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#thor
yellenabelova · a day ago
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#2022, year of arms 
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caroldanversenthusiast · 2 days ago
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I LOVE WOMEN
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youronebraincell · a day ago
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HELP NOT JENNIFER CALLING OUT THE AVENGERS (and like..basically every superhero ever)
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maxyartwork · a day ago
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i do not take responsibility for the person i’ll become once thor: love and thunder comes out
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thecyndimistuff · 2 days ago
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me trying to remind people who the real female protagonist and love interest of Love and Thunder is
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lesbian-deadpool · 2 days ago
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Thor: It's okay to murder people, but it's not okay to disrespect your wife by the way.
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yelenadelova · 2 days ago
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scottinaussie · 2 days ago
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Chris Hemsworth as Dr. Steve Abnesti in Spiderhead (2022)
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Stranger at the Door 22: Loki’s Ending
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Warnings: this fic will include dark content including rape/noncon, predatory behaviour, just on the border of stepdad fic (this is a one time exception because this dynamic isn’t really for me but you know, brain makes no sense), mentions of mental health, bullying, isolation, bad parenting, age gap, self-harm, blood, depression, suicidal thoughts, dissociation, substance abuse. 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’re nineteen and life is standing still, that is until your mother meets her dream man, then everything changes. (innocent!reader)
Characters: Loki (silverfox)
Note: Before you proceed, please check the warnings a second time as new triggers have been added.
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. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3
Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖
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Home. Your singular haven. All your life, you hid in your room, thought yourself safe from the horrors of the world. But there was nowhere safe from the monsters you feared for so long. No, they came and sought you out. 
You realise now that you have no home. No where to truly hide.
That old town, those streets you knew and didn't, the stores you saw in passing, and those few you ventured into, flicker by as you stare without seeing. You're going back, but not going home. To a woman you once thought of as a protector, revealed to be a liar and betrayer. As bad as the man beside you, steering with one hand as his other rests on your thigh.
You're not used to his touch, only indifferent. As you are to most things. It might be the meds but you think maybe it's just you. You can't let yourself feel or you'll feel too much.
"We can go again," Loki offers, "somewhere else, maybe? Somewhere you've always wanted to go."
"Sure," you shrug.
He waits and kneads through your jeans, "no suggestions?"
"I've never wanted to go anywhere," you say.
He doesn't say anything else as he lifts his knuckles to your cheek, "now you can go anywhere you wish, precious. With me."
You nod and grab his hand, refraining from snatching it away and instead, holding it gently. He twines his fingers through yours and lets you lower it to your seat as he watches the road.
"Marlena can't know... about the cuts, do you understand?" he says as he turns into the suburbs, those sprawling white picket fences which put your rundown childhood home to shame.
"I know," you say.
"Good girl," he squeezes your hand, "I'll knock on your door once she's asleep and we can spend some time together--"
"She knows. You said so," you sit rigid and glance at him in the rearview.
"Oh, she does but that was another condition," he rubs his thumb along your hand, "we can't... do anything in front of her."
You sink down in the seat. Your stomach curdles. Your dread mounts as you recognise the cul de sac. Your mother weighs heavier on you than anything else; than his relentless hands and endless desire, his sickly sweet lies designed to coax you. A sliver of emotion spikes in your chest but quickly subsides.
"Another of her little fantasies," he says as he pulls his hand away and turns up his drive, "she likes to pretend, we both know that."
"Alright," you utter as he shuts off the engine.
He gets out first as you reluctantly do the same. He grabs the bags and winks at you as he nods you towards the house. You cross your arms and match up the walk to the front door. Inside, the house is quiet.
Loki closes the door with his foot and sighs as he sets the bags down. You scratch your neck as you look around. This place is both strange and familiar. Like yourself. The same yet completely changed.
"Sweetheart!" Your mother startles you as she appears from the front room, "oh, you're finally home! How was your trip?"
She latches onto Loki and pulls him by the front of his jacket to kiss her. He grunts quietly as she does, forcing her tongue into his mouth. You look up the stairs as you try not to hear the nasty noise of their kissing. Finally he frees himself and coughs.
"Honeybun, were you good?" your mother asks as she faces you.
You nod and tuck your hands in your pocket, the cuffs of the blouse concealing the bandages. 
"She was very good," Loki intones, "as always. She's a quick learner."
"Oh, I missed you," she turns back to Loki and hangs off him, "you should get this coat off and I can welcome you back."
You glance away and work at getting your boots off. You put them on the mat as Loki removes his coat, but not urgently despite your mother's impatience.
"I'm going to unpack," you grab the handle of your suitcase and roll it past her.
"You must be so tired," she chirps after you, "make sure you lay down. Get some rest."
"Sure," you say as you stop by the stairs and retract the handle. You lift the bag by the handle and drag it up step by step.
"Your brother finally left," your mother's birdlike voice carries after you, "thank god. I could hardly stand him hanging around. You know I caught him in her room, snooping around. I told him I wouldn't put up with that."
