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lunarbuck · 1 year

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Dance With The Devil (2)

Pairing: mafia!Loki x f!reader (any race)

WC: 5k

Summary: You see a dark side to the men holding you captive, but you won't let them break you.

Warnings: death, violence, injury, angst

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!! I've loved writing it :) beta'd by the lovely @purpleshallot

series masterlist | main masterlist | script | fic playlist

Chapter 1 / Chapter 3

When you wake in the morning, you feel like you’ve been hit by a bus. Your body aches and your head spins. It takes you a moment to remember where you are, what happened last night, and as it all comes back to you, all you feel is anger.

It consumes you; it lights a fire in your heart.

You stare at yourself in the vanity mirror and try to ignore how puffy your eyes are from crying last night. Right then and there, you decide that you won’t be the weak little prisoner he expects you to be. You tell yourself that you won’t roll over and take it when he wants you to.

You’ll fight him. You’ll fight him every step of the way.

It only takes you a few minutes to clean yourself up, splashing water on your face to reduce the redness of your eyes. You dress in a pair of plain brown pants from the dresser and a shirt you find, noting that they fit pretty well. You’re not sure how the raven-haired man knew what sizes to get or if he always keeps spare clothes in this room.

Either way, you don’t want to know, and you tell yourself that you don’t care.

You place your hand on the doorknob and take a deep breath. As you turn it, the metal is cool beneath your fingertips, a loud click echoing through your brain.

When you emerge from the room, you run straight into someone’s back, though they don’t fall over. Instead, the person turns around and catches you easily, steadying you. It only takes a moment to recognize them as the man you’d seen last night in the hallway, who directed you to your father.

“Good morning,” he says, removing his hands from where they’d been on your shoulders. “How are you feeling?”

Now that you’re closer to him, you let your eyes roam over his face and figure. He’s handsome, brown hair perfectly coiffed atop his head. His green eyes are bright despite the low light in the hallway, and he wears a perfectly pressed black button-up tucked into black dress pants.

“Hungry,” you end up saying quietly, letting your eyes connect with his. He gives you a gentle and knowing smile.

“Of course, come with me.” He extends his arm, offering it to you, and you surprise yourself by slipping your arm into the crook of his elbow.

The new man walks you through the halls, explaining the home’s architecture and art history. You find yourself hanging on to every word, soaking up all the information you can.

A few moments later, you arrive in a large dining room, a huge wooden table in the center with chairs lining the perimeter. The man pulls out the chair at the head of the table, and you warily sit down.

“What’s your name?” you ask as he helps you push in the chair. The man sticks his head into the kitchen, calling to someone before returning to your side.

“I’m Levi, and this is Cade,” he replies, gesturing to the man coming in from the kitchen. Cade seems to have a permanent scowl etched into his features, which doesn’t shift as he gives you a once-over.

“She’s not supposed to be here,” Cade says to Levi, not seeming to find it necessary to introduce himself to you.

Levi sighs exasperatedly, leaning against the back of your chair. “I don’t really give a shit. She’s hungry, and I’m not gonna let her starve.” Your heart warms at the sentiment; at least someone in this house cares about your well-being, even if the raven-haired man doesn’t.

“We have orders–” Cade cuts himself off, staring down at you as if he’d just noticed you listening. He returns his gaze back to Levi before lowering his voice. “If he finds out that she’s here, that we brought her here… I’m not saving your ass this time.” You mull over his words. Why does the raven-haired man care where you go? Clearly, he doesn’t want to see you since he hasn’t come to check on you yet.

“I won’t say anything,” you interject. Both men drop their gazes to you, Levi’s kind and caring, Cade’s frustrated and broody.

Levi reaches around the chair and squeezes your shoulder. “Perfect.” Two men venture back into the kitchen. They bicker the entire time, and you sit back in the chair, taking in the room around you.

