Loki One-Shots

Falling for Choas

The club was alive with pounding basslines and flickering neon lights that painted the walls in shades of pink and electric blue. Lillian stepped onto the stage, her black sequined bodysuit shimmering under the spotlight. The plunging neckline framed her collarbone, and the sheer panels down the sides hinted at her curves while leaving just enough to the imagination. Her thigh-high leather boots clicked softly against the polished floor as she made her way to the pole.

The room roared with cheers, a mix of drunken whistles and slurred encouragement, but Lillian didn't let it distract her. She let the music guide her movements, twirling gracefully before sliding down the pole with a controlled, sultry rhythm. Her raven hair spilled over her shoulders, catching the light, and her emerald eyes scanned the room—not for attention, but for potential trouble. It was a habit she'd developed over years of working here.

But tonight, her gaze caught on someone she hadn't seen before.

In a booth near the back, a man sat alone, his sharp features illuminated briefly by the flicker of a lighter as he lit a cigarette. He exhaled slowly, the smoke curling around him like a veil. Dressed in a sleek black suit, he looked completely out of place among the sweaty men in loosened ties and cheap cologne. His presence was commanding, magnetic, and his piercing green eyes never left her.

Lillian felt a chill run down her spine, though she wasn't sure if it was fear or intrigue. She finished her set with a final spin, landing softly on the stage as the crowd erupted in applause. Scooping up the tips scattered at her feet, she glanced back toward the booth. The man was still watching her, his lips curling into the faintest smirk.

She made her way offstage, intending to head to the dressing room when she heard a deep, velvety voice behind her.

"Excuse me."

Turning, she found herself face-to-face with the man from the booth. Up close, he was even more striking. His green eyes seemed to glimmer unnaturally, and his smirk was equal parts charming and dangerous.

"Do you do private dances?" he asked, sliding a crisp stack of bills into her hand without waiting for an answer.

Lillian looked down at the money—several hundred dollars, at least. She raised an eyebrow, slipping it into the pocket of her jacket. "Depends. You looking for a dance or something else?"

His smirk widened. "Just a dance. For now."

She hesitated for a moment, sizing him up. He didn't seem like the grabby type, but appearances could be deceiving. "Follow me," she said, leading him to one of the private rooms.

The room was small but lavishly decorated, with plush red velvet walls and a single leather chair in the center. Loki—he introduced himself as Loki once they were inside—settled into the chair with an air of practiced ease, crossing his long legs as he leaned back to watch her.

"You're surprisingly calm," Lillian remarked, turning on the music. She began her dance, swaying her hips to the slow, sultry beat.

"Should I be nervous?" he asked, his tone teasing.

"Most guys are," she replied with a shrug. "You don't seem like 'most guys.'"

"That's because I'm not," Loki said, his green eyes glinting.

Lillian rolled her eyes, spinning around the pole. "Right. Let me guess—you're special. Different."

"Quite literally," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Loki leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "I could tell you," he said, "but you wouldn't believe me."