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eleniel-starlight · 1 month

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YES LLOYD!!!! never thought I'd be rooting for him but goddamn ive been waiting for him to come save Mimi

why do i want to hear wedding bells 🙈

Carpe Noctem 33

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, violence, blood, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You shiver as Cole runs his hand up your leg. You brace the bed, hands flat as he lifts your hips. He gropes your ass and you repress a whimper. You turn your head away.

There has to be a way out. You search desperately. There's only one escape; the door. The only problem is the creep in front of you, touching you.

You look up at him as he trails his hand up your leg to your ankle, kissing the top of your foot. Your skin crawls at his touch. You should've known he was too nice to be real.

You bend, reaching for him, fluttering your fingers pleadingly. He tilts his head and offers his hand. He lets you take it as you smile, batting your lashes as your eyes tinge. This isn't right but you just have to pretend a little longer.

You slip your legs down and sit up, getting to your knees as you guide him onto the mattress. He climbs onto the bed as you lead his hand onto your hip. His other mirrors the first as he comes to face you. You grasp his shoulders.

"Can we kiss?" You ask.

He nods and leans in, his eyes cloudy. You close yours and lean in, pressing your mouth to his. He's impatient, desperate as his tongue pokes at your lips. You open up to him and slowly ease back, pulling him by his shirt. His hand trails down and he kneads your chest through the dress.

You draw him down with you onto his side. You deepen the kiss as he easily succumbs. Every man you knew was this easy, you wish you'd realised it earlier. You urge him onto his back and he moans.

He turns his mouth away, "I... I didn't expect this," he gasps.

You hush him and grip his chin, once more kissing him. Your hand brushes along his stubble and down his thick neck. You slowly lean into him until he falls onto his back. You purr and open your eyes, glancing around.

You lift yourself onto one knee and straddle him, feeling his chest as you bend over him. His hands rove up and down your legs, squeezing your ass as he tilts under you. The tension drains from his as he melts beneath your kiss.

It's now or never. You slowly push yourself up and touch the straps of your dress. You tug them to the edge of your shoulders, his eyes rounding. He gulps.

Now!

You reach over and grab the lamp. You don't hesitate. You are only doing what you need to. You just keep telling yourself he wants to hurt you.

You bring it down on him, the bulb crackling as it shatters, the body of the lamp clunking across his head. You squeak and let it go, mortified by the noise and his gurgly cry. You roll off of him, dress sagging as you hit the floor.

You crawl to the open hatch, not daring to look back as you get your feet through and hurtle down the steep stares. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Why didn't you think? You don't even know how to get the hell out of here, not to mention the insane woman lurking somewhere in the halls.

You don't care. Your feet slap the floor as you barrel to the next set of stairs and you clammer down. As you get to the bottom, feet from the door, a figure steps in front of you and you shriek.

"No! Don't touch me!" You cry out and hurl a fist out, feeling it bounce of hard bone.

"Shit, sugar tits," the gritty reply hisses from Lloyd's through as he recoils, holding his cheek. You stagger, breathless as you gape at him.

"What are you doing here?" You puff.

"Coming to get you, sweetness," he rubs his cheek, "was just taking care of the geriatrics."

"Huh?"

"The crazy one with the scissors and her cuck husband," he snorts as you notice the way a strand hangs down his forehead and a slice in his coat sleeve is darkened with blood.

"Beverly?"

"Is that the bitch's name?" He snickers, "where's the spawn of satan then? Think I owe him too."

"He's... upstairs. I..." you raise your hands to look at him, "I... hit him."

"Now, now, mimi, you know that's my job."

"What--" You can't quite process what's going on. Is he really here? Did you pass out? Are you dreaming?

"I'll just give him an extra pop for good measure--"

"Lloyd, wait," you catch his arm as he tries to pass you, "please, let's get out of here--"

"Oh, don't you worry," he shrugs you off, "we're going far away but first," he twines his fingers through each other and cracks his knuckles, "you're welcome to come watch."

"I..."

"Or you can wait in the car," he reaches in his pocket and pulls out his keys, "I shouldn't be long."

You know you can't argue. He won't listen. He doesn't. You relent and take the keys. You don't really feel bad for Cole or Beverly or Ethan. You just want to get out of here.

"Oh, uh, one second," he stops you and unzips his coat, slipping it down his arms, "need a full range of motion," he rolls his shoulders and tilts his head side to side, "plus it's damn cold out." He hands you the jacket, "gotta wrap up."

He winks and looks at your chest. You follow his gaze and see how your nipples poke through the dress. You cringe and take the coat.

"I'll be in the car," you mutter.

"Get it warmed up for me," he smirks, "yourself, too."

#shameless #lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader

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eleniel-starlight · 2 months

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eleniel-starlight · 2 months

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oh my gods the poor girl!! why am i hoping beyond hope that Lloyd comes to her rescue??

Carpe Noctem 32

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, violence, blood, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)

Note:Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You listen to the house. It’s lively for a time. You can hear Beverly chirping good mornings and the clank of pots and pans as she serves up her ‘special man’. Ugh, your stomach turns at the pandering tone. They are all crazy!

You lay helpless, twisting your hands against the pillow cases to no avail. You need to get the fuck out of here! You need to say fuck it all and do what needs to be done. You need to think like Lloyd. That thought scares you more than anything. Worse than the idea of being hurt, is hurting others. You’re not sure you have that in you.

You wait as the air grows silent but for the low humming of your deranged host. Doors open and close and all that’s left is the out-of-key droning of some Elvis song you forget the title of. You roll onto your elbow and whimper.

You lay helpless, not only to the binding, but to your own fear. It won’t be hard for Cole to play off your disappearance as a surprise. ‘She left at the usual time. I don’t know where she could be. There was that guy who came by… maybe he has something to do with it.’

Your heart pulses as adrenaline once more burns in your veins. It’s only the noise just below you that snaps you out of your spiraling dread. Heavy steps on the staircase followed by the twist of the latch before the hatch door swings open.

Beverly enters with a tray full of food. The scent of cinnamon wafts through the air, stirring your saliva as your stomach grumbles loudly. She tuts as she nears and places the tray on the night table and sits with her legs over the edge of the bed.

“Cole did mention you were misbehaving,” she shakes her head as she reaches to take the shallow bowl from the tray, “so you’ll go without bacon. I have porridge for you, girlie.” You blink at her as you wiggle onto your back. She narrows her eyes and sighs, “well, sit up!”

Her shrill tone has you bouncing and shimmying as best you can to prop yourself against the pillow. She holds out the spoon as your eyes cross at the steaming oats. What can you do? Even if you get a good kick in, you won’t get far. You don’t even know if her husband is still there.

You blow over the spoonful and take a bite. You force a tight-lipped smile and swallow, “mm, it’s good.”

