd intentions or whatever included?” You almost hear a snap with how fast Pierrot’s head turns towards you; you might have if not for the jingling bells. His eyes stare at you like two big round tables covered in black cloth and golden bowls in the middle. It was hard to believe that a human’s eyes could even get that big.

“Really?” His voice is so very quiet, like he expects that if he’s too there with you, you’ll realize what he is and change your mind. Like you’d only want him if he’s unobtrusive. It was hard to tell if you wanted to smother him in kisses or wrap your arms around him for the rest of your life.

Only with your nod of assurance, because you couldn’t speak any assurances, did he slowly unravel his body to you. Pierrot moves so slowly, like a beaten dog trying to sneak a juicy steak that it’s been offered, not believing that such an act of kindness could actually be for him. The pillow he was clutching is dropped to the side as he inches closer, your eyes landing on his crotch where his need is visible even in his loose pants. He’s not exactly small; you can tell even without seeing that much of what he had. That only compounds ‌your peaked anxieties, your first time and you’d be taking that? If this is how you die, then what a wonderful way to die.

Pierrot stops just short of you, his eyes struggling to focus on your face or your body. There’s a hunger in his eyes, but he’s starving himself just looking at you. It’s obvious that you need to insist to him you’re here, that you’re okay with him, you genuinely want him; because holy fuck, do you want him bad.

You take his hand, and he lets you guide his hand without question; if only you knew that if you guided him, he’d willingly walk into hellfire with just as few protests. With little preamble or seduction, you pull his hand to your breast, letting his fingers grope the soft flesh. It feels so alien, feeling someone else touch you there, someone else’s heat on your own. It was so odd, but if it was Pierrot, then you liked it a lot.

That very overt consent‌ was enough for him to immediately dive for more. “Can I, can we kiss?” he pleads, watching you nod. He doesn’t need anymore coaxing, diving into you with passion as his lips meet your own. Both of you are so inexperienced with kissing, but while your attempts are clumsy, there is an abundance of passion to make up for it. It feels so good, he tastes so good, like how roses smell and how a sunny day feels.

His hands are all over you, fingers drifting along your skin and occasionally peeking beneath your clothes but never passing a certain boundary. It’s like he wants to remember every inch of your body so he could carve your body out of marble. There’s a level of naivete to it, but he’s so desperately listening to your breath and heartbeat to know where best‌ to touch.

Finally, your own lust wins out, and you pull back from the kiss. “Pierrot,” you whimper, hands pressing against his chest. For a second, it almost looks like he’s expecting you to tell him to leave, that he’s scared you, but those fears are quickly dismissed as you speak. “Can we go to the bedroom to, you know, do that?”

Pierrot must be dreaming that you’re actually wanting this so readily, wanting him so openly. But you felt too real, tasted too real; if this was a dream, then let him sleep.

You’re plucked off the couch so fast you gasp in surprise, arms wrapping around his neck just above the surprisingly soft ruff that he wore. He held you around the waist so easily, lifting you like you weighed nothing to him; you probably didn’t. Whatever they were feeding him in the carnival, they better keep feeding him because being carried around like this certainly wasn’t making you complain.

You don’t have to direct him to your bedroom; he finds it without even an ounce of hesitation or guessing. Perhaps if your mind weren’t so cloudy with more sinful thoughts, that would have been a red flag, but right now it isn’t even a flag. So what if the flag is red anyway, Pierrot wore so much red that it’d just remind you of him?

Pierrot laid you on your bed with much more grace than how he had picked you up, falling with you as you both resumed their mutual surface-level explorations of the other’s body. Under your hands, his body was firm, toned, a body built for all the acrobatics and aerial stunts he performed. It almost didn’t feel right in certain parts. Some places that should have been flesh were hard, while where bones should have been firm under skin were soft. Like a puzzle of a solid color where the pieces just didn’t fit quite as they should. But you thought nothing of it; this was the first body you’ve touched, really touched, that wasn’t yours.

