marvels-agents100

[marvels-agents100]

Read this again because I couldn’t stop thinking about it and I’m just 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

Like from the entrance of Loki and his little interaction with “little stark” to the hurried “where is she?!?” when Bucky is being trigger happy to the flurry of kisses while softly confessing his love just gave me BUTTERFLIES, dude

Fully blushing, he’s too hot

I love your playful writing style as well. It feels light and happy but doesn’t diminish the heavy emotion of the characters. It reminds me a lot of Andy Weir’s (I hope I spelt that right) in The Martian, if you’ve read it 😊

Great job as always 👏👏👏

gestures & rain checks

See my full list of works here!

pre-story author's note: Yes I am very aware that it's been a solid month since Valentine's Day. Yes I am still posting this 🫡

Summary: It feels like your friends are getting plucked away from you one by one as their respective (or in Nat's case prospective) partners make grand gestures to ask them to be their Valentine.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warning/s: language (nope still not sorry, Rogers); mentions of alcohol; tooth-rotting fluff; gun use [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: Morgan being a precious beb; himbo!Thor hours; lowkey sad Reader hours; chaotic group chat vibes in the end

You always had a distaste for this day. Valentine's Day. To you, it was the one day a year that you would do everything in your power not to step outside because it reeked of flowers and chocolate marked up to the heavens for merchants to take advantage of last minute gift shoppers hoping to make a gesture big enough that their crush would let them score at the end of the night. Or guys buying extravagant and ridiculously large arrangements to make amends for wronging their partner as if a 10-foot tall teddy bear was gonna magically press some Undo button of him going on Hinge or Tinder and talking up a dozen other girls on the side.

There was one year that you let slip around Nat and Wanda that this day "smelled like a cemetery" with all the bouquets that bombarded you the second you exited the perimeter of the Compound. Hell, the second you left the main section that housed you and the rest of the Avengers. And you stood by that opinion stubbornly, mostly because you'd only ever witnessed flowers being given when someone was desperately trying to glue back together the pieces of a severely damaged relationship.

And also because no one had ever given you flowers in your entire life. Or chocolates. Or a teddy bear. All your past relationships were with men who were still mentally and emotionally boys that believed emojis and gifs sufficed and were as good as the real thing. Nary a single soul had ever actually spent a lick of time or effort to give you something that told you they deserved your time and effort in turn.

And after so many years of being barely an afterthought, the day just felt like this entity that you resented to an irrational degree, where all you wanted was to lay in bed and wait it out until the clock struck 12 and it was February 15th. Then you could go on a hunt for all the overpriced chocolate that suddenly got their prices slashed by 50% or more.

That was the plan again for this year, had it not been for both Nat and Wanda barging in to your apartment and practically dressing you up like you were their own life-sized definitely seen some better days Barbie doll. "Come on, we can go and have a Galentine's Day 2. Maybe hit up a club and get some free drinks…" the assassin trailed off, zipping up your dress and playfully swatting your ass to nudge you forward. "March on, soldier."

The common area was nearly bare and eerily quiet when you all got there, which made perfect sense considering that most of your teammates who were happily committed to someone were off spending their day together, probably executing their own personal twists on those cliched gestures of adoration. Knowing Tony, that would probably consist of a two-storey tall stuffed bunny or a lavish new vacation house as a nice private little getaway spot for him and Pepper when they wanted to have a date night.

Only Morgan and Shaun were at the big dining table by the kitchen, the little girl working on bracelets with the martial artist nursing a cup of coffee while he handed her beads to add to her work. "Whaddup, Ten Rings…Baby Stark," you greeted them, ruffling his hair and pressing a kiss to the top of your goddaughter's head. "What're you two up to this fine completely ordinary day?"

"Oof, I take it you're gonna be spending the day watching a bunch of couples be all extra lovey dovey just like me?" You threw him a look, squinting your eyes at him that had him throwing his hands in the air in surrender. "No need to mentally squish my head, Y/N, we're on the same side, I swear," he chuckled, scooting over to the other seat so you could sit next to Morgan. "How about this, karaoke later tonight? Just us and anyone else that doesn't have a date with dinner and co--" You swatted his arm to get him to stop talking, not so subtly signaling in the little girl's direction. "I mean…adult balloons?"

"Wait how come you have special balloons?" Morgan asked, looking up from her activity book and earning barely stifled chortles from both Nat and Wanda. "Why can't I play with them? I like balloons."

You leaned back in your seat, making a motion with your hands as if you were wiping them clean of the whole conversation. "I'm not helping you out of this one, buddy."

He scratched the back of his head, obviously backed into the corner with his own words. "Eeeeeh…put a pin in that and ask me again when you can order a beer, Baby Stark."

The child pouted at both of you, slumping down in her place at the table and slipping back on her princess pink headphones before focusing all her attention on her activity book again, grumbling something about how grownups shouldn't have conversations around her if they didn't want her to ask questions. Valid enough point, but you still weren't going to be the one to give her her first lesson in Sex Ed class a good decade ahead of time.

"Anyways…" Shaun poked at your side, calling your attention back to him. "Karaoke, ladies? We can pick up Katy and Wong before we head over and sing some Disney duets and gorging ourselves on shots and nachos--"

"Hold up, Wong?" You all turned your attention to Stephen, who'd just walked in to the common area. "This I gotta see. You guys have room for one more?"

"Sure thing, as long as you use your sling ring to help us get into Tony's private stash," you quipped, taking a sip of your coffee. "There's no way I'm getting through this day stone-cold sober."

"Or we could go for the really hard stuff and break into Thor's stash of mead from Asgard before he depletes his supply." He showcased the ring in question with a wiggle of his fingers. "Just a portal away."

"I like the way you think, Strange."

"You can all cease your scheming to pilfer my liquor, my friends," Thor's voice boomed into the area, a bounce in his step as he made his way to the coffee pot. "I would happily supply you all with two barrels if that would be enough for your gathering?"

"That's perfect, Thunder. Thanks." You started to tuck into the breakfast plate served by the Compound kitchen staff, mumbling your next question to the blond god. "What've you got planned with Jane for today?"

"Ah." A wide grin stretched across his face at the mention of his girlfriend, the sight both warming your heart and pinching it at the same time. A bittersweet reminder that in the midst of romantic plans with sentimental or grand gestures, your plans involved getting shit-faced with your fellow single friends. Plus Wanda and probably Vision. "Well, I have employed the aid of Wilson to order an ornate bouquet of Jane's favorite flowers which should arrive this morning. Then for lunch I shall prepare her a meal."

"Lunch?" Wanda questioned, tilting her head to the side. "Forgive me if I overstep, my friend, but aren't the romantic plans usually made for dinner?"

"Well, yes…but Jane has graciously agreed to adjusting our schedule for this day so that I may spend the time after lunch aiding my brother in a gesture of his own." A lump formed in your throat at the words. "It seems he wishes to get into the spirit of the holiday, and I am simply ecstatic that he came to me asking for a helping hand."

"I asked nothing of you, you over-muscled oaf," you heard the raven-haired god call out from the main entrance, two large packages hovering a few inches above the ground blanketed with a glow of green from his magic. "You volunteered when you imposed yourself in my space and hovered over my phone."

"Pfft, semantics," Thor waved off, already making his way over to Loki so that he could do some more apparently unnecessary volunteer work. "Are the flowers in one of your parcels?"

"I like flowers!" Morgan chirped from her seat, bouncing in place with bright excited eyes. "Prince Loki, can I help? Please?"

He let out an exaggerated sigh, a trace of a fond, amused smile betraying his facade. "Very well, little Stark. Come along."

Your goddaughter squealed, skipping over to Thor and placing her tiny hand in his. "Uncle Barbie, tell me who his princess is?" He leaned down to whisper the answer in her ear, making her sprint in place with even more excitement. "I promise I won't say a word."

"Barbie? Like your doll, little Lady Stark?" You could practically see the wheels turning in Loki's head from learning about the nickname.

Morgan nodded her head vigorously. "Auntie Y/N came up with it. She calls him Macho Barbie." She proceeded to talk about how you came to give the blond Asgardian the nickname that bizarrely stuck to him more than "Point Break" ever did, said god looking like he already dreaded the coming days -- maybe even years -- now that his brother knew that little tidbit of information.

Once they'd all made their way up the stairs and you could no longer hear the little girl's chipper tone, realization sat heavy in your heart from her reaction to whatever Thor whispered to her just a few seconds ago. Whoever it was that Loki was going to make this grand gesture for, it was someone that Morgan knew enough to the point that she couldn't contain her excitement finding out who the woman was.

It was someone in SHIELD. Maybe even someone in the Compound.

"You good, Babes?" Nat's tone was cautious, approaching you like you were a wounded animal, teeth bared and ready to pounce if she so much as breathed wrong.

You answered with a terse nod of your head. "There is absolutely no fucking way I'm getting through today sober."

"Y/N, dude, I'm sor--"

Bang

"What the fuck?" All eyes grew wide at the sound, your body stiffening as another shot rang out, reverberating throughout the common area. "FRIDAY? Threat assessment," you called out, already readying yourself for combat once whoever was outside made their way to you in the compound.

"No threats have been detected," the AI answered simply. "There seems to be no living target for the gunman."

You could only manage to repeat your words. "What the fuck?" Shot after shot rang out, an interval of three to five seconds between them. Each deafening bang making you flinch, your head spinning with possible explanations on why FRIDAY didn't deem the supposed attacker as a threat. "Where's the target then?"

"Shots are being fired at the training area, by the track field, Agent Y/L/N." You all started to make your way to the area, everyone still on high alert despite FRIDAY's findings.

"Y/N?!" You shared a look with everyone else in the room at the sound of Loki's voice calling out for you, the god looking frantic as he appeared at the top of the main staircase, a sigh of relief escaping him once he saw you standing at the bottom. "You're alright," he exhaled, hurriedly making his way down. The quickening pace of the gunshots had him squaring his shoulders, stepping in front of you and marching toward the sound.

"We've handled way worse than gunfire, Laufeyson, you don't have to lead the defense," you told him with a touch more bite to your tone than you intended, irrational jealousy coursing through you knowing what he was preparing for before he started charging down the stairs. You sidestepped him and started walking toward the training area, brows furrowing together when you saw that from where you stood, the marks from the bullets digging into the ground where forming some sort of shape.

"It's a message…" Wanda mused, angling her head to and fro to see if she could get the whole picture from the ground. "I'm going up, I wanna see what's worth risking Pepper's wrath with all the lawn work she has to commission now." She held her hand out to you, wordlessly offering to take you up with her, an offer that you gladly took, clapping your hand over hers, both of you giggling as your feet lifted off the ground.

Once you two had risen high enough, it was clear what the message was. The shots had been positioned so that the markings would take on the shape of a heart, and the ongoing shots were creating initials. "N…" you read along, barely able to contain your excitement when you saw that the next letter was an R. "Natasha Romanoff!" you yelled out, the assassin's eyes lighting up with a mix of giddiness and curiosity as she tried to look at where the gunshots could've been coming from.

You did your best to turn your head, trying to see who was behind the gesture, kicking your feet in the air once you saw the gunman. "What? Who is it, Y/N?"

"It's Barnes," you squeaked, giving Rogers a reckless wave when you caught sight of him jogging toward all of you with a megaphone in hand.

"Natasha Romanoff," Bucky's voice boomed through the speaker system, making the usually cool and collected former Russian spy put a hand over her mouth to hide the way she was steadily turning pink from how flustered she was. "I know I have a long way to go to make up for how we first met, but I think you're swell and I'd like to try starting it off with maybe dinner tonight?" Both you and Wanda squealed and held each other tight mid-air watching her nod her answer, running over to her once your feet touched the ground again.

"You two won't be pissed if I take a rain check for tonight, will you?" she cautioned, still a wistful tone in her voice from processing what was happening.

"Absolutely not, you go enjoy your date. More drinks to go around and all that," you told her with the biggest smile. "But tomorrow night we're all staying at my place and you're giving us a full report."

"And remember to wear the red lacy underwear," Wanda teased with a comical wiggle of her eyebrows, earning her a poke to the ribs from both of you.

Nat pulled away from the two of you, walking back toward the indoor gym with Steve walking alongside her, starting to talk about how his best friend had been trying to work up the nerve to ask her out since he got sworn in to the team nearly a year ago. From the sound of the conversation, it seemed that Rogers was divulging some information that Barnes probably swore him to secrecy not so long ago.

"And then there were seven," Shaun spoke up, walking toward  you and the sorceress and clapping a hand on each of your shoulders. "Thor came through and left the barrels in the kitchen for us."

You were about to start talking about the food arrangements when the sight of Wanda's husband flying toward you all with a bouquet of camellias and hydrangeas in his hand. "Wanda, my love, I owe you my deepest apologies."

"Whatever for, Vis?" She broke away from you and Shaun to greet the synthezoid, placing her hands on his upper arms as he pulled her in for a chaste kiss.

"It did not occur to me that you might have wanted to make plans for today until Mr Stark had gone into detail of his own itinerary today for his wife," he explained, handing her the bouquet. "Unfortunately I cannot procure a reservation for us tonight, but I still wish to do something for you. Would you allow me the honor of making you a meal and perhaps watching a movie in the private theater?"

You and Shaun gripped each other's hands like you were high schoolers watching their best friend get asked out on their first big date, shaking and pushing each other over the sweetness of the gesture. "I don't need fancy restaurants or pretty flowers, Vis. Getting to spend time with you, especially after everything that's happened to us, is more than enough. I just need you."

The Sokovian turned back to face you and Shaun, a touch of guilt in her expression. "Rain check? I'll bring extra snacks tomorrow night to make up for it?"

"Don't worry about it, Babes," you reassured her, both you and the martial artist waving off her worries. "Enjoy your evening."

The couple have you a curt nod and a smile before happily flying away hand in hand back to their apartment.

"And then there were five," you and Shaun said in unison, walking back to the common area to load up those barrels that Thor left for tonight's 'festivities'. When you got to the kitchen area, Morgan was adorably sitting atop one of the barrels in question, feet happily swinging in the air with a big smile on her face.

"Off the goods, little Stark, we're not risking you getting drunk your dad's gonna kill us," Shaun said in a panic, already lifting the little girl up and off the barrel and making her squeal and giggle as she giddily exclaimed "I'm flying!".

"If you really think that she can get drunk from osmosis, we have a lot to talk about, sweet little summer child," you joked, walking up to one barrel and starting to push it toward the garage. "Think you can use that ancient mystical ring magic for makeshift wheels so we don't bust out our lungs lugging this all the way to your truck?"

"I can assist you, darling." Your skin bristled at the sound of Loki's voice, taking every ounce of strength you had to not stiffen or recoil at his use of the word. He was only saying it out of habit. Probably a remnant of his upbringing as a prince on Asgard.

He didn't mean it the way you wanted -- more than anything -- for him to mean it.

"No need, Laufeyson, I've got it from here," Strange butted in, conjuring an energy shield with his magic that he slid under the barrels, starting to wheel them toward the garage. "Carry on. Oh and friendly advice, man to god? Your future girlfriend, you know, the one you're making this big gesture for? She might not appreciate you calling other women 'darling', so I highly recommend kicking the habit while it's still early. Avoiding future battles and all."

The god sucked his teeth, the action causing his jaw to clench and sending your thoughts someplace they had no business being. You had no business thinking about another woman's man that way, no matter how hot he was.

"I will remember that. Thank you, Strange," he said softly, making his way back up the stairs.

"Thanks for the save," you muttered, opening the door to the garage for the sorcerer to guide the barrels through. "Don't think I could've gotten away with being on Bitch Mode with him a second time today. Not like I can help it, though. Some lucky Midgardian bitch is gonna be his by the end of the night."

"Pretty sure you're the only woman I know that considers being Laufeyson's girlfriend a good thing."

"Yeah, Y/N, like I know he's on our side and everything but most days he still has me on edge. Like passing him on a bad day's gonna get me a stab in the ribs, not a death glare like normal people," Shaun concurred, nudging your shoulder to hopefully stop your lamenting before you got in too deep. Again.

"I'm really down bad, huh," you sighed, letting out a little yip when a portal to the dark dimension appeared just a few feet in front of you. "The fuck--"

"Hey Strange," a reverberating ethereal voice called out from the portal, and then a tall woman with platinum hair with beauty that you could only describe as 'dark celestial' stepped out. Her eyes trained on the sorcerer next to you. "Heard that today's something of a holiday in this dimension. Figured it might be a good idea to stop by and maybe you could show me around your uh…" She turned to you and Shaun, both your jaws slack on the ground. "What's this place called again?"

"Avengers Compound?" Shaun said at the same time that you blurted out, "New York?"

"Compound York?" She raised an eyebrow at the two of you, amusement coloring her face as she gave you both a once over.

"Eherm…no," you answered her, chuckling nervously and shifting your weight between your feet. "This structure here is Avengers Compound, which is in Upstate New York. New York is a city, but also a region…and a state…?" you drifted off, already feeling a pinch in your head from trying to explain the best you could. You looked over to Shaun. "The more I try finding the words to explain, the more I realize how complicated it actually is. Save me."

Stephen stepped forward. "How about I just take you on a tour around New York, then?" His face stretched out into a wide grin, clearly unable to hide his giddiness over the knowledge that she crossed dimensions to be with him today.

"Is that…New York the city, the region, or the state?"

"The city. New York, New York. There's a whole song about it and everything I can play it for you in the car." He proceeded to drape his arm around the dark sorceress, leading her to his car further down the expansive garage.

"Your little human friend is right, things here are complicated. Downright confusing." She looked back at you and Shaun again as they walked away, hand in hand. "It was nice meeting you both! Stephen speaks highly of you all," she called out, her majestic voice echoing throughout the area.

"You're really pretty!" you blurted out in response, causing her voice to melt into a chuckle, telling her partner how she found you 'adorable'. You threw your head back and groaned toward the ceiling. "I'm a fucking dork."

"At least you're an adorable dork," Shaun shot back, nudging your shoulder and lightly touching the back of your head to get you facing forward again. His phone chimed with a text notification. "Katy. Her shift's over, she said she'll get us a room for eight. I'm texting her now to get a smaller one." He held up his hand, palm facing you. "And then there were four?"

You sighed, clapping your hand against his, your friend giving you a reassuring squeeze once you did. "And then there were four." You jerked your head toward the apartments. "I'll just go change into something that involves 'eating pants' and I'll meet you down here in ten."

The walk back up to your apartment wasn't that long, but it still felt like it with how quickly you slipped back into your lamenting over how your friends had such an eventful day today. Nat had her very public grand gesture. Wanda had her husband trying to cook human food in the name of spending time with her. Strange had his girlfriend literally rip a hole between dimensions to get here.

"And all I have waiting for me are two barrels of mead and karaoke microphones," you muttered, walking through your front door and begrudgingly unzipping your dress from the back. You were just about to half-stomp your way to your closet when something on your bed caught your eye.

Three shiny roses lined with gold, tied together with a gold ribbon at the foot of the bed. A large heart-shaped box of chocolates at the center. And a little teddy bear dressed as a bee with red antennas that had hearts at the end, at its fluffy little feet was an embroidered message. "Bee mine".

"What theeeee fu--"

"Y/N," an all too familiar voice called out from behind you. The air left your lungs at the sight of Loki in a form-fitting forest green button-down tucked into onyx black slacks, tucking his hair behind his ears before smoothing his hands over his shirt. "You're early--"

"What're you doing--Was this you?" you babbled, gesturing at the gifts on your bed. For a second, your heart beat erratically, the thought that maybe this was for you, before reality and logic sunk in. "Okay I think I know what's happening…"

"You do?"

"Yeah, you got the wrong apartment. Gimme a minute to change and I can help you move all this over to--"

The rest of your words died in a little squeak at the back of your throat, the god closing the distance between you two with a few long strides, framing your face in his hands and placing a tender fleeting kiss to your lips.

"Those tokens of my affection are exactly where they belong, little mortal," he murmured against you, tracing up the bridge of your nose with his lips until he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "As am I."

You let out a shaky breath, fighting against the urge to melt in the god's embrace as he snaked his hands around your waist. "The gesture your brother mentioned this morning…this?" He proceeded to press kisses down the side of your face, his warm exhale as he whispered 'yes' into your skin making you light-headed. "This is for me?" you gasped out, whatever was remaining of your logical brain smacking the rest of you with how stupid a question that was.

"Who else would it be for, darling?" He pressed a kiss to your jaw, tightening his arms around you and pressing your body against his. "There is no other in this or any other Realm that could have captured my heart so completely." He kissed the corner of your jaw, making his way down the side of your neck, holding you tighter to keep you up when your knees finally buckled from the sensation. "I did this for you, because I wish to ask something of you. That you become mine as much as I am yours."

"M-Mine?" you stammered. "Y-You're mine?" Since when? How come you didn't get this particular memo? Could've saved you a lot of turmoil and nights spent alone staring up at the ceiling trying and failing to hypnotize yourself out of being into him.

He kissed the tip of your nose, resting his forehead against yours. "I have always been yours, darling."

Your hands traveled up the length of his arms, like you were grounding yourself and trying to tell yourself that this was real. He was really here and he was telling you the words you wanted more than anything to hear for who even knew how long at this point.

He's here, you thought to yourself. And he's mine.

There was only one word that you could muster up in that moment. "Yes." I've always been yours, too.

Karaoke Dreamin' on Such a Winter's Day group chat

myfirstnameisagent: Don't kill me but…rain check?

busboy10: Are you kidding me, Y/N?? You said you'd be down in 5 minutes tops and we're gonna meet up with Katy.

nromanoff: Sweet, now you're gonna have a story to tell tomorrow night, too.

myfirstnameisagent: Actually about that…rain check on tomorrow night, too? I'm kinda not there right now…

busboy10: There?? What do you mean "There"?? How'd you get out the Compound without me seeing you? Or whoever the hot date you're ditching me for is?

imjustwong: Where is everybody? We ordered nachos.

myfirstnameisagent: Yeah…I'm not in the Compound…or in New York…any of the "New York"s. Might not be for the next week. Maybe more. The three of you better not drink all the mead in one go.

busboy10: ??????

thevision: Agent Y/L/N, my wife is showing many signs of distress over her inability to contact you. Your phone seems to be going straight to voicemail.

thewanda: Y/N WHERE ARE YOU I HEARD A BANG FROM YOUR APARTMENT ARE YOU OKAY??

myfirstnameisagent: Babes, I'm fine. That was just the Bifrost.

thewanda: EXCUSE ME??

nromanoff: BABES WHAT--

pointbreakbarbie: My friends, I heard the Bifrost be summoned near Lady Y/N's abode. Is there an emergency? Must I make my way to Asgard to assist?

myfirstnameisagent: Thor your brother said if he finds you here I have permission to stab you, don't even fucking think about it.

thewanda: I REPEAT. EXCUSE ME???

busboy10: Y/N are you in Asgard?? With Loki??

myfirstnameisagent: Yes. And yes. See you in two weeks.

thewanda: He better use that healing magic on your legs so you don't walk funny.

A/N: It took me a whole month to write this because real life was trying TKO me in the work department and also I got sucked in to the worlds of Hello Kitty Island Adventure, Disney Dreamlight Valley, and Delicious World and I've been too weak to even attempt time management 🤣

I'm working on stuff tho I swear it 🫡 Horny bitches cuts are in progress, stories are in progress…lots of progress 😅😅

Also for reference, this was the lil stuffed bear that Loki gave Reader:

and the roses looked like this:

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears

[marvels-agents100]

This was EXACTLY what I was hoping for. As gruesome as it was it was DESERVED. YES LOKI TEAR THEM APARRRRT 😍😍😍😍😍

Also that little ‘my love’ at the end 🥰🥰🥰 ugh I am a sucker for protective guard dog boyfriend Loki so this is everything.

What a great build up to this. This whole fic is so well structured and well written. I’m anxious to see how MC will react to what happened when she comes to, whether she will be disgusted or if this traumatic experience had tarnished her golden heart.

Great job, my friend ✨✨

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 - 𝐂𝐡. 𝟓𝟒

Loki x Reader

Chapter 54

⤜ 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯.

❗️𝘛𝘞: 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘦, 𝘦𝘵𝘤.❗️

𝘈/𝘕: 𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 1! 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘫𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 2. 𝘙𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥!

You stare at the man sitting across from you, jaw dropping in disbelief from the words that just left his mouth.

“Wait, what?” 

“Jacob’s been fired.” He repeats with a somber look on his face. “He’s done and will never step foot into this building, or any other building I own again. What he did- what he was doing to you this whole time,” He shakes his head, a mixed look of anger and disappointment spreading across his face. “I can’t even tell you how disgusted I am with him, how disgusted I am with myself. You were trying to tell me this whole time but I wasn’t listening. How could I be so ignorant?”

You didn’t really know how to respond. You weren’t used to Tony being this serious. “It’s not your fault, Tony. I’m the one who kept it hidden from everyone for so long.” You profess.

He shakes his head vigorously. “That doesn’t matter. All the signs were there and I- we should have paid more attention. I was an idiot to think that you guys had something going on between you romantically. Even if there was, he had no right to treat you that way, and that’s why he’ll never work in this part of town again if I can help it.”

Your brows furrow. “But how can you just… fire him? Wouldn’t that be hard to do since it’s just my word against his?”

Tony leans back in his chair, gaze narrowing. “Yeah, it would have been seen as unethical if I had laid him off without solid proof. Fortunately for us, he was an idiot who thought that I wouldn’t be able to access deleted camera footage. I have backups of the backup’s backups. There’s nothing anyone would be able to hide from me if I really wanted to know.” 

His eyes grow heavy with guilt as he leans forward on the desk. “I saw everything. Your fight in the lab, him breaking into your room, and a whole slew of other things he thought he could hide from me. Turns out when you’re a billionaire you don’t immediately recognize when someone is stealing money from you.” 

