Silver-Tongued Harlot

call me bby ~ she/her ~ mid 20s ~ canadian arab ~ fics + recs (fics are 99% Loki) ~ this blog is 18+ ~ find me on AO3

[silver-tongued-bby]

You've Reached bby...

Hello!!! You can call me bby, I'm insanely shy and perpetually bad at texting back on time, but I love meeting new people 🖤 I'd love to talk to you if you feel like reaching out!

I'm in my twenties and a little over halfway through a PhD. When I'm not ripping my hair out at school I often daydream about Loki and other nefarious characters whom I share here through my writing.

Please note: this blog is 18+ and NSFW. If you are a minor, please DNI!

If you've made it this far- thank you so much for reading/commenting/liking/reblogging my stories. It really means a lot 🖤

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Loki One-Shots/Short Series (an ever-growing list...)

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[silver-tongued-bby]

The Fall - Chapter II

Pairing: Manipulative!Dom!Loki x Sub!fem!Reader

This work is set in an AU.

Chapter I here.

Summary: Against your basic human instincts, you choose to go on that date.

Author’s note: thank you so much for the love on chapter 1!! I was really hesitant to post this fic- I’m so thankful people are liking it so far! I am in no way advocating for this kind of dynamic, it can get very toxic very fast. Stay safe out there folks 🖤

As always, likes, reblogs, and comments are much appreciated 🖤🖤🖤

This is work of fiction is 18+!!!!, and contains graphic descriptions of rough sex, manipulation, sadism, masochism, a sketchy situation in a car, oral sex (m receiving), shoe stuff, a dom/sub dynamic, a broken reader. Please do not interact if you are a minor or are sensitive towards any of the themes mentioned above.

~~~

You stood outside your apartment. It was cold out, though your palms were sweating. 

You heard his car before you saw it, the sleek black vehicle pulling up just ahead of you. Walking over to the passenger side you got in, the butterflies in your stomach making you nauseous. 

“Hi,” you turned, giving him a little smile. 

His glance moved up from your legs to your face, a hint of a smirk gracing his lips. “Shall we?” 

Nodding, you smoothed your hands on your skirt. 

“Nervous?” His tone held an edge of amusement as he pulled away from the curb. 

“A little.” You pressed your thighs together, a low throb between your legs at his comment. 

“I’m flattered.” He gave you a smile. You couldn’t help but smile back, the warmth of it infectious. 

You felt some of the nerves dissipate. Though there was a tug within your chest as he drove on, something deep within you urging you to flee. 

“I suppose it doesn’t help that you don’t know my name,” he chuckled, running a hand through his dark waves almost bashfully. 

You kept your eyes on him, admiring the length and strength of his fingers as they returned to the wheel. 

“It’s Loki,” he grinned, catching your eye as he stopped at a red light. 

You smiled. “Hi, Loki.” 

He chuckled. “Hello to you too.” 

~~~

You sat in the chair before you, the low light of the candle the only thing illuminating the dark corner you’d been seated in. He slid into his seat across from you, eyes glittering in the low light, watching you take in your surroundings. 

The restaurant he’d taken you to was nice - shockingly so. The dark lighting provided an intimate yet warm space, the furnishings well made and clearly expensive. 

“I didn’t know this existed,” you said with a smile, looking down at the set menu, prices nowhere to be seen. 

He smiled back, his posture relaxed against the chair, long arm laid out against the rest, the glint of a silver cufflink peeking out from behind his suit’s sleeve. His brilliant eyes didn’t leave you. Interested yet amused, he looked as if he were seeing all of you, all at once. All the insecurities, the self-doubt, the constant stress of acting the part of who you thought you should be. You squirmed a little, feeling exposed, chastising yourself for the prickle of heat in your cheeks. 

“The best spots are always those off the beaten path,” he smirked, nodding at the server as they filled your glasses with wine. 

“How did you find this place?” You asked, taking a sip from your glass, the smooth, deep red delicious. 

“I work in the industry,” he leant closer, resting an elbow on the table. “Between you and me it’s the only perk of the job.” He gave you a grin. 

You couldn’t help but smile back, everything about him was so magnetic. You’d never been on a date like this before, one where you didn’t want to die of boredom. “And what do you do in the industry?” 

His eyes shone, “what do you think I do?” 

You pursed your lips in thought. “Food critic?” 

He let out a laugh at that. “Apologies. I suppose you could say that, though you’d be hard pressed to find a column of mine in Sunday’s paper.” 

You took another sip of wine, thinking. “You’re a chef.” 

He smiled, taking a sip of water. “I am.” 

You shook your head. “Honestly? Wouldn’t have guessed,” your eyes fell to his fingers, noticing the calluses and a faint scar here and there. “Though the 1 AM grocery store visits make a lot more sense.” 

He chuckled. “Where else am I supposed to gather the supplies to maintain my steady diet of instant noodles and microwaveable mush?” He saw your expression and smiled guiltily. “Hard to cook for yourself after a day of doing it for other people.” 

You smiled, the knots in your stomach gone. You’d never met someone so easy to talk to, so willing to listen and to ask about you. He was smart, almost intimidatingly so, able to keep up with you even as you described the intricacies of your work. The conversation flowed so easily you quickly found yourself divulging things that would’ve been off-limits for anyone else. But it felt good to open up, to have his focus on you alone. You wanted him to see you, the real you, all that you’d kept hidden away for so long. You found it flowing out with your words. 

It felt like minutes, not hours, as you spoke throughout the meal, the server dropping a delicate plate of small desserts off at your table along with some coffee. When he’d asked if you wanted to come back to his you hoped you hid the excitement brimming within you.

And soon you were walking back to his car, slipping in to the black leather as he peeled off back towards you came. 

~~~

“Do you do this often?” 

You turned to him, his expression unreadable, gaze fixed on the road. “Do what?” You asked, picking at the hem of your skirt. 

“Go places with strange men.”

You swallowed, your cheeks hot. “No.” 

“Not very wise, is it?” He turned off the main road. You ignored the racing of your heart as you entered a neighbourhood unfamiliar to you, the passing houses progressively less well-kept. 

You chewed your lower lip, unsure of what to say. The change in him in the 5 minutes that had passed since you’d departed the restaurant had your heart racing. 

“But that’s part of the thrill, isn’t it?” The corner of his mouth twisted upwards. “I could have a wife for all you know.” 

Your eyes fell to the glint of the silver ring on his index finger on the steering wheel, your heart in your throat. You pressed your thighs together, a poor attempt to quell your excitement. Christ. What is wrong with you?

He chuckled, turning another corner before pulling over, a mailbox in front of a pathway seemingly leading to a forest.

You swallowed as if it’d help you find your voice. “Do you?” You turned, watching the blue-green eyes focus on the rearview mirror as he reversed into the spot. 

He killed the engine, turning to look at you with a smirk. “Does it matter?” 

You licked your lips. “Please.” 

His eyes glinted as they searched your own. He watched you, those eyes easily seeing your fear, and beyond it. “Never married. Unattached.” He winked then slipped out of the car, closing the door behind him as he started up a path. 

You scrambled to follow, the walkway softly illuminated as it wound through the darkened trees. 

~~~

Your eyes widened as soon as you crossed the threshold, the living room beyond the entrance warm and welcoming. The floors were a deep mahogany, accented by curved wooden walls with new age sculptures and soft, expensive-looking furniture. The kitchen lay just beyond, the large black marble island looking as elegant as it did practical. 

He’d tossed his keys into the bowl at the front, slipping off his jacket before rolling up his sleeves. He was watching you with a smirk, his hands in his pockets as you took it all in. 

“This place is,” you trailed off, turning so you could get a look at it all. “Wow.”

“Thank you,” he smiled, coming forward to take the jacket from your shoulders. You shivered as his finger grazed your skin. 

“Something to drink.” It was more of a statement than a question. He hung your coat by his before making his way to the kitchen, pulling a bottle of wine from a cupboard. 

You followed him, resting your elbows on the black marble of the kitchen island as you watched. 

He pulled a corkscrew from a drawer, his forearms tensing as he expertly cut the seal before screwing in the device and pulling out the cork. He poured you a glass, then one for himself, before guiding you over to the couch. You sat as he settled in a chair across from you, his eyes glinting in the warm light. 

You chewed your lip, shifting on the couch. You couldn’t shake the feeling that if an audience were watching they’d be throwing popcorn at the screen, shouting at you to get your things and go. Everyone knew what happened to the girl who trusted a little too much, who took the wrong path. But that wasn’t you. You were always so careful, almost to a fault. This is just an act of rebellion, you told yourself. Why not be imperfect this one fucking time?

“You can leave if you’d like,” your eyes met his as his voice cut through your thoughts. 

“I don’t want to leave,” you spoke, your voice soft, almost apologetic. As if he’d chastised you. 

His expression was unreadable, glimmering eyes taking you in. “I don’t want you to feel trapped here. If you’d like to go at any point,” he gave a lazy gesture with his hand, long fingers curved upwards, “say the word.” 

You swallowed, nodding. 

“You seem like a smart girl,” he spoke, a rasp to his voice. “I’m sure a lot of people would say so, wouldn’t they?” 

Your gaze fell to your hands, “they would. But not a lot of people really know me.” 

He chuckled. “You aren’t some mystery to unravel, darling. I saw right through you the moment we met.” 

You pursed your lips. “I wasn’t hiding myself when I met you.” 

“You weren’t,” he smiled, tilting his head in acknowledgement as he leant back in his chair. “But this,” he gestured to you, “and the little getup you had on the next night when you begged for my attention, is that you hiding?” 

You chewed your lip. 

“Don’t be so coy. You like my eyes on you, don’t you?” 

You squirmed, swallowing. “I do.” 

“Finally!” He grinned as he saw you flinch with his exclamation, “she offers up some truth.” His gaze skimmed down your bare legs. “Now I can be honest with you. What I’m looking for- it isn’t conventional. Really, it’s anything but,” he smirked as if he’d told a joke. 

“I’ve been with partners, long term and short term. I’ve enjoyed the game in the chase. But I’ve had my fill,” he’d tilted his head to the side as he spoke, those blue-green eyes piercing. “I want something else. Something more. I want someone who won’t hesitate to break themselves for me,” he smirked. “Someone who wants to break for me. Who will let me tear them apart and rebuild them into exactly what I want. As many times as I want,” he took a sip of wine, assessing your gaze. “Does that put you off?” 

You were captivated as you gently shook your head no. 

He chuckled, shaking his head. “That does baffle me.” 

You tilted your head in question. 

“You know nothing of my life, and very little of my tastes. There is much wickedness in this world, little girl.” His grin was near criminal, his eyes alit with excitement. ”And yet you seem eager to toy with it,” he tilted his head. He was daring you to run. 

You swallowed hard. “Is that wrong?” 

He swirled the wine in his glass, studying it. “Not to me,” the look he gave you made your breath catch in your throat. You felt pinned to the very spot by the heat in his gaze. “I’m more interested in seeing just how far you’ll go.” 

Another challenge, you thought, heart beating fast as you twisted the stem of the wine glass between your fingertips. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course,” he nodded, gesturing towards you lazily. 

“That first night at the grocery store,” you bit the inside of your cheek. “Why’d you stop at the end of the aisle?” 

“Honestly?” 

You nodded, sitting forward. 

“I couldn’t recall if I had oyster crackers at home or not.” He fixed you with a passive shrug, the low light glinting off his eyes. 

You ignored the heat in your cheeks. 

He set his wine down on the table beside him. “Oh pet,” his voice was sickly sweet with condescension, “come here,” long fingers gesturing to you. 

You shakily stood, stepping over to the armchair before his grip found your wrist and brought you between his legs, guiding you to sit on his knee. His thumb smoothed against your cheek, his eyes falling to the low cut of your blouse briefly, a hand coming to support your lower back. 

Your breath caught in your throat as he brought you closer, blue-green gaze taking you in, his thumb tracing downwards, hooking under your chin to angle your lips closer to his. 

“Is this alright?” He spoke, voice low, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips brushed against yours with the words. 

You swallowed. “Yes,” you mumbled, lost in him already. 

“Do tell me if things ever aren’t alright, or if you want to stop,” his lips brushed against yours again, forcing a little gasp from you. “I take no pleasure in non-consent.” Another brush of his lips had you melting against him. He pulled back suddenly, your eyes opening to the low light. “I need you to answer me pet.” 

You swallowed, nodding. “Okay. I will.” Your voice caught in your throat. 

His lips curved in the slightest as he drew closer once again. “Good girl.” 

Before you could process anything else he was kissing you- his fingers light against your jaw, his other hand grasping your hip, guiding you to straddle him. Your head spun as you settled over his lap, feeling the warmth of muscle beneath his thin shirt. 

He guided you to roll your hips against him, and you gasped, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip as he did it again and again. You were panting as he licked into your mouth, his clever tongue making you tighten your hold on him. He held you tighter, closer to him, forcing a whimper from your throat. 

He pulled away, resting his forehead against your own as you kept moving, the heat between your legs almost unbearable. He hummed lightly, his hand falling to grip your ass as the other traced the skin of your thigh. 

Your breath caught as you felt how big he was, the heat of him seeping through his jeans. “I don’t usually,” you trailed off, panting as he bent to nip at your throat, sucking your skin harshly before smoothing over it with his tongue. You moaned, wishing you didn’t have so many fucking clothes on. “I don’t do stuff like this,” you breathed, lips seeking his for another deep kiss. 

He chuckled. “Of course you don’t, darling.” He bent to kiss just beneath your earlobe, his tongue coming to trace the shell of your ear as you whined, a tremble in your grip. “But that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?” 

You nodded, panting, not even really hearing his words. You melted further into him, lost in this stranger as his long fingers tilted your head upwards to capture your lips once more. His hand slid up from your thighs, slowly tracing up your skirt, his calloused hands warm against you. He splayed his hand out, pinky and ring finger finding the inside of your thigh, coming up slowly as he kissed you more. You gasped when you felt his fingertips graze against the seam of your panties, knowing the wetness he felt. 

He pulled back with a smirk, gazing up at you. “When was the last time you touched yourself?” 

You swallowed, pressing yourself further against him. “T-today,” you wet your dry lips. “This morning.”

He tsked, his fingertips pushing up the hem of your tight skirt slowly. “So wet again already?” His eyes flickered down to the black lace of your panties as they came into view with your slow movements. “You’re dripping. All for me?” You nodded, fingers pressing against his lower abdomen, the heat that seeped through the thin cotton of his shirt addictive. 

“And how did you get yourself off this morning, pet? Did you watch something vile as you played with your little cunt?” You shook your head. Your skirt was pushed up around your waist now, his fingertips sliding under the lace of your panties as they pressed into the flesh of your ass. 

He grinned sinfully. “Ah so your thoughts were of me. Naughty thing,” his gaze flickered to your lips, “what did you think of?”

You opened your mouth but closed it, the heat returning to your cheeks. 

You moaned as his fingers dug harshly into the flesh he’d been so tender with a moment ago. “Answer me.” 

“You-“ you swallowed, “you being rough with me,” you gasped as he smoothed the skin of your ass. “S-slapping me and choking me,” you swallowed, “and spitting in my mouth as you, fuck,” you shivered as his other hand traced up your spine, his eyes dark as they watched you. “As you used me to get off.” You finished, voice hoarse as you tilted your hips back as your cunt pressed against his lap. 

“My, my,” he chuckled, spreading his legs a little wider. “Did you come up with that all by yourself?”

Your brows furrowed as he guided you off of him, finding yourself on shaky legs, unsure of what to say. “Get down on your knees.” He commanded, as you sank down, the wood underneath them surprisingly warm. 

You looked up, your eyes falling to the thick outline within his trousers. He hooked his fingertips under your chin, guiding your gaze upwards, past his slightly exposed chest, the smirk he wore near criminal. His thumb pressed against your lips, and you opened, sucking on it eagerly as you held his gaze. He chuckled again. “Be careful what you wish for.” 

Spit gathered on your lips as he rubbed his wet thumb against them. “Open,” he called, and you did as you were told, tongue meeting the two fingers he pressed into your mouth. You took them deep, tears springing to your eyes as he pressed them further in, tickling the back of your throat. His gaze was expressionless, simply watching as you held your hands in your lap, tongue swirling against his palm as he reached new depths, eventually making you gag. 

That brought a smirk to his lips, and he pulled his fingers from your mouth, once again rubbing the wetted digits against your puffy mouth. “Take off your clothes,” he leant back against the sofa with a sigh, reaching for his wine as you fumbled with the zipper on the side of your blouse. You let it fall from your arms, then stood to shimmy out of your skirt. He passively watched as you squirmed out of your panties, peeling the gusset wet with your arousal away from your slit with a hiss. 

He beckoned you forward, and you stood between his legs. He grasped your wrist and pulled you across his knee, so your midsection hung over him, your breasts pressed into the cool leather of the couch. You gasped as his hand slid on the back of your thigh, just below your ass. “You are a lovely thing, aren’t you?” 

You whined, hips grinding against his thigh at the comment. You could feel the wetness spread with your movements, his fingertips lightly dragging against your slit making you whine. “So fucking eager,” he did it again, but slowly, gathering a bit of slick against his fingertips. 

“Fuck,” you whimpered, wishing he’d only give you more. 

He chuckled, “I’ve barely touched you, pet.” He slid a hand into your hair, tugging at the roots to pull your face from the leather. You moaned, hands scrambling for purchase beneath yourself as your back bent. “I was going to toy with your cunt, but it seems you won’t last long. No use in it, is there?” 

You groaned, pushing your hips against his thigh, all rational thoughts gone. 

