Stranger at the Door 22: Loki’s Ending

Warnings: this fic will include dark content including rape/noncon, predatory behaviour, just on the border of stepdad fic (this is a one time exception because this dynamic isn’t really for me but you know, brain makes no sense), mentions of mental health, bullying, isolation, bad parenting, age gap, self-harm, blood, depression, suicidal thoughts, dissociation, substance abuse. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re nineteen and life is standing still, that is until your mother meets her dream man, then everything changes. (innocent!reader)

Characters: Loki (silverfox)

Note: Before you proceed, please check the warnings a second time as new triggers have been added.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖

Home. Your singular haven. All your life, you hid in your room, thought yourself safe from the horrors of the world. But there was nowhere safe from the monsters you feared for so long. No, they came and sought you out. 

You realise now that you have no home. No where to truly hide.

That old town, those streets you knew and didn't, the stores you saw in passing, and those few you ventured into, flicker by as you stare without seeing. You're going back, but not going home. To a woman you once thought of as a protector, revealed to be a liar and betrayer. As bad as the man beside you, steering with one hand as his other rests on your thigh.

You're not used to his touch, only indifferent. As you are to most things. It might be the meds but you think maybe it's just you. You can't let yourself feel or you'll feel too much.

"We can go again," Loki offers, "somewhere else, maybe? Somewhere you've always wanted to go."

"Sure," you shrug.

He waits and kneads through your jeans, "no suggestions?"

"I've never wanted to go anywhere," you say.

He doesn't say anything else as he lifts his knuckles to your cheek, "now you can go anywhere you wish, precious. With me."

You nod and grab his hand, refraining from snatching it away and instead, holding it gently. He twines his fingers through yours and lets you lower it to your seat as he watches the road.

"Marlena can't know... about the cuts, do you understand?" he says as he turns into the suburbs, those sprawling white picket fences which put your rundown childhood home to shame.

"I know," you say.

"Good girl," he squeezes your hand, "I'll knock on your door once she's asleep and we can spend some time together--"

"She knows. You said so," you sit rigid and glance at him in the rearview.

"Oh, she does but that was another condition," he rubs his thumb along your hand, "we can't... do anything in front of her."

You sink down in the seat. Your stomach curdles. Your dread mounts as you recognise the cul de sac. Your mother weighs heavier on you than anything else; than his relentless hands and endless desire, his sickly sweet lies designed to coax you. A sliver of emotion spikes in your chest but quickly subsides.

"Another of her little fantasies," he says as he pulls his hand away and turns up his drive, "she likes to pretend, we both know that."

"Alright," you utter as he shuts off the engine.

He gets out first as you reluctantly do the same. He grabs the bags and winks at you as he nods you towards the house. You cross your arms and match up the walk to the front door. Inside, the house is quiet.

Loki closes the door with his foot and sighs as he sets the bags down. You scratch your neck as you look around. This place is both strange and familiar. Like yourself. The same yet completely changed.

"Sweetheart!" Your mother startles you as she appears from the front room, "oh, you're finally home! How was your trip?"

She latches onto Loki and pulls him by the front of his jacket to kiss her. He grunts quietly as she does, forcing her tongue into his mouth. You look up the stairs as you try not to hear the nasty noise of their kissing. Finally he frees himself and coughs.

"Honeybun, were you good?" your mother asks as she faces you.

You nod and tuck your hands in your pocket, the cuffs of the blouse concealing the bandages. 

"She was very good," Loki intones, "as always. She's a quick learner."

"Oh, I missed you," she turns back to Loki and hangs off him, "you should get this coat off and I can welcome you back."

You glance away and work at getting your boots off. You put them on the mat as Loki removes his coat, but not urgently despite your mother's impatience.

"I'm going to unpack," you grab the handle of your suitcase and roll it past her.

"You must be so tired," she chirps after you, "make sure you lay down. Get some rest."

"Sure," you say as you stop by the stairs and retract the handle. You lift the bag by the handle and drag it up step by step.

"Your brother finally left," your mother's birdlike voice carries after you, "thank god. I could hardly stand him hanging around. You know I caught him in her room, snooping around. I told him I wouldn't put up with that."

"Be quiet, Marley," he sneers, "I've driven all day, I don't need you yapping at me like a dog."

"Sweetheart--"

"Go look at your magazines and pour another glass," his voice barely reaches you at the top of the stairs.

"Oh, don't be like that," you stop and listen, knowing you should, "I'll suck it. Sweetie, please, I'll do whatever you want."

"I want you to leave me alone," he rebuffs, "shouldn't you be shopping for a white dress? Or do you think the colour might darken at your very sight?"

You continue down the hall and let yourself into the bedroom. You can't even pity her. She chose this. She knew what she was doing and for what? Exactly what Loki said; a white dress and this damned house.

You don't even pity yourself. You don't have the energy. You just want to sleep.

📼

Acceptance is the final stage of grief but the life you had before is hardly worth mourning. A locked door, old movies, and a mother who only ever wanted to be validated by your shortcomings. Acceptance is easier than regret.

Your new life keeps to a routine. There’s that at least. 

Wake up, pills, dress in clothes you hate, eat without tasting, go to ‘work’ with Loki, another pill, hide your spite for your mother when you must face her, some other meals in between, two pills in the evening, an hour or two alone to fill with schoolwork or catatonic indifference, then the knock at your door. Him, again. He’s the constant, the only stability in your life. You feel nothing but the dread that resonates through that house.

That day is a new day. Your mother’s through her final two weeks and jovial at her newly claimed freedom. 

She wakes you and doesn’t even acknowledge that you’re naked beneath the covers. She trills at you to get up and get going. She’s impatient and completely oblivious of the condom wrapper beside your pillow. Or pretending to be.

“I managed to pick up an appointment at the boutique,” she says as she sways to the door dreamily, “they had a cancellation and called me early this morning. I’m going to need a second opinion. Oh, and your Aunt Moira will meet us there.”

“Moira?” you bat your lashes as you stay hidden beneath the layers of frilly pink, “she’s talking to you again?”

“We’ve reconnected! She’s going to be a bridesmaid. Of course, you can still be maid of honour,” she grips the door handle, “chop, chop, honeybun, we don’t want to be late. We miss this appointment and I’ll be waiting months for the next one.”

You grumble your assurance and wait for her to close the door. You sit up and rub your shoulders as your thighs ache. Last night, Loki was particularly rough. He was angry about something. Odd how you’ve come to read his emotions when you were never very good at that. Silva said that was one of your issues.

You unwrap the bandages and clean the healing cuts. Mostly scabbed now. You put on new dressings, just how Zemo told you, and pull on a lilac coloured dress and swishy kimono with sleeves well past your hands. You look normal even if you don’t feel it. Like a real person.

As you emerge from your room, there’s a shadow just down the hall. You pause and look over at Loki, arms crossed as he watches from outside his office. He’s not happy.

“I’ll miss you today,” he says, “but you must go with Marlena. Make her happy or this…”

“Miss you too,” you lie as you clasp your hands together and bounce on your heels.

“You’ll be cold,” he nods to your dress.

“I know,” you say coolly, “you don’t like it?”

He smirks, “I love it. I want to lift it up right now and… go before that thought gets the best of me.”

You do as he says. That’s always easier. In that week since your return, you’ve learned. To obey, to appease, to recite all the sweet words he wants. You don’t have to mean them. You were naive to ever think that honesty existed.

📼

Your Aunt Moira is a vague memory from your childhood. You haven’t seen her since before your father died. Like most of your family.

She doesn’t look much different than you remember, what you can remember. She sits beside you in the bridal lounge on a long, ivory bench cushioned with velvet. You pick at your sleeves as you wait for your mother to appear after a tedious hour of choosing gowns to try on.

“So…” her smoky voice startles you, “how is school?”

“Okay,” you answer, “I’m passing.”

“Hmm,” she frowns, “just passing.”

“Yep,” you bend your fingers around the edge of the sleeve, “what are you up to, Aunt Moira?”

“I’m here,” she replies, “I had plans to fly out to Barbados but… Marlena finally has her show.”

“Oh, I–”

“This man, Loki,” she interjects, “do you like him?”

You look at her and tilt your head, letting your eyes drift away.

“I don’t really know him too well,” you lie, that feels good. “You know, my mom didn’t introduce us until Christmas, so–”

“Of course she didn’t,” she scowls, “she springs this on me last week. Oh, Moira, I’m getting married. And he’s rich! Can’t tell me another thing about him. At least you’ll be taken care of, I suppose.”

“Yeah, at least,” you agree thinly and hold back a yawn, “I’ve never been to a wedding.”

“Mm, don’t let this one set your expectations,” she rolls her eyes.

“I don’t think I’ll get married,” you confess.

“My advice, don’t,” she laughs dryly, “I never bothered and I’m happy for it. Especially after seeing your mother and all her disasters… sorry, I don’t mean… your father was… conflicted–”

“I barely remember him,” you smile, that extra pill helped.

She doesn’t respond as you hear a rustle and your mother’s voice. She comes out in a large princess gown with too many skirts. Strapless and too young for her. She preens as she steps up on the platform in front of the mirrors as the attendant arranges the heavy fabric around her.

“You don’t think that’s a bit much, Marley?” Moira stands and peers past her sister into the mirrors.

“It’s within budget,” your mother chirps.

“It’s a bit… young for you,” Moira reproaches, “you should at least have some straps–”

“I think it looks nice, besides, I’ve been losing weight,” your mother argues, “honeybun, what do you think?”

You glance over at her, the white tulle and satin makes you sick. “I like it, you should get that one.”

“Not my day,” Moira raises her hands, “I’m gonna go out and have a smoke.”

“Right,” your mother’s tone drops to disappointment, “I’ll… try on another one. When you get back, you can tell me what you think.”

“You’re fifty-two, Mar,” Moira says, “you shouldn’t be wearing white.”

Your mother’s face falls and she nods, “well, maybe I’ll have them pull that dark blue one you liked.”

“Eh,” Moira pulls out her pack of lights, “be back.”

She leaves and your mother deflates. She quickly raises her shoulder and forces a smile at the attendant.

“I think white suits any age,” the redhead assures her, “maybe the silk sheath? I think it’s very elegant.”

“Sure,” your mother steps down, “we’ll try that one.”

You watch her and her eye meets yours. Her throat constricts and her lip curls. Her mask slips in that moment. That’s why she brought you; to make it clear she’s still in charge. She’ll marry Loki and be the lady of the house and you’ll be his whore.

📼

The wedding comes quickly. 

The first day of spring brings with it a sense of renewal though life remains much the same. With the season’s beginning comes the semester’s end. You’re failing. You haven’t told your mother or Loki, you don’t think either of them care. It doesn’t matter, you’re not going anywhere.

The ceremony is everything your mother wanted. A mirror image of those magazines across the dining table, pages flipping and flicking, phone calls, venues, tastings. All of it culminates in her special day; a day all for her.

Long white benches and tall vases of pure ivory lilies across a carpet of rich green grass. An arch decorated in ribbons and vines under which she swore herself to Loki, made her deal with the devil; her daughter, her deceit, for designer clothes and vintage wines. A fine theatre for the rows of guests, similarly feigning their happiness for the couple.

The reception occurs in a large tent. Bouquets on every table, the scent of pollen heavy in the air and the buzz of flies irritating guests as they try to enjoy the overpriced but sparse portions. You sit with the bridesmaids, your aunts, Moira and Andrea, and Thor’s two daughters, Tinsley and Tiffany, both blond and tall like their father. They have boyfriends, their plus ones, as you pick at the soy glazed trout.

The night progresses, your mother basking in the attention; the scripted speeches and the couple's first dance. Loki maintains a facade of content but you see those moments his eyes narrow at her sappy shows of elation. You feel okay about it all, the champagne mixes with your pills wonderfully.

The dance floor opens up as Loki leads your mother away and greets his parents in an unheard conversation. They all seem so happy even if you know they’re not.

You sit alone as the table empties and watch Tinsley and Tiffany at the bar, their drink tickets handed over eagerly. Your aunts have gone to glower over your mother and languish in their envy; much of the night they complained of the tacky decor and extravagant taste. You finish the bubbly alcohol and place the glass down, your head swirling pleasantly.

“Princess,” Thor’s voice gives you a start. You laugh at yourself and look up at him. His suit seems absurdly large though it fits him snugly. “How are you?”

“Oh, hi,” you stand and hug him. He stiffens, surprised by your forward gesture, “I’m just wonderful.”

He pulls back and pats your arm, “and school?”

“Great,” you smile, “how are you? Your daughters are so nice!”

“Are they?” he chuckles, “I’m good. I… I’m sorry I left without a goodbye.”

“What? No. It’s okay. I didn’t expect…” your shoulders slump and your cheek twitches. He left you all alone. With Loki. “It’s fine.”

He’s quiet as he stares at you. You avoid his eyes and fumble with the corsage on your wrist, a heavy golden cuff on your other. The scars are hidden well.

“Will you dance with me?” he breaks the lull.

You look at him and raise your brows, “dance? I don’t… I’ve never danced with anyone before.”

“I’ll lead, you follow,” he offers his hand, “so?”

You take his hand and let him guide you amidst the dancing bodies. The music slows as if on cue and he sets your hands on his shoulders, rather chest as he towers over you. You sway to the rhythm, though you struggle to follow the beat. You’re silent as the alcohol distorts the music in your ears and the motion makes you dizzy. You’re sleepy. 

You lean into Thor and put your head on his chest as you hug him and listen to his heart.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks.

“I like dancing like this,” you slur as your eyes wander past his dark sleeve. Loki’s watching you as he keeps his arm through your mother’s. That’s not good but you’re too drunk to care.

📼

You wake up in your room. You don’t remember how the night ended. How many things you forget. It’s kinda silly, like nothing ever happens.

There was music and lights and voices. You remember the exhilaration in your chest as you danced and Thor’s booming tones. Then nothing. Just this. This room. Alone.

You stare at the canopy above. The house is quiet and still, even though several opted to claim a guest room over forking out for a hotel suite. After such a long day, after the final twist of the key in your prison door, it’s so calm. Like nothing’s changed.

It hasn’t really. You’re the same girl. Quiet, weak, afraid. You won’t do anything to stop it. You’ll just let life happen around you. To you. Powerless.

You close your eyes but before the concoction of pills and wine can take over, you’re roused by a noise. Familiar but not comforting. The one you expect, the one that keeps you awake and drives you to drugged detachment.

There’s a stranger at the door. You better let him in.

Before and after a little grooming. My barber is booked 2 weeks out 😩

(Please excuse the dungeon of a bathroom)

Stranger at the Door 21

Warnings: this fic will include dark content including rape/noncon, predatory behaviour, just on the border of stepdad fic (this is a one time exception because this dynamic isn’t really for me but you know, brain makes no sense), mentions of mental health, bullying, isolation, bad parenting, age gap, self-harm, blood, depression, suicidal thoughts. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re nineteen and life is standing still, that is until your mother meets her dream man, then everything changes. (innocent!reader)

Characters: Loki (silverfox)

Note: Before you proceed, please check the warnings a second time as new triggers have been added.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖

The acidic coating in your stomach never quite dissipates. You have nothing left to throw up, nothing left to feel, nothing left whatsoever. 

Loki watches you as you emerge from the bathroom but you hardly even notice. His presence is nothing more than a dire shadow. You go to the bedroom and bury yourself under the blankets. You push your head beneath the pillow and close your eyes. Every ounce of strength drains completely as your thoughts cease to whirl. 

You are just a body, just there.

The world goes on as you stay still. Time moves around you, Loki too, but you don't notice the changes. You can't feel. You can't think. 

Colours, noise, shifting; none of it breaks through the coffin of your betrayal. You let your breaths slow as the pillow traps humid heat beneath and edge in and out of sleep; none of it restful, only fits of deeper disillusion. 

He touches you, dulled by your indifference, and pulls away the pillow. He lets you be as he gets no response, your eyes stuck on the ceiling before shutting again.

You come to in darkness. You make yourself get up as your bladder squeezes painfully. You don't see Loki. You're alone.

