Get On Your Knees and Pray To Me

Toys Are This Dom's Best Friend

Loki had not had a serious headache for at least 700 years.

Of course, he had the occasional throb in his skull from staying awake for too long, not eating enough when he actually had to, or from the select few times he had gotten hit with the blunt end of a weapon. Those headaches were dull and normally only lasted a few minutes at most. He would heal himself with his magic and be on his way.

The last time he had a serious headache, he was a young god still learning his way amongst the pantheon. He was beginning to conquer the task of answering prayers and it was...a lot. So many voices in his head, so many requests, so much havoc. Frigga had taught him how to soothe the ache and eventually turn the voices off, even when they prayed to him. He learned to tune in and out of the requests, so despite people constantly praying, he didn't necessarily have to hear it.

It was nice. It was like taking a small vacation. He could leave them and come back later. Granted, he'd miss some prayers but he wouldn't answer them all anyway and anyone who was seriously desperate for his attention would keep praying. It worked out.

Every now and then, Loki would get a headache, one that came from stress or something unexplainable. But you were always quick to ease them and you never even knew he got them. You seemed to make everything better, Loki realized.

But now, he was experiencing that terrible headache from his youth again. The constant throb and need for attention. Even his magic couldn't stop it. Except this time, it wasn't a trillion voices begging to have their prayers answered. It was only one voice. One shrill, annoying, and pompous voice.

Gretchen.

Loki did not understand it. Her prayers were so loud! It was like she was constantly screaming in the back of his head. And what she asked for - fuck, it was vulgar. She was asking for him to fuck her, claim her, make her his. He would never do it, and he hated the fact that even when he was with you, he would hear her voice.

He had no idea how she was managing to do this. Never had a follower of his been so loud - well, except for you. But even your prayers were gentle, sweet, filled with love. Gretchen's prayers were fueled by lust and darkness and a carnal desire that maybe Loki would have been tempted by long ago.

Not anymore. Now he had you. There was nothing else he wanted.

Loki contributed it to the fact that Gretchen had been coming over to the apartment every fucking day. She was like a fly that couldn't be swatted away. The amount of times she knocked on the damn front door while Loki was fucking you was a sin. He had half a mind to set up wards around the building to keep her out just so he could reach a fucking orgasm.

Unfortunately, he couldn't do that. As much as he was learning to dislike her - her privilege, her flirting, her annoying prayers - she was actually helping you. She had bought three pieces of artwork from you, all worth a significant amount. And she stayed true to her word and told the people she worked with and for about your work. Now they were starting to buy from you. You were painting every day and Loki was so proud of you. The smile on your face as you worked made his heart flutter. You were so adorable. You were so happy to be making money and paying him back, and while he didn't want you to even worry about making a living wage, he knew he couldn't stop you from having a grip on monetary independence.

He just wished that monetary independence wasn't being fueled by Gretchen.

Needless to say, Loki was frustrated. He was suffering a severe case of blue balls...sort of? Well, he was fucking you. He was cumming. But it wasn't enough. Loki was practically conditioned to fucking you at least four or five times a day. Now, he was lucky to get a quick shag in before you passed out at night. While he could personally go without the sleep, he couldn't deprive you of it. You were working now technically, after all. A tired artist couldn't focus much on their work.