He tsked, rolling you off of him so you landed on your knees on the ground, a hiss coming from your lips on impact at the sting. Looking up you spotted a mirror propped up against the far wall. You hadn’t noticed it until now. The scene before you made your cunt ache, your naked body almost a shock in contrast to the well-dressed man on the couch behind you, not a hair out of place. The slick between your thighs caught the warm light from the lamp. He leant forward, forearm pressing against his thigh as his other hand wrapped around your throat. 

You groaned, hips moving against the air as if it’d help quell the desire between your legs. 

“What a sight,” he leant forward so his lips ghosted the shell of your ear as he spoke. You could see down his loose shirt in the mirror, the top buttons exposing his taut chest. You trembled, hips moving on their own accord once more as his grip tightened. “I haven’t even touched you and I can already tell I own that cunt.” 

Your brows knit together and you nodded at his words, your mouth open as you panted. He turned, running his tongue along the shell of your ear. The sound that you made was almost inhuman, your hands clawing at your thighs as he tightened his grip further. “Fucking pathetic,” he whispered, the gravel in his voice making your eyes roll back as your hips moved in useless circles. He let go of your throat with a slight push and you gasped, your shaky hands scrambling to hold you upright. 

“Please,” you rasped, meeting his icy gaze in the mirror as he took another sip of wine. His brow raised, he nodded for you to speak before setting the glass back down. “Can I suck your cock?” You asked, voice small as you met his gaze with heavy-lidded eyes. 

He smirked. “You were telling the truth, weren’t you pet?” 

You watched in the mirror as he stood, stepping around to face you. “You’re willing to do anything for it, for my attention.” 

You nodded as your eyes fell to his fly, long fingers pulling against the fabric as he released his cock from his pants, the sight of it making your mouth run dry. “Well then, let’s see how far anything will take us, won’t we?” 

You gazed up to find him smirking at you and you smiled before opening your mouth. His fingers found your jaw and he held your mouth open, his lips pursing as he spat into your mouth, some of it catching on your bottom lip. You keened high in the back of your throat, tasting him on your tongue as your hips shifted again, your fingertips itching to touch your dripping slit. 

He chuckled. “Nasty little thing,” he spoke, fisting his cock with his other hand. “Hands off that fucking cunt.” 

You nodded, keeping your mouth open, your eyes on his as you licked your bottom lip. He rested both hands against your head as he fed you his cock, your eyes closing at the warmth and weight of it on your tongue. You got to work, relaxing your throat as you took him deep, your tongue rubbing up against him. You took him all the way and stopped, looking up to see his dark eyes gazing at you before he started to thrust. 

You gagged as he repeatedly hit the back of your throat, the length of him hard for you to take. Tears sprung to your eyes and fell as he moved faster, your hips still circling as your hands held onto each other in your lap. He pulled out, his eyes falling from your face to your breasts as you kissed his tip. “What a pretty little whore,” he smirked, running a thumb through your tears. His hand held the side of your cheek and you nodded up at him, giving permission. He raised it and struck, the impact stinging against your cheek as you groaned, licking your lips as you watched him. 

His eyes were cloudy as he pressed his cock within your mouth once more. You were so enthralled you hadn’t noticed he’d shifted to press the leather of his shoe up against your bare cunt, the sensation making you flinch. You held his cock between your lips, tongue caressing it as he nodded down at you. “It’s the only thing you’ll get tonight darling,” he thrust further into your mouth, “go on.” 

You didn’t need to be told twice and started grinding down against his shoe as he used your mouth. You groaned, feeling the slick gather quickly as you angled your hips just so to glide your clit against the soft leather. His jaw was set as he thrust into your throat, and the sight made you only wetter, your hips stuttering as his brows knit together. 

Your pace was frantic, and you moaned around him as he angled his foot upwards, so your clit dragged deliciously, and almost painfully against the laces. Just as he pushed as far as he could go against your throat you froze, feeling a your cunt spasm around nothing, whining pitifully around his cock. You felt his balls twitch as he came deep in your throat a moment later, the sharp exhale of breath from above the only other indicator that he came. You swallowed all he had to give you eagerly as you trembled, his warm hands coming to rest on your shoulders. 

He pulled himself from your lips and you blinked, processing what just happened. You’d never acted like that before, never came like that before. You’d fantasised about it, sure, but the most you’d ever come to was a light spanking and some choking, never that. 

“Pet,” he spoke, the lightest touch guiding your gaze to his. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

~~~

He was so gentle with you as you showered, wrapping you in a fluffy towel before he sat you on the edge of his bed. 

You were lost to thought. It had all felt so… So right. So right to do whatever he’d asked of you, the way he handled you so deliciously sent a pulse to your cunt, as if to remind you that you hadn’t even fucked. His cruel fucking joke only made you want more. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, bringing you a cool glass of water. 

You blinked up at him. He looked a little apprehensive. You hoped he hadn’t been watching this whole time. “Is it wrong to say I think I’m the most alright I’ve been in a very long time?” You bit your lip, the cool glass pressing against your palm. 

You could see the relief in his eyes. He hid a grin, biting his lip as he shook his head. “No, Pet. Not wrong.” He brushed your cheekbone with his thumb. “Just a little fucked up.”

~~~

Author’s note: 🙃 welcome to hell 🖤 thank you for joining me. Not sure if I’ll post a third chapter, as things are likely to only get darker. Thank you for reading! 🖤🖤🖤

[silver-tongued-bby]

The Fall - Chapter I

Pairing: Manipulative!Dom!Loki x Sub!fem!Reader

This work is set in an AU.

Words: ~2,400

Summary: A chance encounter at the grocery store has you second guessing yourself and well, everything else.

This is work of fiction is 18+!!!!, and contains graphic descriptions of rough sex, manipulation, sadism, Loki who likes to see you cry, a dom/sub dynamic, a broken reader with family issues, cigarette smoking. Please do not interact if you are a minor or are sensitive towards any of the themes mentioned above.

~~~

It really was a bad fucking day. 

The exaggeratedly bad type of day that was reserved for shitty romcoms or late-night comedies, the ones that made your stomach curl. Everything that could go wrong did. 

And so here you were, feeling sorry for yourself as you vacantly stared at the neatly stacked ice cream containers behind the glass. You rubbed your eyes and caught a glimpse of someone in the reflection, flinching with a start. 

It took you a moment to recognise her - that girl. The one that showed up when you were at your lowest. That girl that looked so much like you, but without the mask. The mask that made you a functioning member of society, that got you jobs, friends, and dates. You looked at this girl, the one with tears in her eyes wrapped in a men’s coat four sizes too big for her and wondered when exactly she’d come into existence. It seemed she’d always been there, growing as her parents did their very best to do their absolute worst. 

You blinked again, sighing at your reflection before turning around, vacant stare now aimed at the boxes of crackers behind you. You weren’t hungry - not really. Your feet had just carried you to your car, so you drove yourself here, as if a 1AM visit to the grocery store would fix things. 

Blinking away the fresh tears, you grabbed a box of Cheez-Its off the shelf and turned, your bleary eyes meeting those of the stranger at the end of the aisle. 

Something in his stare stopped you, pinned you in place. His expression was neutral, but something in that blue-green told you to turn around and run, though your clever feet had seemingly retired for the evening. 

You could tell he was handsome, though you didn’t lift your gaze from his. You felt as if he’d somehow stripped you bare, easily seeing all you desperately tried to hide. 

You opened your mouth to speak, though you hadn’t the slightest idea of what to say. His eyes flickered down to the box in your hand before snapping back to your own and a second later he carried on, walking past the aisle to the next.

You stood there on uneasy legs, a frown tugging at your features. What the fuck was that? 

You shivered, your heart racing, the frown deepening when you felt heat pooling between your legs. You looked to the box of Cheez-Its, then back to where he stood. No, really. What the fuck was that?

You weren’t one to make eye contact in public, especially not when you were alone, learning young of the attention it brought. But something in the way he’d looked at you made you want it - want him to look at you again. 

You stopped yourself from following him, shaking your head as you walked to the front of the store. It was 1AM and you were alone in a deserted grocery store. What the hell are you doing? 

Your eyes cleared a little as you made your way to the checkout counter, the stranger filling your thoughts. The only clerk working was a teenage boy, who rung up your box and gave you your total in a monotone drawl. You asked for a pack of cigarettes as well, thumbing the lighter in your pocket. 

“ID?” He asked, blinking slowly at you. 

“Fuck,” you mumbled, feeling around in your pockets for your wallet. You’d left the house with a $20 bill crumpled in the top pocket of the giant fishing coat you donned. “I don’t have it on me.” 

He shrugged, looking back at you. “Manager’s really up my ass lately. Can’t give them to you without ID. Sorry,” he shrugged again, taking the crumpled bill from you as the register opened.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you did your very best not to cry in front of this poor kid. Taking the box and pocketing the change, you walked out through the sliding doors and into the night. 

Making it to your car, you pulled the keys from your pocket, the box in your other hand. You swore as the keychain slipped from your fingers, skidding against the pavement and under the only other car in the lot- parked just a spot away. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, debating on whether or not to just leave them and walk home. Sighing, you got on your hands and knees, spotting the mass of keys right between the tires. You tried to reach but felt nothing, the gravel stinging against your kneecaps. You found the tears started to fall again, the day catching back up with you. 

You sniffed, reaching under the car again, the keys still just out of your grasp. You sat up on your knees, shivering as you thought of what to do. You must’ve sat there for a solid minute or two, your knees aching as you wiped tear after tear from your heated skin. 

“Here.” You jumped at the sound of a man’s voice, looking up to see him standing above you, your keyring hooked on his finger. He wore the same expression as before, though his eyes looked darker in the low light. 

“Oh,” you sniffed again and stood, taking the keyring from him. You brushed some of the gravel off your knees, wiping another tear away with the back of your hand. “Sorry.” 

You turned to leave, embarrassed, when you felt his hand against your shoulder. You looked to him, your breath catching once more as he looked down at you, his stare more intense than before. 

“Your biscuits,” he said, the little smirk curling at the corner of his lip making you feel better and worse at the same time. You looked down, seeing the box at your feet. He withdrew his hand as you bent to pick it up. 

“Right,” you mumbled. 

“You want one?” He asked, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pants pocket. 

You looked at his outstretched hand, the long fingers steady. Looking back to his face, the little smirk was gone. You reached out with a shaky hand, sliding a cigarette from the pack. He put one between his lips and swiftly lit it, holding out his lighter to you. 

“Thank you,” you lit the cigarette then handed him back his lighter. He took it, fingers brushing yours, though his eyes were trained on the highway across the street. You stood beside him in silence, the sound of a passing car filling the air every few seconds. 

“You’re pretty when you cry.” He’d turned to look at you as he’d said it, though you kept your eyes trained on the highway. 

“T-thanks,” you sniffed, glancing up at him, heart racing as he looked down at you with that intensity again. You swallowed. 

He held your gaze as he reached up, the tips of his fingers lightly touching your jaw as his thumb brushed away a tear. His eyes fell to your lips as you wet them, you could feel they were puffy as a result of your crying. Before your brain could catch up with his movements he’d withdrawn, pulling the cigarette from his lips to extinguish it beneath a boot. 

“I’m not always like this,” you said, his gaze lifting to meet yours. 

He quirked an eyebrow as he studied your face. 

You shifted on your feet. “I’m usually better- normal.”

He smirked, turning to open his car door. “Of course you are.” He slid inside, turning on the engine before pulling out of the empty lot, the vehicle’s acceleration loud once it hit the highway. 

You stared off in the direction he’d gone, wondering if that had really just happened. A shiver tore through you as you remembered the feel of his touch against your skin. 

You should have been outraged, or at the very least disturbed at the intimacy of the action, but all you could think of was how desperately you wanted it to happen again. 

You took one last drag off your cigarette and ducked into your front seat, peeling off the other way. 

~~~

Looking in the mirror, you adjusted your skirt before leaning forward to swipe a thumb at your eyeliner. Leaning backwards you but your lip, sticky with gloss as your heart hammered in your chest. 

You looked at your phone to check the time, letting out a shaky breath as you made for the door. 

The drive was quick, one you’d become familiar with over the past week as you visited in the dead of night. Your sick little ritual performed in the hopes of seeing him again. Pulling up to the lot, your heart leapt to your throat when you saw his car, the black expensive one, parked neatly near the front of the darkened deserted pavement. 

You parked a row back, locking your door as you walked quickly to the entrance. You shivered as the blast of air conditioning met your skin, eliciting goosebumps over your exposed arms. You bit your lip, deciding to take the long walk to the back aisle of the store. 

You stepped slowly, shoes clicking off the scuffed linoleum as you kept your gaze forward, using your peripherals to see within the aisles. You couldn’t help the little gasp that slipped from your lips when you caught sight of his lithe, dark figure. You could feel his gaze on you as you passed by, continuing on without a glance in his direction until you made it to the laundry detergent in the next aisle. Picking up a small jug, you made your way to the cash, paying for your purchase along with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. 

You leant against your car, lighting up a cigarette. Taking one nervous drag after another, you finished it and pulled the carton back out, slipping a fresh one from the pack. Your eyes drifted to the sliding doors as they opened. 

You lit it up, watching him walk to his car. He glanced at you casually, opening his trunk for the bag in his hand. 

You bit your lip, pushing yourself off the cool metal before making your way to him. “Hey,” you called out, walking closer. 

He looked at you, that same gaze stripping you bare once more, making your fingers tremble around the cigarette. 

“I-I was here the other night,” you came closer, your heart pounding as you took in his handsome features. He was at least twice your age. “I wanted to say thanks,” you offered him a cigarette. “I was having a rough night.” 

He glanced at your hand before taking it from you. “I remember.” 

You nodded as he lit it up, taking a drag. 

“Is there something you want?” 

You opened your mouth, then shut it, unsure of what to say. What did you want from him?

There was that stare again. “How many times did you come to the grocery store at 1 in the morning this week?” 

Your eyes widened. 

He took a step closer. “The clerk inside told me you’d been by every night. Is that right?”

You found yourself nodding, the rest of you frozen in place. 

“And what were you looking for?” 

You swallowed. 

He waited. 

“You,” you called out, the small sound of your own voice surprising you. 

“And what is it that you want from me?”

“I don’t know,” it was a whimper - barely audible over the sound of a passing car. 

He didn’t say a word, simply pulling a phone from his back pocket. He handed it to you, opened to the new contact creator. 

You took it in your shaky hands, typing out your name and number before passing it back to him, his fingertips grazing yours. 

He put the phone back in his pocket. “You shouldn’t be hanging around here this late,” he put out his cigarette. “It isn’t safe.” 

You nodded. 

He slid into the drivers seat and pulled off, leaving you speechless and alone once again. 

~~~

It was a week before he texted you.

The first two days any notification you got made you scramble for your phone, heart pounding, only to be disappointed yet again. 

On the third day you started to lose hope, and wondered if you should go back to the grocery store. He’d told you not to - but what if that only meant he’d actually wanted you to? What if it was all a test? 

After sitting in your car in the driveway for an hour you decided to go to bed with a huff, only to do the exact same thing the night after. 

On the fifth day you did your best to push him from your mind - to stop the image of his face from popping up each time you closed your eyes. It didn’t work, so you spent the night awake, watching horror movies as you attempted to force him from your thoughts with blood and gore. 

The sixth day you drove past the grocery store at 1:03 AM, not seeing his car there as your heart sank in your chest. 

Then the seventh day came. And at eight o’clock on a Sunday you got a text, prompting you to lazily reach for your phone. You sat up straight when you saw the unknown number. 

Have you figured it out yet?

Figured out what? You responded in seconds, cursing yourself for not playing it cool. 

What you want from me.

Your heart raced as you reread the words, trying to think up a witty response. Only one thing echoed in your thoughts, and you found yourself typing it out, and staring at the words. 

I want you to pay attention to me. 

Before you could overthink it you hit send and closed your phone, throwing it to the other end of the couch. The soft ping made you reach for it, your heart in your throat. 

What are you willing to do for my attention? 

You swallowed, staring at the words. A normal person wouldn’t respond, recognising that statement for what it was. A red flag. A huge one at that. You knew what he was asking for, and yet you typed out a response, quickly hitting send. 

Anything. 

You watched the three dots at the bottom of the screen. 

Let’s get dinner.

~~~

To be continued...

~~~

Author's Note: Ok ok ok so this is very loosely based off of this one-off interaction I had at a grocery store (years ago), as well as a somewhat popular account on here that I am both fascinated and disgusted with at the same time. Reader is in for a sketchy time...

Thank you so much for checking out my latest work. A new chapter of Tear You Apart is coming soon.

And thank you to all of my followers for your continued support during my hiatus 🖤

As usual, likes, reblogs, and comments are always immensely appreciated. 🖤 🖤

[silver-tongued-bby]

Chapter 2 coming tonight!! Get ready…

[silver-tongued-bby]

The Fall - Chapter I

Pairing: Manipulative!Dom!Loki x Sub!fem!Reader

This work is set in an AU.

Words: ~2,400

Summary: A chance encounter at the grocery store has you second guessing yourself and well, everything else.

This is work of fiction is 18+!!!!, and contains graphic descriptions of rough sex, manipulation, sadism, Loki who likes to see you cry, a dom/sub dynamic, a broken reader with family issues, cigarette smoking. Please do not interact if you are a minor or are sensitive towards any of the themes mentioned above.

~~~

It really was a bad fucking day. 

The exaggeratedly bad type of day that was reserved for shitty romcoms or late-night comedies, the ones that made your stomach curl. Everything that could go wrong did. 

And so here you were, feeling sorry for yourself as you vacantly stared at the neatly stacked ice cream containers behind the glass. You rubbed your eyes and caught a glimpse of someone in the reflection, flinching with a start. 