You go into the bathroom and sit on the toilet overly long, even after you're empty. You stare at the white tile and stand. You cross the floor and watch yourself in the mirror as you near the counter. You grip the edge. There's some pathetic creature looking back at you.

You glance down and let your hand slowly crawl over the small leather case. You unclasp it and look at the silver tools inside. You wiggle free the scissors. You toss the case to the back of the counter and grip the open blades so the edge cuts into the inside of your knuckles. You press the metal to your wrist and hold your breath. 

You have to poke through with the tip before the skin breaks and the hot release of blood makes you moan. You drag it jaggedly through the flesh and veins, stabbing into the viscera of your own arm. The pain has you trembling but you won't stop. Not till it's done.

The scissors slip as you switch hands and slice into your other wrist. This one's harder, the metal hard to keep steady. The small screw comes loose and the blades fall apart in your grasp. You drop them into the sink and wipe the tears from your eyes, a smear of red left down your face. 

You walk away from the mirror as the flow of blood leaks down your fingers, staining the door as you push it open.

It's not enough. It only hurts but it won't help. You stagger from the bedroom and into the front of the suite. Your backpack remains by the desk, the room exactly as you fled it. You go over and shove your hand through the open zipper and fish around for the bottle. 

You take out the pills, shaking as you try to unscrew the lid. Light suddenly blooms from the other side of the room as Loki stands beside the lamp. Where did he come from?

"Wha..." his voice trails off as you focus on the bottle, desperately trying to pop off the cap.

He strides over to you and you turn your back to him as you block him from taking the pills. You bite the lid and whine. He reaches around you and grips your hands, wiggling free the bottle as the blood makes it too slippery to hold on. 

He whips the bottle away and takes your wrists, pulling you to your feet as he makes you face him. He looks at the gashes and shakes his head.

"Jesus," he curses under his breath, "you stupid girl."

"Please," you sob, "please–"

"Shut up," he snarls and pulls you with him.

He drags you into the half-bath and sits you on the toilet. He holds you by your arms and glares down at you, chest heaving as he pokes his tongue in his cheek. 

He grabs a towel and brings your hands together, stemming the blood with the fluffy cotton. Your bones ache from his tight grasp and he manages to keep your hands trapped with only one of his. He winds the towel around one wrist and ties it tight, then takes another and does the same to the other. 

He says nothing as your blood stains his pale hands. He stands straight and leaves you. You let your hands rest in your lap, unmoving. Another failure.

You hear his voice, low, agitated. He comes back to you, phone in hand as he shakes his head. He slips the cell into the pocket of his silk pajamas and helps you stand. He keeps hold of your elbow and leads you back into the bedroom. 

Your lip quivers as the tears continue to roll down. He lays you back down and remains, sitting on the edge of the bed as he checks the phone again.

"I have a friend coming to help," he says, "it's okay, precious."

"Why?" you ask weakly.

"Why?" he snaps as he looks at you with his snakish eyes.

"I want to die," you say, "it's all I have left. I have no mother, no life…"

He inhales and peeks at his phone again. He leans on his thighs as he taps the phone listlessly, "you're young. You don't know what you want, you can't."

"Not you," you whisper.

He's silent as his jaw squares. He stands and leaves you. He returns after a moment and resumes his place on the edge of the bed. He has a washcloth in hand, slightly damp as he wipes your face.

"You don't have nothing," he insists as he holds your chin and cleans away the blood, "you have me and I don't take well to those who try to take things from me."

You frown. Thing. That's what you are to him. Another possession. That's worse than anything else he's said or done. Before, you could pretend you were some forbidden love, even if you abhor him, but now, you don't even have that. You are nothing but a toy to him and he can only think of how you would spoil his fun.

📼

Loki sits with you until his 'friend' arrives. You hear them speaking in the next room but their words garble and don't connect. The man enters ahead of him, a leather bag hanging from his shoulder as he looks you over.

"Hello," he greets you with your name, "I'm Dr. Helmut Zemo."

You don't answer. He drags a chair over and puts his bag atop it.

"If you will," he turns to Loki, "I need to wash my hands, take out my gloves so I can tend to her after."

Loki nods as the doctor excuses himself and you hear the water running. It feels wrong, tainted. The secrecy of it all. Why didn't he just take you to the hospital? Not that you want that either.

The doctor returns and takes a pair of latex gloves from the box Loki placed on the night table. He sits on the edge of the bed, as Loki had done moments ago, and takes your wrist. You resist, the effort throbbing in your hands, then relent.

"Now," Zemo warns in his lilted voice, "do not be obstinate, I am here to help you."

You give up and let him pull your arm to him. He carefully unwraps the towel and examined then caked blood around the laceration. He does the same to the other and nods to himself. 

"Left is pretty deep," he clamps the towels back over your wrists, "bend your fingers for me."

You huff and do as he says. It's painful but not impossible. 

"No bone or nerve damage," he says, "any deeper and you'd need surgery."

"Any deeper and I wouldn't have to be here," you blink through tears.

He's silent as he puts your hands in your lap, "in my bag, you'll find some isopropyl alcohol and some wipes, I will need first to sterilise her wounds, then some stitching and dressings. She will heal with some antibiotics and regular cleaning."

Loki reaches into the leather bag again, a diligent assistant. His face is staunch as he looks at you. You grumble and turn your gaze to the blanket.

"Tell me, have you done this before?" Zemo asks. You nod.

"She takes medication," Loki offers and you curl your lip.

"So she has a psychologist?" He continues. "Perhaps I will review his script to be sure it is correct. Tetanus shot?"

"Last year," you murmur.

"Very good," he uncovers your left wrist and agony ripples up your arm as he presses the alcohol-coated wipe to the gash. 

You grunt but hold back the scream roiling in your chest. He flakes away the dry blood as more begins to leak out, his gloves quickly redden. He focus on his task, attending you sternly and without care.

"Loki," he intones, "give us some space, please, I will call for you when I require the needle."

Loki retreats slowly and pauses by the door. Neither of these men have a shred of empathy for you, only disappointment, almost repulsed at your stupidity. Like it was a cry for attention. They can't understand, they're men. No, monsters.

📼

When the doctor goes, you feel woozy. It might be the painkillers, you think. The antibiotics pit a rock in your stomach and your new antidepressants make your head cloudy. It's an escape but not the one you planned on.

You slip down to your back and let your eyes close dreamily. You like this. You like not feeling. Sleep crawls over you and cocoons you in a calming warmth, the world fading away to the colours of your mind.

When you wake again, dawn has passed and the sky is orange with noon. Loki's beside you, a leather folder open on his lap as he delves into the tight font of his legal pages. You giggle and reach to push it away. You don't know why, you just feel like it. He keeps the papers from fluttering away and closes the folio with a snap.

"What are you doing?" he peers down at you past his long nose.

You shrug and laugh again. Your mouth is dry and sticky, you roll your tongue around trying to wet it. He sighs and helps you sit up as you reach with your bandaged arms. He puts you against the bed frame and climbs off the other side. 

He surprises you as suddenly he appears with a glass of water and holds it out. You take it and drink thirstily.

"Are you proud of yourself?" he asks sourly.

"Proud?" you look at him and wipe the water that dribbles down your chin, "of what? That I'm fucking my mom's fiance? Or that I'm a mess?"

You laugh again. It's all just a little bit funny. Especially that you ever thought it wouldn't end up like this.

"Well, I see the medication is... potent," he lifts a brow, "that's quite a bite you have, precious."

"That's quite a bite you have," you imitate his accent, poorly, "leave me alone, you-- you-- pervert!"

He inhales through his nose as you take another gulp and place the glass aside. Really, why should you care about anything? Your mother doesn't care about you. This man surely doesn't care about you. So who gives a fuck!

You turn your legs over the edge of the bed and he steps to block you, "what are you doing?"

"I'm going to take a bath!" you declare, "I feel gross and... I'm healing!" You hold up your wrists, "I'm sick, don't you know? In the head."

"You should go back to sleep," he grabs your arms and the pang makes you squeal.

"Ow, let me go," you cry out, "I don't want to sleep! I want a bath–"

"Lay down," he leans on you and falls over you until your flat on your back, pinning your hands to the bed as he looms over you, "don't act like your mother, you little–"

You squirm and snap your teeth at him. He winces and keeps away from your mouth.

"I don't want to hurt you, precious, I told you that," he sneers, "so quit."

You whine and writhe beneath him. He plants his knees on the bed between yours as you struggle with him. You only feel a dull weight as the medication nips at his grip and another wave of nausea swells. You kick your feet around him and whimper.

"Please," your eyes wet, "please, Loki," you sniffle, "you're hurting me..." you look into his eyes, "I'll be good."

He glares at you for a moment, then his face softens. He lets you go and sits back on his heels as he combs his hair back with his fingers. He lets out a heavy breath and backs off the bed. He clears his throat as he leaves you, returning with his hand cupped.

"You're due for another dose," he holds out the pills, "antibiotics in two hours."

You sit up and stare at his loose shirt. You take the pills blindly and toss them into your mouth. It's better than feeling. You turn to put your head back to the pillow, sensing his lingering gaze.

"Thank you," you murmur.

"Alright," he breathes and nears to brush your forehead with his fingertips, "you be good."

📼

Your body rocks as soft purrs drift from between your lips. The heat radiating around you is intoxicating. You smile as you drag your hand across the soft, full cloud. Your world is pink and airy, vibrant but cozy. 

You're consumed by the coiling sensation around your core, the pleasure of indifference, of ignorance. You moan a little louder and the clouds part, wisps wilting away from your fingers. The fluffy blankets split and roll back, retreating as the sky turns gloomy. You're no longer float but plummet into the dark depths below.

Your eyes open as your body jerks, sweaty flesh sticking to your back as deep tones sink into your mind. Loki's humid breath spreads over your scalp as he ruts into you, a long arm around your middle. The bed jolts with his movement, growing more frantic with each thrust. The clap of his violent intrusion against your ass reverberating through you.

You vaguely remember his first touch, the gentle kiss on your lips as he asked if you're awake. You don't recall answering or how it got to this. You can hardly keep track of the day since you cut yourself. The meds keep you dull, keep you pliant, and they make him bearable, almost needed.

You dig your nails into the pillow and bit the cotton sheath around it. You groan as the pulsing in your core thrums stronger and stronger, his fingers flicking wildly at your clit. You let it take over, let the delight bring the clouds back and pale the sky as your eyes roll into your skull. You quake at the sudden release, spasmodic as the sparks tingle across your skin.

He relishes your twitching walls and fucks harder, faster. He tilts without relent as he presses his fingers against your bud and hammers into you. He growls your name as he nibbles your ear and slams to his limit. He slows as he cums, hissing and huffing until he's still. He stays inside of you, hugging you to him as the tension slakes away.

"We'll have to start packing soon, precious," he exhales, "your mother expects us back tonight."

You clench your jaw as the anger breaks through your haze, "I don't care," you say, "she can wait."

"Oh, precious," he chuckles, "don't be silly, we must–"

"No," you insist, the thought of facing her; overmedicated and broken, is worse than even Loki, "can't you book another night?"

He's quiet as he pets your hair. His acts of affection make you shiver. Somehow, his doting is both sinister and earnest. Yet, you can't help but find comfort in not being alone; for once.

"If you truly need it, precious, yes," he allows, "you see how nice I can be, hm?"

"Thank you," you cover your face and try to wriggle away but he holds you there. You relent and hid your tears in your arm. Could you ever face your mother again?

-

If you are experiencing any thoughts of self-harm or suicide, or just need to talk, please seek out sources here and here. From one stranger on the internet to another, I care about you.

Tommy Tuberville (R-AL) United States Senator

Len Cariou Canadian Actor

Even at 83, Len can still get it. 

Get what you ask? 

Anything he wants from me. ANYTHING.

Stranger at the Door 20

Warnings: this fic will include dark content including rape/noncon, predatory behaviour, just on the border of stepdad fic (this is a one time exception because this dynamic isn’t really for me but you know, brain makes no sense), mentions of mental health, bullying, isolation, bad parenting, age gap, allusions to self harm, violence. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re nineteen and life is standing still, that is until your mother meets her dream man, then everything changes. (innocent!reader)

Characters: Loki (silverfox)

Note: As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖

You can't move. You don't want to. Moving means this is real. Moving means you have to open your eyes.

So you lay as Loki's left you, cold, hollow. You hear him in the front room of the suite, he's made several phone calls. A business trip for him but nothing of the like for you. 

You shiver and clamp your eyes tight. You can still feel him inside of you. The intense pain of his intrusion, the tingle still in your thighs, the ache in your pelvis. You smell like him. You can't stand it.

His pacing stops. The silence pricks your ears but you won't break your tableau. His footsteps come again, this time quickly into the room.

"I know you're awake," he snaps without pretense.

You don't react. If you do, he might want to do it again.

"Open your eyes," he stomps over to you. You refuse to obey and he shakes you by the shoulder, hard enough that you bite your tongue, "now."

You fall onto your back. Don't look. If you don't look, it's not real.

He clears his throat as his shadow retreats from over you, "'Hi princess, did you think about my offer? Here's some photos.'"

You frown as confusion furrows your brows. What is he talking about? He's quiet, waiting.

You open your eyes at last and look at him. He holds your phone, the beaten up case with only a few sparkles of glitter left, a terse expression across his sharp features. You push yourself to sit up, the chemise crumpled around your middle and the thong crooked on your hips. You hug your legs and rest your chin on your knee.

"Why do you have that?" You ask dumbly.

"Better yet, why are you messaging my brother?" He retorts, "hm?"

"Your brother? How–" you blink, "I haven't. I swear, I didn't give him my number. I don't know how–"

"And the other night he was in your room overly long," he scowls, "I'm most certain it amounted to nothing but you entertain his hopes."

"You know–"

"I know everything that goes on under my roof, should I say under my nose," he sneers, "so it is best you think before you lie to me."

"I didn't lie. I don't know why he's messaging me," you murmur, trying to think of how he could get your number 

"And this offer? What exactly was it?" Loki prompts, "he sends photos of his house, I can surmise you spoke of relocation. With him? You know he would throw you out like a used rag."

"I never said yes," you utter, "please, don't be mad."

He shoves the phone towards you and you cower. You cross your arms before your face and wince, waiting. Nothing happens. You peek at him through slitted lids.

"What are you doing?"

"Don't hit me, please." You beg, "I'll be good, promise. I've been good."

"I’m not going to hit you," he scoffs, "you want to be good, you take this and tell my brother you're not interested."

You stare at the phone and take it. Your hands tremble as you steady it and look at the conversation; several pictures of a beach house and the surrounding landscape. You sniffle and start to type.

"You know I wouldn't hit you, don't you, precious?" Loki asks.

You try to focus on what to say. No might do but you suspect Loki wants more than that. Your fingers sweat around the plastic case.

"My mom…" you say, "I thought–"

"Your mother gives it as good as she gets, never you worry," he hisses, "but she is good for appearances; she is what is acceptable, a woman of my… generation."

You nod, unsure how to answer. Your mother doesn't deserve any of that, even if he says she's just as bad. She can be mean but she's not violent.

You thumb in your meagre refusal and shrug. Loki takes the phone before you can hit send. He reads your words, ‘thank you, Thor, but I can't. I have to stay with my mum.’ He tisks and pushes his thumb down, "it'll do, I suppose. Very… you."

You pull up the straps of the chemise and wince at the pain deep inside. You breathe slowly and move carefully to the edge of the bed. Loki watches and you meet his eye, afraid of what glimmers in them.

"Loki," you quaver his name as his hand casually rests on the belt of the hotel robe.

"Precious?" He arches his brows.

"Can I take a bath, please?"

He considers as his cheek twitches. He almost looks amused.

"Ask me again," he smirks.

"Please, can I take a bath?" You appease him as you run your hand over your thigh and cringe at the tenderness.

"Say my name again, precious. Please." He demands.

"Loki, can I–"

"You may," he interrupts, "I will join you. The bath is big enough for two."

"Oh, uh," you hang your head, your hope of a respite lost. "Alright," you accept.

"Why don't you go get it all ready?" He purrs, "I shall be but a moment."

You stand and wobble on your feet as he moves closer. You tense as he frames your chin and turns you to him, bending to kiss you, soft but diligent. You let him, afraid to anger him with any sign of reluctance.