Your eyes widen at that. “He was stealing money? Doesn’t he have his own?”

“Nope. Turns out Daddy Bale was no longer giving up the money for free, hence another reason why Jacob took the job here at Stark Industries.” Tony smiles wryly. “Guess that’s what I get for hiring someone I didn’t know very well. I guess I thought I did because he’s the son of a loyal colleague. However, you didn’t deserve anything he did to you, and for that, I am deeply sorry. I know I let you down, we all did and it will never happen again.”

A huge wave of relief washes over you, making you almost want to cry. There was no better feeling than knowing that you were safe and didn’t have to look over your shoulder everywhere you went. At least not around the tower. Jacob possibly being able to get to you on the outside was concerning, but that was a problem for another time. Right now you deserved to bask in the feeling of knowing he was no longer going to be an issue. Jacob Bale was gone, and so was his reign of terror upon you.

“Thank you, Tony. You don’t know how much this means to me. I’m sorry that it got to this point. I never would have expected this to get so out of hand. I know you’re probably burning bridges with the Bale family because of this, so I am sorry for that too.”

He scoffs, waving his hand. “No partnership is worth keeping if the cost is so high, and that cost was your well-being. I have a strong feeling that Bill Bale is smart enough not to try and stir up trouble over his son’s abysmal behavior. All he will end up doing is continuing to enable Jacob and make him worse, and I don’t want no part in any of that.”

You nod sadly. “Jacob can be pretty convincing when he really wants something, that’s why it was so hard for me to tell you guys what was happening. As relieved as I am that he will no longer be around, I hate knowing that he will probably still have no other consequences and get away with this. No other person should have to be targeted and terrorized by him.”

“And they don’t have to be.” Tony eyes you. “I would never tell you what to do in any circumstance, but I highly recommend you think about pressing charges.”

Your mouth goes agape. “You want me to sue him? Do you think it would work?” 

Tony shrugs and rolls his eyes. “There’s no guarantee since our legal system is utter crap. You have no idea how many things I used to get away with because of money and reputation, but this is something I am willing to fight for whether we lose or not. Our job is to protect and defend you, and this is part of it.”

You stay silent, thinking about your options. Tony was right, Jacob deserved more than just a slap on the wrists for the awful things he’s done to you. With the Avengers behind you and having access to proof of Jacob’s harassment, you had a chance at actually making him face the consequences of his behavior. The only worry you had was that Kayla might hate you forever because of it.

“I’ll think about it.” You answer. “As much as I want to say yes right now, I know that this would be a challenging process for all of us, so I really want to think this through.” You look away with a deep sadness in your gaze. “If I am being honest, out of all of the things that Jacob has done to me, the only thing I hated him the most for doing was taking Lucky away.”

Tony sighs, a look of contrition appearing on his face. “Well, you see, about that…”

You meet his gaze with a questioning look and he scratches the back of his neck. 

“What?” you ask apprehensively.

“Lucky’s not really gone.”

Your eyes widened. “What? He’s here?”

“No, not here, but at the compound upstate. Steve goes to check on him several times a week.” Tony admits.

“And you’re just now telling me this? I thought Jacob sent him away.”

“Yes, he did. He tried to send him to some animal breeding place, but we weren’t having that. I don’t usually lie to my employees but Steve and I had already discussed what would happen before we called you into that meeting. We wanted to see what Jacob would do in this situation, and unfortunately, we had to make it seem real, hence why we didn’t tell you.”

You don’t know if you’re feeling angry at Tony for keeping this information from you or happy at this surprising news, but the overwhelming feeling of relief hit you the hardest. This whole time you thought Lucky was somewhere terrible and that you’d never be able to see him again. You were practically vibrating in your chair from all of the mixed emotions you were feeling.

Tony lifts his wrist to glance down at his watch. “Speaking of the devil, here he comes.”

You were about to ask him what he meant by that before you hear a knock on his door. The door swings open and in walks Natasha with Lucky on the side of her, Steve slowly trailing behind them.

You jump up out of your seat and scramble over to the fluffy dog and he does the same, almost knocking you onto the ground with the force of his big body.

You squeeze him tight, laying your head on top of his. “I missed you so much.”

Lifting your head you look at Nat. “You knew about this too?”

She shakes her head. “I was just as clueless as you. I almost punched this guy when he told me where they actually sent Lucky.” She says, nodding at Steve and he holds his hand up in defense.

You send him a genuinely happy smile, remembering when he told you not to worry about Lucky. Now you understand why Steve and Tony were acting so strange and out of character that day. They knew something was up with Jacob and wanted to test it without being too obvious. 

“Thank you, Steve.” You say with gratitude in your voice.

He nods and smiles softly at you. “You’re welcome, angel.”

A couple of days pass by and you’ve never felt more at peace with things. Jacob’s absence was noticeable in a good way. A lot of the guards he brought on were outside of Stark Industries so they went away when he did, being replaced with more trustworthy and experienced men and women. 

Even though you were the number one target on his list of abuse, it turns out he was tormenting other people as well. Many of your coworkers and staff came out and expressed how demeaning and degrading he was to them. This pissed you off further, knowing that Jacob was also subjecting many other helpless people to his disgusting behavior. If you hadn’t thought to go through with pressing charges against him, you sure would now. You would not only be doing it for you but for all the others who had to deal with him as well.

All of the team were going on a mission out of the country for a whole week. You were invited to come with them several times, but you politely declined saying you could use the alone time to think about things. They were clearly reluctant to leave you alone for so long but accepted your choice.

“Alright, kid. When we get back the first thing I’m going to do is call my lawyer. We’re going to sue the hell out of that son of a bitch.” Tony said, ruffling your hair and you chuckled.

Steve looked at you with a friendly gaze. “Are you sure you want to stay? It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“Yes, I’m positive. I need this time to sort out some things. I’m gonna take a break from work and try to relax. I can’t really do that while traveling through Europe.” You said.

He nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. If you need anything don’t hesitate to call me. Take care of yourself, alright?”

You confirmed that you’d do just that before you hugged them all goodbye.

They had left hours ago and you linger in the common area for a while, just taking in the silence. You had made a choice and knew what you had to do, and this was the perfect time to do it. However, you were afraid and wanted to give yourself more time to think, but there wasn’t much more you could think of that would make a difference.

Getting up off the couch, you make your way into the elevator, using your thumbprint to travel down to the basement. You take a deep breath before stepping off of the elevator. There were no other employees working down here today, another thing you were grateful for. 

You walk in silence, hearing the echo of your shoes bounce off of the walls. You pause when you get to the door, seeing no guards. No Conner and no James. They must have left along with Jacob, which was another relief. You didn’t think you could handle any of their assholery today.

You walk into the room and immediately meet the gaze of the man you’ve been avoiding for days. He lifts his head, dull eyes meeting yours, yet they seem to sparkle like rare gems the moment they settle on you.

You walk closer to the glass, giving him a small smile. “Hi, Loki.” You say meekly.

“Hello,” He simply replies, eyeing you warily. You could see how tense his shoulders are, his lithe but powerful body moving carefully as he strides closer towards you from the other side of the glass wall.

“I’m sorry for taking so long to come down. I just needed some time to process everything.” You explain, twisting your fingers.

“No need to apologize. I completely understand.” He says. You could see the way his jaw twitches as he eyes your neck, and how his eyes dull again when they traveled to your bare wrist. You weren’t wearing either the necklace or the bracelet and you could tell he was put off by that.

“So… I spoke to my father. It was messy, but he told me everything.” You say, looking at Loki with a somber expression. “Did you know how horrible her death was? Obviously, you know now since he showed you the files, but back then, did you know? When you…” You trail off, clearing your throat lightly. This was not something that was easy to speak about, but you had to ask him.

He sighs heavily, eyes closing shut. “I was… on a mission. I had one objective at that time. One goal in mind, and I wanted power. I wanted Odin and Thor to hurt, and hurting others was only a means to an end. There was a level of expected brutality but no, I was not fully aware of how barbaric it was.”

You swallow, not knowing how to feel about his confession. He continues looking down at the floor before meeting your gaze again, a melancholy expression on his face.

“I want you to know that… I don’t enjoy hurting people. I don’t enjoy it.” He admits with vulnerability in his tone. “I do it because I have to, because I’ve had to. Because it’s part of the illusion. It’s the cruel, elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear.”

Your mouth opens at his confession as you stare at him in awe. 

He lowers his head, eyes closing shut. “I am a villain.”

You stay quiet, not having been prepared to respond to his unanticipated feelings of self-loathing. You understood that Loki was not happy with himself and his actions, but it was complicated. His words now showed how further complicated the situation really was, how complex he was. You had spent so much time trying to make him a “good” person but now you realized that he could only be better. He was not just a black-or-white type of person. Sometimes he could be pure, and sometimes dark, but overall he was intricately gray.

He lifts his head, gazing at you with deep sorrowfulness. “I am so sorry. I have done so many terrible things, but this is the most shameful I have ever been. I cannot change the past but if I had known that my actions would have affected you in any way I would have chosen differently. I never want to cause harm to anyone close to you. You have been so selfless, granting me with your time, effort, and energy when I did not deserve it. No one else would spare a second thought to help a monster like me, but you have continued to do so.” 

You swallow, avoiding his intense gaze. 

“I hurt you in the most unimaginable way and I am sorry. I do not know what you have decided, and I would understand if you never want to see me again. With that being said, I would also like to let you know that is not what I want.” He shakes his head. “Not that my wants succeed yours, I simply believe that you should know how I feel about you, regardless of your decision.”

You try to swallow down the angry tears you feel building up behind your lids. Pointing at the god, you narrow your gaze at him. 

“No, Loki, don’t do that.” You say tearfully. “You can’t just place me in this horrible situation and tell me that you don’t want me to go. You don’t deserve to say things like that.” You shake your head. “You just can’t…”

He looks down, nodding his head in silence.

“I mean, do you truly understand the situation I’m in? You say you do, but I don’t think you really have a grasp on how complicated this is for me. What you did in 2012… you killed so many people, and my mother was one of them. She died all because of your little power trip. I understand that it was more than that, you weren’t exactly yourself. Thanos…”

You see him visibly flinch at hearing the name of his worst enemy, the mad titan.

“... he played a huge part in that, I know. So did Thor, Odin, and all of the others who let you down. You were neglected and told you would always be less than, that you didn’t belong and so you tried to go and find your worth in other places. By doing terrible things and being what people expected from you. I understand that.” 

You take a breath. “But that’s absolutely no excuse. You’ve treated me horribly in the past, you’ve bullied me, said terrible things to me, you’ve used me, and hurt my father.” You say tearfully. “But I would endure every single thing again with no hesitation if that meant my mother would still be alive today. And as upset as I am with you for what you did, and at my dad for hiding this from me, I am just as upset with myself. Maybe even more. I am such a hypocrite,” 

You scoff. “I mean, what kind of person am I if the only reason I felt the severity of a whole war you led was just because I recently found that someone I loved died from it. Yes, I felt sorrow for the people who you harmed, but I was so willing to look past every single thing you’ve done because I had no personal consequences, and that feels so sickening to me.”

He shakes his head. “You have done nothing wrong. It is only natural to feel that way.”

“But not for me!” You exclaim. “If I am such a caring person that you say I am, then why do I find myself ignoring my values and adjusting my morals because I got attached to you? Loki, I find you so interesting. You are extremely smart and tragically charming and that blinded me.”

“You were so young when we first met.” He says as if it was a good excuse for you to be blinded by him.

You nod. “Yeah, but I’m not anymore. And if I am who you think I am, who I say I want to be, then  I have to start making decisions that align with that.” You mumble, eyes traveling away from him. “No matter how hard it may be.”

You can see him staring at you from the corner of your eye, and your heart sinks when he lowers his head slowly. His shoulder droops and he looks so sad standing there before you.

“Yes… I understand.” Loki mutters solemnly.

A tear drops at that, and you sniffle. “I’m glad you do. Thank you.” 

You bite your lip hard, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. “Then you know how hard it is for me to make this decision.”

He acknowledges you with a short nod of his head, meeting your gaze with a pained expression. He opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but stops himself, looking away again. 

You couldn’t believe how much you’ve both grown in your friendship. You remember when you were just some naive and way too curious little 15-year-old girl, running away from the scary, intense god anytime he saw you. Now the roles were reversed. Here was telling you that he didn’t want to lose you because of his mistakes, and here you were wanting to do just that. You want to walk away from him and never look back.

You let out a small sob, wiping away the tears rolling down your face. 

“That’s why it’s so hard for me to say that…I’m not going to just walk away from this. After everything you’ve done, I still want to be your friend. I still want to help you, and I am determined to get you out of this place.”

His head shoots up and he stares at you in disbelief. “What?” he gasps.

You shake your head, giving him a tearful smile. “Loki, I can’t seem to hate you even if I tried, and to be honest, I really considered it. I can’t seem to tear myself away from you no matter what you do. I care about you deeply and I still want to be friends with you. I can’t afford to lose another person that I care about, and neither can you.”

You walk closer to the glass. “What’s happened is in the past, and I know my mother. She would not want me to hold a grudge against someone for the rest of my life, or sabotage something that could be so great. I know that you have the power to do so many great things. You had a very rough start and have held a lethal amount of anger and resentment that you misplaced on others who care about you, but I could see that right from the start. You are more than just a trickster, a liar, or all the other things that people have misjudged you for. You’re more than all the things you were told to believe, and what you have told yourself in turn. You have so much more to give and I want to be the person to help show you that.”

You place your hand on the glass. “You could change the world, Loki. You could be whoever you want. I believe in you.” You say in a soft and genuine tone.

Loki feels his heart race as he quickly stalks closer to you from the other side. He looks down at you with a furious expression which catches you off guard.

“You senseless, naive little girl. Are you insane?” He asks, almost sounding genuinely upset with you. “You have every right to hate me and walk away from me. You deserve to be away from the abysmal creature that I am and I thought you were going to be smart enough to do so this time, regardless of my desires.” 

He breathes heavily, anguish spreading over his face as he leans closer. “I should ban you from this room. Prevent you from being able to come back for your own good.” He whispers, before his face drops. He looks as if he was being tormented as if you were the one tormenting him. “But as much as you are a selfless creature, I am a selfish one and I cannot seem to do that.”

You smile sadly at him. “I guess we’re both pretty pathetic, huh?”

His laugh is sincere and hearty as he shakes his head.

“I am assuming this means we are still… friends?” He asks nervously and you nod.

“Yes, we’re still friends… at least for now.” You narrow your gaze at him playfully and he grants you with a smile you can only describe as being utterly beautiful. Loki was mesmerizing, and you almost melt right into a puddle as you gaze at him in awe.

You jump at the sudden sound of obnoxiously loud, slow clapping from behind you. Spinning around with alarm, you gasp loudly at the sight before. You watch as the person you didn’t expect to see ever again walks from behind the pillar that hid the secret entrance where the staircase used to be. 

You hear Loki say something, but all you are focused on is Jacob Bale standing across the room from you, arms crossed with a smug look on his face.

“Wow, that was absolutely beautiful, it’s almost sickening.” He remarks mockingly.

Your body goes rigid as you eye him warily. “Jacob, I don’t know what you’re doing here but you need to leave. Now.” You demand in a harsh tone. “You no longer work here since Tony fired you. Do you not remember that?”

“Yeah, I know that. But I don’t care. I came back because I have some unfinished business to take care of.” He shrugs while eyeing you. “I bet you’re wondering how I slipped through. Let's just say you’re not the only one who knows about secret passages. All I had to do was follow you one day to find out about this one.”

You feel anger steadily rising in your chest, ignoring Loki’s insistent pleas for you to stop behind you. 

“You’ve been stalking me?”

Jacob's smirk grows as he tilts his head at you. “Is that not obvious by now? I’ve been following you for so long you’d probably kick yourself for not noticing it sooner. When you were out in the city walking your precious mutt, I was there the whole time. When you were out in Brooklyn having dinner with America’s golden boy, I was there. Hell, when you stormed into the room and slapped your father into next week, you were so pissed that you didn’t even notice that I was sitting on the other side of the table from him!” He laughs. 

“By the way, how does it feel to know that your father is a lying piece of shit and your “friend” here is a murderous traitor?”

“Don’t talk about them like that.” You glower intensely at him. “You know nothing about them. The only piece of shit here is you, that’s why Tony fired you.”

“Why not? I mean, it’s true! Your father lied to you about your mommy dying a horrible death, and your alien is the one who committed the crime. Yet here you are pining over him like some desperate slut.”

Before you can say anything, Loki quickly interjects. “You dare to insult her character as if you are not a venomous fiend that’s been preying upon her very being? You are a vile creature, dripping with the filth of your own malevolence and I will tear you apart if you ever dare to utter those words to her again.” 

The smug look on Jacob’s face drops into a stony one as he turns his attention towards the god behind you.

“Oh really? I would like to see you try. You’re not so tough when you’re stuck in a box, are you?”

“Just as you weren’t when I had you in my grasp, wringing your fragile little neck so hard that I could have ripped your head from your body with one. little. squeeze.” Loki says darkly.

While Jacob pales at the memory you frown, not having knowledge of this happening. Clearly, Loki and Jacob had a fight but you were never told about this. Shaking your head, you glare at Jacob, absolutely tired of his antics. It seems as if everything bad that was happening in your life right now was the result of turning down a spoiled, entitled, jackass. It was getting old, and he was pissing you off beyond belief. You couldn't hold it in anymore.

You glare at him with so much hatred in your eyes. “You did all of this just to get back at me? And for what? For not wanting to sleep with you? You stalked me, hurt me, messed with my father, all because you can't have me?” 

He smirks at your words, but it falters when he sees you laugh at him. “Jacob, are you really that stupid to think that any of this would work? You may have put me in impossible positions but no matter what you do, you will never have me. No amount of money, looks, popularity or repulsive tactics will make me bend you. I would die before I ever let you have any part of me.” 

Jacobs' smile slowly fades away, and his eyes go empty. He looks like a soulless monster as he starts walking closer to you.

Loki calls out to you, saying your name gruffly and telling you to get inside of the cell. You start to back away slowly, not wanting to take your eyes away from the maniac in front of you for one second. 

“Dove, get inside. Now.” Loki repeats urgently while staring at Jacob. The god's nostrils were flared, lips pressed in a tight line as he harshly eyes the man slowly creeping towards you.

“Get away from her you filthy parasite!”

Jacob doesn’t give Loki even a glance at Loki, tilting his head at you as he walks closer.

“See here’s the thing, for the longest time I thought you were thwarting my advances because you were so hung up on being Cap’s bitch, but you have no idea how surprised I was when I found out that you wanted to fuck an alien instead. Here I am, listening to you both profess your undying care and loyalty to each other as if it means something. It’s laughable! Like anything between you two could ever work.” He sneers, a terrifying look of entitlement on his face.

“I’m repulsive? No, you are absolutely disgusting. You had a perfectly good man right in front of you and you fucked it all up. I'm not incarcerated, I haven't murdered tons of people, I'm rich, successful, and I'm actually human. But I guess that's not enough for an adventurous slut like you, huh?”

Loki’s basically shouting at you to get inside the cell, and Jacob laughs at him. “What’s wrong, Loki? Are you scared for your little human whore? I bet you wish you could just tear me to pieces.” He mocks before looking back at you, still talking to Loki. “Too bad you’re locked in there and not out here because that’s exactly what I’m going to do to her.”

Loki yells and you gasp, springing into action when Jacob lunges towards you. Dodging out of his way, you run towards the cell entrance, almost reaching the door when suddenly you feel a hand grips your hair and you yelp.

You’re being yanked backward onto the cold floor, the breath being knocked out of you as Jacob stands over you.

You are conscious of Loki yelling and backing on the cell door, and that’s enough for you to ignore your pain, quickly moving your legs to swipe Jacob’s from underneath him, causing him to stumble on the ground. You try to stand but he grips your ankle, pulling you back down and rolling on top of you. 

You both fight for dominance over the other and you’re grateful to feel more adrenaline than fear at this moment. Nat, Bucky, and especially Steve spent so many years making sure you had adequate training in preparation for an unfortunate event like this, and you couldn’t let their training go to waste. 

It was obvious that Jacob was stronger than you, but that didn’t mean that he had the skills to use that strength wisely. Jacob pinned your wrists above your head with a triumphant laugh, and seeing no other way out, you headbutted him, causing him to groan and loosen his grip on you.

Snatching your arms out of his grasp you push him back with all your might. You roll from underneath him and when he tries to take hold of you again, you knee him right in the face. You hear a scream and the sound of cracking as Jacob stumbles backward holding his nose. Blood drips down his face and he groans, shaking his head and pointing at you.

“You broke my nose you fucking bitch!”

You turn your head when Loki calls out your name again. “Get in here now. I need you to let me out.” You blink at his request, still tired from your fight with Jacob, but eventually you find yourself hurrying to his cell. You grab the handle but before you can open it, a sharp pain enters your neck and you stumble, involuntarily letting go of the door.

“NO!” you hear Loki shout from inside of the cell.

Turning your head, you see two figures crowding the entrance to the room. Both guards stand there, Conner with his arms crossed and James pointing what looks to be some sort of gun at you.

You reach back to feel a needle in your neck and you quickly snatch it out, throwing it to the ground before stumbling around. You feel wobbly on your feet and your vision goes blurry. Loki is pounding on the walls, you can hear the utter strength in his hits and the worry in his voice which worries you in turn.

Loki never sounded worried, and you realize the reason for his concern when two pairs of hands grab your arms, lifting your limp figure upright and dragging you closer to a bloodied nose pissed off Jacob.

“Get your filthy hands off of her!” Loki growls.

The god's voice renews what little strength you have in you, causing you to flail around. You go wild, successfully yanking your arms away from one of the guards and using the freed limb to throw a punch at the other. You’re aware that you’re fighting against two men who are much larger than you, but that realization doesn’t hinder you. You do what you can in your drugged state, biting, kicking, hitting, and scratching against them until you can't.

Until Jacob takes control of the situation by reaching towards you and grabbing your neck in a chokehold. The lack of air stops your movements, allowing Conner and James to return their grip on you, even harsher than before. You can feel their fingers digging into your skin and you squirm in discomfort.

“Keep a tight hold of her,” Jacob tells them before letting his death grip around your neck go.

Your lungs are filling with air but before you can do anything else, your head shoots back and a hot searing pain hits your face. You blink rapidly as you try to focus, dark spots appearing in your vision as you come to the frightening realization of what just happened. Jacob had punched you. 

Loki’s a complete animal in the cell now. You’ve never heard him yell so loud. He was clawing at the glass, screaming, thrashing around, and throwing large objects. He was trying to use his magic which was obvious by the green particles that we flying everywhere. You could barely even hear him through the ringing in your ears and the sound of your own heartbeat. You were so utterly exhausted. The drugs from the needle made you weak, and Jacob hitting you in the face made things even worse. 

“Yeah,” He says while leaning into your face. “How do you like that, huh? Now you know how it feels to be hit in the face.”

His constant threats, yelling, and pounding on the glass become background noise as your hearing fades in and out. You hate how unlike himself he sounds, how scared he must be at having to see all of this. It breaks your heart.

“Fuck you,” you spit out at the monster before you.

Jacob gives a bloody smile. “My pleasure,” He says before yanking you out of the guard's grip and dragging you closer to the cell.

“No,” you mumble, body too weak to fight him off. Your head was pounding, preventing you from being able to think clearly. You know what he wants to do, and you’re too weak to stop him. Tears build in your eyes and you sob as Jacob drops you to the ground, straddling your body.

“You know, I’ve thought about doing this so many times, but not like this.” He says, pulling out a knife from his back pocket. “I got close the time you were over at my sister’s house. She tried to keep me away from you, but you know Kayla, never good at keeping her word.” 

He takes the knife and saws at your shirt, tearing it in half. “ You act so tough but you’re very soft to the touch. It’s amazing really. If only I wasn’t interrupted in my exploration. I would’ve fucked you write there in my sister's house.”

You use what little mobility you have to try and push Jacob off of you. It was a weak and pathetic attempt, but Jacob was not happy nonetheless. He called both Conner and James over. 

“Grab her arms.” Conner took hold of your arms, placing them above your head. 

“Get off of her! Please!” Loki begs, pressing his hands against the glass. “I will do anything.”

“There’s nothing you can do buddy,” James says to him with a smirk. “All you can do is just watch and enjoy the show while you can. And after we’re done, your time is up. We’ll make sure the Avengers think that this was your doing. With your reputation, no one would even question it.”

You turn away from Loki, not being able to look at his pale, stricken face as the men before you manhandle you. Jacob laughs menacingly as he rubs his body against yours. He takes the knife and presses it to your collarbone, lightly trailing it down your chest and your stomach.

Your panic increases more and you start to shake your head mournfully, eyes closing and tears spilling down your cheeks. 

“It's okay sweetheart,” Conner whispers into your ear. “This will all be over soon. We're just gonna have a little fun first.” 

Jacob successfully pulls your pants down your legs. Once they are fully off you can feel the knife tearing into your shirt next. It rips right open and he yanks it off, leaving you in your bra and underwear. His hard, dry hands start to roam all over you, squeezing your breasts and scratching your skin harshly. 

Then you feel the knife slowly graze over your skin. It travels to your arm and he puts more pressure on it until you feel the sharp blade cutting into your skin. You feel the warmth of your blood dripping down your arm as you writhe and gasp in pain. 

Your hearing is still impaired, but you can hear Loki's roars and struggles getting louder. The glass seems to be shaking as he bangs on it, trying to get out. The floor is vibrating with his intense movements.

This was it, you thought to yourself. This is how it ends for you. This is how Loki will remember you. And out of everything else that was happening right now, that’s all you cared about the most.

Then, you hear the sound of a deep, thunderous roar and everything freezes right before an ear-splitting explosion of glass shatters all over the place. Rubble falls around you and a weight is being pulled off of you, the three men no longer surrounding you.