This could have gone on forever if you hadn’t again taken off your shirt, giving him an eyeful of your nearly nude torso. To you, it’s just your body, a part of your sack of flesh that gave you no small amount of trouble, a sack of flesh that was far from what most others would consider beautiful, and you knew it. But the way Pierrot looked at it, at all your curves, edges, and imperfections, it almost made you believe it was a masterpiece. As long as he wasn’t disappointed, you told yourself; it was good enough. Pierrot takes a bit more of an active part in stripping you of your clothes, each piece of cloth removed with trembling hands. Soon, you’re laid naked on your bed, while Pierrot is on top of you, still fully clothed and just a little disheveled. It was disappointing; you wanted to see his body underneath too, but the one time you tugged at his collar he quickly pulled your hand away. He wasn’t cruel with his refusal to strip, more reluctant than anything else, but he was holding himself back.

“Can you..?” he tries to ask, trying so very hard to find the words. “I don’t want you to see me, not yet, so can we- Can we do this with you on your knees?”

Perhaps you could have been offended, but the word ‘yet’ sent your mind soaring. You two hadn’t even gotten to the end, and he’s already talking like the two of you would do this again. A promise that this wasn’t just a one-time thing, a single night’s sober mistake. So such a single ask from him you will indulge.

“Oh, um, yeah,” you nod quickly, quickly turning around and getting on your hands and knees. It was an embarrassing position to be naked in, your warm cunt exposed to the cold air, but it also was so exhilarating knowing that it’s Pierrot looking at you. Did he like how you looked like this? God, you hoped so. You couldn’t see his face in this position, so you couldn’t tell.

Then his fingers ran up your slit, the feeling making you jump. “Ah, sorry!” Pierrot quickly apologizes for startling you, his hand disappearing from between your legs.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you try to quell his concerns, pushing your hips back a little. “I just, I’ve had no one touch me there before, just surprised me that’s all.”

There’s a bit of a pause, his hand finding its way back to your thigh, gripping the soft meat so gently and teasingly close to your sex. “You’ve never…” he sounds surprised, voice low, greedy. “You’ve never slept with anyone before?”

You shook your head as a no; you really didn’t want to admit it out loud. He must think you’re a loser, a fully grown adult who, despite your best attempts, has remained a virgin.

You’re about to say something, anything, but he ends up beating you to it. “Thank you,” is all he mutters before one of his fingers dips inside you. It feels so heavenly, even just that one finger is enough to make you see stars, or hearts. Everything is so blurry that the shapes you’re seeing have little form. This is it; it’s really happening; you're finally joining the club that everyone else is in.

He’s so gentle as he slowly pushes one finger, then two, in and out of you, it’s like he thinks you’re made of porcelain. It feels so weird, and not just because the feeling is new to you. The claws he had you were so sure were part of his gloves, but you could feel them inside you as he took great care not to scratch your delicate insides. But he wasn’t wearing the gloves anymore; the fingers inside you were certainly made of living flesh and not leather like his gloves. Did he have long nails, and if so, why didn’t they feel anything like nails would? Would you even be able to tell if your only sign is what they felt like inside you?

Despite his clear inexperience in this, Pierrot quickly learns how to best use his fingers on you. It certainly helped that you were very sensitive as well, somewhat because of how new it all was and more so how absolutely turned on you were. If it were anyone besides Pierrot, would you be as into this as you are?

Finally, your own horny stupidity wins out, your need for him inside you trumping any patience. “Pierrot, please,” you whine out, giving your hips a little shake to tease him. “Just fuck me already. I can’t wait any longer.”

You can hear him swallow his own nervous energy before he removes his fingers from you. Your cunt suddenly feels so empty without his fingers, you can only hope that he fills it up quickly. There’s a pause, a short one that feels painfully long to you, as you hear him fumble with his own clothes. God, it’s so hard being patient when all you want to do is jump on him and ride him till the sun rises.

