#dark loki

You wiped at the blood on your face seeping from the scratch on your cheek. It was dark and your sense of balance was thrown off by your terror. The darkness not doing you any favors either. You had run too close to a blackberry bush; the brambles tangling up in your clothes and clawing at your exposed skin.

Run if you want, my sweet. Just remember that I can hunt better than you hide.

A half sobbed escaped and you clutched at your head hearing his voice echo inside. He was able to get to you easily when he was as close as he was, the closest he had been in ages.

Crouching low, you willed your breathing to slow.

You needed to think.

It had been a long time since he had been on Midgard. When you had been hidden here, he had not considered to look. There was no chance in his mind they would take you to this world. This pathetic world in his mind ripe for reaping. Surely you would be better kept on Asgard with all the magic and power to keep you shielded from him.

Something had tipped him off.

Or someone.

If he caught you, he could easily snap the spell that subdued your hormones... release your abilities. And make you succumb to him again.

He gained power through having you and Asgardians repelled at the idea of him having any more power than he naturally possessed. If they had simply killed you, you would have eventually reincarnated, and shown back up on Asgard.

Exhaling, you slowly uncurled yourself. Standing up straighter, you kept a keen ear out, trying to discern your surroundings. The sounds of the forest filled your ears, cricking and chirping. An occasional hoot.

Venturing on, you tried to move quickly without making too much noise. There was another place you could hide that was better warded nearby. You had hoped you would never have to use it.

Passing the familiar rock formation, hope blossomed.

And then you skidded to a stop almost tumbling forward into the dirt. Your heart clenched seeing that familiar face again.

Loki stood there just before you on the path, blocking your way to safety. He looked worn, his robes splattered with blood. His eyes lit at seeing you, elation coursing. A sinister smile appeared on his lips, total amusement at seeing the horrified look on your own face. He had cut through the guards and the magic and tracked you here.

You stayed still, praying one of the ancient guards that had been placed at the homestead to protect you had managed to survive his brutal attack to get you back in his arms.

"How I've longed for this moment," he breathed. He took a step closer and you took a step back. He cocked his head to the side, and feigned empathy, "Darling, there's no need to be afraid. I know they filled your head with lies. About me. About us. And blocked you from adoring me anymore."

He stalked towards you as he spoke and you stepped back into a hole accidentally. Your arms flailed as you tried to catch your balance.

Loki's arms were suddenly around you, him closing the space with agility. He stopped you from falling and you placed your hands on his chest trying to push away frightened.

One of his hands came up to brush at your cheek and along your lips, his eyes swimming with desire.

Despite yourself, you shivered at him scenting you. And when he pushed your collar aside, instinctively you titled your head, exposing your mark more easily to him. He visibly shuddered, dipping his face down to hover by your ear.

"I'm going to set you free, my sweet. And take you home at long last."

You stare at his lined knuckles and palm. You put your hand in his and let him take you down the hall. He pauses right before you reach the dining room.

He leans over and whispers. "I do not expect you to forgive my oafish son." He glances at the doorframe. "I wouldn't recommend it either."

He squeezes softly and guides you into the dining room. "Ah, there we are. You know, I've decided," he takes you around to a chair and pulls it out for you. "Today will be your day, dear. We will not have you serve us, no we've come to meet our new daughter. Not work her to the bone."

Loki sighs. "I only requested less milk in my te--"

"Her day." Odin stands between you and his son, and claps his shoulder harshly. "Not yours.”

“Her…” Loki begins.

“Yes. We’ve come to meet your wife. We know you well enough.” Odin retorts as he guides you to your chair. “But perhaps, you still have a deal of getting to know her to do yourself.”

“Father. I only requested my tea–”

“Are you not clever enough to get your own tea? I do hope I taught you better.” Odin gently pushes in your chair as you sit.

“Thank you,” you say.

“See, your wife is much more charming than her ungrateful husband.” Odin chides.

“I warn you again to not disrespect me in my own home,” Loki slithers.