He lets you go and you stiffly walk away, peeking into the bathroom before stepping onto the white tile. You can't help but marvel at the immaculate porcelain and marble, a large window casting the evening hue across the space. You turn on the light and a vibrant white glow permeates the room.

You tiptoe to the large square tub and bend to turn on the faucet, testing the water with your fingers until you find the best temperature. You pull the slender lever for the stopper and stand straight. The water ripples into the basin as steam roils into the air. 

You look down at yourself and peel away the lace. You feel brittle, ripe to shatter, as you step unsteadily out of the satin thong. You groan as your thighs meet again, you can feel the bruises where his fingertips kneaded them, and along your hips, chest, shoulders; all over. 

You go to the counter as your eyes wander. There's a small case there marked with the hotel logo. You open it, a set of nail tools. You take out the small scissors and open them, holding them up to the light. You press your fingertip along the blade and your vision focuses on the reflection of yourself in the mirror. 

You close the scissors and slip them back into the kit. You push it away from you and exhale the dark urge. Anything you did, he would see. He'd already seen enough. How he had touched the scars himself…

You go back to the tub and climb in, easing down into the water as it rose around you. The heat is soothing but cannot reach all that aches. There are some things you know will never be as they were before.

Loki breaks through the thin serenity as he enters. You bend your legs and hug them as he swiftly unknots the belt of his robe. You look away as he opens it and drapes it from a hook on the door. His shadow looms before he steps into the tub.

He nears you and urges you away from the wall of the tub. He lowers himself behind you and draws you back against him. His length twitches along your back at the proximity. You sit rigidly as his touch scalds you.

"You must relax, precious," he coos as grips your shoulders, letting his long legs sprawl around you, "enjoy our getaway while it lasts."

The last of your strength evaporates, not that you had much to begin with. You think of your mother and her glass of wine. Maybe that was your fault too. She drank because you drove her to it, just like you drove your father to…

"Something the matter, precious?" Loki kneads your muscles. Despite your disgust with yourself and him, it feels wonderful. Just to be touched.

"What about…" you can't even say it.

"Marlena?" He uses her name, "I'll have to marry her now, to keep you close but she will be content with all that I give her. Precious, there is a side of her I think she has hidden from you for a long time and only now is she letting it through. You can see how toxic she is, can't you?"

Is she? Or is it him? She wasn't like this before him.

"Do you know about the other men? Before me?" He keeps your mind from reeling too far.

"Other men?" You lean back unthinkingly as he rubs your sides.

"Oh, yes, before me and even at the start of seeing each other she dated quite a number of suitors. One discovered us on a date and made certain to inform me of our shared interest. Well, I spoke wit Marlena and she swore that it was only me," he cups your chest and kisses the crown of your head, "I wish that had been true."

"What?" You heart beats, you're certain he can feel it.

"I could show you all the messages I've found, recount the calls I've overheard, but I couldn't expose you to that. She's done a poor enough job raising you as it is," he teases your nipples as he reclines and pushes his legs beneath you, laying below as he floats your body above his. "Can't you see, I want to take care of you? I would've never proposed if I hadn't seen the dire need you live in, precious. That you need someone like me."

You don't know if it's the heat making your head spin or him. His hand crawls down your stomach, exploring the soft flesh. 

"But… aren't you– we–" your eyes burn, "just as bad?"

"If I could have you at the altar, I would but in my profession, that wouldn't reflect well upon me, you are too young, rather I am too old. "

You swallow. He speaks as if he loves you, though your understanding of love is paltry. You know, or think, that you don't love him. You fear him. Right? 

"It only feels wrong because the world tells us it is," his hand slips along your pelvis and tickles the curly hair, "you feel it's wrong because you believe them but… doesn't it feel good?"

He rubs your bud firmly and you moan. You grasp his wrist as your toes curl. Your heart beats even louder in your ears. 

"It can't be wrong if we both get off, can it?"

📼

You lay awake. Loki's beside you. You're not used to the idea of someone on the same bed. Worse, you can't sleep knowing your mother's fiance is right there.

It's been hours. For a while, you envied his sleep, his carelessness, better deemed callousness. Then despair haunted you again and left you in a puddle of self-pity.

You relent and get up, cautious not to disturb him. You tiptoe through the dark, the short cotton nightie brushing your thighs. You take the other robe from the hook on the door and creep out.

You go to the small kitchen off the left side of the hallway. You flip on the clear kettle and search among the colourful variety of tea bags in the drawer. You keep the water from whistling and brew a cup.

You take it into the front room and pull the chain on the tall floor lamp. You put the cup down and grab your backpack to unpack your computer. You sit at the desk, the chair uncomfortable and stiff, and slide out a textbook. You may as well catch up while you can.

It's hard to read through the glaze of tears that rises over and over. You make yourself swipe them away and jot down notes in your ragged notebook. This is your only way out now. There is no running away, no you have to wait, build yourself something to escape to.

Or maybe, like everything else, it will all pass you by and leave you wallowing. Trapped in your own misery and under the thumb of another.

You quaver out a breath as you sniff and take a sip of tea. You peer over at the balcony and the quiet dusk of the city. 

Maybe you could still message Thor and tell him yes. He might not be any different than Loki, not deep down, but you wouldn't be betraying your own mother. Not so deeply.

You haven't seen your phone since Loki took it. You frown. That beach house looked nice and now it doesn't matter as much. It wouldn't hurt that bad and Thor can be nice, nicer than Loki. He smiles and helps you. He doesn't expect you to help him.

You could do it. He's not that old. And you're an adult after all. He's kinda cute, his hair isn't as grey as Loki's. You could try to love him. You couldn't ever love Loki and he made it so your mother would never love you if she knew.

"Precious," Loki rasps through his dry throat, frightening you so your pen rolls from your fingers, "you are awake early."

"I'm working on an assignment," you say and open the laptop.

"Why are you doing that?" He comes up behind you and plays with your hair.

"Because… it's almost due," you answer dumbly.

"You can do that at home–"

"This is a work trip, that's what you said," you shrug and try to focus as his fingertips caress your scalp.

"You still believe that lie?" He chuckles, "even Marlena saw through that one."

"What? What do you mean?" You watch the screen as your account signs in.

"Like I said, she has all she ever wanted," he leans in and kisses your head, "and she is willing to pay the price."

You blink as the desktop loads. You grimace and scoff, "I don't understand–"

"You do," he insists, "do I really need to spell it out?"

"I don't…. She wouldn't," you click on the browser and shift forward in the chair, "I know her. She's my mom."

"She's human," he pulls you back roughly, "and greedy and selfish. What kind of mother lets her daughter travel alone with a man? A man she's known merely months?"

"No, no, you're lying," you try to shove his hands away. He grabs yours and twists them behind you.

"She only made me promise to wear the condom," he says.

You still and stare at the front page of your browser. You let your arms go limp and he drops them. You stand clumsily, grasping the back of the chair as you turn and stumble.

"Precious?" He watches you smugly.

"I…" you peek up at him and cover your mouth. 

You clamp your lips shut and across the room as your stomach revolts. You stagger into the half-bath attached to the front of the suite and fall to your knees as you retch.

You want to scream that he's a liar, but all you can do is hug the toilet. It all makes sense. All of it. There's no other explanation for your mom, her drinking, her denials. There's only the truth and the bile on your tongue.

Beverly Hills Cop (1984) - Stephen Elliott as Chief Hubbard

Watching this again for the first time in years and well... Stephen Elliott could have gotten some.  Ronny Cox and John Ashton definitely could have gotten some.

Happy Friday everyone!

Actor James Cromwell went to great lengths while joining PETA's protest against Starbucks on Tuesday. The Succession star, 82, superglued his hand to a counter in a New York City Starbucks to protest the coffee chain's "senseless" upcharge for Vegan milk.

I've said this before, if you could bottle up that crazy/enthusiasm for animal rights James Cromwell has. The sex would be amazing.

Stranger at the Door 19

Warnings: this fic will include dark content including rape/noncon, predatory behaviour, just on the border of stepdad fic (this is a one time exception because this dynamic isn’t really for me but you know, brain makes no sense), mentions of mental health, bullying, isolation, bad parenting, age gap, allusions to self harm, violence. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re nineteen and life is standing still, that is until your mother meets her dream man, then everything changes. (innocent!reader)

Characters: Loki (silverfox)

Note: We’re getting this chapter about an hour earlier today as I’m working from home. There will be three alternate endings for this series! Look at me be a flighty bitch.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖

You don’t have long. You need to leave. You have to get out. Like you should’ve done ages ago. 

How stupid are you. How weak. How pathetic. All this time leeching off your mother. You knew all along but you were too afraid to face the world. Now it’s the world or that monster.

You pull out your old backpack and take only what you need; pills, two sets of clothes plus those you’re wearing, none of those Loki bought, your textbooks, your phone, and your laptop. 

A quick search online assured you of a student crisis centre on campus. All you have to do is get there. If they can find you some housing, you never have to come back again.

The hardest part is getting out. You can hear your mother and Loki below. You go to the window and look out. The roof juts out just far enough for you to balance, carefully as your bag weighs you down. 

You slide open the pane slowly and crawl out, certain not to look down. You get to the rain spout and use the brick to ease your descent, falling the last few feet. You barely keep from crushing the content of your backpack. 

You stand up and look around. The front door opens and you hide as you watch Thor climb into his large red truck.

After he backs out, you duck and sprint into the neighbour’s lawn. You head around back and cut through their yard onto the next block. 

You have change for the bus, this time you’ll remember to grab a transfer. You continue your flight and shiver in your old jacket, lighter than your heavy parka, and your sneakers insulated with several pairs of wool socks.

You come out onto the sidewalk and straighten up. Look natural. No one knows you around here so don’t give them a reason to notice you.

You turn down another avenue. There’s a stop near here. Even if you get on the wrong direction, you can ride it around. Once you’re on, you won’t be in a hurry.

You glance both ways down the street but as you step out, a car veers around the corner and stops you, screeching up before you. You blanch as Loki shifts gears and you turn back. The door opens and shuts loudly, his steps crunching through the snow. You break into a run but lurch back as he latches onto your bag.

“You think you’re clever,” he scoffs as you kick your feet out, “stop–”

“I’m leaving! Let me go!” you shout, “I’m an adult and I’m going–”

“You’re going to get in the car on your own or I’m going to put you in the trunk,” he warns.

“N-no,” you wriggle and try to free yourself from the straps of your bag. 

He grips your elbow and pulls you back against him, your soles scuffing the icy pavement, “if I return home without you, there will be no one to keep me from giving your mother the lashing she deserves.”

You still and stare down the street. The grey sky shades the suburb in static passivity.

“Please–”

“I’ve your suitcase packed and ready to go,” Loki sneers, “your mother believes us on our way, shall I go back and tell her how you’ve abandoned her? That she is all alone. With me.”

You remember that night he hit her. He’s strong, you feel it even then. As mad as you are at her, as much as you can say in that moment you hate her, she’s your mother. Could you live if you knew she would suffer? Even if she could do the same to you?

“Okay,” you eke out and drop your chin, “okay, I’ll go.”

He snickers and turns you towards the car. He grasps your arm as he marches you to it and opens the door for you. 

You get in and he closes the door before strolling around the front and taking the driver’s seat. He puts it in gear and steers away from the curb.

You mull in the silence. No reproach is needed. You both know how stupid you are.

“How did you find me?” you wonder aloud.

“You can’t guess?” he taunts as he turns away from his house.

You furrow your brow and pick at your thumbnail. You googled bus stops and the crisis center but you took both your devices. Ah, that’s it.

“The computer?” you ask.

“Technology can be so useful,” he preens as he drives lazily with one hand, “how much it can tell us about one person. How it decimates elusivity.”

You exhale and wring your hands as you watch the houses pass. You think if you were a different girl, maybe a girl who grew up in one of those houses, you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be you. You might be better. Smarter, prettier, braver.

You might have been but you’re not.

📼

You've never stayed in a hotel. You remember the service for your father's funeral was held in one; a conference room with beige walls and fruit platters. This one is much unlike that of your memory; pristine, bustling, luxurious. There's even a man to take your bags from the car.

The tall counter is dwarfed by Loki's height as he hands over his card for check-in. The woman behind the counter has glossy pink lips and bleached blonde hair. She fits the aesthetic, tidily dressed with a scarf around her neck.

"Honeymoon suite," she comments as she swipes the card, "very romantic. Congratulations, you two."

You shy away as Loki gives some expected gratuity and reclaims his card. The front desk clerk explains the amenities, room service, pool access, and all those features you couldn't pleasure in for the dread of the man beside you. He leads you away with his hand on the small of your back, playing the part in his carefully constructed fantasy. 

You watch the elevator doors close. Numb. All thought of escape has evaporated, only cold surrender remains.

The suite is large. As nice as the house he keeps. 

You enter with arms crossed as he paces the perimeter and takes in the front room; a long sofa, a chaise, an armchair, an artificial fireplace inset in the wall, a tall golden lamp topped with a spiral from which the bulb dangles. It reminds you of those magazines you see in the grocery store.

You go to the glass doors that open onto the balcony and look out. The world feels intangible, entirely made up, a nightmare contorted with hints of reality. Yet you cannot deny that it is completely and utterly real.

"So," Loki says, "what exactly was your plan, precious?"

"Please," you step away from the doors embarrassed.

"Truly, how long have you depended on your mother? And you thought you might go out and start a life on three dollars?"

"You don't have to be mean," you whine, "you won."

He chuckles and nears the door, rolling a suitcase towards you. He leaves it in front of you. 

"There was never any question, precious," he smirks, "I want you in white, waiting." He caresses your cheek with his knuckles, "the bedroom is through there."

He pulls his hand away and point down the short hall. Your throat tightens and you wrap your fingers around the plastic handle. You say nothing and roll it away from him. His hand brushes against your ass as you do.

The bedroom is just as spacious, just as remarkable. You take the bag to the cushioned bench and let out a grunt as you lift it. You unzip the top and flip it open, stilling your shaking hands with a shudder.

You hear Loki's voice, "...at once. Yes." Then the phone receiver clicks. 

His footsteps softly tap across the polished wood and dull as he meets the rug. You listen as you look into the depths of the bag. You take out the white lace sheath and the ivory thong he flung at you that day in the shop. His voice spooks you as it rises again.

"Yes, darling, we are here…" he says, "she's in her own suite. Irritable, yes. She was not happy with you, I'm afraid. Oh, darling, she is young, she will get over it."

His lies flow easily, sweet as honey and your mother no doubt drinks it up. You close the suitcase as you lay the lacy and satin at the end of the bench. You undress with no spark of reticence. Sheer resignation guides your hands as Loki's tones fade to a drone in your ears.

Naked, your heart lurches and you look down at your body. Only when you bathed did you bare yourself entirely and always avoided a peek. You steel yourself as nausea clenches in your throat.

You shimmy into the thong. You don't like the way it feels, how the string rests between your cheeks and the small vee barely covers your front. You slip the chemise over your head and pull it down to the top of your thighs. Two roses are crafted into the lace and coyly hide your nipples as the rest of you is just as exposed as before.

Your fingers trail over the scars across your thighs. You dig your nails into the rigid tissue and exhale through your nose.

"Oh," Loki lilts and you cover yourself as you face him, "precious, look at you."

You take a step back as he crosses the room. He chuckles as he nears, your eyes scanning the room evasively.

"Don't be shy, precious," he reaches to tickle your shoulders and runs his hand down your arms, pulling them away from your body, "you would keep something so delectable from the world."

You watch his tie. Not bold enough to look him in the face. He angles you towards the bed and you gasp as he urges onto your back, falling onto the mattress limply. Your lip trembles as your fingers curl around the blanket.

He slips his jacket down his arms and sighs as his eyes linger on you, the heat breaking through the ice that paralyses you. He drops it to the floor and tugs on his tie, letting it fall just as carelessly. His fingers dance down the buttons of his shirt as your vision blurs, the white ceiling like static.

He shifts as he toes off his shoes and his buckle tinkles before leather whispers against his pants. Your body seizes, a statue of stone, as he pushes them down. That panic you know so well pools in your chest but will not erupt. You can't breathe.

