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shadeysprings · 2 years ago

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The Princess of Asgard

—Loki x F!Reader

Summary: Your supposed vacation on Asgard takes an unexpected turn.

Warnings: kidnapping, non-consensual arranged marriage, betrayal & violence.

A/N: Written for @lokisgoodgirl as they've been wanting some Dark!Loki recently. Ngl, I do miss writing him. Un-beta so may be meh.

Your feedbacks and reblogs are highly appreciated. Support Content Creators! And I hope you guys enjoy! ❤️

The tears continue streaming down your face as you stare at your reflection in the vast mirror hanging on the wall. The emerald gown you were forced to wear shimmers beautifully against the light of your chambers and you wish you could appreciate such a delicate garment, to bask at the regality being laid upon your feet.

But you can’t, not even a shred of happiness can be found within, for such gifts have come with a price, one you know deep down you cannot pay.

You blame your naivety, for it’s what brought you into your situation in the first place. The excitement burst from you when Thor and his brother, Loki, invited you to see their home. The stories of Asgard have held a vice on you since you were young, mesmerized at how beautiful the images scholars painted of a place they’ve never seen before. And being given that opportunity, to witness what no one else on earth has, was too irresistible not to take.

“What are you wearing?” Loki asks upon seeing you when you open the door, his eyes trailing down your body before stopping at your face.

“Oh, am I underdressed?” You ask, looking down at the graphic tee and canvas shorts you put on that morning. “I just thought of dressing light since it’s summer here.”

“Not at all, darling.” He smiles before ushering himself into your room along with a stout middle-aged woman with stacks of fabric nestled in her arms. “But I was thinking you would dress like an Asgardian during your stay here.”

The woman, who Loki introduces as Thyra, lays the assortment of fabric on the foot of your bed, dresses of silk and satin, looking delicate to the touch. You look up at Loki, eyes wide in disbelief and awe.

“Take your pick.” He instructs but nears the emerald dress all the same and runs his fingers against its skirts. “But I personally think you would look good in this.”

You scan the garments, the gold and beige sitting idly on the mattress, both in the same cut and style. Only the emerald dress stands out from the bunch, looking regal and elegant. But regardless of his suggestion, your eyes still land on the beige, hand reaching over to caress the silk before taking it.

“But this would look more in season, don’t you think?” You tell him, a smile playing on your lips. He smiles back but you can’t help but notice how it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Though after that morning, the dresses presented to you were all of the same color, emerald fabrics dancing against the lights of your room, leaving you no choice but to wear the green thrust upon you.

Your first week on Asgard was spent touring the palace and the outer grounds, Loki always at your side, arm intertwined with yours as he introduced you to his friends, along with the other lords and ladies in Thor’s court. A feast was even thrown in your honor, and even if you found the extravagant event fun and entertaining, the way you were regarded by royals and commoners alike threw you off guard.

But it didn’t stop there. Even after the feast, people bowed at your wake and called you princess, the title off-putting considering you were not close to such status, a mere civilian and average citizen on earth.

You thought they were doing so to show respect to the king and the prince’s visitor, but that one-morning exchange with Thyra, when she entered your room without your permission and started laying out a dress on the top of your bed, told you otherwise.

“It’s unheard of in all the realms for a princess to dress herself.” Thyra says in disbelief when you try to dismiss her. “I would not want the prince to scold me for not doing my work accordingly.”

“Oh—but I’m not a princess.” You tell her with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Not yet.” She simply responds before bending low and turning to leave.

And that chance encounters with Lord Fandral as you walked through the corridors of the palace alone.

“Are you lost, princess?” He asks.

You don’t understand why you’re being addressed as such. Is it customary to give visitors of the royals such titles?

With your brain too muddled with errant thoughts, you choose to brush it off and ask Loki later why they are treating you as such, you give the golden lord a smile and ask him where you can find the kitchen.

“I’d be happy to escort you, princess.” Lord Fandral says with a smile as he offers his hand for you to take.

As the days turn into weeks, the once magnificent palace felt all too suffocating; with Thyra’s constant insistence to serve you, the whispers you heard from the servants as you walked past them, and most of all, Loki’s indifference each time you asked him why you are being treated in such a weird way.

Until that day, all the answers were finally laid at your feet.

“Darling, Thyra has told me that—what are you doing?”

You don’t spare Loki a glance, irritation filling your senses as you pack all your things. “I’m leaving. I thought visiting Asgard would be great but things here are just fucking weird.” You spit, shoving your clothes in your duffel but stopping when Loki places a hand over your bag.

“You will do no such thing.” He says and you scowl up at him, but your anger shifts into curiosity, and your spine shivers when you see the seriousness in his emerald eyes. “You’re not to leave Asgard until I say so.”

“Why?!” You push his hand away and try to grab your bag but he latches onto the strap, pulling it completely from your grasp, and throws it on the ground. “What the fuck?! You can’t keep me here, Loki! I’m telling Thor and you won’t be welcomed back to the compound!”

“Go on then. He’s in the throne room right now.” He says, moving away and gesturing to the door. But the tone of his voice, calm and resolute, has fear crawling up your skin.

Yet still, you push on and walk past him, marching yourself through the halls as you try to navigate your way. You sense Loki following behind, but give him no mind, though once you find yourself lost, his chuckle resounds in your ear and you stiffen when his hand rests at the small of your back and whispers, “Just through here, darling.”

He leads you through a set of double doors and you look ahead to see Thor sitting on the throne, Mjolnir laying inanimate at his feet while addressing the people surrounding him.

His eyes meet yours and he smiles, dismissing his subjects when you march up to him. But the friendly smile fades when you stomp up the steps, a frown playing on his lips. “My lady, you seem to be in distress.”

“Hell yeah, I am.” You almost shout, pointing an accusing finger at Loki who stops at the foot of the steps. “Your brother is being an asshole. He said I can’t leave Asgard without his permission.”

Thor looks startled at your words, eyes shifting to his brother and then to you. “But why would you leave Asgard when you’re to be wed?”

You stiffen at the word. Wed? What does he mean? Your eyes dart to Loki who casually stands by the steps before climbing up toward you. He reaches for your hand but you quickly pull away, your eyes focused on him before looking at Thor who stands from his seat.

“Have you not told her, brother?” Thor asks, but his eyes remain on you.

“Told me what?!” You respond in a rush, panic rolling through your veins.

“I was supposed to while we ate breakfast but she banished her handmaiden and I caught her packing her things.”

Thor sighs but chuckles after. “Loki, you know midgardians are more unrefined in these situations than us.”

“I took your word into account, brother. Thought I would break it to her gen—”

“What the fuck are you both talking about?!” You shout, anger and fear mixing within you. “What the hell is happening?! What are you not telling me?!”

“Do you want to tell her or should I?” Thor asks his brother and Loki simply grins, giving a solemn bow to his brother. Thor faces you, blue eyes serious yet full of mirth. “You’ve accepted my brother’s gifts, have you not?”

“Gifts?”

“The dress.” He waves a hand in your direction and you look down at the green silk hanging from your shoulders. “You wear his colors, you’ve accepted his invitation to come home with him. Your chambers, adjacent to the prince’s, and a handmaiden for you to use as you please. Each one deserving of a princess.”

“But—” You stammer and shake your head. They can’t be gifts, you never even thought them to be; simply thinking that everything was part of Asgardian culture and you were not one to question their way of life. “I didn’t know they were gifts. I thought they—”

“I thought you were a smart girl but you’ve proved me wrong, little one.” Thor laughs and waves to his brother. “Enlighten her with the situation, we can’t have a scene played before the court on the day of the wedding.”

“But what if I decline?” Your voice trembles as you speak, body shaking as everything starts to make sense; why everyone calls you princess, Loki’s looming presence, and Thyra forcing you to wear the dresses instead of putting on the ones you brought with you. “I should get to decide, shouldn’t I?”

“But the decision has already been made,” Loki rebuts and you take a step back when he steps closer. “And it is seen as treason and punishable by death to go against the will of the royal family.”

You blink slowly, the air leaving your lungs as you try to process all the information that has just been said. You can’t get married, Loki may be handsome but you have no feelings for him. You feel betrayed, played with, and the pain feels too overwhelming as you saw the brothers to be your friends.

Why would they trick you? What have you done to merit such devious intent?

“It will be easier once you’ve had some food in you, darling.” Your eyes meet Loki’s when he stands close to you, his hand wrapping around your arm, thumb gently caressing your skin. “And realize that being my wife would be the best thing that has ever happened to you.”

You don’t want to agree. What the hell do they know about what’s best for you and what’s not? But you don’t fight back, instead, you nod and allow Loki to take your hand, bowing your head to Thor before following his brother out of the vast throne room.

But as soon as you pass by the doors, the guards closing them at your wake, you stomp down on Loki’s foot and clench your fists before thrusting it towards his neck, making the god stumble back while he chokes.

You don’t waste any more time and run as fast as you can, sprinting through the halls and staggering down the stairs. Several servants squeal in shock at your wake but you give them no mind, set on finding your way out of the palace and towards the bridge that you once crossed when you arrived.

Several footsteps stomp behind you and you push further, urging yourself to run faster. You can hide in the forest once you leave the palace and plan from there. All you want now and all you can do is get away from Loki and his brother and hope that you can find someone to help you and take you back home.

But you grunt when something solid catches your waist, your back pressing hard against a surface that you soon realize is someone’s chest. You try to pull away, clawing on the arm that restrains you to set yourself free, but you whimper when you feel the edge of a blade pressing against your neck, tilting your head back to avoid being cut.

“I will not be insulted by your insolence, darling.” Loki drawls against your ear. “I have been very patient with you, I have been kind. You do not want to test these waters only to end up drowning.”

“Please, Loki.” You cry and hiss when he breaks the skin, the metallic tang of your blood wafting in the air. “Why are you doing this? I thought we were friends.”

He chuckles and you let out a breath when the blade leaves your neck. But such reprieve is lost when his fingers wrap around your throat, his nose trailing down your temple and to your cheek then pressing a soft kiss against your skin.

“Well, darling,” He breathes, feeling rather than seeing his grin. “You thought wrong.”

Quickly, you wipe your tears away when you hear the door of your room open. You keep still, hearing soft footsteps pad through the open room and into the bedchamber, your body going stiff when you see Loki’s reflection in the mirror and resting his hands on your shoulder.

“I hope those are happy tears, darling.” He says as he greets you with a kiss on the cheek. “Today is a joyous day and I expect nothing but.”

You stay silent, unsure how to respond for you feel the opposite of happy. You’re trapped, kidnapped, into a foreign land, and betrayed by the people you’ve spent years who you trusted, and depended on to keep you safe.

Your eyes then shift to the side when Loki holds up a necklace with an emerald crystal hanging by the chain. He takes the liberty of clasping the chain around your neck, whimpers leaving your lips when his hand grazes the tops of your breasts, his finger caressing the jewel that sits on your cleavage.

“A beautiful present for my bride.” He whispers, the words stabbing your chest and you can’t help the tears from spilling once again. His brow furrows, turning you from the mirror to face him and you look down when he cups your cheek. “What’s the matter, darling? Do you not like it?” He asks. “I can get you another one, a bigger one if that’s what you want.”

“I want to go home.” You blurt out and cover your face as you sob against your palms. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.

Loki then pinches your chin, making you wince and you drop your hands to your sides when he lifts your head and forces you to face him. A breath catches in your throat as you’re once more filled with fear, seeing his green eyes glow dangerously and the mischievous smirk forming on his lips.

“But darling,” He breathes, “You are home.”

I no longer keep a tag list but if you want to be kept updated on my fics, follow my side blog @springdandelixn-archives and turn on notifications.

#loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #dark loki #dark!loki #dark fic #mcu #au #the princess of asgard

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societyfolklore · 16 days ago

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Wandering Soul - Part 2

Title: Wandering Soul - Part 2

Pairing: Loki x Asgardian!Female Reader

Fic Summary: You were inexplicably drawn to Loki, a presence that existed in the shadows of your mind-an allure you could neither explain nor escape. He whispered in your dreams, tempted you with promises of power and freedom, and left you questioning where his magic ended and your own desires began.

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: /Explicit Content / 18+, Minors DNI Smut (eventually), slow burn, kissing, brief masturbation/touching, No beta…

A/N: Part One I'm not sure how many parts this will actually be I thought it was going to end up 5.. but I'm covering ground better.. so maybe 3 depending on the direction I take this..

Sleep had never come so easily.

As if the moment your eyes closed, he reached for you- eager, patient, ever-present.

You stood again in the dream. Or… something like it. The air was cool and sharp as silver, yet carried the sweetness of distant lilacs, blooming out of season. Darkness bloomed all around you, stitched with faint threads of green light that flickered and bent like candleflames in water. You were no longer in the ruins, nor anywhere you recognized. The space pulsed with magic ancient, humming beneath your skin like a second heartbeat. It was as if your soul had stepped beyond the veil, into a memory you had never lived.

Above you, tall spires pierced a violet sky, jagged and obsidian, silhouetted against moons you didn’t remember rising. Cold wind stirred your cloak, lifting your hair in lazy ribbons. You turned half-expecting to see nothing, half-hoping you would.

But something was always there. A breath behind your breath. A shadow within the shadow.

You never saw his face. Not fully. Just a shape behind the trees, a silhouette in the arch of a doorway, the curl of a mouth glimpsed when you blinked. You never caught more than a flicker- yet you knew him. Every cell in your body recognized the pull.

Eyes, impossibly blue, watching from the dark.

Hair like black silk, falling in waves around broad shoulders.

A voice- deep, velvet-wrapped, vibrating through the dream like a plucked string. Smooth and ancient. Both invitation and warning.

"Little Serpent.." it murmured, impossibly close. “You dream more beautifully with every night that passes.”

You turned, breath catching- his voice at your neck, his presence behind your shoulder. Nothing there. Yet your skin prickled as though he had touched you. Your body knew him, even if your eyes were denied the truth.

His fingers didn’t land, but they brushed you just the same. Phantom caresses gliding down your arms, tracing your spine, circling your wrists. The heat of breath warmed your ear, cool fingers made of starlight dancing along the edges of sensation.

“Look at you…” he whispered. “You feel it, don’t you? The power stirring beneath your skin?”

A surge rushed through you, pure and golden, coiling in your core. Magic. Yours. The power others had tried to keep from you, to subdue your talents. It responded to him like a lover, rising to meet his presence, emboldened now by his approval. You gasped, swaying as the dream shifted again, legs barely steady, as if the force of your own awakening might knock you from your feet.

The landscape changed- stone hallways laced with runes, vines of green light threading through the walls like veins. A forest swept in and vanished, the scent of pine and snow wrapping around your senses. Then velvet, soft and black beneath your bare feet. You trembled, hands curling at your sides, heart thundering.

Your pulse stuttered when he spoke again.

“My acolyte.”

The words sank into you like ink into parchment. You didn’t know what you were becoming, only that he saw it in you- called to it, stirred it awake. You were being sculpted in the dream, carved into something new beneath his unseen hands.

“My muse.”

His voice dropped like silk between your legs, a low purr that sent a ripple through your spine. You exhaled sharply, the heat pooling low in your belly spreading through every limb, curling your toes. It bloomed like fire under your skin, a slow burn made unbearable by its restraint. You were undone and untouched, your body answering him with every shallow breath.

Then- sensation. A mouth at your throat, not quite touching, but the press of breath was enough to burn. His lips hovered like a dare, promising without delivering, and still you arched into it. His hand curled around your waist, guiding without force, pulling you back against nothing. Though nothing was there, your body ached to respond, to press closer, to be filled. Magic rippled through you, building in the places his hands might have been, had he truly been there.

“You’re ready to be unmade,” he whispered, a smile in every syllable. The promise in his tone undid you more than any touch could. It was worship and wickedness entwined, dragging a sound from your throat you didn’t recognize.

And then he was everywhere, pulling you down, the dream melting into silk sheets, your nightdress thin, clinging to flushed skin. The bed was vast and endless, swallowed in darkness and heat. The press of phantom limbs tangled with yours, an illusion given weight by desire. Breathless moans escaped as your back arched, hips moving of their own will, guided by an invisible rhythm that pulsed between your thighs. Every movement was answered by his magic, coaxing you deeper, further. The bed rocked beneath you, air thick with enchantment and musk, with the heady scent of pine and rain and him.

You grasped at the sheets, at nothing. Clawed at the space where his shoulders should have been, fingers closing on empty air. Your name trembled on the edge of your tongue, his name buried in your bones, in the marrow of you, aching to be spoken.

Every gasp he drew from you was a surrender. Every phantom kiss a claim. Each touch without touch marked you- unseen and unforgettable.

You cried out for him, voice raw, but no name came. Only heat. Only hunger. Your body bowed like a drawn bowstring, vibrating with the tension of it, straining for release.