You chafe in your seat. Odin’s hand lingers on the back of the chair then gently touches your shoulder. “I will not persist in riling you. For her sake. She does not deserve it and you have the sense to see how your behaviour affects her. To seek her content over your own.” Odin squeezes softly. “It is never too late to rethink, dear.”

Loki sighs and flutters his long fingers. He clucks in his throat and bends his elbow to rest his chin on his knuckles. Odin retreats and sits with Frigga on the other side of the table.

“Well, I think the lady of the day is in need of some tea…” Odin declares.

Silence wafts up around the table. You look at the others then lean forward to stand.

“Ah,” Odin shows his palm then points at his son. “A lady as wonderful as your wife should be pampered.”

Loki sits up straight in his chair and drops his hand. You sense him look at you but you’re too nervous to return his gaze. He pushes his chair back and stands.

“Of course. Darling,” the turns and buttons his jacket. “What do you take in your tea?”

“Just tea, please.” You murmur as you wring your hands.

He reaches for the tea pot at the centre of the table and fills the cup by your plate. Odins runs his fingers back and forth beside his cutlery.

“Mother… father,” Loki intones. “Tea?”

“I’ve yet to have any of my own,” Odin grips the handle of the dainty tea cup. “Though your mother is in need of a top up.”

He leans across and fills Frigga’s cup then adds milk from the small porcelain jug. He sits down stiffly. You cautiously take your cup and sip.

“Thank you, husband.” You eke out.

“Mm.” Loki hums.

Odin shakes his head. As your eyes meet his, his expression softens. He smiles.

“I heard tell of some ducks. You haven’t seen any around?” He asks.

You can’t help but perk up. You glance over at Loki and shrug. “Um. By the pond I think.”

“Ah, wonderful. Would you show me them after we eat? I do have a soft spot for small creatures.”

“Erm. I… suppose I could.” You look over at Loki as his posture remains rigid and his thin lips locked.

“Do not let his petulance spoil the day. The winters are grey enough.” Odin says. “Perhaps some longing will fix his attitude.”

🦆

You help Frigga clear the table but she insists upon the rest of the tidying. You feel wrong letting her do it all. Should you, as the host, at least help? You hadn’t even the sense to begin breakfast yourself. It didn’t even occur to you for all the times you skipped meals for one reason or another.

Odin waits in the front hall, mulling over a frame on the wall. You near him and peek at it. It is a forestscape etched in ink lines. He turns to you.

“My father drew that. It used to hang in my office. Loki always had an eye for it. I thought it would be a kind gesture to pass it on. Well, I suppose he expects more for his inheritance.” Odin explains.

“Oh?”

“Far more than he deserves.” He resigns. “Like you. You realise, my dear, you are far above him. Your kindness is unearned from him.”

“Sir.”

“Odin,” He gently touches your sleeve. “Please. Now, you require a coat and boots before we venture out. It is as frigid without as my son’s spirit.”

He leads you to the entry way. You pull on the same coat Frigga brought you that morning. You put on the shoes in the wrong size and wait patiently behind Odin.

As you go out, he hooks his arm through yours. You take him around the house and across the backyard to the sparse trees along the pond’s edge. The ducks are there, dipping their heads and shaking their feathers.

“They know you,” Odin muses.

“Hm, maybe. I come to watch them. They are peaceful.”

“And peace you deserve. I can see in you that you’ve not had much of it.” He stands close and shivers. “I only regret that you’ve chosen a rather turbulent husband to seek it in.”

Loki stands at his shoulder, arms crossed, keeping from touching anything in the cluttered apartment. O'Malley trades the cask-aged whiskey for the cup of black coffee and continues to slurp as he types with one hand. He smacks his lips in content and puts the mug down, fingers clacking faster.

He chuckles to himself. "My buddy, J, showed me a few tricks."

"Mm. I'm sure you keep rather savoury company." Loki muses.

"You're here," O’Malley retorts dryly.

He hits a single button with fervour and sits back. "I've refined the script generated to be more... Human. Now to test the audio."