He purrs and touches your knees as he climbs onto the bed, moving your legs apart as he kneels between them. You shiver at the unexpected warmth of his fingertips. He bends over you and frames your face, leaning on an elbow as he holds his body above yours.

He traces along your cheek and down your neck, his gaze following the decisive path. His hand continues to your chest, toying with the lace before cupping your tit. You've never been touched like this, never been seen like this.

He drags his hand down your stomach and you wince as he traces the line of your vee, drawing back to brush along those lines that scar your thighs. You bite down and glance at him, his green eyes examining the markings. You grasp his wrist, horrified.

"Don't…" you breathe.

He says nothing and twists his arm free, gripping your wrist to push it above your head. He once more inches down your arm and along your collarbone. He slides the strap of the chemise down and uncovers your chest. He rolls your nipple beneath his thumb as it hardens. You let out a pathetic noise as the sensation plucks at the tail of your spine.

He leans over and places his mouth over the other, sucking as your fingers stretch out across the blanket, taut with the tension of his tending. The shock of his touch is met with the shock of your own delight.

He keeps his lips on you, nipping as his hand wanders further. He delves beneath the lace, just between your legs and rubs the satin of the thong. You clench your teeth as you close your eyes as he pushes the panties aside and rubs between your folds, circling your clit as you bend your legs slightly.

He dips a long digit inside of you as you gasp. Then another as his thumb focuses on your bud, teasing you as he rocks smoothly. Your breath hitches as the weight slowly falls away from your chest. You're dizzy but enraptured.

He keeps his hand moving as ripples radiate down your thighs and across your hips. He squeezes, a pressure pinching at his fingertips as he tilts into you. Your head lolls as your eyes sting with shame.

Your orgasm shakes you as you arch your feet and bend your legs, lifting your pelvis eagerly. You puff out in pleasure as he coaxes you through, nibbling at your ribs until you still.

He purrs as he pulls his fingers out and smears the slickness up your pelvis and over the wrinkled chemise. He plants his knee between your legs and sits back on his heels. 

He feels around and finds a little plastic square on the mattress. He tears the wrapper open and reveals a round piece of rubber. He stretches the condom down his dick and you look away.

He bends over you, pushing his thighs against yours. He takes your hand and places it on his chest as he lifts his head. 

He reaches between your bodies and prods you with his tip, slipping between your folds. Your nails poke into his flesh and you shove him, terror once more spiking at the base of your skull. He angles his hips, the resistance stopping him for an instant.

He grunts as he pushes into you little by little. Your walls clench and make his intrusion tedious and painful. You latch onto his arm, squeezing the muscle as you whimper through your teeth.

He's halfway in when you holler and hit his chest. It hurts so bad. Your tears spill over as your hand slips blindly to his neck and you try to push him off again.

"Ow, stop," you beg as he urges in another inch, "arghh."

He grabs your wrist and rips your hand from his throat. He pins it to the bed and does the same to the other. His weight threatens to crush your bones as he holds them there. You fold and unfold your fingers helplessly.

He jerks his hips and impales you completely. You shriek as he groans and your legs buzz as your muscles knot. His hot breath washes over you as he thrusts again, the bed quaking with the sharp movement. You suck back a deep gulp as you sob, arching as you try to ease the agony.

"Mmm, precious," he bows his head and nuzzles your cheek, "you just gotta… relax. It won't hurt forever. Just…" he ruts again and you babble, "relax," he keeps his motion, long, cruel thrusts, "come on," he coos against your temple, "there you go," he hums as his intrusion grows smoother though the pain persists, "that's it, just relax."

"Please," you squeal, "please, it hurts."

"Shhh, precious, it's okay, it'll get easier," he slithers, "shh, you're doing good."

He lets go of your wrists, an elbow in the mattress as he cradles your face and wipes away tears with his thumb, pressing his lips to yours. You cry into his mouth as he keeps fucking you.

"So good," he exhales as he parts, thrusting deeper and harder, "so precious."

"Ah, dinner is almost done Ace." Gabriella chirped, looking over her shoulder as he was nearby. "Would you be able to set the table for me? ♡"

"Sure honey <3"

"........................." why did he said that? Not just that he was trying to take it slow to approach gab but also he never said 'honey' to anyone before but his late wife. Was he falling for this lady this much? He tried ignore what he just said and prepare the table for them to eat.

After she helped him to recover. Ace went to contact the embassy of his country to get a new passport and contacted the bank too to unlock his account. After being lost in that horror place so long and finally survived he was able to get his hands on some of what can make him live normally here. He also gambled at some casinos and was able to earn some money. Because he has no where and no one to go to he decided to stay around the woman who stole his heart. Taking an apartment not far from her, passing by every once in a while to buy her groceries and share dinner with her. It was nice to feel alive again. But he somehow was afraid she would stop seeing him as a friend if he confessed to her.

"Smells delicious! What did you make?"

Stranger at the Door 18

Warnings: this fic will include dark content including rape/noncon, predatory behaviour, just on the border of stepdad fic (this is a one time exception because this dynamic isn’t really for me but you know, brain makes no sense), mentions of mental health, bullying, isolation, bad parenting, age gap, allusions to self harm, violence. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re nineteen and life is standing still, that is until your mother meets her dream man, then everything changes. (innocent!reader)

Characters: Loki (silverfox)

Note: As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖

You’re in a hectic scramble. Textbooks scattered over your bed, room silent and forgotten as all that you see is the font before you. You have an assignment due at midnight and you haven’t even started. You can’t believe you forgot it.

You work on necessity alone, the pressure of failure urging you. Something is better than nothing, right?

You sit among the papers and pages, legs crossed as the gentle tapping on the door barely cracks your focus. You ignore it, thinking it nothing but then it comes again, louder. You sigh and get up, ready to face your mother in another of her drunken rambles. You don’t have time for it right now.

You close your textbook and carry it under your arm as you cross to the door. You inch it open, bracing for the storm, but a squeak of surprise leaves you before you can suppress it. Thor grins at you past the doorframe.

“Oh, hi,” you say, “what’s…”

“Hope I’m not disturbing you,” his deep voice rumbles through you, “I only came to see if you needed help hooking up that converter.”

“Well, I… I’m just doing some homework so…” you let your voice trail off. The silence wasn’t helping much, only letting your anxiety flurry, “if you don’t mind me studying while you get it going, I guess–”

“Sure, it shouldn’t take too long,” he looks down at your textbook then your pajamas decorated with unicorn and old Gap tee, “got a test?”

“Paper,” you answer as you slowly let the door open and step back, “first one of the year.”

You go back to the bed as he steps inside. He gives a long glance around but you’re already searching for your place in the book. You pick up your pen and tap on the pages as you bite your thumb and read.

Thor goes to the TV and you peek up at his broad shoulders as he takes the converter from your shelf of tapes. He tears through the plastic noisily as you try to focus on your assignment. Just a couple of hours to get it all done.

You settle back in your nest of books, laptop and pillows and hunch over. You type between your speed reading and click between the assignment outline and articles. Thor hardly seems to notice you as he fiddles with the TV. He trails the cord down and untangles the red, white, and yellow of the VCR as he clicks the connectors into place.

He turns the TV on with a flicker and hits the power on the VCR, “you don’t mind if I test this out?”

“Sure,” you say carelessly, fingers flitting over the keys.

He takes a tape from your collection and slips it in the slot. He stands back as the whirring of the VCR begins and you glance up as the warning comes up in siren red. He puts his hands on his hips and blows out through his lips as he faces you.

“Well, it’s working,” he declares proudly, “still got the magic touch.”

“Thank you,” you say as you flip through the textbook.

He lingers and you stop. Your mother would say it’s rude to just ignore him. He just did you a favour and you’re just sitting there, reading. 

“I’ll just get going–” he begins.

“Um,” you perk your head up and gulp, “well, you already put a movie in, so… why don’t you, er, watch it with me?”

“Yeah?” he raises his brows hopefully, “you sure?”

“If you’re okay with all this,” you wave at the clutter around you, “there should be enough room.”

“Why not? I got nothing better to do,” he nears and sits on the other side of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his immense weight. You immediately regret your invitation. Having him just sitting in your bed feels wrong, “I hope you don’t mind this one, I didn’t really think when I chose it.”

You look up at the previews and try to put it to a title. You’ve watched the tapes enough to know them almost by rote.

“Mrs. Doubtfire?” You ask.

“That’s the one.” He chuckles as he leans against the low headboard beside the post and crosses his arms, “you’re good.”

“What kinda skill is that though?” you mumble and look back to your textbook.

“Cherish your memory while you got it,” he kids, “you get to my age and you forget your glasses on your forehead.”

You type a little more and pause, “you wear glasses?”

“When I can find them,” he lets out another peel of laughter.

You nod and allow yourself a smile. You bow your head and pull the laptop closer. You really have to get this done.

He wiggles slightly as he settles into the mattress and hooks one foot over the other. The promos end and the movie begins. You tune most of it out as you work away at putting together sensical sentences. It might be a C+ but you’ll do better on the next one. You’re only drawn from your intent squinting by a knock of wood and a long groan.

You pause and listen. It’s from down the hall, two voices. Embarrassment pricks at your cheeks as you keep typing, pretending you don’t hear. Thor clears his throat and grabs the remote, turning up the TV to drown out your mother’s whining.

“Another thing,” he intones, “your ears start to go.”

You appreciate the lie. He’s good at easing the tension. You send him a smile but don’t say much as only the legal jargon runs through your mind. A few more pages, you can do that before midnight.

📼

Your eyes sting as you yawn and wait for your upload to finish. At last you hit submit and sit up straight, rubbing your lower back. It’s like you broke a trance as the room returns to you. The TV is a bright blue as the tapes run out and there’s a soft rumble from beside you. 

Thor’s head lolls against the wall as he dozes, snorting with every other breath as his chest rises and falls suddenly. You should wake him but you can’t. You hate waking people up. Most of the time, it just makes them mad.

As you ponder what to do, you tidy up your papers and books and stack them with your laptop on the shelf of your nightstand. You stretch and look at the door as you curl and uncurl your fingers. Thor grumbles and hunkers down as his snores get louder.

You grab the remote and turn off the TV then the lamp, casting the room into darkness. You take a pillow from your side and your housecoat from the foot of the bed. You toss down the former and wrap the latter around you before lowering yourself onto the faux fur rug beside the bed. 

You could sleep beside him but it didn’t feel right. You’ve never slept beside anyone, not even your mother. You’re not very good at sleeping as it is. 

You close your eyes and hug yourself and bend your legs, curling up against the draughts swirling from beneath the bed. Your last-minute study session has left your eyelids heavy enough to slip into a shallow sleep, only vaguely aware of the presence above you.

📼

The earth shifts and you open your eyes as vertigo spins your vision. The dark shadow holding you has you crying out. Thor sets you down on the bed and shushes you as he stands in the light of the lamp. He draws his arms out from under you and takes a step back.

“I’m sorry, princess,” he whispers, “I was only moving you off the floor.”

“Oh, uh,” you look down at yourself, still tangled in your robe, “thanks.”

He backs up and takes the pillow, throwing it on the bed beside you, “what were you doing down there?”

“What time is it?” you avoid answering.

“Two, three?” he shrugs, “you could’ve woken me up, princess.”

“I… I’m sorry,” you utter as you sit up.

“Don’t be,” he waves you back down, “go to sleep.”

“I–”

“I need to get some too,” he yawns and edges away, “in my own bed. You have a good night, princess.”

“Night,” you say dumbly, head still thick with sleep.

You watch him go, the door clicking quietly behind him. You reach for the lamp, hoping to cling to the blanket of fatigue still on your lashes. You pause. Your dresser drawer is open, that one you haven’t opened since you arrived. The one where Loki left his… gifts.

You shake your head and turn off the lamp. It’s too late. You roll over and try to forget the drawer and the toys. All that can wait until tomorrow. Or maybe you could just sleep through it all.

📼

Your door swings open so quickly, you don’t have a chance to react. You’re dizzy as you flip onto your back and sit up as your mom tosses a suitcase in the middle of your bed. Your mouth is dry, your tongue sticks to your gums as you try to summon words. You blink at her as she goes to the window and pushes the curtains apart.

“Honeybun,” she chimes as you watch her, “you should start packing. Loki’s waiting.”

“Wha–” you sniff and push the blankets off of you. How is she not hungover? Judging by her bloodshot eyes, she might be.

“We talked,” she smiles, “last night. You really should go with him. It’s good experience.”

“Mum,” you rub your eyes, “I have school–”

“Take your computer with you, it’s only a couple days,” she counters as she opens the suitcase, “it’ll be nice to get out of the house, won’t it?”

“What about you?” you murmur.

“I won’t mind having the house to myself,” she chirps and you frown. What about Thor? “Oh, the brother,” she rolls her eyes, “he’ll be off with his ‘business partners’,” she bends her fingers in quotations, “anyhow.”

“Oh?” you watch her stride to the closet and slide it open. She takes out a handful of the new blouses and carries them to the bed.

“Well, you know it’s all a lie, don’t you?” she says venomously, “he doesn’t have any business in the city. Unless you call sugar babies business. He meets all sorts online since the divorce. You know he’s a nasty man.”

“What?” you sniff, “I don’t–”

“Oh, but you learned your lesson, huh?” she pulls the blouses off the hangers and folds them neatly into the suitcase.

“Mhmm,” you hum, trapped in the dull haze of your awakening.

“It’s why I told Loki he shouldn’t be here, he can afford a hotel, I don’t want any of those women coming back–” she marches to your dresser but you see the open drawer too late. 

She stops short as you stand and cringe. She’s silent as she stares inside and takes out a pair of the skimpy panties. Then she lifts the dildo and scoffs, wordlessly.

“Mum,” you squeal, “please, it’s not–”

“Where on earth did you get these?” she puffs as she drops them back into the dresser.

“Mum,” you near and she recoils.

“Tell me it’s not him,” she snarls, “Thor? You’re still–”

“No!” you gasp, “mum, it has nothing to do with Thor, it’s–”

“You’re an adult, alright? You can… explore,” she tuts, “I just hope you aren’t spending your loan on that–that stuff. And not for him.”

“Mummmmm,” you groan, “I haven’t done anything with Thor, okay? I haven’t.” You slam the drawer shut, “it’s none of your business.”

“None of my business?” she huffs, “you’re living under my roof and–”

“No! It’s Loki’s. It’s not your business because you won’t listen to me!” you snap, “you don’t listen! I don’t want to go with Loki, I don’t want to live with Loki, we were just fine on our own and then you fucked it all up–”

“You don’t talk to me like that,” she raises her voice and steps closer, jabbing her finger towards you, “I am still your mother. You will go on this trip, do you understand me? And be grateful for everything that Loki has given us.”

You gape at her and push her hand away. You shake your head. Not this, again.

“Take your pills, you’re getting yourself worked up,” she hisses.

You stare at her. Her eyes are dull, distant, almost dead. She doesn’t look like your mother. She looks empty.

“You know, don’t you?” you whisper.

“Know what?” she snarls.

“What Loki’s been doing. What he wants to do. To me–”

“Shut up!” she grabs the front of your tee shirt and shakes you, “shut up! You little fucking liar, you shut your mouth.”

“Mum,” you grab her wrists, “what– let go!”

“I know what you’re doing. You’re lying. Trying to ruin everything,” she shoves you away and you hit the dresser, the corner of the drawer jabbing into your back, “you don’t ever want me to be happy. I’m going to marry Loki and we are all going to be a happy family.”

She throws her hands up and spins away, tisking as she grasps her hips.

“Look at all this, I wish I had all this when I was your age. Or ever!” She stomps past the TV and flings your VCR onto the floor, the cords detaching and jolting the TV mounted on the wall, “pack your bags. Now. I need you out of this house.” She marches to the door and pauses, “and when you come back, I expect an apology.”

She leaves as you stand in the aftermath of her carnage. You grip the edge of the drawer and slowly touch the tender spot where you hit your back. Your lip quivered as slowly you moved away from the dresser and neared your VCR. The top came off and the tape was cracked, a wheel loose on the floor. You bend to gather up the ruin.