It took you a moment to recognise her - that girl. The one that showed up when you were at your lowest. That girl that looked so much like you, but without the mask. The mask that made you a functioning member of society, that got you jobs, friends, and dates. You looked at this girl, the one with tears in her eyes wrapped in a men’s coat four sizes too big for her and wondered when exactly she’d come into existence. It seemed she’d always been there, growing as her parents did their very best to do their absolute worst. 

You blinked again, sighing at your reflection before turning around, vacant stare now aimed at the boxes of crackers behind you. You weren’t hungry - not really. Your feet had just carried you to your car, so you drove yourself here, as if a 1AM visit to the grocery store would fix things. 

Blinking away the fresh tears, you grabbed a box of Cheez-Its off the shelf and turned, your bleary eyes meeting those of the stranger at the end of the aisle. 

Something in his stare stopped you, pinned you in place. His expression was neutral, but something in that blue-green told you to turn around and run, though your clever feet had seemingly retired for the evening. 

You could tell he was handsome, though you didn’t lift your gaze from his. You felt as if he’d somehow stripped you bare, easily seeing all you desperately tried to hide. 

You opened your mouth to speak, though you hadn’t the slightest idea of what to say. His eyes flickered down to the box in your hand before snapping back to your own and a second later he carried on, walking past the aisle to the next.

You stood there on uneasy legs, a frown tugging at your features. What the fuck was that? 

You shivered, your heart racing, the frown deepening when you felt heat pooling between your legs. You looked to the box of Cheez-Its, then back to where he stood. No, really. What the fuck was that?

You weren’t one to make eye contact in public, especially not when you were alone, learning young of the attention it brought. But something in the way he’d looked at you made you want it - want him to look at you again. 

You stopped yourself from following him, shaking your head as you walked to the front of the store. It was 1AM and you were alone in a deserted grocery store. What the hell are you doing? 

Your eyes cleared a little as you made your way to the checkout counter, the stranger filling your thoughts. The only clerk working was a teenage boy, who rung up your box and gave you your total in a monotone drawl. You asked for a pack of cigarettes as well, thumbing the lighter in your pocket. 

“ID?” He asked, blinking slowly at you. 

“Fuck,” you mumbled, feeling around in your pockets for your wallet. You’d left the house with a $20 bill crumpled in the top pocket of the giant fishing coat you donned. “I don’t have it on me.” 

He shrugged, looking back at you. “Manager’s really up my ass lately. Can’t give them to you without ID. Sorry,” he shrugged again, taking the crumpled bill from you as the register opened.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you did your very best not to cry in front of this poor kid. Taking the box and pocketing the change, you walked out through the sliding doors and into the night. 

Making it to your car, you pulled the keys from your pocket, the box in your other hand. You swore as the keychain slipped from your fingers, skidding against the pavement and under the only other car in the lot- parked just a spot away. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, debating on whether or not to just leave them and walk home. Sighing, you got on your hands and knees, spotting the mass of keys right between the tires. You tried to reach but felt nothing, the gravel stinging against your kneecaps. You found the tears started to fall again, the day catching back up with you. 

You sniffed, reaching under the car again, the keys still just out of your grasp. You sat up on your knees, shivering as you thought of what to do. You must’ve sat there for a solid minute or two, your knees aching as you wiped tear after tear from your heated skin. 

“Here.” You jumped at the sound of a man’s voice, looking up to see him standing above you, your keyring hooked on his finger. He wore the same expression as before, though his eyes looked darker in the low light. 

“Oh,” you sniffed again and stood, taking the keyring from him. You brushed some of the gravel off your knees, wiping another tear away with the back of your hand. “Sorry.” 

You turned to leave, embarrassed, when you felt his hand against your shoulder. You looked to him, your breath catching once more as he looked down at you, his stare more intense than before. 

“Your biscuits,” he said, the little smirk curling at the corner of his lip making you feel better and worse at the same time. You looked down, seeing the box at your feet. He withdrew his hand as you bent to pick it up. 

“Right,” you mumbled. 

“You want one?” He asked, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pants pocket. 

You looked at his outstretched hand, the long fingers steady. Looking back to his face, the little smirk was gone. You reached out with a shaky hand, sliding a cigarette from the pack. He put one between his lips and swiftly lit it, holding out his lighter to you. 

“Thank you,” you lit the cigarette then handed him back his lighter. He took it, fingers brushing yours, though his eyes were trained on the highway across the street. You stood beside him in silence, the sound of a passing car filling the air every few seconds. 

“You’re pretty when you cry.” He’d turned to look at you as he’d said it, though you kept your eyes trained on the highway. 

“T-thanks,” you sniffed, glancing up at him, heart racing as he looked down at you with that intensity again. You swallowed. 

He held your gaze as he reached up, the tips of his fingers lightly touching your jaw as his thumb brushed away a tear. His eyes fell to your lips as you wet them, you could feel they were puffy as a result of your crying. Before your brain could catch up with his movements he’d withdrawn, pulling the cigarette from his lips to extinguish it beneath a boot. 

“I’m not always like this,” you said, his gaze lifting to meet yours. 

He quirked an eyebrow as he studied your face. 

You shifted on your feet. “I’m usually better- normal.”

He smirked, turning to open his car door. “Of course you are.” He slid inside, turning on the engine before pulling out of the empty lot, the vehicle’s acceleration loud once it hit the highway. 

You stared off in the direction he’d gone, wondering if that had really just happened. A shiver tore through you as you remembered the feel of his touch against your skin. 

You should have been outraged, or at the very least disturbed at the intimacy of the action, but all you could think of was how desperately you wanted it to happen again. 

You took one last drag off your cigarette and ducked into your front seat, peeling off the other way. 

~~~

Looking in the mirror, you adjusted your skirt before leaning forward to swipe a thumb at your eyeliner. Leaning backwards you but your lip, sticky with gloss as your heart hammered in your chest. 

You looked at your phone to check the time, letting out a shaky breath as you made for the door. 

The drive was quick, one you’d become familiar with over the past week as you visited in the dead of night. Your sick little ritual performed in the hopes of seeing him again. Pulling up to the lot, your heart leapt to your throat when you saw his car, the black expensive one, parked neatly near the front of the darkened deserted pavement. 

You parked a row back, locking your door as you walked quickly to the entrance. You shivered as the blast of air conditioning met your skin, eliciting goosebumps over your exposed arms. You bit your lip, deciding to take the long walk to the back aisle of the store. 

You stepped slowly, shoes clicking off the scuffed linoleum as you kept your gaze forward, using your peripherals to see within the aisles. You couldn’t help the little gasp that slipped from your lips when you caught sight of his lithe, dark figure. You could feel his gaze on you as you passed by, continuing on without a glance in his direction until you made it to the laundry detergent in the next aisle. Picking up a small jug, you made your way to the cash, paying for your purchase along with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. 

You leant against your car, lighting up a cigarette. Taking one nervous drag after another, you finished it and pulled the carton back out, slipping a fresh one from the pack. Your eyes drifted to the sliding doors as they opened. 

You lit it up, watching him walk to his car. He glanced at you casually, opening his trunk for the bag in his hand. 

You bit your lip, pushing yourself off the cool metal before making your way to him. “Hey,” you called out, walking closer. 

He looked at you, that same gaze stripping you bare once more, making your fingers tremble around the cigarette. 

“I-I was here the other night,” you came closer, your heart pounding as you took in his handsome features. He was at least twice your age. “I wanted to say thanks,” you offered him a cigarette. “I was having a rough night.” 

He glanced at your hand before taking it from you. “I remember.” 

You nodded as he lit it up, taking a drag. 

“Is there something you want?” 

You opened your mouth, then shut it, unsure of what to say. What did you want from him?

There was that stare again. “How many times did you come to the grocery store at 1 in the morning this week?” 

Your eyes widened. 

He took a step closer. “The clerk inside told me you’d been by every night. Is that right?”

You found yourself nodding, the rest of you frozen in place. 

“And what were you looking for?” 

You swallowed. 

He waited. 

“You,” you called out, the small sound of your own voice surprising you. 

“And what is it that you want from me?”

“I don’t know,” it was a whimper - barely audible over the sound of a passing car. 

He didn’t say a word, simply pulling a phone from his back pocket. He handed it to you, opened to the new contact creator. 

You took it in your shaky hands, typing out your name and number before passing it back to him, his fingertips grazing yours. 

He put the phone back in his pocket. “You shouldn’t be hanging around here this late,” he put out his cigarette. “It isn’t safe.” 

You nodded. 

He slid into the drivers seat and pulled off, leaving you speechless and alone once again. 

~~~

It was a week before he texted you.

The first two days any notification you got made you scramble for your phone, heart pounding, only to be disappointed yet again. 

On the third day you started to lose hope, and wondered if you should go back to the grocery store. He’d told you not to - but what if that only meant he’d actually wanted you to? What if it was all a test? 

After sitting in your car in the driveway for an hour you decided to go to bed with a huff, only to do the exact same thing the night after. 

On the fifth day you did your best to push him from your mind - to stop the image of his face from popping up each time you closed your eyes. It didn’t work, so you spent the night awake, watching horror movies as you attempted to force him from your thoughts with blood and gore. 

The sixth day you drove past the grocery store at 1:03 AM, not seeing his car there as your heart sank in your chest. 

Then the seventh day came. And at eight o’clock on a Sunday you got a text, prompting you to lazily reach for your phone. You sat up straight when you saw the unknown number. 

Have you figured it out yet?

Figured out what? You responded in seconds, cursing yourself for not playing it cool. 

What you want from me.

Your heart raced as you reread the words, trying to think up a witty response. Only one thing echoed in your thoughts, and you found yourself typing it out, and staring at the words. 

I want you to pay attention to me. 

Before you could overthink it you hit send and closed your phone, throwing it to the other end of the couch. The soft ping made you reach for it, your heart in your throat. 

What are you willing to do for my attention? 

You swallowed, staring at the words. A normal person wouldn’t respond, recognising that statement for what it was. A red flag. A huge one at that. You knew what he was asking for, and yet you typed out a response, quickly hitting send. 

Anything. 

You watched the three dots at the bottom of the screen. 

Let’s get dinner.

~~~

To be continued...

~~~

Author's Note: Ok ok ok so this is very loosely based off of this one-off interaction I had at a grocery store (years ago), as well as a somewhat popular account on here that I am both fascinated and disgusted with at the same time. Reader is in for a sketchy time...

Thank you so much for checking out my latest work. A new chapter of Tear You Apart is coming soon.

And thank you to all of my followers for your continued support during my hiatus 🖤

As usual, likes, reblogs, and comments are always immensely appreciated. 🖤 🖤

[gruftiela]

Omg! This is already insanely hot and it has barely started! 🥵🤤

[silver-tongued-bby]

Thank you 🖤🖤🖤

Yes, we definitely are going places from here…

[cocoamoonmalfoy]

Tested Armor

Summary: Disowned or not, the son of the king needed to be protected

Pairing: Prince Hal x black!knight!Reader

A/n: it is craaaazyyyyy what you can get done when you’re purposely not doing something else 😅😅 anyway here’s another blurb for Hal-loween! Minors, ageless, black blogs and serial-likers DNI because I said so and I don't want you here

If he could keep this up for another hour, Hal thinks he’ll be home free. With the cloak up around his head, he moved through the clamor of villagers in the marketplace.

Hal had not counted on the first sight greeting him upon opening his front door this morning to be four royal knights. The same four that had recovered him from a kidnapping and ransom situation two days prior. 

And he’s grateful! Truly he is. No one had assumed he’d be a target after being for all intents and purposes disowned by his father, the king. But even though the king kept the whole business out of the papers and blabbering mouths, it seemed he still saw it fit not to have such a fracas happening again.

Hence the security detail. But Hal was in no hurry to lose the freedom he’d gained upon turning his back on his lineage.

They had to give up at some point. If he could just—

Hal pitched forward, his foot catching on someone’s leg as they knelt to get a better look at a horse’s hoof.

But instead of the unforgiving ground, he thudded into someone’s arms. Sweet savior. The immediate thanks on his lips died as he heard the familiar clink of chainmail, caught the glint of dull, hammered steel against his cheek. He looked up to see a lovely lady holding him steady. Brown skin licked with perspiration and dark eyes unamused. This was not how he liked to be in the arms of beautiful women.

Straightening with a grimace, Hal grunted, “So damn close.”

“Not by a long shot.”

He scoffed as he met her gaze, aghast. “I could have out-maneuvered you had the man—.”

“I have been watching you for several minutes now. Perhaps twenty.”

His lips snapped shut, a bit of a blush spreading in indignation and embarrassment. 

“Look Miss—.”

“Dame. Dame Y/n L/n,” she corrected firmly, then continued as if in afterthought. “…your highness.”

“Dame L/n,” Hal exhaled, the sound a slight mix of exasperation and amusement. “I'm a drunk and a whore in the eyes of England, I don’t need a bodyguard! Certainly not four.” 

She cocked her head to the side, an eyebrow rising. “As I had to unlock you from a trunk in someone’s carriage, I’m going to have to beg to differ, your highness.”

“L/n! You’ve found him! She’s got him,” one knight said as he signaled more, all the rest moving to join them. Jesus Christ they make such a goddamn spectacle. Hal motioned to shoo them off to the side, huddling so that they were out of most of the hustle and bustle.

“This,” he said, gesturing to all of them, “is insanity. It’s not gonna fucking happen. Go back to the castle and actually be useful.”

“You must be protected, your highness, that much we have seen from this past transgression against your safety,” a knight spoke with a stern voice not unlike the governesses he had growing up. It rankled.

“I’m not going through my days with a small battalion following me around.” Hal hissed. He looked around the four, green eyes landing on Dame L/n, canvassing her up and down. “Just you.” 

“Because she is a woman?” The preachy knight barely hid a sneer as he questioned him. 

Hal vaguely remembered him. The man always thought he was hot shit. He’d enjoy knocking him down a peg. “Because your armor is too shiny, Sir Tomlin.” Hal said as he caught Dame L/n by the arm. “Makes me believe it untested.”

He guided her along with him, back into the fray of the market, leaving the others behind, presumably to piss off back to the castle. “If you’re going to be my personal guard you will not do it in visible chainmail. We’re getting you a peasant’s frock forthwith.” He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his palm. “And then I need a goddamn drink.”

[silver-tongued-bby]

"I'm a drunk and a whore in the eyes of England..."

Loved this so much 🖤 I have a deep-seated love of Hal that you have easily tapped into.

[stevenrogered]

What if you’re wrong? What if you are wrong to believe that this place can be any better? It would just be easier to burn this place down and start from scratch. 

[silver-tongued-bby]

Tear You Apart - Masterlist

Summary: Killing is wrong, but she does it so very well.

Series Playlist (on Spotify).

Pairing: Dark!Loki x Dark!Serial Killer!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!! This is a Dark!Loki fic that explores adult themes including murder, serial killers, gore, obsession, cigarette smoking, slight dub!con, graphic sexual depictions, dirty talk, and dirty languages. Please, do not interact if you are offended by any of the themes mentioned above, and/or if you are a minor.

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V - coming very soon!

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

This series is still ongoing (even after a few years on hiatus). Love you all! 🖤🖤🖤

[silver-tongued-bby]

Only edits left on chapter 5… do we want a sneak peak? 👀

[xoxovivarecs]

Yesss!!!

[silver-tongued-bby]

🖤🖤🖤 it's below the cut!!

He saw the glint in her hand of her blade in the low light, and looked back to the cruel smile she wore on her lips. She whispered into the ear of the man pinning her to the brick, chuckling. Her eyes fell to Loki’s when she raised her hand, the motion quick and smooth against the strangers throat. 

The man stepped back, fingers finding his nicked skin as he turned. Loki saw that she hadn’t quite finished the job- just a trickle of blood escaping the stranger’s hand as he began to run. 

He saw it for what it was: a test. In her own charmingly twisted mind, she wanted to confirm his intentions, his loyalty to her. 