He taps a button several times to increase the volume. O'Malley sits back and let's the audio run. Loki presses his knuckles to his chin as he listens.

"What're you doing, babe?" The male voice asks.

"Waiting for you to call, baby," the familiar voice keens back. It's her but not quite. Loki frowns.

"Yeah, you working? Not too hard I hope... Speaking of hard."

Loki grimaces at the lewd suggestion and the idea of another man speaking to her that way. He huffs as the conversation descends into details. He clucks and drops his hand back into the crook of his elbow.

"How did you do it?" He asks.

"AI is a wonderful and dangerous thing." O'Malley preens and swigs from the bottle. "I had this ex. She was wild so I need some... Insurance."

"Mm," Loki drones, unimpressed. "It still sounds rather... Uncanny."

"Yeah, it's gonna need some refinement. I could get J to tweak it. I'm better at finding things but he's the expert with tech."

"And what's that gonna cost me?" Loki challenges.

O'Malley smirks and checks the label of the bottle as he lifts a brow. "How much more of this can you get?”

💚

There’s scuffling on the other side of the speaker. Loki adjusts the volume on his car stereo and sighs. His stomach is in knots as he listens to the hacked line. O’Malley’s accomplice had a few useful tricks; he could infest a phone he’d never even been in the same room as. Tricky, in the most devious sort of way.

A door shuts and the rickety man clears his throat. There’s more chafing. Then a pause.

“Um, sir,” she cheeps. Loki leans forward. “Can I ask what’s… going on?”

“Why don’t you guess?” Her supervisor snarls.

Loki twitches. He doesn’t like that. He should feel bad that he’s the cause of such venom and yet, he only feels riled that anyone would speak to her thus. After all, he only has power over his own actions.

“I don’t… know? Was it my last survey? I’m sorry but I just couldn’t get her to stay on the line.”

“Don’t play stupid with me. You know why you’re here.”

“Um… no?”

“Just admit it and this will all go easier. Whether you do or don’t, won’t change the outcome.” The man sneers.

“Sir, please, I don’t have any idea–”

“Shut up.” Her supervisor barks.

Silence again. Only the noise of rustling and the clack of a keyboard. The familiar recording starts. The one O’Malley and his cohort conjured up. The lurid conversation stirs him, causing him to squirm in the seat as he wishes it was real and him, not some false voice on the other end.

She squeaks. “That’s not me!”

“Oh? Who else would it be?” Her boss accuses. “You really think I’m stupid?!”

“No, no. It’s not. I never!” She squeals. “It can’t–”

“We got it off of your station. So, explain to me who else it would be?” He grizzles.

“Please,” she begs, her horror laced with confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“You understand.” The man snips. “Clear your desk and leave.”

“Sir, no! I need this job. Please–”

“Get out of here. Now. You slut.” The supervisor hollers and something crashes.

Loki braces the wheel. He stops as he hears her sniffling and her feet shuffling frantically. The door opens and closes and her shoes hammer in retreat. The twinge in his gut moves to his chest, just for an instant, then dissipates. He turns off the audio.

He waits. He watches the building as his leg jiggles with impatience. He sees her flee from the building in a flap of flannel as her bag bounces on her hip. Her curvy, soft hip.

He coughs and rolls his shoulders. One thing at a time man. She hurries down the street, covering her face in dismay, and doesn’t stop until she reaches the bus stop. She falls onto the bench and keeps her face in her palms.

He taps his fingers on the steering wheel as he machinates. He’s dreamt up this scenario over and over, each night as he settles in his bed and now, he hesitates. He has to play it perfectly.

He gets out and waits for the traffic to clear before crossing in a slant. He fixes his suit and tie as he gets to the other side of the street and struts up the pavement. He slows as he nears the stop. She’s rocking as mops her tears with her sleeves.

She wears a plain white tank under the half-buttoned flannel, over the same torn jeans she was wearing when she collided with him the first time they met. She doesn’t sense him as she wallows in her despair. He watches her, waiting to be caught. He isn’t.