"Be quiet, Marley," he sneers, "I've driven all day, I don't need you yapping at me like a dog."
"Sweetheart--"
"Go look at your magazines and pour another glass," his voice barely reaches you at the top of the stairs.
"Oh, don't be like that," you stop and listen, knowing you should, "I'll suck it. Sweetie, please, I'll do whatever you want."
"I want you to leave me alone," he rebuffs, "shouldn't you be shopping for a white dress? Or do you think the colour might darken at your very sight?"
You continue down the hall and let yourself into the bedroom. You can't even pity her. She chose this. She knew what she was doing and for what? Exactly what Loki said; a white dress and this damned house.
You don't even pity yourself. You don't have the energy. You just want to sleep.
📼
Acceptance is the final stage of grief but the life you had before is hardly worth mourning. A locked door, old movies, and a mother who only ever wanted to be validated by your shortcomings. Acceptance is easier than regret.
Your new life keeps to a routine. There’s that at least. 
Wake up, pills, dress in clothes you hate, eat without tasting, go to ‘work’ with Loki, another pill, hide your spite for your mother when you must face her, some other meals in between, two pills in the evening, an hour or two alone to fill with schoolwork or catatonic indifference, then the knock at your door. Him, again. He’s the constant, the only stability in your life. You feel nothing but the dread that resonates through that house.
That day is a new day. Your mother’s through her final two weeks and jovial at her newly claimed freedom. 
She wakes you and doesn’t even acknowledge that you’re naked beneath the covers. She trills at you to get up and get going. She’s impatient and completely oblivious of the condom wrapper beside your pillow. Or pretending to be.
“I managed to pick up an appointment at the boutique,” she says as she sways to the door dreamily, “they had a cancellation and called me early this morning. I’m going to need a second opinion. Oh, and your Aunt Moira will meet us there.”
“Moira?” you bat your lashes as you stay hidden beneath the layers of frilly pink, “she’s talking to you again?”
“We’ve reconnected! She’s going to be a bridesmaid. Of course, you can still be maid of honour,” she grips the door handle, “chop, chop, honeybun, we don’t want to be late. We miss this appointment and I’ll be waiting months for the next one.”
You grumble your assurance and wait for her to close the door. You sit up and rub your shoulders as your thighs ache. Last night, Loki was particularly rough. He was angry about something. Odd how you’ve come to read his emotions when you were never very good at that. Silva said that was one of your issues.
You unwrap the bandages and clean the healing cuts. Mostly scabbed now. You put on new dressings, just how Zemo told you, and pull on a lilac coloured dress and swishy kimono with sleeves well past your hands. You look normal even if you don’t feel it. Like a real person.
As you emerge from your room, there’s a shadow just down the hall. You pause and look over at Loki, arms crossed as he watches from outside his office. He’s not happy.
“I’ll miss you today,” he says, “but you must go with Marlena. Make her happy or this…”
“Miss you too,” you lie as you clasp your hands together and bounce on your heels.
“You’ll be cold,” he nods to your dress.
“I know,” you say coolly, “you don’t like it?”
He smirks, “I love it. I want to lift it up right now and… go before that thought gets the best of me.”
You do as he says. That’s always easier. In that week since your return, you’ve learned. To obey, to appease, to recite all the sweet words he wants. You don’t have to mean them. You were naive to ever think that honesty existed.
📼
Your Aunt Moira is a vague memory from your childhood. You haven’t seen her since before your father died. Like most of your family.
She doesn’t look much different than you remember, what you can remember. She sits beside you in the bridal lounge on a long, ivory bench cushioned with velvet. You pick at your sleeves as you wait for your mother to appear after a tedious hour of choosing gowns to try on.
“So…” her smoky voice startles you, “how is school?”
“Okay,” you answer, “I’m passing.”
“Hmm,” she frowns, “just passing.”
“Yep,” you bend your fingers around the edge of the sleeve, “what are you up to, Aunt Moira?”
“I’m here,” she replies, “I had plans to fly out to Barbados but… Marlena finally has her show.”
“Oh, I–”
“This man, Loki,” she interjects, “do you like him?”
You look at her and tilt your head, letting your eyes drift away.
“I don’t really know him too well,” you lie, that feels good. “You know, my mom didn’t introduce us until Christmas, so–”
“Of course she didn’t,” she scowls, “she springs this on me last week. Oh, Moira, I’m getting married. And he’s rich! Can’t tell me another thing about him. At least you’ll be taken care of, I suppose.”
“Yeah, at least,” you agree thinly and hold back a yawn, “I’ve never been to a wedding.”
“Mm, don’t let this one set your expectations,” she rolls her eyes.
“I don’t think I’ll get married,” you confess.
“My advice, don’t,” she laughs dryly, “I never bothered and I’m happy for it. Especially after seeing your mother and all her disasters… sorry, I don’t mean… your father was… conflicted–”
“I barely remember him,” you smile, that extra pill helped.