Then you feel it, his cock sliding between your thighs; incredibly warm and terrifyingly big. You just about jump out of your skin at the feeling. Doubt filled your head in seconds, unsure if you could take a cock that big. Would it hurt? It’d hurt, but would it hurt more than you could take? What if you had to tell him to stop, and he was disappointed in you for not being able to take him despite begging for him? What if you told him to stop, and he didn’t?

You weren’t about to back down now; you were far too stubborn, or stupid, to do that. Even if it hurt like hell, then you’d just have to bear it, for Pierrot.

His clean hand slid up your back, down your arm, and caught your hand at the end of its journey; leaving goosebumps in its path. Then slowly, so full of apprehension and worry, he lifted his hips to meet yours and slowly guided his cock to your entrance with his other hand.

There was a lot of resistance at first before his tip pushed past your throbbing walls, the rest of the length slipping in behind it easier. The sound that comes out of you doesn’t even sound like you, more like some red-light district prostitute trying to get a tip from a stingy customer. But it’s your sound that came from you, one that was completely real.

“Are you okay, my Lady?” Pierrot asks, so innocently concerned as you tremble beneath him. You were right, it hurts, but holy shit did it feel amazing; he felt amazing inside you. It took a lot of willpower not to just beg him to fuck you hard and fast, break you right then and there. Especially when you called you that.

So you just nod, whimpering out your words. “K-keep going,” is all you can manage.

He happily obeys, slowly pulling out only to push in even more glacially slow. It almost hurt more with him going so slow, not because of his size but because of how desperately you needed more of him. It felt like you’d explode if he didn’t pick up the pace, and your attempt to get him to move faster by pushing your hips back only got him to hold your hips in place.

“You are just divine, my Lady,” his voice is quiet in your ear; you can barely hear him over the lust buzzing in your skull. “Like the stars themselves, every inch of you is perfect. I’m blessed, so blessed, to be holding you like this. I’ve dreamt of this for so long.” His hips grind into you in a way that makes you see the stars he’s talking about. You feel so full around him, you can feel every throb of his cock inside you and it makes you so hungry for more. It’s so perfect it doesn’t feel right. How could sex feel this good? You almost don’t even notice how his cock doesn’t feel like it should. You’ve made use of dildos before, and the realistic ones, they don’t feel this way. His cock feels almost textured, like there are ridges to it. But whatever it is, it feels like it was meant just for this, for you.

“It’s so hard to hold back, my Lady, to not just claim you as mine forever,” he continues, his words like wine. “Every time you smile at me, it’s like my heart gives up. I’ve wanted this for so long, but I was scared I would scare you away. But now? Now that I can hold you in my arms, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to let you go.”

“Please, please, please promise me you’ll never leave me. If you leave me, I’m not sure what I’d do. I can’t, I can’t have another…” he quickly changes his topic. “How exquisite you are, the way you walk, the way you smile, the way you laugh. It’s drawn me in, such an entrancing trap I’ve fallen into, and I never want out. Never let me out of your cage.”

You have no clue what he’s talking about, but it was turning you on more than you wanted to admit. It just sounded so romantic, his words so honeyed that you felt like your teeth would rot. The best response you could muster was just whimpers and moans, sounds that were almost syllables but not there.

Pierrot picks up the pace, earning louder noises from you as a reward. Your arms, trembling and weak, finally give out, and your chest falls to the bed, the new angle proving to be even more pleasurable for you. His breath is hot on your back, each thrust forcing out a whine from him as well. He’s just so perfect, his body and voice, it’s driving you insane.

“Pierrot,” you find the words somewhere in the deluge of your lust-drunk mind. “Can you, fuck, can you bite me?”

There’s a stutter in his movements, your request catching him by surprise. Great, he must think you’re a masochist freak now; maybe he even thinks you’re lying about not sleeping with anyone before. But you want it, want his mouth and teeth on your skin, leaving marks.

You can feel him bend closer down to you, his own torso having to contort so his mouth is close to your nape. A downside of the near foot and a half height difference between the two of you, as hot as it was. Then his teeth, sharper than you thought, scrape against your shoulder. It’s like he’s testing out your reaction, seeing if you really mean what you want, and when you don’t take back what you said, does he finally bite down.