You hear another door. You drop the pieces and scurry to the door. Not quick enough. Thor meets you there and keeps you from shutting him out.

“You okay, princess?” he asks as he tries to see past you.

“Yup,” you croak as you nod, “I, uh, I’m so clumsy.”

“I heard voices–”

“The TV,” you lie, “I… tripped and knocked over my VCR, is all.”

“Oh, is it broken?” He’s tall enough to see the floor behind you. You inch the door shut as you sidle along with it.

“I can fix it,” you assure him, “sorry for bothering you.”

“You didn’t, princess, maybe I can help–”

“No,” you say curtly, “no, thank you. I’m fine. I… have to pack.”

“Pack?” he wonders.

“Mhmm,” you nod, “going on a trip. Work. So, guess I’ll see ya.”

“Work trip?” his forehead wrinkles, “did you think about my offer?”

“Sorry, I just can’t right now,” your chest sinks as you say the words, “I have so much going on. I– I’m running behind, alright?”

You don’t wait for a response. You shut the door and turn your back to it. You drop your head against the wood and let out a heavy breath. The open suitcase stares back at you. You’ll need something lighter than that.

Charles, Prince of Wales

Since Prince Andrew has been locked up in that tower of his, Prince Charles has ascended to the throne of #1 Royal I want to fuck.  

Stranger at the Door 17

Warnings: this fic will include dark content including rape/noncon, predatory behaviour, just on the border of stepdad fic (this is a one time exception because this dynamic isn’t really for me but you know, brain makes no sense), mentions of mental health, bullying, isolation, bad parenting, age gap, allusions to self harm, violence. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re nineteen and life is standing still, that is until your mother meets her dream man, then everything changes. (innocent!reader)

Characters: Loki (silverfox)

Note: As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖

The passage of time strikes you as you return to Loki's house. Your mother's awaiting you, a wine glass in hand as her phone plays music in the airy kitchen. She's back to her theatre, back to the doting housewife.

You leave her and Loki to their shallow flirtations. You go upstairs with the dozen bags but as you near your room, another door opens. Thor pokes his head out. He wears a plaid shirt, unbuttoned at the top as his long hair sags in a tie. 

"Hey," he smiles, "hold on."

He pops back into his room. You remain, confused. You don't know why you listened. You still don't know if you can trust him. Or any man.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were back," he comes out with his hand behind him, "I, uh, got you something."

"You did? You didn't have to–"

"It's an apology," he says, "please."

"You already…" you mumble.

"Here," he reveals the plastic package and you stare. You put down the shopping bags and take it hesitantly as he watches, "it's an auxilary converter. So you can connect your VCR."

"What?" You turn it over and read the back, "oh, that's…" it's a good gift. Thoughtful. "Thank you."

"It's nothing," he says, "I was out and about anyhow. I heard you had a long day. Looks like it."

He glances at the shopping bags pointedly. You run your teeth over your lip nervously.

"My brother is very generous," he scoffs, "had such a tiff about me staying in his guest room but you… well, who wouldn't want to spoil you, princess?"

"They're for work," you quickly explain and scramble to pick up the bags, "I should go put them away."

"If you need any help with the converter, I'll be around," he offers weakly though you see the disappointment in his eyes, "oh, and," he rests his hand on the frame of his own door, "I like the sweaters. They're cute. Don't let my brother get to you too much."

He pats the wooden post and turns. He retreats into his room and you twist the door handle, nudging it open as you drag in the bags. You hate every single thing Loki bought you but it would be a distraction trying to sort it all out.

📼

You make yourself eat, not out of hunger but the realisation that you haven't for nearly two whole days, aside from your late night snacking on candy with Thor. Even then, you only had a few. Your plate also offers a reason not to speak.

There's tension all around. Your mother is none so subtle in her derision of Thor, a man she previously enthused as funny and nice. Loki sits in his usual stoicism, that unfeeling veneer that makes you squirm and you suffer it silently as you pick at the dry chicken. 

"So, honeybun, you had a little shopping spree today. Did you find a desk?" Your mother asks, frowning at her empty glass.

"We found one but it is on order," Loki swiftly answers, "so we got a bit carried away on other matters. I thought it best she has some proper clothing for school and work…"

"How wonderful! I always told her to girly up her clothes," your mother slurs as she pours more wine.

"I think she's girly enough, if she's happy with her wardrobe," Thor intones as you shred chicken with your fork nervously.

"I didn't ask you what you think," your mother snaps, "especially about my daughter. After what you–"

"Darling," Loki touches her hand, "we are all adults. It is not your concern–"

"Are you crazy?" Your mother rears on him and snatches her hand away, "not my concern."

"Stop, please," you beg, "everyone, just…" you drop your fork, "it's my fault, okay? Blame me. I just… can't stand the fighting."

"I've apologised to your daughter for my wrongs," Thor leans back, "I do not seek your forgiveness, Marlena."

"This is my house, she is my daughter–"

"Thor didn't hurt me," you exclaim, "okay, I… overreacted and he didn't do anything."

You swallow as your eyes meet Loki's. You shiver. He will deny any accusations just as your mother will. It's not worth it.

"I'm not a baby," you push yourself to your feet, "and you can all stop treating me like it, okay?"

"Hon," your mother wilts.

Loki says nothing as Thor watches you grimly, a wrinkle in his brow. You storm off and don't stop until you're at your door. You don't know who's wrong, they all are, but you just want them all to leave you alone.

📼

You don't feel like yourself. The clothes fit better than your secondhand fare but you hate how they cling to your figure, make every curve and cranny obvious. You pull on an old cardigan over the pink skirt and tapered white blouse. Better.

Do you have to do it? You can take it all off and hide. You can do your schoolwork instead. You can lie and say you're too busy.

A knock at the door chases away your weak machinations. There is no patience behind it as it opens without response. Loki lets the door fall open as he leans in the doorway.

"Ah, there you are, precious, I have coffee waiting for you," he slithers, "among other things."

He lets his hand rest on his belt as he eyes you. You stare at him and nod, crossing to him wordlessly. As you do, he straightens and tuts.

"What's this?" He grabs your cardigan and shoves it down your shoulders, stripping you roughly, "no more of this."

He throws it to the floor and hums as he hungrily looks you over, "oh I knew that skirt would look divine–"

He steps back as hinges whisper and you pause, like a deer on the highway. 

"Morning, brother," Thor slaps his back and nearly takes him off his feet, "early to work? And who wouldn't be with such help."

He smiles at you over Loki's shoulder. You lower your chin as Loki exhales crisply, "must you always be so heavy-handed?"

"What's the matter, feeling it in your bones, old man?" Thor taunts.

"I thought you were in the city for business," Loki spins to face him, "yet you linger around like some aimless wanderer."

"My business," Thor says coolly, "it is not so boring as your own, I'm afraid, I set my own hours. It must be a scary prospect for someone like you, hm? Ever a man for rules and routine. I always said a man with a stick so far–"

"Spare us your obscene remarks," Loki growls, "and be certain not to bother us too much with your own… business." He snaps his fingers at you as he sidles past Thor, "we are overdue as it is."

It takes you a moment to react and as you scramble to follow Loki, Thor watches. His blue eyes swim as he slowly glances at his brother.

"Do not worry, brother," Thor says, "I can be as quiet as a mouse."

You pass him as Loki grumbles and turns into his office. You scurry as Thor sniffs and clicks his tongue. You peek back at him at the door of the office, he scratches his beard as he gives a half-smile. 

His eyes trail to your bedroom door and he moves to bend just inside. He retrieves your sweater and pulls your door shut, hanging it on the handle. He nods to you before he leaves, his footsteps fading away down the stairs.

"Hurry up, precious," Loki demands, "and close the door."

📼

It's not long before Loki succumbs to his worst inclination. You're on his lap, skirt bunched above your thighs, knees wide and bent over his, his computer glaring in your damp eyes. He slides two fingers beneath your panties as his other hand scrolls through a case brief.

"Naughty," he muses as he touches the slickness gathering beneath the cotton, "perhaps tomorrow you should forgo the undergarment."

You grasp the edge of the desk as he rubs you, flicking his fingers so sparks radiate through your thighs. As much as you detest him, it's unlike anything you've felt before. A pleasure so intense it's almost relieving.

He rolls your clit beneath his fingertips and drags his lips along your blouse and over your bare shoulder. He nuzzles you as he keeps his other hand on the mouse, lazily browsing the open file. You inhale as the pressure bundles in your core.

His hand slips further beneath your panties and he pokes a finger past your entrance. You gasp and he leans back, pulling his hand from the desk and covering your mouth. He dips deeper and your legs quiver at the new strain of delight coiling around your spine. 

He adds another finger, the slickness of your cunt sucking at his intrusion. You whimper and his palm muffles it. You clutch the arms of the chair as your hips tilt unthinkingly as he curls his fingers, rocking the heel of his hand against your bud.

"I wondered what it would take to get you loud," he breathes against your cheek, "precious little thing, hm?"

He buries his hand deeper, squeezing so the pressure pulses and you tremble as the lightning strikes in your pelvis. You can't resist your own body, like a prisoner you can only suffer your entrapment. You breaths flutter out as you close your eyes and try to forget everything beyond those walls.

"Are you going to cum, precious?" He teases, "hm? I know you can… for me."

You can barely catch your breath as his hand tightens across your mouth and you twitch as the tide consumes you. You shake as the tension snaps and the noise of your cunt fills the office. Your walls clench his fingers as your thighs tingle and ice melds with fire in your veins.

He slows, easing you down from your climax and lets his hand fall to your chest. He pushes beneath your blouse as his other hand rises and he slips his wet fingers past your lips. You taste the sweetness as your head lolls and he toys with your nipple 

"I think you've earned a break, precious," he pokes his fingers in and out of your mouth, "why don't you go and get yourself a snack. I must make some calls."

He draws his hand from your mouth as he  tweaks your nipple. He sits up and frames your hip, urging you off of him with a groan, his pants still undone from his previous venture. He's hard again and you fear he might want more if you don't leave quick enough. 

He pulls your skirt down, your underwear still wet and twists against your cunt. You try to fix yourself up as you amble dumbly away. You're a bit hazy, like you've taken another pill.

He chuckles as you flee. You don't look back as you let yourself out. You mindlessly make your way down to the kitchen, his cologne clinging to you and seeping into your nose. 

You take out a box of cereal. You're actually hungry. You pour yourself a bowl, focusing on every step, spoon, milk…

"Working hard?" Thor's voice startles you and milk dribbles down your chin as you pivot to look at him.

"Mhmm," you nod evasively, "you?"

"No meetings today," he approaches and leans in the corner of the counter, crossing his arms as he watches you. You turn and stare at your cereal as you scoop more up, "you like working for him?"

You shrug. You chew and swallow. Can he tell what you just did?

"Ah, don't have a choice. Your mom seems like the type, likes you close to home," he continues, "I wouldn't wanna work for him. He's no fun, I'm sure."

You don't say anything. What can you say?

"I know it's not law but I could use an assistant and the work would be completely remote," he offers, "you wouldn't have to dress up pretty for me.'

You stir the cereal and avoid his gaze.

"Just something to think about," he says, "in case you get tired of Loki."

Your appetite curdles and you put the spoon down, "thanks."

"You alright?" He asks.

"Yep," you force a smile.

"Last night, I'm sorry for arguing with your mom," he says, "she doesn't treat you right, you know that? You're an adult and she needs to treat you like it but you say the word and I'll keep my mouth shut."

"Sure," you dump what's left of the milk, "she's… I love her. She's my mom. I just want to stop letting her down."

"Got it," he says, "this old man isn't making it easier on you."

You rinse out your bowl and put it in the dishwasher with your spoon. You close it up, he lingers.

"Did you watch anything good last night?"

"Oh, uh… no," you say, "I didn't know how to use the thing but I'm gonna try again tonight."

"I can help," he says, "I'm pretty good with tech. I mean, if you want. I'll be in and out."

"Um," you play with a fold in your blouse, "alright. Later though, I gotta go back… to work."

"No worries," he assures you, "that cereal any good?" He takes the box and reads the side.

"Not really," you reply.

He chuckles as you scuff across the floor, "suppose it's better than nothing."

📼

Dinner is spent at the table in another lifeless reenactment of what a family should be. That night, it’s only you, your mother, and Loki. She’s drinking and the food is ordered from some fancy place in the city. The gravy has an odd sweetness and the potatoes are over seasoned.

“Honeybun, did I tell you how nice you look today?” your mother smiles, she’s still in her uniform, “today, as I was stuck behind a counter dealing with grumpy old geezers.”

“Oh, um, sorry,” you stab a green bean and busy yourself with it.

“No thank you,” she rolls her eyes, “I taught you manners.”

You frown. What did you do? It’s the wine. Again. She ordered some with the food.

“Darling,” Loki runs his fingers along his cheek, “perhaps you should have some water.”

“Perhaps,” she grins mockingly before facing you again, “and did you spend some time with Thor? Flirt with him, hm?”

“Mum,” you breathe, “what–”

“I’m not stupid, the way he was defending you last night,” she sneers, “you just put on that pathetic act and–”

“Marlena,” Loki snaps, “enough, what is the matter with you?”

“Oh, I don’t know, working twenty years to keep a roof over her head and I don’t get any thank you for something as small as a compliment,” she sips sloppily, “twenty thankless years and she’s sitting here in Prada–”

“If this is about the clothes, darling, you can have some too–”

“No, she said she wants to be treated like an adult, she’s not a baby,” your mother babbles.

“I’m sorry, thank you,” you eke out, “for dinner and–”

“I suppose I should break the news now since you’re already in a mood,” Loki interjects, “can’t get worse, can it?”

“News?” your mother sits back and raises her chin in his direction.

“Business, the case I’ve been working on, their holding the deposition out of the city, I’ll be away a few days,” he explains, “perhaps… since I think there is a need for some distance, I might take my new aide. Get her more experience and you a bit of a reprieve.”

“Take her?” Your mother bats her lashes and her face falls, “you’re going away, sweetheart?”

“I’ll miss you, of course,” Loki says.

“Oh, I’m sure you will but I’ll make sure you don’t forget me,” she leans over clumsily in her chair and smears her lipstick down his cheek with a kiss, “let’s skip dessert.”

“Marlena, your daughter is right there,” he lowers his voice but not enough to hide his words.

“Then let’s go where she can’t see,” she chirps with a giggle. She pushes her chair back with a loud scrape and stands with a bobble, “I’ll be waiting.”

She sweeps away, certain to take her glass. You stare at your plate. Loki doesn’t move. 

“She’ll pass out before I even get up there,” he says thinly, “isn’t your mother lovely?”

R. Keith Summey Mayor of North Charleston, SC

Mayor Summey last month at the ribbon cutting ceremony for the North Charleston playground and it looks like he's grown the beard again. 

And contrary to popular belief, I do love beards... just on certain men like Keith here.

Stranger at the Door 16

Warnings: this fic will include dark content including rape/noncon, predatory behaviour, just on the border of stepdad fic (this is a one time exception because this dynamic isn’t really for me but you know, brain makes no sense), mentions of mental health, bullying, isolation, bad parenting, age gap, allusions to self harm, violence. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re nineteen and life is standing still, that is until your mother meets her dream man, then everything changes. (innocent!reader)

Characters: Loki (silverfox)

Note: As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖

You turn the volume up loud. The voices below can hardly be heard over the television and finally, they're gone altogether. The extra pill helps calm you and you fall into half-stupor, the colours on the television like orbs floating before you.

Time drifts by without note and you slowly slip into another dreamless sleep. The audio breaks through into your subconscious and it's the sudden silence that wakes you. The screen is dark, 'are you still watching?'

You check the time and shut off the television. It feels late but it's only eleven.

Your mouth is dry and bitter. You groan as standing sends a pang through your head. Hungry, dehydrated, the pills are stronger than usual. 

You rub your face as you cross the room and let yourself out into the hall. You listen. You don't hear anything. The master bedroom is closed. You tiptoe to the stairs and lean on the railing as you descend.