“Eat,” she dismisses your comment, “it isn’t very good to turn your nose up at what’s given.”

You give her a look as her face lines with a venomous scowl, “my son’s brought you into our home, he’s going to make you a proper woman, and you try to spit in his face and run. That just won’t do.”

“I’m sorry–”

“Shut up,” she snaps and shoves another spoonful towards your mouth. You barely get it open before she rams the silver inside. You gag as the oatmeal spills down your throat.

“He’s a nice boy. He just wants someone to take care of. That’s all. And I’ve heard about that other… creep you were hanging around with. Cole saved you. You think some disgusting pervert is going to marry you? How old are you, huh? Old enough that you need to get on it, girlie. Your clock is ticking.”

You blink and don’t argue. You accept another mouthful of the bland porridge. You try not to show your distress as she grumbles over the meal.

“So you’re going to be good, aren’t you? And we’re going to get you all ready to apologise,” she declares as she stands with the empty bowl, “and you better mean it.”

❣️

You shiver as a breeze blows through the broken window. More spine-chilling than the exposure is the sight of yourself. You shudder as the small slice on your stomach throbs. A close shave with the edge of Beverly’s scissors.

She returned some time after your unsatisfying breakfast. She came with a pair of sheers and cut away your clothing. She replaced it all with a dress she threw over your head. She only got your arms through the holes by holding the blades to your throat and ordering you still. You let her tie you again as the metal’s shadow lingered on your neck.

Then she sat and sang to you as she put make-up on your face and played with your hair. Her crazed doting left you even more shaken than before. You need to bide your time but you don’t know how long you can do this. It’s deranged.

You wait in the eerie emptiness of the attic. Birds cheep outside the window, reminding you of your confinement. You fight back tears as they ebb and flow just behind your eyes. Your disbelief drowns you as you try to convince yourself it’s not real. It’s got to be a joke, right?

The sky shifts hues and gravel crunches. Your skin prickles as you wriggle on the bed. You hold your breath as the front door opens and closes. You hear the same as before, Beverly’s tweeting tones and Cole’s low timbre. Their voices quiet before his advance continues.

You swallow dryly. You’re thirsty, uncomfortable, and terrified. Please, please, this can’t be happening. Someone has to save you. They have to. Peter could notice that something’s strange about Cole or maybe Johnny hasn’t given up and is still casing your very existence. Oh, jeez, is your violent ex your only hope.

Your heart beats louder than the footsteps on the stairs. The hinges creak, the latch grinds, and the door pops out from the floor. Cole’s sandy hair appears through the hatch as he climbs through.

You try to wipe the terror from your face, blinking back the gleam in your eyes. You force a smile. This is it. This is where you win or lose. You just need him to let his guard down.

“Hi,” you squeak and force a smile.

“Hi,” he says thickly and clears his throat. He approaches the end of the bed, his eyes roving over you as his fists open and close. You stare at him as he stares at you, his throat bobbing, “you look wonderful, baby.”

You hold back a tremor, “thank you, Cole,” you breathe, steeling yourself for what comes next, for that darkness dilating in his gaze, “I…” You try to sit up but can’t. “I’m sorry, honey, can you forgive me?”

He’s quiet as he tilts his head. He steps closer and bends to touch the mattress. His hand crawls up and tickles the bottom of your foot.

“I forgive you,” he smiles as he lifts your feet, still bound together, and presses a kiss to your sole. He grips your ankles and yanks you to the end of the bed, bending your legs up. You help as the skirt flutters to your thighs, he tickles along your bare bottom as you repress a shriek. “Let’s start over,” he grits out.

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eleniel-starlight · 3 months

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Loki’s gonna get jealous of that damn chipmunk next 🙄

He's buying chipmunk traps rn

#lmao please #dark loki #loki please #fix your insecurities #cinders aint done nothing wrong #just let her drink tea in the garden

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eleniel-starlight · 3 months

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She’s an over thinker, so fuck her until her brain shuts off.

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eleniel-starlight · 3 months

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i had a dream mr krabs saved spongebobs life, and in return he made a krabby patty with a fuckload of mayo, kiwi slices, and lobster legs.

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eleniel-starlight · 3 months

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If you're 5.5" or under you are legally a pocket pussy.

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eleniel-starlight · 3 months

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oh my lord!!!! when she finally accepted his proposal i was over the moon but this ??

Loki is playing with patience but something tells me that won't last forever, poor Cinders is gonna find out really quickly how much he's wanted her

Dirty Work 26

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: sunday bloody sunday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put 'more'. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It isn’t until you’re standing before the foot of Mr. Laufeyson’s bed in borrowed clothes that the epiphany flutters over you. You were so swept up in emotion that your brain couldn’t process the implications of your current situation. He expects you to sleep beside him. It’s oddly intimate and you suppose that is the intent, but you’re not used to that yet.

“Well, pet,” Mr. Laufeyson loosens his tie and pulls it from around his neck, “you do look rather tired.”

You refuse to look at him as he starts unhooking the buttons of his shirt. You hid in the bathroom to exchange your clothes but he’s brazenly undressing only feet away. You rush around the far side of the bed and fold back the blankets, nestling in and pulling them around your body. You gulp as you keep your back to him, his shadow looming in the lamplight.

The fabric rustles as he casually changes and you close your eyes, embarrassed at only the sight of his silhouette. He groans and you hear the soft pop of his stretching his arms. The lamp clicks and the bed dips behind you. Oh gosh.

You stiffen as he lifts the other side of the covers up and slides in next to you. You keep close to the edge. You almost prefer your lumpy single to this. As big as his bed is, it’s not enough. You feel as if he’s crowding you.

He sighs and the bed shifts. You flinch as you feel the fabric against your back stir. He hums and tugs along the hem.

“Relax, I’m just as tired, you needn’t hide from me,” he gives a forceful yank and you fall onto your back. “Tomorrow, we have much to sort out, so rest.”

You swallow and nod, letting out a shaky breath. You ease the tension in your eyelids and welcome the natural sheath of your fatigue. It doesn’t take much for the day to overwhelm your nerves. You drift off into a rippling black sleep, forgetting your tender bruises and aching heart.

In an instant, morning burns yellow through your eyelids. Your lashes flutter apart and you stare up at the ceiling, turning your head to peek at the body next to yours. Oh god. How could you forget?

You roll onto your side, balanced on the very edge of the mattress. Your mind races. What do you do? Is it rude to get up and start the day? Do you wait until he wakes? Then what happens? Your heart pounds behind your ears as your eyes go wide.

“Pet,” Mr. Laufeyson’s voice is hoarse as you feel his hand tickle the back of the shirt collar, “what are you doing all the way over there?” You freeze, hoping he will think you’re asleep. He exhales and pulls on the fabric between your shoulder blades, “don’t ignore me.”