She doesn’t respond as you hear a rustle and your mother’s voice. She comes out in a large princess gown with too many skirts. Strapless and too young for her. She preens as she steps up on the platform in front of the mirrors as the attendant arranges the heavy fabric around her.
“You don’t think that’s a bit much, Marley?” Moira stands and peers past her sister into the mirrors.
“It’s within budget,” your mother chirps.
“It’s a bit… young for you,” Moira reproaches, “you should at least have some straps–”
“I think it looks nice, besides, I’ve been losing weight,” your mother argues, “honeybun, what do you think?”
You glance over at her, the white tulle and satin makes you sick. “I like it, you should get that one.”
“Not my day,” Moira raises her hands, “I’m gonna go out and have a smoke.”
“Right,” your mother’s tone drops to disappointment, “I’ll… try on another one. When you get back, you can tell me what you think.”
“You’re fifty-two, Mar,” Moira says, “you shouldn’t be wearing white.”
Your mother’s face falls and she nods, “well, maybe I’ll have them pull that dark blue one you liked.”
“Eh,” Moira pulls out her pack of lights, “be back.”
She leaves and your mother deflates. She quickly raises her shoulder and forces a smile at the attendant.
“I think white suits any age,” the redhead assures her, “maybe the silk sheath? I think it’s very elegant.”
“Sure,” your mother steps down, “we’ll try that one.”
You watch her and her eye meets yours. Her throat constricts and her lip curls. Her mask slips in that moment. That’s why she brought you; to make it clear she’s still in charge. She’ll marry Loki and be the lady of the house and you’ll be his whore.
📼
The wedding comes quickly. 
The first day of spring brings with it a sense of renewal though life remains much the same. With the season’s beginning comes the semester’s end. You’re failing. You haven’t told your mother or Loki, you don’t think either of them care. It doesn’t matter, you’re not going anywhere.
The ceremony is everything your mother wanted. A mirror image of those magazines across the dining table, pages flipping and flicking, phone calls, venues, tastings. All of it culminates in her special day; a day all for her.
Long white benches and tall vases of pure ivory lilies across a carpet of rich green grass. An arch decorated in ribbons and vines under which she swore herself to Loki, made her deal with the devil; her daughter, her deceit, for designer clothes and vintage wines. A fine theatre for the rows of guests, similarly feigning their happiness for the couple.
The reception occurs in a large tent. Bouquets on every table, the scent of pollen heavy in the air and the buzz of flies irritating guests as they try to enjoy the overpriced but sparse portions. You sit with the bridesmaids, your aunts, Moira and Andrea, and Thor’s two daughters, Tinsley and Tiffany, both blond and tall like their father. They have boyfriends, their plus ones, as you pick at the soy glazed trout.
The night progresses, your mother basking in the attention; the scripted speeches and the couple's first dance. Loki maintains a facade of content but you see those moments his eyes narrow at her sappy shows of elation. You feel okay about it all, the champagne mixes with your pills wonderfully.
The dance floor opens up as Loki leads your mother away and greets his parents in an unheard conversation. They all seem so happy even if you know they’re not.
You sit alone as the table empties and watch Tinsley and Tiffany at the bar, their drink tickets handed over eagerly. Your aunts have gone to glower over your mother and languish in their envy; much of the night they complained of the tacky decor and extravagant taste. You finish the bubbly alcohol and place the glass down, your head swirling pleasantly.
“Princess,” Thor’s voice gives you a start. You laugh at yourself and look up at him. His suit seems absurdly large though it fits him snugly. “How are you?”
“Oh, hi,” you stand and hug him. He stiffens, surprised by your forward gesture, “I’m just wonderful.”
He pulls back and pats your arm, “and school?”
“Great,” you smile, “how are you? Your daughters are so nice!”
“Are they?” he chuckles, “I’m good. I… I’m sorry I left without a goodbye.”
“What? No. It’s okay. I didn’t expect…” your shoulders slump and your cheek twitches. He left you all alone. With Loki. “It’s fine.”
He’s quiet as he stares at you. You avoid his eyes and fumble with the corsage on your wrist, a heavy golden cuff on your other. The scars are hidden well.
“Will you dance with me?” he breaks the lull.
You look at him and raise your brows, “dance? I don’t… I’ve never danced with anyone before.”
“I’ll lead, you follow,” he offers his hand, “so?”
You take his hand and let him guide you amidst the dancing bodies. The music slows as if on cue and he sets your hands on his shoulders, rather chest as he towers over you. You sway to the rhythm, though you struggle to follow the beat. You’re silent as the alcohol distorts the music in your ears and the motion makes you dizzy. You’re sleepy. 
You lean into Thor and put your head on his chest as you hug him and listen to his heart.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks.
“I like dancing like this,” you slur as your eyes wander past his dark sleeve. Loki’s watching you as he keeps his arm through your mother’s. That’s not good but you’re too drunk to care.
📼
You wake up in your room. You don’t remember how the night ended. How many things you forget. It’s kinda silly, like nothing ever happens.
There was music and lights and voices. You remember the exhilaration in your chest as you danced and Thor’s booming tones. Then nothing. Just this. This room. Alone.