You came apart with his name buried in your throat- still unknown, still unspoken. A symphony of ache and rapture, stretched to the stars and pulled through you like constellations drawn in pain and pleasure.

And then, as always, you woke.

~#~#~#~#~

You sat up beneath your travel cloak, breath ragged, the dream clinging to your skin like sweat. The moons hung high above the trees, casting the glen in quiet silver. Damp leaves crinkled beneath your palms as you rose, limbs sore from the cold ground and something else, a deeper ache that no fire could warm. It settled low in your bones, a weight that thrummed with remembered pleasure and the ache of something unfulfilled.

The ruins felt a world away now. Whatever had started there hadn’t ended. It had only deepened, grown roots inside you. You could feel them now, winding through your chest, twining around your ribs. The pull you felt wasn’t just magic, it was longing. A call echoing in your blood, answering something ancient, something waiting.

You moved like someone caught between worlds, each step heavier than the last. You washed your face in the river nearby, hoping the icy water might chase away the heat still clinging to your skin. But it didn’t. Not the phantom brush of his fingers, nor the ghost of his breath at your throat. Not the taste of him that still lingered like a forbidden fruit on your tongue.

You stared into the water for a long while, watching your reflection ripple and blur. You hardly recognized the woman staring back- eyes darkened with something fierce, lips parted as if still gasping his name. It frightened you. It thrilled you.

The memory clung to you with every movement, every breath. You couldn’t tell where his magic ended and your yearning began. Perhaps they were the same now. Perhaps they had always been.

By dawn, your things were packed. The forest was quiet as you mounted your horse. Frost clung to the underbrush, sparkling in the early light. You pulled your cloak tighter, not against the cold, but against the memory that kept unraveling you.

You didn’t need direction. The way forward was written into your marrow.

You turned north.

Always north.

~#~#~#~#~

The journey became rhythm. Hoofbeats tapping like a heartbeat over packed earth, the steady sway of your body in the saddle becoming second nature. Trees blurred past in a wash of green and gold, their canopies whispering overhead like gossiping spirits. Birds scattered at your passing, and distant beasts stirred beyond the treeline, yet nothing came close. You followed no path you knew, no road marked on any map- just the pull beneath your ribs, steady and relentless, like a compass spun by enchantment.

You weren’t just being called.

You were being summoned.

He followed you, always. In your waking hours now, no longer content to linger only in dreams. He bled into the edges of your vision, his magic seeping into the seams of your reality.

A whisper when you leaned against a tree to drink, his voice curling like the steam where you filled your cup, telling you that you were close.

A flicker of movement behind your reflection in the river, his silhouette standing still while yours rippled.

The brush of something down your spine when no one was there, your breath catching, the echo of fingers that knew you better than your own.

You tried to tell yourself it was imagination, but the ache he left behind was too precise. Too intimate.

At the market in the next village, you felt him again. It felt like his eyes were on you as you paid for dried meat and apples, the weight of his gaze more familiar now than sunlight. A breath at your neck while you chewed in silence at the inn, staring into your cup of mead, heartbeat fluttering like you’d been kissed without warning.

You wandered the village in a haze, every shadow another possibility. The smithy’s forge flared green for a moment too long. The merchant’s daughter stared past you, eyes glassy as if she, too, had heard a whisper not meant for her.

When you climbed the stairs to your room, you didn’t look back. You didn’t need to. The shadow followed. You could feel it pressing at your heels, warm and coiled like smoke, like breath. Like fate catching up at last.

~#~#~#~#~

The room was small but warm, the fire dwindling into soft embers, casting soft flickers of light that danced across the wooden walls. You hadn’t slept in a real bed in days. It felt like a luxury, one you didn’t quite trust. The mattress was soft beneath your back, the weight of blankets grounding you, but there was no comfort. Not truly. Not when your body still thrummed with the phantom ache of dreams that never truly left you.

You stretched beneath sways of blankets and furs, your shift clinging to your skin, damp from something more than heat. The dreams had never left you unmarked, and tonight was no different. Already your skin felt too tight, too alive, as though your very flesh remembered him better than your waking mind dared to. Your thighs ached from memory alone, an echo of touch, of want, of the pleasure he left behind like fingerprints on your soul.

You turned onto your back, breath quickening. The fire snapped in the hearth and your fingers ghosted over your hip, your stomach, down to the places that still pulsed from the ghost of him. You were raw with wanting, every nerve humming like it waited for a command only he could give. You clenched your legs together, trying to will it away. It didn’t work.

You could still feel him. The echo of his mouth. The press of his magic, woven into you, stitched into your skin like a spell. Every breath you took was touched by him. Every inch of you knew what it meant to be desired by something more than mortal, more than man.

Your hand dipped lower, no longer just searching- seeking. Needing. Your fingers found heat, slick and sensitive, the wetness there nearly constant now, ever-present each time your dreams returned to you. He had changed you. Claimed you. And your body betrayed your craving with every breath.

You circled slowly, a gasp catching in your throat as pleasure sparked to life, helpless beneath the memory of his voice, his touch. You pressed deeper, hips shifting under the furs. The tension rose so quickly it almost startled you.

"Do you ache for me?" the voice echoed in your mind, silk-soft and smug.

You whimpered aloud.

The fire hissed.

The air changed.

You froze.

He was here.

The shadows deepened, curling like smoke. A figure stepped forward, half-swallowed by the dark, but you knew him. You knew. Recognition flared through your chest like a second heartbeat, painful in its certainty. Every dream, every whisper, every phantom touch had led to this moment. He was no longer a specter or silhouette. He was real. Here. And impossibly, terribly close.

Eyes like moonlight on frost. Bright and cutting. Ancient. Hair tumbling over his shoulders in waves of inky black, the firelight catching on its edges like burnished silk. Power bled into the room with every step he took, thickening the air, filling your lungs with something sharp and electric. The room bent around him, shadows clinging to his form as if reluctant to let him go.

Your breath caught in your throat, your body frozen between reverence and fear, arousal and awe.

“Do not fear me,” he said, voice low, indulgent, curling into the corners of the room like smoke. “You called, and I came. I offer you freedom… a taste of the divine.”

He stopped at the edge of the bed, gaze burning through you. The fire lit only one side of his face, the other hidden in shadow, but you didn’t need to see more. It made him more dangerous. More beautiful. As if he’d been carved from night and flame.

“You’ve done so well, little witch,” he murmured. “To come this far.”

“Who are you?” you whispered.

His smile was slow, dangerous. “You will know me. And I will give you all that you need.”

He leaned down.

Lips met yours.

Soft at first. Almost reverent. The press of his mouth against yours was like warm velvet- tender, coaxing, drawing your breath into him as if he needed it to survive. Heat pulsed through your lips, spreading outward in waves that made your skin tingle and your core tighten with longing.

His lips moved against yours with a gentle pressure that made your toes curl, his breath sweet and cool, tinged with something faintly herbal, ancient. The taste of him was magic and shadow and starlight. You opened for him, willingly, helplessly.

His fingers brushed your cheek, slow and tender, before trailing along your jawline and curling beneath your chin. You gasped when his tongue slid into your mouth—slow, sinuous, tasting you like a promise. He drank you in like he’d been starving.

The kiss deepened. Grew hungry. Greedy. His lips claimed yours with a heat that made your head spin, his tongue twining with yours, tasting, teasing, commanding. You moaned into him, hands fisting into the sheets as your body responded, helpless to the fire he ignited.

One of his hands rose to cradle the side of your neck, thumb stroking over your racing pulse. The other slid down your side, fingers firm and exploring, finding the curve of your hip, the softness of your thigh. He mapped you like he’d done it a thousand times in dreams- and perhaps he had.

He cupped your breast through the thin shift, and the moan that left you was unbidden, instinctual. Your back arched into his palm, and he groaned into your mouth in response, the kiss turning feral, possessive. You could barely breathe, barely think.

Then he pushed you down into the mattress with his weight, his body pinning yours, the kiss leaving your lips bruised and parted, aching for more.

The kiss broke.

His tongue licked a path down your throat.

“You’re so close now, darling,” he murmured. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Then- flash of green.

He vanished.

The only proof he had been there was the wet heat of his mouth on your skin- and the way your body ached where his hands had never truly touched.

TAGS: @westwindrhapsody

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nosyp · 3 months ago

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Unwilling Devotion

Chapter 2 - The Captive's Resolve

Warning = Dark, captivity, toxic partners

Pairing = Dark! Avengers x reader

Summary = Captured by the Avengers, you fight to understand why you're being kept hostage and plots your escape. Your defiance grows as their situation worsens and you escape. Or do you?

Word count = 4.2k words

A/N = I was planning to abandon this work but nvm… warning : dark stuff, captivity, kidnapping. As usual, the story is prone to changes (can completely be changed &/or rewritten) :P

AO3 Link

Series masterlist

Read story👇

The car ride was a blur. You couldn’t remember anything except being sandwiched between a teenage boy and some random guy with a robot arm.

While you were stuck in the middle row, Natasha sat calmly in the front with another guy. You had no idea who was driving, but you hated it. Their driving was absolute chaos. Every ten seconds, they slammed on the brakes, jolting everyone in the car forward. As if that wasn’t enough, they honked constantly, targeting anything on wheels that dared to exist.

When the car finally stopped, you swore you could see the heavens. Anything was better than being stuck in that death trap. Relief, however, was fleeting. You were dragged out without a second thought.

The sky was a gradient from blue to orange, the orange coming from the sunrise. The sight in front of you made your blood run cold. A small, brightly lit building stood hidden among the array of trees, its glow casting an eerie light through the forest.

“This’ll be your new home for a while,” Natasha said, gesturing toward the building. Her tone was calm, almost too calm.

You squirmed in their grip, but it was no use. They dragged you forward, ignoring your protests as if they didn’t matter.

“Stop it,” Tony snapped, no ounce of patience evident in his voice.

“Fuck you,” you shot back.

“You might wanna stop that before we cut your tongue off,” the metal-armed guy said with an unnerving nonchalance.

“Bucky,” Steve interrupted. “We’re not doing that here.”

Bucky shrugged, unimpressed. “Whatever, Steve.” He slightly rolled his eyes, but if you squinted, you could probably see a faint smirk.

Oh. So that’s their names, Steve and Bucky.

You couldn’t deny the building was unnervingly clean, despite being in the middle of nowhere. As your eyes darted around, your mind raced with thoughts of escape. Of course, they’d added every precaution imaginable. From fingerprint scanners to lock and unlock doors and cameras to motion sensors in almost every room. Key word: almost.

The bathroom was the only exception.

That realization sparked a flicker of hope. A way out. An escape. You immediately looked around the bathroom to take note of everything in it. A window, great. Unsurprisingly, the window had a lock on it and it was foggy. Luckily, the window was locked with a key, not with a body part. That’s good.

“Y/N!” someone called out.

Wait. How the hell did they know your name?

You spun around, heart pounding in your chest. It was the driver from earlier. You recognized him from social media, everywhere actually. He was part of the Stark family, though you couldn’t recall exactly which one.

You gritted your teeth, weighing your options. Then you decided to take a gamble. “Hey… Tony…?” you greeted, your tone unsure.

Calling your captor by his name wasn’t exactly what you had planned. And honestly, you weren’t even sure if it was his name.

“Hey Y/N,” he greets you back. “We’re about to have breakfast, come down in 5 minutes.”

Quietly, you nodded your head as a response and waited till he went away. You saw as he walked away and disappeared from your line of sight. Once you saw no sign of him, you straight away went back to looking through the bathroom. It was located on the second floor, right at the end of the hallway. The house was surprisingly big despite the small exterior.

Realising the time, you got back up and dusted yourself off. Hurriedly, you went down into the kitchen for breakfast.

“Y/N! Oh my poor mortal,” a voice bursted through the room.

Your head turned to the source and saw a man with long hair.

“Come sit next to me,” he said, patting the seat next to him.

You stopped in your tracks, taking a second to look around the room. There were a couple unfamiliar faces, like the red-haired woman extending her arm to grab something from the cabinet. You assumed it was Natasha at first but the second she turned around, you were proven wrong, she was much taller.

“Oh gosh, don’t make her sit next to you Thor,” a voice suddenly said, interrupting your train of thought. You looked towards the person, eyes interlocking with his. Emerald eyes looking into yours, it felt eerie. His stare felt invasive. It felt intrusive.

“Y/N! Come here, hurry before the food gets cold,” another voice called out to you.

“Don’t rush her, Sam,” Steve interjected.

Finally, you took a step forward, then another, before settling into a seat at the dining table. Soon, a plate of food was served in front of you and others. It was a simple breakfast: pancakes and eggs.

You stared down at the plate and poked it with your fork. It looked… normal. Too normal, especially given the circumstances. The pancakes were fluffy and the eggs were perfectly cooked. This was the kind of breakfast you’d expect at a cozy diner, not in the middle of a forest, surrounded by people who had effectively kidnapped you.

“Eat up,” Steve said, his voice calm but you know that was an order. “You’ll need it.”

You hesitated, your fork hovering over the plate. What did he mean by that? Did they drug the food? Was this some kind of twisted game? Your mind raced with possibilities, none of them providing any comfort whatsoever.

“Relax,” Tony announced from across the table upon your wary expression. “If we wanted to kill you, we wouldn’t have gone through all that trouble.”

“Wow, that’s so reassuring,” you muttered sarcastically, earning a chuckle from Bucky.

“Smart mouth on this one,” Bucky remarked, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin.

Thor, still seated next to you, clapped a hand on your shoulder, making you jump. “Do not fear, little mortal! No harm will come to you while I’m present.” His loud voice echoed through the room, and for a split second, you found yourself actually believing his words. Then he added, “Unless, of course, you give us a reason to. Which I hope you don’t.”

You felt your appetite disappear. Well that soured the mood.

Natasha, who had been quiet until now, finally said something. “You might as well eat. Starving yourself won’t do you any good.”

Sighing, you picked up your fork and cut into the pancake. Putting your hand up, you took a small bite. Surprisingly, it tasted… normal. Too normal. You expected it to taste like drugs or some sort of poison, but there was no hint of it at all. After realising it was safe, you began eating, still keeping an eye on the others.

“Sooo, what’s the plan with her?” Sam asked, breaking the silence. He was leaning on his chair

Steve’s expression quickly darkened and he opened his mouth. “We’re not discussing that right now.”

Your froze, your hand holding the fork paused in the air. Plan? Wait, what plan?

“Oh, come on,” Bucky chimed in. “She’s sitting right here. Don’t you think she deserves to know?”

“Bucky,” Steve warned, his voice authoritative. Oh. So it looks like he’s the bigshot.

You heard Thor shifted beside you, eyes looking between them. “Why so secretive? If there is a task, let her rise to it! I’m sure she will prove worthy.”

Natasha snorted, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “optimist.”

Before you could even open your mouth, Tony cleared his throat and started talking. “Alright, that’s enough chit-chat. Y/N, finish up. You’ve got a big day ahead.”

All of a sudden, the room fell silent, all eyes on you for some reason. Your heart pounded in your chest, as you processed the weight of their gazes.

“What’s happening today?” you asked, your voice barely able to be heard.

A grin tugged at Tony’s mouth. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

You let out a loud sigh before going back to eating. If you were being honest, the food was actually good. Whoever made it definitely made it with a lot of… skill.

"I’m Clint," he introduced himself, pulling the chair to sit down.

You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. "Hi…?"

Clint leaned back in his chair. "No need to be all scared like that. I only have good intentions. I promise," His eyes flickered over to Natasha, signalling her to do something.

You weren’t sure how to respond. The way Clint spoke made you skeptical, there was something off about it. Maybe he was trying to get on your good side, or maybe it was just his way of manipulation. You couldn’t quite figure it out yet.

"How long am I supposed to stay here?" You asked the question before you could stop yourself.

"As long as it takes." He states, giving no further explanation, and you didn’t press further. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to know the answer.

"Don’t worry, we’re not your enemies," Sam chimed in, voice gentle as he slid into a seat beside you. "We just need you to cooperate now."

"Cooperate with what exactly?" You questioned.

Sam raised his hands in mock surrender. "We’re not trying to play some game with you, Y/N. You’re here because there’s a lot going on, and we’re trying to keep you safe."

"Safe? Is this some kind of… joke? This isn’t funny," Your words were sharp now, frustration bubbling to the surface. You could feel the walls closing in, the confinement of it all pressing down on your chest.

"Y/N…" Steve’s voice was steady, but it held an edge of warning. He was the only one who hadn’t said much, and his quiet presence was starting to make you feel uneasy. "Let’s just finish breakfast. We can talk about this later."

“I’ve finished. A long time ago.” you responded.

“Oh… Uhm…” Steve muttered.

"Alright, here's the deal," Steve finally spoke, his voice breaking the stillness. "You’re not going anywhere unless you follow the rules."

