#obsessive loki

Dark Loki x Shifter Reader

Summary: You and Loki meet during his take over and he takes a rather obsessive liking to you. 

You were a shifter; your parents kicked you out when you were only six. When you were ten, Tony Stark found you, but you understood why he didn’t want to take care of a kid. He introduced you to the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., Nick Fury took you in. where you lived. Everyone took turns taking care of you, majority of the time Clint looked after you, you are now nineteen shield trained you helped you control your strange abilities you were born with.you were now a skilled shield agent, the clothes they provided you with don’t rip when you shift now, which was better than running around in the nude. 

you were currently laying head first when you hear a commotion going on in the lower levels. You sighed sitting up, I pull my jacket on, I braid my hair to the side… I look at my self I have dark jean shorts over a pair of leggings, a dark green shirt and a jean jacket. and a pair of ankle boots. my eyes are two different colors one is green like bright green leaves in the spring, my other eye is an animal yellow eye like a wolfs.

I leave the room.

I let out a yawn, as I make my way to the lower level. I can smell guns that were recently fired blood, metal. and something I am not familiar with ceder-wood, birch, blood orange and cinnamon. It smelled rather good.

I enter the room. the scene before me makes me stop dead in my tracks…

I see a man with dark hair he was tall, I take a wiff and that smell was coming from him. this is Loki god of mischif

the man fires a blast of blue energy from his spear, while Barton narrowly tackles Fury out of the way. Everyone shoots at Loki, but the bullets deflect off of him. Loki immediately takes down everyone shooting at him easily, with knives and energy blasts from his sceptre. He pauses, grinning, and looks to who will attack him next. Barton attempts to attack him, but Loki grabs his wrist, disarming him.

 “You have heart.” He says 

Loki places the tip of the spear against Barton's chest. Barton's eye glow black, and he stops resisting. Loki begins controlling other agents around the room. 

my hands tightens into fists gritting my teeth, my eye twitching. 

“Sir director fury is stalling.” Clint says 

I snall

I am no in font of fury, I grab him by the collar and throw him across the room. I snarl

he stands up clearly shocked.

“Well that was a bit of a surprise.” Loki says dusting himself off 

“You haven’t seen anything yet.” I growl

He chuckled 

I look over my shoulder at Fury. 

“Go.” I say 

He nods running off 

“Now that is a shame.” He says 

He strides towards me the staff in his grip, I was about to shift and attack when he griped my chin, and smirks. 

“Those eyes, intrige me.” He says 

I slap his hand, 

“Keep your hands off.” I growl

suddenly his staff touches my chest, and I feel something taking over my mind. I try to fight it, I snarl and growl trying to fight what ever was trying to take over my mind. 

“Don’t fight it darling, fighting it would be useless.” He whispered in my ear

I grab him by the throat, and growl he struggled to breathe and taps my chest again with the staff and suddenly I let go of him…

“That’s never happened before, you must be strong.” Loki says 

“Now lets see if it truly worked. Kneel.” He says 

I try to fight it but I was no match I kneel. 

Trigger Warning: angst, obsession, drabble, yandere

Word Count: 565

Character: loki/reader

dance crescent

He was trembling all over — thousands of sharp needles were stabbed into his body, it was burned with boiling water, and then permeated anew with treacherous sweat. His whole gut felt a trick, his hardened mind refused to accept the truth, only his clear youthful soul rejoiced. Never before had he felt the upcoming euphoria, mixed with the fear of being caught and incomprehensible. Constantly hidden, hidden from everyone in dusty libraries, Loki doubts again — however, it seems that at least something can get better in his life.

Trembling hands tightly squeezed the supple sleeping body — now his beloved was especially beautiful and beautiful: shiny, docile hair lying on the folds of his elbows; a peaceful face when she doesn't even care about the upcoming wedding with his stupid brother, doesn't try to choose costumes and argues with him about which service would be better to use and where to hold the event — in Midgard or Asgard. Loki smiles warmly, almost plunging into an endless pool of very different scenarios in his head and not even thinking about Thor.

In a secluded place, which failed not from the first attempt to find in the despicable Midgard, they will be able to enjoy each other, because Loki will never unfasten the handcuffs and will not give the keys. You were like the moon, reflected in a veil in every drop of wine. A thousand songs would not be enough for him, a thousand words would not be enough — it was almost impossible to describe you, his queen; an ideal person created by the Norns personally to him, so that Thor would not talk about his pure love there; no matter how many moans Loki heard from the next room; no matter how much he spied on them, immediately turning into a statue, he knew — he knew that his queen was created for him.

The darkness is boundless, only the ashes knew what it meant to burn to the ground, and it enveloped him from head to toe. He hated everything, but he could not incinerate anything — exactly at that moment, exactly at that second, when his cheek absorbed so much salt after his mother's death, she came to him. She came like a crescent moon, and he needed her—needed her as the wind needs dust, as sparks are important to the fire. And she saved him at that moment — the moon was blooming with a bright bud, and she was that very Goddess, diligently pronouncing everything: "don't cry, because tears don't suit you."

His heart was burning — he was addicted and sick, all the stars were against it, but moon dust was the best drug. Loki wanted to learn how to fly at night, so that he could be closer to the moon, only lying in bed, and again plunge into boundless salvation and kind words. He involuntarily looks at her again, looks at all the flaws of the face, finding them insanely gracious and elegant — you are different from all the others, and Loki is not surprised why his brother was so fascinated by you and the Midgard charms.

He believed that he would never succumb to the charms of girls, but she changed everything. Roses love, roses wither. And their life is short — your and Loki's life will now be filled with real, sincere and noble feelings.

Dance, crescent moon, dance just for him.

Trigger Warning: angst, obsession, drabble, yandere

Word Count: 643

Character: loki/reader

the legend of the god of lies

Everyone would have given a diva, the legend was not so simple. But how did the God of Lies and Deception fall in love without an answer? Everything was preceded by sadness; Loki, for what seemed like an eternity, watched his brother and his insanely happy beloved. Hiding behind the pillars, like a despised ghost, he followed them all day; Thor could not stop talking, imagining how he would tell his mother and father about the wedding. And she... his favorite... was so happy that day, walked around like wasn't myself, and was smiling.

His heart ached painfully from such thoughts and their sweet kisses; his brother did not hesitate, again and again, again and again hitting the strongly stabbing soul, in fierce excitement pulling his beloved into another kiss. Loki felt the neatly trimmed nails digging into the skin, leaving traces, and the throat seemed to be pulled together by a thin, but strong, thread, wrapping around the heart. Wherever he ran, the whole universe was like a prison for him, and only she saved him from the world bursting at the seams.

And now, so suddenly and painfully betray. Loki was planning an escape from reality, trying to live his dreams, but it was so naive — he could never be alone, without her. The beautiful is far away turned out to be in vain. The joyful atmosphere around him reminded of unfulfilled dreams; fate had its own empire and its own sickening ideas. He tried, tried to control himself, but he was sure that he would give up again.

His jaw was very tense; and his eyes, perhaps, almost watered. Again. Again, again, again, again. Nose itched, and there was not enough air. Wanted to smash, smash, show my real emotions, scream — can't change him; his entire youth was spent in oblivion and humiliation. Too weak for a prince, too stupid for a king.

Loki didn't want power over the whole world, he just wanted to be freer than the multi-winged seraphim. He spent so much time in the cage, but feeling the support in the face of his beloved, he caught gusts of wind. She was everything to him, helped fill the sweet emptiness inside, but at the same time so unattainable. So immaculate, so innocent among thousands of hypocritical faces and false smiles.

He had been giving her wildflowers since childhood, when he was a very small and stupid boy, presumptuously hoping for a crown. Tried to get her attention, went into seclusion with her while Thor was away, but it all ended with simple kisses on the cheek. Rejected by beloved — his tears, his grief, his pain, his will and love. Watching from the shadows, completely hidden from human faces, Loki knew that he would never be able to love again.