You stare at the canopy above. The house is quiet and still, even though several opted to claim a guest room over forking out for a hotel suite. After such a long day, after the final twist of the key in your prison door, it’s so calm. Like nothing’s changed.
It hasn’t really. You’re the same girl. Quiet, weak, afraid. You won’t do anything to stop it. You’ll just let life happen around you. To you. Powerless.
You close your eyes but before the concoction of pills and wine can take over, you’re roused by a noise. Familiar but not comforting. The one you expect, the one that keeps you awake and drives you to drugged detachment.
There’s a stranger at the door. You better let him in.
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thundergrace · 2 days ago
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rosaline-black · a day ago
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𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗 - 𝙻𝚘𝚔𝚒 𝙻𝚊𝚞𝚏𝚎𝚢𝚜𝚘𝚗
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Category: Loki Laufeyson X Fem!Reader
Summary: you are but a simple handmaiden, daughter of the cook, but Loki is enchanted by you.
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A simple cook's daughter should not have taken his attention as you had. It just wasn't fair. Loki remembered the first time he laid eyes on you. He must have been only around six or seven. A small boy tumbling through the gardens of the palace, his eyes wide with wonder, gazing upon the mountains of flowers and herbs.
A sweet giggle took his attention as his green eyes scanned the fields before him, a small girl stood staring up at who he presumed to be her mother. The older woman slipped a yellow flower behind her ear and passed her a book before pressing a kiss to her daughter's forehead, retreating to the castle.
Now Loki wasn't sure what he was feeling, it was unfamiliar and almost painful, his stomach burnt and his cheeks were heating up as his eyes travelled all over this girl's face. How mortifying.
Before he could run away, the girl caught his eye and he was ready to pass out right then and there. Her lips curled into a kind smile as she clumsily waved at him, almost welcoming him over. So Loki reluctantly stumbled over, his eyes still glued to her.
"Hello... my mummy said if I see someone alone I should invite them over... or give them a gift… here…" you said sweetly, passing him the yellow flower from behind your ear.
Loki huffed almost defensively "I wasn't alone... I was just... looking for my brother..." he spat it almost unkindly, but still took the flower from your outstretched palm.
The girl's smile wavered but she seemed determined to befriend him, something Loki himself wasn't accustomed to.
Years passed and an understanding between the two of you grew. They were by no means close, which was mainly Loki's fault. He was completely infatuated with you, to the point where merely being in your presence reduced him to a bumbling fool. However much he pretended to stay aloof, one little smile from you and he was drawn back in, this is how it had been for centuries.
Now young adults, you becoming a fully-fledged handmaiden and him competing with his brother for the crown, he wanted nothing more than to find a way to speak with you, court you. It was just difficult.
His father was adamant about him meeting the ladies of the court, the more appropriate suitors that he had lined up for him. All of them were far too gaudy and judgmental. He could tell they didn't care for him personally, just his status which sickened him to his stomach. When they'd attempt to chat to him he could only see you. Your beautiful smile without a hint of malice or greed.
On this particular evening, he found himself being spoken to a particularly pushy lady of the court, Sigrad. They were seated in the corner of the room, his chin resting in his palm as he tried to take in anything she was spewing, it was mainly gossip she had picked up from her time around nobles. Pure dribble.
"So I was saying to this one lady of the court that..." Sigrad had been distracted by something behind him as she clicked her fingers "Excuse me... maid? More wine..."
A pair of delicate footsteps sounded behind him and as you approached Loki turned, his eyes igniting as his lips curled into a smile. Sigrad must have caught wind of this and she cleared her throat, glaring at you with her nose raised high. With a flick of her wrist, Sigrad swatted the bottle of red Asgardian wine causing it to spill all down the front of your white linen maid apparel.
"Oh sorry about that maid... fingers must have slipped..." Her smirk alone proved there was no sincerity in her apology whatsoever. Before Loki could even react, you were racing from the banquet hall.
"So where were we-"
"We were nowhere Sigrad... take your pathetic pompous self somewhere else before I have you removed from the court for good..."
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You were in pieces. The man you loved was surely now reminded of your lowly status, in probably the most humiliating way possible. That pompous whore had the nerve to embarrass you, for what reason? You weren't sure.
Pressing your back up against the pillars outside the banquet hall, you finally allowed the tears that had been building to fall as breathless sobs wracked your entire body. For once you would love to feel as though your status didn't affect the way Loki would treat you, but your fate seemed to not fall that easily.
A gentle hand touched your shoulder causing you to finally open your eyes, being met with Loki's concerned ones. His brows furrowed as his eyes searched her face.
"Are your alright love? What that shrew did to you was awful..."
You merely nodded and pulled away from him before he could pull you back in again. Logistically, this could never work between you, and no way could you be his secret. Not that you expected him to have any interest in a simple maid. Daughter of the woman who cooked the king’s meals, you were nothing.
"Where are you going?" Loki called out from behind as you began to turn away and race down the hall.
