All My Nights by Yvelissa BlossoM


Summary: Female reader-insert; LokixReader; AU. You used to be the girlfriend of the intelligent, devious, hot, rich badass, Loki, as your relationship merely lasted for a month. Ever since then, you're sure you're not in love with him; you even promised to yourself to never encounter him again . . . then, the jerk returns – because he wants a one-night stand.


Disclaimer: I do not own the following characters – including you – and the song, Maroon 5's One More Night, in which this one-shot was inspired by.


Reminders: This is an Alternate Universe.


Rating: M for sexual themes and suggestions and foul words. You better be mature reading this.


A/N: This is for my readers in Babysat by Uncle Tony and all the fans of the Avengers and Loki out there! My gift for you this Christmas, and my apology for not updating the next chapter; you know I'm busy and I really am sorry. I hope you enjoy this. (:

Read, Enjoy and Review!


PAST


"Absolutely not!" you scowled at him.

Loki ran a hand through his sleek, black hair as it curled just above his shoulders, sighing silently through his nostrils. You've been repeating that for the past three minutes, and he's getting bored. "It's only for a night, [nickname]."

You felt the hair on your arms stand on its end, getting tense. Ever since your break-up and fight with him, after seeing him with another girl in your own house, you've banned him from calling you by your first name, nickname – or just to stop calling you! But, whenthe hell does he listen?

"Don't–!" you raised a finger, as you inhale and exhale to calm yourself down, your eyes closed momentarily. "Do not call me that," you said through gritted teeth.

He sighed again – this was getting tiresome. "Well, can't you, at least, let me in, [first name]? Do you know how freezing it is out here?" he asked in the British accent, which he knew you find extremely sexy. He shuddered exaggeratingly to prove his point.

You rolled your eyes, as you leaned on the door before you, your head peering out, a hand gripping it tightly, while another held the door knob that's on your stomach's level which hit it and hurt slightly. You tried your best to cover most of your body, because he came unexpectedly in the middle of the night while you were just going to take a bath. The man has wonderful timing. "Oh, gosh, yeah, no wonder, you're wearing a coat." Seriously, he underestimates you. You're smart, you know that – why did you graduate college if you weren't? But, of course, you admit it: Loki is much cleverer than you.

He frowned and stared at you with those intimidating, deep, emerald eyes. He flexed his shoulders slightly, which caught your attention. You bit your lip. He didn't forget that you seriously find it attractive when he flexes (especially when he's nude or half-naked). You found this surprising, of course, since he's a playboy, and a badass, switching from one girl to another. Did he memorize all what the other girls like too?

You removed your eyes from it and looked up at him, to see his eyes still on you, which caused the goose-bumps to come again. You willed your eyes to appear firm of your decision, "No."

He stepped forward.

Instinctively, you stepped back.

That was a wrong move. Instincts cannot be trusted.

You realized it just when he was finally inside the house and his lips that you didn't realize you've missed so much until now, was on top of yours and you were responding to it, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pressed your body to his and then he slipped his sharp tongue in your mouth without permission and the love you thought was gone suddenly bloomed and was filling you up quickly, the hatred and anger disappearing instantly as both of your tongues were working right now. You heard this loud slam and although you currently gave no crap about it, you knew you and his body had slammed on the door to shut it. You felt his arms snake around your waist, pressing you deeper on him as a hand locked the knob. Then both of you were making your way upstairs, to the bedroom, along the way, removing your clothing – you bumped on walls, paintings, tables, and items on top of the tables, causing them to fall; luckily, nothing made of glass had fell.

CRASH.

You are making out with your ex-boyfriend, corrected.

Finally, you made it to your bedroom. Both of you were practically half-naked now – well, you're more nude, since you were wearing nearly nothing when he came – a robe, sweatpants and a simple spaghetti blouse (of course, underwear included; although, without a brassiere) – and the door was once again locked and before you knew it, both of you are completely unclothed and on the bed.

. . .

It was morning, after seeing that he already left before you woke up, that the fury, loathing and pain – the hurt which you haven't felt before since you broke up with him – returned, that the sensation of love for him, which appeared last night, was gone now. You sensed this weight on your shoulders that you knew was guilt, since you broke your pledge to never have sex with him – or just to never see him.

