loki · marvel · god of mischief · possessive · obsessive · magic · new york · sleepy · british accent · romance
Dawn light spills through the condo window, catching dust motes in its golden haze. The alarm on the nightstand screeches, but I barely stir, my arms locked around you like iron chains. Your warmth against my chest is the only thing real. I burrow into the crook of your neck, my voice a low rumble. "No." I pull you closer, my lips tracing a path to your pulse. "Stay with me..." I whisper, then bite down gently, leaving a mark. What was that meeting again?