Slowly, he steps forward and inspects the bench. He dusts it off before he turns and sits next to her. She wipes her hands on her jeans and winces. She shrinks as much as she can as she makes room for him.

“Sorry,” she murmurs.

He hums. Her voice is delectable, especially so low and close to him. His trousers get tighter. He unbuttons his jacket.

“My dear, you are…upset? What is it?” He asks.

She sniffs and wipes her face again. She won’t look at him. “It’s not… I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Why, darling, I saw you across the way and I couldn’t help but come see what had you in such a state.” He insists.

“Huh?” She bats her lashes and hugs herself. “Why?”

“Oh, I do hate to see any pretty woman in disarray.”

She gulps. “Don’t… worry about me. I’m… I’ll be… fine.”

“The kindness of strangers is a gift. Dear, might I try to brighten your day? It does seem so dour.” He coaxes.

She cautiously looks up at him. There’s no recognition in her eyes. He’s both relieved but slightly agitated by her ignorance. 

“You really don’t have to…”

“I want to, dear.” He insists. “Please.” He lifts his hand slowly and extends it. “Loki, and you?”

She looks at his hand then shakes it. It’s so small in his. A thrill rolls over him. She ekes out the name he already knows.

Hello this is stalkers anonymous. A bespoke service dedicated to listening to our clients without judgement, offering an outlet to vent, tools or advice. My name is Alexis, how can I help you this evening?

Hello Alexis. I was wondering if I could speak to the same woman I spoke to last time I called, her name is Mandy.

I'm so sorry sir but due to a recent incident inhouse, we are unable to allow guaranteed regular advisors, unless you pay for our VIP service.

Ahh that is unfortunate but understandable.

I am sorry sir. Can I be of assistance at all?

Yes, I would like some advice if possible, please.

Of course sir. Tell me what's going on for you.

Mandy was right, getting your name had proved incredibly easy and I was even able to get ahold of your volunteer schedule for the soup kitchen.

Since then our relationship has only grown in strength. I now get to enjoy walking you to and from the kitchen on a Tuesday and Friday, enjoying the view of your beautiful blushed face in the morning frost as you walk.

This morning you'd gone in a little early and so I made sure to accompany you inside to ensure your safety. Nothing would happen to my love on my watch.

You placed your bag and coat in the rustic lockers before heading into the main kitchen to help prepare the food.

I took the opportunity while you were busy, slipping my hand into your bag and collecting your keys. Don't fret, id have them back before you ended your shift.

I was about to leave to head to the locksmith when I heard the sound of your laughter. It was beautiful, angelic even. The problem was however that I wasn't the one causing it. So who was?

I carefully peaked into the large room and saw another man in there with you. A man. With my woman. I could have stormed in there and then and sunk a dagger straight through his heart but I didn't want to scare you. I would have to take care of him another time when I can get him alone.

I made my way to the locksmith and got myself a key copied of our future apartment, knowing you'd want me to move in sooner rather than later and then I quickly returned the keys to your locker before making my way home.

A little while later I stepped over the threshold and was immediately met with a smell that was just so undeniably you, addictive and alluring.

I spent a little time observing your belongings, familiarizing myself with your likes so I could begin showering you with gifts I knew you'd enjoy.

I then stepped into our bedroom and my cock immediately stirred at the sight of the strewn bedding. Soon it would be both of us causing such a mess.

I knew you wouldn't mind how turned on the sight made me, knowing you were the cause.

I quickly located your undergarments drawer and selected a pair of silk black panties that had me audibly moaning in pleasure. I knew you'd be a saucy little minx in the bedroom and this proved it.

I sat myself down on the edge of the bed and desperately freed my throbbing cock from my trousers.

I began to stroke myself, wrapping your silk underwear around my length and caressing the material against my length.

It didn't take long for you to have me crying your name as I spilled over my hand and your panties. It never does take long with you.

I wiped the excess cum off of my hand into the soft material and placed the pair back in the drawer, knowing how pleased you'd be when you found the gift I'd left for you. Would you get yourself off to the thought of me? I imagined you would.