The bite isn’t hard, certainly not enough to draw blood, but enough that you can feel it. He sucks on the skin, hot tongue running over the flesh in his mouth, just enough that there could be a mark in the morning.

You know yourself well enough to know that you’d enjoy it, and you were right. The sweet pain of his bite makes you gasp and shake far more than just a nibble should, your walls clenching down around Pierrot as a reward. He gasps a little at your positive reaction, his thrusts picking up speed quickly as his desperation takes hold.

It’s like your little request made him lose himself, his thrusts becoming a lot more erratic and needy. His fingers, claws and all, dig into your hips where they are surely leaving bruises and tiny punctures in the skin. There’s desperation as he leaves more bite marks up and down your torso, some of them just leaving small hickies and others deep enough to draw blood. His tongue quickly lapped any blood he drew up, tasting every part of you.

Pierrot leans down further, pushing your head to look to the side so that you meet him in a deep kiss. You open your mouth willingly, too drunk with pleasure to do much else than let him do what he wants. His tongue, inhumanly long, slides down your throat, coating your throat in his saliva as you gag around it. Maybe if you weren’t too fucked to notice, you would have taken notice of how long his tongue was, but you likely would remember that detail days later only to chalk it up as a exaggeration in your own memory. You completely ignored all of the red flags he was dropping.

Then a particular thrust hits you in just the right way that you almost come undone right then and there. A sound halfway to a scream comes out of you, your face burying itself in the pillows beneath you, clutching at the sheets as you tremble. Pierrot smiles wide above you, licking his lips, before he adjusts his aim and abuses that spot of nerves. Before, every thrust felt heavenly, but the new angle is enough to make you cry in pleasure, literally. Tears drip down from your eyes, quickly getting soaked up by the bedsheets below, your body falling apart with every thrust.

You don’t even feel it coming until you’re cumming hard around Pierrot’s cock, back, curling up against him. Your legs give out beneath you, your hips falling to the bed, and he follows you down, not letting up on you as you cum. It quickly becomes too much as your body is held flat against the bed, pinned down by Pierrot as he uses your hole as a fleshlight. Every thrust quickly pushes you into overstimulation, sobbing out with every one of them.

Pierrot’s teeth meet the back of your neck, biting down on the flesh like a dog in heat. His teeth sink into your skin, drawing blood, before you can feel him cum inside you, a loud whimper coming from him. It’s hot, gooey, and thick, filling up the little space left in your cunt until it spilled out of you and onto the bed below.

You both stay like that for a moment as Pierrot collects himself. Slowly, he pulls his teeth from your neck, pulling away from you as he lets you breathe normally again. “My Lady,” he murmurs, his fingers drifting through your hair.

As he pulls himself out of you, there’s a sudden pause before he’s a lot more panicked. “My Lady!” he cries out. “You’re bleeding!”

Before you can even respond, he’s fled from the room almost comically fast. It’s a pain to sit up, but you need to check yourself out and sure enough, there’s a bit of blood between your legs. It’s nothing to worry about; you’ve seen more blood from when you’ve cut yourself with a knife. If anything, seeing the blood mixed with his cum fills you with an odd sense of pride; the sight of it is evidence of the exclusive not a virgin anymore club. It is cute that he reacted so strongly to a little blood like that, even when the gore from the movies didn’t cause that strong of a reaction. Though you were worried that the blood made him just flee your home entirely.

Pierrot comes back before you have to worry for too long, wet rag in hand. Before you can stop him, he’s back between your legs, this time gently wiping away the mix of blood and cum ‌as he frantically apologizes. “I’m so, so, so sorry. I was too rough with you, wasn’t I? You just felt so good and I- No, I shouldn’t have been so rough with you, no matter what. Ugh, I’m so sorry; you can hate me now if you want. I deserve it after I-”

“Pierrot, hey,” you stop him, reaching down and taking his cheek into your hand. You gently guide him to look up at you, giving him a tired but warm smile. “It was great. I loved it. I’m just not used to, well, like I said, I’ve never had sex before. Next time we do this, I’m sure it’ll be a lot better.”