It’s incredibly intricate, with so many details for your eyes to roam over that you don’t know where to start. You’re so distracted that you don’t notice another person entering the room. One look at the woman, and you know she’s probably the kindest person out there. Her hair is streaked with gray, eyes crinkled in the corners from years of smiling.

“Hello, my dear,” she says, placing a steaming mug in front of you. As the steam rises, you smell that it’s herbal tea. You wrap your hands around the ceramic, warming your skin. “It’s lovely to meet you. My name is Mrs. Peters, and if you ever need anything, no matter how small or insignificant you may feel it is, you just tell me.” Mrs. Peters sits next to you and watches you sip at the tea. Instantly, the liquid warms your whole body, ridding it of the chill from last night’s events.

“Thank you, Mrs. Peters,” you reply quietly, taking in her comforting demeanor. She gives you a bright smile, and a moment later, Levi carries out a spread of breakfast options for you. Mrs. Peters rises from her seat to help him lay out the food in front of you.

Cade leans against the wall a few feet away, clearly upset by the sight in front of him.

“Stop sulking,” Mrs. Peters chides, clicking her tongue at the man. “I don’t care what he has to say about it. I’m not going to let the poor child go hungry.” Cade rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything.

Mrs. Peters and Levi sit with you at the table while you eat, encouraging you to try different dishes they like. Cade stands to the side, watching with a disgusted look plastered on his face. It bothers you; why does he care so much? He had mentioned getting in trouble, but there’s no way that letting you eat could have that severe of consequences.

“Why were you not supposed to let me eat?” you ask, turning to Levi. He shifts a little in his seat but keeps his easy grin.

“You’re not supposed to leave your room without the permission of the big guy,” he explains. “Somethin’ about him not trusting you yet.”

“You know it’s more than that, Levi,” Cade grunts. “And they’re not orders. If you go against orders, it’s not that bad. This was a threat. I don’t want to be on the receiving end of his wrath.” Mrs. Peters stands abruptly and strides over to Cade in just a few steps.

“Cade, I am shocked at you. She’s not our prisoner; she’s our guest. We must make her feel welcome here.” You shake your head at her words; you’re not a guest in this house. You’re the raven-haired man’s prisoner.

“I’m a prisoner,” you admit quietly, pushing away the plate in front of you. “I traded my life to save my father. I did it to myself.” The room goes silent, and you push away from the table and head to the hall. “Thank you for breakfast.”

The walk back to your room is quick, and when you shut the door, you chide yourself for not looking for a way out or more information on who the raven-haired man is.

Sitting at the vanity, you wonder what you’d do if you found a way out. Would you run? What would happen to you? The raven-haired man knows who you and your father are. He knows where you live; would he just come and take you back?

The thought of him knocking down the door to your home and dragging you back here sends shivers down your spine.

Now isn’t the time to think about hypotheticals. You must keep your head straight and figure out a way out of this mess.

The rest of the week, you don’t leave your room. Food gets delivered to your room, but you never see who brings it. More clothes had also appeared outside your door a few days ago. Everything is your size, somehow also your style.

You spend your day re-reading the one book you had brought with you. The prince saves the princess from the grips of the evil man every time. As much as you wish you had a knight in shining armor coming to save you, you know you don’t.

At first, you’d thought Griffin would come looking for you, but if the raven-haired man really is part of the mafia or mob or whatever, you imagine he won’t be able to do much on his own. You haven’t been able to find your phone, so it’s not like you can even call or text Griffin to tell him what happened.

A knock on your door spooks you, but you relax when Levi calls you from the other side. You pad over to the door and open it to reveal his thousand-watt smile.

“Hello, Levi,” you say, leaning against the door frame.

“Hello, ma chéri, how are you today?” You shrug, you could certainly be better, but you suppose things could also be much worse.

“I’m okay,” you end up saying. Levi nods, but you can tell he doesn’t believe you.