Your eyes are closed but you can hear a loud commotion of gunshots and yelling, then the sickening sound of bodies hitting the floor with screams of absolute terror following after.

The nauseating sound of bones breaking and flesh being torn into is something you try to drown out. The screams persist and you try to open your eyes to see who it was coming from, but you are too weak at this point. The blood loss from your arm and whatever other injuries Jacob gave you were making you light-headed. You’re exhausted, confused, and absolutely terrified.

You don’t remember how long it went on, but eventually everything stops. An eerie silence fills the room, and nothing but the sounds of your barely there breaths and the shaky breathing of another person is audible. Appreciating the peace and quiet you feel yourself start to drift off into the land of unconsciousness before you’re pulled back in by the sound of someone walking towards you. The person fell to their knees before you.

You let out a whimper, feeling scared for your life, but relax when gentle hands scoop you up, sliding under your legs and your back, lifting you off of the concrete floor and into strong arms. 

You’re being placed on something a lot softer, and hands trembling hands are on you again, roaming over your face, your throat, and your arms. They continue roaming over you as if checking for injuries. 

“Little dove, are you still with me?” He places a hand over your heart. “Please tell me you didn’t leave me. Please…”

Using all of the strength you could muster, you peel your eyes open, meeting the hauntingly beautiful green eyes of Loki Laufeyson. His usual neat dark locks were wild, his eyes slightly crazed, and his face was covered in crimson splatters.

“Please, beautiful, tell me that you’re okay.” He begs, lightly gripping your face as he holds you in his arms.

Unable to speak, you nod your head slightly trying to provide him with what little comfort and reassurance you could. 

You take a quick look around you and immediately wish that you didn’t. You were grateful for your limited vision, as what you could see was utter mayhem. Death was there in the room with you. Dark red pools of blood stained the floor, along with various pieces of clothing and body parts. You catch sight of a dismembered arm donning a familiar-looking expensive watch that was dripping in red. If you weren’t feeling as exhausted as you were now, you’re sure you would have wretched onto the floor. 

You feel the hand on your face pull your gaze away from the horrifying sight and back towards the man holding you in his arms. He sighs, pulling you closer to him to hold you tight. 

You close your eyes, taking in the comforting feeling of being wrapped in his arms. You don’t know what will come of this chaos, but what you do know is that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be if this would be your last moment on this Earth.

Loki leans down, placing a firm but gentle kiss on your forehead, then buries his head into your neck while stroking your hair.

“It is okay now, my love. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Story Masterlist

✧ 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘒𝘰-𝘧𝘪 ✨: 𝘩𝘵𝘵𝘱𝘴://𝘬𝘰-𝘧𝘪.𝘤𝘰𝘮/𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺24

𝘛𝘢𝘨 𝘓𝘪𝘴𝘵:

@aintnooooway

@mischief2sarawr

@talesofadragon

@cass0419

@itsjullii

@lcolumbia1988

@timeladyrikaofgallifrey

@echo-is-worth-more-than-2000

[marvels-agents100]

I am ripping out my hair I LOVE this

Like Loki is always HAWT but HUSBAND LOKI?!?!? WEARING A RING???? It really gets me

And of COURSE he’s gotta be a little shit about it but somehow be hot while doing it so it doesn’t matter

This is so soft and perfect and I love it, bravo

saz i am the FIRMEST of believers that loki’s into cock warming, especially when he comes home from a long mission or gruesome battle literally all he wants is to be nestled inside you for hours 😌

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟐.𝟔𝐤

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The endless sky stretching beyond the Allmother’s library is a vibrant swirl of scarlet and amber when you hear the clatter of a dozen hooves in the courtyard below. Over the excited braying of horses you hear the calls of Einherjar for stable hands and body servants, and the book in your lap quickly tumbles to the floor with a thump as you rush towards the window in a flurry of skirts. 

The sudden disturbance in the quiet of the evening can only mean that the campaign is over and the princes are home.

Loki is home.

You reach the window just as he swings a long leg over his horse and drops elegantly to the ground, looking every inch the warrior in leather and metal. The last dying rays of sun catch the small golden band around his finger and the breeze tousles his perfectly styled hair, but he barely appears to notice because his attention is already fully focused on something else. 

You, standing at the library window. 

He found you within five minutes of arriving back home. Always, your husband will find you, as though some invisible string connects his heart to yours. 

The smile that curls across his lips when he catches your eye is both devilish and devastating, as is the wink he offers you as his horse is taken away.

A kaleidoscope of butterflies takes flight in your stomach and your fingers curl tighter around the pillar they rest on. Six weeks he’s been gone - one of the longest campaigns of your marriage - and it’s taking everything in you not to run through the palace and have him right there in the courtyard.

Perhaps more than once. 

His bright eyes linger longingly on you until he disappears beneath the window ledge and into the Palace. From the floor below, you hear the gentle buzz of conversation and revelry as the warriors recount their journey to victory for anyone who will listen. You hear the distinct sound of Thor’s war cry; the hearty cheers of The Warriors Three; the joyous clanging of swords in celebration…

You hear the familiar deep roll of laughter that you would recognise anywhere.

The sound of your husband’s mirth, his uncontained joy, makes you giddy with excitement, the likes of which you haven’t experienced since you first started courting him or the first time you got to taste his kiss. You’ve missed him - missed the warmth of his embraces, the softness of his lips, the easy way he can make you laugh without even trying.

You’ve missed your best friend.

Forgetting all about the book you’ve left lying, pages akimbo, on the floor, you rush from the library on quick, quiet feet to race your husband to your chambers. You know it will be his first port of call, as it always is after any length of time you spend apart, and the thought alone is enough to make you fizzle wildly with anticipation. 

Will he take his time worshiping your body? Will those large, gentle hands spend hours refamiliarising themselves with every dip and curve? Will his lips lavish attention on you until not an inch of you has been left unkissed? 

Or, will he back you against the chamber wall and hoist your skirts around your hips? Will he rip your bodice from your body and roughly have his way with you? Will he make you orgasm again and again until you go limp in his arms? 

Perhaps both if you’re lucky. 

Perhaps this reunion will be similar to the last when neither of you were seen outside your chambers for three days; one day of pleasure for each battle the Asgardians had won, so your husband had promised. 

And delivered on. 

The late evening air tingles with his magic as you pass along the Palace hallways. He’s closer than you had initially believed, but when you finally approach the ornate double doors of your chambers, only the two Einhenjar stand outside. 

You breeze quickly past them with a brief nod, stepping straight into the empty living area of your chambers. There’s nothing to suggest that Loki is anywhere within or lurking in the rooms beyond, so you haltingly let your guard down. 

Beyond the walls of your chamber, you hear the merry sounds of the warriors making their way to Odin in the heart of the Palace to boast of their victory. They pass by in a raucous cacophony of cheers and shouts - still loudly retelling the events of each battle to their eager audience of courtiers - and you prepare for your husband to come striding through the doors energised by victory.

But they remain firmly closed.

Your brow furrows at the same time a knot of disappointment twists in your stomach. Loki’s letters from the battlefield had been dripping with innuendo and filthy promises of how he planned to ravish you upon his return - some so salacious that you’d had to lock the doors to your bedchamber early in the afternoon. 

Surely, after so many promises of debauchery, he wouldn’t choose an audience with Odin over you. 

The sounds of Thor and his fellow warriors become increasingly more faint and still there’s no sign of Loki. You wait another minute and then start towards the doors, but you’ve barely taken three steps when a familiar pair of arms wrap around your middle so suddenly that you yelp in surprise. 

“I caught you, my little mouse.” Loki’s soft voice purrs in your ear, and you feel his warm lips press a lingering kiss to your cheek. 

You pretend to huff, but it’s impossible to stop the smile that spreads across your face at being back in your husband’s embrace. “How do you always manage to do that?”

His answering laughter makes your heart swell. How had you survived six whole weeks without him? 

Loki places one last kiss to your temple and twirls you around in his arms. You’re flush against his chest and the familiar feeling of safety washes warmly over you. “Do you forget to whom you are married, dove?” he teases, eyes twinkling as he gazes at you. 

“As if such a thing is even possible!” you reply, teasing him just as easily.

“Little vixen,” he murmurs, and pulls you tighter against his chest. “Did you miss me?” 

Briefly, you consider teasing him a little more, but something in his eyes makes you reconsider. Reflected in them clear as day is how deeply he missed you and how desperately he needs to hear you say that you noticed his absence. 

“Like one would miss a limb,” you say softly and twist your arms around his shoulders.

Loki smiles and dips his head to kiss you gently. It’s sweet and innocent yet it still awakens six weeks of need within you. Your fingers curl greedily into his hair as you pull him to you, silently begging him for more, but you only feel him bite your lower lip and pull back. 

“Don’t you wish to go and congratulate Thor and the others? I’m sure they would relish the praise of their Princess,” he says, his pretty green eyes dancing with mischief at your pout. 

“The only thing I wish to do is spend the next few hours welcoming my husband home,” you reply.

The very thought has a throbbing ache begin between your thighs. You picture tousled bed sheets and your husband's firm body writhing and flexing beneath your hungry fingers. You want to spend hours losing yourself to the feel of him and clutch him to you like a life raft as he makes Valhalla dance behind your eyes.

You want to enjoy your husband. 

Loki squeezes your hips. “You know there’s nothing in the Nine that I can deny you, darling.”

Before you can draw breath to reply, he’s easily tossing you over one shoulder and carrying you towards your bedroom. Your shrieks of laughter ring through the chamber. After six weeks, your heart is full again, swelling with love for the man who’s rushed straight home to you and is kicking the doors to your room closed with a satisfying bang. You wait for the inevitable feeling of soaring through air as he tosses you onto the bed, but seconds pass and you’re still draped over his shoulder. 

“Are we feeling sentimental this evening?” you question, only half teasing. 

By now, you had expected to be stripped and possibly restrained to the bed, but your husband appears to be in no rush to have his way with you. 

“Possibly,” Loki answers, lightly tapping your ass. 

He sets you down gently on your feet, then takes both your hands in his to raise them to his lips. They’re warm as they kiss the backs of your knuckles and his sparkling green eyes never once leave yours. 

“Undress me, darling,” he whispers softly and releases your hands.

He’s already stepped out of his heavy outer armour, likely as soon as he stepped inside the palace, leaving him in the casual, soft leather that you know all too well. Your practiced hands reach out easily to push the long overcoat off his broad shoulders, and it falls to the stone floor with a quiet thump.

The rest of his clothing is quick to follow. It’s beautifully intimate, undressing him - revealing him piece by piece so you can marvel at this beautiful man who wears your ring on his finger. You reach out to lightly trace the scars on his abdomen that weren’t there last time, scars that you’ll kiss over and over while he falls asleep in your arms later. 

“I’m fine,” Loki whispers, reading your thoughts while your fingers continue to dance over his skin. 

Your eyes dart to his, searching for any tiny flick of untruth. The god of lies he may be, but he can hide nothing from you. 

“I promise, dove.” He continues, letting his hands fall to rest on your hips. “I’ll recount the story of every new scar for you if I must.” 

Your own hands find his on your hips to pull them to the fastenings of your gown. “I insist on it, my prince,” you say with a smirk. 

Loki rolls his eyes, but the smile he gives you is nothing short of adoring. “As you wish,” he says, and begins to trail a single finger along the bodice of your gown. 

In a pale shimmer of green the fabric disappears before you, melting to nothing until you’re finally bare before him. His eyes drink you in - heavy with six weeks of pent up desire - and you can’t fight the shiver when he reaches in to suck a bruise to the juncture of your neck and shoulder. 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, placing a kiss over your bruising skin. “Ethereal.” He adds, sliding his hands around your waist and letting them run along your lower back to squeeze your ass. 

“Mine,” he says more forcefully, placing a firm kiss to your lips at the same time his hands lock around your knees. 

You squeal against his lips as he hoists you into his arms, but easily lock your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck. You feel the shift of his body as he climbs onto the bed, but instead of being laid back amongst the generous piles of pillows as you expected, Loki positions himself back against the intricate headboard with you still straddling his lap. 

“How I missed you, my darling wife,” he says quietly when his lips leave yours, and then he’s coaxing you onto your knees before him. 

Loki takes your hand in his and guides it towards his cock, wrapping your fingers around it with a contented sigh. You know what he’s asking without him having to say a word. 

Slowly, you begin to stroke him, watching his eyes flicker closed when you increase the pressure. “Did you miss me? Or did you miss this?” you tease him. 

“How unfair of you to make me choose,” he replies instantly. 

You squeeze his cock with a smirk, not missing the quiet groan that floats from him or the slight curl of his upper lip. 

“Oh, that might cost you later, dove,” he says. It’s meant to be a warning, you know, but it only makes your core burn for him. 

“Perhaps that’s what I’m counting on,” you quip back quickly, which makes the god in your bed chuckle softly. 

His cock grows beneath your touch, which only makes a surge of power shoot straight to your head. You begin to stroke him faster and apply just the barest hint of pressure, but a large hand quickly reaches out to still yours. 

“Am I…,” you begin, but trail off when you glance towards him. 

Loki’s eyes are alight and dancing with the promise of mischief. Without a word, he edges you forward on the bed until your aching cunt is directly above his cock. You clench desperately at what you know is coming and it feels like an eternity until Loki is coaxing you down and the head of his cock is brushing teasingly against you. 

He maddingly drags himself through your soaked cunt again and again, pulling groan after groan from deep in your chest. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his shoulder, leaving a pattern of tiny half moons in their wake as you fix him with pleading eyes. 

“Fuck, Loki. Please, put it in,” you beg, needing to feel your husband fill you after six long weeks apart. 

Loki grins back mischievously. “As my love commands.” 

Slowly, he eases his cock inside you, making you take him inch by inch until you can take no more of him. He hisses at the feel of your cunt clenching wildly around him, and you’re rewarded with a stream of moans and curses until you’re fully seated on him. 

A hand closes quickly around the base of your skull to pull you in for another blistering kiss that’s lazy and wondrously sloppy. “I missed this tight little cunt,” he rasps into your ear with a roll of his hips. 

“Fuck,” you curse softly and let your head fall to his shoulder. 

He feels so blindingly good inside you that all you want to do is ride him until he can’t remember his own name, but when your hips begin to rock against his, Loki plants two strong hands on them to hold you still. 

“Ah, ah, darling. This is more than enough for now,” he says lightly. 

Not fully believing what you heard, you pull back to peer at him. “What? Loki, it’s been six -.” 

“Shhh, dove. I thought you insisted on hearing all about our time away?” he replies. 

“Yes, but not now! There will be plenty of time for you to tell me after!” You try not to whine. There had been three battles in all, and Loki had promised to tell you about all of them in detail. 

Your husband shifts beneath you, making you whimper when his cock does the same. “Perhaps, but, for now, I wish to have my darling wife warm my cock as I tell her about our victories. Would you deny me that?”

He knows that he has you. You can’t deny this man anything, even if it means spending a tortuous evening with his cock inside you. 

“No,” you reply, fighting to keep from pouting. 

Loki pulls you in for another quick kiss. “Good girl,” he says and gives another teasing roll of his hips. “If you can continue being good and not try to pleasure yourself all evening, then I will personally see to it that you don’t walk properly for the next week.”

[marvels-agents100]

In the image of atlas

I beg of you

Show me your teeth

Let your claws rip my flesh

Burden me

Lay your troubles on my shoulders

And let me hold them

Until my legs shake

-e.d.

#poetry #just a lil thought #people are meant to be a burden #your problems are weightless on the shoulders of those who love you

[marvels-agents100]

Um UMM??

Is Loki being a creeper? Yes. Is he crossing boundaries? Yes. Do I still think it’s hot? Yes.

First: not the maid outfit on the laptop!!!! I just imagine him looking it up, then making sure the window was centered on the picture before finding some dark corner to stalk in. Like some fucked up surprise party.

AND THEN to be like ‘I’m way out of your league please say you like-like me’ is SO ridiculous. If our sweet Cinder wasn’t so scared and innocent, im sure she would’ve laughed in his face. Let’s be real, Mr. Laufeyson, YOU are the one reaching and chasing. And it’s driving him crazy.

So satisfying to see Loki get some jabs in on the dad. I was halfway hoping Loki would be more… violently inclined. But I’m sure he prefers psychological warfare, lmao.

I know he’s all cocky and sure of himself, but from the humanizing moments we’ve seen, (drunk over his fathers disapproval, kicking Thor to keep him from touching Cinder, promising to keep Thor away from her, getting defensive with her dad), it makes me feel like he would LOVE it if she just flipped the switch and went full boss mode. I hope she makes him wear the fkn outfit.

Dirty Work 22

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: Sinuses are trying but I'm fighting!

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!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"There you are. Lots to go around," Frigga seals the top of another container. "It'll be a nice surprise, eh?"

"Uh, thank you," you offer a fragile smile.

"Of course, dear. I know how stressful it can be to care for the sick. Odin, my husband, had a scare a few years back. A heart episode..." she explains as she puts the large containers in a cloth bag, "it was a rather eventful family dinner, to say the least."

You let your smile fall. You're reminded of your father on the floor, lifeless, your mouth over his as you desperately tried to breathe life into him. The kitchen blurs around you as you revert to the horror of that moment.

"Darling," Frigga frightens you with a gentle squeeze on your forearm, "apologise if I said something."

"No, no, my dad will be happy," you roll the tension from your shoulders. "Leslie too."

"Leslie?" She prompts curiously.

"His nurse. Sometimes she cooks dinner so this will save her some work."

"Ah, a nurse. That must be expensive."

"A little," you admit, "I have some stuff to finish up on still..."

"Oh, don't let me keep you any longer. I know how demanding my son can be," she pats the bag and slides it to the corner of the counter, "this will be waiting for you."

"Thank you. Again."

You turn to go, little, reluctant steps as you venture back into the large house. Dread slows your feet like a ball and chain as you climb the staircase, pausing every few steps to listen. Mr. Laufeyson is lurking somewhere, like a snake in the grass, you know it.

You turn towards the library and pass the open study door. You peek inside and find it empty.  You press on and knock before you enter the library. Alone, you shut the door and let out a heavy breath.

Your heart is racing as if you've escaped some terrifying race. You go to the desk and sit, leaning forward to plant your elbows in front of the closed laptop and cradle your head. What is happening? You can't handle all this. You need to get it together. But how? You've never dealt with any of this before; the spreadsheet, the woman coddling you, and the man who looms in the shadows.

Shoot! You forgot about Ronan. He's due to finish soon. You should go check on him. You stand up and spin, stopping short as a figure fills the door frame between the study and library. You stare at Mr. Laufeyson like a doe caught before a speeding car.

"You have some time," he raises his wrist, checking his watch; the black band and the blue face, that little accessory that caused so much trouble.

"Um, yes, I was going to see the carpenter--"

"I've dealt with him. He's loading up his truck now," Laufeyson slithers forward, "you needn't worry about him."

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Laufeyson," you look down and open the laptop, stunned by the image on the screen. 

You expect your screensaver to cascade down but instead, there's a woman in a rather scant black and white outfit. Your lips part and you slam shut the computer. Your fingers rest on the lid as Mr. Laufeyson strides closer.

"Hope you don't mind I borrowed your laptop, my own was charging," he purrs, "bit of online shopping, seeing as my mother's hard work should save us some cost on culinary services."

"Mr. Laufeyson," you tremble, staring at the desk, "what..."

He hums and leans in, his fingers splayed wide as he places his hands on the wood, "what...hm?"

You steel yourself and force yourself to look him in the eye. You flinch at the darkness there and stutter. "Wh-what are you doing?"

He snickers and tilts his head, "I simply thought you earned a bonus with all your hard work," his tongue pokes out as he smirks. "It should suit you well..."

You take a step back, nearly falling into the chair as you collide with it. You can't hear above the pounding in your temples. No, it can't be what you think it is. He's not saying that. He can't expect you to wear that... that... thing. You stumble around the seat and scurry to the door, fumbling with the handle as his calm pursuit trails after you.

As you pull the door inward, it snaps back shut. His hand is above you on the wood as he pens you in against the door. You whimper and clutch the handle tightly, pressing yourself to the door as your heart hammers against your ribs. You shudder as his other hand curves around your waist.

"When it arrives, you will put it on," he commands, "and you will begin your duties as always."

"Mr. Laufeyson, please, I'm scared--"

"You needn't be," he purrs as he leans in to inhale your scent, his breath grazing your scalp, "you take orders rather well. I trust you will continue to do so."

"I don't--" you wisp as you brace the door, his fingertips poking into your side as he grips you tighter, "I don't want to..."

"Mm, pet, you should know by now," he loosens his hold on you and lets his hand stretch across your stomach, dragging it up to your chest as he brings himself flush to your back, "this isn't about what you want." He bends and nips your ear with a growl, "you wouldn't want to let dear old dad down, would you?"

You whine and twist the handle frantically. You're pinned to it as he continues to grope you, rolling his body against yours from behind as he groans. You're mortified as heat radiates from his touch and floods your veins. The flames lick at you and have you tingle as nuzzles you breathily.

"Didn't think so," he rasps and slowly draws away.

He backs away as your knees buckle and you slide down the door, crumpling against it. His shadow struts away as your hands shake and you watch them in a haze of shock. You're weak, you're stupid, and you're worthless.

You could scream for help, you could run out, you could try. But you won't because he's right. You can't. You need him more than he needs you.

💄

Mr. Laufeyson opens the door ahead of you, waiting patiently as he turns to watch you. You carry the bag of containers against your work bag down the hall as Frigga trails you. She informs you that she put a few extra goodies in as a surprise. You nod and thank her, trying not to show your discomfort as you near your employer.

"Thank you, mother, but I'm certain she is eager to be away," Laufeyson intones, "she has a loving father waiting for her at home."

You flinch. You still wonder if he'd witnessed that pocket dial or not. He's hard to read even when he's spelling it out clearly. You bid a final goodbye but scuff to a halt as Laufeyson stretches out an arm.

"Allow me," he takes the bag from you, his hand brushing yours before closing around the straps.

"Aw, Loki, my gentleman," Frigga preens, "darling, you have a good night."

You let him take the tote and your work bag. You precede him out the door, fluttering your fingers as if to shake away his touch. He follows you as his mother watches from the door. You keep your head forward as he comes close, sidling around you to open the passenger door before you can do so yourself. His behaviour sets you even more on edge. He's taunting you.

You get in and make yourself as small as you can in the seat. You refuse to look at him as you buckle in. He shuts the door and opens the rear one, placing the bags on the backseat before he diverts around the hood. He claims the driver seat, the car shifting slightly with his weight. He pushes the ignition and the car whirs to life. You fixate on the dashboard, trying to tamp out his presence and the memories nipping at your mind.

He clicks his belt into place and adjusts the mirror. He takes his time. You can tell it's deliberate. You don't understand him, but you're starting to. Everything he does is for his own delight, which he seems to draw only from your distress. You've never met anyone like him.

"A lovely day," he declares as he shifts gear, "wasn't it, pet?"

You blink and look at your lap, tracing a line on your palm.

"Now, don't be rude, I asked a question."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you mutter.

"You must be tired," his hand wanders from the stick to your knee, "why don't you close your eyes and enjoy the ride?"

"I'm okay," you fold your arms as he squeezes your leg.

"What is the matter, hm? You seem perturbed, pet."

You shudder and put your hand on his as it starts to crawl higher, "Mr. Laufeyson, please stop calling me that."

"I'm tired of your little game," he pinches the tender flesh of your leg.

"I'm not--"

"I've made myself very clear," he taps your leg before slipping his hand out from under yours, "I am interested and that's that. I am wealthy, attractive, I hardly see how it would be an issue..." he steers with one hand as he speaks to the road, "especially for someone like you."

It hurts. To have it said aloud. Not his intent, no, but your worth. Or, what you lack. Who are you to be picky?

You wiggle your nose and turn your face away. You don’t respond as your gaze pans through the window. Your eyes singe and your nose tingles. You feel like the little girl standing against the wall again. The whispers swirling all around you, fingers pointing, voices jeering…

The silence stretches the minutes to eons. You watch the streets pass and lean into each turn. Finally, he steers onto a familiar road. You’re almost there.

He slows and pulls against the curb outside your father’s house. You unbuckle the seat belt and he does the same. You glance up at him but he doesn’t notice. He gets out on his side as you hesitate. Before you can even get your door open, he’s halfway around the car.

You climb out, nearly colliding with the rear door as he swings it open. You sidestep it as he bends to reach within. He pulls out both bags, elbowing the door shut carelessly before stepping up on the pavement. You reach for your work bag and he evades your grasp.

“Ah ah, I insist, it wouldn’t be very nice to let you struggle with all of this.”

You pout. Nice? When has he ever been nice? He’s mocking you again.

“Mr. Laufeyson, please,” you beg, “I can handle it–”

“Go on, pet,” he motions ahead of him with the square tote, “it’s rather rude to refuse an offer of help.”

You cringe and shrug helplessly, throwing your hands up slightly. What else can you do but obey? He knows you have no other choice and he basks in that fact.

You turn and slouch, dragging your feet up the walk as he follows you. You search for an excuse to keep him outside. Some sort of out. He has to understand, your father is sick!

He trails you onto the porch and you stop at the door, facing him.

“I can get it from here,” you eke out.

“Nonsense, I don’t mind–”

“Please, Mr. Laufeyson, my father doesn’t feel well most days. He’s not fit for visitors.”

“I’ve come all this way. I know manners are hardly in vogue around these parts but it is only polite to invite someone in,” he reproaches.

You whimper. Why are you doing this? You don’t ask. You know already. He’s doing it because he can. Because you won’t stop him. You can’t.

“I don’t want you to go in,” you confess as you look down, “please don’t go insi–”

You hear the door, the loud groan of the squeaky hinges before the screen door hits your shoulder. You sidle out of the way and turn to Leslie as she pokes her head out. Her eyes flick up to Mr. Laufeyson and her forehead ripples in surprise.