The shadows gather in corners and along the ceiling as you make your way to the kitchen, pausing too late as light blooms from within. You stare at Thor, his large hand on the fridge door as he peruses the contents. You spin on your heel, he hasn't seen you yet. How did you forget him?

"Princess?" He calls before you can disappear.

You should just go. Hide. But you're polite and you don't need to be accused otherwise.

You turn back as he shuts the fridge and his figure strodes swiftly through the dark. You retreat as he nears the doorway and flicks on the overhead light. You wince and watch him as your eyes adjust to the sheen above.

"You're avoiding me," he goes back to the fridge and resumes his search.

You say nothing. You go to the cupboard and take a glass down. You turn to wait for him to finish, hoping to fill your cup from the dispenser in the fridge door.

"Here," he reaches out as he closes it again, "it seems my brother keeps little of flavour." You hand over the glass and he presses it to the lever, water spouting out with a hum.

He gives it back and you thank him. You can go now. No reason to stay. Too afraid to.

"Before you… go," he says softly and leans his elbow on the counter, "I hoped you might hear me out."

You stare at him wide-eyed and drink to keep yourself calm. The water is cold and wakes you fully. Your thirst sees half the glass empty. You force it away from your lips.

"What?" You say at last.

He sighs and pushes back a shank of his long hair, "I owe you an apology. I can blame the alcohol but I won't. I had a wicked thought and nearly went through with it," he traces his finger on the marble, a show of anxiety, "I'm sorry. You don't need to accept it but I am."

You stare. He's apologising? To you? It's not your fault?

"Okay," you nod.

"O…kay?" He echoes uncertainly.

"I, uh, I'm sorry, I don't know what to…" you let your voice trail off and shrug.

He squints at you and stands straight. You take a step back. He's a big man, bigger than any you've met before, and his size surprises you each time.

"Hey," he puts his hands up defenselessly, "I'm not gonna do anything, princess."

"I–I know, I'm sorry," you take another gulp of cold water.

"No more apologies, not from you," he says, "are you okay?"

You look at him. He's asking you if you're okay? Does he really care? Why would he?

"When I got here, didn't get much of a welcome," he continues smoothly, "your mother barely said hello and my brother… you know how he is. Can't imagine how you put up with them."

You finish the water and put the glass down, rubbing the condensation between your fingertips, "I mostly stay in my room."

"Oh, yeah?" he smiles.

"Just… watch movies," you cross your arms, unsure what to say or do. He's being nice, you can't spite him for that.

"I heard you were a bit of a buff," he tilts his head, "any suggestions?"

"Well… I mostly watch old movies, um, VHS but, er, the new TV doesn't work with them."

"Oh no? That's too bad," he says as you hide a yawn. "I'm keeping you up."

You shrug again. You've slept for hours now but feel you could sleep for days.

"Go on," he says as he opens a cupboard, "there's got to be something to eat in here."

You watch him for a moment. He seems harmless enough. Maybe it was just the alcohol. And he hadn't done anything. Loki had. You don't know what would've happened if Thor had put you to bed. Maybe he would've just let you sleep.

"Do you like candy?" You ask suddenly. 

He pauses and peeks at you from behind the cupboard door, "are you offering?"

"I have gummy bears," you say, "if you want some. And some chocolate from Christmas still."

He shuts the cupboard and drops his hands, "I love gummy bears," he grins.

"Alright," you twiddle your fingers nervously, "I'll go get them."

"I'll be here, princess," he replies, "take your time."

📼

You're wired after your run in with Thor. You fall asleep in the early morning hours and rouse for no particular reason. Caffeine lures you down to the kitchen and you brew a pot as you try to wipe the fatigue from your eyes.

It's 9am already. Not very late but your previous routine is broken. Your early morning study and hours arranged around your schoolwork is disjointed. You have a sinking feeling you've forgotten something.

The click of a sole gives you a fright. You peek over at Loki and busy yourself looking for a mug for your coffee. He nears with casual steps and stops beside you, reaching for a cup before you can, placing it before you as he sidles close.

"You'll have to change," he pinches the wool of your sweater, the same you wore the day before, "maybe freshen up a touch."

You inch away from him and slide the mug closer to the machine. You pour the coffee slowly, focusing on not spilling. He watches as he taps his fingers on the marble. 

"Your mother mustered some energy for work," he explains, "so I told her we would be off to purchase a desk for your new position… we might chance upon one in our travails."

You look at him in confusion. The night before flickers in your mind, the hard smack across your mother's cheek. You watch his fingers and imagine what destruction he could rain on you.

He clears his throat, "are you hearing me, precious?"

You nod, frantic and put your coffee down. Like that first night you ran into him, a time that seems an eternity before, you abandon the hot cup.

"I'll change," you murmur and step around him.

He makes no move to stop you, even as you brace for it. You feel his gaze follow you and quickly flee away from it. You fall into a run as you get to the stairs. 

If only you could run and not stop, if only you could go anywhere but there. You would if it didn't mean leaving your mother behind. She might not be perfect, but she's all you have. You couldn't abandon her with that evil man.

📼

You follow Loki into the boutique. You feel like a character in a movie, one of those women with her gal pals, shopping like money isn't a care. Loki huffs and slows, grabbing your arm as he forces you into step with him.

"Hold your head up, precious," he orders, "I won't have you moping around like some lost kitten."

You mumble an apology and watch a woman hold up a hanger with a red dress. She looks refined, sophisticated, and much older than you. Still, she has an allure, a confidence you can't understand. You've never felt certain of anything in your life, let alone yourself.

Loki is the opposite. He never seems to have a doubt. 

His hand lingers on your arm as he leads you to a shelf. You’re lost in the maze of fabrics and colours. Your eyes wander around to the other shoppers. They belong, not like you. Your attention is drawn back to Loki as he holds up a tight pink skirt with a thin frill at the hem.

“What do you think, precious?” he asks.

You consider it. It’s nothing you would pick out, not that you put much thought into your clothes. The second-hand racks were never very stylish. You chew your lip, “it’s nice, I guess.”

“Well, my apologies, they don’t sell tattered cardigans and stained jeans,” he rolls his eyes, “you could wear it with a white blouse, perhaps?” he holds it over your lower half, “or something more colourful in the evening?”

“I’m sorry, I just… I don’t know,” you frown.

“Size?” he asks brusquely as he checks the tag, you see the price as it dangles and you gasp.

“You can’t buy that,” you say.

“Why not?” he narrows his eyes.

“It’s expensive,” you point to the tag, “I couldn’t–”

“You can and you will accept what I give you,” he tosses the skirt over the neatly folded stacks. He turns you harshly and by your shoulders and his fingers pull at your parka. You try to pull away and he flicks your ear, “stay,” he orders you like an animal and like a pet, you obey.

He pulls out the faded tag on your sweater and hums, then tugs the bottom of your coat and does the same to your jeans. Awkwardly, you wait for him to finish, like a child. He sets his attention back on the shelf and fishes out a skirt from the stack as you watch.

“I thought we were going to buy a desk?” you say.

He snickers under his breath as he takes a sheer white blouse, “I didn’t think you were truly that naïve,” he smirks, “then again, I can’t say I mind that so much.”

📼

You don’t like crowds but in your dread of being alone in Loki’s company, you almost forget about the strangers all around you. Exhausted by your endless shopping trip, from one boutique to the next, you long to return to your bedroom, even in that house. You’re not done, not yet.

You follow Loki along the pavement and peer around him as he steers towards another storefront. You spot the mannequins before you enter, white plastic figures dressed in black lace and red satin. Your skin scatters with fire as the door shuts behind you.

A lingerie shop. These things were always farcical to you, only seen on TV. who would need a whole shop full of underwear. You glance around at the corsets, the panties, the bodysuits, pieces you can’t name.

A woman appears from behind a rack of silk robes as Loki snaps his fingers at you and beckons you closer with two fingers. He puts his hand to the small of your back as you approach and stands close. The associate smiles.

“Hello, I’m Bella, how are we doing today?” she chimes, a singsong as her magenta lips curve.

“Very well,” Loki answers.

“Oh, that’s an interesting accent,” the woman responds, “a special occasion?”

She looks between you and you see hesitation as her cheeks twitch. She peeks at Loki again, thoughts whirring in her head, no doubt calculating the years. You feel the shame, the scalding humiliation. What she must think of you.

“My wife and I are celebrating our first anniversary,” Loki lies effortlessly, “and I’ve been away on business so we were hoping to… reconnect.”

“Oh, wonderful,” she trills, “and do we have any ideas? Lace? Satin? Silk?”

“White,” Loki answers, “it’s my favourite colour on her.”

“And is it a surprise?” Bella prods.

“If it were, I’d not be here,” Loki answers tritely, “we will need a dressing room, if you don’t mind.”

“Sir,” the enthusiasm drains from her as Loki’s tone cuts through her. You’re almost grateful he’s never been that poisonous to you, yet you’re certain you’re not exempt should you push him.

He grins as she leaves you and he directs you along the wall hanging with a plethora of straps, boning, and stockings. You keep your eyes down. This is awful. Your heart is rotting away with disgust at him and yourself.

He browses contentedly as you try not to look at the sheer cups or crotchless panties. You’re a grown up but this is way above you. Other than Loki, you’ve never kissed a man, never been touched but one, you’re certain no other even looked in your direction. Until him. Or Thor but that was a mistake, right? 

“Precious,” Loki presents a white lace chemise, a garment that would hide nothing, “I think this might look striking on you.”

“Put it back,” you cover your face, “please. Oh, god, I can’t–” you try to back away and he catches your hand.

“Don’t be a baby,” he snarls, “you may choose something to go beneath. A nice pantie, perhaps?”

“No, please, Loki, we can’t– you can’t–” you hiss, “my mother–”

“Your mother has everything she wants, her ring, her wedding, her house,” he lowers his voice, “she wouldn’t notice if I had you naked in my lap at the dinner table.”

“Loki,” you squeak, “let me go. Please, I’m scared–”

“Heya,” Belle chirps as she comes around a shelf, “are you two okay?”

You look at her, panic beating in your heart. Loki lets go of you and you cross your arms. The anger ripples off him in stolid waves.

“I’m fine,” you lie as you stare at your shoes, “I’m just… hot,” you fan yourself, “it’s very warm in here.”

“Would you like me to take your coat?” she asks.

You look at her, she’s watching Loki. He’s unimpressed with her observation.

“Sure,” you answer and unzip your parka, “thank you, that’s so nice.”

“If you need anything at all,” she takes it, “I’ll be right behind the counter, okay, sweetie.”

“She’s fine,” Loki growls, “you’ve been very helpful.”

She winces at his tone and her lip curls slightly. “Thank you, sir,” she sniffs and marches away, “sweetie, I’m gonna put this back in the dressing room for you.”

You lower your head again and shift in your boots. Loki sighs, “why are you being a baby?”

“Dunno,” you shrug, “why are you being mean? She was just helping–”

“She’s nosy, she should mind her place,” Loki reproaches, “and you should stop your pouting. You act as if I am heinous, as if my favours are an affront. Precious,” he grabs your chin and forces your head up as he steps close, “I am all too aware that no one has ever treated you as well I can. As I will.” He bends and hovers his lips over yours, “If you just behave.”

Stranger at the Door 15

Warnings: this fic will include dark content including rape/noncon, predatory behaviour, just on the border of stepdad fic (this is a one time exception because this dynamic isn’t really for me but you know, brain makes no sense), mentions of mental health, bullying, isolation, bad parenting, age gap, allusions to self harm, violence. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re nineteen and life is standing still, that is until your mother meets her dream man, then everything changes. (innocent!reader)

Characters: Loki (silverfox)

Note: As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖

Loki waits for you in his office as you go to grab the laptop; that cursed upgrade. Another luxury to hold over your head. As if you already didn’t feel like a burden before him, you feel entirely worthless now.

You stop in the doorway and peer back down the hall. Your mother is just down at the other end, only a door between you. You can scream, you can cry, you can tell the truth… and she won’t believe you.

“Don’t tarry,” Loki rebukes, “there is much work to do.”

You look over at him as he nears, urging you inside with his hand on your arm. His impatience is obvious in his steps and his firm grip. You stumble as he swings the door shut and guides you across the rich carpet to his desk. He takes the laptop from you and sets it down.

“I’ve not a proper place for you yet,” he slithers as his fingers crawl around your face and he lifts your chin, “but I am not so worried for that now.”

His thumb trails over your lower lip as it trembles. He frames your head more staunchly and tilts it up, bending so his breath tickles you. Your eyes round as they meet his green one. His nose touches yours and he snarls.

“Did you find your new toys, precious? Tell me, did you play with them yet?”

You grasp his wrists and quiver. The tears prick again, your weakness bubbling to the surface as shame sears up your throat. He chuckles as he inhales your scent and moves slowly to cover your mouth with his. Soft at first, he grows more intent, hungry, as his tongue pokes between your lips.

He groans, the low rumble rolling through you, as you are prone to his tending, bound by shock and fear. He turns you, your feet clumsily padding on the floor and pushes you against the desk. His hand moves behind your head and his fingers stretch across your skull. You press your palms to his chest and whimper. Your tears fall as the betrayal knots around your heart.

He parts and hums, tracing the line of a trickle down your cheek. He smirks down at you and licks his lips.

“You’re even more precious when you cry,” he sneers, “tell me, have you kissed another man before?”

You shake your head and sniff. His hands slip down and he flutters them down your wool sweater. He squeezes your chest and you brace the desk to keep from falling across it. He descends further and hooks his fingers through the loops of your waistband.

“I’m certain you recall what I expect, yes, precious?” he purrs, “you were so enthralled with the film–”

You suck in a deep sob and he tugs on your jeans, jolting you roughly. He chuckles as you stagger and lets you go. He steps aside and rounds the desk as you shake. You stare at the door. You could run.

“Go on,” he says and you glance at him over your shoulder as he points two fingers beneath the desk.

You watch him in silence. He’s bluffing. It’s all a game. This old man just wants to feed his ego. He snaps his fingers.

“Don’t make me drag you like a dog,” he warns, “or perhaps I should go wake your mother and tell her you’re being obstinate.”

It’s not a bluff.

You slowly force your legs to move, one foot in front of the other. You circle the desk to him as he loosens the buckle of his trousers. You keep your gaze to the floor as you get to your knees and back up beneath the desk. He sits and sighs, pushing his knees wide and blocking you in with his legs.

Along the top of your vision, you sense the motion. He has his dick out, stroking it as the wheels squeak to a halt. You shake your head. It can’t be happening. He wiggles his length and calls your name.

“Your hand,” he opens his to you and waits.

Stiffly, you lift yours and place it in his. He turns it against his dick and closes your fingers around him. He guides you up, then down, and holds you there before relenting.

“Keep on like that, precious,” he rests his hand on his thigh and exhales.

You do as he says. Your stomach curdles as the tears flow more freely, dripping from your chin. He groans and the chair tilts just a little as he leans back, fingers curly against his pinstriped trousers.

“Oh, yes, precious, like that,” he coaxes.

You sniffle and wipe your nose with your other hand. His voice makes you sick as he drones low in delight. He grips the arm of the chair and hisses.

“Your mouth, now,” he demands.

You stop your hand and stare, finally looking at his swollen tip and the veins bulging beneath his flesh. You pull your grasp away and shake your head. He reaches beneath the desk and bunches your hair in his hand, thrusting you forward.

He angles his tip against your lip and shoves it into your mouth until you gag. He jars your neck painfully and you let him invade you, guiding your head back before pushing it back down. He bobs you up and down, up and down, as he moans and your scalp burns from his hold on you.

“Oh, precious,” he moans and pushes you further, your body tensing as he forces himself down your throat. You choke and grasp a fold of his trousers as you struggle to breathe, “oh, I need this.”

He leads your motion, faster, deeper, using your mouth uncaringly as your spit dribbles down and plasters across your face. You are not a person to him, you are a plaything, a tool to sate his appetite. You roll your eyes back and squeeze them shut as you try not to feel yet you cannot numb yourself to this horror.

“Can you swallow for me, precious?” he rasps, “hm, don’t want to make a mess, do we?”

You can do nothing but let him move you. He slams you down completely as his hips spasm and a warmth spurts down your throat, flooding around him and causing you to gag and snort. He keeps himself buried in you until your swallow, throat constricting around him. He shudders and pulls you off of him as he rolls back in his chair.