"My prince I have duties to complete this is not the time..."
"You're upset, let me help you..."
You didn’t mean to, your hand swinging around in an attempt to silence his pleas for your stay, that same hand connecting with the prince’s nose. Crimson liquid poured from his nose like a tap, and your hand reached out in a panic, almost like you were having a crack at catching the blood to relieve his Asgardian leather of getting damaged somehow. While all of this you couldn’t help but mumble mindless and strained versions of the same apology, well if he didn’t like you before, he probably hated you now.
“No matter… really I have a handkerchief it was an accident”
You had no idea that he was doing everything to stop his voice from wavering. Not because of the pain of a surely broken nose, but because the feeling of your warm caring hands on his face had sucked all thoughts from his brain. He thought of you like a vacuum for his inhibitions, a strong mead silencing all logical thinking.
“My prince… I’m so sorry… please just don’t terminate my employment… my mother and I need the money and-“
“Do you think that of me? That I would… oust you out after a mere accident…”
Your eyes finally met as you took one step to distance yourself from him. Would he? All the other handmaidens spoke negatively of the younger prince. He was cold, didn’t enjoy the same sexual escapades as his brother, and for the most part, kept to himself. You didn’t understand why those were negative attributes, you had always enjoyed the quieter people, they were calmer and usually kinder. Maybe you had overthought it? The prince couldn’t have been that bad, he had defended you…
“No… no sorry, I just… gods this is so embarrassing…”
Your eyes cast down again, but a singular finger lifted your chin to face up, those eyes creasing, pleading with you. What was he doing? Was he pulling your face to his? Were your lips about to brush?
Well, you never found out, a pair of heavy footsteps approached, and the moment was ruined. The worst part was the way Loki drew away, like the thought of being caught with you was ever so mortifying.
“Brother your timing is impeccable…”
You couldn’t bare to hear the rest, you just couldn’t. So, you ran.
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Loki couldn’t stop punishing himself. You had disappeared since that night, he assumed you were avoiding him, not surprisingly. He had completely cocked it all up. The prince had guessed you thought he didn’t want to be seen so close to you, but that wasn’t the case. Loki knew if you were seen with him by anybody, even his witless oaf of a brother, your job would be at stake.
Not only would you be terminated for coercing a royal, but you’d be ousted from your home in the castle, and you and your mother would be reduced to beggars in a nearby village. The thought kept him up at night.
However, Loki had an idea. The thought of living a life courting anybody but you was not a life worth living, which is exactly why he was on his way to the throne room. Odin would have to allow this, and if he didn’t well he would find a way, you were worth it.
“Enter son…” his father’s cold voice called.
There he sat, the man with all the power, the god of gods who controlled his son’s fate.
“You requested a meet son…”
“Yes, father… I know you wish for me to court someone…-“
Instantly interrupting his son, Odin continued “Ah yes… how was Sigrad? I know she has an interest in you… very accomplished young woman… soon to be in the running for one of you mothers ladies in waiting..-“
“Father she’s insufferable…”
He definitely shouldn’t have snapped, he was here to bare his soul to his father, offer up anything to allow him to let him call you his own, and he was already being cruel. Loki needed to make a note about controlling his temper, even if his father made the fire of anger burn within him.
“Oh? So is there someone else?” his voice called out, a questioning brow raised.
“Yes… but she’s…-“Odin’s beard he couldn’t even get the words out.
“Spit it out son…” his father yelled.
“ITS’S Y/N FATHER…” He shouted in return, his usually pale countenance red with emotion. He could imagine where you were right now, probably folding bed linens and caring for self-important nobles who didn’t deserve your attention. No, they should be doting on you, for your benevolent goodness alone. You didn’t deserve to be some handmaiden his father was probably trying to remember as he filed through his own thoughts.
“The handmaiden… cooks daughter…” he muttered, clearly not all that impressed.
 The silence was thick, the worst silence Loki had ever experienced. This could be it, Odin could banish you here and now, blaming you for bewitching him. A sigh left his father’s lips and Loki let his mouth fall in a straight line, holding his breath for the verdict that would decide his life.
“Very well… you can court her, but her position remains until she accepts your courtship… after she will have to remain as a noblewoman, bad for the image to have you marrying a maid…”
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Three weeks, three whole weeks you had managed to avoid the god of mischief. Purposely trading shifts with the other handmaidens so you wouldn’t be fixing up the prince’s chambers. You couldn’t handle the cringeworthy altercation you had shared that evening. It was the type of thing that haunted your dreams, punching the man you loved and then nearly kissing him.
Your thoughts had been so all-consuming you had yet to notice the tall lithe figure watching you from the doorway of the washing rooms.
“Sorry…”
You jumped out of your skin at the deep voice your skin prickling with goosebumps. You turned your body around, your eyes widening at the sight before you. There the prince stood, yellow flower in hand, nervous smile twitching as his eyes didn’t leave you. Before you could question him, he spoke again.