I can only imagine how good it will feel when we finally give ourselves to each other fully darling.

It sounds like you've had quite the productive few weeks sir.

I have indeed.

So what do you want help with sir?

Well, I would like to begin giving her gifts and I'm just not sure what to start with.

Ahh that is a fantastic idea. Lingerie is always a fan favorite or perhaps something she can use to satisfy herself until you are together?

Now that is fantastic idea. I've heard you can now create toys moulded to ones own cock.

Yes you can! We actually offer the kits here, would you like me to send you an order form?

Yes please, that would be amazing.

No problem at all sir, I've sent that to the mobile you've called from. Just fill it in as soon as you can and we'll get that sent out to you.

Thank you so much Alexis.

Anything else I can do for you today sir?

No that's all, thank you so much. You've been a great help.

No problem at all sir and happy stalking.

Her lips shine with gloss as she swirls the wine in her tall glass. She leans forward as she babbles at him about some tropical island she’d love to visit. She went to St. Barths but she’s a wanderer. So she proclaims. To him, she seems much in line with other women he’s met.

She moves her shoulders so the satin straps slip and give a generous view of her chest. He doesn’t feel a thing about it. He looks down at the glass of dark liquor and turns it with his fingertips on the brim. He’s never been one for pretenses. He can weave a lie for his whims, but never one to play jester to the court.

“Did you enjoy your dinner?” He asks dully.

She bats her thickly coated lashes. They might not be hers. She sits up and looks down at her plate, her eyes widen as if surprised to see it. She took a bite of the lobster and maybe two of the pilaf. He wouldn’t balk at the price if the food was eaten.

“You’ll need a box.”

“Oh, I don’t eat leftovers.” She preens. “But you’re welcome to it.” She sits back and traces her pointed nails along her neck. “It was just so delicious, I could hardly eat it all.”

Or any. His cheek dimples as he swallows down his agitation. He thinks this is their first date but it isn’t that different than the one he sat through last week. No, that was Lorena, this is… Delilah? It doesn’t truly matter, the result is the same.

“I had a lovely time,” she brushes her shoe up his leg under the table. He doesn’t react, instead signalling for the check.

“Well, then, if you’re all done,” he intones.

She pouts. “We could get dessert…”

“I’m full,” he insists as he sits back. His neck hurts as the muscles tangle around each other. He has to stop himself from grinding his teeth. “Seems you are too.”

Her cheek twitches as she looks at her plate then back at him. Her brow tweaks slightly. “We don’t have to have it here.”

He stares at her. Usually, he would accept. He’s not one to turn down a bit of fun but he thinks of Lisa. No, Lorena… hm. She just sort of laid there and let out these little squeaks. He’s never had to fake it before. Judging by this one’s rambling of me, me, me, he doesn’t foresee much in it for himself.

“I’m flattered,” he checks his watch. “But I don’t think this is going to work out.”

“You don’t think…” she starts sourly. “Look at me. You’re turning me down?”

“I’ll pay for your dinner.” He shrugs.

“My dinner…” she rolls her eyes to the ceiling and her expression darkens. “You? You’re too good for me?”

“Well, darling, if you’d like to foot the bill,” he suggests as the server brings the little leather folio with the invoice.

She juts out her lip and scoffs. “Whatever. You’re so… lame.”

She throws her cloth napkin on the table and slides off the bench. She snatches up her purse and struts away. She doesn’t leave. She perches at the bar and shimmies on the stool, bobbling her head as she looks for fresh prey.

He hands his card to the server and asks for a box. He probably won’t eat the lobster either but he knows where it will go if he leaves it. He taps his fingers on the table then turns his hand. He drags it over and clamps his glass. He empties it and sets it back down.

The server returns with his card and the box, then bids him a good night. Oh very good. Alone. He can be content by himself, it is much preferable to the vapid dating pool, and yet, he would not be unhappy with one around. Finding someone he can bear is quite another thing.