“Well, I wanted to apologize for not seeing you much this week. I couldn’t risk pissing off Cade more than I already had.” You nod your understanding, gesturing for Levi to come into your room. The two of you sit on your floor, facing each other.

“I understand,” you reply, digging your fingers into the plush carpet beneath you. Everything in this house screams luxury, old money. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.” Levi rolls his eyes but doesn’t fight you on what you’ve said,

“Cade just has a fuckin’ stick up his ass. I know who I work for; I know what I signed up for. Loki can take it up with me if he has a problem with me feeding you. I��m not going to let you sit here and wither away.”

Loki.

That’s the first time you’ve heard his name spoken out loud.

Loki.

“And what is it that you signed up for?” you ask, curious about what Levi’s job truly is.

“I am the right-hand man to the head of the Laufeyson Family Mafia.” He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. As if he’d just told you he’s a cashier for the local grocery store.

“Excuse me?” You stare at the man dumbfounded. How could Levi, the seemingly sweet and kind man in front of you, be part of such a vicious profession? And to be the right hand of the leader…

“Loki and I grew up together, he was always going to be in this life, but I chose to be in it. I do all the shit he doesn’t want to do, but honestly, he’s not afraid to get his hands dirty. Most of the time, we do it all together.” He’s being too vague; it puts you on edge. You know he’s doing it on purpose, whether it’s to protect you or himself, you’re not sure.

“But why?” How could anyone willingly choose a life like this?

“I’m not a good man, ma chérie,” he says, cocking his head. “I like being in the thick of it; it’s what I’m good at. I tried to live in the ‘real world,’ and it sucks. It’s not for me. But this, it all makes sense to me.” You shake your head; this doesn’t make any sense. The image of Levi ending someone’s life and cleaning up the mess afterward doesn’t work. It doesn’t align with what you know of him.

But what do you really know?

Nothing.

You only know what he’s shown you, and you haven’t had the opportunity to see him in action.

“And what kind of man is Loki?” His name tastes like poison on your tongue. Levi lets your words sink in, mulling them over.

“You can’t be a good man in our world.”

Silence settles between you, and you don’t press him for more. “I didn’t come here to scare you, ma chérie. I was wondering if you’d like a tour of the rest of the house; I know you haven’t seen the rest of it yet.”

Your eyes light up at his proposition. You’ve been itching to explore. “Yes, I’d love that!” you tell him excitedly.

“Wonderful.” Levi stands, taking your hands in his to help you up. “I have to go on a job for a little while, but when I get back, I can take you. The house looks so much better in the evening anyways.” You deflate slightly when he tells you that he won’t be taking you right now, but you try not to show your disappointment.

“I look forward to it,” you say as Levi steps out of your room.

“See you then, ma chérie.”

The sun sinks below the horizon. It’s been hours, and Levi has yet to come back. You can’t help but think you won’t be getting your tour tonight.

But who says you need Levi to explore? You’ve never been too reliant on others; why start now?

You walk through the halls, expecting to get stopped, but no one is out right now, to your surprise. You make your way through the familiar areas of the house, but when you pass the large wooden doors to the west wing, you can’t help but reach out and brush your fingers along the ornate carvings.

You know the west wing is forbidden, but what’s in there? What could be so bad? Before you can convince yourself not to, you’re pushing the doors open.

Another hallway comes into view, though this one isn’t carpeted like the rest of the house, instead having dark wood floors. You take a tentative step across the threshold. When you don’t instantly burst into flames or whatever you thought would happen, you continue down the hall.

Paintings line the walls, but most are covered with dust cloths. When you reach the end of the hall, you find a portrait ripped to shreds. You reach out, pushing the pieces back together, and find it’s a family portrait.

The family is all dressed in black, sitting in a traditional pose. The raven-haired man, Loki, sits between who you assume are his mother and father. They don’t look happy, but they also don’t look angry. They look pleasant as if they’d all been thinking of a kind memory.

Loki’s eyes pierce into you, captivating you.