You raised an eyebrow, your gaze shifting from Steve to the others. "Rules? What kind of rules?"

Bucky leaned back in his chair, his metal arm gleaming slightly in the light. "The kind that keeps you alive," he said, his tone dark and serious.

"First rule," Tony added, his voice sharp. "No running off or any funny business. If you try to leave, we’ll stop you. And we’ll make it clear why you shouldn’t."

You swallowed, but said nothing, keeping your focus on them.

"Second," Natasha cut in, her eyes scanning the room. "don’t talk to anyone else unless. You can only contact us. No one else."

"Third," Sam chimed in, his voice almost like a warning, "you play by the rules here, or we’ll make sure you regret it."

“Fourth,” Steve started. “You always bring one of us when you go anywhere.”

Your stomach twisted as they all seemed to be in agreement. Listening to the rules, the weight of it pressed down on you, and you realized just how little power you had in the situation.

"So, what? You’re gonna keep me here like a prisoner? Treat me like a prisoner too?" you asked, your voice starting to break. “Why are you eve-even doing this?”

Tears were welling up in your eyes, and blood rushed to your face, the heat of humiliation and anger burning against your skin. Every inch of your body screamed for you to escape, but there was nowhere to run, no one to scream to. This was your reality now, locked in this strange house with strange people who seemed more like enemies than anything else.

Your hands trembled as you wiped away the first tear, but the more you fought it, the more they seemed to come. You hated how weak it made you feel. "Why?" you repeated, voice quieter now, a mixture of desperation and confusion lacing your words.

The silence went on, the air feeling thick.

One of them, the taller figure you hadn’t seen yet, stepped forward, his gaze unreadable. “It’s not about what you want,” he said, the coldness in his tone making your heart skip a beat. “It’s about what you need. And you’ll understand that... eventually.”

His words were like a slap, it hurt. Something darker, like a promise. It wasn’t about freedom or choice, but about you belonging to them. But why?

You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling destroyed. “I don’t want to belong to you. I don’t want to belong to anyone,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

A small chuckle came from the corner of the room. You turned your head to see Clint, smiling like he just won the lottery.

“Too bad,” he said, his eyes glinting with something twisted. “You’re already ours.”

“How? This is human trafficking, I could sue you for this. Lock you up forever,” you said angrily.

Tony stood up after hearing your words. “Oh honey, don’t you know who we are?” he said, his tone condescending.

You clenched your fists, trying to suppress the anger bubbling up inside you. "I don’t care who you are. This is wrong, and you can't just do this to people."

Tony's smirk widened, almost like he was enjoying your frustration. "You really think you can do something about it? You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. There’s no one to save you here."

Your heart pounded in your chest. "I’ll find a way out," you muttered under your breath, more to yourself than to him.

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” Tony said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But the question is, will you be able to put us in jail? No one would believe you. I mean who would they choose? A group of vigilantes or… a random person?”

His words cut through you like a knife, but you refused to back down. You wouldn’t let them break you. You couldn’t.

“Gosh you all are disgusting! Why me anyway?” you asked.

Clint’s grin never left as he stepped closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an unsettling intensity. "Why not you?" he replied smoothly, voice dripping with venom. "You're the perfect fit. Feisty, but vulnerable. You’ll be a nice... addition to our collection."

Tony scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You really think you matter that much? We could've picked anyone. But you're here now, and that’s all that matters."

“I’m not a thing,” you spat, voice trembling with both fear and defiance. “I’m a person. You’ll regret this.”

Clint chuckled again, shaking his head. "Oh, honey, we don’t regret things like this. Not when they’re exactly what we want."

Tony’s cold gaze moved back to Clint, as if silently communicating something between them, before he turned back to you. "The question is... what will you do when you realize there's no way out? You’ll have no choice but to accept it."

"We'll see about that." you said, glaring at both of them.

Silence followed, nobody saying anything. That was until Rhodes said something, “Alright everyone, cool off,”

“I think she just needs some alone time,” he continued.

You didn’t say anything and only stormed up to your room, like an angry teenager. You slammed the door behind you and landed on your bed. And you took out the keys from your pocket.

You stared at the small cluster of cold keys in your hand, their weight feeling heavy. Taking away keys from a group of super-spies was hard. But you were better than that.

You didn’t want to show them a vulnerable side of you, but you had to. If they saw you crumble, they'd feel like they had more power over you. But deep down, shit. You’re not any better than your captors.

You shoved the keys under your pillow, attempting to calm yourself. Then the door unlocked, and a red-haired lady came in.

“Hey honey, I’m Wanda.” she said, her hands in her pockets. “Please understand why we are doing this. We’re just trying to keep you safe.”

Her words fell on deaf ears and you didn’t respond.

Wanda studied you for a moment, her expression then softening. She seemed to be waiting for some kind of reaction from you but you didn’t give her any, you didn’t wanna tell her anything. All your feelings started to cluster up inside you, causing you to choke off any words you might have had. You just sat there instead, staring at the wall blankly.

"I know you’re upset," she continued, her voice gentle but firm. "But what’s happening here, it’s for your own good. You may not understand now, but soon, you will."

You clenched your fists tighter, the anger rising again. Safe? How could they call this safe? They had kidnapped you, trapped you in a god forsaken building, and now they’re feeding you lies?

You didn’t say anything, not because you didn’t have words, but because you didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing your frustration.

Wanda took a step closer towards you. “Please… Just hear us out. We didn’t want to do this, but y’know… sometimes, we don’t have a choice. This world... it’s dangerous for people like you.”

You shot her a sharp look, not sure whether to scoff or to cry. "People like me? You mean normal people? Or just people who aren't part of whatever twisted thing you're all doing?"

Wanda sighed, her expression softening, but she didn’t back away. Instead she put her hand on your back but you smacked her hand away before it could even make contact. “It’s more complicated than that. You have no idea how important you are to us. If you get hurt, we’re gonna be hurt too.”

You stared at her, still silent, the weight of the keys under your pillow a reminder that this wasn’t over. You couldn’t back down now. You just needed to figure out how to get out, how to make them realize you didn’t need their so-called ‘protection’.

Wanda let out another quiet breath. "I know you’re angry. But we’re not your enemy. We’re just trying to do what’s best for you."

You finally looked up at her, your voice barely above a whisper, but full of defiance. "I don’t need your stupid protection. I just need to go home for goodness sake."

Wanda gave a small, almost apologetic smile. “I wish it were that simple.” Then she left the room. The door closed behind her with a click and you sat there on your bed.

They didn’t say a word or make any attempt to interact with you for the rest of the day. Instead, they simply came in occasionally to drop off food.

That night, you carefully snuck out of your room, wary of the motion sensors scattered around.

"Where are you going?" a voice asked, breaking the silence of the night.

“The bathroom,” you said before quickly walking into the bathroom and shutting the door behind you. You locked the door then rushed over to the window.

Your hands trembled as you reached into your pocket to find the keys. Holy shit. There are footsteps outside the door. You had to move fast.

With a sharp breath, you took the key in your hand and slid it into the keyhole. You turned it slowly, heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst out of your chest. The sound of the lock unlocking was louder than you expected but what could you do about it?

You opened the window, the cold air rushing in and brushing against your skin. Your eyes scanned the drop below. It was high. Too high for a safe landing but it was the only chance you had.

The footsteps echoed closer, just outside your door. Your pulse quickened. You didn’t have much time.

Without another thought, you climbed over the sill, sitting on it. You felt your body shaking as you stared down at the ground. You gripped the edge of the window, squeezing your eyes shut for just a moment to steady yourself.

No turning back now.

You took a deep breath, squeezed your eyes shut, and jumped off.

For a while, you were falling in the air as if the earth had abandoned you. You felt a rush of adrenaline course through your veins. It felt like the longest drop of your life, but you felt the wind against your skin, it was only increasing.

When you hit the ground, it was like a violent shock through your body. Pain exploded through your legs as you collapsed, but you forced yourself up immediately, ignoring the sting. You couldn’t stop. You had to escape.

Using your hands, you stumbled onto your feet with trembling knees, but you pushed forward. You started running without thinking, adrenaline powering you through the pain. Your lungs burned, but you didn’t care. You needed to get away. It was a matter of time until they came for you.

Behind you, you heard their screams and shouts. The deafening sound of their boots behind you, but you couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop.

Every step was fueled by the overwhelming need for freedom, for the hope of never seeing their faces again. You could feel their presence right behind you.

The road ahead was dark, but it didn’t matter. You weren’t going back. Not ever.

You kept running, your mind focused on one thing. Which was escaping.

Your feet hit the ground hard every step you took. Every step brought you farther from the hellhole you were trapped in, for a day or so. The cold air stung your lungs but you barely noticed, too focused on escaping to care. You couldn't afford to slow down, because you knew they could catch up at any second. You didn't know how far you were from them. They could be close. But at the same time they could all still be behind at the house.

The night was full of the unknown. Every turn felt like a gamble. You darted through the woods, dodging the trees and rocks, your breathing starting to be ragged. The sound of your feet hitting the soil was quiet, but still loud enough to be heard.

The thought of them catching you and bringing you back made the pain in your legs feel like nothing. It was nothing compared to being a captive. You could feel the sweat trailing down your face, and dropping onto the dirt ground underneath you.

You were in your own world now, consumed by the need for freedom. You took a sharp turn and nearly slipped on the wet soil, but you managed to regain your balance and keep running.

The sounds of pursuit grew louder, closer. You could hear their voices, and though you didn’t dare look, you could feel their presence stalking you. The fear was back again, choking you, but you fought it down. You pushed your body harder, desperate to outrun them. You couldn’t let them catch you. Not again.

You turned left, and for a moment, you thought you might be safe. The path ahead was empty, just a stretch of empty nothingness leading to… god knows where. You could almost taste freedom, but it was still much too far away for you to be celebrating.

A shout came from behind you, sharp and commanding. It sent a fresh wave of panic through you, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Your legs burned, your chest ached, but you kept running as if your life depended on it and it did.

The night seemed endless, but you refused to slow down. You had no idea where you were heading, but you couldn’t think about that now. You had to keep running. The fear of being caught was too much. The thought of them dragging you back to that place, locking you in again, was more terrifying than the darkness ahead.

The sounds of your pursuitors slowly became more distant, but you kept going, not daring to slow down. You didn't know how long you'd been running nor how much more you needed to but it didn’t fucking matter to you. It didn’t matter if it took minutes, hours, days. You just needed to keep putting one foot in front of the other and keep pushing forward.

Eventually the adrenaline started to wear off and you finally let yourself stop to rest. You found a spot behind the trees, hidden away well enough to allow you to gasp for breath. Your heart was still racing, your mind still buzzing, but you were free.

That was proven temporary when you heard footsteps surrounding you. You perked up and observed your surroundings. The forest was way too dark for you to see anything, but you could hear, feel, their presence. Then…

“Oh my fucking goodness. Where the heck are they?” you heard a voice say.

“Relax. They couldn’t have gone too far.” someone else answered.

“Why are we doing this anyway? What’s so good about them?”

“They’re a criminal.” was the last thing you heard before everything turned black.

Taglist = @cjand10

#dark avengers #yandere avengers #avengers x reader #the avengers #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #dark marvel #yandere marvel #x reader #dark natasha romanoff #dark steve rogers #dark bucky barnes #dark james rhodes #dark tony stark #dark thor #dark loki #dark wanda maximoff

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thefiery-phoenix · 1 year ago

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YANDERE LOKI LAUFEYSON HEADCANONS

Man here won't really realize that he's a yandere for you at first. When he starts spending more time with you, he slowly starts realizing that he's growing feelings for you but wait... what's this feeling of bubbling anger and rage when he sees other people talking to you and making you smile and laugh? Don't you know that you're supposed to show your wonderful and angelic smile and laugh ONLY to him and HIM ALONE!!? Oh wait... no you don't since he hasn't asked you out yet. Oops.

Anytime he sees someone trying to woo you over he'd be enraged and pissed as hell and even that's an understatement. Loki when he's angry would be really scary, as soon as someone sees his angry expression they'd start running in the other direction screaming their head off

He doesn't want to kidnap you at the first go, no. He strongly thinks that since he's the silver tongued one, and the god of smooth talk and everything, he can charm people pretty well and when it comes to you, he prefers it if you fall for him on your own. It would make things much easier for the 2 of you. And no, he will not care if you are a mortal, immortal, Avenger, SHILED agent, whatever it is. Once he lays his eyes on you he will not lose his sight on you

He'll only kidnap you if he thinks it's absolutely necessary like you were being flirted at and hit on too much to his liking and he was kinda scared of losing you. And he has a sense of insecurity that you'll leave him for someone like his brother since well... he's much the family's golden boy and perfect child. if at all he decides to kidnap you, he'd most probably make sure you're away from Earth since he doesn't want the Avengers at the back of him and plus, you can always think of it as an extended or permanent vacation with him or something

Even if he kidnapped you he'd still treat you like a queen and spoil you with his love and affection. He literally drowns in his respect women juice here and he'll respect your privacy if you need and want some time alone. True he might be clingy at times and act moody and grumpy but if you ask him for some time alone he'll gladly step back for a while. Only for a while though, but after that he'll be all over you again

If you keep trying to escape or keep defying him man here will not hesitate to discipline you and trust me when it comes to punishments, all traces of smiles will vanish and he'll be downright terrifying. He won't think twice of using his magic on you to punish you and make you apologize for your actions. You should be grateful and glad that you're being cared and loved for by a god and instead of basking in his love you defy him every single day!? He's beyond pissed and as for escaping, that's a complete no go since he would have cast really strong magic around the place he's keeping you in that'll prevent you from escaping. Even if you have powers, they won't be of any use for Loki's magic

But after punishments Loki's after care would be really nice and heavenly. He'll give you lots of hugs and kisses and tell you not to do it again and it pains him to discipline you like that but it can't be helped. He has to do what he has to do to keep you with him but don't expect him to apologize for doing that to you since in his eyes, you're the guilty one and the wrong doer

Now as for people who think they can steal you away from him, how can you not expect them to be dead as soon as they even look at you twice? Any piece of trash who looks at you or even breathes the same air as you doesn't deserve to live

So... yeah, just play your cards right and you'll live the life of a royal :)

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darkserenity24 · 2 years ago

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𝓕𝓇𝑒𝑒𝒹𝑜𝓂 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓕𝑜𝓇𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈

《 Loki x Reader Fic 》

Summary: When the infamous God of Mischief escapes his cell in the basement of the Avengers Tower, he accidentally comes across you while looking for revenge.

Status: Part 1 (Complete)

Chapters: 54

Word Count: 230,114 +

18+ ONLY - Please only read if you are 18+. Minors Do Not Interact. Thank you.

Heads up, this is a slow-burn fic 🔥

: ̗̀➛ Part 1 🕊️

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

: ̗̀➛ Part 2 (Community Invite Only - Ask Me)

✦ DarkSerenity's Masterlist

✦AO3 is the only other platform I cross-post on

✦Please let me know if any links are incorrect or not working.

✦Banner created by me!

#loki x reader #loki fanfic #marvel fanfiction #loki marvel #loki au #loki of asgard #dark loki #loki laufeyson #mcu loki #loki fanfiction #loki fluff #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x female reader #loki x you

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darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

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Dirty Work Masterlist

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

Status: In Progress

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Part 18

Part 19

Part 20

Part 21

Part 22

Part 23

Part 24

Part 25

Part 26

Part 27

Part 28

Part 29

Part 30

Part 31

Part 32

Part 33

Part 34

Part 35

Part 36

Part 37

Part 38

Part 39

Part 40

Part 41

Part 42

Part 43

Part 44

Part 45

Part 46

Part 47

Part 48

Part 49

Part 50

Part 51

Part 52

Part 53

Part 54

Part 55

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #au #series #maid au #thor #fic #avengers #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel

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ellamuffin97 · 6 months ago

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💚Unfettered 💚

Pairing: Lokixfem!reader

Rating: E, 18+

Wordcount: ~8K

Warnings: sex pollen,use of restains ,Loki gets SCARY , lots of dirty talk,sedation, injection,reference to violence ,oral receive (m) while Loki is chained up but not drugged anymore

Summary: when Loki is drugged on a mission he asks you to restrain him because he knows damn well that he is not going to be able to keep his hand off you .

You were sitting on a chair in Banners lab tagging all the jars he asked you to , when the door opened suddenly . You knew it was Loki returning from his mission . He doesn’t said a word , so you didn’t bother looking up from your task when he strode into the lab .

He slapped the control on the wall and kept his hand pressed firmly to the panel, frozen in place, as the door closed slowly. You caught the limited movement in your periphery while you worked, thinking vaguely that he must be exhausted.

“How’d it go?” you asked, rubbing the dirty jar you was holding before putting the tag on it .

Loki didn’t respond. No sigh, no grunt. Nothing.