“I was wondering what all the chatter was,” she opens the door wider, “what’s all this?”

“Um, Leslie,” you gulp, “I…” you blink and look at Mr. Laufeyson, “this is my boss. He just drove me home.”

“How nice,” she remarks, “that’s… him?” She steps out completely, “he’s your boss?”

“Loki,” he introduces himself, “charmed.”

“Me too, me too, I… Leslie, I help her father, I’m the nurse,” she explains.

“We brought dinner,” Laufeyson lifts the tote higher, “my mother wanted to send her well wishes. She heard about her father and wanted to help out.”

“That is so sweet,” Leslie fans herself, “please, sir, come in, come in, Charles will be so happy to meet you.”

Doom crashes down on you. You stand back as Leslie holds the door open and you only vaguely hear Laufeyson’s insistence that you go first. You move in a fuzzy sludge, barely aware of the world around you as your legs carry you on habit alone. 

You stand in the front entryway as Mr. Laufeyson hands over the bag. Leslie takes it with glee and hurries away. You sway and touch your forehead. You wince as he touches your arm.

“Mm, this place is… vintage,” he muses as he nudges you, “please, introduce me. I’ve heard so much.”

You breathe out shakily and curl your fingers into fists. You give a pleading look. You’re already too embarrassed to tell him the truth. He doesn’t want to meet your father and your father doesn’t want to meet him.

You surrender and turn cautiously. You meekly pass through the entryway, your father’s shoulders hunched over the table as he works on the puzzle. You shuffle closer, standing just behind the corner of the couch.

“Dad,” you utter, “um… this is my boss, Mr. Laufeyson. He, er, he brought us some food.”

“Eh, is that what she was going on about?” He snorts into a cough and covers his mouth. He makes no move to rise as he reaches for another piece.

“Charles, is it?” Laufeyson steps forward, stopping just beside you, “I prefer Loki. It’s a pleasure to finally meet.”

“Chuck,” your father snarls, “call me ‘Chuck’.”

“Of course, Chuck, I didn’t mean to presume.”

Your dad tosses the peace and scoffs. He coughs again and stands, adjusting the tub below his nose as he rounds on his visitor. Mr. Laufeyson doesn’t waver as your dad scowls in his direction.

“Wonderful home you have,” Laufeyson offers his hand.

Your father looks at his fingers then narrows his eyes at his face. Mr. Laufeyson is a head taller, though your dad is wider. He claps his hands against your boss’s and tries to jerk his hand. The effort teeters your father but does not affect the other man.

“You’re the one dressing her up like your little whore,” your dad sneers.

Mr. Laufeyson laughs curtly, “pardon?”

“Look at that skirt,” your father spits.

“Better than the rags you supplied,” Mr. Laufeyson retorts without pause, “I can see she didn’t get her manners from you.”

“What did you say to me, boy?” Your father’s face contorts with rage, “you come into my home and– and– and–” 

Your father coughs between each word until he’s racked and quaking. He grips the armrest as he leans forward and covers his mouth, unable to stop the fit. You go to help him but Mr. Laufeyson blocks you with his arm.

“He has his nurse,” he says brusquely.

“Please,” you beg.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you are,” Laufeyson lowers his voice dangerously as your father heaves, clutching his chest. 

“Fuck off,” your dad chuffs out.

Laufeyson snickers and sighs, “are you always so hospitable, sir?”

“If I wasn’t chained to this thing,” your dad clutches the tube trailing down his chest.

“Alas, you are,” the taller man shakes his head, “let’s not. We have a lovely dinner waiting for us. A real man might even be grateful.”

“I’m not hungry,” your father turns and drops onto the couch. “Choke on it.”

Mr. Laufeyson lowers his arm and takes your hand without a look. He drags you away from the couch. He pulls you level with him and commands you to lead him. You take him into the kitchen where Leslie stands by the stove, the radio buzzing on the shelf.

“Just gonna pop it in the oven for a couple,” she smiles, “hon, why don’t you grab some plates?”

“Yes, why don’t you,” Laufeyson urges, “we’ll sit down and have a lovely family dinner.”

[marvels-agents100]

He is unhinged. Genuinely losing his mind. Omg. I’m just DREADING what’s to come. Will she deny him? How will he react? How far will he push? How long will she let him?

I’m sweating.

Dirty Work 21

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: have a wonderful day!

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!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The gate bell buzzes and you rush from the kitchen to answer, the porcelain clinking as you leave it in the sink. You flit into the hall and to the entryway. As you pull the door open, you sense a shadow and turn to see Laufeyson at the top of the stairs. He watches but does not speak. You waver before you find the strength to continue on.

You shut the door gently and try to breathe through your rattling nerves. You don't understand what's going on. The words Laufeyson said still don't make sense to you. He can't mean what you think. You have to be overthinking. Yet the tickle of his touch remains on your skin and fuels your doubts.

How can you say no to him? If you do, he might say the same...

You repress a shudder as you reach the gate and hold the button to roll it back. Ronan steers through in his truck, pulling in just behind Laufeyson's flashy ivory car. You let the gate close and approach the truck bed as the carpenter climbs out.

"Miss," he opens the rear door to grab his bag, "you look nice, special occasion?"

You look down at yourself and wipe your sweaty palms on your skirt. It's sunny but it isn't the weather that has you fired up. You force a smile that makes your cheeks twitch.

"Uh, no, they're just...new," you sway as you push your hands behind you, "erm, so I guess... you should get started."

"I should," he checks his watch, a thick leather band with a tarnish face, "I hate to get in the way of your work. Or ruin your fancy clothes."

"Oh, uh, it's not... I'll bring you some water," you offer.

"Hmm," he hums as he shuts the door, "you're too kind for your own good. Nice to see you doing something for yourself for a change."

"I..." you swallow the truth. "Thanks."

"Not that you didn't look good before," he insists.

"Well, I..." you murmur, looking away bashfully.

"I'm talking a lot," he chuckles, "you know where I'll be."

He turns and stalks off towards the house. You blow out a breath as your eyes are drawn to the front door. Mr. Laufeyson stands in the frame, again observing you, his gaze narrowed to slits. He reminds you of a snake in coil about to strike.

The door shuts before you can reach it. You enter and he's gone. It's like some game. You return to the kitchen to finish tidying up the porcelain from tea. You set it away in the glass cabinet and fill a fresh jug of water. As you place it on the patio, Frigga pops her head up from the roses, a healthy bouquet in hand as she snips the stems with a pair of cutters.

"These will be nice in the dining room," she suggests as she shows the white petals, "Maybe a few for the study?"

"Uh, yeah," you plunk down the pitcher and glass. "Did you need any water? This is for the carpenter."

"Oh, he's here?" She says, "I didn't see him. Perhaps I can ask him about the flower boxes."

"Yeah, uh, maybe," you agree, "I'll be, er, upstairs working. Got a lot to catch up on from yesterday."

"No worries at all, darling," she assures you.

You retreat and stumble to get your shoes off once more, mindful of the rules. That's the problem. Everyone is forgetting the rules. Ronan does the gazebo not the flower boxes, you don't wear your shoes in the house, and Loki-- Mr. Laufeyson is just your boss.

You rush up the stairs, nearly too at a time, and reach the top out of breath. You hurry into the library and close yourself up inside. It's just you. It strikes you how much you missed being alone. These last few weeks have felt so crowded. Constricted even.

You finally make yourself sit still. You find it hard not to wriggle in the seat as you watch the laptop screen load. It feels so long ago that you did this. It's all backwards and you don't like it. You like clear lines. You are separate from Mr. Laufeyson. You are below. You have your tasks and he has more important concerns.

You focus on balancing his bills. There are a lot of outstanding invoices. You're still learning how to keep it all organized. You feel a bit out of your depth with all the numbers but you excelled at math all those years before.

A subtle click barely registers but nestles in your ear. You squint at the screen as you watch a tutorial on Excel functions. You're still figuring that out too.

"The carpenter has been dealt with?" Mr. Laufeyson states as much as he asks.

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you confirm and pause the video. You glance behind him at the open door to his study.

"Very good," he says, "he will work faster without distraction."

You nod. You take his point. He is right. It might be better that the project is finished sooner than later. There's a big enough mess, the type you don't know how to clean up.

He strides around the library, perusing the shelves as if they are new to him. He feels along the spines of books and drags his fingers along the wood. You watch him, waiting. For what, you don't know.

"Don't let me distract you," he says without looking at you as he slides out a volume. "As you were."

Your eyes flick down obediently. You try to refocus but forget where you were. You open the ledger to make notes as you restart the video. You can sense him lurking around the room, closer and closer as his silhouette blurs the edge of your vision.

The narrator continues their instruction as you open the transcript to follow along. Mr. Laufeyson inches closer and closer, walking just behind your laptop, then around one side of your desk before doubling back. Again, he looms behind the screen and strolls along the other side. And at once, he's behind you.

You tense as you feel him watching over your head. You keep your hand moving as you take notes, writing down words you don't process. Your pulse thrums in your temples as you feel him leaning over you. His hands rest on your shoulders and he kneads them as you sit frozen.

He bends further and further until you feel his breath on your crown. He nuzzles your hair as his hands trail slowly across your shoulders. They close loosely around your neck as he exhales with a groan. Just like the one you heard earlier.

You gulp against his grip as your pen stills and you stare blankly at the screen, the narrator hazing to a drone and the colours fogging together. You drop the pen and drag your hand up to touch his. He tuts as he lowers his head next to yours, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks.

"I didn't say stop," he slithers as heat scalds over you.

You shiver and remove your hand from his, reaching for the pen instead. You pick it up, trembling as you try to read your own writing, your chin pressing to his knuckle as he tightens his hold on you. It's just scribbles, broken lines and squiggled waves.

"Notice too, you did not either," he whispers against the shell of your ear and draws away, all once releasing you. 

You gasp as he swiftly side steps and strides across the room. He retrieves the volume from the shelf and reclines across the chaise, lazily opening the pages with a sigh. You stare at him as he lingers, engrossing himself in the book as you forget all about the spreadsheets and negative balances.

👠

Mr. Laufeyson leaves without a word. A taunt in its own right. He’s toying with you impeccably. His every move, his every glance, even something as careless as breathing is a statement. He’s watching. He’s waiting. For something…

Your frustration boils over and you snap shut the lid of the laptop. You haven’t been able to focus since his intrusion. The weight of his hands on your throat remains even with him gone. At moments, it feels as if you are truly being strangled.

You get up and resign yourself to something less complicated. You near the door and stop to peek at the one attached to the study. It’s open still but you wouldn’t think to peer through it. Is he there still? Listening? Expecting something?

You go into the hall and descend, each step expecting Laufeyson to call you back, to reproach you for straying. You reach the bottom without obstacle and exhale. You hear noise in the kitchen and follow it.

Frigga is there, placing a rectangle tray on the counter. She is comfortable as she moves around lightly. She knows where everything is as she arranges her ingredients and tools. You admire her. You wish you had that confidence, especially now as you drown in uncertainty.

“Oh, darling, wonderful timing,” she praises as she looks up, “I thought to do some cooking before I go. I’m sure you know Loki is rather avoidant of doing so himself. Why don’t you join, hm?”

You blink and hesitate, glancing over your shoulder. It isn’t exactly work. 

“Don’t you fret for him, if he has issue, I will take it up with him,” she dismisses your unspoken doubts. “Come, come, I want to share with you my best recipes.”

“Okay,” you cross to her. She is undeniable, besides, you don’t think Laufeyson would be pleased to hear if you were to reject his mother. 

“Beer-marinated pork,” she announces, “roasted turnip and some hand-made bread, of course.”

You nod and twiddle your fingers. You’ve never had beer-marinated anything. Well, your culinary experience is lacking.

“Family recipes,” she explains, “adapted over the years. There was a time the bread was baked on rocks and the turnip would be roasted over embers. Imagine.”

She trills and spins around, gathering more supplies for her growing array. As she faces the counter again, she sighs.

“I much rather prefer the modern methods, of course. Not so tedious and Loki has ensured the best,” she goes to the stacked ovens embedded in the wall and sets the temperature, leaving the upper one to preheat. “A pity, such a nice kitchen and it’s barely used. That cook of his… she doesn’t know our recipes.”

You listen, too anxious to summon any sort of comment. She doesn’t seem to notice as she carries the conversation smoothly. 

“Do you cook? You must,” she answers her own question, “we will make enough for you to take home for your father. If he can’t stomach beer, I can make a sauce.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s okay–”

“I insist,” she overrides you, “it’s a labour of love for me. I love cooking. That is the one thing Sif– his ex-wife wasn’t fond of. She was always at the stable.”

You nod, trying to unravel the story from the stray threads. Little by little, you learn more of the woman who used to live here. In your head, she is sophisticated and splendid. And the way the speak of her, they seem to mourn her as much as you do your own mother.

“We will need onion and some spices, we’ll mix it in with the beer for our marinade,” she instructs, “a bowl…” she turns to take a silver bowl from the nested stack.

She puts it before you and directs you. She stands back as she lets you do it yourself. It’s nice to have the simple tasks set out one by one, even if it feels as if she’s judging your every move. You submerge the pork chops to marinate and she turns your attention to the turnip.

“Be careful chopping, turnips can be difficult,” she girds.

You shy away from the large knife and the hard rutabaga. It’s not easy to saw through as you rock the knife this way and that. You only get halfway through before the blade sticks immovably.

“Allow me,” she takes over and with a jerk, finishes the chop. The turnip splits in two as the knife meets the thick cutting board. “A bit of elbow grease…”

“Mother, what are you up to?” Laufeyson enters with a hand in one pocket.

“Oh, you know, dear, I can’t leave you without dinner.”

“I have a cook,” he counters.

“Mmm, yes, but nothing like a homemade meal,” she tisks.

He looks at you as he nears. You wipe your hands on a dish cloth and wring it tight. Frigga continues on unbothered, turning one half of the turnip on its flat side and chopping it into chunks.

“She’s helping,” she says, “please don’t take her from me.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he shrugs, his lips slightly curving.

“You were thinking it,” she huffs, “she can take some time to cook. Perhaps, she should do so regularly. It would save you money.” 

“But not time. She has other tasks.”

“You being the most onerous,” Frigga chirps as she transfers the chunks into the pan.

“Perhaps,” he does not look away from you as you twist the dish cloth to its limit. He slips his hand from his pocket and lets it brush up his shirt, “I am what you raised me to be.”

“I was saying to the darling earlier,” she ignores his snipe, “the next time you visit, you might bring her along.”

“Eh, next time…” Laufeyson swallows as his lips fall straight, “maybe…”

“You are going to visit, aren’t you?” Frigga whines, “you and your father, I don’t know why you just can’t get along.”

“I tried, mother, I did. You saw–” he stops himself, “it doesn’t matter.”

“It does. Very much. You’re family.”

“Are we? He’s disowned me more than he’s ever claimed me.”

“You’re too much alike, that’s your problem,” she chides, “and you’re both too stubborn to see it.”

“We will discuss this another time,” he says as he peeks at you again, “in private.”

“Should I…” you begin.

“Stay,” Frigga and her son command at the same time.

“I’m not sending her home empty-handed,” Frigga says, “so you will drive her home, yes? It will be too much to take on the bus.”

“Why, of course,” he accepts, “it would be my pleasure.”

“Mm, and the carpenter, he fixed the flower boxes already. A few loose nails,” she grins, “nice man, that one. I might recommend him to your father.”

Laufeyson pokes his tongue out as he squints. He turns his gaze back on you. You miss when he barely looked at you, when he hardly even acknowledged your existence. And yet, you're just the same. You can't say a word.

“I haven’t dealt with him much,” he says pointedly, “that is the house manager’s concern.”

“Probably better off,” Frigga snickers, “she won’t drive him away.”

[marvels-agents100]

OKAY OKAY I had to binge a couple chapters but OH MY GAAAAAAH 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵

Okay but so much has happened?!?!?!?!? Like wtf I feel like our precious cinders is getting thrown around,,, even if it’s well intentioned. Just dressed like a doll.

I know Mr. L was going feral in that restaurant. Gnawing at the iron bars of his enclosure.

Seeing a little bit of protectiveness with the Thor situation is just very 🥵 and the immediate “you’re mine” after is even more 🥵🥵🥵 I mean come on dude just ball up and propose already lol

Dirty Work 20

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: weekends aren't for rest, they're for being sick and anxious so Monday will be a treat.

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!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As you enter, you try your best not to make too much noise. You set the bags down lightly and ease the inner door shut. You can hear your dad and the soft sound of puzzle pieces meeting the table.

“Ya know, thirty years almost, but I can see her just like yesterday,” he says.

Your heart clutches. You never heard him talk about your mom. When you were a kid and didn’t know better, he just ignored all your questions about her. When you got older, you stopped asking. You figured it’s easier for both of you to pretend she never was.

“I’m sorry, hon,” Leslie comforts, “you know, in my line of work, I’ve seen it over and over. It’s a wound you can’t heal.”

“Oh yeah,” he grits, “yeah, I’d say…”

You swallow and lean back on your foot, crinkling the bags behind you. You cringe as you hear sudden movement. You turn and work to slip off the white loafers. You pretend like you weren’t listening as Leslie’s shadow looms from the archway.

“You’re home,” she proclaims, “we didn’t think you’d be so early.”

“Me either,” you say as you face her. 

Her lashes flick and her mouth opens, “oh my, you look so good! Weren’t you working today?”

“Uh, did some work,” you lie, “I got a few hours off so I… did some running around.”

“Oh, gosh, come on, you have to show your dad,” she takes you by the wrist and tugs you around, “Charles, look at your girl.”

She presents you with her hands on your shoulders. You can’t even look at your dad as the couch creaks and he grunts at your appearance. He snorts and pushes another piece into the puzzle.

“What am I looking at?” He sneers.

“Charles, don’t be like that. Look at her hair, and this dress,” she touches your hips, “must be a nice job, huh?”

“It’s alright,” you shimmy out of her grasp, “I just… needed something more presentable–”

“Something shorter,” your father scoffs, “so when she’s bending to tidy the floors you can see right up.”

“Charles, that’s gross,” Leslie reprimands.

“Truth can be like that,” he snickers, “think some man’s buying her fancy clothes so she can sweep? We both know how she pays for you.”

“No… it’s not…” you shrug and give up, “I’m gonna put my stuff away and start dinner. If you want, you can head off early too.”

“Oh, I don’t mind sticking around,” Leslie says as she once more sits beside your dad, “let me know if you need any help with dinner. Don’t wanna get anything on that nice little dress.”

You nod and hesitate. You can’t tell what she means by that. For as much as she can call out your father, she often speaks with an edge of her own. Just like the cigarettes, she must assume his insults are your fault.

You leave the room and grab the bags. You carry them up the stairs to your room. You shut the door and sit on the end of the bed. You bend and cradle your head, trying to set it straight after the dizzying day.

👠

The bus provides a momentary break from your hostile world. There is no safe place for you. Home is barely that and work is… confusing. Your only escape is to focus on your tasks and get through them. Get through Mr. Laufeyson’s list then come home and the chores left untouched. 

Your look at the time on your phone and black the screen. You get a glimpse of your reflection off the glass as you do. You didn't do too bad with the makeup. It looks okay. You tried not to use too much as you recalled Eliana's instructions.

You shake off your doubts and airy feeling around your legs. You're not use to the skirt or the pretty fabrics. You feel overdressed and out-of-place, but the latter is so new to you.

Through the gate and along the edge of the drive, you hear your name flutter in the air. You stop short as you see Frigga strolling along the hedges, caressing the petals of a rose. She draws away and strides towards you, an ivory skirt paired with a golden brown blouse and nude heels.

“You do start early, don’t you?” She approaches and takes your hand, “come, let’s have tea.”

“Oh, uh, I…” you let her tug you along the walkway towards the front door, “the carpenter is coming today–”

“Ah yes, Loki mentioned you were working on restoring the gazebo. That’s lovely. We used to have tea there, me and… his wife. She was a laugh.”

“Mm,” you hum. Whoever this woman was, she must’ve been very special. You imagine a beautiful woman with silky hair and long legs like Frigga. She must’ve fit right in.

“I suppose if it was meant to be, it would be. I only hope my son can find happiness again,” she squeezes your hand before she lets you go. 

She opens the door and waves you in ahead of her. You slip out of your flats much easier than your usual lace-up sneakers. She steps out of her heels and sighs.

“That’s his problem, you know? He’s lonely but too proud to admit it,” she sidles around you and leads you down to the kitchen. You follow and watch as she goes to the counter and pours from the waiting teapot. “Though I haven’t seen him today. I suppose he’s sleeping in, it is the weekend.”

You tilt your head but don’t comment. For as long as you’ve worked for him, not very long at all, he’s never slept past your arrival. Well, not so far as you know.

“I do love this skirt,” she comes back around the counter and touches the tweed, “wonderful pairing,” she touches the blouse with the petal shaped cutouts around the high-collar, “you’re learning.”

“Um, yeah, all the clothes are so pretty,” you say.

“Please, have your tea. I’m sure you have time before the carpenter,” she urges.

“Right, er, I’ll just take my bag upstairs first,” you say, “out of the way.”

“Sure,” she accepts with a kind smile, “how about I take this out to the patio, we can enjoy the sun?”

“Alright,” you agree and hike up your bag, “thank you.”

You quickly flit off and head upstairs. You weren’t expecting her to be there. You just hadn’t thought of it. You only dreaded facing your unbendable boss and his persistent stare.

You go into the library and tuck your bag under the writing desk. You double check the schedule in your phone; Ronan, 10. You have an hour before he arrives.

Your mind is already on the gazebo as you scurry back into the hall. As you shut the door gently, you hear a groan. You peer down towards the unusual noise and blink at the slightly ajar door. The main bedroom. Mr. Laufeyson’s. It rises again before a drawn out exhale, his timbre rumbling low.

You quickly set back to your path and flee downstairs. Maybe he’s talking in his sleep, or more likely, stretching out a few kinks. Your curiosity quickly dissipates as you pass through the dining room and out into the patio.

Frigga sits with large pointed sunglasses over her eyes. She tilts her face up to the sunlight as you sit before the other cup of tea. You pull it close and look out at the yard. A streak of green catches your gaze.

You watch the hummingbird hover over fuchsia petals. You stare dreamily, lulled by the peace of the moment as Frigga merely sips and basks. This isn’t so bad. The bird zips between flowers before disappearing behind a tree. In his stead, the skittish chipmunk scrambles along the railing of the patio. You smile at his fluffy tail.

“I’ll be off tomorrow,” Frigga states, “my husband will be expecting me. Oh, but I’ll miss you, darling.”

“Is it very far?” You wonder.

“Four or five hours,” she answers, “not very far but enough. It’s so lovely up where we are. I wish you could see. Perhaps one day. When things are better.”

Before you can answer, there’s a subtle click behind you.

“Morning,” Mr. Laufeyson’s voice is unleashed onto the scene as the patio door swings inward, “mother,” he pauses before he enunciates your name, “beautiful day out.”

Your shoulders stiffen and nearly touch your ears as you sit straight. He pulls out the chair at your other elbow and sets down another teacup with a clink. He sits and smooths back his dark hair, tucking the spiralled ends behind his ears.

“Late morning,” his mother remarks, “any tea left?”

“Some, shall I–”

He puts his hands flat, moving to stand but she shoos him as she’s quicker to rise, “I’ll get it myself. And you darling,” she dips her chin in your direction, “more?”

“Oh, no thanks, I’m still… working on mine. Thank you, Frigga,” you say, mindful of each syllable.

She leaves and the door clicks shut behind her. You stare at the brim of your cup, turning it slowly between your hands as Laufeyson raises his own to his lips. He drinks carefully before putting it down again.

He’s quiet. He shifts and plants an elbow on the table. He turns his attention to the yard and watches. You dare to look up as well, the chipmunk poking his head out from the bush where he hides. He ran away at Mr. Laufeyson’s arrival.

“Cute little fellow,” he remarks as he faces you again. You quickly lower your eyes.

“Uh, yeah…”

“Mmm,” he drones and taps his fingers on the porcelain teacup, “you… that’s a nice shirt.”

“Thanks,” you lift your cup and drain most of it, gulping painfully as you put it back down, “I should go start. Ronan will be here shortly–”

“The carpenter?”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, I have him penned in–” You explain.

“And? He is a carpenter, he knows what he’s doing. I doubt he needs you watching over his shoulder.”

“I know, uh, but I should be there to let him in,” you slide your cup off the table.

“You’re not even done your tea.”

“I’ll finish on my way in–”

“You’re avoiding me,” he accused and you wince.

“What?”

“You’re running away? Why?” He challenges.

“I’m not, I– I have work to do.”

“Work I give you. I’m your boss, you may sit and finish. I’ll permit it.”

You falter and set the cup on the table. You lower yourself back to the seat and fold your hands. You look at your lap and push your shoulders back. He is back to his haughty demands, you find that part of him easier to handle.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, I wasn't running away.”

He scoffs thinly and his nostrils flare as he stares off at the hedges that edge the patio, “I wonder why you can be so quick to flee me when you sat and let my brother feel you up.”

“Huh?” You blanch, stuck by the accusation. “Mr. Laufeyson, I–”

“I know him well and I’m not as blind as my mother. I saw it. You didn’t say a word. You just let him do it,” he clucks, “why?”

Your eyes round and you bat your lashes. You nearly choke, the acidic flavour of the tea drying on your tongue. Was it that bad? You tried not to think about it, to let it affect you, even as the memories flashed in your head, you just tried not to feel anything about it.

“I didn’t… well… he’s your brother, Mr. Laufeyson, I didn’t want to assume… to offend–” you stammer.