His warning is enough for you to give up the act. You fall onto your back once more and fold your arms over the top of the blanket, clutching it as if the bed might swallow you up. He sidles closer and slides his arm out from under the covers, stretching it across you as he brings himself to his elbow.

“Morning,” he greets, his tone startlingly gentle. He doesn’t sound like himself. You look at him, eyes still round.

“Mor-ning,” you stutter out as he feels along the sleeve of the shirt. The way he looks at you makes you sweat. He should do that.

“Did you sleep well?” He asks.

You nod.

“Very good,” he purrs as his hand trails up your neck, his thumb tracing the front of your throat. He watches the advance of his touch as he brings his hand beneath your chin. You tremble as he caresses along your jaw and you turn your head away. “Ah, ah, pet. You must get over that. There is no reason to be shy.”

“Please, I…” you rub your dry lips together, “I need to… get up.”

“In due time,” he stays as he is, gently dragging his fingertips along your bruised cheek, “I understand we both must adjust to this new arrangement.”

“Mr. Laufeyson…” you quiver.

“Mmm, yes, say it again, just like that.”

“Please,” you plead once more.

“Be still, be calm,” he coos as he frames your chin, “close your eyes.”

Your brows pop up and you blink frantically, “why?”

“Pet, you know better than to question me,” he squeezes enough for you to feel. You gulp and obey him, hiding behind your eyelids as he holds himself over you. “Very good,” he urges, his thumb brushing back and forth along your jaw, “just…” he rasps as you feel his breath fan over you, “let yourself relax.”

Your fingers curl tighter around the blankets and his lips meet yours. You squeak but don’t pull away. You can’t. You’re paralysed by that act alone. His mouth moves against yours as he tickles your neck. He parts and hovers and inch away.

“I said relax,” he pecks your cheek, “it is better that way.”

He trails his lips back to you and tries again. This time, you do your best to release the tension in your jaw. As he pokes his tongue out, your mouth opens just enough for him to delve deeper. You push away all the thoughts pulsing in your head. Don’t think too much, if you do, that means it’s real.

He hums into your mouth as he forces your mouth wider, tilting his head as he devours you. You’re not ready for this. You’re not ready for him. You’re barely awake and he’s already all over you.

You shudder and let out a whimper. You can’t help but note it’s your first true kiss. Your only. Like everything else in your life, it’s not what you expected. But it isn’t unpleasant.

His hand wanders down your neck and past the collar of your shirt. He feels along a crease in the fabric and gropes your chest. You spasm and catch his head, ripping your lips away as you turn your head sharply.

“I can’t–” you puff, “I can’t breathe.”

“Pet,” he sounds amused, even as you bend his fingers slightly back, “you breathe through your nose.”

“I…” you begin. No, you don’t know. How would you? You just look at him, waiting for him to start again.

“Yes, I suppose we should take it slow,” he relents and rolls away from you. He bends his leg under the blanket so it tents around his knee, “go on, have a shower. There is a long day ahead.”

You cautiously push yourself up and avoid looking at him as you slip out from under the blankets. Your lips feel fuzzy from his kiss and your chest tingles where he grabbed you. It’s new and scary but you can’t make yourself hate it. It’s just confusing.

You go out into the hall and fetch a towel from the linen closet. You return. Mr. Laufeyson hasn’t moved. You pass by, focusing ahead, and enter the bathroom. You lock the door behind you and hug the towel.

You face the mirror and look your reflection in your eye. A scalding heat washes over you. It hurts then. It stabs deep into your heart to know what you’ve become.

In that moment, the truth slaps you around the face. You will let Mr. Laufeyson do whatever he wants. What you want doesn't matter. That’s the deal. That’s how you survive.

You place the towel on the counter and face the shower. The booth is embedded into the wall with a glass door. You’ve only ever been inside to clean it but you always thought it was fancy. You undress numbly, skin prickling with the cool early air.

You approach the shower and carefully open the door. You step inside and pull it shut. You twist the golden crank and the large shower head above thrums to live. You squeak as the water spatters frigidly on you then slowly warms. You step out of it’s breadth as it turns scalding. You adjust the faucet until you can bear the downpour.

You wash methodically, like you do at home. Your dad always complained when you wasted water. You don’t have your own things so you use what’s there; the soap smells like Mr. Laufeyson. You force away the thought. You just need to be clean.

The water and your own diligent scrubbing sparks tenderness in your bruises. You turn your face up and let the water pour over you. You blindly reach to twist the water off and stand in the still, cold silence.

You let yourself out along with a puff of steam. You grab the towel and dry off as best you can. You bend to gather the borrowed clothes and realise your own are still in the bedroom. You look down at the towel and pull it tight. You have no choice but to go out there. Like this.

You pad to the door and cautiously unlock it. You listen through the wood but can’t hear much. You turn the handle and inch the door from the frame. Mr. Laufeyson sits on the bed, a stunning sight as he wears only a pair of satiny pajama bottoms. You gulp and turn your head down.

You march out and hurry towards the other side of the room. You grab the same clothes you wore the day before and turn back. As you go back to the bathroom, he rises and meets you at the door.

“Ah, what’s the rush, pet?” His fingers flutter over the top of the towel.

“I forgot…” you murmur, hugging the clothes in one arm.

“Your rags?” He reaches to pinch the fabric of your worn clothing, “as I said, we will assuage that shortly.”

“Mr. Layfeyson,” you wilt, staring beside him at the wall, “can I…”

He snickers as he trails up your arm, raising a new speckling of goosebump. He leans in and takes a deep breath. He hums.

“I like it when you smell like me,” he purrs lowly as his hand walks over your shoulder to your neck.

His other comes to the other side and he forces your head up. You blink at him as he looms before you. He holds your vulnerability in the palms of your hands. There is only a towel to stop him. You can’t help but notice the corded sculpt of his muscles, the strength of his grip on you.

He bends and kisses your lips. You keep from recoiling, reminding yourself that you have to let him. If he wants to strip you down and do what he wishes, you must allow it. Even as you repeat it, over and over, it doesn’t feel right.

His hand slips back down your shoulder and he hooks an arm around you, pulling you flush as his tongue dips into your mouth. You babble around the intrusion, helpless as you clutch your towel and clothing tight. His other hand comes up behind your head as he deepens his kiss.

He’s breathless when he finally pulls away. So are you. He lingers only an inch away, his green eyes smoky. He slowly uncoils himself from around you and holds you at arm's length. He inhales deeply and shivers it out.

“Go,” he rasps as he retracts his grasp, “before…” He shakes his head as he sidesteps you, leaving his warning unfinished.

You flit into the bathroom and nearly slam the door behind you. Your clothes slip out of your arm to the floor and press yourself against the wood, quivering as your heart thumps. If this is just the morning, you don’t know if you’ll make it through the day.