“Next time?” he stutters out, like he doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. “You’re not mad?”

“No? Why would I be?” you ask. Then a mischievous thought comes across your brain, making you grin a little. “But I will be mad if we don’t cuddle right now.”

You open up your arms to him, inviting him in, and he takes the invitation happily. The two of you land on the bed, quickly embracing and entwining yourselves with one another. A soft laugh leaves your chest, burying your face into the soft ruff of his costume. Two of your hands find each other in the mess of your bodies, and you hold them tightly.

Is this what they call the afterglow? Because it feels like you’re floating, just the two of you alone in the universe, like there’s no bed, no outside world, no cruel people. You could get used to doing this a lot more often, sex or no sex; just being able to hold Pierrot felt right.

Before sleep takes you, you look up at Pierrot, meeting his gaze. He must have already been staring down at you, and ‌that makes you feel a little safer in his arms. “If Jester,” you mumble, trying to choose your words carefully. “If you think he’ll be okay with it, can you stay the night?”

Pierrot smiles at the question, pulling you in tighter. “He’ll forgive me.”

“Pierrot, I’m serious,” you frown. “I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me.”

Your insistence on his job security only makes him smile wider. How sweet of you to worry about him, like him spending one night away from the circus would be enough to make the others kick him out. “I won’t be, I promise. Jester is very nice.” You’ve met the Jester, and while you wouldn’t call him an asshole, you also certainly wouldn’t call him nice either. Intimidating is more fitting. But Pierrot likely knows him better than you do all things considered. So you just accept his promise and snuggle into his body, letting exhaustion overtake you.

You turn to him with an expression that mirrors your tone and he responds with an elegant snort of laughter that makes you grin. 

Loki’s hand squeezes yours and he runs the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “Little menace,” he teases lightly. “Remind me to take you at your word next time, lest I have to suffer like this again.” 

You know he’s teasing because the man would move mountains if he so much as thought you’d want him to, but you still nudge him with your hip as you walk. 

“I promise that the next store will be the last! I feel like this one will be The One!” you assure him, already beginning to think of a hundred different ways you can make today up to him. Loki will never expect you to, of course, but how could you possibly turn down the chance of spending several hours in bed with him? 

“My darling, you do realise you’ve said that each time we’ve stopped in the last hour?” Loki replies, but the affection colouring his words is impossible to miss.

“Yes, but I have a really good feeling about the next place! Trust me!” you tell him, tugging him down the next street Wanda recommended that morning. 

It takes less than a minute to locate the boutique amongst the crowds of people. Typical of Wanda, it’s bright and loud and stands out like a beacon amidst the more neutral tones of the surrounding shops. You’re halfway towards the door, though, when something else catches your eye only a few doors down - a racy pink sign with an elegant script that you’re sure you’ve seen on bags scattered around Nat’s room. 

A new idea begins to blossom and take shape in your mind. 

With a casualness that would make the Black Widow proud you stroll past the boutique until you reach the lingerie store. It’s only when you’re standing right outside the doors that you peek up at Loki. He silently offers you a raised eyebrow and the subtle beginnings of a smirk. 

“I’m going to need something to wear under the dress,” you say in explanation. 

Loki’s hand leaves yours so he can gently pinch your ass through your jeans. “I believe you raise a very valid point.” 

oOo

It’s over half an hour before you finally make it to the changing rooms. Unsurprisingly, Loki has found a new lease of life as you wander around picking out various items of lingerie, and each time you attempt to steer him towards the changing rooms, he finds something new and more risque than before. 

Your previous mission of finding an outfit is long forgotten. 

“Honestly, you’d think you’d never seen me in lingerie before!” you tease him as he follows you into the bright pink changing rooms. 

“You’ll forgive me for never ceasing to be enthralled by how exquisite you are, darling,” he responds smoothly, locking one arm around your waist to pull you back against his chest and planting a kiss to your neck. 