But there was this good feeling, above all those hurtful ones. It was this pleasure you never felt ever since your last intercourse with him. You've forgotten how good he is in bed – and you missed it so much. As you recalled all the events last night, you involuntarily let out a sigh of satisfaction.

However, despite this sensation, you vowed to, under no circumstances, do this again.

. . .

He came back the next week.

It happened again.


PRESENT


It's been happening every week for the past two months.

. . .

You had a break from work – just forty-five minutes, and you went to Stark Tower. Now, you're in Tony's mansion, because that's where you ended up when you wanted to speak to Pepper alone. You're sitting on a white, comfortable sofa in one of his living rooms near the main door, as Pepper sits beside you and Tony across you on another couch similar to yours, the glass, table between you and him.

"What is wrong with you?" Tony stares at you with a deep frown, creasing of worry and concern on his forehead.

Tony Stark, the self-proclaimed genius, playboy, billionaire, philanthropist, is a really good friend of yours, as he is the boyfriend of your close friend, Pepper. (It is a requirement to meet each other's boyfriends.) But, you're not jealous of her, of course. You're actually happy for her – and slightly sympathetic because the man is (another) pain in the ass. Every time you want to talk to Pepper in private, he never leaves. He demands to hear it, so that you and he will have a "nice, not-awkward friendship," as he said back then. But the real reason is for him to not appear uncomfortable when he tries to ask you privately what Pepper would like as a gift. Both of you didn't tell Pepper about that. But she knows – because she's Pepper Potts. However, in the end, both of you really did have a nice, not-awkward companionship.

Pepper glares at Tony for asking such a question. He pretends to not sense the gaze.

You groan and cup your face with your hands, covering it completely in shame. "I've been asking myself that for the past months, Tony."

You feel a hand on your bicep. You know it is Pepper's, not because of its tenderness and light weight, but because you know that's what she would do every time you're feeling miserable. It gives you this sensation of comfort and security that assures you everything will be fine. But, right now, it doesn't much.

"Nothing is wrong with you, [name]," Pepper says, her gaze on Tony, glowering.

"Yes, there is, Pep. How will there be nothing wrong with me when I keep having sex with my own ex-boyfriend nearly like every week?" you look up at your best friend incredulously, like she's crazy to think that nothing is wide of the mark, as her gaze moves to you.

"Yeah, Pep. How can you think like that?" Tony side-comments, his brow furrowed in (false) disbelief.

She closes her eyes momentarily as she controls her temper, which is heightening due to Tony's vexations. "I can think like that because I'm sensitive of other's feelings, Tony," she replies sharply at him.

He doesn't respond.

She shifts her eyes a bit to meet yours, and her expression softens, "Trust me, [name]. Nothing is really wrong. You're just confused."

"Confused?" you straighten your back, your brows furrowing in perplexity.

"Confused of your feelings."

You hear Tony snort, but you ignore it – Pepper seems to be doing that too. "I know very well what I feel, Pepper. I don't want to see him anymore – and definitely, I do not . . . love him . . ." you falter, failing to appear honest to your statement.

Pepper raises an auburn brow like, oh yeah, you don't?

You look away and stare at the hands on your lap, "Okay, fine, I don't know, alright?" you say rather brusquely because, sometimes, you don't like it when someone is right and you're wrong. But, Pepper knows that, which is why she doesn't feel offended. "How the hell will I know what I feel? It's all mixed up." You move your index fingers around each other circularly as a gesture of everything jumbled.

"Well," Pepper places both of her hands on her lap and rests on the sofa's back. "Why don't you ask yourself?"

"Ask myself what?"

"Do you love him?"

"Do you love him?"

"No. Ask yourself if you love him or not," Pepper rolls her eyes. She knows the twisting, the confusion and the avoidance of questions. Tony does it a lot.

You hide a small smile – failed on fooling Pepper. But, then, your lips fall into a thoughtful frown. That question pops up in your mind all the time, but, you never answered it. Somehow, finding out the answer scares you.