So he let out a low chuckle, stepping out from his position against the wall, the man bouncing off his chest. He tried to pass by but Loki gripped his shoulders and tutted, “now where do you think you’re going?”

~~~

[silver-tongued-bby]

Tear You Apart - Masterlist

Summary: Killing is wrong, but she does it so very well.

Series Playlist (on Spotify).

Pairing: Dark!Loki x Dark!Serial Killer!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!! This is a Dark!Loki fic that explores adult themes including murder, serial killers, gore, obsession, cigarette smoking, slight dub!con, graphic sexual depictions, dirty talk, and dirty languages. Please, do not interact if you are offended by any of the themes mentioned above, and/or if you are a minor.

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V - coming very soon!

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

This series is still ongoing (even after a few years on hiatus). Love you all! 🖤🖤🖤

[silver-tongued-bby]

Only edits left on chapter 5… do we want a sneak peak? 👀

[silver-tongued-bby]

I am absolutely obsessed with The Fall. Please please please give me more!!

Be careful what you wish for…

[silver-tongued-bby]

Omfg Subjective Sins was just ‘chiefs kiss’!!! Please tell me you might make a part two where Loki fucks reader in the confession booth and someone walks in and confesses while they’re doing you know sinful things 😏 it was so good!!

Ahh thank you so much!! I’m sorry I’m late responding, but I’m so glad you liked it!

Hmm I have had a few ideas rattling around, but not enough to warrant a whole chapter… perhaps an informal drabble 🤔

[cleo-fox]

Surrender

Summary: Finding your soulmate is supposed to be a romantic, life changing experience.

No one tells you what to do when a). your soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of your planet and made himself king and b). you kind of still want him anyway.

(Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering.

A/N: look, I was intrigued by the idea of a Loki Wins AU and also a soulmate AU and this just sort of happened. I may write more of this concept because it gave me IDEAS. This is also available on AO3.

The mark on your wrist begins to burn the minute he walks into the room.

At first you think it’s a coincidence or a mistake—there are guards walking with him, perhaps it’s one of them. But then he flinches, his right hand going to his left wrist and your heart sinks to your knees. It could still be a coincidence, you tell yourself halfheartedly.

He scans the room and when his eyes land on you, it’s like the tumblers of a lock clicking into place and you know.

He’s much taller than you thought he was—that’s the only conscious and coherent thought you manage to have as he approaches you. Being the subject of his gaze is overwhelming in a way that you sort of expect, but it still makes you want to sit down and close your eyes. He looks you over, his gaze lingering briefly on your nametag from work.

“Show me your wrist,” he says.

You don’t think he’s using his powers, but you comply automatically, extending your arm toward him, wrist turned up. There’s a frisson of electricity that buzzes along the back of your hand when he touches it—if there were any remaining doubts about who he is and his relationship to you, that feeling surely puts them to rest. You know that he must have felt something too from the way he looks at you sharply, as though he thinks you’ve done something intentional to cause this. You can only hope that your wide eyed bewilderment convincingly conveys your innocence.

His expression betrays nothing as he examines the mark on your wrist, which is now glowing a bright gold that would be pretty if the circumstances were different.

It’s funny, you think. You’ve been waiting for this moment your entire life and all you can think is that you wish it wasn’t happening.

He releases your hand and looks at you in a calculating sort of way. “Come with me,” he says finally.

You do, of course. What other choice do you have?

*

The next several hours are a blur.

You are shuffled from place to place. Usually there is at least one guard—you’re not sure why. The idea of you being able to do any damage to him is laughable and escape doesn’t exactly seem like an option. Where could you go that he could not find you?

It’s a depressing thought; you try not to think much about it.

You know exactly when the news breaks because it coincides with your phone basically becoming unusable due to the flood of notifications, calls, and texts. You put it on airplane mode to compose a short message to your family and friends. Your reassurances feel a little trite given the circumstances: I’m fine, I’ll call when I can.

You can’t exactly type what you’re really thinking, which is more along the lines of I’ve just learned that my soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of our planet. I’m doing about as well as you’d expect.

You turn airplane mode off long enough to send the email. Once it sends, you power down your phone. It doesn’t seem prudent to leave it on, at least not right now—right now, it only serves as a reminder of a life you know you’re going to have to leave behind and you’re not at all ready to confront that particular loss.

They eventually take you to what you assume are his rooms. You’re surprised by how traditional the decor is—you had expected a cold sort of minimalism, but there’s more wood and warm colors than you would have thought. You are informed that there are clothes for you in the closet; you nod and say nothing, though you wonder how they managed to pull an entire wardrobe together in the span of only a few hours. Magic, perhaps.

You are finally left alone, though you’re fairly certain that you would find guards stationed outside if you were to look.

You take one of the elegant velvet throws from the bed and wrap it tightly around yourself before settling on the couch next to the window. You’re not exactly cold, but it feels like a necessary armor between you and this unfamiliar place.

You stare out the window for a long time. You’re too high up to people watch and you’re not sure that you could handle that anyway—it would be yet another reminder of the fact that your life has changed in a massive, earth shaking way that you can’t even begin to understand. Instead, you stare at the tiny cars on the city streets below, snaking their way to destinations that feel so far out of your grasp that they might as well be on a different planet altogether.

*

It’s late when he finally shows up—so late that you’ve actually gotten ready for bed, donning one of the silk nightgowns that had been left for you. You can tell it’s more expensive than any sleepwear you’ve ever owned in your life. You’re just glad that it’s modest—you had half expected to find that all your pajamas were bustiers, thongs, and thigh highs in some sort of ill considered attempt to seduce you. But this is elegant and understated, with a matching robe that you cinch tightly around your waist.

You sit on the couch, the throw still wrapped snugly around you. He looks at you, the corner of his mouth curled up in a slight smirk.

“I hope you don’t intend to stay there the entire night,” he says.

“I hardly know you,” you say before you can even contemplate whether it’s wise.

He looks…amused isn’t quite the right word, but there’s a subtle tilt to the corner of his lips—not quite a smile, but maybe somewhere in the vicinity.

“Give it time,” he says, and something about that makes you shiver.

*

You intend to sleep on the couch, at least for these first few nights when everything still feels so raw and strange.

Or that was your plan, anyway.

Loki doesn’t say anything else as he prepares for bed and you stare resolutely at the window so as not to invite any more conversation or prompt any invitations to join him in bed. Eventually, the lights go out and you are left alone with your thoughts in the dark.

The room is much colder at night.

You’re not sure if it’s on purpose, though you wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Perhaps he likes it like this. Perhaps it’s to lure you to him, to tempt you into seeking out the warmth of his bed and body.

You pull the blanket more tightly around your shoulders. Eventually, you allow your eyes to drift shut.

You wake some time later in the middle of the night. The room feels even colder, the velvet of the throw and the silk of your nightgown and robe a scanty defense against the chill. You burrow against the couch cushions and it’s sort of bearable.

But you also have to pee.

You hold off for as long as you can, but you eventually summon the will to leave the couch and seek out the bathroom.

The bathroom is even colder—perhaps it’s all that glass and marble that makes the difference. You’re wearing your robe and you’ve still got the blanket wrapped around you, but your teeth are chattering by the time you wash your hands. You run the water as hot as you can stand, but it only does so much. If you were braver—if it wasn’t your first night here, you would run an extra hot shower and stay under the spray until your fingers and toes pruned and the chill was chased from your bones.

Instead, you hustle back to the couch, burrowing against the cushions, throw and robe wrapped tightly around you. But you still can’t seem to shake the cold. You huddle on the couch, shivering, trying to calm your body.

Time passes and you don’t grow any warmer. You wonder if you can steal another throw from the bed—surely he won’t miss one—when a voice speaks from the darkness.

“Come to bed,” Loki says.

You clear your throat. “What?”

“I can hear your teeth chattering from here. Come to bed and stop being absurd.”

You hesitate, staring into the dark. You consider the cold, the slight kink in your neck from the way you’ve been sleeping on the couch, the late hour, the way that sleep pulls at your eyes. A bed is appealing. Maybe more appealing than it should be.

You find yourself getting to your feet and slowly making your way across the room.

You pause on the other side of the bed—your side, you suppose, though calling it that still feels too intimate. You can just make him out in the dark.

“You’ll stay on your side,” you say, like making it a statement will make it so.

“Well, you hardly know me.” His voice is clipped, more bitter than you expect as he echoes your words from earlier.

You can’t help but scowl. “I’ve known you for less than twenty-four hours and it’s the middle of the night. I’m not doing this right now.”

He laughs. It’s sharp and brittle and unexpected, but it’s a laugh all the same, and something about that helps, if only a little.

You don’t say anything else as you climb into bed. You find that the blankets are warm—warmer than you expect—and heavy. There’s a part of you that expects yourself to be too nervous and on edge to fully relax, but the coziness of the blankets piled around you is oddly calming, even with Loki mere inches away. You hunker down underneath the blankets, situating yourself on the pillows.

He doesn’t say anything and it’s not long until his breathing becomes steady and even.

And after a while, yours does, too.

*

Consciousness creeps up on you slowly the next morning, a far cry from the jarring alarm on your phone that usually disrupts your slumber. You are warm and cozy, cocooned in the blankets, safe from all of the bullshit that had happened yesterday.

It’s such a peaceful, easy awakening that it takes you a moment to realize that you aren’t alone.

It takes another moment for you to realize that your cheek is pressed against Loki’s chest. And to make matters worse, not only are your arms wrapped around his him, your right leg is also flung across his waist, like you can’t bear to be parted from him for even a moment.

But before the panic sets in, there is a barely perceptible moment where your body just enjoys the feeling of being pressed against him. It’s quick and you’d deny it if asked, but the rush that you get from giving into the pull of your soulbond for even that brief moment is nothing short of incredible.

But it’s just a moment and your mind quickly turns to the matter of extracting yourself without drawing his notice. Ideally, he’ll just stay asleep and you won’t have to deal with any awkward fallout. If you move very slowly and carefully, perhaps he won’t notice.

You carefully start to move your leg from his waist.

“To be clear, you’re on my side of the bed,” he says.

God fucking dammit.

You abandon all subtlety and quickly peel yourself away from him.

“I must have rolled over in my sleep,” you say, incredibly conscious of how stupid that sounds.

He smirks, which is somehow worse than if he’d said anything.

“It won’t happen again,” you say.

It does.

This is your new routine: you start every evening on the couch, wrapped up in your robe and throw. You wake some time in the night, teeth chattering. Sometimes, Loki will tell you to come to bed. Other times, you quietly give up and slip under the covers on your side of the bed.

But every morning without fail, you wake tangled around him.

Sometimes, he’s spooned up behind you; more often, though, you’re the one clinging to him. It’s as though your body has a homing device that leads you over to his side of the bed in your sleep, dutifully ignoring all of your stern warnings about who stays where.

The worst part of it is that you’re fighting your own instincts. On a very basic, physical level, you yearn to be close to him. There’s a part of you that revels in these unintentional moments of closeness, that wants to allow yourself to enjoy the feeling of him, to allow him to put his hands on your body, for you to put your hands on him.

The fact that he wakes up noticeably hard most mornings does not make this any easier.

This is a problem that you’re not entirely sure how to solve and the second week in, your desire for information finally outweighs your desire to avoid social media and the deluge of emails and texts that you know are waiting for you on your phone.

You turn your phone back on and immediately delete all of your social media apps. You don’t know what they’re saying about you and you don’t care to. You turn off all of your notifications, even the little number icons that show you how many unread emails and texts that you have. You want absolutely no distractions.

You open a private browser window and pull up Google.

Newly connected soulbonds are the hormonal equivalent of pouring out a bunch of gasoline and striking a match. Soulbonds are intended to be consummated. You know this. There are people who wait it out for one reason or another, but that’s very much the exception—it’s a physical and emotional test of endurance. And you’re beginning to understand why.

The internet is not very helpful. You already know what happens when you don’t consummate a soulbond promptly—increased arousal, restlessness, vivid dreams, and so on as time goes on. You’re more interested in mitigation. You find a few blogs that have entirely irrelevant suggestions like cuddling on the couch or holding hands. “While you’re waiting for intercourse, why not try some outercourse?” one post muses with a level of earnestness that causes you to immediately turn off your phone and fling it across the room.

You’re going to have sex with him at some point. That’s inevitable. On a very basic level, you want him—it’s more or less coded into your DNA. But that is at odds with the reality of who he is and what he’s done. It might feel good to wake up tangled around him, but it only takes a minute to remember the battle of New York and it nearly extinguishes the desire burning within you.

But only nearly and only for now.

*

The third week is when things start getting increasingly difficult.

Loki seems content to wait things out. You can feel the burn of his gaze on you, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t prod.

You, on the other hand, find yourself slipping into a heightened state of arousal that is becoming impossible to ignore. Midway through the week, you finally give in and try touching yourself in the shower in the hope of some relief and you come so quickly and so hard that you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from crying out and your legs very nearly buckle from the force of it. A few twitches of your fingers has you sprawled on the shower floor and coming again, harder than before. You repeat this trick a few times but even as strong as it is, it doesn’t really help—you’re back to where you started within minutes.

Worse though, is the fact that it’s his face that you see when you come. Every. Single. Time. You imagine him over you, his gaze dark and intent as he watches you come; slack jawed and hissing in pleasure as he pushes into you; growling in approval and impatience as you take his cock into your mouth. The images come entirely unbidden and stick in the forefront of your thoughts like a burr clinging to wool.

When you see him later that afternoon, his gaze lands on you in such a way that it feels like he knows everything you’ve done and everything you’ve seen, from that moment in the shower to the shameful thoughts you had as you came.

The dreams start shortly after, and they are objectively worse.

The dreams are far more vivid than just images. In the dreams, he’s touching you, coaxing you to peaks you could never have imagined, pressing into you, taking you hard and fast and achingly slow and everything in between. The dreams leave you out of breath and shaky, aching for a touch that you know that you should not want, but do with every fiber of your being. By some miracle, they only seem to occur while you are on the couch and not when you’re in bed, but that luck won’t hold forever.

Perhaps more importantly, you know it’s only a matter of time before you give in. Deep down, you’ve known this from the moment the mark on your wrist started to burn. Your resistance is eroding like a sandcastle at high tide and it’s only a matter of time before you crumble.

But not yet. Not yet.

*

Five weeks after your arrival, you wake sweating and out of breath from another dream.

You take a few deep breaths. It was similar to the ones you’d had before. Thinking about the details makes your core ache and your clit throb so you try to keep them out of your mind.

You’re half surprised that you’re not tangled around Loki, given the content and subject of your dream, but that makes sense when you realize he’s not in bed. Instead, he sits on the couch, staring into the middle distance. Perhaps he is struggling with the same kinds of dreams.

The idea of you making Loki too hot and bothered to sleep is more appealing than you’d like to admit. You hastily dismiss the thought before it can bring any more heat to your already too warm skin or add more fuel to the flickering desire that seems to have settled permanently in the cradle of your hips.

You slip out of bed and go to the window, folding your arms across your stomach as you stare out at the sleeping city.

“You were calling out in your sleep.”

More heat prickles at your skin.

“Hm,” you say, trying your best to sound casual.

“What were you dreaming of?” he asks.

He’s only asking because he already knows the answer. You know this. But the lie still slips from your lips: “I don’t remember.”

He laughs, a quiet and dangerous sound that stokes the fire in your belly. “Have you forgotten, darling, that I am the god of lies?”

You can hear him walking toward you, but you keep your back turned. Has the room always been this warm?

He waits until he is directly behind you to speak again. “Will you lie again when I ask if you were dreaming of me?” His voice is so close, full of depth and a little husky. 

“You flatter yourself,” you say.

You can hear the smirk in his voice, feel the whisper of his breath on your neck. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” He pauses for a moment. “But you were calling out for me.”

Your lips are dry. You want to deny it, but it feels useless. Worst case scenario, he’s still mostly right: you were dreaming of him and you can’t even really deny crying out for him because you were asleep and you don’t know for sure.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he continues. His voice drops. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you writhing in pleasure beneath me.” He pauses. “Or I see myself between your legs, worshiping you with my mouth, bringing you to ecstasy over and over before I finally take you.”

Your heart is pounding and every nerve in your body feels as though it’s connected directly to your clit. You are warm—too warm—and you can feel your pulse pounding in your throat.

“What were you dreaming of?” he continues, his voice barely a murmur.

“Nothing,” you say.

He clicks his tongue. “Try again, darling.”

You say nothing and after a moment of silence, he seems to decide that it’s time to switch strategies.

“You must be so wet,” he murmurs, his tone low and soothing.

Your stomach and your cunt clench. If he starts talking dirty to you, it’s over.

“We’re not meant to go this long like this,” he says. “We both know that. It’s been five weeks. Your poor cunt is probably aching for me, just as I ache for you.”

Your breath is coming in shaky gasps. You need him. You can feel your resolve starting to slip.

“Yield to me.” His voice is rough with wanting, like this is just as hard for him as it is for you. “I know you feel it. I feel it, too. You yearn for me, you crave my touch. Let me make you feel good, darling, let me ease that ache. Yield and I will give you everything.”

You draw in a shaking breath and slowly turn to face him. He’s looking at you with an intensity that you expect, but it takes your breath away nonetheless.

The remnants of your resistance are lost to the wave of him and the only thing that’s left in its place is a raw need like you’ve never experienced before.

You don’t know what to say, so in the end, you settle for his name. Just his name, said quietly with all the desperation and longing that has been making your life hell these past few weeks.

You get a glimpse of the fire in his eyes before he’s on you.

There’s nothing gentle about this kiss. It’s the kiss of two people who have been deprived of each other for too long, your teeth bumping against each other, tongues twisting and tangling. You end up pressed against the wall next to the window, your leg wrapped around his waist, his hand supporting your thigh. He presses his hips against you and you moan into his mouth at the feeling of his hard cock dragging against your swollen, sensitive clit. He draws back slightly to look at your face as he slowly grinds his hips against yours, his free hand moving to palm your breast over the silk of your nightgown.

You moan again, your head dropping back against the wall. The soft, slippery friction of the silk of your nightgown against your nipple and the soaked lace of your underwear rubbing against your clit is enough to make you go cross eyed, a slow tease that only fans the burning embers within you. Your body is overheated and too tense, but Loki is blessedly cool in a way that somehow both soothes and inflames.