✨

You fidget in the chair, nearly knocking the tea cup with your elbow. You can’t be still as you stare over at the French doors. Mr. Laufeyson doesn’t have the same problem as he sits stoically, one leg hooked over the other as he props an elbow on the armrest, his phone in his hand as he squints at the screen.

The chair lurches with your next twitch and grabs the table for stability. His eyes flick over and narrow on you. He tilts his head.

“Would you be still? You will break something, or even yourself.”

Your eyes round and you nod, locking your hands together in your lap. You bite down and look again at the house. This is odd. With Frigga there, it didn’t feel so strange, but just you and him. On a Monday?

“What is it?” He asks with exasperation.

“I should be cleaning,” you declare, “it’s Monday.”

He sighs out through his nose into a soft chuckle, “is that what has you so worked up?”

“Well…” you shrug almost to your ears.

“I told you, we have other things to sort out first,” he raises a finger, “you will get to it, I assure you.”

You purse your lips. There’s a tone in his voice you dislike. He isn’t being overly venomous but he’s talking down to you. Not as he did before, like a boss to an employee, but more pandering.

“I could just start now until–”

The gate bell buzzes from inside, muffled by the walls but loud enough to hear. Mr. Laufeyson sits up and uncrosses his top leg. He wiggles his phone in his hand and stands, tucking it into his pocket. As the weather grows hotter, you notice he does not wear a jacket with his button-up and tie.

He gets up without explanation and leaves you. As he passes through the French doors, you hop to your feet to follow. You should answer the gate. That’s still your job, right?

You rush in after him, kicking off your shoes before you plunge inside. You slow so you don’t step on his heels.

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you scurry along, “what’s going on?”

“You ask many questions,” he reprimands.

“Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Mmm, you recall the rules, yes?”

You nod and don’t say a word. Back to silence. He goes out the back door and you stop at the threshold. You watch as he struts down the walk and breezily approaches the gate, pressing the switch to reel it open. A large box van enters as Laufeyson turns back to meet them at the apex of the drive.

You hear the drone of his voice as he speaks to the woman inside, just through the open window. You can’t make out his words. He opens the door for her as she steps out, surprising you with her pure white jumpsuit, almost skin tight and snakeskin heels. You don’t expect someone like that to be driving such a clumsy vehicle.

Laufeyson steps past to let her past then follows her to the rear of the van. They chatter some more before opening the doors. He nods towards the house and her gaze follows the gesture. She glances at him boldly and her deep laughter ripples in the air.

He steps up into the van and there’s a clatter within. She reaches to assist him in unloading the contents. A large clothing rack slung with dozens of garments on hangers. They steady it on its wheels and he hops out, tidying his mussed hair.

He shuts the door as she angles the rack around the end of the truck. She comes to the front and pulls as he catches up and pushes from behind. The woman’s high black pony sways with her gait. She smirks as she sees you peeking out.

“Ah, you must be the one,” she greets as she leaves Laufeyson with the rack at the foot of the steps. “Come out, darling, don’t be shy.”

“It’s alright,” Laufeyson assures.

You let the door fall open completely and step out onto the porch. She looks you up and down and peers back at the garments.

“Oh, they should fit,” she proclaims and turns to you again, “don’t be shy, darling. What is your name?”

You blink and peek at Mr. Laufeyson. You answer as she watches you. Her eyes are a deep, drowning blue.

“How sweet. I’m Hela,” she introduces herself, “when my little brother asked for my help, I wasn’t exactly jumping to drive all the way down here, but alas, he said he had someone in need, and could I help a little bunny like yourself.”

Little brother? That’s his sister? You look at Mr. Laufeyson again and he clears his throat.

“Hel,” he says tersely, gripping the pole of the rack, “a little assistance.”

#dark loki #good lord this has ruined me #fic #dark fic #dirty work

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eleniel-starlight · 3 months

Text

Cinders could not be me, im sorry but if Loki offered me everything on a platter just in exchange for me?? oh lord you know im taking that offer in a HEARTBEAT

Dirty Work 24

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: friday! coworkers last day!

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You pass through the gate, cautious to close it without a noise. You trail past the hedges and around the side of the house. You enter through the back, as you did in those early days, only weeks ago, though it seems years.

You move slowly, leaving your shoes out of the way, disregarding the closet as you cling to the strap of your bag and venture warily onward. You pause before the kitchen door and peek around, finding it empty. You tiptoe on and climb the stairs one at a time, flinching at ever creak.

You reach the top and keep your eyes down. You go to the library and slip inside, like a ghost floating through your own existence. You set the bag by your feet and pull out the laptop to begin your day.

You don't think, not past the list of tasks. You boot the computer and wait for the screen to light up. You type in the pass code and open Excel. You lean your head in your hand, eyes glazing over as the glare sears your vision, stamping with endless columns and tiny numbers.

You feel yourself slumping, the strength whittling away by the second. Your eyes droop even as your ears prick at each noise. You shake your head, trying to ward off the needling fatigue. You yawn and sit up, rubbing your eyelids as you square your shoulders.

You let your head hang back and drop your arms into your lap. Your stomach wriggles as Mr. Laufeyson's looming presence creeps into your mind. He's here somewhere and surely, he already knows you are too. He's just waiting to pounce.

Your fears furl into faded dreams. A fractured series of scenes, twisted reflections of reality rippling into each other until you dizzy. You can hear your own snores yet don't quite realise you're asleep.

You wake with a start as you feel yourself slipping. You barely catch yourself before you flop off the chair. You spasm and grip the arm rest as a shadow lurks behind your laptop screen. You gape up at Mr. Laufeyson as he watches you with arms folded.

"Hm," he tilts his head, "that shirt is... not very professional."

"Sir," you keep your face down as your cheek thrums, swollen and bruised, "I'm sorry, I... I didn't sleep very well."

"Oh yes, of course, I hadn't even mentioned you sleeping on the job," he growls and uncrosses his arms, bringing his hands down to the desk. He leans in so his head is just above the laptop. "Look at me."

"Mr. Laufeyson, I'm just sorting out the expenses--"

"Look at me," he commands more firmly.

You wince and rub your neck. An ache radiates in your shoulder, another remnant of your father's wrath. You slowly raise your chin as your lip twitches just slightly. His eyes narrow and his jaw ticks.

He's silent as he stares at you. Angry, you can tell. You pull your hands back and fold them against your chest.

"Please, Mr. Laufeyson, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep. It won't happen again--"

"What happened to your clothes?" He slithers darkly.

"Nothing, I... I wasn't paying attention this morning--"

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not," you squeak unconvincingly.

His nostrils flare and he slaps his palm on the desk. You sit back, pressing yourself to the chair as you whimper.

"I underestimated that... scum," he spits out.