That grabbed your attention. Loki was never talkative, often relying on one-word rejoinders, but he always answered direct questions, especially from you. Lately, he was even initiating conversations during the times he met you around the tower .

You looked up and were surprised to see that there was none of the other Avengers in sight—it was just Loki standing by the door , his hand still pressed to the control panel like he couldn’t bring himself to move. He looked… agitated. You could read the tension in his body; the fist hanging by his side was clenched and his shoulders were drawn up.

“Loki ?” you asked, the confusion apparent in your voice, as you set the jar down and got to your feet.

“No.” Without moving from his position, he whipped his head around and held up a palm to halt your advance. “Don’t… Don’t come any closer.”

“What—?”

He pointed a threatening finger at your chest. “Stay. There.”

You were so shocked by his unexpected command that you obeyed, staying rooted to the spot.

That’s when you really took in his appearance: he was shaking, the hand pointed at your chest trembling slightly. His armor was dirty—smeared with what was unmistakably blood. His chest was heaving as if breathing alone was a herculean effort.

When he saw that you were listening to him, he nodded stiffly and wrenched his hand away from the wall. With leaden steps, he walked over to the storage crate and dragged it into the middle of the floor. Each of his mechanical movements looked like it required every ounce of his control to execute.

“Why—?”

He grunted, ignoring your question again. You watched in stunned silence as he stripped off all of his daggers, even his cape and spare ammo, with stunted, jerky motions and dropped them on the floor .

He took 4 thick heavy chains and the collar that Tony created to prevent him from using his powers and without a word he got out the lab and went straight to the secure tower , where he’ve been hold when he first came in the tower .

He put the collar around his neck , then started to chain his own ankles , one by one .

You followed him , watching him in complete shock.

“Loki , what the fuck are you doing?”

He whipped his head up to look at you and commanded: “Help me with this.”

You scrunched your eyebrows together: “Why?”

“Just do it.”

“I’m not going to chain—”

Before you could even finish your sentence, he snarled: “Just shut up and fucking help me.”

You stood there, dumbstruck, and cycled through several emotions in rapid succession. Your initial shock was immediately replaced by irritation as you registered his rude words. Anger flickered brightly across your consciousness, but it was quickly supplanted by confusion: he had never spoken to you in that tone of voice, let alone told you to shut up. Finally, fear settled in, thick and weighty, like a fog threatening to choke you.

You approached him slowly, kneeling on the other side of the tangle of chains.

“What happened to you?” you asked gently, reaching out to touch his arm.

He jerked away immediately, so quickly that he almost lost his balance. He thrust out an arm to steady himself on the wall behind him.

“Don’t—don’t touch me. Please.” His voice was suddenly small, almost quavering.

Your heart rate kicked up again.

“Lo, you’re scaring me. Tell me what’s going on.”

He looked up at you, voice slightly softer but still firm and urgent. “Help me with this, then I’ll explain.”

You stared at him.

“Please,” he repeated.

He was begging you. That was when the real fear sank in.

Without another word, you helped him get the wrist cuffs in place. Then, standing beside him, you followed his directions as he instructed you to secure the ends of the four chains: two to bolts on the wall, and two to bolts on the floor. The two on the wall were affixed to his arm restraints, the two on the floor to his ankles. Initially, you left slack in the chains, plenty of room for him to move, but he insisted that you tighten them enough so that his back was almost flush to the wall and he couldn’t extend his hands out any further than the natural reach of his long arms.

He sighed, shoulders slumping in relief, when you clicked the last restraint in place.

You looked up at him. Loki was strung up against the wall , arms hanging by his sides, suspended about a foot away from his body, and his legs were splayed slightly in a wide stance, boots a couple feet apart.

It was quite a sight.

If you weren’t so worried about what was happening, you’d definitely be having some… ideas. They were completely inappropriate ideas, especially considering the stark reality that the two of you were nothing more than colleagues .

“Th-thank you,” he breathed. “Now, p-please, step away from me.”

You reluctantly complied, taking several careful steps backward, keeping your gaze trained on his eyes .

“Okay, I did what you asked. Now tell me what happened.”

His breathing was still labored. “H-hit with a bio-dart, aphrodisiac drug. Strong… Heard of them before, but never encountered one until now.”

You gave him a skeptical look, raising one eyebrow, “…An aphrodisiac drug as a weapon? I thought that was a myth.”

“Apparently not.”

You surveyed him again as the reality of the situation washed over you.

He continued, words spilling out of his mouth in a rush like he was running out of time to explain : “H-had to get back to the tower . Didn’t trust myself. Left everybody there. I’ll go back later if they’ll still need me . No-no time to... I had-had to—before I—”

His whole body tensed suddenly, cutting off his own sentence, and he threw his head back as an ugly, feral sound tore from his chest.

You stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Fuck, are you okay? Does it hurt?”

You panicked, desperately trying to think of some way to help him as he flailed.

He writhed for another moment then thankfully stilled, slowly raising his head to look at you again. He sounded wrecked when he spoke again: “No, no. It doesn’t hurt, not exactly. Not yet at least. It’s—it feels like…” He trailed off, glancing toward the floor.

You prompted him: “Like what?”

Before he could answer you, another wave wracked through him, and he thrashed against the restraints. You fought the urge to cross the space and soothe him. Even in the most stressful, life-threatening situations, Loki was always the picture of composure: calm, collected, calculating. So, it was unnerving to see him like this—overcome and out of control. You were itching to touch him, to ease his discomfort somehow. After another moment, he recovered.

When his eyes found your face again, he rasped: “It feels like if I don’t fuck you right now, I’m going to die.”

His words hit you like a slap in the face. You swallowed hard, staring at him… all thoughts suddenly gone, mind completely blank.

He filled the fraught silence, straining forward slightly, his voice dipping an octave: “I want to fuck you so badly, baby.”

Your heart dropped at the unexpected pet name, a wave of wetness unapologetically gathering between your thighs.

Fuck. This was not at all the situation you had imagined—Loki drugged and chained up—but you had definitely dreamt of him saying some version of those words to you… on a regular basis, like maybe every night you ever spent in the tower since the day you met him .

He spoke again, trembling as he said: “This is fucking torture, you standing there, looking like that. And I can’t even fucking touch you. Shit. Shit. Shit. I want to—I want to touch you.”

Without your explicit permission, your feet moved you one step forward.

Loki shook his head back and forth violently, head jerking like he was trying to clear unwelcome thoughts by sheer force. “Odin’s beard , this is really fucking with my head. I’m-I’m sorry—I’m not myself.”

Only one question came to mind, one thing you were desperate to know.

“So…it’s just the drug?”

You waited, holding your breath, hoping he knew exactly what you were asking him.

He snapped his head up, meeting your gaze. He sounded surprisingly sober for a moment. “No. It’s not,” he stated bluntly. “I always want to fuck you. It’s just now I… I can’t control that urge.”

Suddenly, the room felt hot, suffocatingly so. You inched forward again.

His confession flooded you with courage. “What if… what if I want you to fuck me?”

Loki whined, body convulsing, shoulders collapsing forward as far as they could against his arm restraints. You were so shocked by the foreign sound that you actually took a step back—you’d never, ever heard him make a noise remotely close to that. You’d cauterized gaping wounds for him, removed a jagged blade from deep in his thigh, witnessed him take a sword the side, sutured countless lacerations with no local anesthetic… but you’d never heard him whine. It was high and needy, desperate and pathetic .

“Don’t-don’t say that, please don’t fucking say that to me right now… please… I c-can’t handle it.”

The chains creaked ominously, the links clanking together as he shifted against them.

“But, I mean it. I always want you to fuck me too,” you continued, ignoring Loki’s feeble requests.

You squeaked and flinched back again when he suddenly lunged forward, hands gripping the chains and pulling hard. His arms and legs were immediately wrenched back, his torso straining toward you. He panted: “Gods, you don’t know how long I’ve dreamt of you saying-saying that to me, kærasta.”

Even through his situation , his stare was scalding, his gaze scorching your skin as he surveyed you, his eyes trailing all the way down and back up your body.

You stepped toward him.

He jerked his head to the side suddenly, tearing his gaze away, and whined again—more quietly this time, more resigned. When he said the next words, you could hear how tightly his jaw was set: “Not like this. I-I won’t fuck you for the first time like this. I-I won’t forgive myself if I hurt you.”

You took another, much larger step forward.

“You won’t hurt me.”

He whipped his face up to watch you again. His voice was dangerous now, menacing, as he growled: “Yes, yes—I will. You don’t understand what this feels like. I can’t control myself—it’s a fucking miracle I didn’t take you the moment I walked back onto the lab and saw you sitting there—so fucking gorgeous—and it’s only gotten worse.” He let out another frustrated growl, then continued: “I don’t just want to fuck you, I want to wreck you, I want-want to wreck you until you can’t walk and then fuck you again. I want to tear you apart. Ruin you with my cock.”

He said those words like a threat, but you couldn’t help the way they sent heat coursing through your veins, a shiver down your spine. You stepped toward him one more time. You were almost within his reach.

“DON’T,” he ordered, voice deadly serious. “Really, I can’t control myself. S-stay back.”

Even as he told you to stay away, though, he reached a hand out for you, legs and arms straining forward, trying to get closer to you. His mouth was saying one thing, his body begging for another.

You stayed where you were, just out of his reach, and asked: “How long will this last?”

“I don’t know… I hope no longer than a few hours. It’s already been at least an hour since I got hit. But it’s-it’s gotten worse.”

You could hear the exhaustion and exertion in his voice. He was barely holding it together, and you knew you needed to do whatever you could to make this easier on him, not harder. So, you shoved down your own selfish desire and with great reluctance, stepped away from him. You sat down on the floor across from him and said, “Then, I guess… we’ll wait it out.”

He nodded vaguely, leaning against the wall behind him with a loud sigh.

You sat in uncomfortable silence for several long minutes. You busied yourself by playing on your phone . Every so often, the restraints jangled loudly when Loki was wracked by a brutal surge of need and struggled violently. You tried your best not to flinch every time it happened.

Eventually, he disrupted the silence by saying your name.

Before you even looked up at him, though, you knew—you knew that the Loki you’ve known was gone.

His voice had dropped several octaves, and it sounded different… honeyed, charming, drawling, depraved. It was fucking sultry. When you looked up at him, you immediately noticed his body language. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what exactly had changed, but something about him was off.

All you knew was that, suddenly, a dangerous stranger was standing across the room from you. For the first time, you were truly grateful for those thick fucking chains.

His voice was smooth and calm when he said: “I need your help, sweetheart.”

You looked away from him, playing back on your phone instead. The way he rasped the word sweetheart would be burned into your brain for the rest of your life. It made your whole body feel hot.

“Come over here, beautiful,” he coaxed. “I’ve wanted you for so long, and now I know you want me too—you can’t hide from me anymore, princess.”

Princess. You didn’t answer. You just sat in silence and shrieked internally.

He said your name again—this time more urgently—then abruptly changed his tack : “Gods, this hurts so much now, it burns—I need you to make it stop hurting. Be a good girl and help me.”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek.

When you didn’t respond, he tested a third approach, his voice pitching low and sensual : “Please, darling , don’t you want me? I’m so fucking hard for you right now. I’ll make you feel so, so good, make you cum again and again. Just-just let me touch you. Let me show you.”

You stayed quiet, trying to remember how to breathe. He was playing all the angles—appealing to your conscience and your libido. The second strategy was harder to ignore.

“Come here and feel how hard I am for you.”

Fuck.

His voice was pure sin, purring and growling for you. He was fucking luring you in with it. He said your name one more time, and your resolve cracked a little.

You looked up at him, setting your phone down beside you.

“Yes, that’s it, baby. Come over here.”

Against all odds, you stayed seated.

“Come make me feel good, and I’ll make you feel good.”

There was no way you could just sit and listen to this forever, so you made a decision. You shot to your feet.

“Yes, sweet girl, that’s right. I knew you’d do the right thing—always so good to me. Let me down from here, and I’ll take my time with you, show you all the things I’ve imagined doing to your body.”

Sweet fucking hell.

“I’m going to make you cum on my tongue so hard it hurts, and then I’m going to kiss it better.”

He was going to kill you.

You turned abruptly and walked to the door, placing your hand on the security panel .

“NO! Fuck—don’t do this,” he raged behind you. You could hear the squeak of the links shifting against each other as he heaved himself forward.

Steeling yourself, you tipe the code to unlock the door . The only way for you to survive this was to lock yourself in your room , far away from the temptation of his damn voice.

Loki roared and thrashed behind you.

You were halfway out when you heard it—an angry metallic whine and the pattering of several small objects hitting the floor. You whipped your head around and watched as the durasteel panel that his right wrist restraint was fastened to began to peel away from the framework, several of the bolts already missing.

The piercing sound seemed to jolt Loki out of his drugged haze. When you turn back in and faced him, you could tell that he was himself again. He stepped back against the wall, putting as much distance as he could between the two of you.

When he spoke, his voice had returned to its normal register and cadence, all business. “Fuck—fuck, you have to drug me. You have to.”

Your jaw dropped: “Drug you?? More?”

Words poured out of his mouth, desperate and rushed: “In the med kit,” he pointed, “there’s a shot—PLEASE, sedate me now. It’ll knock me out for a couple hours while the worst of this works through my system. Otherwise, these chains won’t hold. Please, just fucking do it—there’s nowhere that you can hide from me if I get out of these.”

When you didn’t move right away, he bellowed: “DO IT NOW.”

You scrambled over to the medkit, whipping it open and digging around.

“PROMISE ME—promise me you’ll do it, no matter what I say to you. Promise me right now that you’ll do it! Please.”

You looked up at him, your heartbeat loud in your ears. “I will, I promise, Lo.”

His shoulders slumped in relief.

You rooted around, moving past several other items—you took note of an intravenous hydration pouch and filed that information away for later—until you located the appropriate syringe of sedative.

As soon as you turned and approached Loki, you could tell he was lost again. He flipped so fast that if you’d blinked, you might have missed the subtle shift in his body language.

When you were just a few feet away from him, he threw out a palm—this time, not to reach for you, but to halt your advance.

First, he tried appealing to your reason.

“No, no, darling, don’t. I shouldn’t have asked you to do that. What if there’s an interaction between the drugs? Could be dangerous. There’s no way to know.”

It almost worked for a second.

You took another step toward him.

Next, he tried bargaining.

“How can I hurt you when I’m chained up like this? The rest of these will hold, I know they will. And it won’t matter anyways; I won’t need the restraints at all if you just help me—if-if you give me what I need.”

You looked away from him, training your gaze on the floor again. “You know that’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. I was wrong before; it’s-it’s getting better. I can control myself now. I just need you, and everything will be okay. I’ll be—I’ll be gentle with you, so gentle, I promise.”

You forced out one word: “No.”

He didn’t say anything for a long, drawn-out moment. The tension was so thick that against your better judgment, you looked up again. He looked so anguished, so distressed… shoulders tense and fists clenched. You felt bad for him.

Finally, he tried straight-up seduction.

“Please—just, fuck—I need to fuck you. Your cunt, your mouth, let me fuck you. You can have me however you want me, love.”

All of a sudden, your thoughts were hazy, slow like molasses. You were stuck on the fact that he’d called you love.

“I think about fucking you right here on the floor, bending you over and lick your perfect pussy until you cry for me. I always wonder what you’ll sound like when you’re taking my cock.”

You were trying to block out his words, to ignore the honey dripping from his lips. You just—you just wanted a taste.

“I have to know how you taste.”

So did he, apparently. You clenched your thighs. Fuck, you just wanted him to keep talking.

“I think you’ll make the sweetest fucking sounds when I make you cum—I’ve imagined it. I think you’ll whine for me—but I bet I can make you scream too.”

He’d wanted you, too—all this time.

All this time, you’d both been lusting after each other, separated by nothing more than the wall that stands between your rooms and a healthy dose of doubt.

“I just need to cum, and then this will all be better. I know it. The drug will leave my system. Don’t you want to help me?”

You did want to help him.

Your eyes wandered down his body, and your brain short-circuited when you saw the outline of his aching cock pressing against the fabric of his trousers . It made your mouth water.

You wanted him. He wanted you. Why overthink it?

He could tell that it was working, that you were considering his words, so he continued cautiously, bargaining with you: “You don’t even have to unchain me. Just get down on your knees for me, like a good girl.”

Now THAT made you hesitate, made you stop in your metaphorical and physical tracks—but only because it sent a jolt of pure arousal down your spine, electricity igniting every goddamn nerve in your body so fast and intense it almost hurt.

“Don’t you want to open that mouth for me and suck my cock, pretty baby?”

As if on command, your jaw fell open, tongue darting out to lick your parted lips, and you took another step forward.

Oh, shit.

