Dirty Work 53
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.
Characters: Loki
Note: I always come back to Loki.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
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I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
You walk in circles. The day is long but it’s not over. You can’t let it end. Not without having your peace. You won’t make it through another night like the ones before.
The house is eerily calm, even with your house guests. Frigga and Odin are a useful buffer for their son but you can’t run away forever. Or at all.
You refuse to enter the bedroom, paranoid at being locked in again. So you pace the library, trying to dictate a script in your head. You haven’t found the words, you can barely wrangle in your thoughts. All you know is it has to be said. Especially after today.
You hear footsteps in the hall and stop. You listen as Loki goes into the bedroom then comes back out. You go to the door and open it, peering over as he strides out in a panic. You poke your head around and he sees you, giving a start then a sigh.
“There you are, pet,” he touches his chest, “are you coming to bed? It is late. I’m sure my mother has tired you out.”
You shake your head. He tilts his head and furrows his brow. You back up, leaving the door open, and wait. He hesitates but approaches soon after. He stands in the doorway and stares at you. You curl your fingers then stretch them out, shaking your hands as the tension aches in your knuckles.
“What is it?” He sounds just as afraid as before.
You beckon him inside with a small wave. He frowns but obeys, pulling the door shut behind him. You bring your fingers up and twiddle them against your cheeks. It reminds you of another time, when you would stand at the end of the couch, just out of your father’s grasp, and ask him to take his medicine. You were just as frightened then though for a much different consequence.
“You’ve something to say to me,” he states and his shoulders rise, “well, yes, I’m aware a proposal without a ring is hardly proper, but I thought perhaps, pet, we might choose it together. Hm?”
You shake your head and blink, “no.”
“No?” He says, “you don’t want a ring? Or you’d rather shop alone? I suppose I could--”
“No. That’s what I have to say; no.”
You stare at him, locked in anxiety, waiting for his reaction.
“No... what?” He puts his palms out.
“No.”
“No... no.... No?” He echoes over and over, the word starting to sound nonsensical.
“We can’t be married.”
“What?” His voice spikes, “but darling, you said... yes.”
You didn’t.
“No.”
“Yes,” he counters quickly. “Yes, I’ve already told mother we are to marry and you can’t just say... no?”
“No. Not until we talk.”
“We are talking, pet--”
“About Thor--”
“Darling,” he blusters, “we do not need to—we both know what happened. I put a stop to it and it’s all just fine now, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Stop saying that.”
“No.”
“Stop-- okay, darling, what can I do? To make this all better?”
“I want to talk about it,” you insist, your heart flipping.
“About what? What is there to say?”
You lower your head and shrug, then look at him again.
“I don’t know... but... you... brought me there. You knew about him, didn’t you? You had to--”
“I know he and Sif...” he stops, nearly choking as his throat bobs. “That he had some liaison with my ex-wife, yes. I knew that.” He grits his teeth and turns to pace himself, “and she was there so why wasn’t he distracted by her? What must he try to take what is mine?”
“Yours?” You wonder.
He puffs through his nose and stops, twisting on his heel to face you, “my guest. My...plus one.” He lies poorly and his eyes list to one side, “pet, he did not hurt you, I made sure of it--”
“He did,” you insist. “He did hurt me. He held me down and... maybe he didn’t do all he could but it still hurt. It still scared me and then you locked me up. You won’t talk to me and you keep me in a closet. Well, Loki, Mr. Laufeyson, whatever I should call you, I’d rather go back to my father then stay any longer if you won’t.”
You're breathless after the deluge flows from you, feeling a little beter for letting it all out. A little braver.
“Don’t,” he points at you, “do not threaten me. Why would you ever go back to that monster? After all I’ve done--”
“I know all you’ve done. Trust me,” you swallow, “and I know what I’ve done and not done. All I have and don’t have. If I am just a burden for you to pick up, I would rather you toss me away now.”