"I don't know--"

"Go on and lie again. What is it this time? You took a tumble?" He reaches out and you shy away, expecting him to put another swell in your cheek. Instead, he touches the thrumming skin, stroking it, "I didn't think..." he takes a breath and withdraws his hand, standing stiffly, "I believed him a coward, but not that sort."

"It's not--"

"Hush. You make your excuse for him, I will not swallow them," he flicks his fingers at you dismissively.

He rolls his shoulders and pivots on his heel. He paces across the patterned rug and stops, just before the sofa. He turns back, making another line across the space. He brings his finger up to tap his chin.

"Yes, very well, I see I do have somewhere to be," he states as he drops his hand, his lips curving at the corners.

"Mr. Laufeyson," you stand.

"Never you mind," he tuts, "you have your work, I have mine." He cracks his knuckles.

"Are you--"

"Ah ah," he points at you tersely, "since when is my itinerary your concern? Mind the house, that is your job." He huffs and checks his watch as a pinch lines his forehead, "you may receive the expected parcel and leave it on my desk for now..." he lowers his hand and grumbles, "and you will stay here."

"Mr. Laufeyson," you murmur.

Before you can protest further, he's at the door. You're frozen in disbelief. Surely he can't mean what you think.

It doesn't matter to him, does it? You are his house manager, just another below him he can torment, he wouldn't do anything like that. Certainly, he won't harm your father, right?

You rush after him as your doubts bubble over. As he enters the hallway, you grab his elbow, not thinking, not hesitating for once in your life. "Please, Mr. Laufeyson, whatever you're thinking of--"

He faces you and rips his arm free, "don't."

"Please, it's-- I--" you sputter helplessly and wring your hands, "I deserved it."

He squares his chin and blinks. "Deserve... so it was him?"

"Mr. Laufeyson, it isn't... isn't your problem. He's my dad, I'll deal with him."

"As you have so far?" He scoffs, "pet, I mean to defend you. To do you a favour. Another. And now you overstep and try to command me?"

"No, no, I'm not... not commanding. I'm begging," you clutch your hands tighter, putting them up to plead, "don't make it worse."

He dips his head and closes his eyes. He pinches his nose and gives a nod, rubbing his lips together. He raises his head and opens his eyes again. He shrugs and lets a grin break through.

"It isn't your choice," he grabs your wrists, locking them together in his grasp as he drags you forward.

Your socks slip on the floorboards as he tugs you down the hallway. You struggle, writhing and sliding against his force. The same panic that struck you last night swirls again, thumping in your chest. He turns and swings you through the door of his bedroom. You stagger as he lets you go and the door swiftly snaps shut behind you.

You turn to face it and throw yourself against it, twisting the handle as you try to pull it open. He holds it shut from the other side and you hear the lock grind into place. You hit the door with your fists and cry out.

"Mr. Laufeyson!"

"I will return shortly, pet, never you worry," he assures, "don't miss me too much."

You slap the wood again and press your ear to it. You listen as he struts away, whistling until it fades to silence. You hear the front door below, shortly followed by the car engine rolling to life. You rush over to the window and look at as he steers up to the gate.

You can hear his knuckles cracking and see that sinister smirk. His intentions cannot be good.

✨

Your exhaustion slakes away to panic. You pace the room, bounce up and down on your feet, fidget incessantly, murmuring senselessly. You just can't be still. What is Mr. Laufeyson doing?

Your fears twist your imagination to terror. Is he going to hurt your father? He should just leave him alone. He's the one who got him so worked up. That last thought makes you stop short.

It's his fault. It's all his fault. He heard everything on the phone, he knew your dad has anger issues, he walked into your home and he ruined it all.

Your lashes flutter as you sway. You feel like you've been struck all over again. Mr. Laufeyson has done this all to you! He gave you this job, he took you away from your dad, he invaded your home, he made you wear those clothes.

And now, you're mad. You feel that hot streak inside of you unlike anything before. Vivid and venomous. You run to the door, throwing yourself against it as you beat with your fists.

He's locked you up here so you can't stop him from doing anymore. You're sleeping in a hotel because of him. You're not eating or sleeping, you can feel yourself going insane. Because of him.

You're dizzy and breathless. You lean on the door and try to calm yourself. Your head hurts.

You slide down and turn to put your back against the door. You hang your head, bending your legs to rest your arms over them. You heave and close your eyes.

You're just as helpless as you've ever been.

✨

The footsteps bring you out of your daze. You raise your head, wobbly on your neck, and blink several times before you get your bearings. You listen to Mr. Laufeyson's entry, his slow advance below, and his steady ascension up the staircase.

Your heart hitches but you don't move. Even if you had the strength, you refuse. You will not budge.

He comes down the staircase, a hum in the air. You tense and grit your teeth, eyes hot again with tears. Not sad but angry.

"Ah, pet, you will be happy to hear that I don't believe your father will have another cruel world reserved for you," he sings the handle shifts slightly above your head and the lock clicks. "How shall we celebrate your emancipati--"

The door jolts and you push back against it. You plant your feet and grunt as you force it shut. He lets out a noise and shoves back. You do it again.

"Pet," he evens his tone, "what are you up to?"

"Leave me alone!" You snarl, surprised by your own venom.

"Pet, now, let me in--"

"I said go away!"

He scoffs and stops pushing. He lets out his breath loudly.

"This isn't mature behaviour."

"I don't care, I don't want to see you."

He's quiet again. You hear his soles scuff and he gently taps on the door.

"Pet, please, we should talk. I think it's imperative that we do--"

"No, I don't want to talk. I don't want to see you. I want you to leave me alone!"

"You are being a child--"

"You ruined everything," you bark, "you ruined my life! You're a bad man and I hate you!"

You go weak as the last words escape you without a thought. You collapse onto your bottom and catch your head in your hands. You devolve into thick, choking sobs. Here you are, bawling like the child he calls you. He must be amused.

"Are you tendering your resignation?" He asks crisply, "because I believe you haven't anywhere else to go, my dear."

"I know! Because of you. I have nowhere, because you!" You shoot back through heaving breaths.

"Or... you could have somewhere, because of me," he says measuredly. "Pet, all you have to do is open the door and talk to me."

You fall onto your side and curl up. You cover your head, whimpering as tears trickle down. You sniffle and hide under your arm. Just like you did when dad wouldn't stop yelling.

The floorboards shift and he sighs again, "I can wait." He taps the door lightly once more and his footfalls retreat.

You tremble in a heap, nearly delirious with emotion. Through the chaos, you can see the truth. You don't have anywhere or anything without him.

✨

The world shifts under you, your body chafing across the floor as the door moves you. Not harshly but inch by inch. Mr. Laufeyson bends over you as you open your eyes, groggy and glazed over. His silhouette is fuzzy and distant as he slides his arms under you.