He scrapes the lobster and rice into the box and closes the flaps. He stands and walks out without a glance in either direction. He can hear the obnoxious trilling of that woman as she snares in her catch. Best of luck, fellow.

Loki strides down the street. He has no true direction. He will hail a cab eventually but the evening air is soft but cool. Soothing as his agitation boils in his scalp. How difficult can it be to just be tolerable?

Simplicity is a much underappreciated commodity these days. That’s what he would prefer. But these women, they want three-hundred dollar plates and sparkling wine. He knows those satin dresses are sold online for pennies. A dime a dozen, just like the women.

A hurtling force nearly knocks him onto his rear. He staggers as an ‘oomph’ rises from the bulldozer that nearly just flattened him. He looks down at the woman as she teeters and he catches her shoulder, the box flattened against his middle. Rice tumbles out of a bent flap.

“Oh, oh, I’m sorry! S-so-sorry!” She blusters as she pulls back and touches her cheeks. 

Her eyes are shining and her sweat hangs off one arm. The strap of her bag is stuck between her rather full bosom and her shirt rides up just above her jeans, giving a peek of her soft belly. Her hips are wide and her thighs curved. She is almost overflowing.

He twitches as he looks down at her. Something about her, how every part of her is slightly askew, draws him in. And yet, she is looking past him.

“I’m sorry! I’m late! I have to go.”

“Miss,” he goes to grab her arm as she skirts around him. 

She slips through his reach and bounces down the sidewalk. She nearly trips on a crack but does not stop. Her bag bounces on her hip and something falls at her heels without notice.

He peers around then calmly follows her path. He stops and bends to scoop up the lost item. It’s a receipt. He examines it. Nothing to tell him about her, only that she needed bread and margarine.

Why does he care? She’s just a stranger. A rather clumsy one at that. He looks down at the crushed container and the smear of lobster butter on his jacket.

“Very good. Those looks wonderful,” she praises. “Oh, the tea is ready. It might be a bit strong for our carelessness.”

“Okay,” you murmur.

“Let us bring it to our husbands,” she sets out two cups. “I leave my son’s to you.”

She lifts the pot and fills one of the china cups. You wait then do the same. She adds some sugar and stirs. You don’t know what Loki takes but add both sugar and milk.

You balance the cup on the saucer as you mimic the older woman. You follow her out nervously. Loki and his father sit at the table, much too long for just the two of them. Frigga places a cup by Odin as he lowers a newspaper and greets her with a smile. She bends to kiss his temple.

You circle around to set down the cup in front of Loki. He taps his fingers impatiently. You nervously kiss his temple, just like his mother did to his father. He hums and mutters quietly. “Too much milk.”

He hooks his fingers through the handle. You knew you must have got it wrong. You take a step back and peer over at Frigga. Her husband whispers to her as she leans down.

“Er… I…” You stammer then spin away. You hurry back to the kitchen.

You don’t know what to do or what you’re doing. Between Loki and his parents, it’s just too much. You’re not like them and it must be obvious. And if it is, your husband will not be happy. You want to dissolve at that word alone. Husband?

You look around the kitchen, lost. You don’t belong in this place. You don’t understand why he brought you there? And how? A man with such a nice house and all these things, can’t he find someone who suits him?

“Honey, is everything alright?” Frigga swings the door inward.

You suck in your breath. You can pretend. You’ve done that before. In those days before you cut loose and found your own way. Just you and Tracey. But now you’re gone and she’s so far away.

“Yes, I’m sorry, I thought… I was worried about the streusel,” you lie. “What else are we making?”

“Oh simple enough. Smoke salmon on some rye with cream cheese,” she says.

“Okay.” You nod. 

“It’s all in the fridge.” She assures. “Darling…” she pauses and stares at you. She turns and opens the fridge. “You like those ducks. They’re very pretty.”

“I… like to watch them, I guess.” You shrug. “I shouldn’t waste so much time there.”

“Yes, my son can be rather needy,” she tuts. “But newlyweds are often inseparable. I do hope we didn’t infringe too much.”