“Toss you—darling, I’ve only just said I would marry you. I think you are confused.”
“I am,” you say, more terse than you mean to, “because you don’t talk to me.”
He takes a breath and lets it out, his lips thinning. He looks at his feet and his shoulders slump. He crosses his arms and raises his head, “I’m talking right now.”
You poke your tongue into your cheek and consider him, “he hurt you too.”
His eyes flick up to the ceiling and he shrugs.
“I saw it.”
“Yes, he is an animal. But I gave him back all the same,” he says defiantly.
You calmly come forward, jittery as you recall that night. The darkness, the scent of dirt, the twigs poking through your dress, and your whimpers. You stop right before him and bring your hands together in front of you.
“Loki,” you say, “thank you.”
He winces, almost as if he’s been struck again, just like that night he fended off his brother.
“You did save me and I know you didn’t have to. But you also don’t need to lock me up.”
He has the guile to look shameful. He moves his head one way then the other, the lines around his mouth deepening, “yes, I suppose...”
“I’ll stay, okay? But... not like that.”
“Alright,” he agrees rigidly, “I won’t keep you in the bedroom.”
“Or this house--”
“What-- where are you going to go?” He sputters as his green eyes gleam at you.
You inhale carefully and put your hands to his chest. He looks down at them and back to your face, “nowhere unless you mean to keep me a prisoner.”
“You said it yourself though, I protected you--”
“Thor is gone.”
“For now,” he glowers.
You huff and close your eyes. Your drag your hands from his chest and he catches them. Before you can draw away, he pulls you back to him.
“Darling, yes, alright. I hear you. I’ve heard all you have to say. Let us put that night behind us. Please.”
You consider him. It’s a tenuous truce, one you don’t entirely trust, but it’s better than before. It’s as much as you can hope for. He is right after all. You have nothing without him. Even the threat of going back to your father is empty.
“Just... say yes for me. Once,” he pleads. You stare up at him blankly. He fidgets and his cheek dimples, “just once. I need to hear yes. So...”
You watch him as his nostrils flare and his hands tighten around yours.
“Yes, let’s put it away,” you agree, “but I won’t forget.”
He nods and his mouth slants, “mm, when did you get so demanding?”
“I’m... not?” You’re stunned by the accusation. “I wouldn’t--”
“For you, yes, you are. Look at you, yanking me on a chain like a dog,” he winks and smirks, slipping his hands down your arms and embracing you, his grip settling on your hips, “I sort of like it.”
“Um, oh,” you bobble with his change in tone, the wrenching in your chest slowly subsiding.
You expected more than that. Maybe yelling, maybe broken things, and all that. There was a time this man brought you into this very room with a leather strap and made his will known. The memory seems far away now.
“Isn’t it nice to say yes?” He coos.
“I... don’t know.”
“Ask me anything and I will say yes,” his focus centers on your lips.
“I... I’m alright,” you smile tremulously. “I’m tired.”
“Yes, darling, I would be ever so happy to carry you to bed,” he is quick as he has you off your feet before you can unravel his words. “As any good fiance might.”
You brace yourself with a palm on his chest as he cradles you in his arms. His strength always surprises you. He carries you effortlessly and turns to the door, crossing briskly and dipping as he angles you toward it.
“If you would, pet, I seem to have my hands full,” he purrs.
You reach and open the door, upended by how it’s all unfolded. What you dreaded didn’t come. There was no explosion, no shrapnel to pick out, no debris. It’s not over but it’s better than it was. No tears, no shouting, no bruises.
He carries you into the hall and through the bedroom door. He kicks the door shut and marches to the bed. He tosses you onto the mattress and you land with a yelp. You have not time to gain your bearings before he’s on you.
“Darling, you had your moment,” he straddles you and grabs onto your wrists, pinning them beside your head, “I will not hear another no from those lips. Not this night.”