He lifts you and carries you to the bed. You groan as he lays you down, piling pillows behind you to prop you up. He sits with his legs over the side and pushes his head back. You come to, little by little, pushing through the fog.

You hug yourself and wiggle in place. He reaches to still you, his hand on your thigh. You wince and stare at his fingers. He draws his knee up and shifts to face you. He removes his touch as his eyes cling thoughtfully to the wall behind you.

"I see you've calmed down," he begins and lets his gaze fall on you, "so we will talk. I'm sure you're aware that matters are urgent."

"No..." you utter, "I'll... go."

You try to sit up and he nudges you back. You hit the pillows and do not try again. You don't have anything left in you.

"Where?" He challenges.

"I have a hotel room--"

"No," he shakes his head, "that won't do. What I'm offering, well, you can hardly deny it."

You drop your head and shrug.

"How many more nights can you afford? And without a job? I'm offering you both. Work, accommodation. I dare to say, I would offer you a home."

"No, you're my boss," you insist.

"Yes, I do expect you to shoulder some tasks," he assures, "but perhaps... we might remold this arrangement."

Your eyes stick blankly to your knees. You don't know what he wants or what he means. Just more. It's always more. Hasn't he taken enough?

"What more can you want from me?" You whisper.

He's quiet again. His fingers twiddle and he lifts his hand, touching your arm and slowly grasping it. He unwraps it from your torso and trails down to your hand, squeezing it.

"I made myself clear before," he pulls your hand closer, cradling it as he pets your knuckles, "but perhaps you still misunderstood me." He clasps your hand between both of his, "I want you. Entirely."

Your eyes flick up to meet his. Your mouth falls open as your heart tempos wildly. You still don't think you understand. Your search his face for the answer.

"I will grant you any wish. Clothes, jewellery, whatever you like. If you like to read, I will buy you books, if you like to draw, I will buy you paint. If you just want shiny things, I can get those too. All I ask is simple. For you. For your entire being. That you obey and serve my every need and you will have all you ever longed for. Things you never even dreamed of," he slips a hand away and lifts yours. He leans in and softly kisses your knuckles, "you say I am bad, but I needn't be.”

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eleniel-starlight · 3 months

Text

Dirty Work 24

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: friday! coworkers last day!

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"Hm," he tilts his head, "that shirt is... not very professional."

"Sir," you keep your face down as your cheek thrums, swollen and bruised, "I'm sorry, I... I didn't sleep very well."

"Mr. Laufeyson, I'm just sorting out the expenses--"

"Look at me," he commands more firmly.

He's silent as he stares at you. Angry, you can tell. You pull your hands back and fold them against your chest.

"Please, Mr. Laufeyson, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep. It won't happen again--"

"What happened to your clothes?" He slithers darkly.

"Nothing, I... I wasn't paying attention this morning--"

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not," you squeak unconvincingly.

His nostrils flare and he slaps his palm on the desk. You sit back, pressing yourself to the chair as you whimper.

"I underestimated that... scum," he spits out.

"I don't know--"

"It's not--"

"Hush. You make your excuse for him, I will not swallow them," he flicks his fingers at you dismissively.

"Yes, very well, I see I do have somewhere to be," he states as he drops his hand, his lips curving at the corners.

"Mr. Laufeyson," you stand.

"Never you mind," he tuts, "you have your work, I have mine." He cracks his knuckles.

"Are you--"

"Mr. Laufeyson," you murmur.

Before you can protest further, he's at the door. You're frozen in disbelief. Surely he can't mean what you think.

It doesn't matter to him, does it? You are his house manager, just another below him he can torment, he wouldn't do anything like that. Certainly, he won't harm your father, right?

You rush after him as your doubts bubble over. As he enters the hallway, you grab his elbow, not thinking, not hesitating for once in your life. "Please, Mr. Laufeyson, whatever you're thinking of--"

He faces you and rips his arm free, "don't."

"Please, it's-- I--" you sputter helplessly and wring your hands, "I deserved it."

He squares his chin and blinks. "Deserve... so it was him?"

"Mr. Laufeyson, it isn't... isn't your problem. He's my dad, I'll deal with him."

"As you have so far?" He scoffs, "pet, I mean to defend you. To do you a favour. Another. And now you overstep and try to command me?"

"No, no, I'm not... not commanding. I'm begging," you clutch your hands tighter, putting them up to plead, "don't make it worse."

He dips his head and closes his eyes. He pinches his nose and gives a nod, rubbing his lips together. He raises his head and opens his eyes again. He shrugs and lets a grin break through.

"It isn't your choice," he grabs your wrists, locking them together in his grasp as he drags you forward.

"Mr. Laufeyson!"

"I will return shortly, pet, never you worry," he assures, "don't miss me too much."

You can hear his knuckles cracking and see that sinister smirk. His intentions cannot be good.

✨

Your exhaustion slakes away to panic. You pace the room, bounce up and down on your feet, fidget incessantly, murmuring senselessly. You just can't be still. What is Mr. Laufeyson doing?

Your fears twist your imagination to terror. Is he going to hurt your father? He should just leave him alone. He's the one who got him so worked up. That last thought makes you stop short.

It's his fault. It's all his fault. He heard everything on the phone, he knew your dad has anger issues, he walked into your home and he ruined it all.

And now, you're mad. You feel that hot streak inside of you unlike anything before. Vivid and venomous. You run to the door, throwing yourself against it as you beat with your fists.

He's locked you up here so you can't stop him from doing anymore. You're sleeping in a hotel because of him. You're not eating or sleeping, you can feel yourself going insane. Because of him.

You're dizzy and breathless. You lean on the door and try to calm yourself. Your head hurts.

You slide down and turn to put your back against the door. You hang your head, bending your legs to rest your arms over them. You heave and close your eyes.

You're just as helpless as you've ever been.

✨

Your heart hitches but you don't move. Even if you had the strength, you refuse. You will not budge.

He comes down the staircase, a hum in the air. You tense and grit your teeth, eyes hot again with tears. Not sad but angry.

The door jolts and you push back against it. You plant your feet and grunt as you force it shut. He lets out a noise and shoves back. You do it again.

"Pet," he evens his tone, "what are you up to?"

"Leave me alone!" You snarl, surprised by your own venom.

"Pet, now, let me in--"

"I said go away!"

He scoffs and stops pushing. He lets out his breath loudly.

"This isn't mature behaviour."

"I don't care, I don't want to see you."

He's quiet again. You hear his soles scuff and he gently taps on the door.

"Pet, please, we should talk. I think it's imperative that we do--"

"No, I don't want to talk. I don't want to see you. I want you to leave me alone!"

"You are being a child--"

"You ruined everything," you bark, "you ruined my life! You're a bad man and I hate you!"

"Are you tendering your resignation?" He asks crisply, "because I believe you haven't anywhere else to go, my dear."