“Yeah, yeah, Casanova. I’ve already agreed to marry you. You don’t have to try and seduce me,” you reply. 

“That is my life long intention,” he says quietly in your ear. 

You fight the excited shiver that threatens to wrack your spine, instead turning to give him an affectionate roll of your eyes as you step into the changing room. “Just behave while I try these on.”

Loki looks back at you with an expression of feigned outrage. “How can you make those ridiculous requests of me?”

You catch his wink as you close the door and begin to sift through the seemingly endless fabric gathered in your arms. The first set you try on is pink and floaty and makes you feel like a cloud of candy floss, but when you open the changing room door, Loki’s eyes darken as though you’ve stepped out wrapped in leather. 

“How innocent you look, darling,” he purrs, but you watch that trademark smirk curl across his face. “Although you and I both know that’s not the case. Remind me where that little mouth was last night?” 

You playfully flip him off. “This is definitely going in the “no” pile. I feel like I should call you Daddy.” 

Loki visibly cringes. “Please do not ever use that word in reference to me.” 

“You got it,” you say and step back into the room. 

The next set you selected while Loki was otherwise occupied. You have no intention of buying it, but it was impossible to pass up the opportunity to tease him. The bodice is plain but brilliant red in colour, and dips low enough to give you an amazing cleavage. 

Yet, somehow, you don’t think that will be enough to redeem it. 

Loki’s eyes shoot up the second you pull the door open, but his face quickly drops into a scowl when he sees you half naked in his brother’s colours. 

“No,” he says immediately, though you notice his eyes roaming appreciatively over you.

“No? Really? I wasn’t planning on trying anymore after this. It fits perfectly, and I think it looks good!” you say brightly, fighting not to laugh as his eyes narrow. 

“I am not above putting you over my knee in public, dove,” Loki warns you. 

Warmth spreads shamelessly through your lower stomach until you feel that familiar, pleasant tingle between your thighs. You’re almost certain he wouldn’t, but you are dealing with the God of Mischief. It’s the lingering doubt that makes you sashay back into the changing room with Loki’s quiet laughter at your back. 

With the door securely closed you begin to pick through the swathes of material still spread over the marble bench, but it doesn’t take long to decide what you’re trying on next. It’s another that you sneakily draped over your arm while Loki was elsewhere in the store - a feat you’re quite proud of given how he seems to notice everything.

This set is made of delicate black lace - Loki’s kryptonite - and has tiny gold beading woven tastefully into the bodice. The sweetheart neckline gives you an enviable cleavage and when you catch sight of yourself in the floor length mirror against the opposite wall, you can’t help but make an appreciative face at your own reflection. 

You look good.  

After a few circles in front of the mirror - and a brief moment of wishing you could pair the set with the matching stockings - you finally open the changing room door. 

Loki is slower to turn his gaze to you this time, but when he does, it’s impossible to miss the pure lust that alights in his eyes. They run over you slowly from head to toe, like a starving man presented with his first meal. He swallows silently, wets his lips, and in two steps is standing right before you. 

“Enough,” he says huskily, placing a large hand on your shoulder to push you back into the small room with him in tow. 

The door clicks closed behind him, but his eyes never once leave yours. They’re dancing with raw desire, even though he’s seen you like this a million times before. 

“It isn’t fair to tease, dove,” Loki says, reaching out to grab your chin. 

You fix him with a look of feigned innocence. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do, you little minx,” he replies quietly. His other hand is suddenly on your other shoulder and he’s spinning you around until you’re staring at your reflection in the mirror. “Look at your reflection and tell me you aren’t testing the resolve of a god,” Loki murmurs lowly in your ear. 

Ignoring the first flames of arousal that are beginning to lick through your core, you meet his eyes in the mirror. “I was just trying on lingerie. I’m completely innocent.” 

Loki’s hand snakes around your throat from behind, applying just the right amount of pressure. “The God of Lies, darling.”

Even with his hand around your neck you smirk at him. “I think you’re losing your touch on that part.” 