A loud shout steals your attention, and you notice a door you hadn’t seen a moment ago. A sliver of light peeks through the crack in the door, and you glance through it, unable to contain your curiosity.

Inside the room, Loki, Levi, and Cade all stand around a man tied to a chair. They take turns striking him with their fists, beating him without mercy.

Between each punch, Loki asks him the same question.

“Where is the shipment?”

The man never has an answer.

After another rotation of beatings, the man slumps over as much as he can in his bindings. Cade and Levi look at Loki for direction, and your stomach turns as you watch Loki pull a knife out of his pocket, flicking it open gracefully.

Loki grips the man’s hair, yanking his head upward. Blood oozes from his broken nose. It drips down his face, in his mouth, off his chin. Loki’s eyes are dark, but a smirk graces his lips. He’s enjoying this.

You hold your breath as Loki drags the tip of his blade down the bound man’s cheek, cutting it shallowly.

The bound man stirs, eyes flashing open at the pain of being cut.

“Please, please just stop,” he begs, trying to crane his face away from Loki’s knife.

“Just tell me what I want to know then,” Loki spits bitterly. He moves the knife down the man’s neck, not hitting anything vital but scraping the skin.

“I swear I don’t know anything. I wasn’t there when the shipment got dropped off. I was s’posed to, but I fucked up and was late. By the time I got there, it was gone. That’s all I know.”

Loki’s eyes connect with Levi’s, and they both shake their heads knowingly.

It only takes a second for Loki to drive the knife into the bound man’s chest, ending his life instantly.

A loud ringing fills your ears, and bile rises in your throat.

You turn away from the door, stumbling down the corridor in the dark. You trip over your feet, landing against the wall.

A hand grips your arm, shoving your back to the wall. Loki stands in front of you, fuming.

“Why did you come here?” His hold on your arm is bruising, cutting off circulation to your hand.

“I– I’m sorry,” you stammer, still hearing the ringing in your ears. You feel like you’re about to faint.

“I warned you never to come here,” he shouts, eyes like fire.

“I didn’t– I don’t–” you don’t even know what you’re trying to say. All you want is for him to let you go. You somewhat get your wish as his hands move from your arms to grip your face. His fingers reach back around your head, tangling in your hair while cupping your cheeks.

“Do you realize what you could have done?” He angles your head so you have no choice but to stare into his eyes. He looks hungry, like a man starved.

You feel like the bound man.

“Please stop,” you whisper, tears springing in your eyes. You will them not to fall; you just want him to let go.

A cold look washes over his face, his entire demeanor shifts, and he shoves himself away from you. Loki’s hands fall to his sides, fists clenched.

“Get out,” he growls, seething. You don’t think as you run out of the dark hallway and out into the central area of the house. Your feet carry you through the halls, down the stairs, and out the front door.

No one stops you. No one chases you.

You don’t stop even as you run down the hill, out the iron-wrought gate, and through the neighborhood that had looked so far away from the house.

Your lungs scream at you, your legs ache, but you want to be as far away from that house as possible. As far away from Loki and his dark eyes, full of blood and lust.

You reach the downtown area of the neighborhood and collapse onto a bench, sucking in heaving breaths. Your thoughts spin through your mind, replaying what you’d seen Loki and his men do in that room.

The fall air is crisp and cool, quickly drying the sweat on your skin. You feel feverish, welcoming the breeze that blows through the trees. You bring your knees up into your chest and will your heartbeat to slow down.

Even though it’s dark out, the moon glows brightly in the cloudless sky. A street lamp illuminates the stretch of pavement around you. You scold yourself for not grabbing anything before running away; you didn’t even bother looking for your phone.

Now, as you sit on the bench, you wish you had a way of contacting someone, anyone. Maybe Griffin, he’d come get you. But you don’t have his number memorized; you’d just have to call the police.