You recall your latest night with him. The same feelings were there – love, passion, pleasure. The reminder of them makes your heart soar in bliss. But, they're gone by morning, when he disappears without you knowing, leaving only the sensations of anger, hatred, guilt and pain (don't forget satisfaction!). The thought of them sends an arrow through your heart, causing it to ache.

You really have no idea. You turn to your best friend, "What do you think?"

"What do I think about what?"

"Do you think I'm . . ," you take a silent gulp, "still in love with him?"

Pepper merely smiles.

There's a snort. You look up and see Tony, who's staring at you with uncomfortably solemn eyes. You've forgotten him due to his silence as you were talking to Pepper.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he shakes his head.

"W-what?" you gawk at him in puzzlement.

"Pepper," he looks up at her, "the guy's using her; how can she love him?"

You freeze. Using . . . me . . . ?

"Tony," Pepper says, warning within her tone.

"What? It's true."

Is that really true?

"For the love of–Tony, you are seriously numb!" Pepper scowls. "Whatever is his–,"she gestures outside, as if that's where Loki is (which is probably correct) "–intention, it does not matter. What matters is her–" she gestures you, "–feelings in this; she needs to be comforted!"

"Yes, she does – but, she still needs to know this, so she can really face this asshole. The truth needs to be faced and accepted, so the problem will be dealt with easily! And numb? Seriously, Pepper, I am trying to help–" you hear Pepper mutter, "No, you're not." "–it's an obvious fact – you probably know it. I mean, what else would you call what the man is doing to her?"

Pepper falls silent.

Tony shakes his head and turns to you.

You bite your bottom lip.

"And do you know why he's doing this?" he goes on.

Why?

"Tony – don't –" Pepper keeps on glancing at you worriedly.

You can't remove your eyes from him. Tell me why.

"Only two reasons," he raises two fingers. "One, he's in trouble and he's forgetting his problems using you," he puts down on finger. "Two, he's using you as his leisure time because he's bored out of his mind and is in no mood to pick up girls," he places his whole hand down.

Of course.

There is silence. Even Pepper can't talk anymore, because she knows the buttons Tony had pressed, and you cannot take back pressed buttons.

You suddenly taste something metal in your mouth and you realize it is blood. You were biting on your lip pretty hard that a small wound had opened. You feel it creating a trail, sliding towards your chin, and you hurriedly get your handkerchief from your pocket and wipe it away slowly. When your chin is dry enough, you press your handkerchief on the wound to stop it from bleeding.

Pepper is looking at you with pained eyes – she really hates it when she sees you hurt – whether physically or emotionally, or in any kind of way. She takes your hand and holds it tightly, giving it a squeeze, to comfort you.

You merely give her a small smile, not a big one or your wound will open wider, then, you turn to Tony. "You're right, Tony. I really have to end this once and for all. Thanks." You speak with this monotonous tone that scares Pepper and hurts her more. It means you're in pain, however, pretending not to by talking in monotone. Pepper can do nothing, but comfort you now.

Tony has seen your tiny wound, and he knows the buttons he had pressed, but he knows that it is for your own good. You are his friend, and that gives him the privilege to be concerned of you. You and Pepper have no idea how it pains him to hurt both of you by doing the right thing. He nods, "My pleasure."

Pepper casts a quick glare at him, before standing and helping you get up. She takes the hand that holds your handkerchief and slowly removes it from your lip, as she inspects your wound. She frowns, "Let's give you some ice with that."

Holding your hand, both of you leave the room, and go to the kitchen. Once there, Pepper lets go of your hand, and approaches the fridge. "JARVIS, a small bag of ice, please?"

"Yes, Miss Potts. It is now ready," spoke JARVIS, with his British accent that reminds you so much of your ex-boyfriend.

"Thanks, JARV'," you say, nodding at the ceiling (because you have no idea where else he could be). Of course, you know the artificially intelligent computer Tony Stark made. You met JARVIS a year ago, when Pepper finally set a dinner meeting with you and him in his house, so you could meet her boyfriend, who she's been talking about for months back then.

"No problem, Miss [surname]."

Pepper opens the fridge and, seeing the little bag of ice there, picks it up, approaches you and lays it on your bottom lip. There's silence as a few seconds past; you take the bag from her, and you press it a little deeper into your wound. "Thank you, Pepper," you try to smile, but instead, you wince.