And laughter again. And again a nice conversation. And hugs again. The soft scent of his beloved's fragrant perfume wafted in the air, mingling with the smell of some sweat from Thor; a fool who had recently returned from the battlefield. His heart was pounding — he was incompetent, a fool, and would never reach the heights as his brother. He will always remain in the shadows, like a misunderstanding, wandering around the edges to no place.

It was stupid, it was childish, but still, if you dig deep, you can understand that the child inside has always been the owner of the most dangerous fangs. His beloved drove him to madness, he was blind, extinguished like a candle when in a fit of passion he did not listen to her speech. With trembling hands, he pushes off from the wall, the last time with an obsessive hatred for the lovers, immediately leaving the hall. Hatred matured in him, mixed with incredible love.

How to live a loving God of Mischief, if love for everything divine is unnatural?

Trigger Warning: smoking, angst, alcohol, kidnapping 

Summary: there were many charms in life. However, Tom Hiddleston, having tried the most forbidden ones, could no longer imagine his life without them. The rest for him was nonsense, not worth his attention. After all, in order to survive, he needs to find a dose, thanks to which he feels better, not paying attention to the other rabble that reigns around. He doesn't care about his mother, who brings men into the house; he doesn't care about his sisters, whom he envies; he doesn't care about the whole world. But soon his search for a new dose will turn into a search for a girl who has won a victory over his drug-addicted mind, absorbing him completely and occupying all his thoughts.

And he won't stop until he gets what he wants.

Chapter sixteen: conversations

POV Hayden

Each person woke up in different ways — lonely people were greeted by the emptiness reigning in the apartment, happy people got out of bed with a smile, and people in a relationship were woken up by their significant other. The pillow, from which all the feathers seemed to have been knocked out over time, was pushed through under the pressure of the head, as a result of which small dents remained, immediately disappearing. The thin bedspread did not protect from the cold, and the white sheets were very dirty.

Hayden's head was pounding. For several days now, this unbearable pain has haunted her, from which wanted to moan heart-rendingly, clutching temples, in an attempt to stop the dizziness. She tried to open her eyes abruptly, but this made her head ache even more, so she had to repeat the action more gently, based on past experience. Blinking rapidly, she stared at the ceiling, leaving her hands on the pillow.

Her red hair was disheveled, lying in complete disarray on the pillow. Hayden sighed wearily, already wanted to call Theo, tell him about a terrible dream she had — where a thin man with dirty black curly hair, about forty years old, and also very «battered by life», kidnapped her, feeding her cookies and tea. She was sure that Theo would only smile tenderly and laugh at it as usual; he would say that everything was fine, that he was there and she would always be safe. And Cooper would like to believe that.

Hayden notices late the yellow sloppy prints from cigarette smoke on the ceiling, black mold in the corners and cobwebs; she realizes too late that the room is very stuffy — the smell seemed to have almost completely soaked into the furniture — it smelled of vinegar, cheap alcohol and dust tickling her nose. The allergy immediately made itself felt, and Hayden, without hesitation, sneezed, covering her mouth with her hand and squinting her eyes, slightly standing up and leaning against the pillow. Blinking sleepily, she began to look around, almost yawning; the brain refused to perceive it as something alien, but there was still something wrong here, something suspicious, unnatural.

But suddenly something pricked in her chest, and Hayden sucked in a sharp breath; her soul was filled with fear, her breathing was lost, and her heartbeat only intensified, blocking out the extraneous noise. There was a transparent veil before her eyes — she didn't want to see anything, I just wanted to stare at the door in disbelief and not move. She looked out of the window, from which the bright light of the black sun was pouring; the sky was loaded with a crowd of gloomy clouds, just as apprehensive and doubtful. Her nose itched sharply with another sigh, and her hands began to tremble. A fleeting thought popped up, and Hayden's gaze immediately focused on her wrists — free wrists, not chained together.

Lips trembled, but Theo continued to be the only thought; Hayden furiously recalled, tried to discover in the echoes of memory instructions about the abduction, but nothing worked — what should I do? Keep calm, or maybe it's better to demand your release? To break out or humbly wait for the coming salvation? Hayden wanted to lock herself alone in a room, hanging a large lock on the door, give free rein to accumulated emotions and feelings, shout to the whole world about her condition! who didn't care so much about you.

The door handle twitches, and Hayden stares at it; fear mixes with sweat, permeates the body, cools it and makes it shudder. The door opens and Cooper comes face to face with her worst nightmare: the man she once saved and who decided to repay her by kidnapping. He looks the same as yesterday: the same corrosive bruises lying under the extinct eyes; the same hunched and downcast head; the same unwashed black hair, from which the paint is peeling off; the same unkempt stubble and exactly the same frightening smile... it was as if he was happy about what was happening, rejoicing like a child.

Hayden was shaking quite imperceptibly, and her body was burning. She didn't dare to say anything, just as well as look away, continuing to stare pointlessly at the men waiting for him to speak. Twitching slightly, Hayden nevertheless looked at the dirty floor, on which there were traces of sneakers; her abductor inspired fear, mixed with pity and disgust — thousands of questions were born anew in her head and there was no answer to any of them: why did she do this? Why did kidnap, why didn't just say "thank you"?

"Do you need to take a shower?" a question was suddenly heard from his side, and Hayden sighed loudly, this was not what she expected at all. "I can give you time, I want you to take a shower again... smelled like herself again. You like honey gel, right?" eyes widened and his mouth slightly opened; how would he know about it? Where from... have ideas about her favorite shower gel and make her smell it again?

Hayden didn't dare to say anything, all the words seemed to disappear from her head at once, and her mouth refused to say them. She only looked in confusion and alarm at the man looking at her with a strange mania, suggesting all sorts of escape routes. What if he didn't like her silence? And if, on the contrary, he only wants her weak and waterless submission? Hayden pursed her bitten lips — for which Theo often scolded her — and swallowed. It got scarier.

"I know what you want, let me..." he came closer and closer, but Hayden just huddled in a dirty corner; he wanted to touch her. The man held out his hand to her. "Come on, you're going for a bathe. Believe me, I am... I really won't do anything, you just take a shower, nothing more — rinse, the body will feel better, and I'll cook something to eat. Not that I do it well, but I can make fried egg and tea, do you want?" There was an uncertain nod in response, and her captors only smiled as they helped her up.

Being in old clothes, her body was chilled; the room was cold and there was a draft as soon as the door opened — was this her chance to escape? or is it better to wait for the arrival of the police, who will be helped by Theo, even if it is not his prerogative (in any case, he will take part in the case, tying it to the drug case)? It was getting dark in front of eyes, thousands of frames of a possible outcome flashed by, but my hands did not stop shaking. Hayden was sure that if she spoke, her voice would break into falseness.

Swallowing as the man grabbed her arms, Hayden tensed even more. They went to the door, which immediately closed, and the girl was presented with a long corridor, moreover, quite narrow — a couple of seconds, and she notices everything. Her gaze caught on a door that was different from the others she had seen. She was big, and Hayden she immediately assumed that this could be a way out, but she did not kick; it was too dangerous now, and anything could happen — he was bigger than her, even if he was rather thin and lanky.

The parquet creaked, the boards were definitely rotten. The corridor itself was not particularly remarkable, even somewhat similar to the old apartment of the parents — the same shabby, the same narrow for moving, but accommodating a closet with winter clothes, shoes on the bedside table, three doors (two of which lead to the rooms), a large worn mirror and a number of shelves for cosmetics, instead of whose, empty beer bottles and stored cigarette packs were gathering dust. Hayden furrowed her brows when she felt an unpleasant burning sensation in her nose and a disgusting smell that filled the space that had managed to soak into her skin. How now wanted to be at home, take a relaxing bath and fall asleep sweetly from the warmth... But she understood that at the moment she would not be able to experience anything like this.

He was taller than her. Hayden looked at her captor a little hesitantly, but stared at him intently — last time he was dressed exactly the same: the same black T-shirt, worn to small holes at the bottom; the same dark jeans, wide enough for thin legs; the same dirty white socks. Why isn't he wearing shoes? Is it really being heated so much here that you even had to take off your shoes? «Just like at home with my parents. In the old apartment», a fleeting thought flashed through Hayden's head, and for some reason it seemed embarrassing to her; even that view from the window was very familiar.