“A young girl once told me if I saw somebody alone I should try to befriend them… or gift them… here”
The flower resembled the one you had given him all those years ago, unbeknownst to you, it was that same very flower. Preserved by his mother’s magic that same day, it was Loki’s greatest possession and now, now he was giving it back to you. A symbol of his devotion.
“My flower…” you mumbled almost dumbly, what was happening?
“I have come… to ask you… gods why is this so hard…”
“Yes…”
“But you have no idea what I was going to ask?” Loki stated his eyebrows raising as you walked to him, placing your palms on his shoulders.
“Well unless I have misjudged this awfully… I believe you’re asking… to court me, for reasons I’m still unsure of…”
Loki huffed again, that fond memory of your first meeting giving you déjà vu.
“Because you my dear… are the most enchanting, kind-hearted, and selfless creature of all of Asgard… and I… I’ve loved you for longer than I care to admit…”
His words made your heart flutter like thousands of doves were blooming from your chest. His lips on your own making the feeling repeat.
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yellenabelova · 17 hours ago
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Mark Ruffalo as Bruce Banner/Hulk in the mcu
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caroldanversenthusiast · 2 days ago
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tessa thompson as valkyrie…
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gotta be one of my favourite genders
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moghedien · 2 days ago
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Arm arm arm arm
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maxyartwork · 19 hours ago
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it’s all about Them
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xx-kachi-xx · 2 days ago
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I'M SO FUCKING GAY
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filmtv · 3 days ago
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The Avengers (2012) dir. Joss Whedon
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thoughtsfromataco · 2 days ago
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Oh jeez oh god oh help oh fuck
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comicmoviescreencaps · 2 days ago
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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days ago
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Stranger at the Door 21
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Warnings: this fic will include dark content including rape/noncon, predatory behaviour, just on the border of stepdad fic (this is a one time exception because this dynamic isn’t really for me but you know, brain makes no sense), mentions of mental health, bullying, isolation, bad parenting, age gap, self-harm, blood, depression, suicidal thoughts. 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’re nineteen and life is standing still, that is until your mother meets her dream man, then everything changes. (innocent!reader)
Characters: Loki (silverfox)
Note: Before you proceed, please check the warnings a second time as new triggers have been added.
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. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3
Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖
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The acidic coating in your stomach never quite dissipates. You have nothing left to throw up, nothing left to feel, nothing left whatsoever. 
Loki watches you as you emerge from the bathroom but you hardly even notice. His presence is nothing more than a dire shadow. You go to the bedroom and bury yourself under the blankets. You push your head beneath the pillow and close your eyes. Every ounce of strength drains completely as your thoughts cease to whirl. 
You are just a body, just there.
The world goes on as you stay still. Time moves around you, Loki too, but you don't notice the changes. You can't feel. You can't think. 
Colours, noise, shifting; none of it breaks through the coffin of your betrayal. You let your breaths slow as the pillow traps humid heat beneath and edge in and out of sleep; none of it restful, only fits of deeper disillusion. 
He touches you, dulled by your indifference, and pulls away the pillow. He lets you be as he gets no response, your eyes stuck on the ceiling before shutting again.
You come to in darkness. You make yourself get up as your bladder squeezes painfully. You don't see Loki. You're alone.
You go into the bathroom and sit on the toilet overly long, even after you're empty. You stare at the white tile and stand. You cross the floor and watch yourself in the mirror as you near the counter. You grip the edge. There's some pathetic creature looking back at you.
You glance down and let your hand slowly crawl over the small leather case. You unclasp it and look at the silver tools inside. You wiggle free the scissors. You toss the case to the back of the counter and grip the open blades so the edge cuts into the inside of your knuckles. You press the metal to your wrist and hold your breath. 
You have to poke through with the tip before the skin breaks and the hot release of blood makes you moan. You drag it jaggedly through the flesh and veins, stabbing into the viscera of your own arm. The pain has you trembling but you won't stop. Not till it's done.
The scissors slip as you switch hands and slice into your other wrist. This one's harder, the metal hard to keep steady. The small screw comes loose and the blades fall apart in your grasp. You drop them into the sink and wipe the tears from your eyes, a smear of red left down your face. 
You walk away from the mirror as the flow of blood leaks down your fingers, staining the door as you push it open.
It's not enough. It only hurts but it won't help. You stagger from the bedroom and into the front of the suite. Your backpack remains by the desk, the room exactly as you fled it. You go over and shove your hand through the open zipper and fish around for the bottle. 
You take out the pills, shaking as you try to unscrew the lid. Light suddenly blooms from the other side of the room as Loki stands beside the lamp. Where did he come from?
"Wha..." his voice trails off as you focus on the bottle, desperately trying to pop off the cap.
He strides over to you and you turn your back to him as you block him from taking the pills. You bite the lid and whine. He reaches around you and grips your hands, wiggling free the bottle as the blood makes it too slippery to hold on. 
He whips the bottle away and takes your wrists, pulling you to your feet as he makes you face him. He looks at the gashes and shakes his head.
"Jesus," he curses under his breath, "you stupid girl."