She smiles, "Don't mention it."

There's quiet again as minutes pass, and it's time for you to go. The cut on your lip is healing already. Once Pepper has locked Tony in his workshop (although she didn't tell you, you know it, because what else were those whisper-shouts that came from the hallway leading to it?), both of you go to the main door. When there, both of you merely stare at each other; for the first time, unsure of how to say farewell.

Then she breaks it – "Look, [name]," Pepper looks down and sighs. "I'm sorry about Tony. You know him; he's a total ass, but, I think we both know he was just trying to help – in his own way. And I have a feeling he might contact Frost Corporation about their CEO."

You shake your head, able to smile now, "It's okay, Pep. I understand. He's right, anyway."

Pepper appears to be uncertain about that.

"And, please, tell him not to contact Frost Corp.," you add, smiling sheepishly.

"Well, alright then." She meets your eyes, "Listen, do what you need to do. Whatever happens, I'm here." She pauses, "And JARVIS." Another pause. "Tony as well."

You break into a wide grin, and stretch your arms, "Tight best friend hug?"

Relief is in her expression, seeing that you're alright now, and she smiles too, extending her arms, "Tight best friend hug."

You approach her and embrace as tightly as you could, before breaking into laughter. You let go of her, "Thanks again, Pep."

"It's never a problem, [name]," she grins and opens the door for you, as you gradually walk out. "Hey, Tony's going to have a Christmas party at Stark Towers, and the whole "Avengers" gang," both of you roll your eyes at Tony's petty name of his group of friends, "will be there. He'll probably send you a invitation tomorrow, since it's going to be two days from now, and, yeah, will you be there?" she gives you a hopeful look that both of you know you cannot deny.

And you still can't. You shake your head, smiling widely, but, nod, "Sure, I'll be there; what time?"

"Six in the evening 'till, well, whenever the night ends," she replies, beaming. "See you, [nickname]."

"See you too, Pep. Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas!" she gives you one quick hug before you finally left.

The hot gaze of the sun that contrasts the cold season of the month hits you, blinding you momentarily. You get your shades from your purse and wear it. Somehow, you can feel the vitamins it has and spread throughout your body, and it literally brightens your day. You stride to your car, going back to work.

You wonder if he's ever coming tonight.

You are wearing a simple, white shirt with a nice pair of PJs, and flip-flops. You're watching this movie about a group of superheroes saving the world, since that's what HBO is playing tonight.

For some reason, Tom Hiddleston reminds you of Loki.

Loki . . .

You feel the arrow hit your heart, and you wince in pain.

DING.

Well, speak of the devil.

You stand and don't bother turning the television off. You'll be returning to it later anyway. You approach the main door of your apartment and don't even pester to check who it is because you know who visits you at eleven-thirty in the evening once a week.

You swing the door open rather widely, enough for a person to fit, subconsciously.

"I know I've said it a million times, but, cross my heart and hope to die, I will only stay with you one more night."

"Absolutely n–"

Before you could finish your sentence, there are those tender lips again on top of yours, and the love returns – filling you up rapidly, including some sugary passion and thrilling excitement. You respond immediately, and then, you're slamming doors closed and hitting walls, paintings and items on top of tables which you keep on replacing and – CRASH – well, there's that again – and, in a flash, you're suddenly in the bedroom, almost completely nude.

Then, your mind opens up (it shut down after the kiss) – stop, stop, stop – it repeats the word again and again, trying to manage of your body, of your desires, of the necessary things you should be doing – like turning the television off, for god's sake, you can hear Hulk screaming from here, it totally ruins the moment – okay, you've gotten off track there. Nevertheless, your mind tries to regain control of your actions, but, it doesn't respond. It just continues and persists on being below this sexy man you haven't realized you missed so much until you feel the enjoyable kisses he's giving you right now – it starts on your collarbone and ends at your shoulder – going back up on the neck, he begins biting you satisfyingly, leaving tiny marks, that you find extremely pleasurable that you release these moans and groans and he's moaning too because your moans and groans have always been contagious–

Screw this!