"Let me help you bathe? But first I need to get something out of there, you won't mind, will you? Everything is for your safety," the man urged her, stopping near two closed doors — probably a toilet and a bathroom. "I, like, can," Hayden desperately shook her head, even when he didn't have time to finish. Drawing his eyebrows together, her captor closed his lips, moving his shoulders and pulling away. "But if you're shy, then I understand everything, believe me. I can give you some time to be alone, but only if you, well, I'll drop by in, uh, five minutes. Every five minutes, to be more precise."

The door opens and the characteristic click of turning on the light is heard from behind. The man pushes her forward slightly. Under his feet, on the tile that has yellowed over time, Hayden feels a blue carpet with strange square patterns. A stained mirror hangs right in front of his face, and under it is a sink, cracked in places, on which there was a transparent soap dish and toothbrushes. Towels hung on the batteries covered with peeling paint, and the bathroom itself was on the right side. The whole room made feel uncomfortable.

The only light bulb on the ceiling was on, but it felt like it was going to fall off and shatter. Hayden swallowed when the man touched her shoulders and began to take off crumpled black-checked shirt, but the girl cut him off. Turning abruptly to face him — her heart had stopped, her temples were tingling — she exhaled noisily, clenching her fists; the tips of her fingers were white.

"Let me-let me still myself. You can-you can go," Cooper nodded, to which the man himself only smiled positively, — this time again somewhat obsessively and probably even condescendingly. He mumbles something about a her favorite chamomile tea, not forgetting to grab a razor, and closes the door, adding about five minutes. Hayden finds himself alone again, she knows that it won't last long, so it would be better to take advantage of the situation right away — cry later, but there are almost no emotions. She doesn't know what to feel.

Clutching the sink tightly, Hayden peers into the reflection — and disheveled greasy hair seems to be the least evil; a lip blackened in the corner, with stale blood; trembling hands and a painful feeling in the chest, where the heart is pounding at an incommensurably fast pace. The view does not coming off from the reflection, compulsively copying the original. Hayden wants to scream, to break this mirror to hell, but she knows that she is weak — that her situation is dangerous right now, after all... who knows what a beaten-up drug addict might come up with.

He chose his own path, tried it himself, got hooked himself, although when he could change the world for the better. Cooper thinks that he could make a good actor or model, but these thoughts are fast, she does not have time to comprehend them. The only thing that completely filled her from head to toe was fear. Hayden doesn't know what to expect from him, what can a heroin addict, whose death she stopped, and who wants to thank her for her help, do? Red eyes are watering.

He scares her. Hayden doesn't even understand why she reacted at all to him and dying last breaths that time. Let it not matter, head is full of memories of freedom and Theo, — he probably already got up and probably managed to call her parents, putting almost his entire department on his ears; he runs around the apartment like a bustling ant, and tries to find a way out in the form of salvation. Worry. Hayden sincerely regrets that she didn't listen to him that time when he said that «it's dangerous in that area in the evenings, it's better if we go together in the morning».

How long has it been? A minute, two? Maybe he had already looked in on her, and she, carried away by thoughts, just didn't notice him? Need to take a shower. Taking off her clinging clothes, which stank of sweat, she put them on the washing machine standing near the sink. Going into the shower, had to suppress an exclamation and start washing with a resigned soul — even if the shower was uncomfortable here, attached to the ceiling, from which the plaster was falling off. Connected cracks, large and small, were formed. In the far corner, near the cobwebs and clusters of midges, it completely collapsed and opened up a view of the concrete.

It would not have been possible to take a normal bathroom, I had to stand. The towel was hanging on a small shelf, and on the floor, next to the vinegar, there was a shower gel — her favorite, with hints of honey. But Hayden didn't dare to pick it up and even touch it. She rubbed her body with dark brown laundry soap, rubbing it like sandpaper, and felt that this is how personality is erased. The soap rubbed her skin, and the girl tried to overcome the fear that took possession of her consciousness.

Looking around quickly, as if she wanted to find new details, to notice something, Hayden noticed that there were no sharp objects in the room-yes, he took the razor, but there must be something else. Had he really taken such good care of her? Secured it from all piercing and cutting objects, but forgot to hide the syringe far away. Startled by the changed pressure of the water and the sharp flow of cold, Hayden, assuming that several minutes have passed, grabs a towel, starting to dry off. What if he did something to her? Suddenly drugged, or worse, raped..?

Washing head at the moment was not an appropriate decision. Hayden pulled on her dirty clothes and leaned against the sink. She was shaking all over. Her left itchy leg was twitching, her hands were shaking, and her head was full of empty thoughts — thousands of frames flashed by: joyful and sad, funny and not so funny, but they all reminded her of Theo. Stretching her shoulders, Hayden thinks about the future, thinks about why this is happening to her, thinks about how to get out of here.

He inspires fear, but the most diverse outcomes of events are reproduced in thoughts — there are millions of them, and only one option is the best; the option with her salvation. Hayden thinks that death would be the best solution right now, but she feverishly pushes such thoughts away from herself. How can such a story end? How are Mom and Dad? How's Theo? Are they worried, are they trying to find her, are they going to the police? How's Andrew? How are the hotel and visitors? She remember even that not particularly well-mannered man whom she took for a fashion designer.

Hayden thinks about the apartment, thinks about friends, thinks about family, thinks about the guy, thinks about the hotel, thinks about books, thinks about cookies, thinks about tea, thinks about the past — and nothing gives a reason to distract. The world seemed to be specially tuned against her, because with only one vivid memory, an image of her abductor appears in her head — mocking, obsessive and dependent. Hayden picks his nails, examines them, as several quick blows are heard on the door.

Knock, knock, knock.

The first thought is salvation, but it disappears as instantly as it appeared. On the threshold, holding the door open, stands her captor, smiling again; now he smells different: eggs and sunflower oil, as well as tea. The black T-shirt on his chest is stained, but it doesn't bother him. The man, touching his hair and running his hand through it, exhaled sharply, muttering something like «go».

He grabs her hand — squeezes it very hard, firmly, in a new way- and they head towards the supposed kitchen, from where the obvious aroma of burnt scrambled eggs comes from. He wasn't lying when he said he was doing it badly. On a table covered with a garish tablecloth, a napkin holder stood alone, with no contents and covered with gum stickers, a plate of food, a mug with a raven. Hayden, when he pushed back his chair, as if inviting, sat down and covered her red face with her hands. She wants to cry again, wants to talk about feelings, wants to break something, but holds back. In her direction, thanks to the open window, a small breeze blows, allowing the smell of tea and eggs to mix, spreading through the room.

The man sits down next to her, not forgetting to grab a brown beer bottle from the refrigerator. Throwing the lid far away, he swallowed a little and, swallowing with satisfaction, began to examine the girl. Hayden looked around awkwardly, but didn't dare touch the food. There was a lump in throat. She doesn't know what to do, and her head is clouded with unnecessary and fleeting thoughts. Cooper looked down at the table, looking at the worn tablecloth with different inscriptions and colors.

"She bought it recently," the man interrupts the resulting oppressive silence, taking a sip and nodding to the girl with his chin. She shudders. He breathed vomit and beer into her face. "I'm talking about the tablecloth. Although, yes, it was fucked up, just as vile. I don't understand where she gets them at all," Hayden doesn't look at him, afraid, while her captor shrugs and straightens the tablecloth. He looks for her gaze, tries to continue the conversation, but does not know what to talk about. Junkies don't like to talk. Who likes to talk when you can get high? "I'm Tom, by the way, in general. Although I used to be called Hiddles, from the last name, as it were. Don't worry, I know your name. Hayden... I really liked it right away, I immediately remember the actor alone."