"Please," you sob, "please–"
"Shut up," he snarls and pulls you with him.
He drags you into the half-bath and sits you on the toilet. He holds you by your arms and glares down at you, chest heaving as he pokes his tongue in his cheek. 
He grabs a towel and brings your hands together, stemming the blood with the fluffy cotton. Your bones ache from his tight grasp and he manages to keep your hands trapped with only one of his. He winds the towel around one wrist and ties it tight, then takes another and does the same to the other. 
He says nothing as your blood stains his pale hands. He stands straight and leaves you. You let your hands rest in your lap, unmoving. Another failure.
You hear his voice, low, agitated. He comes back to you, phone in hand as he shakes his head. He slips the cell into the pocket of his silk pajamas and helps you stand. He keeps hold of your elbow and leads you back into the bedroom. 
Your lip quivers as the tears continue to roll down. He lays you back down and remains, sitting on the edge of the bed as he checks the phone again.
"I have a friend coming to help," he says, "it's okay, precious."
"Why?" you ask weakly.
"Why?" he snaps as he looks at you with his snakish eyes.
"I want to die," you say, "it's all I have left. I have no mother, no life…"
He inhales and peeks at his phone again. He leans on his thighs as he taps the phone listlessly, "you're young. You don't know what you want, you can't."
"Not you," you whisper.
He's silent as his jaw squares. He stands and leaves you. He returns after a moment and resumes his place on the edge of the bed. He has a washcloth in hand, slightly damp as he wipes your face.
"You don't have nothing," he insists as he holds your chin and cleans away the blood, "you have me and I don't take well to those who try to take things from me."
You frown. Thing. That's what you are to him. Another possession. That's worse than anything else he's said or done. Before, you could pretend you were some forbidden love, even if you abhor him, but now, you don't even have that. You are nothing but a toy to him and he can only think of how you would spoil his fun.
📼
Loki sits with you until his 'friend' arrives. You hear them speaking in the next room but their words garble and don't connect. The man enters ahead of him, a leather bag hanging from his shoulder as he looks you over.
"Hello," he greets you with your name, "I'm Dr. Helmut Zemo."
You don't answer. He drags a chair over and puts his bag atop it.
"If you will," he turns to Loki, "I need to wash my hands, take out my gloves so I can tend to her after."
Loki nods as the doctor excuses himself and you hear the water running. It feels wrong, tainted. The secrecy of it all. Why didn't he just take you to the hospital? Not that you want that either.
The doctor returns and takes a pair of latex gloves from the box Loki placed on the night table. He sits on the edge of the bed, as Loki had done moments ago, and takes your wrist. You resist, the effort throbbing in your hands, then relent.
"Now," Zemo warns in his lilted voice, "do not be obstinate, I am here to help you."
You give up and let him pull your arm to him. He carefully unwraps the towel and examined then caked blood around the laceration. He does the same to the other and nods to himself. 
"Left is pretty deep," he clamps the towels back over your wrists, "bend your fingers for me."
You huff and do as he says. It's painful but not impossible. 
"No bone or nerve damage," he says, "any deeper and you'd need surgery."
"Any deeper and I wouldn't have to be here," you blink through tears.
He's silent as he puts your hands in your lap, "in my bag, you'll find some isopropyl alcohol and some wipes, I will need first to sterilise her wounds, then some stitching and dressings. She will heal with some antibiotics and regular cleaning."
Loki reaches into the leather bag again, a diligent assistant. His face is staunch as he looks at you. You grumble and turn your gaze to the blanket.
"Tell me, have you done this before?" Zemo asks. You nod.
"She takes medication," Loki offers and you curl your lip.
"So she has a psychologist?" He continues. "Perhaps I will review his script to be sure it is correct. Tetanus shot?"
"Last year," you murmur.
"Very good," he uncovers your left wrist and agony ripples up your arm as he presses the alcohol-coated wipe to the gash. 
You grunt but hold back the scream roiling in your chest. He flakes away the dry blood as more begins to leak out, his gloves quickly redden. He focus on his task, attending you sternly and without care.
"Loki," he intones, "give us some space, please, I will call for you when I require the needle."
Loki retreats slowly and pauses by the door. Neither of these men have a shred of empathy for you, only disappointment, almost repulsed at your stupidity. Like it was a cry for attention. They can't understand, they're men. No, monsters.
📼
When the doctor goes, you feel woozy. It might be the painkillers, you think. The antibiotics pit a rock in your stomach and your new antidepressants make your head cloudy. It's an escape but not the one you planned on.
You slip down to your back and let your eyes close dreamily. You like this. You like not feeling. Sleep crawls over you and cocoons you in a calming warmth, the world fading away to the colours of your mind.
When you wake again, dawn has passed and the sky is orange with noon. Loki's beside you, a leather folder open on his lap as he delves into the tight font of his legal pages. You giggle and reach to push it away. You don't know why, you just feel like it. He keeps the papers from fluttering away and closes the folio with a snap.
"What are you doing?" he peers down at you past his long nose.