“So you let him do what he wants?” He snarlss as he turns his sights on you, a brow arch tritely. “You do not work for him, you work for me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to do,” you sputter, confused by his anger. “I tried to…”

Your voice trails off. No, you didn’t try. You were too afraid too. He’s right, you let Thor keep touching you and you didn’t say anything, you didn’t move, you just froze up.

“It makes me wonder,” he cups his chin, leaning on his elbow, “how far would you let him get, hm?”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you whimper, “I’m sorry–”

“Did you like how he touched you?”

“N-no, Mr. Laufeyson, no, of course not,” you plead.

“You do not want him to touch you?” He prompts.

“No, I… didn’t know how to say—”

“Shhh,” he hushes you, lifting his chin from his hand and pressing his finger to his lips. He pulls his hand away to point at you, “I’ve a better question…” He reaches towards you and you flinch. You quiver as he traces the cutout along the top of your blouse, “how far would you let me go?”

You squirm as he hooks his finger inside the teardrop window in the fabric. His fingertip brushes you as he gives a slight tug, looming closer as he draws you towards him. He smirks as you stare dumbfounded. What is he doing?

“My brother will not touch you again,” his voice is low and rocky, “I will make sure of it.” He tickles you slightly and rescinds his hand, “and you will make sure to remember who you belong to.”

He sits back and hooks his fingers in the handle of the porcelain mug. As if on cue, the french doors open behind you and Frigga trills as she emerges, “oh, just enough tea,” she announces, “I added a dash of honey this time.”

She places the cup by her empty chair but does not sit. She twirls and paces around the patio, going to the flower boxes along the rail. She leans in to examine them.

“Perhaps the carpenter could have a look here, it’s crooked,” she declares. “And I dare say the guest room has a loose floorboard right near the bed.”

“Mm, perhaps, mother,” Laufeyson drawls as he once more raises his cup, his eyes stuck on you, “my house manager will be sure to ask, won’t she?”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you wisp out through your constricted throat, barely registering his command. 

You can only hear his previous words echoing, over and over; remember who you belong to. Belong to… No, you only work for him.

[marvels-agents100]

AHHHH you’re so good at capturing the tense and awkward feeling these interactions have!!!

I don’t know what to make of Loki’s change of character- my hopeful mind is saying that he very well heard what had happened over the phone and sympathizes with her and her bad dad, but my rational mind is throwing red flag after red flag. It’s just too… sudden. Too different.

There might be a chance that his behavior shifted due to the call in general. Maybe he didn’t actually hear anything, but thinks she was trying to reach out and he’s excited about it. I have no clue. He’s too unpredictable. I doubt we will ever truly know what he’s thinking and where she stands with him unless he explicitly says it.

Of course, this whole Ronan thing is going to become a problem. I just know it. She ditched tea for the carpenter!!! Loki is going to have a fit!!! (Of course, she was only doing her job, aka the thing she has been yelled at before for straying from) ((our possessive and jealous boss man cannot see past himself, though))

I am so anxious about how this will all blow up. Maybe it won’t. Maybe it will explode spectacularly. I have no clue and I love it.

Dirty Work 15

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: I need this week to end.

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!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The rest of your personal day is spent in the confines of your room. You hear your father below in a tantrum, working himself up as he blusters and stomps. Soon, the smell of cigarette smoke pervades the house. He's found his fix somehow.

You don't dare emerge. You hide behind a book you can't focus on as your eyes stray to the phone, over and over. You keep it off as you fear another miscue. You can already imagine Mr. Laufeyson isn't impressed by the disturbance.

Your sleep comes in shallow morsels. You awake to each creak and crack of the old house, the neighbours arguing through the wall, and the rustling of leaves outside the window. You surrender to your consciousness just as the sun comes up. You'll need to see what damage has been done before Leslie arrives.

The puzzle is overturned on the floor, the coffee table on its side. The wooden chair reserved for the nurse has a leg broken and the TV beams its blue screen around the room. You tidy up as best you can, putting the chair by the back door until you can figure out how to fix it.

The kitchen is more of a mess, cupboards open and a few dishes shattered across the tile. A jar of jam is smeared over the laminate counter top along with what you had left of the peanut butter reserved for your lunch. You sigh and toss the empty jars, wiping up the puddles of wasted food.

You brew a tea and sit on the front porch, paranoid that your father might rouse and come to taunt you some more. He's done it before, as if to spite your efforts. He trashes the place only to accuse you of being negligent. What did you ever do to make him hate you? Why does it seem like everyone you meet feels the same?

You finish the black breakfast blend and wash the cup. You creep upstairs to get dressed and wait on your bed until your bus is due. You flee with your work bag and a deep yawn you can't repress.

The commute is your rare chance at peace. You don't have to think as you look out the window and watch the amber headlights pass and the storefronts slowly flicker to life. The nicer houses rise as the streets turn suburban and fervent long swells in your chest. Why couldn't you live like this?

Why couldn't you be like those children running to get in the van with their schoolbags bouncing, their parents laughing at their excitement, or like the mother with her carriage, enjoying a lazy walk as the neighbourhood awakens?

Those things aren't for you. You shouldn't complain, someone always has it worse. You shouldn't pity yourself. Your mother died well before she was ever your age and your father is sick. You are healthy and you have a job. That's something, better than nothing.

You break the threshold of the Laufeyson estate, the gate whining and clanging shut. You hunch down and wind along the path, looking ahead of your feet and no further. You rub your eyes as you come to the back door and check the time. A bit ahead of schedule but he can hardly be unhappy about that.

You are careful in the low din of the house. It's deathly quiet as you leave your shoes on the mat and surpass the closet. As you near the kitchen, you hear a clink from within. You slow, padding quietly in an effort not to betray your presence. You keep against the wall as you resist the urge to peek inside.

"You like tea, no?" The voice wafts through, rippling through the still silence.

You cringe and clutch the straps of your bag. You lower your head and wet your lips. You inch towards the archway.

"Mr. Laufeyson, I don't mind tea," you answer.

"Very well," he takes down a second cup as the kettle boils softly.

"I've already had mine, but thank you, Mr. Laufeyson. I should get to work, the carpenter will be in today."

"You're welcome," he replies as he plucks out tea bags from a hexagonal tin and drops one in each mug. "You can stomach a second. I bought this tea in Tokyo a while back. I need to finish it before it goes stale."

You linger in the door. Is this some trick? Maybe it's pity? Had he really heard that pocket call? You hoped maybe he hadn't been able to hear past the fabric. You watch him as he puts the lid back on the tin. As usual, you can't read him.

What would he even think if he did hear? That you're even more pathetic than he believed?

"Come," he puts his hands on the counter with the undeniable demand.

You obey and cross to the other side of the counter. You teeter and look around awkwardly, not certain what to say or do. He drags his fingertips over the granite and leans weight onto them.

"Thank you for the t--"

"How was your day off--"

You both speak at the same time. You snap your mouth shut and give an apologetic flutter of your fingers. He seals his lips and hesitates, clearing his throat. 

"You said the carpenter is due," he redirects, "no doubt you'll have a busy day. Tomorrow, I want you to clear the schedule."

"Tomorrow? Yes, Mr. Laufeyson."

"Don't ask me why, you will know in due time."

"Understood," you take out the phone and make a note, your should hanging heavy on your elbow.

He waits. You don't say a word. The kettle pops and he turns to take it and pours the tea. He sets it back on the base and slides a mug closer.

"You're not curious?" He wonders.

"Like you said, I'll find out," you say, "thank you again."

"Five minutes for a good steep," he girds, "you will want the flavour to set."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you step closer as you pinch the handle and draw the cup closer.

"Mmm," he hums, rolling his shoulders back. "I had a question for you then." You look up and wait patiently, your eyelashes clinging with your fatigue, "was there some emergency yesterday?"

"Pardon?" You gulp.

"I saw that you called but couldn't make anything out," his cheek twitches, "but I wasn't sure if it was some mistake--"

"It was. Sorry--" you cover your mouth at your own abruptness, "it was an accident. I'm sorry."

"Ah," he nods as he considers you. Can he see through the lie? Does he even care?

"It won't happen again. I'm sorry to have bothered."

"Not bothered," he assures and takes the string of the tea bag, bobbing it up and down in the water, "I have other things to be bothered with, that's certain."

You cross your arms and sway, turning this way and that as you peer around. He didn't hear but you're still uneasy. He startles you as he moves smoothly around the counter. He approaches you and reaches to grasp the strap of your bag.

“Stay a while,” he insists as he tugs and you unfold your arms.

As he slides the strap down your arm, his other hand gently brushes your sleeve, just where the bruise smarts. The tender spot thrums and you wince, letting out a hiss. He hestitates as he places your bag on the counter.

His mouth opens and closes as if he can't think of what to say. You put your hand over the bruise and grimace.

“Did I–”

“No,” you interject, “ Thanks, that was heavy.”

“Ah, yes, well… it will take some time for the tea to cool.”

You shift, just a few inches away to face the counter again. He must be lying. He had to have heard everything yesterday, it's the only way to explain his behaviour. Somehow, you've managed to sink even lower, he must feel on top of the world.

🧹

Ronan arrives just after nine. You rush out to meet him, your tea only half-finished. As he shows you his plans for the repair, you do your best to answer his questions, telling him that some details will need to be approved by Mr. Laufeyson. 

You turn towards the house and see the curtain in one of the front windows ripple. You offer to show the carpenter to the gazebo but he insists he can find his own way. Before he can, the front door swings inward and Laufeyson emerges.

“Ah, you must be the builder,” he struts down the steps, “welcome.”

You're taken aback by Laufeyson’s demeanour. For his own family, he was never more than perturbed, but here he is, playing it up. You know for sure that he is, he's never sounded so… nice.

“Hi,” Ronan faces him, his bag in one hand as his other goes to his hip. He stands nonplussed as the host nears.

“Loki,” Laufeyson introduces himself as he offers his hand.

“Ronan,” the other man eyes his fingers before he accepts the gesture. There's tension in his tendons as he squeezes and shakes. “Fine house, you got.”

“A bit big for just me,” Laufeyson sighs as he's released and waves his hand at the facade behind him, “but I won't complain for it.”

“And you've got a wonderful house manager to deal with it all,” Ronan muses.

“Yes, I suppose,” he shrugs, “did you need a tour–”

“Got it,” Ronan interrupts, “I should start. Got a lot to do.”

“Of course, of course,” Laufeyson steps out of his way, “oh but there is this,’ he reaches into his jacket pocket, “the deposit.”

Ronan nods and takes the check with a swipe, “thanks.”

“I always pay for fine work,” Laufeyson intones with a certain lilt. You sense heat roiling between them but why, you can't guess.

“And I never deliver less,” Ronan folds the check with one hand and shoves it in a denim pocket, “I'll try not to make too much of a ruckus.”

They stare at each other as if in a wordless conversation. As the carpenter slowly steps past the resident, you find your voice.

“Thank you, Ronan,” you squeak after the man and he dips his hand, waving over his shoulder as he disappears down the path.

“Where did you find that man?” Laufeyson asks.

“Online? He had good reviews.”

“Mmm, you should've searched out a proper company, not some independent contractor.’

“Oh?” You frown.

“It's only… I've heard stories of swindlers,” he crosses his arms as he faces you completely.

“Sorry, I…”

“It is what it is. We shall see,” he dismisses your apology.

“Right, uh, I'll just… get back to work,” you turn towards the same path and Laufeyson's step echoes yours as he follows you swiftly.

“What are you doing? Where are you going?”

“Inside,” you utter dumbly.

“The door is that way,” he argues.

“Well, uh…” you stop and pivot around as he stumbles to a halt, “sure, I guess… it's a habit.”

“You may go through the front, you do much more than clean now, don't you, maid?”

You're not sure how to take the epithet. Is he reminding you of what you were or telling you what you'll always be? You don't reply. You'll just sound stupid. Your father taught you sometimes it's better to just bite your tongue. 

You redirect to the front door as he stays on your tail. His shadow makes you want to shrink down to nothing as he looms close. You enter and he nearly collides with you as you remove your shoes.

You press on to the kitchen as he follows. As he resumes his place before his tea cup you go to the cupboard and search out the pitcher you saw the other day and a tall glass. While you fill the jug, he clucks.

“What are you doing?”

“I'll put some water on the patio in case he gets thirsty,” you pull away from the lever, “sorry, I… should've asked. I was just thinking–”

“No, no, you're right. We should be hospitable,”

You nod and push against the lever so the water pours out of the nozzle. When it's full, you find a tray and set it beside the single glass and add ice. Laufeyson taps his porcelain cup.

“Aren't you going to finish your tea?” He asks.

“Um,” you blink and peek back at the mug as you lift the tray, “sure, when I come back.”

You turn to leave, trying not to falter as his gaze tugs at you. You go to the patio door and stop balancing the tray against the side table. Before you can even try the door, Laufeyson sidles past to slide it back himself.

“There, wouldn't want a spill.”

“Er, thanks,” you don't look at him as you pass. He's being helpful. Too helpful.

You place the tray on the glass table and go back inside. You sweep through to the entryway and grab your shoes. Laufeyson once more tails you.

“Your tea,” he reminds you.

“I know, I'm just going to let Ronan know about the water…” you murmur.

You go outside before he can catch up. You descend the front stairs and follow the curve towards the rear path. Mr. Laufeyson’s silhouette disappears behind the hedges as you round the corner of the house and head down towards the gazebo.

Ronan is at the top of the stairs, he paces around, eyeing the railings and testing the stability of the columns with a firm grip. He tilts his head as you approach unnoticed. You stand just on the bottom step sheepishly.

“Um, excuse me, sir,” you pipe up.

“Yes,” he spins to face you, “miss, what can I do for you?”

“Oh, nothing, I just… I left some water on the patio,” you point over towards the house, “if you follow the path around, the stairs are just by the rose bushes.”

“Thanks,” he says, “that's very… sweet of you.”

“Uh, well, it's pretty hot out.”

“Used to it,” he says as he grabs a thick metal clipboard and scribbles with short pencil, “but it's appreciated. Always nice to work with someone competent.”

“I…” your cheeks ache to smile, you think it's a compliment, “thank you.”

“I'd hate to keep you,” he says as he sets the clipboard back on his bag, “your boss seems to be very… straight laced. I wouldn't want to tangle him up.”

“It's… um, yeah, if you need anything, I'll be around,” you offer, bobbing on your heels, “I'll have my phone, you could message me or ring the bell.”

“I think I'll be okay,” he chuckles, not mockingly but kindly, “go on, you're right, it's too hot to be out here in polyester.”

You look down at yourself, sweat beading along your hairline as if to confirm his warning, “yeah… erm, okay. Thanks.”

You shuffle off the step, balling your fists as you walk away with straight arms, fighting not to look back. That was awkward and strange. You can only think he'll be laughing again, this time at your expense.

[marvels-agents100]

I am ripping out my hair this is getting SO tense.

I am SO sick of him bagging on her clothes. Like, we all know you want to dress her you freaky man, just do it already!! Just another way to stake a claim over her if he did.

I know he’s going to get all bent out of shape about the carpenter. Ronan is probably going to talk to cinder like she’s in charge (since to him, she is), and it’s going to set Mr. Laugeyson OFF.

Her dad’s behavior is escalating and I don’t like it :/ he’s always been mean but throwing stuff at someone is a new level we haven’t seen. I hope she leaves this situation soon. I would hate to see it escalate further.

Mr. Laufeyson, you nosy little shit. The one thing she had that he couldn’t hold over her head- her father and his treatment of her. Now he knows. I wonder how long he would’ve stayed on the phone if she didn’t notice. I just know he was loving being a fly on the wall.

Dirty Work 14

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: Pretty sure I'm getting another sinus infection.

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!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You realise a little too late that you have no idea if you should do more than pour the brew into a mug. You recall Frigga mentioned Mr. Laufeyson took his tea black but was it the same for coffee? You never drink it so you wouldn't know better. You hate to presume.

So you find a small tray, setting the mug on it with the dish of sugar and a little porcelain milk urn. You balance is all and climb the staircase tremulously, the task made heavier by the dread nipping at your ears.

You come down the hall and stop before the study door. Your hands are occupied so you gentle tap with your toe. Without an answer, you try again. Still, you're met with only silence.

"Mr. Laufeyson?" You call through, "I have your coffee--"

The door a few feet down opens instead and you turn to face the dour occupant. Mr. Laufeyson beckons you wordlessly with a curt gesture before he disappears behind the door frame. You follow as you let a breath slowly out your nose. Inside, he sits at the writing desk, the laptop open as he tilts his head at it. He has your notes open, shamelessly perusing your reminders.

"Here you are, Mr. Laufeyson," you put the tray on the desk.

"There we are," he accepts tersely and sits back, swiping up the paper from atop the gold and white folder. He eyes the estimate left by the carpenter with your signature at the bottom. "So, what are we to do about that infernal thing?"

You fold your hands and wait for his answer. You realise he does not want one from you. He sniffs and slips the paper over the keyboard, letting it drift slightly over the edge. He sits back and look at you.

"It is the last of your worries, surely," he says flippantly, "firstly, this..." he taps the laptop, "you leave it here. As if you do not care."

You purse your lips. You won't argue. If he wants you to take it home, certainly you can, but you don't have wifi or a need for it beyond these walls.

"What if something should happen? You would want to have access to all your..." he eyes the screen, "clutter."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. Noted."

"Noted?" He scoffs and unfolds his arms, "right."

He moves the paper back to the folder and types swiftly, much quicker than your chicken pecking. He sits back proudly and once more sets his sights on you. You clutch your hands tighter and await further remonstrance. This is his vengeance. You can't help but feel you deserve it.

He reaches for the mug, disregarding the milk and sugar, and blows over it. He watches you as he sips.

"Mm," he considers the double-walled cup, "bit strong..."

"Mr. Laufeyson, I could try again--"

"It'll do," he dismisses, "as I said, other concerns. And as I also said, several times, and how you know I do hate to repeat myself, this..." he points at you, flicking his finger up and down, "attire."

You look down at yourself and shrug. The clothes aren't that bad, only plain. Maybe not to his standard but you don't see how they're so wrong.

"Mr. Laufeyson, I don't know--"

"You don't know much, do you?" He challenges, "well, you better catch up." 

He pauses to take another sip, cheeks straining as his throat tightens. He can barely choke down the coffee, making you feel even worse. Is it that bad?

"Are you not curious why I've returned early?" He sets the mug down as he leans forward.

You're quiet. It's not that you don't care, you just wouldn't dare ask. Not after last night, you wouldn't want to bring up bad feelings.

"I see you had my return marked in your calendar," he continues, "I suppose I spoiled your plans, hm?"

"No, Mr. Laufeyson," you assure him.

"So you are happy for my return?"

Your cheek twitches. It's an odd question. One that has no right answer. A trick.

"If you're happy, Mr. Laufeyson, then I am too."

He seems surprised by your answer as his brows arch and his lips part slightly. He closes his mouth and narrows his eyes as he watches you. He chortles and stands.

"How..." he struggles to find a word, "foolish."

You're struck equally by his response. The threat that underlines it and the rebuke in his tone. You dip your head down.

"Call the carpenter," he orders as he retrieves the bill, "I'll sign off on the repairs."

He struts by you as you stare at the tray and his unfinished coffee. Another to-do: you'll have to figure out that machine. 

🧹

It isn't until you sit down to work that you realise the door is still open. The one adjoining the library to Mr. Laufeyson's study. You can hear the subtle tap of keys as he sets to work. You hunker down to do the same, overly mindful of each little noise.

You'll make your call to Ronan elsewhere so you don't disturb the silence. You go through your list, marking down what can be done today in your phone. You get up and slowly move towards the door.

"Sneaking off? You are so good at creeping around? Like a little cat," Laufeyson intones before you can let yourself out. You look back as he stands in the other doorway, "I have an appointment shortly. You will let them in when they ring and show them up."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you agree.

"So you won't stray far."

"I won't."

He waves you off lightly and disappears into the study once more. You turn and quietly shuffle into the hallway. You go downstairs and pace as you dial the phone. Your nerves are a swirl. Mr. Laufeyson is suffocatingly observant.

"Ronan Carpentry," the voice comes from the speaker.

"Oh, ach, hi," you nearly choke on your tongue, "hi, um, I'm just following up on an estimate."

He asks for your name, you give your own but add Mr. Laufeyson's as he would be the leaseholder. The air is static as the man is silent on the other end. He hums and finally speaks again.

"So you would like to go forward with the work?" He prompts.

"Yes, sir."

"When would be best to begin?" He's straight to business. You can appreciate that.

"Hmm, well, I could do most days except Wednesday but the owner would be here."

"Would he be handling this or would you?"

You trace a fingernail with your thumb, "me, I guess."

"Thursday works for me," he confirms, "if it suits you, miss."

"Great," you sigh, "yeah, Thursday works."

"Nine good?" His deep voice is smooth like syrup as it drips through the phone.

"Nine," you confirm with a squeak, "thank you, sir."

"Of course. Have a good one."

You eke out a 'you, too' and hang up. You exhale out your nerves. You're even more jittery and you don't know why. Usually getting phone calls out of the way is a relief. 

You do your best to focus, working down the list until the doorbell buzzes. You jump, taking a moment to recall the expected visitor. You rush out the front door and down the steps. You come up to the gate but find a car waiting by the bigger door. You hit the button so it rolls open and lets the brown vehicle through.

The man that gets out has gray hair and pale blue eyes. He looks around curiously as you cross the lot back to the house. He gives you a friendly smile as you approach and offers his hand, "Loki hanging around here?"

You daintily shake his hand, a gesture you're unused to. His grip is firm but not harsh.

"Mr. Laufeyson is upstairs in his study, I can show you in--"

"Mr. Laufeyson?" He repeats, amused, "in his study? I can find my way," he lets you go, "he didn't tell me he had a lady friend."

Your mouth forms a surprised squiggle, "I'm the house manager."

"Ah, house manager," he clucks, "interesting. Well, can't keep him waiting, I'm already late."

He shoots you with a finger gun and rushes past you. You frown as you turn to watch him. He's not what you expected. You don't see Laufeyson as tolerating someone like that, not that he puts up with much.

As you enter the house, you hear the man's voice upstairs. You're not used to signs of life. His gregarious greeting is soon smothered behind a door. You carry on.

At one, you take a short break in the garden to have your peanut butter sandwich. You thought of eating at the counter as you usually do but being inside is starting to feel oppressive. You chew the dry bread and thick spread, staring at the foliage without seeing.

Your eyes are drawn up as you sense movement and you find curtains being drawn back on the second floor. A figure lingers behind the pane before backing away. You're certain it's Mr. Laufeyson. You hope he's not bothered by you being out in the garden.

You finish the crust last, your stomach mulching up the food violently, and you dust off your fingers. You take out your phone and check the list. No time to waste. You had your ten minutes. You can get through a few more hours.

🧹

Tuesday comes and goes in a similar slog. Your hours are whittled away as you find yourself under the omniscient eye of Mr. Laufeyson. Each time you think you're alone, he appears. He looms but doesn't speak, lurking and waiting, for what, you don't know. At the end of the day, you still don't know. You go home, just as you do every night, without a farewell.

Home sees you just the same. Leslie's finishing up as your father sits over a new puzzle. It's been ages since you've seen him so consumed by anything besides his cigarettes. You sit and have dinner at the nurse's insistence and bid her off. 

Your father stays up as you go up to shower and settle into bed. The last six days hang off your shoulders like sandbags and needle in the muscles between your shoulder blades. You lay down and fall asleep almost as soon as your head meets the pillow. You've never been so exhausted in your life.

You wake up, less refreshed than groggy. You make yourself get out of bed, wanting to get stuff done on your singular day off. After you have your tea and get your dad his coffee,  you get to the chores that you couldn't do throughout the week. Mopping and vacuuming, then laundry.

As you work on the second floor, your father sits with his puzzle. He's fidgety as he hunches over the table. You watch him as you sweep the floor around the couch. He catches you as he glances up. He scowls and shakes his head.

You gather the dust and dirt into the pan and dump it out. You check the time. It's nearly lunchtime. You wash your hands and check the cupboard. There's a can of tuna leftover from your last grocery trip. You'll try to do another on your way home from work tomorrow.  You take out your phone and add it to your reminders.

You go back to the living room as your dad holds a handful of pieces and tosses them one at a time onto the wood as he searches for a particular shape.

"Are you hungry at all?" You ask.

"I want a fucking smoke," he growls.

"Well, I'm sorry, I don't have any," you tuck the phone in your pocket and push your hands behind you, clasping them tightly. The weight of it presses against your thigh.

"Don't be a fucking smartass," he throws the pieces left in his hand at you and they scatter on the floor. "Maybe if you got off that phone , eh?"

You kneel down to gather up the pieces. He snarls and hits the table. You pluck up the last few and set them on wood as you stand.

"Where'd you get a phone like that, huh? Expensive? You been buying yourself all this nice shit and I'm sitting here on a stinky fucking couch rotting away," he accuses.

"It's for work," you say, "I'm gonna make tuna sandwiches."

He sits back and huffs, swiping up the remote and jabbing it through the air towards the television. He sets the volume on blast so your eardrums pulse. You step back as he jams his thumb into the buttons.

“Makes me wonder what kinda job affords you a fancy phone like that?”

“Huh?” You grimace.

“Well, you got no schooling, got no skills,” he sniffs, “only got one thing of use.”

He can't mean… that. You're his daughter. Your eyes sear and gleam as you shake your head.

“I… I'm a house manager,” you croak, “dad–”

“Sure,” he guffaws, “what kinda idiot would want you managing their house? They probably haven't seen this dump.”

“Please, I'm trying–”

“You always gotta fucking yammer!” He barks and a hot pain bounces off your arm. 

You grunt and look down as the remote hits the floor. You rub the tender spot as you let out a shocked ‘ow.’

“Go fucking cry about it. I can't hear the TV over your whining.”

You hold back the wall of tears and pick up the remote. You set it by his puzzle and back up. Yo wiggle your nose as you sidle out of the room. hiding your face.