Red swollen eyes, hearing his name, immediately turned their gaze to Thomas. He looked too careless. He — who called himself Tom — did not stop in his speech, chatted incessantly, as if that was what he needed: a skilled listener, nodding from time to time, just not to disappoint. Tom told her about his nickname, told her about the past, told her about herself, told her about his friends, until he came to the main point — to drugs. To what had ruined him, corroding his soul from the inside and disfiguring his body from the outside, memories and the bend of his arm with a frankly frightening purple — blue wound that probably penetrated his veins were still open.

Hayden almost didn't touch the food: she still managed to shove a couple of pieces into herself and half drink tea. It was undesirable and dangerous to tempt fate. What can come to the mind of a drug addict who has lost the meaning of life and decided to kidnap an innocent person out of impotence. Who was he to decide the fate of people? A policeman? The judge? Hayden squeezed shoulders, realizing that she might cry. Thomas was intimidating: he laughed as if everything was normal, and he was just drinking a bottle with close friends.

Picking at the disgusting-looking scrambled eggs, Hayden was horrified by his stories, his hoarse voice and awkward manners, as if he was communicating with a girl for the first time. There was tension in the air, as well as cigarette smoke seeping through the open window—what hysterically amused Hayden was the presence of a wilted flower in the dried soil on the dirty windowsill. Putting down her fork, she folded her hands on the table, staring down and ignoring the stories about drug trafficking at school.

"...And then I had to get crack out of my ass, ehehe," the man laughed, as if he really found something funny about it, and took a sip of beer, almost completely emptying the bottle. In any case, it does not impoverish, as Hayden saw, there were a whole bunch of them in the refrigerator. Probably more than five. And the apartment itself — at least the parts she saw — resembled a the hangout. "You know, I'd like to know, um, tell me about yourself."

A sigh escaped her lips. Her insides turned to ice. Hayden couldn't move, just stared at him, bewildered and frightened. She felt how her whole body was trembling, how her tongue was not listening, and her thoughts could not settle down. What... What exactly did he want to know? — that was the scariest thing. And if he later plans to use it against her, maybe even blackmail her? There was a dull aching pain in my stomach. It hurt even when she woke up. Mouth felt sticky and disgusting. Hayden felt sick, empty.

"What? What do you want to know?" the voice was ready to break into a squeak. Thomas just smiled clearly.

"All."

Trigger Warning: obsession, yandere, forced, kidnapping

Word Count: 2768

Character: Loki/reader

Summary: you knew that your husband was a magician, but you never thought that he would decide to create a perfect false world

POV Your

It was strange. Very strange. The world has seemed unreal to you lately. Everything was so unrealistic that I wanted to gouge out my eyes.

You looked down at your hands, feeling extremely worried. This acrid feeling burned and ate away at you from the inside out, making you feel anxious. It was very scary and unusual.

"Darling, what are you doing? Thinking about genesis?" the mocking velvety baritone whose owner was currently smiling softly at you from behind asked you. A light laugh followed his sentence. Laughter, like a crowd laughing at a joke.

You shook your head. It seemed particularly heavy now. Reflection and thoughts struck your bright, unfilled dark thoughts, head.

"Loki, what is that laugh?" you asked, turning your head to look at him. Loki only raised an eyebrow at your remark and smiled at you again, shaking his head and walking down the stairs towards you.

"I don't know what you're talking about, my sweet queen? What are you getting at?" coming up to you and touching your hair with the big hand that did the magic and gently running it through it. You blinked, leaning away from her husband's touch.

You loved his touch. So soft, so tender, so in need of the necessary love, which... What is it? Why can't you remember?

"Loki, honey, can I ask you something?" you could feel his nod as you stared at the dark screen on the off-screen TV. "What happened before we came to Westview? I can't remember, " you said in confusion, turning completely into Loki, who was looking at you with a serious look, frowning.

There was a lonely silence between you and your husband. On the top floor, the children could be heard frolicking and playing among themselves. The tension that weighed down the souls of those in the main room was overwhelming.

"Is this how pregnancy affected you? You know, I'm not an expert, but after this stage in life, girls are very suspicious of their husbands, " Loki smiled charmingly again, sitting down next to you on the blue sofa that sagged under his weight, and hugging you around the neck, kissing you on the cheek. It was a ridiculous kiss, more like a reassuring kiss.

The laughter came again. It was an unusual laugh when you see someone in front of you and they laugh. No, it was a laugh on the echoes of consciousness, which in an endless rhythm only intensified when a "funny" joke was heard. It was suspiciously strange. You felt your hands start to sweat a little.

With your lips pressed tightly together and your teeth biting the inside of your cheek, you stood up, emerging from Loki's pleasant captivity. His hands, which you so loved to touch, had to be left behind, freeing yourself from a pleasant manual captivity.

You loved Loki. He was a very interesting man... No, not a man, but a God, to put it mildly. Your beloved God, who was head over heels in love with you. He was very sarcastic and handsome: that black hair of his, which was now cut short in a perfect style; green eyes, so attentive that nothing escapes them. What can I say here, he's a God.

Grabbing your coat from the hanger and going straight up the stairs and heading straight for the door, wanting to get out and get some fresh air, as well as refresh your obsessive thoughts by going deeper into the thoughts that haunted you even at night.

"Honey, are you going somewhere?" getting up from the sofa, your husband asked obsessively, smiling at you and in an instant, teleporting, being near you, putting his hand on your shoulder.

You mastered your shoulder from his hand, shaking it slightly and not even paying attention to it, opened the door, saying:

"Get some fresh air. Keep an eye on the boys," you muttered as you closed the door behind you, not even bothering to look at your husband, who was standing there with a tense face, looking at you. It's a good thing you didn't notice.

You wanted to get out of this city. Find out what's next. Maybe we can find out from people if they know anything about you, or maybe it's just that you have a terrible memory.

But no, it can't be so terrible that you don't remember anything from the day you and Loki came to this city that seemed like an ideal city. Still, there was something wrong. Something was bothering you.

Deciding not to slow down and just walk towards the end of the city, you began to look around. You didn't walk very far, maybe fifty meters from your house, and everything was fine.

"Hi, Rob!" you shouted to your fool from work, to which he only smiled painfully at you, and your feeling only grew stronger when you saw a tear trickle down his cheek.

We need to get out of this city faster and find out from the people who live nearby if they know what's going on here in Westview.

You didn't remember when this craze to find out what was going on in this town started. Maybe when you haven't seen the kids on the playground for a couple of days in a row? Or when your friend Geraldine left so suddenly that you didn't notice? Or when the children began to grow very quickly? Or maybe when I saw the tears of the residents, when they portrayed happiness?

It was difficult. You couldn't put the details together, and your mind refused to remember your past, which you couldn't just forget. There must have been something, right? Your memories couldn't have started with you coming here with your husband, could they?

You shook your head, looking up and noticing that the main city was gone, leaving only small houses and a road that led off into the distance. Just where the STOP sign is placed. Is travel prohibited for everyone, or just for you and the people of this city?

Suddenly you stopped, clutching your head. No, no, no, what if you're imagining it? What if this is all just a game of your excited mind? Maybe you just made it all up and the people at Westview are really happy?

Squinting at the small house, your eyes only widened in fear, which was reflected in your trembling hands and your herd of goosebumps that ran down your back. The woman stood motionless, as did the man, apparently he was her husband, and she was his wife. They just stared at one point, apparently not even breathing. It was scary to see and you didn't dare approach them.

Looking around and not noticing anyone behind you, only frozen people, you stepped a little further, overcoming the road, noticing a strange, whatever it was, but it looks like a wall or some kind of dome that was blue mixed with green, similar to the colors of magic... Loki?

You knew about Loki's abilities. That he's quite a powerful mage, but could he create this dome? Was he so powerful that you didn't even know it? Your hands trembled, and so did your lower nooba. Your eyes stared at that dome-wall in amazement and tortured fear.

Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped open as you finally put together the details that had previously been a dead weight in your head.