As you think over your options, your eyes flick to a man walking down the street toward you. He scrolls through his phone as he walks, laughing at something on the screen. He walks past you on the bench but stops a few feet away before turning around and approaching you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, tucking his phone into his pocket. His eyebrows are scrunched together, and he looks genuinely concerned. You wonder if you should tell him the truth, if you should ask him to call the police for you.

“Um, yeah,” you say, squeezing your knees tighter. You don’t want to seem too vulnerable to this stranger.

“Do you need help?” he asks, crouching down so he can make eye contact with you. His brown eyes connect with yours, and the look he gives you truly conveys kindness. “You could call someone on my phone if you need to, here.” He places his phone on the bench beside you.

You pick it up with shaking fingers and stare at the keypad, unsure who to call. You should call your dad, but for some reason, you don’t want to. Maybe you don’t want to scare him; maybe you don’t want to put him in danger.

In the end, you decide the police are your best option. You look up the number for the police station Griffin works at, and as you dial it, you notice another man walking down the street. He’s not alone but instead flanked by three more figures.

They approach and stand behind the man who’d let you borrow his phone.

The phone rings and rings and rings.

“This one?” one of the new men asks aloud. Your heart sinks.

The line goes dead.

“Yeah,” the brown-eyed man says, grinning. “She’s the one.”

You’re surrounded, unarmed, and suddenly paralyzed with fear. “Who are you?” you ask, pushing yourself back into the bench as if that will save you from whatever they have planned.

“My name is Jack Rollins,” the brown-eyed man tells you. His hand reaches out, grabs his phone from your fingers, and puts it in his coat pocket. “You’re coming with us.” Two men behind the bench reach out and grip your arms, dragging you from your seat.

You kick and scream, twisting your body to get them to release you, but it’s no use. One of them slaps his hand over your mouth, silencing you.

“She’s fuckin’ testy,” one of the men grabbing you grunts, tightening his grip on you.

“Just how I like ‘em,” Jack sneers.

The men drag you down the street, and you notice a black van that must’ve been there the entire time; you just hadn’t seen it in your earlier panic.

You know you can’t let them get you in the van. If you get in the van, you’re as good as dead.

You let your body give out, becoming dead weight to the two men carrying you. Your body sinks to the ground, and you use their surprise to your advantage, getting one of your arms free. You kick and scratch, fighting tooth and nail to escape their grips.

Everyone freezes when two gunshots fire from behind you. The men draw their weapons, while one grabs you from the ground and holds you against his chest, a human shield. You realize it’s Jack, and you hold your breath.

Bodies fall all around you, gunshots ringing through the air.

You open your eyes, not realizing they’d been squeezed shut. When you’re finally able to focus on the people around you, you see Loki, gun drawn, taking out the men who’d tried to force you into the van.

His face is unreadable, but you can see fury flickering in his eyes. He turns his gaze to you, and his brow furrows.

“Let her go,” Loki commands, but Jack just grips you tighter.

“Stop shooting, and I will,” he responds, voice wavering slightly. “What’s so special about her anyway?”

Loki shakes his head, not deigning to reply. But honestly, you want an answer too. Why is Loki going through all this trouble to save you? Why does he care?

“Who do you work for?” Loki asks, cocking his head. His gun is still drawn, still pointed straight at you and Jack. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he starts walking the two of you back toward the van. Your legs drag beneath you, trying to slow him down, but it does nothing. Loki slowly walks forward, not letting Jack get too far away.

When Jack reaches the van’s passenger side, he uses one hand to open the door. You brace yourself for whatever comes next, but you don’t expect him to toss you to the ground like he does.

You land hard on your hands and knees as the van speeds away, tires squealing.

Loki tucks his gun into his waistband, and you look around, realizing no one is left to fight him. Everyone is either dead or escaped in the van.

You try to stand, but your legs wobble beneath you, and you crumple back down, though you never hit the ground. Loki sweeps you into his arms, holding you against his chest.

His heartbeat thuds against his ribcage, a metronome for your shaking breaths.