You did want to. You really fucking did. You wanted to get on your knees for him. You wanted to suck his cock and have him tell you how good you looked doing it. You were aching to hear his praise, to taste him, to make him feel good. He deserved relief.

And so did you.

You wouldn’t even have to unchain him. It would be fine. You’d be safe, and he would feel better.

You took another step.

You were close to him now—you didn’t realize you’d crept this close—almost within his reach.

Loki started talking again, capitalizing on this progress: “Gods, I’ve thought about your sweet mouth, those soft lips, wrapped around my cock, taking me down your throat so well. I think about it every fucking night when I fuck my fist. You’d look so good down on your knees for me,kærasta.”

You watched as he got caught up in his own fantasy, mumbling on and on about every sinful thought he’d ever had about your mouth. You could tell his eyes were closed , his head tipped back in bliss. Gradually, he started bucking his hips forward, like he could actually feel your lips around him, like he was chasing a phantom sensation. He was so completely absorbed in the picture he was painting, so drunk on the potential that for a second, he’d forgotten the literal hell he was currently in.

“Sometimes I can’t even focus when you talk to me because I’m just thinking about how your tongue would feel on the tip of my cock, licking me, sucking… so wet and warm, taking me deep like the good fucking girl you are, letting me fuck your mouth, until I’m cumming down your throat and you’re swallowing for me—swallowing everything I have to give you.”

Fuck, the picture he was painting was enticing you just as much as it was enticing him. It was a picture you’d had in your own head for months, one that you’d made yourself cum to so many times you’d lost count.

Before you could stop yourself, you took that final step toward him and extended your hand. You grazed your fingers over the bulge in his pants, and he was jolted out of his waking dream by your unexpected touch, snapping his head down to watch your fingers stroke him.

He choked on nothing. “Please, baby, please.” He was begging now, but his voice wasn’t soft or pleading like it had been when he was asking you to chain him up. Now, it was furious, demanding, and desperate.

He needed this.

Fuck, who were you kidding? You needed this.

You cupped him, pressing against his erection more firmly, and his hips pressed back, chasing that delicious friction. Your aching cunt clenched around nothing when you registered just how big his cock was under your hand.

You were so close to unbuckling his belt, to unzipping his pants. So fucking close. But a whisper of guilt in the back of your mind made you hesitate. The weight of the syringe in your left fist was an insistent reminder : you’d promised him—sane, right-in-his-mind Loki. You’d promised that Loki that you wouldn’t give in.

Fuck.

You stilled your hand.

Loki’s eyes snapped up, meeting your eyes, and tension pulled taut between you. You were both frozen, paralyzed—you by indecision and he by fury.

The seconds stretched on.

He broke first.

He ripped his right arm forward as hard as he possibly could, and with a furious squeal, the metal panel—the loose one you’d completely forgotten about—started to bend away from the wall even more, exposing a complicated mess of wires and pipes underneath. You watched as two more bolts popped out of place and clattered to the floor somewhere behind you. It was almost fully separated from the wall now; three remaining bolts along the bottom edge struggled to keep it in place against Loki’s brutal strength.

The screeching sound shocked you—dragging you forcefully back to reality—and you yanked your hand away from him, but at the same time, Loki’s heavy hand landed on your shoulder. He was finally able to reach you given the newfound slack in his restraint, and his fingers dug into your flesh, wrenching you forward.

He knocked his head against your forehead, holding you there with an iron grip.

Ouch.

You were so close to him that you could hear the words before and after they hit : “I know you want it. Take it. Take what you need, baby. It’s yours.”

Every breath ripping from his lungs was harsh and labored, his chest heaving. You could feel the rage and pure need radiating off of him in waves. His left fist was clenched so tightly around the chain that the skin around creaked.

“I can’t, Lo,” you said, stern but apologetic.

The energy in the room shifted abruptly at your refusal, and you had the good sense to pull away from him just seconds before Loki reared back and launched himself forward, throwing his whole body toward you, only to be yanked back by the restraints. Those three bolts, the last hope of keeping him fully restrained, squeaked ominously as he jerked his limbs as hard as he could, the chains fully extended. He was snatching at the air a few inches from your chest…. reaching, reaching for you

And you were stuck, frozen in place, watching his fingers hovering in front of you.

In a terrifying voice you didn’t even recognize, he roared: “GET ON YOUR FUCKING KNEES.”

Oh, he was truly lost. He was beyond recognition, beyond bargaining or soothing. He was enraged, throbbing with need. There was only one course of action now.

Another bolt clattered to the floor.

You dropped to your knees, careful to stay close to the ground and out of his reach as you crawled forward. You were trying so, so hard to not be distracted by the obvious strain of his thick cock against his pants, but now it was directly in front of your fucking face.

He pointed an accusing finger down at the syringe clutched in your left hand. “Don’t. Don’t. DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE.”

You ignored him, the needle poised over the lower part of his thigh. The next few moments played out in slow motion.

Loki bellowed: “NO!”

He ripped his arm forward again, and the metal panel whined, bending forward even more. Another bolt popped off, skittering across the floor and landing by your feet.

One. One single bolt remained in place.

And his right hand was suspended only a few inches above where you were crouched close to the ground.

Lightning fast, you jabbed the needle into his thigh and emptied it in a matter of seconds. He roared in anger, thrashing against the chains, trying to snatch at your hand. When the entirety of the drug had been injected, you ripped it away and scrambled backwards, getting to your feet. Loki struggled and shuddered for a moment, growling all the while, wrenching his arm farther and farther forward—the metal panel screaming as it bent—centimeter by centimeter.

It was too late—you’d waited too long, and he was going to rip it clean off the wall before the drug hit him.

You reached back blindly, relief spreading through you when your hand landed on Loki’s dagger . You took it and kept it in your hand waiting for the worst to come .

Your finger hovered over the edge of the blade , waiting and hoping .

Loki’s movements were suddenly slower, weaker, less coordinated. You placed the dagger in your pocket and let out a breath of relief as the drug finally seemed to take hold. He took a faltering step backward, and his shoulders hit the wall with a hollow clang. He slurred something incoherent at you, and thankfully, finally… finally, he stilled, head sagging forward drunkenly, arms going slack. He slouched against the wall, knees giving out as he slid to the floor, arms extended up and to the sides by the restraints—the right much lower than the left—and his bent knees slightly splayed.

The position couldn’t be comfortable for him, but you were too scared to adjust his restraints—worried that so much movement would likely rouse him.

You waited a good twenty minutes—pacing back and forth as quietly as possible—finalizing the details of an idea in your head. You waited until you were totally sure he was knocked out before you approached him again. First, you opened his collar and placed it in the middle of the floor—out of his reach, but in a position that you’d be able to grab it if needed. Then, you retrieved the hydration bag you’d noted earlier and your sharpest knife. With those supplies in hand, you tiptoed forward. You squatted on Loki’s left side, gripped his bicep lightly… and waited. When he didn’t move, you continued. You held your breath as you carefully, so carefully to avoid nicking his skin, cut a generous hole in his suit at his elbow.

Hopefully he wouldn’t mind that you were sort of butchering his favorite outfit—you’d offer to sew it later.

As hard as you tried not to, the movement jostled the chains, and they clanked and rattled. It was a quiet sound, but it felt so kriffing loud in the oppressive silence. Loki’s breath hitched slightly, disrupting the deep, regular rhythm of his sleep. His fingers twitched. You froze, then slowly set down your blade and started reaching back for his collar.

To your immense relief, before you could wrap your hand around the metal collar, his breathing returned to normal—slow and steady.

You returned to your task, clipping the IV bag to a pipe on the wall above his slumped shoulder and cleaning the skin over the bulging vein visible through the soft flesh of his inner elbow. He didn’t react to the cold alcohol wipe, but he did jerk violently when you pressed the tip of the needle into his skin. You tensed, ready to drop everything and back away if you needed to, but he stilled again, muscles relaxing. You pressed the needle far enough into his vein and taped it in place. You double-checked that the drip was working, then backed away slowly, taking your blade and the phone with you.

You waited like that, leaned against the opposite wall of the room, collar never out of reach. You were unwilling to let him out of your sight, so you remained there, tense and waiting. When the IV bag was empty, you scurried forward and peeled back the tape on his arm—painfully slowly—and eased the needle out before you scrambled back to your spot.

Over two hours after he had passed out, he stirred, head lifting slowly.

“Lo?”

He looked around for a moment, studying his surroundings. He gripped the chains in his fists and attempted to pull himself up, faltering slightly before he eventually succeeded by bracing his back against the wall. He looked slightly unsteady on his feet. His eyes found your face across the hull, and he rasped your name.

“How do you feel?”

His voice was dry and croaky. “Better… I feel better. Normal.”

“Good.”

He stood there, relaxed, getting his bearings. All the rage and tension had left his body. He looked like himself again.

“How long has it been?”

“Since I knocked you out? About two hours.”

He cocked his head. “I thought the drug would have lasted longer.”

“I gave you fluids to flush it out of your system faster,” you explained, tapping the inside of your own elbow to demonstrate.

He looked down at his cut up shirt.

“Good thinking,” he nodded.

“Yeah, and thank fucking God it worked,” you laughed. “You started to get scary there at the end.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, hanging his head in shame.

“Do you remember anything?”

He looked up at you. “I remember everything.” Then, glancing up at the bent panel above his right shoulder, he continued, “I’m sorry, darling. I would never have forgiven myself if I hurt you.”

You noted the use of a pet name, wondering if this new habit of his would persist. You hoped it would.

You gave him a sympathetic look, shaking your head. “You weren’t yourself. You have nothing to apologize for.”

He nodded. “Still—I’m sorry. But, you can unchain me. It’s safe now. I promise.”

You stayed where you were.

He seemed normal again, but you’d witnessed just how persuasive drugged Loki could be.

Luckily, he could read your hesitation. “It’s okay,” he reassured you. “I understand. Let’s give it some more time. I want you to feel safe.”

He leaned back against the wall and started sliding down to his seated position.

His sudden patience was all the confirmation you needed.

“I believe you.”

He flicked his head back up to look at you and straightened, watching you as you took a few steps toward him.

“Did you mean what you said?”

He quirked his head at you. “About what?”

You wavered for a second, doubt creeping into your mind. What if it really was the drug talking the whole time? What if he only said all those things because he was out of his mind, desperate to fuck anyone… and you just happened to be in front of him?

You steeled yourself. The only way to know was to ask: “That you want me? That you’ve always wanted me?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“It wasn’t just the drug talking?”

He scoffed: “No, it wasn’t.”

A mixture of relief and want settled in your belly. And you could finally have what you wanted.

You approached him slowly. When you were standing directly in front of him, instead of reaching for his restraints, you hooked your fingers in his belt. Loki watched your movements, his arms straining forward slightly.

“What are y—”

He choked on his words when you started to unbuckle his belt. He moaned when you unzipped his trousers and pulled out his aching cock. It was still red and leaking, throbbing with need in your hand. His mind might have been clear, and he might have been in control of himself now, but the physical effects of the drug had clearly not worn off fully.

You looked up at him through your lashes and licked your lips suggestively, then flicked your eyes back down to his cock in your hand.

Loki’s head dropped back against the wall with a hollow clank. “Oh shit, oh fuck, yes p-please, baby, please—”

Before he could finish his stuttering request, you sank to your knees and took him as far into your mouth as you possibly could. He let out a broken moan when he slipped past your lips, canting his hips forward to chase the welcoming heat of your mouth. He was big, and you had to wrap your hand around the base of his cock to cover the length that wouldn’t fit in your mouth.

He shuddered above you, tilting his head down to watch you. You paused there, holding him, hot and heavy on your tongue. You waited a long moment, taking advantage of the fact that he was totally at your mercy. The longer you waited, the more he fidgeted, hips inching forward, cock twitching impatiently.

“I—”

When he started to speak, you interrupted him by giving him exactly what he wanted, hollowing your cheeks around him and sucking hard. You thought back to what he’d said to you, replaying all those things he’d imagined you doing to him. You pulled back to circle your tongue along the head of his leaking cock and flicked it along his slit, working the rest of him with your slick hand.

While you bobbed up and down on him, your other hand wandered up his thigh and rucked his pants lower, easing his balls free. You massaged them, manipulating them between your fingers, and Loki’s head lolled back again, his head clunking dully against the wall. His knees buckled slightly, the chains connected to his wrists pulling taut as he gripped them. In the space where you had cut his shirt away, you could see his muscles rippling, the veins swelling under his pale skin as he flexed.

Taking him in your mouth had you aching for him, clenching your thighs together to try and relieve the growing tension. Losing patience, you released his balls and snaked that hand under your own waistband to press down on your swollen clit and whined around his thick cock.

Loki snapped his head down at the needy sound. His eyes followed your movement, and he gritted out, “Shit, does this turn you on, sucking my cock like this? Are you wet for me?”

You hummed around his cock and ran your fingers through your wet folds then extracted your hand from your pants, reaching up to drag your glistening fingertips over Loki’s knuckles where his fist was clenched around the chains.

“Fuuhhh-ckkk, I can’t wait to taste you, to feel how wet you are.”

With that same hand, you reached down and unzipped your pants. Loki let out an inarticulate string of syllables above you as he watched you tug your pants and panties halfway down your thighs with one hand. You let him slip from your mouth for a moment—working him over with long, tight strokes of your slippery hand in the meantime—to say, “Keep talking, tell me how you’re going to fuck me, Lo .”

You took him back into your mouth, and as you rubbed tight circles over your clit, he started rambling on about all the things he wanted to do to you, all the ways he wanted to explore your body: “F-fuck yes, I want to taste your pussy, I want to watch you finger yourself just like this until you’re dripping then-then let me lick your fingers clean—”

You whined around his girth; your body was responding to his words, the tension coiling tight and hot in your core. Your knees slid apart slightly on the slippery floor. They were going to be bruised blue and purple tomorrow. Worth it.

“Th-then I want to put a blindfold on you and-and lick your clit until you cum on my tongue. Yeah—oh shit, baby, yes, just like that, hnghhh—then, then I want to fuck you from behind, hard and deep, until you’re soaking my co—”

You moaned shamelessly, the sound vibrating deep in your throat, and he choked above you.

“Are-are you going to make yourself cum with my cock in your mouth?”

His eyes were glued to your face, the chain resting on his chestplate, as he angled his head down to watch you. You nodded slightly, eyes wide and desperate, pupils blown with lust, as you did your best to keep up your steady pace on his cock while you were simultaneously falling apart yourself. As the tension in your body built, your mouth and hand faltered on him, losing their rhythm, and your ministrations were suddenly stunted and irregular.

“Gods, you’re so perfect—use both hands on yourself, put-put your—”

You had all but stopped moving everything but the hand between your legs, eyes falling closed as you focused completely on your own impending orgasm. Following his directions, you dropped the hand on his cock down to your cunt, spreading your thighs more to push two fingers inside yourself. You let out another muffled noise, and you could tell that he loved the sounds you made with his cock stuffed in your mouth by the way his hips bucked forward.

One of your hands worked over the stiff peak of your clit, the other thrusting your fingers in and out of you, and that feeling—that delicious, fucking fantastic tension that had been building since the moment Loki had said he wanted to fuck you hours ago—threatened to snap.

“K-keep it in your mouth, just like that and make yourself cum—you’re close, I can tell you’re close—shit, fucking shit—”

He was throbbing on your tongue, pulsing with need. In the absence of the slick sounds of your mouth and hand working over his length, you could hear the sound of your own wetness as your fingers moved in and out of your dripping cunt.

“That’s right, pretty baby, cum with my cock in your mouth—fuck, I can hear how wet you are—look-look up at me—”

You opened your eyes and looked up at him just as your cunt tightened around your fingers. You let out a muffled wail around his girthy length as you came, and he groaned low and deep as he pressed his hips forward to keep himself buried in your mouth.

You slowed your hands to a still as the final reverberations of your pleasure waned, your moan fading to a quiet whimper. You pulled off Loki’s cock with a slick pop to take a deep, shuddering breath.

“Now you’re going to cum in my mouth.”

“Fuuckk—”

You gripped the base of his hard, leaking cock and wrapped your lips around him once more.

Right away, he started thrusting into your mouth, his knees buckling, most of his weight suspended on the chains gripped in his hands.

“C-close—”

His voice cut out, words replaced by feral moans and grunts, as he bucked into you.

You hummed around him, running your free hand up his quad, hooking it around the back of his leg to hold him in place against you. You could feel the way his muscles strained and clenched under your palm as his body grew taut.

“I’m—hnngh—”

He came with a hoarse shout that quickly got so loud that his voice cracked and gave out completely. And when you thought he was done, he was somehow still cumming, spilling hot and salty down your throat. You swallowed around him, taking everything he had to give you, until he stilled and you let him slip out of your mouth.

You pulled your pants up loosely around your hips and stood in front of him, swiping your knuckles across your glistening bottom lip.