Your brain gives up and you feel this grateful sensation which you seriously do not like because you want your brain to wake you up from this – slap you or throw a bucket of ice cold water if necessary! But, it doesn't. It lets go. It lets everything go with the flow.

Then, before you know it, you and he are done.

Although you're exhausted, you don't go to sleep. (Because, every time you finish having sex, you fall asleep and it is not helpful.) Your eyes are open wide, but you're trying to catch your breath because it all happened so fast – and so rewarding – that you can't even recall it much.

You hear him trying to catch his breath too and you remember him doing that every time you guys are done with the intercourse, back when you and he were still in a relationship. You wonder why you recall that and not when he's doing that for the past few weeks.

After several seconds, both of you have finally caught your breath and are respiring normally now. Your ear catches the sound of his breathing and you listen to it. You momentarily close your eyes and try to memorize it, so that you can never forget that comforting sound, which brings you at home for some reason.

And your mind is back on – speak or sleep.

Yeah, yeah, I will. You gulp and turn your body, facing the wall, and not Loki.

Somehow, the breathing stops for a second, then, returns. You guess he's just surprised to see–uh, feel–er, sense you awake.

"Usually, by now, you're asleep."

You're astounded. You didn't expect him to be the first one to speak. However, you reply anyway, "Well, you surprised me quite a bit."

He chuckles – oh god, you haven't realize how much you've yearned for that until now. "Yeah, sorry 'bout that. I suppose I got a tad bit wild back there."

"A tad bit? Seriously? You call jumping on me and what I could even possibly consider as rape as you have taken me by surprise and did this by force, since you did not ask permission from me, a tad bit?" you say in disbelief.

You know he's smiling (oh god, you want to see it so badly) as he speaks, "Well, you responded rather well. Besides, if you have enjoyed it, you can't consider it as rape." You detect humor in his tone.

"I said 'possibly'."

He laughs, but he doesn't reply. And there settles silence.

"You know, I haven't told you this before, and although I would have, you have a lot of guts to come at your ex-girlfriend's apartment in the middle of the night after so long and simply and casually ask her to have sex with you as if asking what the hell the time is. I would have slapped you if I wasn't so soft," you suddenly say.

You hear him laugh again – and you can't help breaking into a smile. You just love making him laugh. It has always made you feel special, giving you this significance and purpose in this cruel, unfair world. "Yeah," then, he falters, "I know."

The quietness returns.

You decide to speak now about it. "Loki," you call.

"Yes, [nickname]?" his voice is so gentle, so not like his badass-side, which may signify he has turned grave.

You don't even reminder him of your prohibition of him calling or speaking of your name. "What's this?"

"What's what?"

"What's . . . this?" you gesture with one arm around you, moving it in circles momentarily before placing it back down with a slap on your thigh.

You listen to his breathing and it sounds like it's slower than previously, "I . . . I don't know, [nickname]."

Something sparks inside you, and it starts to burn. "Well, why are you doing this?"

"I don't know either."

It begins to spread throughout your body. "You . . . don't know?"

He does not reply.

It starts to fume, raging.

He is still quiet.

It reaches your arms.

He is not speaking.

It reaches your neck.

"I'm confused too, you know, [name]," he finally speaks.

It suddenly softens a bit, but continues to burn.

"I honestly do not know what I'm doing it, and why I'm doing it. I don't know why I come here in the middle of the night, once a week. I don't know why I actually even schedule it–"

Hold up.

The burning pauses.

"You schedule this?"

You hear him cough nervously, and you can't help smile. You just embarrassed him, and humiliating Loki Laufeyson has always been fun to you. You wish you could see his most likely burning face.

"Uh, I . . . I may, perhaps, do schedule it . . ."

"You must have some sort of sex disorder or something; good grief, you could be sick – no, wait, you are sick. Do you watch porn?"

"God, no!" he pauses. "I make them."

"You are a sick and an outright repulsive man."

You hear him laugh, but he doesn't comment about it.

"Oh my god, you're really a porn star? Since when?"

"I was kidding, [name]!"

You beam, "Sure, sure, you were."

Silence returns.