Loki carries you the entire way back to the house in silence. You don’t even think about escaping his grasp. Part of you knows he’d find you and drag you right back. It’s terrifying.

You think back to earlier in the week when you’d promised yourself that you’d fight him at every turn. You promised you wouldn’t let this be easy for him. What happened to all that?

In all honesty, you know what happened. You’re exhausted, and you don’t know what to think anymore. The world is becoming increasingly unfamiliar to you with each passing day.

Loki carries you across the threshold of his home, and you think he’ll put you down in the entryway, but he doesn’t. He keeps you in his arms until he gets to the sitting room you’d entered through when looking for your father.

A fire roars in the fireplace, warming the room comfortably. Loki sets you down on an ottoman near the fire with a gentleness you hadn’t expected him to be capable of. He stands at full height, rolling his sleeves up to reveal toned arms.

You take in his form, how his black clothes fit him perfectly, hugging his chest and thighs. As your eyes track down his body, you notice he’s bleeding from a large gash on his leg.

“You’re hurt,” you say, choking on the words. Loki’s head drops, investigating his wound.

He holds a hand against the cut on his leg, but you know he needs to do more than just keep pressure if he’s ever going to heal. He doesn’t question you when you step away and make your way to the en-suite powder room, digging through the cabinet under the sink.

You don’t miss the way he rolls his eyes when you return with a first-aid kit. It’s clearly been used plenty, but it’s restocked well enough.

It’ll have to do.

After you’ve gathered all the supplies you think you’ll need to take care of his wound, you return to the sitting room. Loki has taken a seat in a large wingback chair, though he sits on the edge, so he doesn’t bleed on the fabric.

You sink to your knees before him, face heating at the action. You place a hand gingerly on top of his, gently urging him to remove his hand from his leg.

“Here, let me,” you say quietly, moving his hand away. His pant leg is torn around the wound, and you can see that one of the men had probably slashed at him with a knife. You hadn’t even noticed him getting that close.

A small pair of scissors is all you need to cut the fabric of his pants away from his wound. Loki mumbles something under his breath about how expensive they were, but you need to be able to see what you’re doing. If he didn’t want to fuck up his fancy pants, he shouldn’t have gotten himself into this situation.

You carefully wipe the wound with a wet cloth. Loki growls at you deep in his throat, clenching his hands at his sides. “Just hold still.”

“That hurts,” Loki grunts, watching you clean the wound.

“If you’d hold still, it wouldn’t hurt as much,” you snap, not caring about having an attitude right now. He can deal.

“Well, this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t run away.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at his words.

“Well, if you hadn’t scared the shit out of me, I wouldn’t have run away.”

Loki lets your words sink in; the only sound in the room is the crackling of the wood in the fire.

“Well,” he says after a moment, “you shouldn’t have been in the West Wing.”

You huff out a laugh at his words. Of course he’s still caught up on that. You know you shouldn’t have seen what you did, but that’s not important right now.

“Well, you should learn to control your temper.”

You wait for Loki to come up with a snappy response, but instead, he lowers his head, seeming to let the argument fade.

You’re satisfied with how clean the wound is, so you ready a needle and thread, trying to gauge how many stitches you’ll have to put in. “Now, hold still. This may sting a little.”

Loki says nothing to acknowledge what you’ve said, but you catch the grunt he makes when you stick him with the needle.

You end up putting six stitches into the wound, tying it up nicely, considering you’ve never done this before. As you place the antibiotic ointment and bandage on his leg, you feel his eyes on you, watching your hands as they graze his skin. “By the way,” you begin quietly, “thank you for saving my life.”

You look up at Loki from where you’re kneeling and see how beautiful he is this way. He is made of power, born to control. His gaze is like fire, licking at your skin.

“You’re welcome, my flower.”

Series Tags: @huntress-artemiss @buckysteveloki-me @raelorns21 @yukiartistz @apollonshootafar @apollonshootafar

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