You move tentatively like prey avoiding the vicious eyes of a hunter. Your arm throbs as you feel a welt forming. It's better to hide before you get more.

You forget about the tuna as your hunger evaporates. You can only think of the pain that goes much deeper than flesh. That rent in your heart that can barely contain your despair. It splits wider as the stress of the week threatens to overflow.

You retreat to your room as the salty tears begin to stream, catching along your nose and dripping off your chin. You close the door and hurtle yourself towards the bed to bury your face in the pillow. A hard shape presses into your leg, a corner stabbing you bluntly.

You lift your hip and fish around in your pocket to free your phone, tearing your pocket inside out. As you go to put it on the nightstand, you notice the timer in the corner. Didn't you lock it before you shoved it away?

You sit up and gulp back sobs, shaking as you stare at the ongoing call. Mr. Laufeyson's name is blazed across the screen. You put it to your ear and whisper, “hello?” You swallow and make yourself speak louder, “hello?”

The line clicks and you pull the screen back. The call's ended as the option to return the call pops up. You blacken the screen and turn the phoje face down, dropping it onto the night table.

Did he hear all that?

[marvels-agents100]

Things are HEATING UPPPPP and it’s SO GOOD.

First, a vulnerable Mr. Laufeyson?!?!? Still an asshole, yes, but I wonder what she would’ve seen if she didn’t leave when he told her to….

Also WHAT did he think he saw???? I’m so anxious about it,,,,

That little rejection is going to wreck her and she doesn’t even know it. He is going to stew on that until the end of time. Ugh. The tension is getting to me for sure.

Dirty Work 13

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: Ew, Monday.

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!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The taxi lets you out just outside the darkened estate. Your heart lurches as you stand on the curb, the car slowly rolling away as you stand in a cone of light beneath a street pole. You stare up at the ominous facade with its cavernous windows.

You want to believe it was just a faulty wire or some anomaly but you have to be sure of it. The gate is locked, just as you were certain you left it. You key in the code and shut yourself in. The hedges and looming trees lendthe property an unearthly feel as you creep along, aided only by slivers of moonlight.

You stop and look down at the phone clutched in your hand. You search for the flashlight app and shine it ahead of you. By habit, you go around the back, even as the chirp of crickets and hum of the night adds to your foreboding.

The beep of each digit pressed into the keypad pierces the night. The electronic chime is unceremonious is the nocturnal din. Inside, there is a haze of light from just down the hallway. Did you leave it on or did someone else?

You turn off the light on the phone and drag up the call app instead. Just in case you need to call for help. You proceed without flipping any switches, careful not to make a noise as you advance. You reach the entryway and turn to face the glow emitting from the broad archway.

You hold your breath as dread bubbles up to your throat. You stop short as the clink of a glass cracks the silence. Mr. Laufeyson’s back is to you as he sets down the short tumbler, a stray droplet clinging to the brim. He rescinds his arm and wipes his mouth with his cuff.

You could sigh. It’s okay. He’s only come home early. It’s not some sinister intruder or covetous criminal. It is only him.

You could go and he’d never know of your foolish panic. You lean back on your heel as you tuck away your phone. He strides to the tall glass cabinet and presses the door so it releases. He pushes it open and drags out one of the dark bottles. You sidle backwards, stretching an arm out to feel around you.

“What are you doing here?” He sneers and stops you in your tracks.

You gulp and blink. Speechless. Caught.

“Yes, you,” he turns and uncaps the round-shouldered bottle.

“Mr. Laufeyson, I…” you sputter and step out of the shadows, “the alarm.”

He fills the glass and clunks the bottle down heavily, resting the cap on top but not sealing it. He swipes up the tumbler and brings it before his mouth. His green eyes sparkle like emeralds in the low light of a single lamp.

“And you came oh so quickly,” he scoffs.

You rub your lips together, uncertain what to say. He seems unhappy. His early return is likely for unpleasant reasons.

He swigs and strides, his free hand patting his thigh in agitation as he paces. He spins and retraces his steps, mouthing to himself. You peer down the hall and back at him. You feel you’ve walked in on a very private moment.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, I’ll go,” you say.

“Hm, you do not want to stay?” He challenges as he halts and faces you, his sole scuffing sharply, “I’m certain this place is preferable to whatever sty you reside in.”

“I only came to make sure all is well–”

“And why wouldn’t it be?” He pauses to toss back the last of his drink, liquor by the looks of it. “Were you neglectful in your duties, mm? Shall I take inventory?”

“Mr. Laufeyson, I was only… nevermind,” you shrug.

“Bah,” he waves you off and twists on his feet, once more strutting away. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he goes to stand by the mantel, tilting his head as he gazes along the ornaments. Just where the camera hides. “While you’re here, pour me another drink.”

You chew your lip and wring your hands as you come forward. You break the threshold of the den and near the round table beside the armchair. You peek at him as he toys with the globe, flicking it around with one finger.

“Do take your time,” he hisses.

You grab the bottle and lift the cap. You tip it carefully but still hit it against the top of the glass. The liquid glugs out and the scent rises to tinge your nostrils. You set the bottle down and take the glass, wondering how anyone can stomach it.

You go to him as he leans a hand on the mantel, his other on his hip as he huffs. He shakes his head at some irksome thought. You stand nearby but don’t dare disturb him. He frightens you as he turns and snatches the glass.

“You know,” he begins, stopping himself to drain half the glass, “the last thing I need to worry about is this place. I hired you for just that and I find you looking at me as if this house should be aflame.”

You look down and take a step back. He clucks and pivots, stomping around the sofa. You stay as you are, rigid and uneasy. The anger roils off of him and you are the only one there to hear it.

“My father… of course, couldn’t be happy for my visit. No, never is. I swear he must’ve despised my very birth,” he snarls, “but my brother, oh, he can do no wrong.”

He empties the last of the glass as you peer over your shoulder. He grips the glass tight and bares his teeth at it. His eyes are drawn to yours as if he can sense them.

“You’re still here,” he growls.

“Mr. Laufeyson, sorry, I–” you hurry around the other side of the sofa towards the door, “I was only–”

“No, no,” he stops you as he waves his palm, “another.”

He presents the glass in his other hand. You stare at it. There’s a cloudy tint in his eyes. As you approach, you hear him exhale. You take the glass and his fingers brush yours clumsily as he drops his arm. 

You look at the empty tumbler and back to him. You don’t know how much he’s had or how much more he should. You don’t drink but you suppose he wouldn’t need more than a few glasses.

“Are you sure you should–”

“Are you questioning me?” He snips.

“No, Mr. Laufeyson, I only… it’s late and you’ve been traveling–”

“Don’t tell me what’s good for me,” he raises a finger to point in your face, “left alone for one day and you presume a bit much.”

“Mr. Laufeyson, not at all,” you swallow, “I will get you more–”

“No,” he grabs you before you can retreat, his hands on your shoulders, “why…”

His word dangles between you as his question remains unasked. Terror courses through you as he grips your shoulders tight, the size and strength of his hands locking you in place. You bat your lashes as you stare up at him. The liquor clings to his breath as it fans over you.

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you squeak.

He holds on to you, almost trembling. He steps closer as he draws you in. He is almost hypnotised as he glares down at you. His hands slip away only to grasp the bulk of your hood instead, bunching it in his fists. He leans, teetering on his feet, looming over you.

You are trapped in your own shock. You cannot pull away, you can’t push him off, you can’t move. You’re horrified as you wonder what he’s thinking. As you fear what he might do next.

He is drunk, that isn’t a question, but is he dangerous?

“The light plays tricks on me,” he whispers before he lets you go, swaying as he turns and finds his way to the sofa. He flops down, leaning against the backrest. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back. “You are correct, I am drunk.” He takes a breath and blows out with a groan, his lashes flicking open suddenly as he sits up, “go.”

You nod and put the glass beside the bottle. You march back to the archway and stop, glancing back at Mr. Laufeyson as he drops his head and cradles it in his hands. He looks almost pathetic as he slouches forward. 

“I said leave me,” he snaps without looking up, “now!”

🧹

The night is short and fruitless. Your sleep is splintered with anxiety and the morning sees you twitchy and uneasy. As you get ready to leave, you wonder if you should even bother. That rotten feeling in your gut assures you you’ll meet no different than the previous night.

Yet, Mr. Laufeyson hadn’t fired you. He only told you to leave and you can’t afford to give up, though for the first time, you're considering it. As Leslie gets your father’s coffee ready, you’re reminded that you can’t. No, he needs you, he is only too stubborn to admit it.

You set off as the knot in your stomach draws tighter. You don’t sit on the bus, instead standing as your nerves get the better of you. You rock, leaning into the motion of the bus and your stop comes too soon. You drag yourself off and shudder as you look down towards your fate.

You’re on time. Five minutes ahead of expected. The gate code works, that’s a good sign. Your usual trawl through the gardens is hazy and dull. You don’t notice the blue jay winging or the lady bugs crawling on the brick. You can only focus on what comes next. You’re completely blinded by the unknown.

Inside, the house is as empty as the day before. Not truly. You know Mr. Laufeyson will show himself eventually. You hang your bag and put on shoe covers and gloves. It’s Monday, a cleaning day.

You begin if only for the distraction. Down the hall, into the kitchen, room to room, until you reach the den. There is no sign of the previous night’s run-in. The bottle is neatly back in the cabinet with the rest, the short glass is gone, and all appears as it should be. So why does it feel so off?

You work through the room almost ritualistically. You have a pattern and you stick to it. The familiar has always been safest. 

As you near the table, something sparkles on the dark hardwood. You bend to pick up the small shard of glass, careful not to let it cut into your fingertips. You glance around to see if it broke off anything close by. No cracks, no chips. It’s clear and tiny. Almost indiscernible.

You cup it in your hand and take it to the kitchen to put in the bin. Something so small can cause a lot of pain. You shake off your palm and let the lid close.

“Ah, I see you are working hard,” Mr. Laufeyson’s voice rolls through you.

You tense and turn slowly from the bin. You keep your head down as you cross the kitchen, “yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

As you try to pass the counter, where he stands, he steps out to block your path. You stop and back up, your gaze stuck to the tiles before his leather shoes. He stands close enough for his warmth to cloud around you.

“Coffee,” he states the single word and in an undeniable demand. 

He’s never asked for that before but you can figure it out. It must be a test. Or a lesson. He’s reminding you of your place. You can’t just barge in after hours, even if you are trying to help. Well, that’s the thing, he only wants the help he asks for so you better stop thinking so much.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

You turn and go to the cupboard. You don’t know where anything is. You clean but you don’t cook or go through anything. You open one door; wrong. The second; wrong. On the fifth, you find a bag of coffee. 

As you unfold the top, you reveal aromatic beans. You stare at them. You make coffee for your father all the time but you buy grounds, not whole beans. You look around for a hint. You’ve seen people grind beans on television but they don’t exactly show the grinder; it’s always just a loud noise in the background before the balding blonde brings the metropolitan cast their wide brimmed cappuccinos.

You flinch as Mr. Laufeyson struts around the bend of the counter and slides a square device across the granite. He pushes it in front of you, crowding you again. You thank him and stare at the grinder. What do you do now?

You take the little scoop from inside the bag and spoon up a heap of beans. You hover them above the rest as you touch the grinder, turning it as you examine it. He sighs and taps a silver button. The lid pops up and reveals a compartment. You pour in the beans and close the top.

“Are you truly so ignorant?” He accuses.

“Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson,” you utter, not bothering with an excuse.

“It is a simple task. They train teenagers to do it,” he scoffs.

You nod and press the button that reads ‘grind’. You hold it, happy for the noisy reprieve from his criticism. When it’s done, you look around again. There’s a machine but it looks a lot different than the drip machine in your own kitchen. You go over to it and feel along the upper part, searching for a catch. Surely there’s somewhere to put a filter.

He nears again. He slides a drawer out and takes out a little metal canister. He pushes a button to open the top of the machine and wiggles it over it to say, it goes here. You open your hand and he lets you have it. You return to the grinder and scoop out the ground beans into the little canister. 

You return to the machine as he taps his fingers on the counter. You slip the canister into place and close the lid. The screen lights up and shows several options. You don’t know which one to choose. He huffs and selects ‘bold’. You stare at his tie in shame.

“How can you not know how to brew a coffee?” He sneers.

You shrug, “sorry, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Mm, there is much you don’t know, isn’t there? Much I know which you wouldn’t,” he snickers, “oh but I know something about you. Something… interesting.”

You furrow your brow and look up, not far, just at his throat. His hand slips across the counter and he looms over you. His gaze bores into you as he hangs over you like a shadow. He pulls back and turns to lean on the counter, lifting his wrist to adjust his watch. He’s certain to turn his hand to show it off. 

“What I know is that you’re a liar,” he states, “and sneaky. And nosy.”

“Mr. Laufeyson, I only came last night because the alarm–”

“Last night? What do you mean?”

“Uh…” you blink and look him in the face. “You don’t remember?” 

“Ha,” he snorts, “of course I do. You were concerned after I triggered the alarm. So be it. I am not talking about that,” he faces you as he smirks, “you like to hide, don’t you?”

You frown and shrug. You don’t know what he means. He laughs and once more touches his watch.

“I know exactly how you came upon my watch that day,” he announces, “and I suspect you discovered a few other curious sights.”

You blanch and shake your head vehemently. Your cheeks are on fire and your whole body is buzzing. You could disintegrate right then and there. You almost wish you could.

“I didn’t– I didn’t see anything at all. I just– I just– Mr. Laufeyson, I wouldn’t ever– you’re my boss. I was afraid but I couldn’t see out from under the bed.”

“But if you could…” he hums.

“No,” you insist, “no, I wouldn’t want to.”

“Wouldn’t want to?” He echoes dully.

“I understand, I was wrong to not say anything but I was only trying to clean–”

“Wouldn’t want to?” He repeats even louder.

You snap your mouth shut and frown. You don’t know what to say. You’re embarrassed. You should’ve just told him yourself. Before you can apologise, he throws his hand up and sidesteps you.

“You may bring me my coffee,” he orders harshly, “be certain to knock.”

[marvels-agents100]

Well, I am pleasantly surprised at her father’s behavior! I’m glad Leslie is working out, and I am proud of her for recognizing how badly she is treated in comparison. Big steps for our girl.

I was mentally cringing when she was telling Ronan that her boss was out of town and the house wasn’t hers. I know she didn’t know better— she’s never had anything anyone would want to steal— but I KNEW something was going to happen because of it. Again, an honest mistake, but a really really big one.

I hope she doesn’t try to take some burglars on herself. I’m so scared for her!

Dirty Work 12

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: I'm having too much fun with this.

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!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As you enter, you hear Leslie. It's an unusual homecoming as you're used to only the blare of the television and swaths of cigarette smoke. Both are missing as you peek into the living room.

“Now, Charles, you heard me,” the nurse chides.

“Yeah, I got it,” your dad says with less spite than usual, “this one.”

Dread curdles in your stomach. The call you got at lunchtime was short and Leslie assured you all was well but you couldn’t tell if she was only being polite. You could hear your father yelling in the background.

You look around the door frame and find your father sitting forward on the couch, one hand on the handle of his oxygen tank as his shoulders obscure his other. You tiptoe closer as Leslie sits in one of the wooden chairs from the dining room. You spot the half-finished jigsaw puzzle on the coffee table as you come forward. 

“Well, give it a try,” she encourages and he pushes the piece into another. He grunts, a noise with some pride. “Looking good, Charles.”

You've never heard anyone talk to your dad like that. Not without being told to cut the shit. And no one ever calls your dad anything but ‘Chuck’.

“Yeah, yeah,” he sounds almost bashful.

“Ah, hello,” Leslie sees you first, “come on in.”

You put your bag down and cautiously inch forward. Your dad doesn’t acknowledge you but that’s not too unusual. You stop behind the couch as he puts another piece in place.

“And how was your day?” The nurse asks in a sunny tone.

“Um… good,” you answer. You don’t usually get that question.

“You look tired. Must have been a long one,” she remarks.

“Mhmm,” you stare at the puzzle as your dad continues to piece it together. You’ve never seen him do anything but watch television or doze on the couch. And rarely without a cigarette between his lips.

“Been a good day for us, too. Me and Charles are just getting to know each other,” she grins.

Still, your dad is silent.

“Charles, come on, say hi, your daughter’s home,” she scolds.

“Hi,” he grunts. She sighs.

“You’re a funny man,” she tuts and stands up, “I got another hour,” she faces you, “why don’t we have a chat?”

“Sure,” you accept and she takes the lead, waving you into the kitchen. Your father mutters to himself as he holds a handful of pieces and picks through them. You give him one last look before you follow the nurse.

Leslie turns to you as she stops just by the counter, “no more cigarettes. We got in a row about the things but I tossed ‘em.”

“Huh?” You can’t help the shock bulging behind your eyes.

“Yep, and he ate all his vegetables,” she smirks proudly, “I know it’s hard to say no to our loved ones but I don’t wanna come back to a fresh pack tomorrow.”

“Uh, yeah, I…” you don’t try to excuse yourself. You don’t buy him smokes, he finds a way, but you still gave up arguing about them.

“I also have some information for you. Some stuff about diet and all that. The meals you made are lovely but there are some recommended staples for his condition that would be better,” she explains, “and an exercise plan. Light duty but he can’t be on that couch all day.”

“Thanks so much,” you say, “I really appreciate it. I… I’m so sorry it’s such a mess-”

“Are ya kidding me? I’ve walked into much worse. He’s a bit crotchety but no skin off my back,” she scoffs, “don’t worry, hon, I got it.”

You could cry. You feel the weight slowly lifting from your shoulders; still there but less. It’s not just having help, it’s having someone to guide you, someone you can speak your concerns to. Someone who can tell you you’re doing the right things.

🧹

It’s eerie entering the house knowing that you’re completely alone. The leash is no slacker without its holder near. You still feel the oppression of the empty house, curtains drawn and shadows pooling.

It won’t be for long. The carpenter will be there soon to inspect the gazebo and the landscapers are due for their scheduled work in the garden. There’s enough to keep you busy and unaware of your employer’s absence.

Still, it’s a strange feeling to walk those empty halls. You half-expected Mr. Laufeyson to appear and berate you, as if he is a wraith who does not abide time or space. He doesn’t and you press on, holing up in the library for the morning.

There’s another mystery in the folder. A riddle you can’t solve. A page taken from a notebook, with little flowers framed around the lines. It’s a list but it’s not for this place. It can’t be. As far as you know, there isn’t a fire pit around here or a lake… both are mentioned among the clustered bullet points.

You earmark it but don’t know if you’ll ever get to it. You want to ask Mr. Laufeyson but then, you’re not sure he would even know. It could be something only his wife would be privy to. You wouldn’t want to reopen old wounds.

You go down to the kitchen to eat your lunch. A plain peanut butter sandwich on whole wheat, the same thing you have every day. It isn’t much but it’s enough to keep you going. You wipe up stray crumbs and put the container back in your bag. 

The doorbell rings just as you come back to the staircase. You descend and for a moment, you let yourself pretend that this is your home. That you are the lady of the estate. That all these fine ornaments and the sprawling gardens belong to you. The fantasy dissolves as you reach the last step.

You go out to meet the new arrival at the gate. It must be the carpenter as the landscapers can let themselves in. You recall his name is Ronan from your brief phone call. You remember because it seemed so unique.

He’s a tall man, hunching slightly as he sees you approach between the slats of iron. You pull the gate open from within and muster a smile to welcome him. You’re at a loss as you can eke out only a mousish ‘hi’.

He says your name, tenuously, as if he isn’t sure.

“That’s me, sir,” you close the gate gently behind him. As he steps past you, his height becomes even more obvious. In his hand, he has a brown leather bag, squarish and bulky. “You’re the carpenter, Ronan?”

“Yes,” he answers as he looks around, “this is a nice place.”

“Erm, thanks,” you utter, “well, er, I suppose I should show you…”

You trail off and scurry around him. You hear him following as the contents of his bag shifts noisily with each step. You take him around the back and divert away from your usual route. You lead him into the thick brush that overgrows the path to the gazebo. You stop before the derelict structure as he comes up beside you.

“There’s a hole in the floor and one of the pillars is cracked,” you explain, pointing, “just wondering if it can be repaired.”

“Ah,” he takes a breath and lets out a thoughtful hum. 

You peek over as his pale blue eyes examine the steps and front columns. He steps forwards and sets his bag on the lowest step before climbing up. His footsteps sound hollow as he traverses the wood, walking the perimeter, stopping to check the broken post and then the boards across the floor. He squats to get a closer look as you remain where you are, rubbing your sweaty palms together.

“I’ve seen worse,” he declares as he stands, his voice booming as he rolls into the open air. He comes back to the archway and rests his hand on the top of the railing, “definitely not a lost cause. Did you have anything in mind for the restoration?”

You shake your head, “I’d have to ask my boss.”

“Your boss?” He wonders as he comes down the stairs and bends to unbuckle his bag.

“Uh, yes, I just… I’m… the house manager?” You say uncertainly. “He’s out of town so I’m seeing to the property.”

“Oh,” he takes out a measuring tape and a level. “I thought it was yours.”

You almost laugh. It's flattering that he would assume that. You just smile sheepishly.

“Well, I’ll have to do a proper inspection, check the integrity for sure, but I’ll leave you my notes. What needs to be tended to, my suggestions…” he says, “when it’s ready, where would I find you?”

“Oh, well… I’ll… I’ll be working on the patio,” you point back to the house as the idea flashes through your mind. Without Mr. Laufeyson, you can enjoy the sunlight. “I’ll be there.”

“Right, thank you miss,” he faces the gazebo and squares his shoulders. You feel as if you’re missing something.

“Um, sir,” you begin, “would you like some water?”

You think that’s right. You should be polite. It’s what Frigga would you think and she seems to know everything.

“That’s very kind of you but no thanks,” he says as he begins up the stairs again.

You twiddle your fingers as you stay there for a moment and watch him. That wasn’t as bad as you expected. It’s always difficult meeting new people. While he’s not overly friendly, he’s not rude or scary or anything like that. He’s just there to do his work, much like you.

You turn on your heel and leave him. Your excitement builds as you trace your way to the backdoor. You can’t wait to bring your things out and sit on the patio. It will be a nice breath of fresh air. Literally.

🧹

Your first day alone proves to be the calmest since you began working for Mr. Laufeyson. You can’t help but bask in the peace of his absence. Even so, you are mindful to stay within his lines. You haven’t forgotten the camera on the mantle.

You leave the house after double-checking that the security is enabled and the doors are all locked. The gate clunks loudly into place and you shake it just to be sure. You exhale and turn off down the street, eager to get home and relieve Leslie of her duties.

The bus comes on time and you find a seat, staring out at the city as it passes. You hug your bag in your lap as you recognize that moment. That rare occasion where you’re not bound up in knots. There is no Mr. Laufeyson to shadow and rebuke you. And your father is taken care of and seemingly content. 

As you get off at your stop, you take your time as the sky sets slowly above. You are met by a similar scene as the previous night. Your father is at the coffee table, bent over as he pushes pieces into each other. Leslie is singing in the kitchen as she tidies and looks up as you enter.

“Ah, hello hon,” she beams cheerily, “dinner’s in the oven for ya.”

“Um, oh, thanks, you didn’t have to…”

“More than enough,” she smiles, “long day?”

“Not too bad,” you glance back over your shoulder into the living room, “how was he?”

You turn back and she cackles, “I’m sure you know how he can be. He’s calming down a bit. We got in a right tiff over the cigarettes again but he ran out of air to bluster.”

“Oh…” you scratch your neck, “I’m sorry, I hope he’s not too much.”

“Like I said, nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” she shrugs.

You nod and return to the living room. You near your father as he rubs his chin. He’s almost done the puzzle.

“Wow, you got a lot done,” you comment. 

“Eh, cause I don’t got you to distract me,” he flicks his fingers at you derisively.

You wince and back away. A sigh escapes you. You’re too tired to try. As you retreat, you can’t help but stumble in realisation. There’s something happening to you. Some sort of indifference. Apathy, maybe?

You look back at your father. You love him and you desperately want to make him happy and healthy. You want him to be proud of you. You want him to tell you that you’re good enough and yet you just don’t have the energy to keep fighting him. 

When you see how he is with Leslie, it feels as if he’s taunting you. He can be nice to her, he will listen to her, he will talk to her, but you, you’ll never earn that. Thirty years and you just aren’t worthy.

Well, he is happier and healthier than he was. It doesn’t matter that it has nothing to do with you. It only matters that he’s okay. It’s all you ever wanted for him.

You take your bag up to your room and trade it for a paperback. You come back down and sit on the porch until she’s gone. You go inside and lock up, your father still sitting vigil at the puzzle. You notice his grey hair is tidy and clean. He wears a shirt that isn’t wrinkled and he looks more lively.

You ask him if he needs anything before you go to bed. He doesn’t answer. You leave him to the puzzle and pack away the dinner Leslie left for you. You’re not very hungry. 

You put both your phones on the night table beneath the lamp. You keep the light on as you finish the chapter, or try to. You doze off, awaking only as a buzzing rattles the wooden table against the side of your bed. 

You move the book off your chest and mark the page. You reach for the phone as you sit up. It unlocks with the tap of your thumb and the alert covers the screen. ‘Movement detected’. Oh!

Mr. Laufeyson enabled the app for the lock system while he’s away. The abrupt swipe of the phone from your hands was startling but it wasn't exactly yours to begin with. The memory plucks at you as if you should have seen this coming.

You rub your eyes as you press the alert and check the time in the corner. It’s nearly two in the morning! You jolt out of bed and stagger on your feet. Oh no!

Did you leave something unlocked? Maybe it’s just a squirrel or the wind? No, it says it was the front door. Shoot! Should you call him? Would he get the alert too?

You scramble to find some clothes. You pull on a pair of greyish blue sweatpants and a hoodie. You don’t have time to worry about how you look. You have to get to the house.