You shrug and laugh again. Your mouth is dry and sticky, you roll your tongue around trying to wet it. He sighs and helps you sit up as you reach with your bandaged arms. He puts you against the bed frame and climbs off the other side. 
He surprises you as suddenly he appears with a glass of water and holds it out. You take it and drink thirstily.
"Are you proud of yourself?" he asks sourly.
"Proud?" you look at him and wipe the water that dribbles down your chin, "of what? That I'm fucking my mom's fiance? Or that I'm a mess?"
You laugh again. It's all just a little bit funny. Especially that you ever thought it wouldn't end up like this.
"Well, I see the medication is... potent," he lifts a brow, "that's quite a bite you have, precious."
"That's quite a bite you have," you imitate his accent, poorly, "leave me alone, you-- you-- pervert!"
He inhales through his nose as you take another gulp and place the glass aside. Really, why should you care about anything? Your mother doesn't care about you. This man surely doesn't care about you. So who gives a fuck!
You turn your legs over the edge of the bed and he steps to block you, "what are you doing?"
"I'm going to take a bath!" you declare, "I feel gross and... I'm healing!" You hold up your wrists, "I'm sick, don't you know? In the head."
"You should go back to sleep," he grabs your arms and the pang makes you squeal.
"Ow, let me go," you cry out, "I don't want to sleep! I want a bath–"
"Lay down," he leans on you and falls over you until your flat on your back, pinning your hands to the bed as he looms over you, "don't act like your mother, you little–"
You squirm and snap your teeth at him. He winces and keeps away from your mouth.
"I don't want to hurt you, precious, I told you that," he sneers, "so quit."
You whine and writhe beneath him. He plants his knees on the bed between yours as you struggle with him. You only feel a dull weight as the medication nips at his grip and another wave of nausea swells. You kick your feet around him and whimper.
"Please," your eyes wet, "please, Loki," you sniffle, "you're hurting me..." you look into his eyes, "I'll be good."
He glares at you for a moment, then his face softens. He lets you go and sits back on his heels as he combs his hair back with his fingers. He lets out a heavy breath and backs off the bed. He clears his throat as he leaves you, returning with his hand cupped.
"You're due for another dose," he holds out the pills, "antibiotics in two hours."
You sit up and stare at his loose shirt. You take the pills blindly and toss them into your mouth. It's better than feeling. You turn to put your head back to the pillow, sensing his lingering gaze.
"Thank you," you murmur.
"Alright," he breathes and nears to brush your forehead with his fingertips, "you be good."
📼
Your body rocks as soft purrs drift from between your lips. The heat radiating around you is intoxicating. You smile as you drag your hand across the soft, full cloud. Your world is pink and airy, vibrant but cozy. 
You're consumed by the coiling sensation around your core, the pleasure of indifference, of ignorance. You moan a little louder and the clouds part, wisps wilting away from your fingers. The fluffy blankets split and roll back, retreating as the sky turns gloomy. You're no longer float but plummet into the dark depths below.
Your eyes open as your body jerks, sweaty flesh sticking to your back as deep tones sink into your mind. Loki's humid breath spreads over your scalp as he ruts into you, a long arm around your middle. The bed jolts with his movement, growing more frantic with each thrust. The clap of his violent intrusion against your ass reverberating through you.
You vaguely remember his first touch, the gentle kiss on your lips as he asked if you're awake. You don't recall answering or how it got to this. You can hardly keep track of the day since you cut yourself. The meds keep you dull, keep you pliant, and they make him bearable, almost needed.
You dig your nails into the pillow and bit the cotton sheath around it. You groan as the pulsing in your core thrums stronger and stronger, his fingers flicking wildly at your clit. You let it take over, let the delight bring the clouds back and pale the sky as your eyes roll into your skull. You quake at the sudden release, spasmodic as the sparks tingle across your skin.
He relishes your twitching walls and fucks harder, faster. He tilts without relent as he presses his fingers against your bud and hammers into you. He growls your name as he nibbles your ear and slams to his limit. He slows as he cums, hissing and huffing until he's still. He stays inside of you, hugging you to him as the tension slakes away.
"We'll have to start packing soon, precious," he exhales, "your mother expects us back tonight."
You clench your jaw as the anger breaks through your haze, "I don't care," you say, "she can wait."
"Oh, precious," he chuckles, "don't be silly, we must–"
"No," you insist, the thought of facing her; overmedicated and broken, is worse than even Loki, "can't you book another night?"
He's quiet as he pets your hair. His acts of affection make you shiver. Somehow, his doting is both sinister and earnest. Yet, you can't help but find comfort in not being alone; for once.
"If you truly need it, precious, yes," he allows, "you see how nice I can be, hm?"
"Thank you," you cover your face and try to wriggle away but he holds you there. You relent and hid your tears in your arm. Could you ever face your mother again?
-
If you are experiencing any thoughts of self-harm or suicide, or just need to talk, please seek out sources here and here. From one stranger on the internet to another, I care about you.
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