"I know! Because of you. I have nowhere, because you!" You shoot back through heaving breaths.

"Or... you could have somewhere, because of me," he says measuredly. "Pet, all you have to do is open the door and talk to me."

You fall onto your side and curl up. You cover your head, whimpering as tears trickle down. You sniffle and hide under your arm. Just like you did when dad wouldn't stop yelling.

The floorboards shift and he sighs again, "I can wait." He taps the door lightly once more and his footfalls retreat.

You tremble in a heap, nearly delirious with emotion. Through the chaos, you can see the truth. You don't have anywhere or anything without him.

✨

"I see you've calmed down," he begins and lets his gaze fall on you, "so we will talk. I'm sure you're aware that matters are urgent."

"No..." you utter, "I'll... go."

You try to sit up and he nudges you back. You hit the pillows and do not try again. You don't have anything left in you.

"Where?" He challenges.

"I have a hotel room--"

"No," he shakes his head, "that won't do. What I'm offering, well, you can hardly deny it."

You drop your head and shrug.

"How many more nights can you afford? And without a job? I'm offering you both. Work, accommodation. I dare to say, I would offer you a home."

"No, you're my boss," you insist.

"Yes, I do expect you to shoulder some tasks," he assures, "but perhaps... we might remold this arrangement."

Your eyes stick blankly to your knees. You don't know what he wants or what he means. Just more. It's always more. Hasn't he taken enough?

"What more can you want from me?" You whisper.

He's quiet again. His fingers twiddle and he lifts his hand, touching your arm and slowly grasping it. He unwraps it from your torso and trails down to your hand, squeezing it.

Your eyes flick up to meet his. Your mouth falls open as your heart tempos wildly. You still don't think you understand. Your search his face for the answer.

311 notes · View notes

eleniel-starlight · 3 months

Text

okay i had to literally jump for joy at Frigga coming back and taking Cinders out , but ive learned not to get hopeful with your writing..... so what's the endgame here? lol

Dirty Work 17

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: It's friday again.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Once Leslie leaves, you lock yourself away again. Your father's taken to the cold shoulder over his previous aggression. You don't mind, it assures you of a tenuous peace. So long as you don't draw his attention, you're okay.

Your anxiety remains piqued. Not only by your father's stewing ire but the thought of what looms both behind and ahead of you. With all that happened at work, you have little hope of tomorrow being better. There is also the question of Mr. Laufeyson's surprise... you can't even begin to guess what he has in mind.

Another test, no doubt. Like today. You're certain you failed that one too. You took his kindness and showed yourself to be ungrateful. You questioned him when you should have just accepted it with a smile on your face.

It is not your place to worry about his intentions, as he has made it clear, you are not on the same level. He is your boss and you do what he says. So you will do that and nothing more.

Is that his voice in your head?

You sneak out for a shower but it doesn't do much to calms your nerves. You spend another night tossing and turn, kept awake by the television set a top volume and the dissonance of your anxiety. Even with the extra hours granted, you find yourself painfully awake at the same splitting hour.

You get up to make your tea. Your father's snoring on the couch at the TV continues to blare. You don't disturb either as you put on the kettle and ready a mug. You rub your eyes and yawn. Leslie will be here soon. You should wake him and get breakfast going. It will lighten her load.

When you have your cup steaming, you stay at the counter and sip tentatively, weighing your next steps. You leave your father as he is and return to your room, dressing and cleaning up before you descend again. You have your phone in hand, almost hoping a notification will pop up. Maybe Mr. Laufeyson will change his mind and you can be off before you have to face your dad. The phone remains lifeless.

You sigh and shut off the television, hoping the sudden silence might rouse him. He continues to snort loudly. You bite down on your cheeks as your skin buzzes and itches. He's not a morning person.

The memories of him exploding to consciousness in a furor of hollers and kicks keep you from shaking him. You back away as the doorbell rings and does the job for you, your father grumbling as you go to answer it.

Leslie enters with her usual blustering brightness. She greets your father and stops short, hands on her hips as she tuts.

"Now what is the meaning of this?" She huffs, "Charles, you can't sleep down here."

"I'm not," he sits up and hacks into his hand before sliding the oxygen tube back into place. "You woke me up."

"What's gotten into you?" She accuses, "I told you yesterday I'm not here for your attitude. You're not some teenager, you're a grown man."

"Bah, I need coffee," he snarls.

"You need a cold shower," she retorts as she goes around the couch and snatches up the pack of smoke on the cushion beside him, "and a swat on the snout. What're you doing with these things?" She pauses and looks at you, "he can't be having these in the house."

"I don't... know where they came from," your murmur.

"Don't matter, if you see them, you toss them," she reproaches, "this is a team effort, alright? Now yesterday, this place was a right mess. I'm here to help, not play maid."

"I'm sorry, I..." you snap your mouth shut. You did clean up, as best you could before work, but you'll have to do better.

"Not her fault she's useless," your father quips.

"Charles," Leslie warns as she points at him.

"Sorry, hon," he puts his hands up, "was only a joke."

"Not a very nice one," he rebukes.

"I know, I know," he chortles.

"So don't apologise to me," she flicks her finger towards you.

Your father stops his laughing and quiets. He crosses his arms and slumps his shoulders as you stare at the back of his head. You wait as Leslie tilts her head dangerous and cross her arms.

"Charles," she girds.

"Don't worry about it," you croak, "it's fine. I'll... I'm going in late so I'll get breakfast started."

"Oh yeah, she don't gotta go polish that man's silver early," your dad growls.

"Charles," Leslie snips again, "I mean it, be nice."

"I am nice, hon, I'm being funny."

"You are not," she insists.

"Come on, Les," he lowers his voice as you pad towards the kitchen, "I'll be good, alright? Don't give me that look."

She sighs but you don't look back, "alright, no more smokes."

"I'm tellin' ya, honey," he speaks so softly you barely recognise his voice, "I didn't touch 'em. Found them in the couch but I didn't smoke any. Don't be mad at me."

You shake your head and try to roll the tension out of your shoulders. She's been here just over a week and he talks like he's known her forever. He's actually nice to her. He cares about what she thinks, what she feels. But you, his own daughter, you get the blame for it all. You're the reason he hates himself and his life. Maybe if you'd never come along, he'd still have the woman he loved.

🧹

You set off just after eleven, the bus due not long after. As you come down the overgrown walk with its cracked pavement and uneven tilt, your eyes are drawn up by the snap of a car door. Footfalls scuff on the pavement as you look over the curb to the shiny car parked there. It's an unusual sight in the rundown neighbourhood.

Mr. Laufeyson proudly steps up as the window on the passenger's side rolls down. A pair of similarly green eyes peer out as she takes in the sight of the yellow duplex. You want to run and hide. You can't imagine either of them ever had to dirty themselves in a place like this.