You snatch up your work bag, too frantic to fish out your change purse, and barrel down the stairs. Mindless of the noise or disturbing the silence, you race out the door, slamming it and locking it shakily behind you. You run up to the curb as you dial a taxi service.

Was the gate really locked when you left? Did you put the security code in right? A thousand doubts crowd your head and churn your stomach. It doesn’t matter, all you know is you messed up again.

[marvels-agents100]

UGH. SO TENDER IT MAKES MY HEART ACHE.

Seriously, so fluffy and precious— my teeth hurt.

I can only imagine he would be like a child when he’s sick- just unable to do anything for himself. Good thing I love taking care of people lol.

The bit about how he’s trusting enough to fall asleep around reader just melted me. It’s so simple, but so huge when you’ve lived your whole life in survival mode. Just makes me remember how YOUNG he was in the battle of New York, (isn’t he like 16-17 in human years?), and just makes my heart ache and flutter at the same time. Truly, having someone he fully trusts is the least he deserves.

Speaking of, the fact that you used the gif of him sleeping if front of Mobius was both extremely clever and terribly cruel. I love you for it.

fluff is everything, therefore:

I've been entertaining this idea for a very long time. Loki is a heavily touch deprived boy who needs all the affection in the world.

Now I desperately need a small drabble, doesn't even have to be long, of reader just...taking care of him. Calling him "angel" and watching him lose his MIND because no one's ever called him that before?? Reader making him food and looking after him when he's sick and just.....a small drabble. A cute little thing of just....Loki being loved

Because we all know the man needs it.

Anyway, mwah, hope this helps the writing juices flow :)

I hope this is what you had in mind, my darling! I know it's not the best!

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐆𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐒𝐢𝐜𝐤

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏𝐤

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The dull clink of ceramic on wood makes you wince and freeze almost comically in place by the side of the bed. Barely daring to breathe, your worried eyes snap towards the god currently buried between tousled viridian bedsheets.

He doesn’t stir. 

You release a slow, quiet breath, relieved that Loki is still sleeping so soundly, despite his earlier protestations that he was completely fine. He’s far from fine, that you’re certain of. You’ve watched how the summer cold he’s come down with has chipped away at him over the past few days, zapping his energy quicker and more thoroughly than he’ll ever admit. He refuses to let that mask of invincibility slip for even a second.

“Gods don’t get sick, darling,” he had said, though you could see the sluggishness that had crept into his usual elegant movements, along with the deep weariness that had settled in his eyes.

One hour later you found him sleeping like the dead. 

He looks so utterly at peace that your heart swells with love for him, and with the familiar realisation that he’s yours. This beautiful man who has survived tortures your mind can’t even conceive of is yours. It’s something that almost has you weep. Out of all the people on this planet - of all the beings in the entire cosmos - it’s you that gets to love him, and you’ll never take that for granted.

It’s impossible to tear your eyes off him as he sleeps. Still a villain to most of the world, yet he’s curled on his side in your bed with tousled hair and pink stained cheeks. You can see the bedsheets shifting with the steady rise and fall of his chest, as well as the way his arm is stretched out towards your side of the bed, as though, even lost to his dreams, his body still searches for yours. 

The man is your entire heart and more, and it’s moments like these you wish you could bottle. 

Your hand floats to his face before you can help yourself. It’s warmer than usual and still smooth beneath your gentle touch that pushes a stray curl back behind his ear. You swear you hear his breathing shift, almost like he knows you’re there. 

You never tire of this - watching him sleep. To have him sleep so soundly in your presence, to have him know with such unwavering certainty that you wouldn’t dream of hurting him, feels like a blessing from the gods.

He trusts you - completely and wholeheartedly - and it’s one of the greatest gifts he could ever give you. 

His hair is silken beneath your touch and errant strands wrap loosely around your fingers as you bend down to kiss his temple. It’s barely more than a butterfly kiss, but you can’t help but let your lips linger briefly against his skin. You only wish it was enough to free him from the clutches of his cold. 

The backs of your fingers brush softly over his cheek and you make to leave and let him rest, but you’ve barely pulled away when he grabs your wrist in a loose grip. 

“Stay,” Loki says, his voice groggy and congested. “Please.” 

His eyes are flickering open, but it’s clear that he’s still wading through sleep. He looks so vulnerable and exhausted and sick that suddenly any plans you had for the rest of the day are unimportant. You can’t deny this man anything. 

Easily, you climb into the bed beside him, resting your back against the headboard and opening your arms to him. “Come here, my love,” you tell him gently. 

He wastes no time in shifting beneath the sheets until his legs are tangled with yours and his head is resting heavily on your stomach. He grips you like he’s been starved of your touch, like you’re the one thing tying him to Earth. You can feel the unspoken plea in the way he’s holding you, the “please don’t leave me” that’s burning into your skin. 

You hope he knows that wild horses couldn’t drag you away from him. 

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, you stretch down to kiss the top of his head and intertwine your fingers with his. His hand locks around yours greedily, as though he can’t get enough of your touch. 

It’s fine with you, though, because you can never get enough of him. 

You begin to stroke his hair, so softly that you’re barely even touching him, but you can still hear his soft sigh of contentment. “Feeling better?” you ask softly, running your thumb along his knuckles. 

“No,” he croaks, attempting to twist himself tighter around you. “I fear this may be something worse than one of your silly Midgardian maladies.” 

You can’t help but smile. Your drama queen of a god is still in there.  “Hmm, I think you might be right. I should probably let Tony know I’ll be out for the next few days to take care of you. I can’t risk my beautiful boy succumbing to a dangerous alien bug.” 

Loki doesn’t move, but you can almost feel the smile that mirrors your own growing across his face. “You can’t,” he murmurs, his voice slightly muffled by how far he’s nuzzled into your stomach. 

He lapses into silence and you take the opportunity to pull him closer. He’s solid in your arms - solid and alive and everything you never knew you were looking for. He’s your sun and your moon and all your stars, and you can’t imagine your life without him. 

Wordlessly, you stretch to place another kiss to his head, not missing how he hums at your touch. “I adore you, you beautiful man. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

He pulls your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles in reply. It’s so soft and so innocent that you’re struck again by how you would burn down worlds for him. 

Not five minutes later, his breathing turns even and heavy. He’s fast asleep, head still resting on your stomach and hand still gripping yours.

[marvels-agents100]

This is… so soft… so 💕😍🥰😍

I can only imagine how deep his voice would be in the morning, ugh.

((I will be working through your masterlist so I apologize in advance for spam reblogs lol))

A soft drabble of waking up next to Loki in the morning? 🥺

Of course, love!!!

•••

Sunday mornings are your favourite. There’s no stupidly early training sessions or mission briefings, there’s no planning or plotting how to take down the latest supervillain.

There’s just you and Loki.

He’s still sound asleep next to you, broad chest rising and falling with each deep breath he takes. You can hear his heartbeat in your ear from where you’re tucked in next to him - strong and solid and a constant reassurance that he’s here and he’s alive.

And he’s yours.

You curl in closer to his side, wrapping an arm protectively across his stomach and nuzzling a kiss to his cheek. He twitches momentarily at your touch and you feel his arm squeeze just slightly around your waist.

“Go back to sleep,” he mumbles groggily, not even opening his eyes, but you can hear the slight smile in his words.

You shift in his arms with a puff of laughter, trying to wrap yourself even closer around him. Loki’s hand tucks you under his chin and you feel his drowsy kiss to the crown of your head.

“I love you,” you say quietly, tangling your legs with his beneath the sheets.

Loki hums against your forehead and tired fingers trace over your forearm, coaxing you back to sleep. “I love you.”

You’re safe against his chest. Safe and protected and drowned in so much love it sometimes makes you dizzy.

He was your whole heart and more.

He was enough.

(Sorry this is not great but I wanted some soft even though it’s almost 10pm with me 😅)

Whores: @cheekyscamp @the-lady-amphitrite @loopsisloops @lunarnights95 @fictive-sl0th @currish-rosewolfe @give-me-a-moose @lokisgoodgirl @maple-seed

[marvels-agents100]

Ahhhhhh!! Just read chapter 10 and 11 so I’m sort of compiling here:

Frigga is lovely, as expected. I’m so thankful she likes Cinder cause god knows how terrible it would be if she didn’t express that.

Loki was seriously acting like a child the whole time Frigga was there and it was hilarious.

I’m still nervous about this nurse. Very nervous. Maybe I’ll be pleasantly surprised and she will be able to whip dear old dad into shape, but I can honestly say I’m not hopeful.

I’m glad she got the tea. It’s sad to think that something as simple as the names of teas or a small, local cafe is so foreign to her. I feel like her backstory will be nothing short of abusive and sad— for her knowledge of the world to be so little just makes my heart break.

That little bit of defiance when she got to his house early is WHAT I LIKE TO SEE. Tell him girl.

I have a feeling our lovely Mr. L is going to break soon. Especially after having to deal with his own father… I’m sure he will be stressed 😏

((Or maybe I’m delusional and far too excited for him to break lol))

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: LOVING this story so much. It’s so fun to tag along as you put it out!

Dirty Work 11

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: Alright, another double duty day.

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!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Her name is Leslie. The nurse with her graying brown hair and square jaw arrives just before eight. You tell her your father’s still in bed as you show her around; you go through the meals you prepped in the fridge and where his meds are and everything else. Still you feel like you’re forgetting something.

“I’ll go get him up,” you say.

“Miss, that’s my job,” she insists.

“Oh.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ve got twenty years under my belt. I’m certain you can see,” she touches the silver along her hairline, “we’ll get him up and at ‘em.”

“Mm, well.. He… isn’t much of a morning person. He can be a bit grumpy,” you warn her.

“That’s for me to worry about. I earn my money, hon. You look like you’re in a hurry,” she puts a hand on her hip, “you can call me and check in, huh? I know it’s hard when you’ve been a caretaker for so long. It’s not easy handing over the reins.”

You falter. Caretaker? You never really thought of it like that. You’re his daughter. You care for him sure, but that’s just what you do. It isn’t the control, it’s feeling like you’re pawning him off on someone else. Like you’re shrugging off responsibility.

“I just… worry about him,” you say.

“That means you’re a good daughter,” she praises, “now off with you. Look at you, all dressed for work. Promise, we’ll send an update at lunch time. By then, I’ve usually got a handle on things.”

You pout and wet your lips with the tip of your tongue, “thank you.”

“It’s my job, and I love it,” she assures you.

You feel a little better as you put your shoes on and say a final goodbye. You can’t help but be nervous. What if she calls you before you can even get to work? What if your dad chases her off? He can be downright nasty when he means to.

You head off with your big leather bag, your body on autopilot as your mind races a thousand miles ahead of you. Everything happened so fast. Your phone call turned into an email and a quick placement. You can’t believe how simple it all was. That’s what puts you on edge. Nothing is ever that easy.

You shudder as you step onto the bus. There’s worry behind you and before you. Certain not to be late again, you take the earlier route. It’s a different driver. The whole change throws you off.

You get to the stop well before your shift begins. You saw a cafe just before the last stop. You teeter, wondering if you have time, or even the money. Your first check cleared and you’ve doled it out almost to the cent. Just a little left for yourself.

You retrace the route to the cafe nestled beside the park and the library. The residential area borders on the more elite properties like Mr. Laufeyson. You can only dream of living in a neighbourhood like this, where you can walk without looking over your shoulder.

The cafe is mostly empty as you enter. You don’t really go to places like this. There’s been a few times you got a tea from MacDonald’s but nothing like this. You look at the menu handwritten in chalk and squint as if trying to solve a puzzle.

“What are we looking at today, miss?” The barista greets. You can’t find the teas anywhere.

“Erm, I wanted some tea, please,” you step up to the counter.

“Sure thing. What kind?” She points to the little board beside her till. Oh.

You read the options; they all sound fancy but you prefer what you know. 

“Earl grey, please,” you order.

“Of course. Would you like a fog or plain?”

“Um, I… don’t know,” you cringe.

“No worries, fog is a latte, we steam it up and all that.”

“Uh,” you rub your neck, “I guess I could try it.”

“Alright, plain dairy?”

“Milk, yeah,” you confirm awkwardly as you dig out your coin purse.

You wait patiently after paying. Your cheeks are on fire and you take your drink with a thank you before fleeing. Another place you don’t fit. You inhale the scent of the tea but don’t taste it as the temperature burns your hand through the cardboard.

You already regret the indulgence. You don’t know why you had the thought. The idea of being so early put you off and lingering outside like a creep didn’t sound any better. You set off back towards the Laufeyson abode and blow the steam away as it sleep through the small slotted lid

The gate code, the pathway along the side of the house, the flapping birds and buzzing bees, the smell of pollen and the rustle of leaves. You leave the spring behind you as you let yourself in the back door into the grey silence. You leave your shoes on the mat and wander down the hall.

You’re met by a shadow that appears from around the staircase, almost as if expecting you. You slide to a stop in only your socks as Mr. Laufeyson wears his usual discerning expression. You grip the cup tight as foam seeps through the slot. He looks you up and down.

“That does not belong in the library,” he taps the lid.

You stare at the cup. You should’ve thought about that. You can’t have that around the nice furniture and all those books.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, of course,” you accept.

“So…” he glares at the cup.

“Er, Mr. Laufeyson, may I have this in the kitchen? I’m early–”

“Very well,” he allows. “I need to be mindful of time today, yes.”

You nod and retreat, surprised as he follows you into the kitchen. You set your bag at your feet and rest the cup on the counter. You take off the lid to let the heat out.

“I am to be away. I’ll need a bag packed,” he instructs, “your duties will continue in my absence, yes?”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you put your hand to the side of the cup.

He sighs as he glances at the tea again, “finish that then report to me. I’ve a list.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

He leaves you just as abruptly. You turn to the foamy tea and frown. You’ve not even begun the day and somehow it feels like you’ve already messed up.

🧹

The suitcase awaits you at the door of Mr. Laufeyson’s room. You near and stop before the leather bag, reminded of your venture beyond that door. The disaster of your entry and frantic flight that followed. 

You try to shake it off as you grab the suitcase, the list pressing against the handle as it crinkles. You enter and peer around the space. The deja vu nearly chases you out. You cross to the bed and put the bag on top, flipping it open to begin the task.

You want this done as quickly as possible, just as Mr. Laufeyson directed. You smooth out the paper to find his long cursive in neat lines. You can admire the artistry of his hand. Your own writing would look juvenile in comparison.

In the bathroom, you gather up the noted toiletries into a pouch that matches the luggage. It feels intrusive but you try not to think. It’s simple, like an inventory. Nothing deeper than that. The rich scent wafts from the little vial of cologne as you slip it through the zipper, clinging to your fingertips even as you seal it up.

You take the little bag into the room and start on gathering the clothes. A number of shirts and slacks, socks and briefs, ties and cuff links, even shoes. There is no specification of which ones. You slide open the closet and peruse the varying dark shades, only a few crisp white shirts to break the tone, though the ties and pocket square have more diversity.

You’re overwhelmed by the selection. Your own dresser contains as many shirts and pants as you can count. Your newly bought work clothes have proven troublesome as you don’t have anywhere to store them. His own wardrobe is extravagant in both quality and quantity when compared to your own.

You take out a deep blue shirt. It’s satiny and sleek. You’re not sure it’s fit for a family visit. You can assume that’s where he’s off to, though he didn’t confirm it outright. He just handed you the list and shooed you away.

You trade it for a plainer fabric but a similar hue. You take out three as noted on the page and lay them out neatly. Next the trousers. Those will have to match the tops. You hadn’t thought of that though the list is more helpful in this manner; only two pairs, one brown and one black. 

Right, but what shade of brown? Tan or dark or somewhere in the middle. Or those ones with the light blue plaid pattern. It’s a bit warm for wool so definitely not that. No tweed either. You grab a black pair and turn back to solve the riddle of what shade of brown to choose.

As you move the hangers slowly over the rod, a scuff from the hallway interrupts your browsing. You don’t look over as you assume it’s own Mr. Laufeyson on his way to his study. You’re surprised as instead he sweeps into the room without announcement, muttering to himself as he does.

“One thing after another,” he murmurs as he tugs on his tie, tearing it loose completely to toss it towards the bed. You’re completely stunned by his entrance, “I swear…”

He nears as if you aren’t even there, his long fingers fleetly unbuttoning his shirt. You blink and back away, averting your eyes from the wet spots spattered across the evergreen linen. You clear your throat and scuttle towards the bed.

“Sorry,” you babble as you try to sidle past him. Flashbacks of that day tinge your memory once more. This time the bed does not obscure your sight.

“You will have someone tend to that damnable sink,” he demands.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you answer without looking back as you hurry to the door.

“Not this moment, you’re not done packing,” he snaps, “where are you going?”

“Mr. Laufeyson, I just–” you peek at him as he unbuttons his cuffs and rips the shirt down his shoulders. You get a glimpse of his muscles chest and thick arms, “I can come back.��

“You will finish what you started,” he shakes his head as he dumps the shirt onto the bed and turns to face the closet. His back is just as finely formed. You try not to notice as you put your focus to the floor. “I only need a new shirt.”

He flicks through the hangers and pulls out a new piece, shaking it out before slipping his arms into it. You return to the bed and pick up the list. The brown slacks. He doesn’t budge as he buttons his new shirt. 

“I do intend to leave today so do not tarry,” he girds.

You flinch and near him. He does not move as you come up to the closet and grab the first pair of brown pants you see. He catches your hand, squeezing it around the hanger as he tisks.

“Not those ones,” he guides your arm as he rehooks the hang on the bar. He draws your grasp off and leads it to another pair, “these will do.”

He lets you go as your hand tingles. As his shirt remains only half-buttoned, it feels strangely intimate. You take the pants and swiftly back away. You go to the bed again and focus on fitting everything into the bag.

You sense him lingering behind you. You hear his fingers work at the buttons then the soft tuck of his shirt tails into his pants, the clink of his buckle as he adjusts his belt. You take the list again, half-pretending to read it. 

“I put thought to it,” he stands at the foot of the bed, watching you. The weight of his gaze is like the blazing heat of an open fire. It makes you want to melt. “The gazebo. I would like to have an assessment. If it proves salvageable, then let it be restored.”

You nod as you turn to find the socks noted on the list in the small drawer of the tall dresser. You count them out and spin back. He lowers himself onto the bed, bending one leg up as leans on one hand.

“Have a carpenter in and have them leave an estimate. We’ll review on my return.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you gulp.

He makes no move to leave. He remains, his gaze unwavering. Is this some test? Is it suspicion? You peek over as he pulls his arm back and tugs his cuff over the black and blue watch. Does he think you’ll secret away a silk tie or a pair of socks?

You keep on, with no other option. You have nothing to prove, you know you’re an honest person. You move the pouch into the bag as he hums thoughtfully. You keep your hands moving as you try to fit everything neatly inside. 

You look up at him, steeling yourself as you find his green eyes pinpointed on you, “Have I forgotten something, Mr. Laufeyson?”

You stop your hands, clutching tight the fabric in them. He smirks and his eyes fall down. You follow them and find yourself grasping a pair of his briefs. Your lips part and you quickly tuck them in with the rest.

“No, I think you’ve been quite thorough,” he slithers and rises from the bed, “I will be off in an hour, I expect to find my bag by the door.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

[marvels-agents100]

So close! But hey, I’ll do that too. I love Frigga :) Cool to see it get used either way!

Dirty Work 9

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: We made it to Friday.

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!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The watch ticks on in your hand, counting down the seconds you spend trapped beneath the bed. Cowardice, embarrassment, shock. Pick one. You finally break your paralysis and crawl out from beneath he frame, listening cautiously as you drag yourself across the floor inch by inch.

You stand, glancing furtively around the room. You clutch the watch and turn, hovering it just above the night table. That's too obvious. It wouldn't just appear out of nowhere. You need to come up with a story but you don't know if any lie you tell could be believed. It seems, he even doubts you when you are honest.

You drop your hand to your side and near the door, turning your ear out to listen to house beyond. You grip the door handle tight and lift the door on its hinges as you open it. You slip out, easing the handle down then up to keep the mechanism from clicking.

You peer down the hall as you hear Mr. Laufeyson in his study, the shuffling and scuffing of drawers being pulled in and out. 

There are two paths forward; put the watch somewhere and let him find it or return it to him and feign ignorance. You don't know which is better, both entail a lie you aren't equipped to tell.

You pad down the hall, sidling against the wall and into the library. You could pretend you were there all along, say you found the watch earlier. He would think you busy as he was in the shower. That you were in a world, and a room, separate from him.

You go to the desk and set the watch down as you sit. It takes you a moment to get your mind to focus and you open the lid of the laptop. You hit the power button and tap your fingers on the wood as you wait for it to start up. As the screen lights up, the door from the study opens. You don't have time to hide the watch. The path forward is paved.

Mr. Laufeyson sweeps in without pretense, as he often does. For as much as he resented his brother for the very same, he is comfortable in just barging in. You sit up and look at him over the top of the computer. He crosses his arms as his eyes peruse the space.

"You've not seen--" He begins, his voice trailing off as he faces you. Like a hound, his eyes fall instinctively to the watch. You don't acknowledge it.

You type the password in to unlock the computer. He comes forward and leans forward, spreading his fingers wide over the other edge of the desk. He hums.

"Where did you find that?" He dips his head down, gesturing to the left of your laptop.

"Uh," you let your eyes wander over, "oh!" You look at him with surprise, "I was cleaning and it was... by the sofa. I meant to return it but I haven't seen you, Mr. Laufeyson."

He squints and shifts his weight. He pushes himself straight and smooths his shirt. He is without his usual jacket. He takes measured steps around the desk and comes to stand right beside you. Too close. You feel the heat radiating from, smell the same scent from the room cloying from his figure.

"The sofa?" He questions as he snatches up the watch. He examines it, as if he suspects it is a dupe. "Why, I should be grateful, yes? You've found the very thing I was in search of."

"Er, I guess," you shrug and drag your fingers around the touchpad listlessly. "Uh, excuse me," you stand, the chair scraping loudly behind you, "I forgot my bag downstairs, Mr. Laufeyson."

"Hvitsten," he wags the watch at you, staying firmly in place, "a Norwegian brand," he explains, "this is the North Sea model. Backed with Lapis Lazuli," he turns the face out, "nice, isn't it?"

"Um, sure, Mr. Laufeyson, I... I don't know much about watches," you eke out.

"But you can see it is a fine watch, yes?"

You take a step back and he takes one forward as your leg hits the edge of the chair. You gulp and stare at the watch hanging over two of his long fingers, "I like the colour--"

"If you were to guess, what do you think this piece costs?"

You blink and shake your head. You don't understand why he's asking. Can't he just thank you and take the watch?

"I don't know, Mr. Laufeyson," you croak.

"A pawn shop might offer you a few hundred, but that would be a con," he scoffs and turns the watch over, bringing his left wrist up to hook it in place. "This particular model retails for over two grand. I expect that's more than your rent," he tuts, "a fair amount for anyone but I pay for quality."

"I... it is really pretty," you offer.

"Oh I am aware," he smirks, "naturally, it catches the eye. One can hardly miss it."

You frown. Is he accusing you? You don't say a word. You expect whatever you say wouldn't change his mind.

"So, what I mean to say is I am very grateful that you've found this," he tugs his cuff straight, "for it would be a great loss indeed."

He drops his arm and stays where he is. He does not retreat and despite the urge, you do not either.

"I must be mistaken to think Thursdays you were to clean the second floor only," he remarks, "though it may be a trick of fate that you did the first as well."

"Er, I... had a few minutes-- Mr. Laufeyson, my ledger is in my bag--"

"In time," he crosses his arms and leans back on a heel. You dare to glance up as his eyes scan you from head to toe, "these..." He dips his head to allude to your attire, "are new?"

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, I thought-- no more jeans," you press your palms to the wool pants.

"Mmm," his hum is less than delighted, "still, lacking."

You wilt. You really tried and it's still not good enough. He unfolds his arms and you stand dumbly, frozen, as he reaches to pick a thread from your collar. It unravels and he lets it dangle before you.

"As I said, quality is worth the extra cost," he harrumphs and lets the thread fall, "I did provide you a rather generous signing bonus but perhaps your first check will provide adequate compensation."

You watch the thread fall and back up to bend and retrieve it. He watches you and you close your hand around the string.

"I'll throw this out," you assure him, "and grab my bag--"

"I did not dismiss you," he insists.

"I am coming back--"

"You do grow bold, yes?"

"Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, I didn't mean--"

"If you would let me speak, I might be able to tell you what I had in mind when I entered," he rebukes, "I have a delivery expected at two. I would need you to sign for it. Can I trust that simple task in your hands?"

You chew your lip and bow your head. He inhales and backs away slowly, "very well, go." He flicks his fingers at you dismissively, "grab your things and get to work.”

🧹

There's a pungent stench as you enter the house. The TV blares loudly from the living room as the stale waft of tobacco lingers in the air. But more, there's something far more putrid. 

You peek into the living room. It's later than usual. Your father's head is tipped back as he snores upright. His oxygen tube is taught across his nose and the tank pulled against his leg. As you turn on a light, you notice the dark stain across the front of his pants. Oh no, that's what that smell is.

He gurgles, frightening you. At first, you think he's choking. He coughs and spits into his ash tray. He waves his hand in front of his face.

"What're you waking me up for?" He snarls.

"I was just checking on you--"

He groggily shifts back and forth, shaking his head as he gets his bearings. He looks down and you see him tense. He sits up and reaches for the remote.

"Um, did you need any help--"

"Piss off," he snips, "I was yelling for you earlier. Where were you?"

"I... was working. I told you--"

"Working? What the fuck is work? You? Pfft," he scoffs as he flicks through the channels.

"It's okay, dad, I'll grab you some new pants--"

"Shut up!" He barks. He's obviously embarrassed. You are too. Worse, your guilt sears in your stomach. You should've been there.