When you touched it with your hand, you felt yourself being pulled in. It became uncomfortable. Now the question of real life was being decided, where you would learn everything about yourself and live in a world where there were no lies, or whether it would be better to stay in a world full of lies, but with your husband. Your hand has wavered in the direction of the false world. What if Loki gets angry? Did you know how evil he can be?

But no, as you said earlier, retreating now was too easy and incomprehensibly simple. To give up is to admit defeat, to remain in a world where you will always be written as a lie.

But Loki...

Shaking your head again, and finally stepping into that dome wall that seemed to shield you from the real world, you felt a pull with your foot and your whole body. So you didn't have to do anything. In any case, you will simply be thrown out of this world, soaked in lies.

As you tried to make your way through this wall with small steps, you felt how thick it was in its width and so high, although it did not bother you. Right now, all that filled my heart was a sense of freedom.

You felt like your mind was being released and memories were coming back to you from before you and Loki moved to New Jersey.

Suddenly, you felt something hit you in the back and you seemed to fly out of this wall right on the green grass with your stomach down. You groaned a little, sitting up and looking around.

There were people standing right next to you, surrounding you and looking at you in disbelief. Behind them were tents and huge body cars that flashed their headlights. Strange faces were looking at you, very worried. Your eyes went over the people very quickly before you said:

"Darcy?" you whispered, squinting against the light. She was the only person who supported you back then. Then? When?

"Y/N?"

"Help me, please save me!" you asked them, seeing how some of them began to approach you with a reliable expression on their faces, apparently wanting to help.

"I don't think you need any help, my dear queen," said a familiar soft and sweet baritone voice behind you, the sound of which your ears enjoyed. Your eyes widened and you felt fear. Inappropriate fear. Your legs are shaking. Your heart began to beat in a loud rhythm in your mind, drowning out everything except Loki's words, which were currently echoing in your head.

***

POV Loki

He did not think that his dear, dear queen would betray him. Didn't you realize that Loki did everything especially for you, wanting to dedicate every part of himself to you? Did he know that this world wasn't safe, and why did he have to create a fictional one based on your favorite TV shows, which he liked to watch with you, wrapped in a blanket on the comfortable sofa in your apartment, which he often visited earlier?

Loki loved you too much. He never wanted to hurt you, only to help you and make you feel needed and in love with someone.

He always thought you needed someone to take care of you. Yes, and take care so that you will feel like a queen. To protect, care for, and trust you, and the most important thing is to show love for you. What he missed so much.

Loki didn't like remembering the past. It was just a dark line that he crossed out when his mother died, whom he loved so much that he did not even notice the bright manipulations on her part. No, for him, she was a savior who protected him from his father's wrath.

Blinking and shifting his bleary gaze to you, his beloved queen, Loki tightened his grip on the missile that had been set upon him and his children. His favorite perfect twin boys that his beloved wife gave birth to.

They were so wonderful. Children are the flowers of life, isn't that what the Midgardians say? It seems to be. The ideal family, such as only happens in the movies, was embodied by Loki in the form of him, his beloved wife and two children.

Throwing a rocket in the direction of S.W.O.R.D., Loki lowered his head, feeling the magic that was green in color form in his hands and that was ready to kill everyone and get out of his personal life.

The contempt for people oozing out of his mouth was as ugly as it could possibly be. His gaze darted in your direction and softened slightly. The sight of you always calmed his raging mind and brought him to his senses. He took a step toward you, grabbing you in a sloppy hug, as if to show his protection.

It was nice for him to look at you. Your soft hair, in which he liked to bury his nose; your beautiful eyes, in which you could drown if you looked at them only once, and in which he was often lost. He saw you pursing your lips, frowning. Were you afraid?

Loki turned his gaze back to the agents, focusing his magic in his left hand. Magic that can cause pain.

"The rocket was a precaution. You can't blame us, Loki, " a loud male voice shouted. He didn't know him. But most likely it was the director. Loki's brow furrowed as he tightened his grip on you, doing nothing but protect you. He won't let the agents take you away. For too long, he had been alone, wandering the worlds.

"I don't think so. This is my last warning," as if a growl had escaped Loki's lips and the magic had only intensified, instilling the fear he so fiercely enjoyed. "Stay out of my house," the house he was so happy to have. A home where everyone loves him and waits for him. A house where he is respected. The house he missed. "You won't touch me, and I won't touch you," he warned, eager to get out of here and talk to his wife. They would have to have a long conversation.

"I'm afraid it's not that simple. You're holding the whole city hostage, " the unknown man shouted at Loki, to which Loki only curled his lip. Contemptuously. Didn't they understand that he just wanted to be happy? That he just wants to be alone with his beloved and his children?

"I'm not the one with the weapon," Loki warned him, feeling the arm he held around you tighten slightly, and the magic only increased its power. She seemed ready to destroy everything he could see. But right now, he had you, his beloved queen, at his side, who calmed him down with just an unobtrusive presence.

"But you're in control!" a commanding voice was heard. This time it was a woman. Out of the corner of his eye, Loki watched the expression on his beloved queen's face.

"Geraldine?" ah, what a gentle and quiet voice.

"Are you still here?" the man arched an eyebrow significantly, kissing you in the hair and looking with a withering look at the ex-girlfriend of his wife, who insinuated herself into the trust and into the affairs of his family.

"Loki... I didn't know the drones were armed. But you know that, don't you?" slowly approaching him and you, the woman said in a soothing voice, like a doctor talking to his sick patient. Loki always knew there was something wrong with her. She was too suspicious. "The city is full of civilians, but you, God, have brought an S.W.O.R.D. agent into your home," Loki frowned. The blood surged in his veins. He knew that at some point, he just wouldn't hold back. "I helped your wife give birth to your children," she looked at you, and you reflected her gaze with a look of hope. Do you want to leave him? "And on some level, you realize that I'm your ally. I want to help you, " she said in a trusting tone, and Loki slightly reduced the pressure of his magic that oozed from his thin fingers.

"How? What can you offer me?" he knew what she would say. There was no answer to that question. It was all reduced to one thing. The family Loki needed.

"What do you want?" the woman asked, standing in the background with the man who had spoken to him earlier, as if taking a manipulative pose.

"I already have everything. And no one will ever take that away again," Loki muttered, releasing a large stream of energy from his hands, forcing himself to control the minds of his subordinates and aim the scope at the director of S.W.O.R.D.

Turning around, Loki grabbed your hand, squeezing it in a painful grip and helping you turn around. He saw how you tried to resist and remove his intrusive hands and touch, to which the man himself only tightened his grip on you, pushing you into a false world.

Trigger Warning: obsession, yandere, forced.

Word Count: 2210

Character: Loki/reader

Summary: you didn't know you couldn't say no to him a second time.

POV Loki

For him, she is the epitome of the whole world. Not having received the care, attention, and love of his parents, or the people closest to him, Loki realized that it would be better to either remain as closed as he always is, or try to find a girl.

What a sin to hide the girl he chose quickly. It would even be more accurate to say that he did not think about the choice at all. The girl who had always supported him, nurtured him, and inspired him. You.

His cute Y/N... So innocent, so gentle, so caring. But at the same time, she was domineering, proud, with a slight touch of rebellious temper, which Loki naturally disliked.

In his opinion, girls had to be gentle and pay attention and time only to their husband or children. And not even to pay attention to the political problems that reigned between the kings of different kingdoms.

All a woman needed to know, in Loki's opinion, was how to please a man and the care that was not given to him and which was later passed on to the children who would be raised together by a married couple.

Couple. Relationships. He had dreamed of it for so long. So he cherished the thought that he would finally have a girl who would love him, and he would love her. And why didn't he pay attention to you before?

More precisely, he did, but always, even when he was young and learned some of the benefits of Midgardian sex, which, to his great regret, did not exist on Asgard, he did not think that he was in love with you in this way. Maybe it was just friendship or just lust.

But now it's turned into insanity. She was everything to him. Literally everything. Instead of practicing and developing his magic or reading books, most of which he had already read in the Asgardian Library, Loki began to watch over his queen, as he affectionately called you, believing that you were worthy of such respect and title. Yes, if everything goes well today, you might be one.