“Brat,” Loki growls in your ear. 

Easily, he walks you forward until your knees hit the wide ottoman sitting just in front of the mirror. His arm curls around your waist before you can crumple, carefully guiding you into a kneeling position atop the soft velvet and slotting himself between your spread calves like a missing puzzle piece. 

“Be a good girl and admit that you were being a tease,” he speaks quietly against your temple. There’s humour in his voice, but it’s mixing with a dangerous note that you’d recognise anywhere.

Loki’s hand is still locked possessively around your neck, making it near impossible to lean into the teasing brush of his lips against your skin. He knows this and continues to ghost them over your flushed cheek, refusing to reward you with the full, thrilling feel of them. 

“Never!” you say through a laugh, and you’re rewarded with the quiet sound of Loki’s right by your ear. 

“As you wish, dove,” he says, each word dripping with warning. 

His free hand creeps slowly along the lace bodice, fingering the intricacies of the lace and the miniscule golden beads until it reaches the matching tiny black thong. With ease, he rips the fabric from your hips and tosses it carelessly to the side in one shocking - but equally arousing - movement.

“Hey! I haven’t paid for this, you know!” you cry out, attempting to appraise the damage but his hand holds your head firmly in place. 

“That’s not my problem,” Loki replies, sinking his teeth into your earlobe and gently pulling on the flesh. 

You groan and plant your hands back on his thighs, digging your nails through his jeans for an added kick. “I’ll make it your prob - o..oh!” you begin to mutter, but Loki’s fingers on your clit steal the words from your lungs. “Mm…fuck…,” you moan, letting your head dip back on his shoulder. 

“Ah, ah.” Loki quickly chastises you, using the hand still wrapped around your neck to guide your head forward. “Eyes on the mirror, dove. Eyes on me.” 

With another strangled moan as he skillfully circles your clit, you obediently keep your eyes trained on him. His face is pressed snugly against your cheek, and finally - finally - you feel the blessed press of his lips against your flushed skin. He leaves a wet trail of kisses all the way to your ear, then you feel the wet heat of his tongue trace a line along the sweet spot behind your ear. 

The only thing keeping you upright is the hand still gripping your throat, but even it can’t suppress the shiver that wracks violently through you. 

Loki’s fingers continue to rapidly propel you towards release, skillfully playing your body in a way only he can. Mixed with the filth that he’s whispering in your ear, you feel your climax begin to crest like a wave in your cunt, and when Loki decides to suck on your earlobe, you know you’re gone. 

“Loki…m’gonna cum. ‘M…gonna…..urghh!!” you cry out in utter frustration when he pulls his hand away from your dripping cunt. 

“I don’t think so, darling,” he purrs smoothly, running the tip of his nose along your cheek. “Not until you admit you were being a brat.” 

The scent of him - the scent of your home - wraps around you like a favourite blanket. It’s patchouli and clove and that ever evasive “something sweet” that drags you under like a buoy beneath the surf. You want to surrender, to lose yourself in this man as he loses himself in you in return, but, unsurprisingly, your stubbornness prevails. 

“Nope!” you say, trying to shake your head as best you can while he still holds it in place. 

Loki releases an exaggerated sigh and dips his fingers back between your thighs. “Very well.” 

Again and again he brings you right to the edge of a blinding release, each time letting your orgasm dangle enticingly before you and snatching it from your grasp when you still refuse to humour him. You whine and plead and beg, but he’s in a particularly sadistic mood this afternoon and refuses to grant you the climax you’re craving. 

By the fifth time, you’re whimpering and wriggling in his grasp. Each of your stolen orgasms are burning through your blood and you’re desperate for what promises to be a cataclysmic release, so when his fingers return once more to tease your aching cunt, you crave. 

“Alright! Ok, I yield! I was being a brat, you were right! I was being a brat and teasing you! Please let me cum now! Please!” you beg, not caring that you’re in a very public changing room in the middle of Manhattan. 

Loki presses his lips to your cheek. “Now, was that really so hard?” he taunts, and brings his fingers to your mouth. “Open.” 