“No, you’re his parents. It’s good to… have those.”

She’s quiet. “I suppose we do take family for granted. But dear,” she turns and sets out two containers on the counter. “I hope you see now that you are part of ours.”

You stare at her. Oh yes, you’ve had this talk before. This is your home now, your family. That first day is always so optimistic but then it all falls apart. You’re not there because you’re wanted, you’re there because they get a check or just to make them feel better about themselves.

“Thank you.” You eke out.

You go quiet and near her. She grabs the bread, a loaf she cuts herself. You observe and help where you can as she prepares breakfast. When the oven beeps, you take out the browned pastries.

It all comes together in a fragrant spread. She doles it out on the plates and you each carry them out to the men at the table. Loki slides his cup towards you.

“I’ll have milk only.” He slithers.

He hasn’t even sipped the tea. You put his plate down and pick up the cup.

Odin coughs. “I do hope there is a please coming.”

Loki looks at him sharply. “I had thought you were hiding in the Current Events column.”

“Yes. Currently, you are being an arse. If you don’t like your tea, why don’t you get up and make it yourself.”

“Dear,” Frigga touches her husband’s shoulder. “I’m certain he only forgot–”

“He does seem very forgetful. Of manners, of his own wife.”

“It’s not… it’s fine.” You insist.

“It’s not. I didn’t raise him to treat a lady so and certainly not his own wife.”

“Oh you only see what I do wrong,” Loki retorts. “She is my wife, this is my house, and if you are unhappy, you’re welcome to leave.”

“As is she, which I encourage her to do so given your behaviour–”

“Please, stop,” you beg.

“My behaviour? I’m not a child, father. You needn’t guide me. You speak to me of courtesy and yet you come unannounced and have no issue drinking my tea and eating my food–”

“Loki,” Frigga chides. “You two, please, there is no need–”

You turn and rush out of the room. Your blood feels like it could overflow. You put your hands over your ears and stomp down the hall. You quickly hide in the backroom, the one with the old bookshelf, the chair, and the portrait of a young Frigga.

You sit and bend over your lap. You hate fighting. Everywhere you go, there’s fighting. You’re starting to think it’s you. There’s something about you that just makes people miserable.

You cradle your head and inhale, your eyes stinging. It reminds you of that night. Tracey and Brad yelling, you leaving, going off and then it all went black. Your old life wasn’t special, not enviable, but it was yours.

You slump against the arm rest. There’s a tap at the door. You don’t move or speak. The hinges whine and footsteps approach.

“I’m sorry. I’ll come out.” You say as you drag yourself off the arm rest. “I just need–”

You look up and your voice catches. Odin pulls up the dusty old foot stool and sits. He offers his open hands. He watches you with his placid blue eyes.

“My dear, please accept my apologies,” he says. “I goad my son, but worse, I’ve upset you.” He keeps his palms up. “Forgive me and I will not do it again.”

You bat your lashes at him and sit up straight.

“I’m not mad,” you sniff.

“You should be. At me. At my son. We are beasts.” He says. “You would do well to show him some teeth, dear.”

You look down at his hands.

“I am not an angry person.”

“No, but anger has its place,” he reaches to take your hands in his. “Perhaps you are not mad but you are sad or scared or even just annoyed. For that I am deeply sorry.”

You look up at him and your nose tingles. Your cheek dimples as you think. No one’s ever apologised to you before. You should doubt him and yet he is earnest as he sits and waits for your pardon.

“Thank you for apologising,” you say as you squeeze his hands. “I forgive you.”

As you enter through the back door, you hear Frigga humming from the kitchen. You try to sneak by but she spies you through the doorway. You blanch and stop short.

“Would you go check on my son? Take your time.” She prompts.

“Oh… sure.” You nod and press on.

You go upstairs, more hesitant with each step. You get to the bedroom door and steal yourself. Slowly, you push down on the handle and ease inward.

Loki startles you as he stomps toward you in a black silk robe. You try to back up but he wrenches the door open from the other side and catches your wrist. He drags you into the room and swings the door shut.