“You’re drenched. I can already feel that,” he says, his voice thick with desire as he moves against you. “I could make you come like this.”

You whimper, rocking your hips back against him. “Please.”

He shakes his head. “Another time. Tonight I want to feel you when you come.” He drops his hand from your breast, trailing down your stomach and moving in between your legs. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, and you let out a needy whine as he strokes the slick folds of your sex. “Is this all for me?” he asks, his voice slipping into a low growl.

You barely manage a breathy affirmative.

“Sweet thing.” His thumb rolls over your clit as he slides one finger into you, and your back arches automatically, your breasts jutting out. “We’re going to have to do something about this, aren’t we?”

“Please,” you breathe.

“How can I resist such a sweet plea?” he says, sliding another finger into you and curling it just so. “Or such a wet and needy cunt?”

“Don’t stop,” you say.

“I ought to make you beg me for it after everything you put me through.” His eyes darken as his thumb presses against your clit and you moan. “But perhaps I can be generous. I can feel how much you need to come on my fingers.”

You nod, slack jawed and panting.

“You’ve been waiting for this,” he murmurs. “You’ve tried to deny yourself, but you need me, you need my touch.”

You whimper, your hips rocking.

“Say it,” he says, stroking your clit.

“I need to come,” you moan.

“A good start,” he says, his voice a stern purr. “But not quite what I asked, my love. Try again.”

A twinge of irritation manages to work its way to the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly in a state to be playing twenty questions.”

His eyes light up with a predatory gleam that heralds the arrival of something that you know will end enjoyably for you.

“Oh, darling, that attitude won’t do at all.” His fingers are immediately and conspicuously absent and you very nearly cry out in frustration. But before you can, he is sweeping you into his arms and making the journey to the bed in several long strides. He sets you gently on the bed and looms over you, green eyes flashing as his hands stroke up your thighs. You lift your hips and he pulls your underwear off, tossing it to the side.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” His voice is a growl. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need to come.” You know it’s the wrong answer, but this particular game of cat and mouse and the predatory gleam in Loki’s eyes are making you even wetter and god, you need him.

His eyes flash with a barely concealed delight. “Try again.”

You spread your legs rather conspicuously, hiking your nightgown up to your waist. “I need to come.”

He’s looking at you intently, lips slightly parted. “You’re trying to distract me with that pretty cunt, you wicked thing.”

“Is it working?” you ask.

He lowers his head to kiss the inside of your left knee. “It would work much better if you answered me properly and told me everything you need.”

You think you have an idea of what he wants to hear, but you’re not quite ready to give up the game yet. Instead, you pull your nightgown up and over your head and toss it to the side. His eyes are dark as he looks at you, his gaze lingering on your breasts and trailing down to the apex of your spread legs. You wonder what it would take to make him lose control, to take you in the way that you both need.The thought sends another flood of heat to your aching core. 

You lick your lips. “Will you make me come, Loki?”

Another wolfish grin. “Closer. But not quite. Try again.”

You let your hand slide down your stomach and between your legs and you part your sopping folds so he can see the full extent of what he’s done to you—every dripping inch. The look he’s giving you now only heightens the feeling.

“Should I make myself come?” you ask and you’re immediately rewarded with an almost feral look and a sharp smack to your ass.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls.

You put on your most innocent expression, even as his visible hunger makes you ache. “I thought you’d like seeing me touch myself.”

“Oh, there will be time for that later,” he says, his eyes still dark. “I’m particularly interested in seeing what prompted those intriguing little noises I kept hearing while you were in the shower. But every tremor of pleasure that wracks your body tonight will be from me alone. Now,” his eyes glitter and his hand replaces yours on your cunt, his long fingers spreading you open, but not touching you, his expression rapt with undisguised greed, “tell me what you need.”

Your capacity to tease and resist him was well and truly exceeded when he smacked your ass and was further obliterated by the monologue he just delivered. “I need you to make me come, Loki. I need you so bad.”

His smile is filled with dark promises and a hunger that you have every interest in sating several times over.

“Good girl,” he says.

And his fingers slide back into you as his mouth envelopes your aching clit.

You moan as your hips lift and your hands tangle in his hair. He mumbles something that sounds like “perfect” against your clit, first teasing you with the tip of his tongue and then pressing it flat against you and rubbing in slow circles. Meanwhile, his fingers have found that soft, aching spot inside of you and he presses against it in slow, firm thrusts that make you tremble.

You initially think that you’ll be quite quick to come because you’re already so wound up, but Loki seems determined to find the edge and keep you there for as long as possible—and he’s really, really good at it. He falls into a rhythm where his tongue strokes your clit once, twice, three times and withdraws; his fingers pick up the thread, stroking your walls once, twice, three times and withdrawing, only for his tongue to resume where he left off. In this way, he keeps you balanced on the edge in a perfect kind of torture. It feels so good, but it’s not quite enough to get you there just yet.

You make liberal use of his name—it’s a plea, a curse, a benediction, a moan, a sigh. Instinctively, you know that he likes this, but it’s not enough to distract him into letting you fall even a moment before he wants you to.

The ache that’s been building in your hips for the last couple weeks is growing, burning bright and warm. Your body feels electric in the best way, your nerves humming and buzzing and straining for release.

“Loki,” you moan, partly as encouragement and partly because you want him so badly.

You’re so close. Your entire body is tense and trembling; all you can think about is how badly you need to come, how much you are aching for your release.

So close.

“Loki, please,” you moan, truly desperate now. “Please let me come. Make me yours—”

You’re not sure if it’s what you said, the desperation in your voice, or pure coincidence, but in that moment, he shifts his rhythm so that his mouth and fingers are no longer alternating, but are instead moving in sync. And this is what you need to tip you over, to allow that wave to finally, finally crest and then break.

Your orgasm hits you hard, pulling a loud moan from deep within your chest and making your entire body quake. Sparklers are dancing along your veins, champagne bubbles fizzing along your muscles, stars bursting behind your eyes. You have never felt anything like this before—you are satisfied but also aching for more, falling apart and being remade over and over again.

It’s only when you’re decidedly in the blissful wave of the aftershocks that he dares to lift his head and he looks you over like you’re something wonderful. Before you can raise your hands to reach for him, he’s crawling up to you, claiming your mouth in a kiss that feels deeper than the ocean.

He slides his hand in between your legs and you whimper, shivering at the sensation of his thumb stroking your sensitive clit. But somehow, he finds that particular angle and pressure that’s just enough, but not too much. You moan and he slides a finger back into you, rolling in the same rhythm as his thumb on your clit.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Keep going for me, darling. I want to watch you come this time.” His voice is so firm and authoritative and it strikes sparks up and down your spine.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hips rocking with his hand.

“You’re doing so well getting ready for me,” he purrs. He lowers his voice to a rough growl. “I can’t wait to fuck you until you’re trembling and coming all over my cock like the wicked, filthy girl that you are.”

It’s the combination of his words and his voice and his perfect hands that does it this time. A rolling, fluttering shudder fizzes through your body, building to a peak that has you letting out a guttural moan as you clench around his thrusting fingers.

“Yes, that’s it,” Loki says as he watches you through hooded eyes. “You are gorgeous when you come undone.”

He kisses you slowly, fingers moving steadily until the final shudder rolls through you.

Somehow, through all of this, he’s remained fully clothed. There’s an aspect to this that’s appealing—it makes everything feel particularly decadent and a little forbidden—but your palms are practically itching with your need to touch him. You need him inside you, but you also need him close, bare skin on bare skin.

Your hands sneak under his shirt and you suck in a sharp breath when you feel the heat of his skin underneath your palms. You tug his shirt off him and make quick work of his pants before drawing back to look at him.

He looks like art. It’s a silly thought, but there’s some truth to it—there’s an almost ethereal quality in the sharp angles of his face and the elegant symmetry of his musculature. 

Your gaze drifts down to his cock. He’s long, thick, and hard, the tip flushed and slick with pre-come. An ache courses through you—something about seeing the full evidence of his arousal makes everything seem more real, makes you want him with renewed ferocity.

You want to touch him and so you do, your fingers curling around his shaft.

“Can you feel how much I need you?” he asks as you stroke him slowly. He is remarkably composed, though you catch the slight hitch in his breath and it sends a thrill through you.

“Will you show me?” you ask.

“Every day,” he says.

It’s an answer you’re not expecting. You were speaking strictly in the immediate, physical sense. This feels deeper, more meaningful. You’re not quite sure what to say, so you kiss him and he kisses you back with an intensity and thoroughness that makes your toes curl.

He rolls over you, his body covering yours. It’s almost overwhelming how good his bare skin feels against yours. You take his cock in your hand again and stroke him, slowly rubbing the tip from your clit to your entrance, coating him in your slick.

You expect him to just push forward when you guide him to your entrance and you’re almost disappointed that he doesn’t—you’ve both waited so long for this and your need for him is burning inside you like an inferno.

But instead he pauses, his eyes locked with yours.

“Will you have me?” he asks. There’s vulnerability in the question, a softness in his green eyes that you don’t expect. It feels like a loaded question, though not necessarily in a bad way.

You don’t hesitate. “Yes,” you breathe.

Something like relief flashes briefly in his eyes before he leans in and kisses you. You tilt your hips up again and this time, you feel the blunt head of his cock slowly press into your waiting warmth.

You’d read people describing first times with their soulmates and it had always sounded so hyperbolic and silly. They’d throw around words like euphoric and transcendent and all you could do was try not to roll your eyes.

But the moment Loki is fully seated inside you, you finally get it. Every overwrought, overused cliché seems to occur to you all at once—puzzle pieces falling into place and locks and keys and halves made whole and all that bullshit—and it all makes sense in a way that it hadn’t before.

Loki’s eyes are stormy above you, to the point that you think you may have angered him, but then he kisses you with a ferocity and possessiveness that steals your breath and makes you tighten around him.

“Mine,” he growls against your lips. “Mine.”

There’s a lot of emotion in that word. There’s history in that word. It’s the sort of thing that the two of you will probably need to unpack later. For now, though, you wrap your legs around him and meet his demanding, hungry kisses with your own.

“I’m yours,” you murmur against his lips. “Take me.”

You expect him to respond to that plea with a frantic pace. But instead, his first thrusts are slow, like he’s savoring it. Your body yields to him instinctively, your muscles drawing him in and then tightening further as he withdraws. You are so slick, so ready for him that it almost feels a little obscene.

“You are exquisite,” he rasps as he sinks into you, his head bowing to kiss and nip at your neck. “I have been aching for you.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

You’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for—more of this, more of him—but he seems to know anyway. He kisses you deeply as you wrap your legs around his waist, rolling your hips up to meet his.

In one fluid motion, he rolls you over so that you are on top. He looks up at you, an irrepressible smirk curling at the corners of his lips.

“Go on,” he says, his voice low. “I want to see you take your pleasure from me. Claim your throne, my love.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. This is a man who single-handedly conquered the entire planet and he’s telling you he wants you to ride his cock until you come. It is raw and sexy and undeniably hot and the way he’s looking up at you makes you feel beautiful and powerful.

You lean forward, bracing your hands on the mattress, tilting your pelvis until you find the right angle, the one that makes your stomach tighten and your breath stutter. 

A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. “Right there?”

You let out a shaky breath and rock your hips. “Yeah.”

It takes a moment for you to find your rhythm, but you find that you want—or perhaps need—to go slow and steady. Loki watches you, his hips rocking with yours as he lets you set the pace, his hands sliding from your hips to your breasts and back again, like he can’t get enough. His gaze is intent and intense and you get the sense that he’s cataloging every movement, every gasp or sigh, furrowed brow or bitten lip.

The coil in your hips is starting to wind tighter and you know it won’t be long. 

As though he knows, Loki slides a hand down your body, palm gently pressing against your lower stomach. A fantastic pressure begins to blossom in your hips and you whimper.

“You’re doing so well,” he purrs. “So tight and wet. You’re perfect.”

“Getting close,” you breathe.

“I know, I can feel you,” he says.

You’re at a point somewhere beyond words, riding that wave, chasing bliss that you can almost feel. A choked whimper falls from your lips.

“That’s it,” rasps Loki. “Be a good girl and come on my cock.” He flicks his thumb against your clit and you completely unravel.

It was good the first two times, but having him inside you as you come sends you to another plane of existence entirely. Your orgasm seems extended, the feeling of his cock against the spasming muscles of your cunt creating more even rippling pleasure. And the noise that he makes, the filthy praise that falls from his lips, the way that his fingertips dig into your hips just makes it all better.

He rolls you over onto your back just as you’re starting to feel boneless, and pulls you into a deep kiss.  He thrusts into you, a little faster than the pace you had set, but still slow and steady.

“I want to feel you come again,” he breathes. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this, how good you feel?”

You shudder as his cock drags again against that spot inside you. He repeats the motion and you keen, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“That’s it,” he rasps, bringing your leg up over his hip to press even more deeply inside of you. “Come on, darling. Let me feel you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, meeting his hungry, demanding kiss with your own. You roll your hips with his, chasing the flickers of bliss that he’s steadily stoking to an inferno once more.

“Please,” you mumble against his lips. “Need you. Please.”

He groans and increases his pace just enough to make you whimper. The desire inside of you is catching fire.

“I…fuck, I—” Your hands are gripping his shoulders, your body shaking as you approach your end.

Loki’s eyes are wild, his teeth bared. You can tell that he’s close, that he’s chasing the same incredible feeling that you are.

“I want you to come for me,” he grits out. “And the second I feel your tight cunt start to tremble around me, I’m going to come inside you.

You moan, fingernails digging into his shoulders. You are unbearably close.

“Do you want that, darling?” he says. “Do you want me to come inside you? Do you want your perfect cunt filled with my seed?”

You are almost beyond words, but not quite: “Yes. Please.”

Despite how close he is, he still gives the impression of being entirely in control. He lowers his head so that his lips graze yours and his eyes are all that you can see. “Then come for me,” he says.

Two more deadly smooth rolls of his hips and you do. A guttural, plaintive sound falls from your lips as your whole body trembles with the force of your orgasm, your cunt squeezing around the girth of his cock. He groans, mumbling something in a language you don’t recognize before he, too, starts to unravel.

His face is rapturous when he comes, his head tipping back and his mouth falling open, brow furrowing. If you weren’t so distracted with the rippling shocks of your own pleasure, you would try to commit it to memory. Instead, you simply try to enjoy the feeling of him emptying himself inside of you, the stuttering thrust of his hips, the soft groan that falls from his lips. Finally he stills, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder. You can feel his heart pounding against yours.

You feel…it’s not different, exactly, but there’s a kind of ease and connection that just feels right. The restless ache inside of you is finally quiet and you feel loose and languid and pleasantly sleepy.

Finding your soulmate isn’t necessarily the same as falling in love. Sometimes it all happens in the moment. Sometimes it’s years in between.

For you, though, you can pinpoint the exact moment that seed was planted: Loki raising his head to look at you, his hand curled against your cheek. His gaze is careful, reverent, like you are as warm and golden as the dawn just barely beginning to streak the morning sky.

[silver-tongued-bby]

Ooof.

What a wonderful read. The writing is just 🤌🏽

[viv-annelore]

[xoxovivafics]

Dark Miracles

Pairing: Vampire! Loki x Victorian! black reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only. Minors, ageless, blank, & non-updated blogs will be blocked immediately.

Word count: 4,474 words

Plot: A Victorian spinster finds love with the dashing aristocrat Loki Odinson. But when the unthinkable happens, the mourning widow must make a choice. Will she make the right one?

Warnings: For 18+ readers, this fic is filled with gothic horror themes, brief depictions of grief and depression, murder, violence, recreational drug use and alcohol drinking (it’s the Victorian period), blood drinking, nudity and references to sex.

Notes: An entry for @cocoamoonmalfoy’s Jackolanterns in July 2023 Writing Event! It exceeds the word limit, sorry!

Brief descriptions of the reader’s clothing and hair are, as always, period accurate.

It weighed on you, your grief. It pressed against your heart like an insistent intruder, outstaying its welcome. Poisoned thoughts coursed through your mind, curdling the memories you tried so desperately to hold onto. It almost sounded like him. 

You sobbed, clutching the cold pillow beside you, waiting for Loki to comfort you, to brush away your tears. You could hear his voice, low and soothing. Come, darling. Please don’t cry, I cannot bear to see you unhappy. You could almost see how his eyes crinkled as he smiled gently, almost feel the warmth of his embrace.

But it wasn’t real. It was simply your yearning creating an impossible spectre.

“Loki, my love. I miss you,” you whispered into the silence.

You were always somewhat melancholic, even in your youth. The only person that had ever been able to fill you with joy was Loki Odinson, the charming Yorkshire lord.

When you married, everything became lighter, your large townhouse filled with your delighted laughter. He’d courted you patiently, letting you get to know him, to trust him. His green eyes sparkled with mirth whenever he said something wicked enough to evoke startled laughter from you. The fact that you weren’t scandalised thrilled him.

He listened to your ideas when many other men had dismissed you as a spinster, interested only in your fortune. But not Loki, never him. He only wanted your happiness. 

And so, you entered a state of happily wedded bliss. For a glorious year you had everything that you wanted. Sun dappled days were spent reading with your doting husband, or wandering through arcades and galleries arm in arm. You became known for your exuberant parties and bohemian salons. For the first time in your life, you thrived. 

But such halcyon days could never last.

It was you that had suggested it. A recuperative month at the seaside after a long season of parties. You enjoyed Bognor in the late autumn, when most of the crowds had dispersed back to London. You stayed in a small cottage on the outskirts of town, needing nothing but each other. 

You spent the days tangled together, following every amorous whim that came to you until you were both left exhausted and covered in sweat. You only left the bed to eat and occasionally sit on the beach, letting the cool sea air revitalise you. It was beautiful, and so was he, with his raven locks and knowing gaze. Only you knew the depths of his tenderness, the pleasure of his sinfulness.

The final week had passed like every other. Loki sat at the small breakfast table, drinking tea with his notebook in hand. He saw you move around with a determined look in your eyes and a basket in hand. You wore your boyish bicycle suit, a sure sign that you planned some adventure. 

Loki gathered you into his arms, placing you on his lap. He moved the basket aside.

“Must you leave me, darling?” he asked, nuzzling your neck. “I can think of much better amusements.”

“I’m sure that you can-” Your words were lost as his tongue met your skin. You shut your eyes, holding him close. “Please, my love. Stop your temptations. I cannot resist your affection.”