Obediently, you clean your arousal off him and squirm with excitement when you hear him unbuckle his belt and free himself from his jeans. He moves closer still and his cock is achingly hard as he slides it along your slick cunt. You’re all but keening for him, about to burst with how wildly you crave him, but he repeats the motion again and again, laughing quietly as he does. 

“Loki, please!” you whine, pressing your ass back against him in a flimsy attempt to encourage him forward. 

It’s fruitless, you know; Loki does everything at his own pace. 

The hand still wrapped around your throat glides upwards to your jaw, locking your head completely in place. “Your eyes are not to leave this mirror,” Loki murmurs with quiet authority. “I want you to see what this perfect little body does to me. I want you to watch your god come apart. Understood?” 

You’re so madly aroused by this man that you can only manage a whimper, but when he lightly smacks your ass, you quickly find your voice. 

“Yes, Loki!” 

“Good girl. My good, good girl,” he praises you as his cock slips inside you inch by glorious inch. 

You’ve had this man more times than you can count, yet you still groan in absolute bliss when he fills you with his cock. He’s ruined you for anyone else. 

Loki’s face hovers near yours in the mirror and you delightfully watch in contort in pleasure with each thrust into your warm, welcoming cunt. His eyes slip closed in tandem with a broken stream of expletives spilling from his lips, words that you mirror when his fingers find your clit once again. 

Your instant cry of pleasure makes him groan shamelessly in your ear and reward you with a particularly rough thrust of his hips. “Exquisite, darling. You are exquisite,” he rasps in your ear. “Look at what you do to me, you divine creature.” 

And you do watch. 

You watch as he throws his head back on his shoulders, half lost to the pleasure your mortal body is bringing him; you watch his carefully styled hair become more disheveled with each thrust, falling haphazardly around his face in a rainfall of ink black; you watch the deep furrow of his brow and the parting of his lips as his own release builds like a storm within him. 

Watching him is better than any aphrodisiac. It’s addictively erotic - even more so at knowing it’s you that ignited so much desire in him that he had to take you here and now. His name is already etched across your heart, but you want to drown in this man until he’s all your lungs know. 

Watching his ascent to orgasm has only stirred your own to life between your thighs. You’re right at the edge, and this time you know he’ll finally grant you that glittering release. 

“Gonna cum. Loki…gonna cum…m’ gonna…,'' you slur out while his cock continues to brush against you at just the right angle and his fingers on your clit have you close to seeing stars. 

“Cum for me, beautiful girl,” he says roughly, but with a gentle squeeze of your throat.

You topple over easily, groaning his name as your orgasm rips violently through you. Your nails dig deeper into his denim clad thighs for purchase and, seconds later, Loki freefalls right along with you. He catches your eye in the mirror as his own orgasm drags him under, repeating your name like an ancient prayer of salvation.

The sight of him lost to pleasure only magnifies your own until you’re almost sure you’ll pass out from the sheer force of your climax. You don’t break Loki’s gaze for a second, not until the very last aftershocks are rippling through you and you feel boneless in his grip. 

Loki’s hand loosens from your throat in the wake of his own come down. Both arms wrap securely around your waist while his forehead falls to rest in the crook of your neck, his lips instantly latching on to your sensitive skin. You’re still spent and panting, and his cock is still buried inside you, but you gladly bask in the soft feel of his lips pressing along your shoulder. 

“So…d’you think I should buy this one?” you say lightly after a brief moment of silence. 

His answering laughter gently tickles your neck. “Darling, if you don’t, I will have no choice but to do this again and again until you see sense.” 

“That’s…that’s not really persuading me,” you reply, taking one of his hands in yours and bringing it to your lips. 

In response, you feel his teeth graze over your skin. “Hmm, how about this? If you buy this, we will return to the Compound immediately and I will lock our doors for the next few days.” 

You make a show of considering his words. “It’s a start, I guess.”

 Loki chuckles and nuzzles his face against your neck. “My darling, you have no idea what plans I have for you.”