You realize that the burning anger within you has died out, as though the fireman had arrived, grabbed their hoses and stopped the fire, which feels exactly like Loki just did by saying a joke . . . or, maybe, it is real, that he actually schedules–

"I'm sorry, [name]."

Everything halts – you halt; your organs feel as if they've taken a break from work, inside and outside of you halts, like time, itself, stopped.

"What?" is the shaky question you ask.

"I am sorry," he repeats.

You want to believe it's all a trick, a joke, like the usual Loki would do, so that you could explode and hurt him for the damage he has caused. Yet, you know it's not and that you couldn't do that. It's not just a hint, it's really there, evident and clear – there is sincerity that sounded so unfamiliar within Loki's voice which he is known to spread lies and produce emotional injury.

It's so hard to believe.

You don't speak.

"I am sorry for everything I've done, [name]. I know I am to blame, and I can't undo the impairment I've brought about to you. I expect not you'll forgive me; nonetheless, I would very much like to express my deepest regrets," he pauses, and when he continues, his voice softens as you tense, "That night, when you found me here, with that girl, it was an accident, I vow so. I was drunk, and work was pressuring me – my . . . my father . . ." he trails off, "Well, you know what's going on with him and I," and you do understand the relationship between Loki and his father, which has always been complicated and pretty professional due to work, which has always been his father's first priority. You saw it immediately when you met Mr. Laufeyson, before you and Loki actually had a relationship. "I was desperate for . . . for comfort. I went to a bar immediately, picked up a random girl, brought her to your house because my father expects me to be at work for an overnight shift and I don't want him to see me at our house; also, I had the copy of your key . . . and, well, you knew what happened once you came home."

Oh, you very much so. You remember it as though it was merely yesterday. You shouted, you yelled, you screamed, you threw both of them out of the house, fuming with fire, and afterwards, you broke down, crying quietly in the bathroom. You woke up, still there, heart aching.

"I know I'm a jerk, [name]. I know I'm an asshole, and all the other names there are out there–"

"A douche," you add.

"Yes, yes."

"Bastard."

"Indeed, indeed," he agrees.

"Pain in the ass."

"Certainly."

"Or simply ass."

"Of course . . ." he coughs a bit.

"Or just plain pain."

"Don't you think you're overdoing this?"

"I'm having quite fun, actually."

"I suppose I should be glad."

"Oh, yes, you really should be," you agree.

"Anyway, back to what I was saying," he clears his throat. "I may not sound like myself here, however, I am truly being sincere and honest. Well, I am trying to be." From behind you, you sense him shifting a little, uncomfortably. He's getting nervous, you realize.

"I know you are confused as I am. You know your questions earlier, like what this is, which, like I said, I honestly still do not know, and why I'm doing this, which I still have no idea about, as I've stated, but," he pauses, "I believe I know why I chose you, of all girls I've met."

You are listening so intently, you don't realize you've actually turned over and are looking straight into his beautiful, mesmerizing, jade eyes.

"It has taken me a long time to realize this, and I have to confess: I am completely and utterly stupid."

You break into a small smile and nod in agreement.

This makes him break into a smile as well.

It's obvious he's inching closer to you, but, you make yourself appear like you don't notice it, as you don't retreat.

"It has dawned on me, [name] that I am completely, utterly and, perhaps even stupidly, in love with you."

Your small smile turns into an ear-to-ear grin, and you don't even back away as he closes the gap between the both of you and his lips lands on yours, fitting perfectly, giving you a kiss, not the kind that held passion and desperation for pleasure, unlike in sex, but, more on the innocent kind, simple and filled with love.

It's the best kiss you've ever had in your whole life. Probably even in Loki's.

Both of you let go, his forehead on yours, smiling like the idiots you both are, the tips of your noses brushing each other.

"God, I missed you," he says, apparently breathlessly.

It has dawned on you as well as you say, winded, "You have no idea how much I missed you, and that I am in love with you so freaking much."

He grins much more widely (if that's even possible), "One more night, then?" he asks, panting slightly.

"Loki," you say, trying to catch your breath (god, it was only a simple kiss), "you can have all my nights."


I'm not sure if I should write an epilogue, but, I just hoped you liked & enjoyed this. Sorry if there are any mistakes! :D - YbM