Loki huffed out a quiet laugh, his long fingers seeking to unbutton your clothing. “Oh, of that I am aware.”

You laughed as you playfully slapped his arm, moving away from him. You kissed his tanned, freckled cheek, earning a grin. “What will I do with you, husband?”

“Whatever brings you the most pleasure,” he answered steadily. 

You shook your head. “You scoundrel. I’ll be back within the hour. I’m only running a few errands. Perhaps I’ll find a keepsake to remember our time here.”

“Sounds wonderful. Could you bring back scones for breakfast? It would be marvellous to eat here one last time before our train.” His angular face was hopeful.

You took your basket, giggling softly. “Of course, my heart. I’ll be back soon.”

“I love you, my darling lamb. I will await your return with anticipation and a rumbling stomach.” 

You kissed chastely, stroking his cheek before rubbing your noses together. “I love you too, old thing. You’ll hardly notice I’m gone.”

With a cheerful smile and a wave you were gone, already thinking about the berries you’d pick for your cook to turn into compote. 

That was your last good memory of him. Its mundanity had transformed into something sacred.

Everything after that felt like a hallucination. You returned in less than an hour, holding flowers and breakfast in your large basket. A few pretty shells rested in your pockets. You raised your key before realising the door was already ajar.

“Loki! I’ve returned, with a lovely meal!” you called out. Silence greeted you. You opened the door. Perhaps he’d retired into the garden. He enjoyed writing his poetry and essays in the sunshine.

“Husband?” It was utter chaos inside. Your possessions were destroyed or missing.

You dropped your basket. This was wrong, all wrong. You picked up a fireplace poker with a shaking hand, moving through the house. You and Loki often fenced, enjoying the graceful physicality and intellectualism of the sport. You knew your way around a sharp object.

The silence rested heavily around you in warning. This wasn’t Loki’s usual mischief. He’d never want you afraid. The sound of your heart filled your ears.

A wail filled the cottage when you found him in bed. Was it you, or the heavens mourning with you? 

He was slain with his own hunting knife. Those beautiful eyes that had looked at you with such love only recently, now stared blankly at the wooden ceiling. His rosy lips were pulled into a pained, pale grimace.

There was so much blood.

This wasn’t real. You became numb, staying away from him, his body, trying to reject the sight before you. You squeezed your eyes shut. This wouldn’t be your last image of him.

“I’ll be back, my love,” you hiccupped. “I’ll find help. You’ll hardly notice I’m gone.” You could only whisper those words.

His murder dismayed the sleepy town. The death of a famous aristocrat was unthinkable. The constabulary sent you home with the terrible news as they sought out the culprit.

Life fractured after that. There was the grand funeral, as befitting his station. You’d begged Thor not to send Loki to their ancestral cemetery. You needed to be close to him. Thor acquiesced, to Odin’s displeasure. You were his family and he understood. 

After that, there was nothing. The parties stopped. You only left the house to travel in your carriage to Highgate or wander listlessly in your garden. In his death, Loki became a famed poet, a symbol of tragic romance. Your friends gave you his now published works. But it gave you no pleasure. It was just a painful reminder. 

The papers no longer spoke about the charming hosts of the Odinson House. You were given a new moniker.

The Lady of Sorrows. 

Life became monotonous. Your maid appeared every morning to bathe you and carefully comb and style your hair. If she didn’t, you wouldn’t get up at all. You ate enough to soothe everyone’s worry and keep away the doctors. You spent your days in the parlour, looking out the window in a silent rage. How dare the sun keep shining, the birds keep singing! Did they not feel your anguish?

Friends and family visited, bringing gossip and presents, trying to make you smile again. After dinner you would retire early to bed, wanting the dreadful thought to end for a few hours. But they were always there when you awakened, ready with new torments. 

Every morning and evening the same chant, the same ritual, kissing the wedding and engagement rings that you now wore on a necklace. You never removed them. Touching the locket pinned above your heart that held a lock of that shining raven hair. Whispering your chant, itself a kind of magic.

“I miss you, my heart. I miss you, I miss you.”

The days passed. A year without him. Slowly you became human again. You visited friends and briefly attended their parties. You could get dressed on your own. You walked in the city with friends, still able to hear Loki’s footsteps beside you. 

Weekly, you visited his grave at Highgate. You began a new ritual of kissing the hands of the reclining angel on top of his tomb, a book in its stone hand, its face serene. You brought flowers and trinkets for him. You could see that others also visited him. It comforted you that he wasn’t alone.

All Hallow’s Eve arrived, the anniversary of his death. The source of your unhealable wound. You brought a small meal in memory of the picnics you used to have. You spoke to him about everything.

“Thor has become an MP, unfathomable, I know. And he has finally settled with Jane, they have purchased a home nearby in Mayfair, so that he may walk to Whitehall. The inns weep for their lost profit.” 

You could almost hear his wry response, see the arch of his brow. Surely the whores weep more. 

“I have started my philanthropic pursuits again. It seems selfish to keep this fortune to myself.” You hesitated. “If I am honest, my dear, it feels as though I am ridding myself of a great burden. I’d hoped that such endeavours could transform this tragedy into something better. But charity cannot soothe my sorrow.”

You rested your head at the angel’s feet. “I would give up everything to have you back, Loki. I feel as though I am still in Limbo. Perhaps this is where I shall remain.”

Your friends arrived soon after for the feast in his honour. It would last until midnight, with much drinking and raucous merriment. Stephen, Verity and Anthony recited his poetry, while you, Clea, Jane and Virginia formed a nocturnal choir to sing his favourite rude folk songs. 

Thor arrived with old school chums to tell the legends of his younger days. You knew that Loki had been an unholy terror at university, known for his cunning tricks and ability to talk his way out of anything. 

The party was in parts mournful and joyous. Your friends held you as you wept softly, brushing your tears away. You put on a brave face, trying to celebrate. The world spun and undulated around you as you filled yourself with spirits and Stephen’s medicines. The group danced, your voices ringing out into the night, loud enough to raise the dead. As the night wore on, you all gave into the restful bliss of medicated oblivion, slumping in a heap.

You awoke first, startled awake by a clock bell ringing twelve times. The sound was discordant, making you shiver. You sat up, looking around in confusion. You were still in the cemetery. Everyone was still asleep around you.

You stood, stretching your aching limbs. Your head felt unmoored. The moon seemed too bright, causing you to squint. The sky unfurled in inky patterns like a glorious tapestry. The stars sang along with the insects and owls. 

“Even the night celebrates you, beloved,” you murmured. 

Something caught your eye. You turned around. A strange, sickly green substance wafted amidst the gravestones. You followed it, leaving your group behind. You went deeper into the cemetery, entranced by the shimmering ectoplasm.

“Loki?” you whispered, hope crushing your chest. The substance grew in brightness, reflecting in your enlarged pupils.

You reached out with trembling fingers. You touched the vapour. 

A chill ran through you. A cold deeper than the cold autumnal air. The cold of the grave.

The ectoplasm vanished. You exhaled a shuddering sob, tugging anxiously at a loose section of coiled hair.

You suddenly felt frightened. Alone, in the dark, surrounded by the dead. Were you being watched? But that was ridiculous. You were no believer in spiritualism. This had to be a dream of some sort, a dark fantasia brought on by the laudanum-

“Greetings, child.”

You shrieked, moving against a tombstone. A flickering green figure appeared in front of you. He appeared like a gentleman, his face handsome and kindly. He removed his hat, tucking it under it under his arm as he bowed.

His voice echoed around you as he spoke. “We have witnessed the depths of your sorrow, child. And we have seen the constancy of your devotion.”

“W-who are you?”

“A friend and a convoy. On this night, the spirits mingle amongst the dead. It is a night of miracles. So tell me, child. What do you long for? Or, should I say, whom?”

You rubbed your locket. “My husband. Loki Odinson. I miss him. I need him back.”

“And what would you give to have him back?”

“Everything.”

“And what if he is not the same?”

“I will treasure him, whatever his form. Please .” You spoke in a pained hiss, your nerves frayed.

The spirit tilted their head at an angle that was entirely unnatural. “Very well. Do you own something of the deceased?”

You struggled to open your locket, your fingers uncooperative. Silently, you gave the spirit the snippet of Loki’s hair. The spirit considered the item in his palm. He balled his fist and incinerated it.

You gasped, panicked. That was the last vestige of him, and now it was gone. 

The spirit opened his hand, revealing a long, black ribbon. He held it taut. “It is done. This is the line that connects your soul to his. It cannot be severed. He will find his way back to you.”

You looked at him in wonderment. “What else should I do to prepare?”

“Nothing. Simply rejoice, child. And pray that this miracle is a fortuitous one.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean?” you demanded. 

But you were once again alone.

You returned home in the early morning in Thor’s carriage. Your thoughts were jumbled as you retreated to your room. You removed your clothing and held your locket, afraid that it wasn’t a dream, afraid that it was.

Biting your lip, you opened it. The hair was gone. In its place was a ribbon.

It was real. He was coming back to you. The spectre’s words rang in your ears. Pray that this miracle is a fortuitous one. 

Loki’s return could only be a blessing. Now all you had to do was wait.

That very night, a fierce storm raged across the city. You read in Loki’s study, too nervous to fall asleep. The clock chimed, making your head snap up, your heart beating wildly. Midnight. Would he return tonight?

You placed the book down, staring at the large door in front of you. When a minute passed, you slumped in your armchair. It wasn’t as though the spectre had told you what to expect, or when. Loki wouldn’t simply appear in front of you, would he?

Above the gale, there was a loud knock. And another. And another. Your heart felt as though it would burst.

You grabbed your oil lamp and rushed out the room, down the stairs. Your dressing gown flowed behind you as your butler opened the doors. 

Leaves and rain blew into the large entrance hall. Thunder shook the windows, followed by a scream of lightning. You stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The butler covered his mouth with a shaking hand, his eyes disbelieving, fearful.

Loki stood in the doorway, looking at you in amazement. He wore the suit he was buried in. You placed the lamp on a table, your eyes never leaving his. You ran to him, hugging him tightly. Tears ran freely down your face as you gulped back sobs.

“I missed you. By God, I missed you.”

Strong arms wrapped around you, an embrace that you’d dreamt about for a year. You didn’t notice his flinch.

“Oh darling, don’t cry. You brought me home. We’ll never be apart again. Now, let’s go inside, you’ll catch your death out here.”

Arm and arm, you walked back upstairs, back into your old life.

In the weeks that followed, your happiness returned tenfold. Loki had returned, and he was the same- loving, devoted, playful. If anything his love for you had deepened. There was almost a hunger in his eyes now. He barely left your side, not that you minded.

There was no way to explain his return, so you simply didn’t. How could you when everyone had seen his body in his coffin? It was relatively easy to hide him, as he slept during the day, exhaustion making him as sleep as though still dead. Your friends and family noted the change in your demeanour, but they thought that you were finally healing.

The servants, however. They were frightened of him, frightened for you. They saw his pallor, that he didn’t eat, that he bore no remnants of a violent end. You couldn’t tell them that Loki needed no food because he was a reanimated spirit, that your love had healed him.

It was the death of your pet rabbits that finally caused them to leave. Poor Jasper and Felix were mauled in their cages sometime in the night. You explained that it was just foxes, that while tragic, it was natural. Plenty of other animals had died recently in your garden without comment. But they all fled soon after. You paid them handsomely to tell no one about Loki’s return. 

Sometimes, though. Sometimes you noticed other changes. Saw how his eyes became reflective in the dark for just a moment, enough to make you doubt yourself. His hungry looks became more pronounced. He was insatiable, ravishing your body all night without stopping, leaving love bites across your skin that were almost painful.

But those were minor worries. Life continued and new staff were brought in, those who were discreet, who wouldn’t ask too many questions.

Everything was perfect, until winter came in. 

You hired Molly, a sweet young maid. She had escaped from a dreadful workhouse and you took pity on her. She seemed eager to please, and charmed by you and Loki. You knew that you could leave her to her work while you attended dinner at Anthony’s home in Richmond.

“I wish that I could reveal you, my love. Our friends would be overjoyed to see you.” You both laid naked in bed, enjoying each other’s warmth as the fire crackled in the fireplace.

“I know, darling lamb. I do miss the raucousness of an Anthony Stark dinner. But you know the risk.” He nuzzled your neck, playfully biting you.

You laughed as you curved into his body, still real and firm beside you. You ran your fingers over his dark chest hair. “It feels unpleasant, leaving you trapped in this place while I continue to enjoy myself outside these walls.”

“I’m not trapped, you silly girl. I occasionally go on walks while you sleep.” He saw your look of fear. Thor, Jane and Verity lived nearby, and he was very distinct. “Don’t worry, I keep myself hidden and walk while most of the city slumbers. It’s oddly invigorating.”

You slumped your shoulders. “I can’t lose you again, Loki. My heart would break.”

He held your hands over his chest. “Nothing can separate us, I promise you that. Not even death. I will be safe, darling, I swear.” He grinned as he pinned you down. “Now, I believe that we have a few spare moments before you need to prepare. I wonder how much wickedness we can pursue in such little time.”

You came home earlier than expected, tired from the evening’s exertions. You walked towards the bedroom, until a light from Loki’s study caught your eye. Humming a tune, you opened the door to say ‘good night’.

You stifled a horrified scream.

Loki sat on the floor with Molly in his arms. The lamplight revealed the too sharp contours of his cheeks, his pointed ears and sharp fangs. Her nightgown was drenched in blood, her throat pierced. 

An anguished Loki looked up at you, his eyes a hellish ruby, his face covered in blood. Her blood. You viscerally remembered the day you found his body. This was much worse.

Molly looked at you with lost, hazy eyes, her mouth slack. Her round, pleasant face was still trusting. “Is this a dream, Miss?” she asked, her high voice slurred.

“Yes, my dear. It is just a dream. Now, sleep. When you wake in the morning you won’t remember a thing.” Loki spoke to her soothingly. It repulsed you. He didn’t look human. What had I brought back? 

He looked hurt as you fled from him, realising with horror the spectre’s warning. You thought about the times you felt tired without explanation, the haziness of some nights. You thought about your poor rabbits. It had been him, this entire time.

Loki licked Molly’s wound clean with a long, pointed tongue, using his own blood to heal the wound. He would deal with her later. He had to explain himself to you.

He found you in bed, your knees drawn up to your chest. He quickly washed his face and removed his bloody shirt.

“What are you?” you demanded.

“I don’t know,” he said, moving towards you slowly with his hands up. “The night I returned, I felt so hungry that I knew food couldn’t sate me. I realised over the weeks that I craved fresh blood. I tried to feast on animals, but it wasn’t enough. I needed humans.”

“You’ve done that to me, haven’t you?” Your voice was accusatory.

“Thrice, when I couldn’t go out. I only took enough to quench my thirst. I couldn’t bear the thought of harming you.” You could see the deep shame on his face.

“Is Molly dead? Did you kill that poor girl?”

Loki wrung his hands. He looked normal again, which terrified you more. “No. She will live. It was an act of desperation. The cold has made it harder to find anyone on my walks. Even the ne’er-do-wells have retired for the season. I was starving. I am sorry, lamb, truly I am. This is the price for my return.”

He sat at the foot of the bed, giving you space. You thought about your bargain. You said that you would give everything to have him back. These past months had been heaven on earth. But this had been the darkness underneath, the rot winding its way beneath your feet.

But still, he was yours. Could you really turn him away, the man who owned your heart? No , your thoughts screamed. Never again! 

“Please forgive me, darling. I hate this cursed existence as much as you do. I’ll leave if you wish, I’ll travel back north-”

“No! Please. I can’t- I need you here with me.” You reached for him as though you would drown without his touch. He brought you into a tight embrace, stroking your back.

He whispered your name, murmuring ‘I’m sorry’ as though it had the power to change the night’s events. You thought hard about the best way forward, ever the practical spouse.

“You can’t feed from Molly again, it’s too cruel. I took her in, I’m responsible for her.” You moved away from him, looking at him steadily.

“I- I know. I won’t.”

“When you cannot find other sustenance, you will feed from me.” I would give you everything .

Loki looked aghast, but he held his tongue. You’d already lost your old servants, people you had known since childhood. He couldn’t do that to you again.

He nodded.

“I do not want you to harm innocent people, or those you think beneath you.” You thought of the orphanages and pauper’s hospitals you financed, of the poor women forced to sell their own bodies. Their life was hard enough. They didn’t deserve an angel of death stalking them in the night.

You exhaled, clasping your rings in a fist to steady yourself. God, please forgive me. “Kill only those who would harm others. Be like Death and accept all into your dark embrace, not just the poor. I- I could live with that.” You shut your eyes, ashamed to look at him. “That would be a fair exchange to have you by my side.”

Loki looked solemn as he placed his hand over yours. “Then it is done,” he said quietly. “Anything to make you happy.”

“Will it hurt?” you asked, your voice wavering.

Loki smiled sadly, shaking his head. “No, I always make sure that it doesn’t hurt. It will feel like a dream.”

“No, not a dream. I want to remember it. This is a part of us now.” You stood and removed your evening gown, stripping to your chemise and bloomers. “I am going to attend to Molly.”

“I’ll help. She’s sleeping, you won’t be able to carry her,” he explained. You gave a brusque nod, your face grim.

Loki helped you return Molly to her bedroom, leaving you to clean her up in privacy. He paced in the bedroom until you returned to him. You both looked at each other, the silence insurmountable. You could see his hunger still. It wasn’t just love, not completely.

You removed your bloodied clothing and let down your hair. You still wanted him, even knowing what he was. The bed creaked as you sat, your gaze downward.

He could hear how quickly your heart beat. He stalked towards you, his eyes almost glowing in the light. He understood the trust that he was being given, the devotion. You were his, and he was yours. 

Loki tilted your neck.

“Thank you. Be calm, my dear. All will be well. This will feel like love’s sweetest kiss.” His low voice was hypnotic.

He held you as he kissed your neck, his grip possessive. You could feel the shifting of bone and sinew as his hand transformed into sharp, vicious claws. His kiss became a long tongue that dragged hungrily across your skin. A low growl rose in his throat, unlike anything you’d heard before.

Your breath quickened. You were afraid. Your fear thrilled him. Fear always made the blood so much richer. He hated himself for enjoying it.

“I love you, my darling lambkin” Loki said softly. “You brought me back, and I am yours, forever.”

He sank his long fangs into your neck, moaning in pleasure as your blood rushed to the surface, spilling rich crimson over dark skin and a red, inhuman tongue. He wouldn’t let you go. It felt like a dark kiss, obscene in the nakedness of his want. He would drag you to his hellish depths and you would let him. For love.

“Yes,” you whispered, unsure whether the tight feeling that curled around your heart was joy or despair. “Forever.” 

[silver-tongued-bby]

Things I’ve missed during my hiatus: Viva writing Loki.

I loved this!!! The hair she kept from him? So Victorian era, I adore the little detail 🖤🖤 perfect time of year to bring this back!!

[xoxoviva]

Omggg, you’re back! I missed you! 🥹 Hi, thank you for reading! There are so many Loki stories for you…

[silver-tongued-bby]

I missed you too!! ☺️🖤

Oh I know and am very much looking forward to catching up…

[silver-tongued-bby]

The Fall - Chapter I

Pairing: Manipulative!Dom!Loki x Sub!fem!Reader

This work is set in an AU.

Words: ~2,400

Summary: A chance encounter at the grocery store has you second guessing yourself and well, everything else.

This is work of fiction is 18+!!!!, and contains graphic descriptions of rough sex, manipulation, sadism, Loki who likes to see you cry, a dom/sub dynamic, a broken reader with family issues, cigarette smoking. Please do not interact if you are a minor or are sensitive towards any of the themes mentioned above.