Loki took a deep breath and opened his eyes, clutching tightly in his hands, which were wet with the sweat that had formed as a result of the exertion, a small box that he had prepared especially for his beloved queen.

He shifted his gaze to Thor, who was standing there smiling happily. He was probably thinking about what a nice coronation would take place today and their father would proclaim him king. King of Asgard.

It was hard for Loki to realize that. He had always dreamed and cherished the idea that he would become a king. A king who will be independent and will become the most powerful king in all the times that Asgard has ever known. Better than One and Ber.

He didn't want to think about the possibility that he might never be king. Inheritance is always passed on not by intelligence, not by knowledge or skill, but by whether you are the eldest son in the family or the youngest. The younger ones were always sidestepped by this problem.

Loki blinked again after a long pause and smiled inaudibly when he noticed a light and weightless shadow in the corner of the room. His favorite.

"Hey, Thor, congratulations. You look gorgeous," said the sweetest and most attractive voice in all the nine worlds. Oh, Loki thought, feeling his cock swell. Such a release passed to him. If he gets so turned on by your words, what will happen to the first touch? Or the wedding night? He won't be able to stop.

Loki saw Thor turn his head in the direction of his beloved. He must not look at her! Why was he smiling at her? Are they lovers? But how could they be lovers? Loki spent all his time with you, even walking you home.

"Thank you, Y/N," you gently reflected his smile, which Loki naturally didn't like. His brow furrowed as he tightened his grip on the box in his pants pockets. The only pants that have pockets. He would have to order all the seamstresses to make him trousers with pockets.

"Hi, Loki," he was ready to literally jump on the spot at the fact that you smiled at him, but all he showed on his face was a small nod, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

Your soft hair, which he loved to play with when you were asleep, while in oblivion, was arranged in a neat hairstyle. One lock of hair was escaping from the hairdo. He wanted so much to correct him, but he knew it wasn't worth it. He didn't want to hear Thor's taunts.

The beautiful eyes looked at him with a faint smile. They reflected and burned a light light that was always inherent in you, especially in the most gambling situations. Like, for example, battles or battles with friends.

Loki did not consider Thor's friends his friends. Constant humiliating taunts on their part were heard when he failed in any case. As if they themselves had never been in such situations. Pathetic privileged aces.

Perhaps only Ogun was kind to him, but only in the realm of what they both liked to read. Otherwise, they were all narcissistic "heroes" who could do nothing but fight and, of course, flirt with Fandral and Sif. Annoy.

Loki didn't particularly like what his beloved queen was wearing: who will wear trousers with a light white shirt to the coronation? Only a madman. No, he will definitely have a personal conversation with you, where he will explain that what you are wearing now is unacceptable. But that's later. Now we need to act.

"Thor, can you come out, please?" Loki smiled at him with a fake smile, making ostensibly awkward movements with his hands. Thor looked at him a little blankly, cocking his head and raising an eyebrow.

Loki rolled his eyes, making light movements with his hands, conjuring, and then soon the illusion of Sif formed behind Thor. The fool wouldn't want to talk to her.

"Thor, is it me, or does Sif want to talk to you?" Nodding toward the door where the woman was standing, Loki said, " I don't know. Thor's mouth opened slightly, perhaps in disbelief, but then he hurried in her direction.

Enjoying the light thud as the door closed, Loki turned to face you, who had moved to the spot where Thor had been standing seconds earlier.

Loki was afraid to take the step he had planned. I was afraid, because I knew that even though you love him, but... No, no buts, though. You love him, and he loves you. You just don't dare say no to him. Especially since he's a prince. Some of the girls he later chased away were so eager to get the title of queen that they climbed over Loki to Thor. To watch this, when they are ready to climb through hundreds of heads for such a goal — is disgusting.

"Are you happy for him?" the soft voice came again, and he swallowed slightly. My pants were straining.

"Y/N, I have a question for you," he hesitated. It was uncomfortable and like saying something like that, but he had to try to do something. Who has such a moment that it would be wrong to spoil it so much. But in any case, you will definitely become his wife. It's only a matter of time. "I've been experiencing this for a long time and I honestly can't find an explanation for it," he explained, slowly dropping to one knee and feeling his hands begin to tremble in a small tremor, and obsessive thoughts creep into his head. "Maybe it started with the time you helped me out by showing concern, I don't know, honestly!" he swallowed and with a wet, slightly sweaty hand, took a small box out of his pants pocket. He wasn't looking at you. After all, Loki was sure that if he looked at you, he would immediately lose his composure. "I've been meaning to ask you for a long time, and I haven't found the right moment," he grabbed your small and delicate hand in his big one and smoothed it with his thumb, holding the ring box with his other hand. "Will you marry me?"

"Loki, no," interrupted the immediate reply.

His pupils widened. The ring fell to the floor with a small clatter.

***

POV Your

Two years later

It's disgusting to watch Loki become king. And how could you call this Jotun your friend? And don't think you were okay with everyone from different worlds, even the Jotuns or the dark Elves, even though they did a lot of bad things, like endless wars.

But still, right now, you couldn't think of anything worse than calling Loki a Jotun, knowing how insulting that would be to him.

After all, he was always the one who observed all this formality, which even Thor did not observe, just throwing dust in the face of other representatives of the worlds, trying to show the perfection of the royal family.

But to watch him overthrow his own father, literally, was terrible. Watching him take the throne, becoming the rightful ruler of Asgard, is even worse. And the worst part was that no one could tell him anything. Even Frigga, who had gone to Valhalla, could not reach him through spells and shield him from such unscrupulous impulses.

Not that he was a bad ruler. On the contrary, thanks to him, the economy of Asgard was restored and he was able to conclude peace treaties with many worlds with which the Cold War was previously waged.

But what he did in his palace... Hell, that's just not possible.

And the worst thing is that no one could refuse him. All the people in Asgard, especially those close to the king, such as you, could not disobey his orders. Because everyone knew what would happen if they disobeyed him.

And now, you're standing right in front of him in a skimpy outfit consisting of ordinary black ones that looked incredibly inappropriate on you, like a bag, and in an ordinary white shirt. This outfit was oddly similar to the one before Thor's coronation. Back when Loki proposed marriage to you.

Fucking freak. What kind of marriage proposal? Is he completely finished? No, it's just not possible. Haven't you thought about your feelings at all? How could you propose to someone you didn't even spend time with romantically? Only in childhood were friends and no more.

A narcissistic God who thinks only of himself.

"Why didn't you visit me when I was in the Asgardian prison?" a commanding voice was heard from above you, and you looked up at Loki, who was standing close to you, having already descended to you. The eye twitched. Did he really think you were interested in him? That you love him? What the...? "I missed you, my dear queen," he lifted his head, touching your cheek with his thin fingers and running them along your cheekbone.

You were sure that if your hands hadn't been shackled in such a barbaric way, in the form of shackles that would have been better suited for Loki, then you would definitely have hit him in those perfect, even cheekbones.

"Do you think I should be shackled?" Loki winked at you. My heart felt sick. Your hands are sweaty and tense. What's he talking about? Does he read your mind? "You know, if you want, you can repeat what you're thinking... I'm in bed, shackled, and you're dominating me... And then we switch places. Mmm, I like that idea, " the man purred in your ear, even though there were circles around you. His breath was on your neck and your back was covered with goose bumps.

"Shut up," you whispered softly, already completely angry and clenching your hands into fists, wanting to wipe that obsessive smile off his face.

"Did you say something, my dear queen?" he asked, as if he hadn't heard. The freak. Utter scum.

"Shut up," you said again, feeling the veins in your neck begin to boil, as if they were about to swell and burst. Your lips tightened, and your eye began to twitch again.

"sh-sh-sh, don't talk to your husband like that, my queen," he purred again, running his big hand down your back, which was covered in a light shirt, and passing you with a light breeze.

A husband? The Queen? What is it about? Yes, he creates?