"Mr. Laufeyson," you rush towards him, "I--- you said noon."

You pull the phone out and check the time. He puts his hand on the roof of the car calmly as you stop a few feet away. He chuckles, amused by your panic.

"It's so quaint," Frigga remarks as she remains firmly in the front seat, "dear, how are you?"

"Um, I'm well, Frigga," you answer with a tight gulp.

"Good, good, you look well," she praises, "a bit tired. Tell me he's not overworking you."

"Mother," Laufeyson shoots a glance in her direction.

"Er, it's fine," you clutch the strap of your bag, "I... did I do something?"

"No, no," Frigga waves off your suspicion, "I simply insisted my son bring me to see you while I'm in town."

"Oh, I was just on my way..." you look at Laufeyson confused as he gives an expression you can't quite read. He's expecting something but you're not sure what.

"We have lots to do so no sense in waiting around," she trills.

"Oh?" Your lips part. "Did something-- is the house okay?"

"The house is just fine. That old place only needs a little light, but see if my own son hears me," he rambles, "Loki, don't be rude, get the door."

He flinches and drags his hand away from the top of the car, "yes, mother."

He moves to open the back door, gallantly opening it for you. You feel like you've been dropped into an alternate universe. This can't be happening.

"Get in," he says.

You blink at him and he tilts his head, gesturing to the back seat. You obey with some reluctance and sit the large leather bag beside you. You slowly pull the seat belt down and click it into place. Laufeyson strides around the bumper as you peek in the mirror at Frigga's silvering curls.

"Right, then," Laufeyson opens the driver's door and lowers himself into the seat, "there we are."

"How are you feeling, darling?" Frigga's eyes meet yours in the rearview before you quickly look away, "are you very hungry or can you wait a bit longer for lunch?"

"I... Lunch? I'm okay," you assure. You can't figure this out. "Thank you."

The car whirs and rolls into motion. You're uneasy as you watch the street pass by. If he takes a left, he can get back to the main roads and-- no, he's going right?

"Mm, alright, the boutique first then," she orders her son, "I'm wondering if perhaps they could squeeze us in at the spa. It has been a while since I had some clay done. Oh, and my nails are ragged."

You try to connect the dots as your brows stitch together. Is this his surprise? His mother? Why are you there? You should be figuring out what's going on with the squeaky hinge on the closet.

"I can't wait to see the new season's colours," Frigga carries on as you tune her out, lost in the riddle of her presence and your own.

Surely, you're being brought along as some sort of valet. Of course, Laufeyson would offer you to carry her bags as she splurges on her pretty dresses. And she is always dressed so nicely whenever you see her. And make up, her lips are a pleasant shade of rose. She would likely spend even more on shoes, don't forget the silver sparkling at her throat and the gemstone dangling there...

Right, you see. Another lesson. He wants you to remember what you don't have. After your slip-up yesterday, he has to remind you of where you belong; squashed under his sole.

"Oh, is Eliana still at the salon, I should stop in and say hello," Frigga's voice once more punctures your distraction. "She was always so sweet."

"Mother, I... don't know about that. Maybe a different salon."

"You are such a pessimist, what are the odds we run into her?"

"Don't even tempt fate," he warns.

"No one said you were invited, hm? You said you had business down at Heimdall's."

"You are stubborn, mother," Laufeyson tisks.

"It's where you got it from, dear," she taunts, "so, darling," she peeks in the mirror again and you shy away, "how about it, you and I? It will be so nice. I haven't gotten a day out in so long."

"Oh, you haven't? Should I ask father about that?"

"Let's not mention your father," she rebuffs him smoothly and his shoulders slump.

"Um, well, that's nice, but..." you protest meekly

"It's my treat," she insists, "please. You're doing me a favour."

"I really don't know--"

"I don't mind," Laufeyson interjects, "and it won't affect your hours."

"I did soften him up a bit," she purrs.

"Mother," he hisses again.

"Oh you are so serious," she chides, "she needs this more than I do, I'm sure, with a stickler like you."

He twitches but says nothing. You sense he wants to say it again, 'mother', in the tone of please be quiet. It would be laughable if you weren't so perplexed by it all. Maybe it is a dream. Maybe you didn't wake up and you're oversleeping your alarm, having stress dreams about what will happen when you wake to reality.

"He's a good little chauffeur," she pats his arm playfully, "so he will drop us at the salon, won't you, dearest son?"

He grips the wheel tight and you see his knuckles turn almost translucent, "yes, mother, whatever you wish."

🧹

Mr, Laufeyson drives through the downtown area. You don't come there much, or at all. You passed through on your way to the hospital and on occasion to sort out a billing issue with the bank, but there wasn't much for you there. Along the west side, the nicer shops reside and several buildings with businesses you could never figure out.

Laufeyson pulls up into a marked spot beside a meter. As you stare out, still puzzled by it all. Everything's going so fast and you just want it to slow down. You look at your boss and feel a pang in your chest; how many times had he mentioned your clothes? This isn't a favour, this is him saying you're not good enough.

"Come, come," Frigga gets out and opens your door for you, "let's not drag our feet."

You undo the seat belt and go to grab your large leather bag. As you get out, Frigga catches you by the shoulders. "You won't need this," she takes the bag and reaches past you to put it back in the car, "only your pretty self."

"Oh, uh, sure, okay," you look again at Laufeyson but you're not sure why. He isn't going to help you. He's plunged you into this situation. He only arches a brow in response.

"Just going to give you a nice refresh," Frigga pulls on your elbow and shuts the door, tugging you onto the pavement. "You would do wonderful with some highlights."

You stumble along beside her, overwhelmed by her enthusiasm. She directs you to the shining transparent windows of a salon, a sign overhead with a curled iron bar across the top. You peek over your shoulder again as Mr. Laufeyson lingers another moment before steering out into traffic.

The door chirps as it opens and you're ushered inside to the sound of jazzy pop covers. You can't choose where to focus as the sleek shelves of colourful bottle behind the pure white counter refracts the lights of a spindly chandelier. Velvet chairs are arranged around a table in the little waiting area as stylists gab with clients in chairs.

"Frigga," a woman with platinum locks flutters over with the clacking of heels, "oh, it's been so long."

"Eliana! It has, look at you," they embrace and part, Frigga playing with the tall woman's pin-straight tresses, "what happened to the black?"

"Got a few grays and a divorce," the woman, Eliana you presume, cackles, "and who's this?"

They look at you as you're ready to fade into the black and white stripes on the wall.

"Oh, a friend, she's lovely," Frigga comes back and takes your hand, drawing you forward, "she just needs a little touch-up."

"Oh, she's a natural, she won't need much at all," the stylist approaches you, "I know just the woman; Luciana," she claps and looks back, "I have someone to fill in that cancellation.”

#god i hope this ends well #loki laufeyson #please god let her be happy

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