~~~

It really was a bad fucking day. 

The exaggeratedly bad type of day that was reserved for shitty romcoms or late-night comedies, the ones that made your stomach curl. Everything that could go wrong did. 

And so here you were, feeling sorry for yourself as you vacantly stared at the neatly stacked ice cream containers behind the glass. You rubbed your eyes and caught a glimpse of someone in the reflection, flinching with a start. 

It took you a moment to recognise her - that girl. The one that showed up when you were at your lowest. That girl that looked so much like you, but without the mask. The mask that made you a functioning member of society, that got you jobs, friends, and dates. You looked at this girl, the one with tears in her eyes wrapped in a men’s coat four sizes too big for her and wondered when exactly she’d come into existence. It seemed she’d always been there, growing as her parents did their very best to do their absolute worst. 

You blinked again, sighing at your reflection before turning around, vacant stare now aimed at the boxes of crackers behind you. You weren’t hungry - not really. Your feet had just carried you to your car, so you drove yourself here, as if a 1AM visit to the grocery store would fix things. 

Blinking away the fresh tears, you grabbed a box of Cheez-Its off the shelf and turned, your bleary eyes meeting those of the stranger at the end of the aisle. 

Something in his stare stopped you, pinned you in place. His expression was neutral, but something in that blue-green told you to turn around and run, though your clever feet had seemingly retired for the evening. 

You could tell he was handsome, though you didn’t lift your gaze from his. You felt as if he’d somehow stripped you bare, easily seeing all you desperately tried to hide. 

You opened your mouth to speak, though you hadn’t the slightest idea of what to say. His eyes flickered down to the box in your hand before snapping back to your own and a second later he carried on, walking past the aisle to the next.

You stood there on uneasy legs, a frown tugging at your features. What the fuck was that? 

You shivered, your heart racing, the frown deepening when you felt heat pooling between your legs. You looked to the box of Cheez-Its, then back to where he stood. No, really. What the fuck was that?

You weren’t one to make eye contact in public, especially not when you were alone, learning young of the attention it brought. But something in the way he’d looked at you made you want it - want him to look at you again. 

You stopped yourself from following him, shaking your head as you walked to the front of the store. It was 1AM and you were alone in a deserted grocery store. What the hell are you doing? 

Your eyes cleared a little as you made your way to the checkout counter, the stranger filling your thoughts. The only clerk working was a teenage boy, who rung up your box and gave you your total in a monotone drawl. You asked for a pack of cigarettes as well, thumbing the lighter in your pocket. 

“ID?” He asked, blinking slowly at you. 

“Fuck,” you mumbled, feeling around in your pockets for your wallet. You’d left the house with a $20 bill crumpled in the top pocket of the giant fishing coat you donned. “I don’t have it on me.” 

He shrugged, looking back at you. “Manager’s really up my ass lately. Can’t give them to you without ID. Sorry,” he shrugged again, taking the crumpled bill from you as the register opened.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you did your very best not to cry in front of this poor kid. Taking the box and pocketing the change, you walked out through the sliding doors and into the night. 

Making it to your car, you pulled the keys from your pocket, the box in your other hand. You swore as the keychain slipped from your fingers, skidding against the pavement and under the only other car in the lot- parked just a spot away. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, debating on whether or not to just leave them and walk home. Sighing, you got on your hands and knees, spotting the mass of keys right between the tires. You tried to reach but felt nothing, the gravel stinging against your kneecaps. You found the tears started to fall again, the day catching back up with you. 

You sniffed, reaching under the car again, the keys still just out of your grasp. You sat up on your knees, shivering as you thought of what to do. You must’ve sat there for a solid minute or two, your knees aching as you wiped tear after tear from your heated skin. 

“Here.” You jumped at the sound of a man’s voice, looking up to see him standing above you, your keyring hooked on his finger. He wore the same expression as before, though his eyes looked darker in the low light. 

“Oh,” you sniffed again and stood, taking the keyring from him. You brushed some of the gravel off your knees, wiping another tear away with the back of your hand. “Sorry.” 

You turned to leave, embarrassed, when you felt his hand against your shoulder. You looked to him, your breath catching once more as he looked down at you, his stare more intense than before. 

“Your biscuits,” he said, the little smirk curling at the corner of his lip making you feel better and worse at the same time. You looked down, seeing the box at your feet. He withdrew his hand as you bent to pick it up. 

“Right,” you mumbled. 

“You want one?” He asked, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pants pocket. 

You looked at his outstretched hand, the long fingers steady. Looking back to his face, the little smirk was gone. You reached out with a shaky hand, sliding a cigarette from the pack. He put one between his lips and swiftly lit it, holding out his lighter to you. 

“Thank you,” you lit the cigarette then handed him back his lighter. He took it, fingers brushing yours, though his eyes were trained on the highway across the street. You stood beside him in silence, the sound of a passing car filling the air every few seconds. 

“You’re pretty when you cry.” He’d turned to look at you as he’d said it, though you kept your eyes trained on the highway. 

“T-thanks,” you sniffed, glancing up at him, heart racing as he looked down at you with that intensity again. You swallowed. 

He held your gaze as he reached up, the tips of his fingers lightly touching your jaw as his thumb brushed away a tear. His eyes fell to your lips as you wet them, you could feel they were puffy as a result of your crying. Before your brain could catch up with his movements he’d withdrawn, pulling the cigarette from his lips to extinguish it beneath a boot. 

“I’m not always like this,” you said, his gaze lifting to meet yours. 

He quirked an eyebrow as he studied your face. 

You shifted on your feet. “I’m usually better- normal.”

He smirked, turning to open his car door. “Of course you are.” He slid inside, turning on the engine before pulling out of the empty lot, the vehicle’s acceleration loud once it hit the highway. 

You stared off in the direction he’d gone, wondering if that had really just happened. A shiver tore through you as you remembered the feel of his touch against your skin. 

You should have been outraged, or at the very least disturbed at the intimacy of the action, but all you could think of was how desperately you wanted it to happen again. 

You took one last drag off your cigarette and ducked into your front seat, peeling off the other way. 

~~~

Looking in the mirror, you adjusted your skirt before leaning forward to swipe a thumb at your eyeliner. Leaning backwards you but your lip, sticky with gloss as your heart hammered in your chest. 

You looked at your phone to check the time, letting out a shaky breath as you made for the door. 

The drive was quick, one you’d become familiar with over the past week as you visited in the dead of night. Your sick little ritual performed in the hopes of seeing him again. Pulling up to the lot, your heart leapt to your throat when you saw his car, the black expensive one, parked neatly near the front of the darkened deserted pavement. 

You parked a row back, locking your door as you walked quickly to the entrance. You shivered as the blast of air conditioning met your skin, eliciting goosebumps over your exposed arms. You bit your lip, deciding to take the long walk to the back aisle of the store. 

You stepped slowly, shoes clicking off the scuffed linoleum as you kept your gaze forward, using your peripherals to see within the aisles. You couldn’t help the little gasp that slipped from your lips when you caught sight of his lithe, dark figure. You could feel his gaze on you as you passed by, continuing on without a glance in his direction until you made it to the laundry detergent in the next aisle. Picking up a small jug, you made your way to the cash, paying for your purchase along with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. 

You leant against your car, lighting up a cigarette. Taking one nervous drag after another, you finished it and pulled the carton back out, slipping a fresh one from the pack. Your eyes drifted to the sliding doors as they opened. 

You lit it up, watching him walk to his car. He glanced at you casually, opening his trunk for the bag in his hand. 

You bit your lip, pushing yourself off the cool metal before making your way to him. “Hey,” you called out, walking closer. 

He looked at you, that same gaze stripping you bare once more, making your fingers tremble around the cigarette. 

“I-I was here the other night,” you came closer, your heart pounding as you took in his handsome features. He was at least twice your age. “I wanted to say thanks,” you offered him a cigarette. “I was having a rough night.” 

He glanced at your hand before taking it from you. “I remember.” 

You nodded as he lit it up, taking a drag. 

“Is there something you want?” 

You opened your mouth, then shut it, unsure of what to say. What did you want from him?

There was that stare again. “How many times did you come to the grocery store at 1 in the morning this week?” 

Your eyes widened. 

He took a step closer. “The clerk inside told me you’d been by every night. Is that right?”

You found yourself nodding, the rest of you frozen in place. 

“And what were you looking for?” 

You swallowed. 

He waited. 

“You,” you called out, the small sound of your own voice surprising you. 

“And what is it that you want from me?”

“I don’t know,” it was a whimper - barely audible over the sound of a passing car. 

He didn’t say a word, simply pulling a phone from his back pocket. He handed it to you, opened to the new contact creator. 

You took it in your shaky hands, typing out your name and number before passing it back to him, his fingertips grazing yours. 

He put the phone back in his pocket. “You shouldn’t be hanging around here this late,” he put out his cigarette. “It isn’t safe.” 

You nodded. 

He slid into the drivers seat and pulled off, leaving you speechless and alone once again. 

~~~

It was a week before he texted you.

The first two days any notification you got made you scramble for your phone, heart pounding, only to be disappointed yet again. 

On the third day you started to lose hope, and wondered if you should go back to the grocery store. He’d told you not to - but what if that only meant he’d actually wanted you to? What if it was all a test? 

After sitting in your car in the driveway for an hour you decided to go to bed with a huff, only to do the exact same thing the night after. 

On the fifth day you did your best to push him from your mind - to stop the image of his face from popping up each time you closed your eyes. It didn’t work, so you spent the night awake, watching horror movies as you attempted to force him from your thoughts with blood and gore. 

The sixth day you drove past the grocery store at 1:03 AM, not seeing his car there as your heart sank in your chest. 

Then the seventh day came. And at eight o’clock on a Sunday you got a text, prompting you to lazily reach for your phone. You sat up straight when you saw the unknown number. 

Have you figured it out yet?

Figured out what? You responded in seconds, cursing yourself for not playing it cool. 

What you want from me.

Your heart raced as you reread the words, trying to think up a witty response. Only one thing echoed in your thoughts, and you found yourself typing it out, and staring at the words. 

I want you to pay attention to me. 

Before you could overthink it you hit send and closed your phone, throwing it to the other end of the couch. The soft ping made you reach for it, your heart in your throat. 

What are you willing to do for my attention? 

You swallowed, staring at the words. A normal person wouldn’t respond, recognising that statement for what it was. A red flag. A huge one at that. You knew what he was asking for, and yet you typed out a response, quickly hitting send. 

Anything. 

You watched the three dots at the bottom of the screen. 

Let’s get dinner.

~~~

To be continued...

~~~

Author's Note: Ok ok ok so this is very loosely based off of this one-off interaction I had at a grocery store (years ago), as well as a somewhat popular account on here that I am both fascinated and disgusted with at the same time. Reader is in for a sketchy time...

Thank you so much for checking out my latest work. A new chapter of Tear You Apart is coming soon.

And thank you to all of my followers for your continued support during my hiatus 🖤

As usual, likes, reblogs, and comments are always immensely appreciated. 🖤 🖤

[xoxovivafics]

Dark Miracles

Pairing: Vampire! Loki x Victorian! black reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only. Minors, ageless, blank, & non-updated blogs will be blocked immediately.

Word count: 4,474 words

Plot: A Victorian spinster finds love with the dashing aristocrat Loki Odinson. But when the unthinkable happens, the mourning widow must make a choice. Will she make the right one?

Warnings: For 18+ readers, this fic is filled with gothic horror themes, brief depictions of grief and depression, murder, violence, recreational drug use and alcohol drinking (it’s the Victorian period), blood drinking, nudity and references to sex.

Notes: An entry for @cocoamoonmalfoy’s Jackolanterns in July 2023 Writing Event! It exceeds the word limit, sorry!

Brief descriptions of the reader’s clothing and hair are, as always, period accurate.

It weighed on you, your grief. It pressed against your heart like an insistent intruder, outstaying its welcome. Poisoned thoughts coursed through your mind, curdling the memories you tried so desperately to hold onto. It almost sounded like him. 

You sobbed, clutching the cold pillow beside you, waiting for Loki to comfort you, to brush away your tears. You could hear his voice, low and soothing. Come, darling. Please don’t cry, I cannot bear to see you unhappy. You could almost see how his eyes crinkled as he smiled gently, almost feel the warmth of his embrace.

But it wasn’t real. It was simply your yearning creating an impossible spectre.

“Loki, my love. I miss you,” you whispered into the silence.

You were always somewhat melancholic, even in your youth. The only person that had ever been able to fill you with joy was Loki Odinson, the charming Yorkshire lord.

When you married, everything became lighter, your large townhouse filled with your delighted laughter. He’d courted you patiently, letting you get to know him, to trust him. His green eyes sparkled with mirth whenever he said something wicked enough to evoke startled laughter from you. The fact that you weren’t scandalised thrilled him.

He listened to your ideas when many other men had dismissed you as a spinster, interested only in your fortune. But not Loki, never him. He only wanted your happiness. 

And so, you entered a state of happily wedded bliss. For a glorious year you had everything that you wanted. Sun dappled days were spent reading with your doting husband, or wandering through arcades and galleries arm in arm. You became known for your exuberant parties and bohemian salons. For the first time in your life, you thrived. 

But such halcyon days could never last.

It was you that had suggested it. A recuperative month at the seaside after a long season of parties. You enjoyed Bognor in the late autumn, when most of the crowds had dispersed back to London. You stayed in a small cottage on the outskirts of town, needing nothing but each other. 

You spent the days tangled together, following every amorous whim that came to you until you were both left exhausted and covered in sweat. You only left the bed to eat and occasionally sit on the beach, letting the cool sea air revitalise you. It was beautiful, and so was he, with his raven locks and knowing gaze. Only you knew the depths of his tenderness, the pleasure of his sinfulness.

The final week had passed like every other. Loki sat at the small breakfast table, drinking tea with his notebook in hand. He saw you move around with a determined look in your eyes and a basket in hand. You wore your boyish bicycle suit, a sure sign that you planned some adventure. 

Loki gathered you into his arms, placing you on his lap. He moved the basket aside.

“Must you leave me, darling?” he asked, nuzzling your neck. “I can think of much better amusements.”

“I’m sure that you can-” Your words were lost as his tongue met your skin. You shut your eyes, holding him close. “Please, my love. Stop your temptations. I cannot resist your affection.”

Loki huffed out a quiet laugh, his long fingers seeking to unbutton your clothing. “Oh, of that I am aware.”

You laughed as you playfully slapped his arm, moving away from him. You kissed his tanned, freckled cheek, earning a grin. “What will I do with you, husband?”

“Whatever brings you the most pleasure,” he answered steadily. 

You shook your head. “You scoundrel. I’ll be back within the hour. I’m only running a few errands. Perhaps I’ll find a keepsake to remember our time here.”

“Sounds wonderful. Could you bring back scones for breakfast? It would be marvellous to eat here one last time before our train.” His angular face was hopeful.

You took your basket, giggling softly. “Of course, my heart. I’ll be back soon.”

“I love you, my darling lamb. I will await your return with anticipation and a rumbling stomach.” 

You kissed chastely, stroking his cheek before rubbing your noses together. “I love you too, old thing. You’ll hardly notice I’m gone.”

With a cheerful smile and a wave you were gone, already thinking about the berries you’d pick for your cook to turn into compote. 

That was your last good memory of him. Its mundanity had transformed into something sacred.

Everything after that felt like a hallucination. You returned in less than an hour, holding flowers and breakfast in your large basket. A few pretty shells rested in your pockets. You raised your key before realising the door was already ajar.

“Loki! I’ve returned, with a lovely meal!” you called out. Silence greeted you. You opened the door. Perhaps he’d retired into the garden. He enjoyed writing his poetry and essays in the sunshine.

“Husband?” It was utter chaos inside. Your possessions were destroyed or missing.

You dropped your basket. This was wrong, all wrong. You picked up a fireplace poker with a shaking hand, moving through the house. You and Loki often fenced, enjoying the graceful physicality and intellectualism of the sport. You knew your way around a sharp object.