Loki caught his breath and straightened, using the chains to pull himself up. That yank on his arm restraints proved to be the final straw for that solitary remaining bolt. You both whipped your heads up when—with a defeated whine—that piece of durasteel was ripped away, skidded down the wall, and crashed to the floor.

You looked at each other at the same time.

“So… how do you want me first?”

“Unchain me, and I’ll show you.”

***

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki x y/n #dark loki #sub loki #loki #loki odinson #loki fanart #loki fandom #loki fanfction #dark art

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widowsofchaos · 8 months ago

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𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬

synopsis: your menstrual cycle always pushes you to pure hysterics, thankfully your entrusted doctor is always there for you.

pairing: dark!loki laufeyson x brown!reader

ao3 // victorian au

warnings: dubious consent (slight sexual grooming), vaginal fingering, oral, nefarious medical practice, motional grooming.

a/n: for @cake-writes . I love you so much. :) did you know that in the Victorian period, physicians would perform pelvic massages that involved clitoral stimulation with early electrical vibrators to cure hysteria? traditional pelvic massages had been conducted for thousand of years, until western technology caught up. Dr. Silver Tongue prefers the old fashioned methods, hehe. hope ya’ll enjoy, this has been a draft for over 2+ years!

Spilling ichor is a woman’s curse.

Even worse, the womb begins its horrors at the precipice of girlhood. The excruciating pain that follows in its wake, so intense it feels as if fingernails are clawing at uterine walls.

Screams and wails for God’s sweet mercy, for the pain to cease. Bodies shivering in sweats, left so fatigued that one will rot away in bed. Praying under your breath, begging to just die.

Fits of rage and delusions—- once, at the high of your agony, you thought demons were crawling through your pink wallpaper, ready to devour you. Riddled with anxiety—- paranoid of everything.

Girls call it hell. Doctors coined it hysteria.

It’s nearing noon. He’s late.

Rattles of wheezes knock against your cavity, eyes sheening wet, as your bodice sinks and molds against the mattress. Lazily picking at your reddish cuticles, and the scent of copper lingering in the air.

The compulsive urge to throttle your bodice up and down in possessed fashion against the bedding, to gnash at the air with your canines, and howl —- perhaps, your calls would beckon him.

Groans slip from your mouth, as your abdomen is throbbing and swollen. Counting sheep mindlessly, trying to inhale deeply the packaged herbs that were prescribed to you —- but nothing is working.

The moans become more undignified. Your face is scrunching up, with tears kissing your lashes.

Faint footsteps creaking against the wood flooring, and voice muffled—- a tired gasp of relief and want escapes you. Strained whines stretch and bubble at the pit of your throat, eyes hawking your door.

The knob turns and creaks open—- what a glorious sight, to be greeted by emerald hues, and that pretty smirk. Those lovely cheekbones, and smooth ivory skin.

The dull glow of the sun illuminates through the heavy stitched curtain, and through the bedroom, with pretty pink wallpaper—- but the light shines his eyes ever so gracefully. Angelic.

A courteous bow of his head, that black hat over-casting his brow; lean and stands tall in such poise. Followed by your father, imposing and watchful.

Both can see you are too weakened to speak pleasantries, but can only greet them with a small smile and lazy eyes. Your father nods and leaves you both alone, but you could have sworn for just a glance, your father’s eyes are sharp from the sliver of the door.

A click of the door, and the air shifts.

He’s smiling with a hum. Ever so the gentleman, he lifts his hat off. He puts his leather gladstone bag gently by the edge of the bed, sits his hat on the nightstand, and begins to unbutton his long coat.

Loki holds his coat by the collar, neatly folding and placing it over your velvet chair.

It’s a quiet routine.

To be honest, this is the highlight of your day. Life of a curious socialite, stuck in your overbearing parents’ manor, primed to be a proper young lady, and young eyes to see only through a theological veil.

Dr. Laufeyson is a kind, and gracious man.

He came into your life last year. The menstrual cycles have gotten worse, and it has begun to worry your parents. He was recommended by your neighbors, the Maximoffs.

He is quite different from any man you have met.

“Hello, my dearest.” His voice is liquid smooth. His hand captures yours, bringing your knuckles to his lips. Mustering all the strength to speak, “Hello, doctor.” A bashful smile soon drops to a quivering frown.

A sharp pain that slices at your gut prevails.

Loki tauts sympathetically.

His slender fingers graze gently against your thighs, feathery touch. By the glide of his palms, he lifts your sheath. Cupping the meat of your thighs, the pads of his thumbs denting, already memorizing the sore points.

It’s an unspoken ritual.

How salacious to undress an untouched lady of society —- he barely takes his eyes off of yours. Heat radiates off of you in waves.

Shivers of shyness and an foreign need for want sweeps over the hills of your legs. It is wrong for a man to touch an unwed girl.

But he is a doctor, your doctor. He has to inspect your body. He has always assured you that his touch has always been for the good of your health.

Unusual methods Loki practices. Not like any doctor you had as a growing girl. Over the time, you have known Loki, he has bathed you, fed you, and massaged you all through the cycles. So intimate, yet not befitting of your unmarried status.

Any remnants of shame melts away as his bare palms begin to massage your thighs, maneuvering your legs to part. With an expert flick of the hem of your undergarments, dragging the now stained white fabric down, and off from your body.

A strong scent of blood fans the air, making you wince at the smell—- but Loki doesn’t deter. No sign of revulsion, you watch through your lashes—- he moves with a calm focus.

Loki’s presence has been comforting.

The way he speaks with such eloquence. Speaking to you as he would to an equal, rather at you. It’s natural to him to see you as you are, instead of a porcelain doll to be seen, not heard.

Conversations of shared love of literature, and the arts. His charming words bloom warmth inside you. He has a taste for histories, and has taught you the lessons he has learned back as a young man in university.

It is not for a girl to learn academic skills, for it is more important for boys to gain knowledge. But Loki told you many things—- and in return, you confined to him.

There were many occasions where Loki has found you forlorn. The root of your problem is your father, being overbearing, and callous. Either you weren’t being dutiful enough in your responsibilities, and pressuring the idea of marriage.

Loki would comfort you, tell you that a man should not speak so cruelly to his daughter. Private conversations that bordered on flirtatious tones—- how pretty you are, and that such a cherub face shouldn’t be dew with tears.

He is your only companion. You don’t encourage yourself to socialize in the circles your family frequent in, often seeking your solitude—- many high societal folks are too boring, and vain.

But Loki is colorful and adventurous. He speaks of wonder. He is not like any other man you had the displeasure of meeting —- boring sons of the men who work with your father. Stuffy and shallow men who only want a brood mare and a slave for a wife.

Loki excuses himself, as he walks to the wash stand perched near your vanity. Putting the stained underwear in the nearby basket. Rolling up his white sleeves up to his elbow joints, readying to fetch the wash basin and pitcher.

Loki’s fingers pat the smooth glide of the pitcher, humming contently—- the water is still warm. Quickly, and securely, he grabs the handle, begins to pour the lukewarm water into the basin.

The anticipation is intense. Breathing heavily now, a filthy part of you yearn for this touch. To feel his bare smooth fingers fondle with your mound, the sensation of his hands bathing your wet pubic hair, and his fingers slipping between your folds—-

The haze is ripped from you as he feels his knuckles caress your cheek. Shyly, you sink more into your chest, your lips purse into a coy smile. Loki towers over you as a gentle giant, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

In one hand, he puts the basin down on the nightstand, and on the other hand with a towel. Loki leans down, unraveling the towel, and maneuvering it underneath your bum.

The dull ache of him lifting you makes you whine. Loki shushes you, his thumbs stroking the path between your inner thighs and lower belly.

He turns to retrieve a clean rag and the soap.

Loki seats, dipping his palm in the water, twirling the red soap. Soap suds form and the scent of the carbolic solvent is heavenly.

His hand nears and the droplets rain on your abdomen, earning a sigh of relief from you. Rubbing the bar of soap in circular motions on your pubic bone, diving between your vaginal lips, soaping up your bush—- it was simply amazing.

Your head leans back into your pillow, practically moaning at the feeling—- at the feeling of his hand, and the sensation of being cleaned.

The dried crust of blood now being scrubbed away by the accompanying wet rag—- you didn’t even realize Loki moved to soak it, too immersed in the cleansing.

Completely lathery now, the towel underneath you sodden, and the water in the basin crimson. Loki puts the soap in the basin, it sinks.

The rag feels nice, soaked in warm water, washing away the excess of soap. Loki wrings the wet rag, the water dripping into the basin.

Washing away the soap from your mound, Loki’s thumb simultaneously stroking between your folds, ensuring there are no remnants of soap.

Cheekily, his fingertips slither more into your sopping hole. Tender and swollen, Loki’s two fingers flex slowly into your quim. Halting at the sound of a whine, but resumes when you mewl under your breath.

Loki muses to himself, delights that your whimpers are akin to a kitten. His fingers curl and bend as he sinks deeper inside you. Leisurely, his fingers twist— staining his fingers red.

“I do believe you are due for your massage.” Loki spoke with a silky husk. He spread his fingers, roving over your thighs, heavily petting you. A gasp leaves your mouth, as Loki’s fingers fuck you a little faster.

“Such tension.” Loki says with an empathetic smirk. You huff of breath, a strained moan. Smug satisfaction floods Loki, his smirk morphs to a pearly grin.

He playfully clicks his tongue, “She weeps on my fingers.” Loki can feel your essence dripping, coating his knuckles now. You’re panting into your pillow, as a thirsty stray, eyes pinched shut.

Your muscles are tightening around his fingers, sucking him inside, needing more. Curling at the soft spongy spot that sparks fluttery delight, jolting your head up, eyes moon-wide.

Chin to chest now, mouth gaped in a lazy O, unabashed wanton moans. Toes curling against the bed sheet, as fresh blood coats your thighs, and Loki’s thrusting hand.

Your hair clings to the beading sweat of your forehead, gripping the wrinkled sheets. Unabashedly, your hips thrust and follow Loki’s electric thrusting.

His fingers flee from your thigh to your bush, playfully his thumb and index split it open, as he slows down his fingers. His eyes never leave yours, as the pad of his thumb begins to play with your clit.

You nearly choke on your breath, you inhale so deeply, it feels like your belly caves against your ribs. Leisurely and purposefully, Loki does it slow, leaving you in desperation.

Whimpering for him to move in haste. Edging you just near the cliff, but not yet there. The sharp strain of your menstrual blurs with pleasure— so unladylike of you, to be as a starving animal, but it relieves you greatly.

You crave it, his touch, his scent—- you adore him. How lovingly his eyes bore into yours, as you lose yourself. The flesh of your thighs shiver, the knot in your belly tightening, making you whine.

“Yes, my sweetling.” Loki whispers, as your body twists, and your toes curl, “Release your pain.”

A flood of pleasure washes over your body. Your head tilts back as your mouth hangs open. Throat clenching but no sounds, just an airy gasp. Eyes pinching shut, and nose scrunching.

The euphoria of your orgasm is sensational—- you’re delirious with it. Chest heaving and hands clasping at the air, giggling with relief. Loki softly seethes his fingers from your moist cavern.

Wiping his finger clean with a towel, as your erratic breathing simmers down. He finds it amusing to see you flustered, he can see your bashfulness seep through—- down-casting your gaze, staring at your legs.

In a second, your eyes flutter upwards, to catch his penetrative stare. Loki’s hand dents into the bedding, right next to your forearm, more so trapping you.

His nose just hairs away from yours, his warm breath fanning your face. It only fuels you more.

“Faring well, darling?”

All you can do is nod, with a titter.

Placid ease settles over you. Comfortable and clean. Not yet in your undergarments, Loki says that it’s best to air you out, with your nightgown wrinkled at your midriff.

Loki rummages through his bag, searching through his medical equipment, to grasp the dark green bottle.

Loki grabs the bottle by its neck from his bag. Revealing brown printed lettering on crismon wrapping, Loki unplugs the cork. It catches your eye, it makes your nose scrunch.

Laudanum.

A very strong poison that your palate has not yet been fully accustomed to. Over the months, Loki has insisted that you drink this in small doses.

Very small doses.

Loki spills just a little more than a drop into the spoon. The reddish-brown liquid wafting by your nose, you groan childishly, but you make no fuss. Sweetly, he puts the spoon into the cave of your mouth, your lips wrinkling into a pout.

It’s so grotesquely bitter.

“I know,” he chuckles, “but now you can rest.” His words make the drink’s icky taste more appealing, for he does it to ensure you are content, and comfortable.

The laudanum has settled in your belly, and lulled you to a slumber. A cocktail of poppy, morphine and codeine. Administered for the most severe of pains.

Loki seats in silence, watching your chest fall to a steady rhythm of breath. He smiles. Loki muses to himself, you look like a sleeping beauty.

A smile forms at his mouth, relishing in the granted opportunity. His slender hands flex expertly, hovering over your belly, to your cotton-clad chest.

Loki twirls and unties the strings of your nightgown between his fingers. Revealing your bare chest, plump brown breasts display. He whispers marvelous under his breath. Tilting his head downwards, his teeth scrape your skin.

Every chance there is of you falling to a pacified sleep to the poison, Loki snatches the chance to taste you. His lips leave open-mouthed kisses, littering your breasts. Inhaling your essence as he ravages you. His warm wet tongue licks and twirls against your pebbling nipple.

His nose traces your skin down to your navel, to your abdomen, and finally to your lower pelvis. The scent of faint copper hits his nose, accompanied by the fresh scene of carbolic.

He doesn’t mind. Rather, Loki enjoys your blood connecting with his palate. Leaning more to your core, Loki’s pink tongue slithers out between his lips, and flicks at your clit.

His sculpted nose connects with your mound, his lips now suckle on the hood of your clit. Grazing his teeth ever so cheekily, earning a small wheezing pants.

You stir in your sleep, your body reacting to the pleasure he’s pulling from you —- as if he tugs on the silk rope, snagging the knot in your belly.

A savage urge overtakes him. Loki bites the supple brown flesh of your thigh—- nibbles melt to a few pecks, then back to devouring you.

Loki has plans. Too sweet and pure to let go of—- oh no, he yearns for you. The chase for you has heightened. Monthly visits can no longer sustain him.

Loki intends to ask your father for your hand in marriage. His income is more than satisfactory, able to provide you a life of comfortability, and passion. As a wolf who must tear apart his prey from the inside out, to ruin you— possessive over his prey.

None of his female patients have bewitched him. All were so eager for him to defile them, so haughty and pompous. Neither of them saw beyond his beauty.

But you, ever so sweet, only sought out a friend, and how easily you entrusted him. And Loki must enact his plan now. Last month, as he walked up the stairs to your room, he overheard your father discussing with your mother, over the prospect of marriage for you.

Loki has already purchased a ring, waiting in a velvet box.

He has already begun stripping the petals of your modesty. Small stepping stones to soon deflowering you completely. His cock swells at the mere thought.

Your velvety lips tug by the scrape of his canines. He moans a gust of hot breath, this sinful act causing your body to quiver unconsciously.

Loki’s pink tongue slurps your folds into his mouth, back to sucking on your clit. His lips are wet with your slick, and, menstrual, the corners of his mouth with splotches of red.

An impulsive urge vibrates from his knuckles to his fingertips.

Loki’s fingers itch with compulsion. Instead of sweetly plunging inside you—- oh, he thinks, an act done with gentility. But, I cannot awaken her from slumber. We have not yet reached this stage of our courting.

Traditionally, a doctor must massage his patient’s genitalia, not have his fingers explored, as he has done so freely. But, ever so naive and sweet, you do not know any better—- to you, Loki is simply doing his job.

A chaste darling, to approach you with the advance of tasting you, would have had you flying to your father. No—- he must break you down, piece by piece.

He stifles the thought, keeps his fingers at bay. Loki’s mouth keeps eating at your weeping welt, his warm tongue flickering against your sensitive clit. Unconsciously, your hips shutter gently against his mouth, spasming in your slumber.

Loki can taste your essence, moaning at your taste hitting his tongue. His eyes rolling in the back of his eyelids.

He turns his face a bit, still attached to your core, pecking small kisses on your inner thigh.

Loki dips his palm in the now chill bowl of water, snagging the sodden rag. Squeezing in his tight grip, water dripping, and splashing, a bit of soap is left.

Wiping away your essence, and ichor. Soothingly caressing your inner thighs with the rag, until all is gone. Loki puts the rag back, standing to his feet, as he goes to wash his mouth.

A simple routine where he finds peace. It’s a quiet shared between you two.

Patting dry his hands with a cotton white towel he found from one of the vanity’s drawers. Quietly and leisurely, Loki walks with a stride towards your bed. Standing over you, admiring his work.

A familiar routine: placing a rag inside your underwear, snuggling and cladding your mound, tying the strings to your nightgown, and pulling the rest of the fabric down your body.