"Didn't I tell you before?" walking up the steps to the throne, the man asked you, grabbing Gungnir in his hands and turning back to you. "You are my wife, my dear queen," he informed you, tapping his spear lightly as if to complete his command.

On the cheek of the glass is weightless, comparable to a drop of rain in a heavy downpour, which is almost invisible, a tear.

My heart began to pound loudly in my head, drowning out all other sounds. Loki's words echoed in his head in a haunting rhythm.

Trigger Warning: obsession, yandere.

Word Count: 1843

Character: Jaguar!Tom/reader

Summary: you receive a letter from your stalker and decide to meet him, completely unaware of what kind of person he is.

POV Your   

You didn't know what you were doing, but for some reason he chose you. Not your housemates, or your friends, or your boss, who you hated so much. Namely you.

You didn't think there was anything special about you. Ordinary appearance, not a very presentable job. As if there was anything he might like about you.

You shuddered and sighed in a trembling voice, turning your clerk's gaze to the letter you held in your trembling and sweaty hands. My hands are cracked from what might come next.

You really wanted to throw this letter away, but you knew that if you did, your Stalker would still send you a new one that would be more scary and more threatening. Every time you disobeyed this man and didn't comply with his demands, you received letters that ranged from the fact that he loved you madly, almost obsessively, and that he would kidnap you and take care of you.

You always said you didn't like it and even wanted to send a letter, but unfortunately it didn't work out because you didn't know his address. But you wanted him to leave you alone.

You scribbled a knife and carefully cut the letter, threw the white, slightly rough envelope on the floor, took out the sheet itself, and began to read. As you read, the letter was very small, but your eyes grew larger with each sentence. There was a tear on your face that fell on the letter.

"My dear sweet Aphrodite,

I know you like that nickname, don't you? You feel satisfied with it, don't you? Tell me, do you think of me? I know what you're thinking.

Even with you, I am very much gentle, but remember that although it is very difficult to get me out of myself, the punishment will not be very simple. Believe me, if you continue to disobey me, you will be severely punished.

You're my Princess. You belong to me.

Your,

Fan»

Tears began to flow from your eyes. Salty to the taste, they gave off an unpleasant feeling. I didn't want to seem weak and helpless, but all those messages and letters with gifts scared you. Why this Stalker does not understand that it is terrible and that it is impossible to do so.

But most of all in the letter you were swayed by the fact that he said that he treats you with special tenderness. With tenderness? Sending gifts and threats in every possible way is very strange and intimidating, rather than gentle. And if this is true, then I wonder how he treats others when he is angry or angry?

But no matter what, you decided to meet him. Yes, this is extremely absurd and I didn't even know how to do it, but something must be done to make him give up the idea of following you.

So, turning on the phone that you got for a serious amount and on which you spent the last money then, you went to Twitter and looked at a couple of news, immediately switched to your page, writing a post to your subscribers that tomorrow you will go to a cafe to meet your Stalker.

With a satisfied sigh, you turned it off and immediately fell into bed. You didn't really want to take baths and have dinner, because now you need to gain strength and mentally prepare for tomorrow.

***

At the moment, you were extremely concerned about further developments. What if he really comes? Because you are sure that he really read your post and may have been your subscriber.

Your followers, in response to your post, extremely supported you, writing in the comments that they are extremely sympathetic to your situation and ask you to deal with it. You grinned. How you wanted to do it, but unfortunately, you had no control over your pursuer.

As you hurriedly buttoned your shirt, you looked out the window. The taxi had already arrived. It remains only to get dressed. You don't particularly want to dress in a way that will appeal to your pursuer that why you're dressed in a simple way. Ordinary blue jeans and a white shirt that doesn't fit and hangs loosely over your body.

Going down the old stairs from the second floor of the apartment that you rented and shouting to the owner that you will pay later, you put on a raincoat and tied a blue scarf around your neck, ran towards the taxi.

During the trip, you thought more and more about whether your pursuer would agree to stop in his business. You thought that if you asked him politely, everything would be fine. At least less white, but you didn't rule out the fact that he might refuse and do something provocative.

Quickly paying and thanking the taxi driver, you ran to the cafe. The end of the World was your favorite place. The cute cafe welcomed everyone with its comfort and warmth, which was radiated by the employees who gave everyone who came. It was a small room with round tables and comfortable sofas. The hall was designed in soft and light colors. Reproductions of paintings by famous artists hung on the walls, and the walls themselves were pastel beige. The cafe beckoned with its comfort.

Quickly taking off your coat and scarf and hanging them on the rails, you went to the employee of the cafe behind the cash register. You knew him. John was an extremely sweet and awkward person, but he always made a wonderful latte.

Looking up from the money he was counting at the cash register, he gave you his personal smile and put down his business, looking at you.

"Y/N! Finally, you came back to our cafe!" the guy said happily and leaned against the cash register. You giggled and smiled back at him. .

"Yes, Hello, John. I'm sorry, I had a jam at work, so I couldn't come in. But I swear, I'll visit you every day from now on," you smiled at him, biting your lip. "By the way, I'll have a latte and tiramisu," you muttered, and was about to pull out the money to pay when your friend interrupted you with his hands in the air.

"Oh, honey, don't. You don't have to pay. You are the favorite guest of the place and now you can choose whatever you want, " the guy winked at you and you giggled again. He was simply charming, but you knew that you would not succeed because of your Stalker.

After giving John a charming smile and sitting down in the most comfortable place, you picked up a napkin and began to crumple it, thinking hard about what would happen any minute.

You're not counting on the fact that this Stalker is handsome. Maybe fat or ugly, like a normal Stalker. Slicked and greasy short hair, not very smart, mom's son.

Ruffling your hair and letting out an exasperated breath, you looked out the window and froze. There was an expensive car outside, black and very clean. It seems that the owner cares about maintaining the cleanliness of his car. Wait, is that a Jaguar? Does your Stalker have a Jaguar?

If so, then he is extremely rich. But why would the rich be interested in you? The car door suddenly opened quickly and a very handsome man got out. His hair was black and slicked back with gel. He was wearing a dark blue suit with a matching tie. He was elegant and very handsome. You would have liked him. The man was just your type. He lifted his head and you could finally see his face. The blue eyes, like diamonds found deep underground, were simply perfect. The thin lips he'd just licked. Looking at and analyzing his face, you somehow didn't even notice that he was staring at you.

Like noticing how much you are interested in it, he headed in the direction of your favorite coffee shop. Oh, shit.

***

POV Tom  

Taking a deep breath, Thomas opened the door of the cafe. What to torment, I will say right away, he did not like the cafe. It was too much... cloying, or what? Especially the one that the little girl, that is, you, would definitely choose. In his mind, he always called you that. You were his little girl who was so desperate for help.

He didn't know when his little obsession with you started. Thomas didn't really believe in love. Before he'd experienced her, he'd thought love was just a silly game, something boring and useless. And what is useful in love? Although even in his beloved Shakespeare, it dominated his plays.

But then he met you. In the store, when you picked out the products, he clearly remembered it. Which on the one hand was strange, since the mafia boss himself goes to grocery stores and buys groceries, but what can not be done for the sake of the mother that asked him.

***

Thomas had a very close relationship with his mother. She was just a ray of light in his life and always helped him, helped him out of different situations. There has always been a special bond between them that cannot be broken.

But right now, she just passed the line. He's the boss of the mafia! People who are afraid of the criminals and even a President! And here he is, in the store, choosing his mother's cereal. What could be more humiliating?

Thomas sighed and ran a quick glance through the grocery list. Flake. But which ones? He knew that his mother liked specific ones, so he took the most popular ones, not really caring about the choice.

"Excuse me..." a soft and mumbling voice came from behind. Thomas, distracted, turned his head and looked at the man who had asked him. The girl. Pretty girl. "Excuse me, can you get me that oatmeal over there?" he looked at you in confusion. You were just beautiful. A face that clearly didn't stand out very much among people was extremely memorable. The hair was lovely, it must be so soft. And the eyes! Those wonderful eyes looked at him from under their lashes. She was clearly embarrassed by him. He swallowed and shifted his gaze to the shelf, placing what she wanted in her hands.