You writhe under him, your insides fluttering as he bends over you, his hot breath cascading over you. As tired as you are, a thrill courses through you. The promise of a release is tempting. All that tension coiled inside you has you bound up in knots.
He leans in and presses his lips to yours. He crushes you under his weight, the mattress compressing beneath you. He is suffocating as he pokes his tongue inside your mouth, humming in delight as he invades. He wiggles his hips against your pelvis and your ribs ache as your breath catches inside.
It isn’t him, it’s someone else, someone bigger. Thor. He’s groping and grabbing at you, laughing at your helpless struggle. You flail beneath him and tears prick.
Your eyes snap open and you nearly bite him. You turn your head away, gasping as you’re caught in a memory. You let out a desperate cry.
“Please, please,” you beg, “I can’t. I can’t...” you gulp and shake your head fervently. “I can’t breathe...”
He relents and sits up, his hair askew as he puffs out. His forehead is lined with worry and his eyes glimmering with shock. He lets go of your wrists and grasps his thighs instead. He stares down at you grimly and carefully climbs off.
“It’s him...” he sits at the foot of the bed with his back to you.
“I’m sorry,” you murmur, “I didn’t... I don’t want to think of him but...”
“Sleep, pet, you’ve earned it,” he slouches forward and drops his head into his hands. “And I’ve earned all I get in turn.”
You stare at his back. You’re relieved and yet you feel horrible. As much as you want to move on, it’s latched onto you; that fear and that futility. You don’t know that this man or the life ahead of you will ever free you from it.
Loki may have saved you from his brother, but you don’t think he can save you from yourself. You have always, always will be, another burden to bear.
✨
After some time, Loki lays down beside you. Your night is no less restless than the ones before. While you may have said more than you ever thought you could, there’s still so much trapped inside of you. Feelings you don’t really understand.
His snoring calms you enough for your eyes to glaze over in bouts. Between, his warmth enshrines you like the blaze of a furnace and finally grows stolid. You get up, surrendering to your consciousness, and go into the bathroom.
You leave the door open as you fill the tub. You step into the placid water and sink to your shoulders. You lean back, muscles easing as you try to wash away the stain you can’t see. You languish there, letting your eyes roll back as the early din settles over you.
You jerk as suddenly you feel a brush along your hair. You look up as Loki stands above you. You cross your arms over yourself out of instinct and his lips twitch. He doesn’t say a word as he undresses.
You’re silent as he urges you forward and slides in behind you, pulling you over him. He reclines with you in his arms and you feel his heart against your back. You stare at the ceiling as your head rests on his shoulder.
“Mrs. Laufeyson,” he muses, “I like the sound of that better this time.”
You bat your lashes and crane your head awkwardly, trying to see him, “is that... what I’ll be called?”
“Darling, of course,” he chuckles, “what else?”
“Hm,” you chew on the words then mouth them silently; ‘Mrs. Laufeyson’. It sounds... strange.”
“Well I’m afraid it’s the only name I have, pet.”
“It sounds... old.”
“Old?” He utters, “you are an adult, are you not? Thirty-one years on this planet isn’t very much yet enough.”
“Sure, I guess,” you mull, soothed as he brushes his fingertips up and down your stomach.
“Wait...” he drawls thoughtfully, “does Mr. Laufeyson sound old?”
“Well... it suits you better than me.”
“Are you saying I’m old?”
“No, I--” you bite down and your brows nearly meet your hairline, “how old are you?”
“Mmph,” he scoffs, “hardly matters.”
“Shouldn't I know? If we’re too get married.”
“Not much older than you,” he sighs.
“But you are older.”
“Is this important?” He intones.
“I just never thought of it.”
“So don’t,” he says.
“Why not?”
“My, my, aren’t you petulant?” He pinches your side and you yipe, “pet, I almost miss the quiet little thing flitting through my halls...” he flutters his fingers, tickling you until you bubble out a giggle and catch in your hand. “Almost.”
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