Loki’s checks your pulse—- a perfect rhythm. Redressing himself, a swell of pride casts him. The sensation of your velvety core still dancing on his tongue. With a click of his bag, and flick of his coat buttons—- Loki begins his departure.

Softly closing your bedroom door, Loki walks down the stairs. His ears catch a few hushed words, one of them is marriage. No doubt, they were conversing about you.

As Loki reaches the bottom of the stairs, from his side-eye, he can see your father and mother waiting in the family’s living space.

“Ah, Dr. Laufeyson.” Your father stands from his chair with a weak grunt. A peculiar strain upon his face, he can’t meet Loki’s eyes.

“My apologies, but we cannot afford your services,” your father stammers at the sight of Loki’s pinched brow. “We had no other choice, as you know our daughter can be ill—” his panicked tone is interrupted.

Loki tilts his head, those green eyes ever so observant, a slick smirk curls. Savoring the sight of this man squirming.

“And how would you propose we solve this dilemma?”

“We can pay you in food, I can provide from my garden.” Your mother’s fragile voice pleads, standing to cling to her husband’s arm. Her fingers wrinkled his sleeve. Her eyes were blood-shot red. “You are a kind man, please understand.”

A memory of your bliss-stricken face flashes before his mind, and it provokes a breathy hum. An opportunity delivered to his feet by fate itself.

“Perhaps, I have a solution to satisfy both our needs.”

#widowsofchaos wrote this #dark loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki x female reader #dark loki #mcu fanfic #loki fanfiction #dark smut #poc reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 24 days ago

Text

Moon River 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, manipulation, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki

Summary: your husband is a mischievous man.

Note: this kinda just came together.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your eyelids glow. You open them and stare up at the dark ceiling. Slats of silver drape over your body and the one next to you. Your husband's breaths cascade over you in slow draws, his leg tangled over yours.

You look at his silhouette in the supernatural light. He looks oddly blue as he slumbers. You carefully drag your leg from beneath his as you sleep up. Insomnia has ever been a constant companion, not that you ever lack for energy. It's only that even when you sleep, your mind wanders away.

You go to the window and sit on the cushioned bench before it. You peer up at the lunar deity beaming back at you. You admire the distant craters and the sharp border against the night sky.

An urge to go outside and lay in the grass has you on your feet. You glance at the bed. Loki's lean finger splays over it, nearly corner to corner. You tiptoe past him, snatching up the green cloak from the bedpost. You drape it from your shoulders as you flit into the hall.

You grow careless as you get to the stairs. You hurry down and to the front door. You spin out into the night as you shut the door behind you. You face the moonlight and sigh. You go out past the birdbath and spread the cloak on the ground. You lay on it and bask in the eerie haze of the full moon.

The stars wink back at you as the dewy air breezes over your body. You hum an off-key melody you can't place. You hear footsteps in the grass. You're not scared.

"Darling," Loki stands above you. "What ever are you up to?"

You look at him. The moon illuminates the veins beneath his skin, the blue hue still in his complexion. You smile.

"Look," you point to the sky.

He lifts his chin as he follows your finger, "what am I looking at?"

"The moon! Isn't it wonderful?"

He tuts and steps around you. He sits on the other side of the cloak. His eyes fall down to you.

"I've seen many such moons, darling. It begs to ask why you should be out so late," he touches your arm, "why I should wake to an empty bed."

"She's so pretty."

"Who?"

"The moon, silly," you stick your tongue out.

"Ah, not so much as you," he slithers.

You swat him playfully. "You are cheesy."

"Shall I be cruel instead?" He counters.

You put your hand on his and bring it to your heart. You hold it there and gaze up at the sky with a smile. He relents and lays next to you.

"You Midgardians are apt to catch an ague in the night chill," he girds.

"I've me fae husband to keep me safe," you insist.

He sighs, "must you call me that. I am not a fairy, dear."

"You are magical!"

"Hm," he exhales again and drags your hand to his chest instead. He shifts and snakes his arm under your head. He brings you against his side and you nestle into him, eyes clinging to the goddess above.

You blink and wake in bed. You're still against him. He's asleep. He got you in one of his tricks. You know the moon was no dream but he would not let you stay outside. He worries more than he likes to admit.

You try to sit up and he groans, catching your shoulder with his other arm and pushing you back down. He turns onto his side as his hand goes to your cheek. "You are running away again?"

"No!" You argue. "I'm awake and bored."

"You are restless," he reprimands. "Be still, let the world rise."

"Loki," you gently pull his hand away and sit up. "I have an idea."

You get to your knees and bounce. His hand settles on your thigh. He watches you with languid eyes.

"Yes?"

"The aquarium."

"Derived of your midgardian Latin, aquarius, pertaining to water..."

"A big museum of water," you explain. "And fishes."

"Fish, I believe is the plural." He corrects.

"And turtles," you smile. "I always wanted to go. It was on my list. Remember?"

His cheeks tauten and he nods. His eyes stray. "Yes, but that list was for... then."

"The list is forever, so..."

"Hmm," he drones, as he so often does. "Today?"

"Why not?"

He frowns, "you are always in such a hurry." He slowly sits up, leaning on the heels of his hands. His dark hair hangs to his shoulders, tangled. "Is there a reason I should know?"

"Loki," you brush his arm. "I'm well, I promise."

"Yes, let us see this aqua room."

"Aquarium," you correct.

"Yes, yes, as you will," he lifts a hand to your chin, "only after you are ready."

He leans in and kisses you. You smile as he does then push away. You bounce across the bed excited.

"You make certain you do not miss anything," he girds.

"I won't," you chirp as you hurry into the bathroom.

You take out the long container with its seven compartments; one for each day of the week. The doctor gave you these pills. You pluck out Tuesday's dose and swipe up the swirling green bottle that Loki prepared. You wash it down with a measured helping of the sickly elixir. Loki appears behind you in the mirror.

"You certainly are lively, as late," he muses.

"Mm," you give a tight smile as the icy flow permeates your stomach. "I'm just... happy."

"Happy?" He muses as he goes to the shower and cranks it on.

"Very. Aren't you?"

He hums, "so I am." He comes to you and tugs at your nightgown. He teased you last night for the little sheep printed on it. "And I daresay a bit ripe from last night's games."

You make a face at him and raise your arms as he strips you of the cotton. You sigh and drop your arms as his gaze lingers on your torso. You put your hands to your scars, not ashamed, but aware.

"Lulu," you call him by your pet name. His eyes meet yours.

"We match," he traces the deep scar down the center of his chest.

"We do," you shimmy and let your fingers fall down the ridged tissue beneath your skin. Not quite the same but both marked.

"Let us be clean, for a time," he takes your hand guides you to the show. "I can never wait very long before dirtying you once more."

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #series #drabble #moon river #mcu #marvel #thor #avengers

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mischiefmaker615 · 9 days ago

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mintyys-blog · 2 months ago

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BLACK SHEEP— loki laufeyson

WARNINGS: reader is Thors NON BIOLOGICAL daughter and she is over 20. Implied sex, forced marriage,

The golden halls of Asgard were always filled with light, with laughter, with the echoes of a realm that thrived in its own glory. Yet, despite its splendor, you had always felt like a shadow drifting through it—a presence that did not quite belong.

You were Thor’s daughter. Not by blood, not by birthright, but by choice. He had raised you with all the devotion of a father, his love fierce and unwavering, his protection absolute. He trained you himself, his booming laughter filling the training grounds as he praised your strength, his pride shining brighter than the golden armor he donned in battle.

And yet, the whispers never ceased.

She is not one of us.

She is an outsider.

She does not belong.

You had learned to ignore them, or at least pretend to. But tonight, as you stood beside Thor on the grand balcony overlooking the kingdom, the weight of it all felt unbearable.

Thor, ever perceptive when it came to you, turned toward you with a knowing look. “You are quiet tonight, little one,” he said, his voice a deep rumble softened just for you.

You hesitated, your fingers tightening around the goblet in your hands. The wine tasted bitter on your tongue, much like the thoughts you had been forcing down for years.

“Do you ever wonder if I was a mistake?” The words slipped out before you could stop them. You could feel Thor stiffen beside you, the golden light of the torches flickering across his face as he turned to face you fully.

“A mistake?” he repeated, as if the very idea offended him.

You exhaled sharply, gripping the cool railing of the balcony as your gaze drifted across the kingdom. “I don’t belong here, Thor,” you admitted. “I never have. The court tolerates me because of you, but I see the way they look at me. Like I’m… out of place. A black sheep among golden lions.”

Thor’s expression darkened, but not in anger. No, this was something else—something wounded, something aching. He placed a firm, calloused hand on your shoulder, grounding you with his warmth.

“You are no black sheep,” he said firmly. “You are my daughter. My family. No one in Asgard can ever take that from you.”

You swallowed against the lump in your throat. “Even if I never truly fit?”

Thor sighed, running a hand through his golden hair before leaning against the railing beside you. “There was a time I thought I did not fit either,” he admitted. “I was reckless, arrogant. I did not always understand my place.” He turned to you, his blue eyes filled with something deeper than mere reassurance. “But in time, I found it. And you will too.”

You wanted to believe him. You truly did. But there was a nagging feeling deep inside you, a restless ache that told you that no matter how much Thor loved you, no matter how fiercely he fought to keep you by his side, Asgard would never truly feel like home.

Thor’s words should have been enough. They should have soothed the ache inside you, but they didn’t.

That night, long after the halls of Asgard had quieted, you wandered. The golden corridors stretched endlessly, their polished floors reflecting the dim torchlight. You weren’t sure where you were going—perhaps nowhere, perhaps searching for something that didn’t exist.

You weren’t surprised when you found him. Or rather, when he found you.

“You look troubled, little one.”

Loki’s voice was like silk, smooth and effortless, wrapping around you before you even turned to face him. He stood in the shadows at the edge of the corridor, half-hidden, half-watching.

“You always seem to be lurking,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

His lips curled into an infuriating smirk. “And you always seem to be running.” He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “Tell me, do you ever find what you’re looking for?”

You exhaled sharply, looking away. “Not all of us have the luxury of knowing exactly where we belong.”

Loki hummed, tilting his head. “Ah. So that is what troubles you tonight.”

You tensed at his words, hating how easily he could read you. He had a way of peeling back your defenses, of seeing the things you wished to keep hidden.

“I don’t belong here,” you admitted, your voice quieter than you intended.

Loki’s gaze flickered with something unreadable. “No,” he murmured, “you don’t.”

You looked up sharply, expecting mockery, expecting him to revel in your insecurity. But there was no satisfaction in his expression. Only understanding.

Of course, he would understand. Loki, the second son. The shadow of a golden brother. The one who was always too much or never enough.

Maybe that was why you had always gravitated toward Loki.

“You could try, of course,” Loki continued, leaning against a marble pillar. “You could spend your entire life pretending, bending yourself into something more palatable for them.” His eyes darkened slightly. “But you will always be other.”

You swallowed hard, his words striking something deep inside you.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to belong,” you said, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.

Loki stepped closer, his presence unnervingly steady as his fingers ghosted just near your wrist—not touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat of him.

“Perhaps you’re searching in the wrong place,” he murmured.

The air between you was heavy, thick with something unspoken.

For the briefest moment, you wondered if he was right.

You should have pulled away.

Loki was dangerous, a master of weaving words into traps, of making you second-guess even your own thoughts. And yet, you stayed. You let the silence stretch between you, let his words linger in your mind.

“You speak as if you know where I should be,” you said, watching him carefully.

Loki’s smirk was slow, deliberate. “Perhaps I do.”

There was something unnerving in the way he looked at you—something far too knowing. It made your skin prickle, not with fear, but with something else entirely.

“And where is that?” you challenged.

Loki didn’t answer right away. He let the question hang in the air, his gaze flickering over you in quiet assessment. “You’re more like me than you are like them,” he said finally, his voice softer now, less playful. “You feel it, don’t you?”

You hated that he was right.

Thor’s reassurances had been warm, comforting, but they had not erased the doubt inside you. Loki’s words, however, fed it. Stoked it. And worse, he knew it.

“You don’t belong to them,” he continued, stepping closer until he was just a breath away. “But that does not mean you do not belong.”

You wanted to deny him. Wanted to tell him he was wrong, that you were Asgardian, that you did belong here. But the words never came.

Loki exhaled a quiet chuckle, as if hearing the answer in your silence. “I wonder,” he mused, tilting his head. “If you ever stopped chasing Thor’s approval for just a moment… would you finally see the truth?”

Your breath caught, but before you could respond, he was gone. A swirl of shadows and green magic, disappearing into the darkness as if he had never been there at all. The kingdom was in chaos.

“You will not touch her.”

Thor’s voice was thunderous, shaking the very walls of the palace. His fury crackled in the air, barely restrained, barely contained. He stood in the center of the throne room, his broad form rigid with rage, Mjolnir clutched tightly in his hand.

Across from him, Loki stood at ease, as if unconcerned by the storm brewing before him. A smirk ghosted across his lips, his hands folded behind his back in feigned patience.

“You speak as if it is your choice, brother,” Loki said smoothly.

Thor took a threatening step forward. “She is my daughter.”

Loki’s expression flickered—just for a moment—before amusement replaced it. “No, she is not,” he said, tilting his head. “She was never truly yours. No more than I was ever truly Odin’s.”

A sharp breath caught in your throat.

You had not meant to eavesdrop. You had been walking toward the throne room when Thor’s voice, filled with unrestrained fury, stopped you cold. Now, you stood frozen just outside the grand doors, listening—unable to turn away.

“Is that what this is?” Thor spat. “Some desperate attempt to spite me? To take what is mine simply because you cannot stand to see me with something you lack?”

Loki’s smirk widened, but there was something dangerous in his eyes now. “Oh, Thor,” he drawled, “you mistake me.” He took a single step forward, his voice dropping to something lower, something dark. “I will take her as my wife—whether you approve or not.”

A cold shiver ran through you.

Thor’s breath hitched, his knuckles whitening around the handle of Mjolnir. “You will not,” he growled. “I swear it, Loki, if you so much as—”

“Do not challenge me on this,” Loki cut him off, his voice sharp, edged with something lethal. “You think I need your blessing? You think I care for your permission?” He let out a quiet laugh, void of humor. “She was never yours to keep, Thor. She will be mine.”

Silence fell between them, thick with unspoken threats.

You barely dared to breathe.

Then, Loki turned, his footsteps echoing against the marble floor as he strode toward the door. You had no time to move, no time to hide before he emerged from the throne room—his gaze locking onto yours instantly.

You should have looked away. Should have run. Should have done something.

But you didn’t.

Loki’s smirk was slow, curling at the corners of his lips as his piercing green eyes flickered over you, reading every unspoken thought, every unsteady breath.

And then, without a word, he walked past you.

Leaving only the weight of his promise hanging in the air.

Odin had fallen into the Odinsleep, his once-mighty presence now reduced to nothing more than a fragile body lying motionless in the healing chambers. The golden halls of Asgard, once filled with light and laughter, now echoed with uncertainty and fear.

Then, Thor was gone.

Banished to Midgard, stripped of his power, his name whispered in confusion and sorrow among the court. Asgard had lost its prince, its protector.

And Loki had stepped into the void.

He took the throne with a grace that was almost effortless. Where others saw disorder, he saw opportunity. The golden crown suited him in a way that unsettled you, as if it had always been meant for him.

“You should not be here,” you had told him on the day of his coronation, standing in the shadows of the throne room as the courtiers knelt before him.

Loki had only smiled. “And yet, here I am.”

You watched as he ruled—not with Thor’s brute strength or Odin’s measured wisdom, but with cunning. He played the court like a game of chess, manipulating their fears, bending them to his will.

You wanted to hate him for it. You wanted to stand against him.

But something held you back.

Perhaps it was the way he looked at you now—not as an outsider, not as Thor’s shadow, but as something else. Something he had been waiting for.

And that terrified you more than anything.

The wedding was not a celebration.

It was a declaration. A conquest.

The golden halls of Asgard were draped in emerald banners, the mark of the new king. Courtiers whispered behind jeweled hands, some in fear, others in quiet approval. None dared to challenge him. None dared to challenge this.

You stood at the center of it all, dressed in flowing silks of deep green and gold, a mockery of the Asgardian regalia you had once worn so proudly. The delicate crown atop your head felt heavier than the weight of the moment itself.

Your hands trembled at your sides, and Loki noticed.

He always noticed.

His fingers curled over yours, a seemingly gentle touch—but beneath it lay possession, an unspoken warning. You felt his breath at your ear as he leaned in, his voice a whisper only you could hear.

“Do not mistake this for anything less than destiny.”

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. Your silence was the only defiance left to you, the only thing you could still call your own.

Odin was silent in the chambers of his Odinsleep. Thor was gone, banished, powerless to stop this. There was no one left to fight for you.