You fall forward and cough into your hand, your other arm shaking below your weight as you bend over the floor. You could vomit but you don’t have enough in your stomach to do so. You sniff and mop away your tears as you use your sleeves to wipe your face clean. You sit back on your heels and peek at Loki from behind your knuckles.

“I did hope we would get more done but…” he checks his watch, “it seems I have some unexpected company due soon.”

You bat your lashes at him as he snatches a kleenex from his desk and cleans his glistening dick. He crumples it and tosses it in the bin just beside the desk. He leans back and pulls his zipper up, buckling his belt above it.

“My brother, if you are curious,” he shrugs, “but I dare to say you are not… and why would you be,” he bends forwards and takes your chin in his hand, “you don’t like him, do you, precious?”

You blink and shake your head. You are as baffled by Thor as you are Loki, but you wouldn’t say either way. Loki doesn’t want an honest answer besides and the dread in your eyes is enough to convince him.

📼

You spend a few hours in Loki's lap. It's uncomfortable but he insists, refusing your suggestions to grab another chair. He doesn't do much work, doesn't show you much. Were you stupid enough to think this was anything but an excuse for him to torment you?

He takes some phone calls as he gropes you, holds you against him, rocking back in the chair as he lets soft breaths into your hair. Before he declares your first day a success, he has you beneath his desk again. You let it happen, do exactly as he wishes, and swallow down the shame.

"Tidy yourself up, precious," he pulls you off your knees, long fingers like a vice around your wrist, "your mother will awake shortly and my brother is no doubt close."

You let him draw you against him, a shudder through his body that rolls into you. You blink away tears as you stare up at him.

"It will be… complicated but we shall devise some plot," he caresses your cheek, bending to kiss you, softer than his demanding hands on your head as he has you knelt before him.

We? You say nothing, as you haven't much of the day. Yet, he speaks as if it is some forbidden love affair, something romantic.

"Go on," he says, "before I succumb to my worse temptations."

You don't hesitate. You part from him and spin dizzily. You want to hide away and stop thinking but you might not be able to stop your mind once you're alone.

📼

You sit in silence. You try to watch something, anything, but it only makes you feel worse. Everything reminds you of your life, past and present. Of your mother and how she's changed. Of yourself and your deceit.

You hear her in the hall, think of going out, telling her everything. Loki is a monster, he isn't who you think he is. And yet, in that very room, you tried to tell her before and she called you stupid, as good as labeled you a slut.

You let her pass and the world spins beyond your door. You lay down and stare at the canopy. When you were younger, you dreamed of a bed like this. Now it feels like some sick joke. Your fantasy twisted into a living nightmare.

Reality fades away as you turn your back to the door. You close your eyes and the tears gloss along your lashes. You didn't think you could cry anymore but the onslaught rises in choking sobs.

Your head throbs from your fit and you shakily sit up. Vision smeared with tears you roll to the edge of the bed and blindly pull the drawer of the nightstand open, the rattle of a bottle in your hand. You fish out a pill and swallow it, the bitter taste clinging to your tongue.

You lay back and wait for the haze to descend. You just want to sleep. To forget. You don't want to be. You can't stand it.

📼

You wake up sluggish as a hand bounces your shoulder against the bed. Your mother sits beside you, you smell the wine on her breath. You force your itchy eyes wide and groan as you sit up.

"What time is it?" You croak.

"Dinner time," she retorts, "are you okay, hon?"

Her syllables drag out. She's already buzzed. You rub your eyes and nod, a yawn suppressed beneath clamped lips.

"Sorry, I fell asleep," you say, "didn't get much last night."

"It's okay, honey," she laughs, "you didn't miss much."

She stands with a slight trip as she steadies herself against your nightstand. Her smile becomes a scowl.

"Me and Loki aren't speaking right now," she slurs, "so me and you, we're going to go get dinner. Just us."

"What?" You're startled. Does she know? Is she finally coming to her senses?

"What happened?" You ask.

She scoffs, "you know, he treats me like I'm an afterthought. Just letting his brother waltz right back in and, oh, hon, you must hate that. After what happened last time."

She doesn't know. You hide your disappointment.

"Is he here?" You ask.

"Not yet, so let's go," she grabs you clumsily, "like old times, I'll get you a happy meal."

You stand as her grasp hurts your wrist. 

"Should you be driving?" You say.

"I had one drink, I'm below the limit," she counters as she drops your arm, nearly whipping it away from her, "don't you worry! Or maybe you want to see Thor?"

"N-no," you stammer, "I don't."

"Well then, let's go get that happy meal."

She takes your hand again and pulls you around the bed. You amble behind her, once more a pawn in the game, this confusing match. She tugs you out into the hall and nearly stumbles as she comes down the stairs.

She spins around as you get to the door. She takes your heavy parka and drapes it over your shoulders, "come on, hon, quickly."

"Marlena," Loki's voice precedes him as he appears from the parlour, "where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"We are going to have some mother-daughter time," she chimes, "just us."

"My brother is almost here, darling," he rebuffs, "it's rude not to welcome him–"

"Your brother! You don't even like him," she stomps away from you and the parka falls from your shoulders, "and you invite him back on our house after what he did with my daughter–"

The slap echoes all around you as your mother gasps and cradles her cheek, staggering in shock. You rush forward to check on her as she sniffles and groans.

"Mum," you murmur as she keeps her face turned away from you.

"Your daughter? So now you act the saint, hm?" He taunts as he shakes out his fingers, "this is still my house and I have let you move in, let you quit your pathetic job to live in luxury, and you will not tell me how to manage my household."

He steps forward and you move between him and your mother. His eyes flash and he chuckles as your mom grabs onto you from behind.

"Don’t," she says, "go."

"No, he can't hit you–"

"I said go," she shoves you, "it's none of your business. Go to your room. Now!"

"But mum," you face her, "I can't–"

"You will do as I say," she hollers, "now go away."

You reel. You're only trying to help and she’s acting like it's your fault. You glance at Loki and he arches a brow, a glint in his green irises that echoes your mother's words.

"Mum," you breathe.

"I won't tell you again," she snarls, "go hide like you always do."

You wince and hide your face as your lip trembles. You fall into a frantic run and race up the stairs, pulling yourself up with the railing. Your mother as good as called you a coward and you're proving her right, leaving her to the wrath of that horrible man.

Stranger at the Door 14

Warnings: this fic will include dark content including rape/noncon, predatory behaviour, just on the border of stepdad fic (this is a one time exception because this dynamic isn’t really for me but you know, brain makes no sense), mentions of mental health, bullying, isolation, bad parenting, age gap, allusions to self harm. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re nineteen and life is standing still, that is until your mother meets her dream man, then everything changes. (innocent!reader)

Characters: Loki (silverfox)

Note: As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖

You spend the next few days packing between studying. You have your new computer back but you can't help but resent the present. You won't be able to deny Loki's generosity now.

You don't have much, in fact your tapes are the bulk of your possessions. The clunk VCR is the last to be set in the cardboard as your mother admires your barren room. It's all so sudden but you don't dare challenge her expediency. She's all too eager to be away from your home, to start her new life.

"You should really get rid of all this," she goes to a box and taps a cassette, "you have a better TV at the new house and streaming–"

"They don't have the same movies," you say smally.

"Mm," she doesn't approve but says nothing else. "The movers will be here after three to start."

"Okay," you mumble and go back to checking for anything missed.

"And tomorrow you'll go see Dr. Silva," she reminds you.

"Okay," you echo your last acquiescence. It's easiest to just go along with her dreams. You didn't have many of your own.

She stares at you, you feel it, crushing and constant. You don't look at her, you can't. 

"Hm," she grumbles and sighs before pushing away from your doorframe, "Loki will be here soon as well. "He's been hard at work getting everything ready for us."

"Okay," a third time as you push a lid on a box.

She sniffs and leaves you at last.  You won't be taking most of the furniture, you barely bartered your old tube TV, the flatscreen incompatible with your VCR, and that point of contention was the punctuation on the weeks of dissidence. Your mother wants you to fit into her mould and once more you can't. 

📼

Your appointment with Silva goes as poorly as the last. He is happy with your meds and recommends monitoring, an app to mark your daily doses. Tracking you like an animal in a cage.

You spend the rest of the day unpacking at Loki's. It will never be your home, just his house. You put your squat shelf beside the bookcase and line up the tapes. You set the VCR on top and back up. The tube TV was broken in the transition, or so your mom claims, but you won't let go of the rest. You'll find a way to hold onto the pieces of your former life.

You work at hanging your clothes in the closet. You move on to the dresser and pull out the top drawer. You freeze in shock as the contents rattle against the wood.

There's a long silicone toy and another smaller one, a bottle of lubricant and several pairs of frilly panties. You slam it shut and stumble back. You drop your bag and go to the bed and sit. You'll deal with it later.

It's all too much to think about. Old escapes are easier, safer.

📼

Your mother insists you join her and Loki for a ‘housewarming’ dinner. Reluctantly, you do and sit across from your mother at the long table. The house is much bigger than your former dwelling, a fact that makes you feel even more displaced.

Loki takes the seat at the head of the table as your mother puts out serving dishes, setting the table like a ‘proper’ June Cleaver. You’re not very hungry, a side effect of your new dosage and your drowning depression. Still, you don’t need to give her another reason to hate you.

“So,” your mother sits as Loki smirks at you, eyes flitting away before she can notice, “I spoke with my manager today. My two weeks are in.”

“Two weeks?” you murmur, the only one surprised by the announcement, “you’re quitting?”

“Early retirement,” she chirps, “it’ll make planning the wedding so much easier. Besides, I’m too old to be standing behind a counter ten hours a day.”

“Truly earned,” Loki comments, “and the wedding plans?”

“Oh,” she preens as she serves herself one of the seasoned chicken breasts, “I made an appointment for the dress boutique your mother referred me to and I suppose we should discuss cakes and flowers–”

“Hm, yes, much to do,” Loki says as he slices his chicken apart with his knife, “and tomorrow,” he looks at you, “is your first day in your new job.”

“It is? I–” you swallow the green bean before you can choke, “oh, okay.”

“How exciting,” your mother squeals.

“Which reminds me, the technicians finished with your computer, I’ll fetch that after dinner,” Loki continues, “make sure you don’t forget it tomorrow.”

“Right,” you push around the rice on your plate.

“My office is just beside the library,” he explains, “you remember, yes?”

“Mhmm,” you shovel food in your mouth in an effort to hide your dread.

“She’ll do wonderful, I’m sure,” your mother says, an edge lining her tone, a warning, “it is so kind of you to offer it.”

“I can’t say it won’t be torturously dull but I think I can teach her a few important lessons,” Loki replies, “I always found seeing law in practice much more enlightening than those ridiculous case studies they put in textbooks.”

You nod along, hoping it’s enough for both of them to leave you alone. Your mother stares at you expectantly as Loki delves into his dinner, the only one enjoying the meal.

“Thank you,” you eke out as your eyes round at your mother and you glance over at him.

“Not at all,” he takes a napkin and wipes his lips between words, “we are family now and I take that very seriously. My priority is taking care of both of you,” he reaches to your mother and rubs her hand, carelessly beside her plate, gripping her fork. The gesture calms her and she smiles at him, “right, darling?”

“Oh and you do, sweetheart,” your mother sings, “you take care of us very well.”

📼

As dinner ends, you help your mother clean up. You help load the dishwasher and wipe down the table before she finally deems the task done. That appeases her, she seems happy, calm. You’ve done all you can not to stoke her temper again. 

“Oh, honeybun,” she calls after you, for a moment, your mind returns to her harsher tones from days before, that bitter ‘girl’ shot at you in derision, “don’t forget to grab your laptop from Loki.”

“Um, I can wait until tomorrow, I don’t need it tonight–”

“Go catch him,” she shoos you away with her fingers before taking a bottle of red from the rack on the wall, “check the den. Or his office.”

“Okay,” you mutter and drag your feet as she takes her unwashed glass from dinner. 

She’s been drinking a lot, you note as you reach the staircase, at least a serving with her supper each night but you haven’t thought much of it. Not until you consider that you’ve seen her with a glass almost every time you’ve run into her those last few days. She’s an adult, you shrug as you ascend, she can drink if she wants.

You stop at the top of the stairs and glance up and down the hallway. Would she even know if you waited until tomorrow?

“Hon,” her voice rises behind you and you look down at her as he sips from the thin crystal.

You turn away from your bedroom and towards the other end of the hall. You hear her slippers shuffle across the floor and into the front room. You tiptoe on and stop in front of Loki’s office door. You knock and wait.

No answer. That’s a good excuse to just go to bed. You turn back and slowly retrace your steps. As you near your door, another opens and you look ahead to the master bedroom as Loki emerges. You freeze in place as he wears only a pair of silk pajama pants.

You avert your eyes and turn to struggle with your door handle. You know it’s too late to escape but your fear and humiliation overwhelms your sense.

“Hold on,” Loki’s swift to cross the space between you.

He comes close and puts his hand over yours on the handle, holding it in place. You try to retract your hand and he merely clings to it and tugs you to face him.

“Your computer, precious,” he plays with your fingers, “I know you didn’t forget.”

“Let me go,” you quaver.

“You going to scream?” he taunts, “hm? How fast do you think your mother will come? To find you causing a scene again–”

“Just give me the computer,” you rip your hand away, “please–”

“Oh, look at you, is that a spine growing–”

“Stop,” you pout, “please–”

He scoffs and presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he considers you. “I could fuck you right here and she’d be too drunk to know.” You gape at him and step back, hitting the door with your back. He snickers and rolls his eyes, “you are too much fun, precious.”

He grabs your wrist and you squeak. He drags you down the hall as you try to dig your heels in, socks sliding over the wood as he continues to his bedroom door. Your body is erratic as your nerves ping around your chest. What is he doing?

“Now,” he lets you go and leaves you in the doorway, “I will retrieve the laptop.”

He smirks mockingly as you watch him in horror and rub your arm where his fingers chafed. He spins and strides across the room. There is no shame but perhaps he meant you to see it all. The bottle of lubricant on the nightstand, the satin panties hanging out from beneath the messy blankets, the broken condom wrapper. You’re sickened as you force your eyes down to your feet.

“Here you go,” he comes back and holds out the silver laptop, “all yours. With every app and program you may require.”

You take it and gasp as he groans and pulls on the waist of his pajamas, reaching under the silk to adjust his hard length. You take a step back as you hug the laptop to your chest and quickly look away. As you turn your back to him, he catches you from behind and draws you against him. He wiggles his barely concealed excitement between you.

“I can be patient,” his hands creep up your arms and circle your neck, “as much as it hurts… I’ll just have to pretend when she comes to bed… dream just a little longer.”

Disgust boils in your throat and you quickly part as he releases you. You don’t look back as you scurry down the hall, scrambling to get past your bedroom door and shut yourself in. You’re out of breath as you fall against it, tears wobbling along your eyelids.

Your mother is still your mother and you can’t help but feel you’ve betrayed her. Somehow. You must’ve done something to welcome his attention and to that point, you haven’t put up much of a fight.

📼

Your mother is hungover when she pours herself a coffee from the freshly-brewed pot. You savour yours, trying to delay the inevitable. She grumbles and rubs her forehead as she squints at her phone.

“I’m going to call in,” she yawns, “and go back to bed.” She looks at you, eyes red, her satin pajamas askew, “good luck with your first day, honeybun.”

“Thanks, mum,” you say as you try to smile.

“Make sure you eat something,” she reaches to brush her hand over your hair lovingly. You wince as you hear footsteps behind her and Loki appears in the doorway, “you too, sweetheart.”

She pulls away and nears Loki as he enters. He stops to kiss her and she squeezes his arm before retreating with her mug. You look down at your coffee and sidle away from the counter. 

“Well, you heard your mother,” he says, “you should eat. I expect it’ll be a long day.”

“Later,” you utter, “I have my coffee.”

You take your cup but before you disappear into the dining room to enjoy it and what little time you have left alone, he stops you, nearly spilling it down your striped sweater. His hand grips your arm tightly as he peers down his nose at you.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” he asks.