The silence rested heavily around you in warning. This wasn’t Loki’s usual mischief. He’d never want you afraid. The sound of your heart filled your ears.

A wail filled the cottage when you found him in bed. Was it you, or the heavens mourning with you? 

He was slain with his own hunting knife. Those beautiful eyes that had looked at you with such love only recently, now stared blankly at the wooden ceiling. His rosy lips were pulled into a pained, pale grimace.

There was so much blood.

This wasn’t real. You became numb, staying away from him, his body, trying to reject the sight before you. You squeezed your eyes shut. This wouldn’t be your last image of him.

“I’ll be back, my love,” you hiccupped. “I’ll find help. You’ll hardly notice I’m gone.” You could only whisper those words.

His murder dismayed the sleepy town. The death of a famous aristocrat was unthinkable. The constabulary sent you home with the terrible news as they sought out the culprit.

Life fractured after that. There was the grand funeral, as befitting his station. You’d begged Thor not to send Loki to their ancestral cemetery. You needed to be close to him. Thor acquiesced, to Odin’s displeasure. You were his family and he understood. 

After that, there was nothing. The parties stopped. You only left the house to travel in your carriage to Highgate or wander listlessly in your garden. In his death, Loki became a famed poet, a symbol of tragic romance. Your friends gave you his now published works. But it gave you no pleasure. It was just a painful reminder. 

The papers no longer spoke about the charming hosts of the Odinson House. You were given a new moniker.

The Lady of Sorrows. 

Life became monotonous. Your maid appeared every morning to bathe you and carefully comb and style your hair. If she didn’t, you wouldn’t get up at all. You ate enough to soothe everyone’s worry and keep away the doctors. You spent your days in the parlour, looking out the window in a silent rage. How dare the sun keep shining, the birds keep singing! Did they not feel your anguish?

Friends and family visited, bringing gossip and presents, trying to make you smile again. After dinner you would retire early to bed, wanting the dreadful thought to end for a few hours. But they were always there when you awakened, ready with new torments. 

Every morning and evening the same chant, the same ritual, kissing the wedding and engagement rings that you now wore on a necklace. You never removed them. Touching the locket pinned above your heart that held a lock of that shining raven hair. Whispering your chant, itself a kind of magic.

“I miss you, my heart. I miss you, I miss you.”

The days passed. A year without him. Slowly you became human again. You visited friends and briefly attended their parties. You could get dressed on your own. You walked in the city with friends, still able to hear Loki’s footsteps beside you. 

Weekly, you visited his grave at Highgate. You began a new ritual of kissing the hands of the reclining angel on top of his tomb, a book in its stone hand, its face serene. You brought flowers and trinkets for him. You could see that others also visited him. It comforted you that he wasn’t alone.

All Hallow’s Eve arrived, the anniversary of his death. The source of your unhealable wound. You brought a small meal in memory of the picnics you used to have. You spoke to him about everything.

“Thor has become an MP, unfathomable, I know. And he has finally settled with Jane, they have purchased a home nearby in Mayfair, so that he may walk to Whitehall. The inns weep for their lost profit.” 

You could almost hear his wry response, see the arch of his brow. Surely the whores weep more. 

“I have started my philanthropic pursuits again. It seems selfish to keep this fortune to myself.” You hesitated. “If I am honest, my dear, it feels as though I am ridding myself of a great burden. I’d hoped that such endeavours could transform this tragedy into something better. But charity cannot soothe my sorrow.”

You rested your head at the angel’s feet. “I would give up everything to have you back, Loki. I feel as though I am still in Limbo. Perhaps this is where I shall remain.”

Your friends arrived soon after for the feast in his honour. It would last until midnight, with much drinking and raucous merriment. Stephen, Verity and Anthony recited his poetry, while you, Clea, Jane and Virginia formed a nocturnal choir to sing his favourite rude folk songs. 

Thor arrived with old school chums to tell the legends of his younger days. You knew that Loki had been an unholy terror at university, known for his cunning tricks and ability to talk his way out of anything. 

The party was in parts mournful and joyous. Your friends held you as you wept softly, brushing your tears away. You put on a brave face, trying to celebrate. The world spun and undulated around you as you filled yourself with spirits and Stephen’s medicines. The group danced, your voices ringing out into the night, loud enough to raise the dead. As the night wore on, you all gave into the restful bliss of medicated oblivion, slumping in a heap.

You awoke first, startled awake by a clock bell ringing twelve times. The sound was discordant, making you shiver. You sat up, looking around in confusion. You were still in the cemetery. Everyone was still asleep around you.

You stood, stretching your aching limbs. Your head felt unmoored. The moon seemed too bright, causing you to squint. The sky unfurled in inky patterns like a glorious tapestry. The stars sang along with the insects and owls. 

“Even the night celebrates you, beloved,” you murmured. 

Something caught your eye. You turned around. A strange, sickly green substance wafted amidst the gravestones. You followed it, leaving your group behind. You went deeper into the cemetery, entranced by the shimmering ectoplasm.

“Loki?” you whispered, hope crushing your chest. The substance grew in brightness, reflecting in your enlarged pupils.

You reached out with trembling fingers. You touched the vapour. 

A chill ran through you. A cold deeper than the cold autumnal air. The cold of the grave.

The ectoplasm vanished. You exhaled a shuddering sob, tugging anxiously at a loose section of coiled hair.

You suddenly felt frightened. Alone, in the dark, surrounded by the dead. Were you being watched? But that was ridiculous. You were no believer in spiritualism. This had to be a dream of some sort, a dark fantasia brought on by the laudanum-

“Greetings, child.”

You shrieked, moving against a tombstone. A flickering green figure appeared in front of you. He appeared like a gentleman, his face handsome and kindly. He removed his hat, tucking it under it under his arm as he bowed.

His voice echoed around you as he spoke. “We have witnessed the depths of your sorrow, child. And we have seen the constancy of your devotion.”

“W-who are you?”

“A friend and a convoy. On this night, the spirits mingle amongst the dead. It is a night of miracles. So tell me, child. What do you long for? Or, should I say, whom?”

You rubbed your locket. “My husband. Loki Odinson. I miss him. I need him back.”

“And what would you give to have him back?”

“Everything.”

“And what if he is not the same?”

“I will treasure him, whatever his form. Please .” You spoke in a pained hiss, your nerves frayed.

The spirit tilted their head at an angle that was entirely unnatural. “Very well. Do you own something of the deceased?”

You struggled to open your locket, your fingers uncooperative. Silently, you gave the spirit the snippet of Loki’s hair. The spirit considered the item in his palm. He balled his fist and incinerated it.

You gasped, panicked. That was the last vestige of him, and now it was gone. 

The spirit opened his hand, revealing a long, black ribbon. He held it taut. “It is done. This is the line that connects your soul to his. It cannot be severed. He will find his way back to you.”

You looked at him in wonderment. “What else should I do to prepare?”

“Nothing. Simply rejoice, child. And pray that this miracle is a fortuitous one.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean?” you demanded. 

But you were once again alone.

You returned home in the early morning in Thor’s carriage. Your thoughts were jumbled as you retreated to your room. You removed your clothing and held your locket, afraid that it wasn’t a dream, afraid that it was.

Biting your lip, you opened it. The hair was gone. In its place was a ribbon.

It was real. He was coming back to you. The spectre’s words rang in your ears. Pray that this miracle is a fortuitous one. 

Loki’s return could only be a blessing. Now all you had to do was wait.

That very night, a fierce storm raged across the city. You read in Loki’s study, too nervous to fall asleep. The clock chimed, making your head snap up, your heart beating wildly. Midnight. Would he return tonight?

You placed the book down, staring at the large door in front of you. When a minute passed, you slumped in your armchair. It wasn’t as though the spectre had told you what to expect, or when. Loki wouldn’t simply appear in front of you, would he?

Above the gale, there was a loud knock. And another. And another. Your heart felt as though it would burst.

You grabbed your oil lamp and rushed out the room, down the stairs. Your dressing gown flowed behind you as your butler opened the doors. 

Leaves and rain blew into the large entrance hall. Thunder shook the windows, followed by a scream of lightning. You stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The butler covered his mouth with a shaking hand, his eyes disbelieving, fearful.

Loki stood in the doorway, looking at you in amazement. He wore the suit he was buried in. You placed the lamp on a table, your eyes never leaving his. You ran to him, hugging him tightly. Tears ran freely down your face as you gulped back sobs.

“I missed you. By God, I missed you.”

Strong arms wrapped around you, an embrace that you’d dreamt about for a year. You didn’t notice his flinch.

“Oh darling, don’t cry. You brought me home. We’ll never be apart again. Now, let’s go inside, you’ll catch your death out here.”

Arm and arm, you walked back upstairs, back into your old life.

In the weeks that followed, your happiness returned tenfold. Loki had returned, and he was the same- loving, devoted, playful. If anything his love for you had deepened. There was almost a hunger in his eyes now. He barely left your side, not that you minded.

There was no way to explain his return, so you simply didn’t. How could you when everyone had seen his body in his coffin? It was relatively easy to hide him, as he slept during the day, exhaustion making him as sleep as though still dead. Your friends and family noted the change in your demeanour, but they thought that you were finally healing.

The servants, however. They were frightened of him, frightened for you. They saw his pallor, that he didn’t eat, that he bore no remnants of a violent end. You couldn’t tell them that Loki needed no food because he was a reanimated spirit, that your love had healed him.

It was the death of your pet rabbits that finally caused them to leave. Poor Jasper and Felix were mauled in their cages sometime in the night. You explained that it was just foxes, that while tragic, it was natural. Plenty of other animals had died recently in your garden without comment. But they all fled soon after. You paid them handsomely to tell no one about Loki’s return. 

Sometimes, though. Sometimes you noticed other changes. Saw how his eyes became reflective in the dark for just a moment, enough to make you doubt yourself. His hungry looks became more pronounced. He was insatiable, ravishing your body all night without stopping, leaving love bites across your skin that were almost painful.

But those were minor worries. Life continued and new staff were brought in, those who were discreet, who wouldn’t ask too many questions.

Everything was perfect, until winter came in. 

You hired Molly, a sweet young maid. She had escaped from a dreadful workhouse and you took pity on her. She seemed eager to please, and charmed by you and Loki. You knew that you could leave her to her work while you attended dinner at Anthony’s home in Richmond.

“I wish that I could reveal you, my love. Our friends would be overjoyed to see you.” You both laid naked in bed, enjoying each other’s warmth as the fire crackled in the fireplace.

“I know, darling lamb. I do miss the raucousness of an Anthony Stark dinner. But you know the risk.” He nuzzled your neck, playfully biting you.

You laughed as you curved into his body, still real and firm beside you. You ran your fingers over his dark chest hair. “It feels unpleasant, leaving you trapped in this place while I continue to enjoy myself outside these walls.”

“I’m not trapped, you silly girl. I occasionally go on walks while you sleep.” He saw your look of fear. Thor, Jane and Verity lived nearby, and he was very distinct. “Don’t worry, I keep myself hidden and walk while most of the city slumbers. It’s oddly invigorating.”

You slumped your shoulders. “I can’t lose you again, Loki. My heart would break.”

He held your hands over his chest. “Nothing can separate us, I promise you that. Not even death. I will be safe, darling, I swear.” He grinned as he pinned you down. “Now, I believe that we have a few spare moments before you need to prepare. I wonder how much wickedness we can pursue in such little time.”

You came home earlier than expected, tired from the evening’s exertions. You walked towards the bedroom, until a light from Loki’s study caught your eye. Humming a tune, you opened the door to say ‘good night’.

You stifled a horrified scream.

Loki sat on the floor with Molly in his arms. The lamplight revealed the too sharp contours of his cheeks, his pointed ears and sharp fangs. Her nightgown was drenched in blood, her throat pierced. 

An anguished Loki looked up at you, his eyes a hellish ruby, his face covered in blood. Her blood. You viscerally remembered the day you found his body. This was much worse.

Molly looked at you with lost, hazy eyes, her mouth slack. Her round, pleasant face was still trusting. “Is this a dream, Miss?” she asked, her high voice slurred.

“Yes, my dear. It is just a dream. Now, sleep. When you wake in the morning you won’t remember a thing.” Loki spoke to her soothingly. It repulsed you. He didn’t look human. What had I brought back? 

He looked hurt as you fled from him, realising with horror the spectre’s warning. You thought about the times you felt tired without explanation, the haziness of some nights. You thought about your poor rabbits. It had been him, this entire time.

Loki licked Molly’s wound clean with a long, pointed tongue, using his own blood to heal the wound. He would deal with her later. He had to explain himself to you.

He found you in bed, your knees drawn up to your chest. He quickly washed his face and removed his bloody shirt.

“What are you?” you demanded.

“I don’t know,” he said, moving towards you slowly with his hands up. “The night I returned, I felt so hungry that I knew food couldn’t sate me. I realised over the weeks that I craved fresh blood. I tried to feast on animals, but it wasn’t enough. I needed humans.”

“You’ve done that to me, haven’t you?” Your voice was accusatory.

“Thrice, when I couldn’t go out. I only took enough to quench my thirst. I couldn’t bear the thought of harming you.” You could see the deep shame on his face.

“Is Molly dead? Did you kill that poor girl?”

Loki wrung his hands. He looked normal again, which terrified you more. “No. She will live. It was an act of desperation. The cold has made it harder to find anyone on my walks. Even the ne’er-do-wells have retired for the season. I was starving. I am sorry, lamb, truly I am. This is the price for my return.”

He sat at the foot of the bed, giving you space. You thought about your bargain. You said that you would give everything to have him back. These past months had been heaven on earth. But this had been the darkness underneath, the rot winding its way beneath your feet.

But still, he was yours. Could you really turn him away, the man who owned your heart? No , your thoughts screamed. Never again! 

“Please forgive me, darling. I hate this cursed existence as much as you do. I’ll leave if you wish, I’ll travel back north-”

“No! Please. I can’t- I need you here with me.” You reached for him as though you would drown without his touch. He brought you into a tight embrace, stroking your back.

He whispered your name, murmuring ‘I’m sorry’ as though it had the power to change the night’s events. You thought hard about the best way forward, ever the practical spouse.

“You can’t feed from Molly again, it’s too cruel. I took her in, I’m responsible for her.” You moved away from him, looking at him steadily.

“I- I know. I won’t.”

“When you cannot find other sustenance, you will feed from me.” I would give you everything .

Loki looked aghast, but he held his tongue. You’d already lost your old servants, people you had known since childhood. He couldn’t do that to you again.

He nodded.

“I do not want you to harm innocent people, or those you think beneath you.” You thought of the orphanages and pauper’s hospitals you financed, of the poor women forced to sell their own bodies. Their life was hard enough. They didn’t deserve an angel of death stalking them in the night.

You exhaled, clasping your rings in a fist to steady yourself. God, please forgive me. “Kill only those who would harm others. Be like Death and accept all into your dark embrace, not just the poor. I- I could live with that.” You shut your eyes, ashamed to look at him. “That would be a fair exchange to have you by my side.”

Loki looked solemn as he placed his hand over yours. “Then it is done,” he said quietly. “Anything to make you happy.”

“Will it hurt?” you asked, your voice wavering.

Loki smiled sadly, shaking his head. “No, I always make sure that it doesn’t hurt. It will feel like a dream.”

“No, not a dream. I want to remember it. This is a part of us now.” You stood and removed your evening gown, stripping to your chemise and bloomers. “I am going to attend to Molly.”

“I’ll help. She’s sleeping, you won’t be able to carry her,” he explained. You gave a brusque nod, your face grim.

Loki helped you return Molly to her bedroom, leaving you to clean her up in privacy. He paced in the bedroom until you returned to him. You both looked at each other, the silence insurmountable. You could see his hunger still. It wasn’t just love, not completely.

You removed your bloodied clothing and let down your hair. You still wanted him, even knowing what he was. The bed creaked as you sat, your gaze downward.

He could hear how quickly your heart beat. He stalked towards you, his eyes almost glowing in the light. He understood the trust that he was being given, the devotion. You were his, and he was yours. 

Loki tilted your neck.

“Thank you. Be calm, my dear. All will be well. This will feel like love’s sweetest kiss.” His low voice was hypnotic.

He held you as he kissed your neck, his grip possessive. You could feel the shifting of bone and sinew as his hand transformed into sharp, vicious claws. His kiss became a long tongue that dragged hungrily across your skin. A low growl rose in his throat, unlike anything you’d heard before.

Your breath quickened. You were afraid. Your fear thrilled him. Fear always made the blood so much richer. He hated himself for enjoying it.

“I love you, my darling lambkin” Loki said softly. “You brought me back, and I am yours, forever.”

He sank his long fangs into your neck, moaning in pleasure as your blood rushed to the surface, spilling rich crimson over dark skin and a red, inhuman tongue. He wouldn’t let you go. It felt like a dark kiss, obscene in the nakedness of his want. He would drag you to his hellish depths and you would let him. For love.

“Yes,” you whispered, unsure whether the tight feeling that curled around your heart was joy or despair. “Forever.” 

[silver-tongued-bby]

Things I’ve missed during my hiatus: Viva writing Loki.

I loved this!!! The hair she kept from him? So Victorian era, I adore the little detail 🖤🖤 perfect time of year to bring this back!!

[cuthalions]

But each one has a name. A heart. A heart created by Morgoth. We are creations of The One, Master of the Secret Fire, the same as you. As worthy of the breath of life. And just as worthy of a home. JOSEPH MAWLE as ADAR The Rings of Power, Season 1

[marvelgifs]

LOKI S02E02 Breaking Brad