No one but yourself.

And yet, as the sacred vows were spoken, as Loki slid the cold metal of a ring onto your finger—a symbol of his victory—you felt something far more terrifying than hatred.

Because buried beneath your resistance, beneath the loathing, beneath the desperate wish to undo everything that had led you here…

There was something else.

Something dark. Something deep. And it terrified you more than anything else. The vows echoed in your mind, repeating like a chant that didn’t belong to you. But they had been said, spoken into existence, binding you to him in ways you could neither understand nor escape.

The ceremony had ended with no fanfare, no joy, just the cold finality of Loki’s victory. The courtiers had left one by one, all retreating to their own corners of Asgard, leaving you and Loki alone in the grand hall.

For the first time in hours, you were allowed to breathe without the weight of eyes upon you. But even in this space, there was no comfort.

Loki’s gaze never left you. He studied you with a kind of hunger, a silent anticipation that made your skin prickle.

“Do you feel it?” he asked softly, his voice almost a purr.

You didn’t answer. How could you? How could you explain what churned inside you, the clash of resentment and something darker, something more invasive?

Loki reached out, cupping your chin in his fingers. His touch was gentle, but it felt like a brand. “I can see it in your eyes,” he murmured. “That fear. That resistance. It will pass.”

His thumb stroked over your skin, the sensation far too intimate, too possessive to be comforting.

“Will it?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Loki’s smile was slow, deliberate. “Yes. Because you will want me, just as I have wanted you.”

You shivered, unable to stop it, your heart racing despite yourself. The room seemed to close in around you, the walls pressing in with the weight of his words.

“I don’t want this,” you said sharply, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Loki’s eyes gleamed with something dangerous. “No,” he agreed, “you don’t. Not yet. But you will.”

He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking with each heartbeat. “You will want me until you cannot stand it. Until you crave me the way I crave you.”

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “And then, my dear, you will surrender. Not because I make you, but because you will choose it.”

Every word he spoke was a tightening coil around your chest, each one more suffocating than the last. And still, you couldn’t pull away. You couldn’t fight the pull.

Your mind screamed, telling you to break free, to tear away from him before it was too late. But your body… your body betrayed you, responding to the subtle power he held over you in ways you couldn’t control.

Loki’s lips brushed against your neck, his presence consuming you, wrapping around you like a dark cloud.

“You are mine now,” he whispered, and you could feel the truth of it deep in your bones.

Even as you hated him, even as every fiber of your being screamed in defiance, there was a part of you that trembled at his words, that responded to his touch in ways you could not ignore. And that realization—that was the most terrifying thing of all.

Loki’s grip on your chin tightened, his fingers digging into your skin with just enough force to keep you still, to hold you in place as though you were nothing more than a prized possession. The space between you was charged, every second stretching longer than the last. His eyes, dark with intent, studied your every reaction—waiting, calculating.

“Don’t fight it,” he murmured, his voice smooth, soothing in its wickedness. “You may not want this now, but soon, you’ll crave it. You’ll crave me. Just as I’ve craved you.”

You trembled again, your breath shallow, your pulse quickening in spite of yourself. A foreign heat flooded your chest, an unsettling warmth that bled through your veins. You wanted to push him away, wanted to escape this maddening feeling—but somehow, you couldn’t. Every movement he made, every word he spoke, pulled you deeper into his world, into his control.

He leaned in, his lips grazing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “You are mine. And you will accept it.”

The finality in his tone struck like a hammer, and for the first time, you didn’t know whether to hate him more for his arrogance or to fear the dark temptation in his voice. Loki wasn’t just taking you. No, he was reclaiming you, as if you had always been destined to fall into his grasp.

The crown atop your head suddenly felt unbearable, a cruel reminder that you no longer had the freedom to choose, that you no longer had a say in your own fate. It was as if Asgard itself had turned its back on you, leaving you here to deal with the consequences of this dark, twisted bond.

“You still don’t understand, do you?” Loki’s voice was colder now, the amusement gone, replaced by something darker, more dangerous. He tilted your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze—his eyes shining with a promise you couldn’t yet comprehend. “This isn’t about what you want. This is about what is meant to be.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your neck in a slow, deliberate caress, each press against your skin like a brand. A low growl rumbled in his chest, as if savoring the way your body tensed, your muscles reacting to his proximity.

“You can fight it,” Loki continued, his voice thick with hunger. “But it will not change what you feel.”

Every part of you wanted to scream, to tear away, to escape from him and from the twisted path you were now on. But the words died on your tongue. The pull, the intensity, the ache in your chest—it was like a magnet drawing you closer, despite every instinct telling you to flee.

“You will fall in love with me,” Loki whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “And when you do, you’ll understand that it was never about your choice.”

And as he said those words, you felt the terrifying truth begin to sink in. He was right.

You could already feel the seeds of something stirring inside you. Something dark. Something you didn’t want.

Loki smiled against your skin, as if sensing your surrender, and for the first time in your life, you wondered if you had ever truly been free.

The air in the room was thick with tension, heavy and suffocating. The golden light from the candles flickered, casting shadows that seemed to move with a mind of their own, mirroring the unease that churned within you.

Loki stood in front of you, his eyes never leaving your face. His smirk, that ever-present mask of confidence, had faded to something more predatory, more dangerous. The room was quiet except for the sound of your breathing, shallow and uneven, as your pulse raced in anticipation of what was to come.

“You know what this is,” he said softly, his voice low, almost too calm, as he stepped closer.

You didn’t respond, couldn’t find the words. How could you? What was there to say? Every part of you screamed to run, to escape, but your body remained frozen, as if paralyzed by the weight of the moment.

Loki’s fingers brushed the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine, before he reached for the clasp of your wedding dress. The cool metal of his fingers against your skin made you wince, but you couldn’t pull away.

He took his time, slowly unfastening the intricate buttons, each click of the fabric loosening you from the tight cocoon you had once worn so proudly. You felt the weight of the dress lift, a small but undeniable part of you wanting to keep the only thing that marked you as someone untouched, someone who still held some semblance of control.

But it was too late.

As the dress fell to the floor in a silken heap, you stood before him in nothing but your undergarments. Vulnerable. Exposed.

Loki’s gaze darkened as he took you in, his eyes roaming over your form, assessing, measuring, as if you were something to be consumed. He stepped closer, his breath hot against your skin as he traced his fingers along the curve of your shoulder.

“You look… perfect,” he murmured, and you could hear the darkness in his voice, the possessiveness that made your stomach churn. But there was something else, something that ignited a flicker of heat deep inside you, something you despised.

Without warning, Loki’s lips were on your neck, hot and demanding, as he pulled you into him. His hand gripped your waist, pulling you tighter against his chest, and you could feel his heartbeat—strong, steady, as if he already knew how this was going to end.

You tried to resist. You wanted to push him away, to break free, but his touch was unrelenting, like fire against your skin, and you couldn’t help but respond, just a little, to the way his body pressed against yours.

He pulled away just enough to look you in the eye, his breath heavy. “You’ll learn, eventually,” he said softly, a promise in his tone. “That you want this. That you need this.”

You wanted to scream, to tell him that he was wrong, but the words caught in your throat. Loki wasn’t asking for your consent anymore; he wasn’t giving you a choice. This was his claim, his victory, and you were too far gone to escape.

“Let me make you mine,” he whispered, and you couldn’t deny the shiver that ran down your spine, the way your heart beat faster in your chest, against your will.

As he kissed you again, deeper this time, you closed your eyes, trying to block out the part of you that wanted this—desperately wanted it—and focused only on the hatred that burned in your chest. But it was hard. Harder than it should have been.

His hands were everywhere now, exploring your body with a mastery that made you feel like prey. You were trapped, caught in a web of his making, and there was no escape, not even from yourself.

And when he finally pulled away, his breath ragged, his eyes darkened further with that same twisted satisfaction. “Soon,” he whispered against your lips. “Soon, you will beg for me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with the promise of what was to come. You were no longer just his wife by title. You were his to command, his to claim—and he had only just begun.

You lay there, motionless under the weight of his words. His presence enveloped you like a storm, violent and overwhelming. The room seemed smaller, suffocating, and each breath you took felt thick, as though the very air was pushing against you. The flickering candlelight danced in the shadows, but it couldn’t hide the truth of your situation, the truth of what had just begun.

Loki’s eyes never left you, studying you with a predatory gaze, as if savoring every moment. He ran a hand over your waist, his touch both gentle and possessive, as though marking you, claiming you in ways that words could never fully express.

“Do you feel it?” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, as his fingers traced the edge of your undergarment. His touch was deliberate, each movement calculated, as if he were measuring your resistance, gauging your response. “The way your body betrays you?”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to push him away, scream at him to stop. But there was something inside you, something dark and unknown, that pulsed in time with his touch. The more he touched you, the more it became impossible to ignore. It was like a wildfire, spreading through you, igniting something that you hadn’t known existed.

His lips found your neck again, pressing against the soft skin there with an intensity that made your breath catch. His kisses were rough, hungry, each one leaving a trail of heat in its wake, and you could feel the way his body pressed against yours, hard and unyielding.

“You belong to me now,” Loki said softly, his voice barely a whisper against your skin. The words sent a tremor through you, but not the kind you wanted. It was a tremor of helplessness, of defeat, as if his words were carving something into your very soul.

Your heart pounded, but it wasn’t fear that quickened your pulse anymore. It was something darker, something that made you feel as though you were losing yourself, bit by bit.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his face hovering inches from yours. His eyes were dark, filled with desire, with control, with something else. Something dangerous. “You’re going to learn,” he said, his voice dripping with certainty. “Learn to crave me. Learn to need me in ways you can’t even imagine.”

You swallowed, trying to push away the feeling that was growing inside you. The fear. The disgust. The longing. You wanted to scream, to fight back, but the part of you that resisted felt weaker with each passing moment.

Loki’s hand slid up your thigh, his touch light but unmistakably possessive. “Soon, you won’t be able to stand being apart from me,” he whispered. “I’ll make sure of that.”

He wasn’t asking for permission. He wasn’t waiting for you to come to him. This was no longer about choice. It was about his power over you, about his dominance, about claiming you completely, body and soul.

You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to summon the strength to push him away, to tell him no, to make him stop. But the words died in your throat. Your body betrayed you, responding to him even when your mind screamed in defiance.

Loki’s lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile as he saw the struggle on your face. He knew. He always knew.

“You’ll come to understand,” he murmured, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “That this is what you were meant for. What we were meant for.”

His hand moved again, this time pulling at the remaining fabric that separated you from him, and you closed your eyes, trying to block out the pull, the ache, the undeniable truth that this was happening whether you wanted it or not. Whether you accepted it or not.

When his lips met yours again, it was no longer a question. It was a command. And you, despite everything, despite the hatred and fear and resistance, found yourself giving in.

Loki’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he studied you, his gaze lingering on every detail.

“Ah, little one,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire. “I’ve waited for this moment for what feels like an eternity. You’re so captivating, so full of untapped potential. I’m going to enjoy uncovering every part of you.”

He moved closer, his fingers brushing the curve of your neck, sending a chill through your body. “Don’t worry,” he added softly, his breath warm against your ear. “I’ll be patient with you… at least, at first.”

His lips brushed against yours, light at first, but deepening with a growing intensity. His touch became more certain as he drew you closer, and you felt the heat of his presence enveloping you.

As he kissed you, his hands roamed slowly, tracing the outline of your body, sending sparks of energy through your skin. You felt a surge of heat rise inside you as he moved, the intensity of his touch pulling something out of you that you hadn’t anticipated.

“Let me see you,” Loki whispered against your lips. His eyes burned with unspoken hunger. “Show me who you really are.”

For a moment, you hesitated, but something in the way he watched you, the power in his gaze, made it impossible to deny. You complied, and Loki’s eyes darkened with admiration as he took in the sight of you, studying every inch with unrelenting focus.

Loki reached out and pulled you close, his gaze intense as he hovered near you. His lips brushed against yours again, a soft kiss that left a warmth lingering between you. Slowly, he moved lower, his touch gentle but purposeful.

“You’re so intriguing,” Loki murmured, his voice a mix of admiration and something deeper. “You’re like a rare treasure, and I can’t wait to discover every part of you.”

As his lips brushed against your skin, you felt a shiver run through you, the sensation soft but undeniable. He took his time, savoring the closeness, his hands exploring carefully, as though learning every curve, every detail.

His movements were slow, deliberate, each gesture building a tension between you. With every touch, you could feel something stir within you, a sense of something more powerful, more complex than you had anticipated.

Loki pulled back slightly to look at you, his expression unreadable. “You’re so much more than you know,” he said softly, almost to himself. His fingers gently brushed along your arm, the simple touch sending a wave of warmth through you.

He laid you on the bed, and you looked up at him with uncertainty. He removed the last of your undergarments, taking in a breath. “You are even more beautiful than I imagined.”

After everything had settled, the room was quiet except for the soft sounds of your breathing, both of you taking in the stillness that followed the intensity of the moment. Loki sat beside you, his eyes softening as he looked at you, the usual sharpness in his gaze replaced with something more gentle. He reached over, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch unexpectedly tender.

“Are you alright?” Loki asked, his voice quieter now, a hint of concern behind his words.

You nodded slowly, still processing the emotions that lingered, unsure of what to say or how to feel. You weren’t sure if the storm inside you had settled or if it was just the calm before something else.

Loki shifted closer, wrapping his arm around you in a gesture that felt more protective than possessive. “You’re safe,” he assured, his voice low and comforting. “No harm will come to you here. I’m not the monster you think I am.”

His words were simple, but there was sincerity behind them, a side of him you hadn’t always seen—the side that cared, in his own way. He gently guided you to lean against him, offering warmth and a rare moment of peace between the two of you.

He ran his fingers over your arm, slowly, as if trying to ease the tension from your body. The warmth of his touch was grounding, and despite everything that had passed, you couldn’t deny that it had a calming effect. It wasn’t what you had expected from him, but somehow it made sense. Loki, for all his complexity, wasn’t without his moments of vulnerability.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he said after a while, his voice soft. “But I’m here. Just rest.”

As you lay there, the softness of the moment settling around you, you couldn’t help but wonder about the strange connection between you—how it had shifted from something intense and overwhelming to something almost… comforting. Loki wasn’t perfect, and neither were you, but in that moment, there was a quiet understanding between you, something deeper than either of you had expected.

The days that followed were a blur of quiet tension and inescapable reality. Loki ruled Asgard with an iron fist, his once-cunning mischief hardened into something far more dangerous. The golden city was now cloaked in an air of fear and submission, its people bending to their new king’s will. You watched it all from the confines of the palace, no longer just Thor’s ward but Loki’s wife—his queen, in name, if nothing else.

Servants moved through the halls with careful, measured steps, their gazes lowered as they passed. The throne room, once a place of justice under Odin and Thor, had become something else entirely—a place where Loki’s word was law, where defiance was met with swift and merciless retribution.

And yet, to you, Loki was different.

When he came to your chambers, he was not the tyrant who ruled over Asgard. With you, there was something else—something possessive, yes, but also strangely tender. He would sit beside you, trailing his fingers over your wrist, your jaw, as if memorizing you all over again. He would hold you at night, his grip tight, as if afraid you would vanish if he let go.

But even as he treated you with a twisted sort of care, you could never forget the chains that bound you to him. The golden wedding band on your finger felt heavier than any shackle. No matter how gently he touched you, how softly he murmured your name, you knew the truth: he had taken you, just as he had taken Asgard.

One evening, you stood by the grand window of the palace, looking down at the city below. The people moved with caution, their fear palpable even from a distance. Loki’s rule had changed everything. The streets were patrolled by his guards, and those who dared to resist had long since been silenced.

“You look troubled, my love.”

Loki’s voice was smooth as he approached, draping an arm around your waist. His presence was intoxicating, as always—a blend of danger and allure that made it impossible to think clearly.

“You’ve turned Asgard into something unrecognizable,” you said quietly, keeping your gaze on the city. “The people live in fear.”

Loki chuckled, the sound rich and unapologetic. “Fear is necessary. They never respected me before. Now, they will.”

“You think fear is the same as loyalty?” you countered, finally turning to face him.

Loki’s expression darkened, though there was no true anger in his gaze—only amusement, as if he enjoyed the fight in you. “Loyalty is fickle. Fear is constant. Would you rather I be weak, as Thor was?”

You swallowed hard, knowing there was no winning against his logic—not when he had already made up his mind. Loki had always been brilliant, always three steps ahead of everyone else. But now, that brilliance was sharpened into something cruel.

He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’ll come to see it my way in time,” he murmured. “Asgard belongs to me. And so do you.”

His lips brushed against yours, slow and deliberate. A reminder. A promise. A threat.

And despite yourself, despite the war inside your heart, you didn’t pull away.

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