"Dad, it's not--"

"You're a dumb bitch, you know that? Shoulda let me fucking sleep," he grits out, "like you shoulda let me die. Now I'm hear sitting in my own piss with no fucking smokes."

He throws the empty pack at you and you wince. You pick it up as your eyes tinge hotly.

"Maybe... maybe I could look into getting a nurse. The doctor said--"

"I can take care of my fucking self!"

You snap your mouth shut and clasp the package between your hands.

"I'm only trying to help--"

"What? By keeping me in this hellhole? Eh? It's fucking torture. Why the fuck would you that?"

"Dad," you squeak, "I love you--"

"Proves how fucking stupid you are," he snorts.

You stand in scalded silence. You're just trying to help. That's all you've ever done and it's never been good enough.

"If you don't got smokes, go the fuck away," he hisses.

You obey and leave him, tossing the empty pack in the garbage. You head upstairs with heavy steps and yawn at your door. You drop your bag on the bed and go back to close the door. You lean on it as your tears begin to flow.

You can't do anything right. No matter what you do. It's like you're trying to get your head above water in the middle of a storm. You slide down to the floor and hang your head over your bent arms.

You know you can't stay home. As prickly as Mr. Laufeyson can be, he pays you well and he isn't entirely unkind. He didn't have to pay you a bonus but he did. He didn't have to hire you at all. Besides all that, he can at least admit when you've done something well.

It isn't him you can't say no to, it's the money. Not just to pay off the hospital but to keep the house running. For yourself as much as for your father.

And you can't leave your dad alone to fend for himself. He obviously can't, not anymore and he doesn't want your help. You might love him but there's only so much you can do.

You lift your head and inhale, sniffling roughly as you wipe your nose. Tomorrow, you'll go to the hospital and ask about home nurses. You'll have to find room in the budget.

🧹

You're out of breath as you get on the bus. You had everything timed out so you could get to Mr. Laufeyson's on time. Still, your usual bus went out of service and you had to get a transfer onto a different route. The change throws your entire day off and adds to the disparity of your week.

You get off a bit further from Mr. Laufeyson's as this bus doesn't go as far as the other. You run down the street, sweating in the black polyester pants and peach coloured button-up. You scramble to get out the phone and put in the proper code.

Your first try is with the one from the day before. On your second try, you clatter through and scurry down the path. The backdoor proves just as troublesome in your frantic rush.

You get inside and leave your shoes by the door. No cleaning, or at least, you don't plan on it. You near the bottom of the staircase, breathless and puffing, clinging onto the straps of your leather bag.

"You are late," Mr. Laufeyson strides out of the den.

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, I'm sor-ry," you gulp through repressed pants, "the bus--"

"I don't care about the bus. It is your responsibility to be here on time, regardless of the method."

"I understand--"

"I am starting to question if you do," he rebukes.

"Mr. Laufeyson, it won't happen again."

"I know it won't or you will not have another chance to be late," he warns, "you were not here to prepare the tea for my guest. I had to do it myself."

"Guest? I... didn't know--"

"I didn't ask if you knew. If you'd been here on time, you would have," he chides, "it seems, in my efforts, I forgot to fetch the biscuits with the teapot so you will go and do so."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you nod, "I'm so sorry--"

"Sorry, yes, I'm sure you are," he lifts his chin and turns on his heel, "you certainly will be..."

At first, you're not sure you've heard the words. That he would say something so callous. You back away, heart hammering as you try to convince yourself it wasn't real.

You go back down the hall and shove your bag in the back closet. You veer into the kitchen and search the cupboards; biscuits, biscuits, biscuits...

You find an unopened tin and bring it down onto the counter. You peel away the plastic and take out a sleek black serving plate. You use some tongs to lay out the biscuits neatly, an array of each type. You'd done similar for Corrissa with the hors d'oevres. You take the plate and carefully make your way into the hall, trying not to disturb the arrangement.

You enter with your head down, hoping not to disturb Mr. Laufeyson as his deep voice carries to the high ceilings. The curtains are open and the windows shine brightly. You peak up as you approach him and his guest.

She doesn't notice you until you're a foot away. You shy away from her gaze, her pupils a greenish blue and her golden hair silver along the temples. You place the plate on the round table by her elbow, just between the chair and the end of the sofa where she sits.

"And who is this?" She preens curiously.

"Mother, you needn't worry--"

"You hired a full-time maid?" She wonders.

"Mmm," he hums, "suppose she would be a house manager. She handles all the little details I don't have time for."

"Oh, like Evelyn."

"I suppose," Laufeyson agrees dryly.

You back away and look up again. Is that really his mother? She's beautiful.

"Please, darling, join us," she trills.

You blanch and look at Mr. Laufeyson as a line squiggles between his brows. He looks between you and his mother. Before he can protest she is on her feet.

"Please, I do love to get to know the staff," she approaches, "I'm Frigga. I hope you've heard a lot about me. His mother, of course. I only came to see that he's well... he never has time to call. Perhaps you might change that, hm?"

You glance over at Laufeyson again, frightened. Not just by this over friendly woman but by him. You don't know if you should say you have work and refuse or if that would be rude. She is his mother and you wouldn't want to upset.

"Mother, she does have her work--"

"Tosh, it can wait," she puts her hand on your arm and ushers you to the couch, "have some biscuits, darling, you look faint."

Laufeyson huffs but does not speak. He hooks one leg over the other and places his chin on his knuckles. He glares at you and you look to your lap.

You've done the wrong thing again but you're not sure there is a right option in this circumstance.

"These are my favourites," Frigga declares as she holds out a braided biscuit with large grains of sugar sprinkled over it. "Don't tell me these are the same I gifted you for the holiday," she tisks.

"I haven't much of a sweet tooth."

"I do forget, Thor tends to fancy the sugar," she chitters and returns her attention to you, "forgive me, I didn't get your name."

Your mouth is dry. You stare at the golden rings on her fingers. You clear your throat and utter your name, sealing your misdeed.

[marvels-agents100]

Hyperventilating. “You certainly will be” ?!?!? HUH?!???

Okay, but her dad is getting worse. Which, of course he is, as abusers do, but it makes me worried for a home nurse. I have feeling he’s going to be arrested for assault and battery or something 🫣

It’s sad because she keeps ‘messing up’, but it’s all truly mistakes. She doesn’t know what to wear, she’s only trying to help her dad, the damn buses couldn’t show up on time… it seems so hopeless.

Also, it is just SO funny because my name is Evelyn, lol. I read that line from Frigga and was like 😶 But, it would make sense as to why he would want “me” to replace his ex wife if I had the same name. Safe to say I am fully immersed lmao

Dirty Work 9

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: We made it to Friday.

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!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The watch ticks on in your hand, counting down the seconds you spend trapped beneath the bed. Cowardice, embarrassment, shock. Pick one. You finally break your paralysis and crawl out from beneath he frame, listening cautiously as you drag yourself across the floor inch by inch.

You stand, glancing furtively around the room. You clutch the watch and turn, hovering it just above the night table. That's too obvious. It wouldn't just appear out of nowhere. You need to come up with a story but you don't know if any lie you tell could be believed. It seems, he even doubts you when you are honest.

You drop your hand to your side and near the door, turning your ear out to listen to house beyond. You grip the door handle tight and lift the door on its hinges as you open it. You slip out, easing the handle down then up to keep the mechanism from clicking.

You peer down the hall as you hear Mr. Laufeyson in his study, the shuffling and scuffing of drawers being pulled in and out. 

There are two paths forward; put the watch somewhere and let him find it or return it to him and feign ignorance. You don't know which is better, both entail a lie you aren't equipped to tell.

You pad down the hall, sidling against the wall and into the library. You could pretend you were there all along, say you found the watch earlier. He would think you busy as he was in the shower. That you were in a world, and a room, separate from him.

You go to the desk and set the watch down as you sit. It takes you a moment to get your mind to focus and you open the lid of the laptop. You hit the power button and tap your fingers on the wood as you wait for it to start up. As the screen lights up, the door from the study opens. You don't have time to hide the watch. The path forward is paved.

Mr. Laufeyson sweeps in without pretense, as he often does. For as much as he resented his brother for the very same, he is comfortable in just barging in. You sit up and look at him over the top of the computer. He crosses his arms as his eyes peruse the space.

"You've not seen--" He begins, his voice trailing off as he faces you. Like a hound, his eyes fall instinctively to the watch. You don't acknowledge it.

You type the password in to unlock the computer. He comes forward and leans forward, spreading his fingers wide over the other edge of the desk. He hums.

"Where did you find that?" He dips his head down, gesturing to the left of your laptop.

"Uh," you let your eyes wander over, "oh!" You look at him with surprise, "I was cleaning and it was... by the sofa. I meant to return it but I haven't seen you, Mr. Laufeyson."

He squints and shifts his weight. He pushes himself straight and smooths his shirt. He is without his usual jacket. He takes measured steps around the desk and comes to stand right beside you. Too close. You feel the heat radiating from, smell the same scent from the room cloying from his figure.

"The sofa?" He questions as he snatches up the watch. He examines it, as if he suspects it is a dupe. "Why, I should be grateful, yes? You've found the very thing I was in search of."

"Er, I guess," you shrug and drag your fingers around the touchpad listlessly. "Uh, excuse me," you stand, the chair scraping loudly behind you, "I forgot my bag downstairs, Mr. Laufeyson."

"Hvitsten," he wags the watch at you, staying firmly in place, "a Norwegian brand," he explains, "this is the North Sea model. Backed with Lapis Lazuli," he turns the face out, "nice, isn't it?"

"Um, sure, Mr. Laufeyson, I... I don't know much about watches," you eke out.

"But you can see it is a fine watch, yes?"

You take a step back and he takes one forward as your leg hits the edge of the chair. You gulp and stare at the watch hanging over two of his long fingers, "I like the colour--"

"If you were to guess, what do you think this piece costs?"

You blink and shake your head. You don't understand why he's asking. Can't he just thank you and take the watch?

"I don't know, Mr. Laufeyson," you croak.

"A pawn shop might offer you a few hundred, but that would be a con," he scoffs and turns the watch over, bringing his left wrist up to hook it in place. "This particular model retails for over two grand. I expect that's more than your rent," he tuts, "a fair amount for anyone but I pay for quality."

"I... it is really pretty," you offer.

"Oh I am aware," he smirks, "naturally, it catches the eye. One can hardly miss it."

You frown. Is he accusing you? You don't say a word. You expect whatever you say wouldn't change his mind.

"So, what I mean to say is I am very grateful that you've found this," he tugs his cuff straight, "for it would be a great loss indeed."

He drops his arm and stays where he is. He does not retreat and despite the urge, you do not either.

"I must be mistaken to think Thursdays you were to clean the second floor only," he remarks, "though it may be a trick of fate that you did the first as well."

"Er, I... had a few minutes-- Mr. Laufeyson, my ledger is in my bag--"

"In time," he crosses his arms and leans back on a heel. You dare to glance up as his eyes scan you from head to toe, "these..." He dips his head to allude to your attire, "are new?"

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, I thought-- no more jeans," you press your palms to the wool pants.

"Mmm," his hum is less than delighted, "still, lacking."

You wilt. You really tried and it's still not good enough. He unfolds his arms and you stand dumbly, frozen, as he reaches to pick a thread from your collar. It unravels and he lets it dangle before you.

"As I said, quality is worth the extra cost," he harrumphs and lets the thread fall, "I did provide you a rather generous signing bonus but perhaps your first check will provide adequate compensation."

You watch the thread fall and back up to bend and retrieve it. He watches you and you close your hand around the string.

"I'll throw this out," you assure him, "and grab my bag--"

"I did not dismiss you," he insists.

"I am coming back--"

"You do grow bold, yes?"

"Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, I didn't mean--"

"If you would let me speak, I might be able to tell you what I had in mind when I entered," he rebukes, "I have a delivery expected at two. I would need you to sign for it. Can I trust that simple task in your hands?"

You chew your lip and bow your head. He inhales and backs away slowly, "very well, go." He flicks his fingers at you dismissively, "grab your things and get to work.”

🧹

There's a pungent stench as you enter the house. The TV blares loudly from the living room as the stale waft of tobacco lingers in the air. But more, there's something far more putrid. 

You peek into the living room. It's later than usual. Your father's head is tipped back as he snores upright. His oxygen tube is taught across his nose and the tank pulled against his leg. As you turn on a light, you notice the dark stain across the front of his pants. Oh no, that's what that smell is.

He gurgles, frightening you. At first, you think he's choking. He coughs and spits into his ash tray. He waves his hand in front of his face.

"What're you waking me up for?" He snarls.

"I was just checking on you--"

He groggily shifts back and forth, shaking his head as he gets his bearings. He looks down and you see him tense. He sits up and reaches for the remote.

"Um, did you need any help--"

"Piss off," he snips, "I was yelling for you earlier. Where were you?"

"I... was working. I told you--"

"Working? What the fuck is work? You? Pfft," he scoffs as he flicks through the channels.

"It's okay, dad, I'll grab you some new pants--"

"Shut up!" He barks. He's obviously embarrassed. You are too. Worse, your guilt sears in your stomach. You should've been there.

"Dad, it's not--"

"You're a dumb bitch, you know that? Shoulda let me fucking sleep," he grits out, "like you shoulda let me die. Now I'm hear sitting in my own piss with no fucking smokes."

He throws the empty pack at you and you wince. You pick it up as your eyes tinge hotly.

"Maybe... maybe I could look into getting a nurse. The doctor said--"

"I can take care of my fucking self!"

You snap your mouth shut and clasp the package between your hands.

"I'm only trying to help--"

"What? By keeping me in this hellhole? Eh? It's fucking torture. Why the fuck would you that?"

"Dad," you squeak, "I love you--"

"Proves how fucking stupid you are," he snorts.

You stand in scalded silence. You're just trying to help. That's all you've ever done and it's never been good enough.

"If you don't got smokes, go the fuck away," he hisses.

You obey and leave him, tossing the empty pack in the garbage. You head upstairs with heavy steps and yawn at your door. You drop your bag on the bed and go back to close the door. You lean on it as your tears begin to flow.

You can't do anything right. No matter what you do. It's like you're trying to get your head above water in the middle of a storm. You slide down to the floor and hang your head over your bent arms.

You know you can't stay home. As prickly as Mr. Laufeyson can be, he pays you well and he isn't entirely unkind. He didn't have to pay you a bonus but he did. He didn't have to hire you at all. Besides all that, he can at least admit when you've done something well.

It isn't him you can't say no to, it's the money. Not just to pay off the hospital but to keep the house running. For yourself as much as for your father.

And you can't leave your dad alone to fend for himself. He obviously can't, not anymore and he doesn't want your help. You might love him but there's only so much you can do.

You lift your head and inhale, sniffling roughly as you wipe your nose. Tomorrow, you'll go to the hospital and ask about home nurses. You'll have to find room in the budget.

🧹

You're out of breath as you get on the bus. You had everything timed out so you could get to Mr. Laufeyson's on time. Still, your usual bus went out of service and you had to get a transfer onto a different route. The change throws your entire day off and adds to the disparity of your week.

You get off a bit further from Mr. Laufeyson's as this bus doesn't go as far as the other. You run down the street, sweating in the black polyester pants and peach coloured button-up. You scramble to get out the phone and put in the proper code.

Your first try is with the one from the day before. On your second try, you clatter through and scurry down the path. The backdoor proves just as troublesome in your frantic rush.

You get inside and leave your shoes by the door. No cleaning, or at least, you don't plan on it. You near the bottom of the staircase, breathless and puffing, clinging onto the straps of your leather bag.

"You are late," Mr. Laufeyson strides out of the den.

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, I'm sor-ry," you gulp through repressed pants, "the bus--"

"I don't care about the bus. It is your responsibility to be here on time, regardless of the method."

"I understand--"

"I am starting to question if you do," he rebukes.

"Mr. Laufeyson, it won't happen again."

"I know it won't or you will not have another chance to be late," he warns, "you were not here to prepare the tea for my guest. I had to do it myself."

"Guest? I... didn't know--"

"I didn't ask if you knew. If you'd been here on time, you would have," he chides, "it seems, in my efforts, I forgot to fetch the biscuits with the teapot so you will go and do so."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you nod, "I'm so sorry--"

"Sorry, yes, I'm sure you are," he lifts his chin and turns on his heel, "you certainly will be..."

At first, you're not sure you've heard the words. That he would say something so callous. You back away, heart hammering as you try to convince yourself it wasn't real.

You go back down the hall and shove your bag in the back closet. You veer into the kitchen and search the cupboards; biscuits, biscuits, biscuits...

You find an unopened tin and bring it down onto the counter. You peel away the plastic and take out a sleek black serving plate. You use some tongs to lay out the biscuits neatly, an array of each type. You'd done similar for Corrissa with the hors d'oevres. You take the plate and carefully make your way into the hall, trying not to disturb the arrangement.

You enter with your head down, hoping not to disturb Mr. Laufeyson as his deep voice carries to the high ceilings. The curtains are open and the windows shine brightly. You peak up as you approach him and his guest.

She doesn't notice you until you're a foot away. You shy away from her gaze, her pupils a greenish blue and her golden hair silver along the temples. You place the plate on the round table by her elbow, just between the chair and the end of the sofa where she sits.

"And who is this?" She preens curiously.

"Mother, you needn't worry--"

"You hired a full-time maid?" She wonders.

"Mmm," he hums, "suppose she would be a house manager. She handles all the little details I don't have time for."

"Oh, like Evelyn."

"I suppose," Laufeyson agrees dryly.

You back away and look up again. Is that really his mother? She's beautiful.

"Please, darling, join us," she trills.

You blanch and look at Mr. Laufeyson as a line squiggles between his brows. He looks between you and his mother. Before he can protest she is on her feet.

"Please, I do love to get to know the staff," she approaches, "I'm Frigga. I hope you've heard a lot about me. His mother, of course. I only came to see that he's well... he never has time to call. Perhaps you might change that, hm?"

You glance over at Laufeyson again, frightened. Not just by this over friendly woman but by him. You don't know if you should say you have work and refuse or if that would be rude. She is his mother and you wouldn't want to upset.

"Mother, she does have her work--"

"Tosh, it can wait," she puts her hand on your arm and ushers you to the couch, "have some biscuits, darling, you look faint."

Laufeyson huffs but does not speak. He hooks one leg over the other and places his chin on his knuckles. He glares at you and you look to your lap.

You've done the wrong thing again but you're not sure there is a right option in this circumstance.

"These are my favourites," Frigga declares as she holds out a braided biscuit with large grains of sugar sprinkled over it. "Don't tell me these are the same I gifted you for the holiday," she tisks.

"I haven't much of a sweet tooth."

"I do forget, Thor tends to fancy the sugar," she chitters and returns her attention to you, "forgive me, I didn't get your name."

Your mouth is dry. You stare at the golden rings on her fingers. You clear your throat and utter your name, sealing your misdeed.

[marvels-agents100]

Bro I haven’t even seen Kong (may god strike me down), but this has GOT me 🥵🥵🥵

“One hand eventually drops from your face to curl around your knee, pulling your leg up and around his waist” <- that’s where I passed away

Then to be hit with the “sweet girl”??!?!? Are you gonna pay for my funeral, sir?!?!?

Loved it. Chefs kiss. Mwah

𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚���𝐲: 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐝 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏.𝟒𝐤

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐀𝐍: 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝, 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞. 𝐇𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨 (𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧)

𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“We’re lost.” 

You’ve known this simple fact for over half an hour. The Vietnamese jungle around you is lush and sticky and alive and, while it could easily melt into one neverending green space, you know you passed this same clump of trees fifteen minutes ago; you had the good sense to mark the spot with the lid of your water tank when you last passed. 

Up ahead, James doesn’t even slow, doesn’t so much as pause at the note of irritation in your voice, only continues pushing through the low-lying trees with purpose. If you didn’t already know you were lost, his quiet display of confidence would easily have you fooled. 

“We aren’t lost,” he replies shortly. It’s the most he’s spoken to you in the past half hour. 

He flicks away an errant bug that’s landed on the tanned skin of his forearm, but still doesn’t turn to look at you. It’s inconsequential, but it makes a senseless rage bubble violently within you, enough that you seriously consider lobbing your water tank at his pretty blonde head. 

You have to settle for scowling unseen at his broad back. Both of you should have been back at base camp forty minutes ago, but here you are still fumbling through the undergrowth with this infuriating man and his stupidly tight shirt. 

An irritated escapes you at the same time a cacophony of bird song sounds from the skies above. You recognise it as Parakeets, Long Tailed and Alexandrine. A sign that you’re at least close to the camp.

“Of course I’m the one who gets stuck with a tracker who can’t find his way out of a fucking forest,” you goad him.

It’s not intentional, not really, but you’re exhausted and hot and it’s been hours since you last ate. 

And, maybe, some small part of you is scared that you won’t find the camp before nightfall, but hell will freeze over before you admit that to James Conrad. 

The man already thinks you’re a runt. 

James still doesn’t stop or outwardly acknowledge your taunting, but even from where you are behind him you can see the roll of his shoulders and clench of his jaw that signals his agitation. 

You’re treading on very thin ice. 

“We aren’t far,” James replies in a tight voice. “Base camp is roughly four miles from here.”

It’s this that tips you over the edge - his maddening stubbornness that’s going to lead you both straight into the mouth of yet another one of this island’s almost comically large beasts. 

“For fuck’s sake, will you just admit that you have no idea where we are or where you’re going!” You raise your voice and come to a complete standstill in the tiny clearing. 

It has the desired effect. 

James finally stops in his tracks and swiftly turns to face you. Irritation and annoyance are etched into every line of his handsome face, and you don’t miss the way his hands ball into fists by his sides. 

You catch sight of the prominent veins on the backs of his hands and your traitorous heart leaps within your chest. You hate that it isn’t out of fear. 

“Where should we be heading, if you’re so sure?” He doesn’t raise his voice, but there’s no doubt that he’s angry. 

His piercing blue eyes are fixed intently on yours, demanding an answer that you can’t give him. Even if you did know the right way back to camp, the sight of him in that sweat drenched shirt clinging almost erotically to his defined chest would make words difficult. 

You swallow quickly and lick your lips, fighting to keep your eyes from running over the bulge of his biceps. The man could likely toss you over his shoulder like you were a sack of flour; could very likely toss you from position to position…

No.

“I don’t know!” You force yourself to snap out of it, but even you can hear the shakiness to your voice. “I don’t know how to get back, but this is the second time we’ve come through here! I threw the lid of my water tank right there the last time we passed. You might not like me, James, but we are lost!”

He studies you silently for a moment, confusion sinking into his face as he turns your words over in his head. For second, you fear that you’ve really pissed him off, but when he finally takes a few short steps toward you, there’s something that could almost be described as humour lighting up his eyes.

“Does that explain why you’ve been such a monumental pain in the ass since we arrived?” he asks, and you swear you see a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

You let out a disbelieving laugh at his audacity. “Me? You could be a character study on being a pain in the ass!”

He’s smiling fully at you now, as though he’s privy to some secret that you aren’t. “I’ve been nothing but warm and welcoming,” he replies easily, and now he’s standing even closer to you, so close that you catch the faint musky scent of his aftershave. 

You can only stare wordlessly at him. His eyes are twinkling and they seem softer, like somehow you amuse him. 

Like he’s fond of you. 

“I think you seriously need to relearn the meaning of “rolling out the welcome wagon”,” you say quietly, because it’s getting hard to breathe properly with how close he is to you. 

His smile grows as he closes the remaining distance between you both, until you’re backed up against the tree trunk and have to tilt your head to look at him. There’s something achingly tender in the way he looks at you, and you swear your heart stops when he gently takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

“I’m teasing, darling,” he says softly. 

Darling. It makes a pleasant golden warmth seep through your veins. 

James’ eyes scan your face slowly like he’s seeing you for the first time. He’s so wonderfully close to you that it would be only too easy to reach out for him, to run your hands along the firm planes of his chest and his broad shoulders the way you’ve often dreamed about. 

But you don’t. 

Out of fear of ruining whatever is happening between you both, you hold back, letting James take the lead. You’ll happily follow. 

The soft pad of his thumb runs over your bottom lip, making you grateful for the tree at your back holding you up, and you watch his eyes dart between your lips and your eyes. 

“Tell me to kiss you. Please,” he murmurs, letting his thumb trace your cheek. 

Your heart is beating wildly in your chest, as though screaming out for him, and you don’t hesitate in granting him his request. 

“Kiss me, James.” 

His lips are surprisingly soft when they press against yours, like he wants to savour every last second. He cups your face with two large hands, holding you firmly in place as his tongue slips into your mouth. 

You feel high on the feel of him and finally allow yourself to wrap your arms around his shoulders. James smiles against your lips and presses more firmly against you until you aren’t sure where he ends and you start. Suddenly, the tiredness and hunger and uncomfortable stickiness of the Vietnamese jungle doesn’t matter; all that does is that James Conrad is kissing you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. 

One hand eventually drops from your face to curl around your knee, pulling your leg up and around his waist. You feel the hardened length of him through his jeans and when he grinds his hips against yours…

“Fuck,” you groan, letting your head fall against the tree while he moves to suck a bruise into your collarbone. “Don’t be a tease.” 

He lifts his head to press another slow kiss to your waiting lips, and lets his forehead rest heavily against yours. “I have no intention of teasing you, sweet girl. I want this just as much as you do, but not here.”

You whine, but it only makes him laugh. “I have a very comfortable bed back at camp. Surely, you would prefer that?” 

Wrapping your arms tighter around his neck, you pretend to pout. “Fine, but that brings us back to the original issue of you not knowing where the hell we are.” 

James playfully squeezes your hips. “An hour will have us there, but every minute we go over is a minute I spend making it up to you. How does that sound?” 

You grin and pull him in for another kiss. “It sounds perfect.”