“Where did you run off to?” He hisses.

You bat your lashes and tense up. For a moment, you’re a teen girl again, sneaking in to find your foster dad waiting with his belt. You squeak and shake in his grip.

“Well?” He snips.

You stare at him. “Please, just make it quick.”

He flinches. “Pardon?”

“Please. I won’t fight.” You open your hands to show your palms.

His eyes flick up and down and he shakes his head. He lets you go. “I was only asking,” he takes a step back. “You need to change.”

He spins and struts away from you. You rock and rub your arms. You watch him, waiting for him to explode. He searches the wardrobe and brings out a burgundy dress. Long sleeves, beaded trim around the neckline and cuffs, cut to the knee. It’s very refined. It doesn’t suit you.

“Oh, it’s pretty–”

“As my wife should be. Hair, face,” he gestures with his free hand as he shoves the hanger into your chest. “You will get yourself together.”

He turns and undoes his robe. He strips it off without shame. You cover your eyes and turn away from his naked figure. “I will find a tie to match.”

You nod and quickly skirt around the bed. You change with your back to him, on the other side of the king-sized expanse. You can hear him shuffling and rustling with his attire.

You peer around and go to the vanity to look in the mirror. He nears. In slacks and an unbuttoned shirt. Your eyes flit between the reflection of his exposed torso and your face as you try to tug your hair tidy. He slides open the drawer.

“All you need is within,” he taps the wood.

You look down. Pots, tins, tubes galore. You cautiously sit and sift through. He buttons his shirt as he stands beside you. You take a deep breath and your chest bulges against the neckline.

“Mm, I might have misestimated,” he touches your shoulders and drags his fingertips across. “You do have a pretty neck.”

You nod. “Thank you.”

“You must keep it straight however,” he encircles your throat with his long fingers. “Your head must be held high, Mrs. Laufeyson.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Loki,” he corrects. “Or honey? Darling? Dear husband.”

“Honey,” you utter.

He purrs and draws away. He strides across the room and searches the inside of the wardrobe door. You peek over as he loops a deep red tie around his neck, knotting it effortlessly before folding his collar down.

You twist back to your reflection and focus on making yourself match him. You tame your hair first, then tend to your face. The creams even out your complexion and the mascara wand brightens your eyes. You never tried much with makeup before. You just didn’t take the time or spend the money when it was better used elsewhere.

“Acceptable,” he praises as he approaches, smoothing the lapels of a dark grey suit.

You cap the lip oil, a thing you’ve never heard before, and place it back in the drawer. You shut it and turn on the cushioned seat.

“Thank you,” you stand but find him closer than you expect.

“Mm,” he considers you. “I cannot complain for your manners at least.”

“Yes… dear,” you swallow. “Your mother… I met her by the pond. I said I’d help with breakfast.”

“By the pond?” He sniffs. “With the birds?”

“Ducks, sir. Loki. Uh, darling,” you stutter. “I only watch–”

“You should remain within and play your part, as lady of the house. My mother should not be the one guiding you. You must keep her and my father comfortable. You are their host.” He chides.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t. I never…” you shrug. “I will be better.”

“Oh, darling, you didn’t but now you do and so my expectations are clear,” he runs his hands up your sleeves and shifts in his leather shoes. “This does look rather nice.” He slips his touch from your arms and tugs on the neckline, surprising you. “I didn’t realise you were so… buxom.”

You chew your lip. You’ve never been called that before. You reactively grab his hands and try to push them away.

“Darling, I am your husband.” He flicks your hands off his. “You do not push away my affection.”

You twitch and drop your arms. You stare at him, his tone unnerving. He sighs and backs away. “We must distract from your… figure.” He struts to the vanity and opens the leather jewelry box in a shade of dusted rose. He takes out a silver chain with sparkling square gems. “This will do.”

He steps behind you and strings it around your neck. He clasps it and tickles along your hairline. He purrs and you curl your shoulders. He catches them and pushes them back.