You frown and glance down. Your faded jeans and wool sweater are a bit shabby but you figured it hardly matters. You’re just sitting at home. Not like you have anything better.

“It’s all I have,” you say, looking past him.

“Well,” his fingers unfurl and dance up your arm, fluttering along your cheek and sending a shiver through you, “we’ll have to correct that, won’t we?”

“What do you–”

“Tomorrow,” he says as he turns on his heel, “we’ll have to augment your lacking wardrobe. You can’t expect to get anywhere dressed like a grandmother. I have clients who expect a certain standard, and besides, when you have your degree, you will need to leave your bedroom.”

You chew your lip, embarrassed. You know your hand-me-downs and homemade knits are pathetic but his repulsion cuts. You shouldn’t care what he thinks, you hate him, yet it hurts because you know he’s right.

He pours himself a coffee and you take the opportunity to continue into the dining room. You sit and cradle the mug between your hands, staring into the brew as your mind spirals. This short respite, this calm before the storm, is all you have to keep you sane. 

You know that today will not be as simple as that. It’s all just an excuse, a pretense for his perversions. Worse, you know there is nothing you can do against him.

“Odinson,” Loki’s voice jars you. Silence follows as you listen curiously, distracted from your gloom by the one-sided conversation, “can’t you lease a hotel?” Another lull then a sigh, “I fail to see how that is my problem—” Loki stops short and growls, “fine, but you stay out of my way.”

Another deep breath blown out as he appears in the doorway, sipping from his cup as he tucks away his phone in his trouser pocket, “come on,” he says curtly, “you may finish that in the office.”

You hesitate before you get up. He’s irritated, you can tell. You hope that perhaps whatever’s irked him will keep him distracted. You follow him through the kitchen and can’t help but wonder what exactly has him so bothered. 

@sexyspell​ : 

"ᴬʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵘⁿᵍʳʸ? ᴳᵒ ᵒⁿ. ᴷᵉᵉᵖ ˢᵘᶜᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˢ ᴵ ᶠᵘᶜᵏ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶜᵘᵗᵉ ʰᵒˡᵉ." ˢʰᵉ ᶠᵘᶜᵏs ʰⁱᵐ ʰᵃʳᵈᵉʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵖᵃⁿᵏs ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵒᵗᵗᵒᵐ. ˢʰᵉ ˡⁱᵏᵉs ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ʰᵉʳ ˢˡᵃᵛᵉ ʰᵒʳⁿʸ. ᴾᵘˡˡs ʰⁱˢ ʰᵃⁱʳ ᵗᵒ ᵏⁱˢˢ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵒʳᶜᵉs ʰⁱᵐ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵗᵒ ˢᵘᶜᵏ ʰᵉʳ ᵗⁱᵗˢ." ᴵ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵖᵘⁿⁱˢʰ ʸᵒᵘ ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ⁿᵒ ᵖᵉʳᵐⁱˢˢⁱᵒⁿ."

His moans got louder but her kiss melted them against her lips. The middle aged male can’t believe how much his body was enjoying this treatment of being spanked, kissed and fucked mercilessly with her giant dildo. The way her tip hitting his spot making him leak precum on the soft skin of her stomach. When she parted her kiss he was a huge hot mess, begging to let him come but instead he was shoved back against her boobs to continue pleasing her and enjoy the feeling of her giant boobs against his face and mouth. “P- please kat.. sensei.. ungghh.. allow me to come.. ooh..” his bottom turning red already. One hard thrust against his p-spot and he was shooting cum against her stomach and chest. 

Stranger at the Door 13

Warnings: this fic will include dark content including rape/noncon, predatory behaviour, just on the border of stepdad fic (this is a one time exception because this dynamic isn’t really for me but you know, brain makes no sense), mentions of mental health, bullying, isolation, bad parenting, age gap, allusions to self harm. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re nineteen and life is standing still, that is until your mother meets her dream man, then everything changes. (innocent!reader)

Characters: Loki (silverfox)

Note: As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖

The door opens and your mother clamours in. She has you in her arms in an instant as Loki stands back, smug and certain, everything you're not. Your mother rocks you and squeals. 

"Oh my god, I was looking everywhere for you," she sobs, "where were you?"

She pulls back and holds you at arm's length. You shy away and she drops her hands from your arms.

"I'm sorry, mom, I didn't mean to scare you–"

"You couldn't call, couldn't leave a note?" She decries, "you– is that my shirt? Are you wearing makeup?"

"Mum," you gulp, "I…"

She looks between you and Loki. Her cheek twitches as thoughts ripple in her forehead.

"Thor isn't…"

"Ew, mum, no!" You exclaim, "I had an interview. For a job. I thought… I thought you'd be happy."

"A job?" She frowns, "I thought we talked about this–"

"I… just want to help out, have some money of my own," you say, you won't mention your true goal, that frightening fount of independence, "I thought you'd be happy."

"Well, it's… good you're trying but you're so busy with school, are you going to have time for a job?" She asks.

You glance at Loki, "can we talk somewhere else–"

"Actually, if I might interject," Loki lifts a long index, a hair still astray from your struggle, "I still practice, I could take her on as an aide. There would be no commute as I work from home–"

"Home. Your home," you snap.

"Well, honeybun," your mother's voice piques, "ours… we were going to tell you after we met with the realtor but–"

"No, what?!" You gasp, "no, please, mum–"

"It only makes sense to do it sooner than later," she says, "this old place is worthless anyhow and I only ever want to do what's best for you, hon–"

"What's best?" You scowl, "mum–"

"What has he done so wrong?" Your mother sneers, a hand carelessly waved at Loki, "he's offered his home, a job, better than what you can hope for, and generosity." The shift in her demeanour startles you, "Let me tell you something, girl, you are not cheap–"

"Mum," you murmur as you step back from her pointing finger.

"Sweetheart," Loki puts his hand on her arm and she lets it fall, "there's no need for all that. She's young and it's a lot of change. Truly, I take no offense, I understand it is a lot."

Your mother clutches her head and heaves, "and you are too understanding," she says as she gives you an addled look.

How he plays her so well. Her saviour, her fantasy in the flesh. Loki turns to you.

"I am more than happy to welcome you into my home and my offer of a position stands but you must respect your mother, that is all I ask," he declares, "do you realise how hard she works for you? She was out half the night searching for you."

You scoff and look past him to your mother. She crosses her arms and nods. 

"He. Is. Not. My. Father," you say brusquely.

"No, but you will listen to him," she snips.

"Mum–"

"Go to your room," she throws her hands up, "now."

"Please, you don't–"

"Put her in her room," she growls, "now. Get her out of my sight. I'm done with arguing."

"Wh–" you grunt as Loki grabs your arm and pulls you away from your mother. She watches blankly frustration in the corners of her mouth, "mum."

"I don't want to hear it," she puts a hand on her hip and digs in her purse, her attention on her phone as she dials and and clucks as she listens to the other end, "hi, this is Marlena, I'm calling for Dr. Silva, my daughter needs her appointment moved up. Call me back. Thank you."

Loki ushers you backwards as you trip over your heels. A smirk curves his lips as you look up at him and he angles you through your bedroom door. He leans in as he's hidden from your mother by the wall.

"You've been a bad girl," he whispers, "I will remember this."

He straightens and grabs the chair from beside the door. You reach for it but he turns to block you from grasping the seat. He leaves you as your mother's keys jangle onto the hook. You stare into the hallway as horror forms a cavern in your chest.

Footsteps hammer down the hallway and your mother stops wordlessly to pull your door shut, slamming it against the frame only for it to fall ajar, a few inches between the broken latch and the frame. She grumbles and carries on.

"Sweetheart," Loki coos, "it's alright."

"I need to lay down," your mother replies, voices floating from the kitchen. You hear the familiar creak of her bedroom door, a hanging silence. "Not alone."

You back away and try to tune out their conversation. You search for anything to keep the door in place. You won't dare leave your room, not until you're certain they're asleep.

📼

Despite your efforts, your increased dose has you asleep sitting up. Body stiff against the wall atop your futon, you’re awoken by the click of a tape into the slot. You snort awake, vision blurry and head heavy from your deep dozing. You groan as you sense a shadow move and the door moves into the frame, a wooden spoon jammed beside it to keep it in place.

You shake away the oblivion as the figure bends and hit play on the VCR. You see Loki as he turns to you, his figure limned in the vivid colours of the TV. You whimper and press yourself to the wall. You must be dreaming.

You pinch yourself. It’s real. Very real. You crawl to the edge of the bed and he meets you there. Your voice is stifled before you can scream, a hand at your throat and across your mouth. He squeezes as he shushes you and urges you back. You grab his wrist, he’s too strong. He pushes you to the mattress as you draw in slow strained breaths.

“Honey, I just want to watch something with you,” he purrs, “so let’s be quiet so you can hear.”

Your eyes round as his hand slides up to your chin and his fingers leave your lips. You open your mouth and he tuts.

“Don’t you try it,” he forces your head to the side, “what would your mother think of you watching this drivel?”

You look at the screen, the naked flesh uncovered by flimsy layers of clothes. You murmur, grasping his wrist as you squirm.

“Please,” you rasp.

“Shhh,” he stretches a finger up to play with your lower lip, “watch.”

He sits at the side of the bed, rubbing along your lip as you watch the scene unfold. A girl in a plaid skirt, well, not for long, an older man in a suit sits in admiration as she wiggles her ass at him, then her tits. You close your eyes and whine.

“Open up your fucking eyes,” he smacks your cheek with his free hand.

“Please–”

“You don’t have to beg me yet, precious,” he intones, “now open your eyes.”

You relent, lashes coated with the smear of tears. You sniffle and watch the girl loosen the man’s tie and unbutton his shirt. She straddles him as he sucks at her nipples, teasing them between his teeth. Heat seeps through your and scalds your neck. You push your thighs together unthinking and it sends a thrill through you.

She runs her hands over his shoulders as she pushes his shirt and jacket down his arms. Then she descends to his belt and makes quick work of it, lifting herself on her knees as she pulls out his dick, stroking it for the camera. Your heart pounds wildly.

Loki touches your arm, fingers crawling down to your wrist. He guides your hand around him and presses it to his lap. He’s hard as he groans and leads your hand up and down his thin pajamas. You babble as the woman on the screen kneels before the man, taking him in her mouth.

“When you come work with me,” he shudders as he keeps your touch firm against him, rocking slightly to maintain the friction, “I want you to do that. Just under my desk, precious, where no one can see, hmm?”

“No,” you croak and try to push him away. He lets go of your jaw and slaps you again, harder so your nose thrums.

“Such a quiet little thing yet so defiant,” he snarls, “you keep it up and I’ll think of more creative ways to put you in line.’

“Get off–”

“Now, precious, I don’t want to get carried away, not yet, but I’ll just a quick have you on my cock as leave you be,” his hand creeps down over your tee shirt and he gropes your cunt through your pants. A slickness presses cool to your lips. “Tell me, are you wet?”

You swallow. You can’t look at him or the screen. The sloppy noise of the woman’s mouth disgusts you.

“You are, aren’t you?” he rubs you through the fabric and you let out a squeak, “so sensitive… so delicate.”

“Please, stop,” you plead.

“That’s it precious, come on, you’re already close, I can feel it,” he utters.

“Noooo,” you breathe and clamp your lips together at the throbbing against his fingertips.

You cling to his wrist as he moves his hand in time with yours on his lap. You groan and push your head down into the mattress. You squeeze your eyes shut as you pant, pathetic whimpers as the swell builds in your pelvis. 

“Precious, come on, just think of us, you and me, hm? Me inside you–”

You hit his arm and smother your mouth as the eruption takes over. Your shame leaks out in tears as you spasm and cum, the mess smearing in your underwear. He slows his fingers but keeps your hand moving in his lap.

You try to pull away but he keeps a hold of you as he stands. He gets on his knees on the futon as he tugs the elastic of his pants past his hips. He wraps your hand around him as you try to block out the room with your eyelids. He slides your palm up and down his bare flesh as he puffs and quakes.

“Open your mouth, precious,” he demands.

You shake your head and he frames your jaw again, squeezing harshly, “you want me to leave a mess for your mother to find. Open up!”

You sniffle and part your lips. He keeps your hand pumping under his as he leans over you and puts his tip against your lips. He speeds up and takes a handful of your hair as he lifts your head slightly.

“Oh, precious…” his voice fizzles out as he tenses and sighs.

His cum spills across your lips and into your mouth. The sliminess on your tongue makes you gag as he urges himself through his climax, poking his tip in and out of your lips until he’s empty. He groans and draws away, sitting back on his heels.

He scoops up the cum around your mouth and pushes it inside. You wretch but hold back, afraid to choke on your bile. He snickers as he gets to his feet and leaves you cold and castigated. You close your mouth and let your eyes flutter open.

“Next time, you take all of me, precious,” he bids, “but I might not have as much patience then.”

He fixes his pants and goes to the door, dislodging the spoon and taking it with him without another word. You quiver and roll onto your stomach, pulling up your shirt to spit out his cum into the cotton. You sit up and take it off, careful not to get any of the slickness on the bed. You roll it up and shove it under the futon.

You take another shirt from the dresser and put it on, shaking so much you can barely get it over your head. You look at the TV, the slapping of flesh unlocks the river behind your eyes, and you quickly hit stop. You wish you could do the same in reality.

📼

The water pings of your head and shoulders as you sit the stream, a river swirling to the drain as you watch the mundane motion blankly. How long have you sat there? Long enough that the flow is tepid, skin pruned, and body numb.

Your fingers lock around the open scissor, small and not very sharp, meant for brows and fine hairs. Your hand shakes as the metals made divets in your flesh. You unclench and turn them in your palm and lay your legs flat.

You trace the scars across your thighs with your other hand and your teeth chatter. You press the tip to the edge of a rigid line of tissue. Stop. 

You drop the scissors and cradle your face in your hands as the metal bounces over the porcelain. They would find out. They know to check their; your mother, Silva. How badly you just want to bleed and feel anything but terror. Some sense of control, some sort of release.

A knock rattles the door. You reach for the scissor and close them. You stand and reach past the curtain to set them on the corner of the counter.

"You almost done?" Your mother asks gruffly.

"Yeah, one sec," you force out, hoping she can't hear the lump in your throat.

She grumbles and walks away. You wash away the last of your tears and crank off the old faucet. At least she's talking to you even if it's just another demand.

You step out and dry off haphazardly. You pull on the same clothes over your damp skin and unlock the door. You peek out cautiously before you emerge, tiptoeing to your room.

She's there, waiting for you. She has your pills in her hand, lid off as she plucks one at a time. 

"What are you doing?" You ask dumbly.

"Counting your pills," she says tritely, "until we can get you into Dr. Silva again, I'm gonna have to keep a close eye on you."

"Mum," you moan, "you don't have to–"

"The way you're acting," she shakes her head and sighs, "I've paid for years of therapy, of these pills, and what good is it? Your still a brat."

"Wh–" her tone stuns you. 

She's mean. Ever since she's brought Loki around she's become venomous. Is it him? Maybe she always was and you just tuned it out. Maybe it's what you deserve. She's right, you're just a money pit, an emotional leech.

"Loki's gone to get boxes, we'll start packing today–"

"What about work?" You wonder as you dig your nails into your palms.

"I have some PTO saved up," she shrugs and pours the pills back into the bottle and caps it, "I'll be checking in."

"I'm taking my pills," you insist.

"Now," she sneers as she stands.

You look around as she paces to your messy bookshelf and considers the spines. She squints and peeks over at you. You hardly notice. Something’s missing. 

"Where's my computer?" You ask.

"Loki took them in to have a data transfer done," she says evenly, "so you can use the new one. He'll recycle that old piece of garbage."

"What? But I have work to do–"

"It can wait a few hours," she snaps and crosses her arms as she faces you, "maybe by then, you'll have a thank you ready, huh?"

You stare at her and drop your shoulders. This isn't right. She's scary. You're scared of her. She's your mother, your protector. Or so you thought.

"Sorry," you look at the floor, "I will."

"Come help me with breakfast," she orders, "I won't have you hiding in your room all day."