➳ Oh, Well Imagine Marvel➳ FINISHED

Sharp Paper•Loki

FUCK!"

Three drops of crimson quiver on the desk, still warm from dropping from your finger. You curse again, wiping the open wound against your shirt hem. The trail it traces bleeds scarlet.

Loki looks above the book he's reading, raising his eyebrow slightly.

"Harsh words for a tiny scar."

Ignoring his snark, you lay your finger against the table, hissing under your breath when it squeezes out a few more droplets from pressure. A quick glance across the book you're reading, and you find a new small splatter of red decorating the edge of a page. Wonderful.

"Oh, that's just fucking great." you grumble, resisting the urge to screw your eyes up in pain.

"Such language, Miss (y/n)."

Whipping around, you glare at him angrily while he passively smirks at your distress. He sets his book down, marking his own page carefully.

"You know," Loki begins, sauntering towards you. "For a race that thinks it's the most superior, you really are the most idiotic."

"Oh, don't play the innocent, you've gotten paper cuts too, I've seen how many books you read." you growl out, now pressing your finger against your palm. The pain only increases, and you force yourself not to wince.

"Maybe. But there is a reason why their pages have ragged edges." A chair pulled towards you, and suddenly the God of Mischief's a mere two feet away. He looks at your finger curiously, which now and then drips a oozing blood drop slowly.

"Mmm, need help?"

You stare at him dead in the eye. "Well, I'm not bleeding to death, aren't I?"

He laughs, leaning towards you. "So you aren't. But you do need assistance."

"I can take care of myself, thanks."

"I know you can. However..." A sly gleam begins to twinkle in his eyes. Before you can act, he's grabbed your hand and tentatively put your wounded finger in his mouth.

You immediately try to squirm away, shocked at his forwardness, but his hand clenches on your wrist, forcing you to sit still.

"Stay put." His amused voice, though slightly garbled, orders you. Halfway out of your seat, you sit warily down, and let him suck on your finger, erasing the blood on your skin.

He draws closer, refusing to drop eye contact with you. Those piercing blue orbs will be the death of you, really. And yet you couldn't pull away your own gaze. A cool sensation slices through the cut on your finger, dulling the pain, then a merely wet, sticky coating of saliva.

Ignoring that your wound's no longer hurting, you find yourself leaning forward, as if hypnotized, and almost an inch away from his lips...

Suddenly, he breaks off, drawing your finger from his mouth in a maddeningly slow gesture.

"I believe my work is finished."

He retires instantly, without so much as a backward glance.

You sit there in blank silence until Clint comes across you in his nightly vent prowling.

~~~~*~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~

A loud cry of pain resounds from across the room. You snap your head up to see Loki bend over his reading table, nursing a swollen finger.

Along the edge of it shines a vivid scarlet ribbon, trickling drops of red.

It takes every fiber of your being not to laugh in triumph. Vengeance was swift.

Loki meets your gaze, eyes warning you not to gloat. "Stop laughing at me!"

"I'm not."

"You are!"

"Now, why would I do that?" you smirk, setting down your book to go get a bandage.