You smiled at him and thanked him meekly, then ran to another Department. Thomas remained standing, watching you in a dazed way.

***

He shook his head and smiled. These were probably the most pleasant memories. The first meeting with the beloved. What could be better?

When he saw you with his eyes, he grinned and headed in your direction. He saw how much you were shaking and pinned down. Does he scare you?" It shouldn't be like this! You have to love him, that's all.

He pushed back his chair and unbuttoned his suit, looking at you intently. You haven't changed at all since last time we met. Still the same beauty, not comparable to anyone.

Trigger Warning: obsession, yandere, references to suicide

Word Count: 3213

Character: Tom Hiddleston/reader

Summary: you never thought that the person who saved you might be the famous artist Tom Hiddleston. And what you find in his house will completely amaze you.

POV Your

"Help me! Help! " came a loud, slightly hoarse voice from your mouth, which so fiercely tried to shut up those who dared to attack you. It's so disgusting.

You never thought you'd be in this situation. The shittiest situation that could possibly happen. You wanted so badly to run away, but at the moment it was impossible.

To get into this situation, and even in an alley between houses, where it smelled of fucking urine and light, but strong alcohol.

Unfortunately, you didn't see his face, but you were sure that if you were a guy, he would immediately get a huge slap in the face and run away from you in horror, begging for mercy and wishing never to meet you again. But unfortunately, at the moment, you were a girl.

"Don't push it, or it'll get worse," a sugary and eerily slimy voice would mutter to you. You flinched, trying to pull away, to which the man who was holding you only grinned, you definitely heard that slippery grin when he thought about you sexually, and tried to hit him in a sore spot for men.

"Let me go, you fucking freak!"you screamed again, biting into his chubby palm that was so sweaty. The man behind you wasn't very big either. He was shorter than you, and fat! But somehow he was stronger than you.

At the moment, fear was pounding in your soul. You were afraid to think about what would happen next, but if you don't know how to escape, then you are definitely finished. This man wouldn't kill you, you were sure. However, what he wanted to do to you, and if it was rape, then he will definitely do it. And you will be left with an injury for the rest of your life.

But you were also angry. Why the fuck is this petty person attacking you and trying to use you in this way? You definitely didn't like it and you wanted to fight. And if you take into account how brisk you were, then this will definitely not be good for him.

"Shut up, sweet pussy, and let me do it. I swear we'll both enjoy it, " you could feel the cold sweat and perspiration running down your back, and a huge herd of goosebumps running down your spine.

"Get off me! Help me! Help!" you shouted, uttering this phrase with utter contempt. It sounded so rich and powerful that you might have thought you were taking revenge on him or reveling in defeating him while in a position of power.

But now it was the other way around.

You felt his greasy hand slide down your inner thigh and begin to unbutton the zipper and buttons of your blue jeans with quick movements. They were your favorites! And now you will probably never wear them again, because you will remember this incident.

"Hey!" Suddenly, a voice came from behind you. Your eyes widened in unusual surprise. Voice. It was a man's voice. Did someone hear you? Will someone save you? You will definitely thank this person forever!

Making an effort, you began to try to move both your arms and legs, trying to hit the man who was currently attacking you.

Suddenly, you heard clear footsteps and a loud voice that echoed off the walls of the harsh and gray houses.

"Let her go! I swear, otherwise you will not be well!" at the moment, you were just praying to all the gods you could think of, hoping that you would still be saved before you were raped and morally destroyed.

And suddenly, you felt the hands that had held you earlier release you from their captivity. You felt like you could finally breathe a free soul. You turned your head in the direction of the men, between whom there was a rather strong and contradictory sense of tension.

You knew that the best thing to do at this moment would be to run away and never walk through the dark alleys that connect one house to another, but you knew that your savior was worth thanking. Can I call you to the cafe at my own expense?

You didn't see his face. I only saw that he was rather thin, but of a strong build. He might have had some muscles, but you didn't think they were very big.

"And don't ever go near the girls again," your unknown but conscientious rescuer shouted, kicking one last time. It wasn't cruel, but he deserved it.

Still in shock, you stared at the mangled body of a subhuman who apparently had neither morals nor honor.

"Are you okay?" the savior's worried voice asked you. He began to draw closer to you, but still keeping a sufficient distance from you, knowing what you were going through just now, and that it was better not to disturb your confused thoughts.

You nodded, looking up and looking at the man. You opened your mouth slightly, feeling your hands shake. The pupils of his eyes widened.

Tom Hiddleston was standing right in front of you. Tom, fuck you, Hiddleston. One of the most famous artists of our time! God, you just couldn't say a word. And you didn't care that you were sexually harassed a few seconds ago. No, of course you won't ever forget it, but the good memories outweigh the bad ones, right?

He was charming: dark hair, slightly curled at the ends, which probably bounced funny if you touched it, those blue eyes...

"I... I... I...

"You're tired and you may not be feeling very well," he said in a warm tone at the moment, but the severity was still there. You were about to protest, and when you opened your mouth, you were interrupted by a man holding up his hands: "You need to rest. You can rest at my place and it's not up for discussion. I don't want you to meet another maniac," he chuckled slightly, at which you arched an eyebrow in a sarcastic way, but still nodded, sighing loudly.

I didn't really want to go to a stranger's house. What if he's some kind of maniac or something? However, this is not Tom Hiddleston! What could go wrong? You've been interested in his work for so long, even bought a reproduction of his painting, but then, the passion for his art disappeared and you calmed down your ardor.

You remembered being a fan of his once. Not that you know where he lives, because you thought it was already going far beyond fanaticism and you didn't need to do that. But you were definitely wondering where he gets his inspiration from.

"Okay, so be it, you talked me into it..."

Even as you spoke, Mr. Hiddleston's eyes widened and he held out his hand, smiling warmly.

"I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself. I'm Tom Hiddleston, " you gave him your hand and he just squeezed it harder. "When we get to my place, don't worry if you see dirty floors, paint stains, or something like that..."

"I know who you are, Mr. Hiddleston," you smiled back, feeling the goose bumps on your back. He frowned, putting his hands on his hips.

"So you know who I am? Well, it's not interesting! " he exclaimed, as if he were a child who had been misjudged. You smiled broadly. After what happened to you, smiles can definitely help you.

***

You never thought that the artist's house would be so entertaining. No, you definitely did not like the dirt and dust that lay right at the entrance, but it rather evoked the atmosphere that a creative person lives here.

"I like your house, Thomas," you said, looking down the hallway that led to the stairs. It was large enough to connect many rooms together, as well as apparently the kitchen. It smelled of paint and the tart smell of whiskey. The smell was not particularly pleasant, but it did not cause disgust. The walls were decorated with snow-white wallpaper, on which hung various kinds of paintings. You weren't surprised when you noticed that next to the wardrobe where you hung your jacket, there was a painting by Van Gogh called "Les Alyscamps" that Vincent had painted when he arrived in Arles. You liked Van Gogh the most, because you thought he was a very extraordinary person. But did Thomas look up to him?

"Les Alyscamps..." you drawled, tucking your hair behind your ear. "I didn't think anyone knew about this painting."

"Yes," came a ragged breath from behind you. Thomas must have just taken off his shoes. "I love Van Gogh. He really has a lot of underrated paintings, but for some reason everyone only notices "Starry Night" or " Wheatfield with Crows."

You smiled slightly and turned on your toes to face Thomas, who was currently leaning against the wall with his head thrown up, looking up at the ceiling with an unseeing gaze.

Apparently noticing that you were looking at him, he lowered his head, grinning slightly.

"Tea?"

"Yes, come on. I'll have black with milk. And sugar, if you have it, " you immediately agreed. Hot tea wouldn't hurt after all the things that had happened tonight. And you should also recover from the shock of meeting such a person.

"Hey, I get it, but don't get cocky, okay?" You saw Thomas nod his head and head for the room to your left. "If you want to rest, then go to the living room!" Tom shouted at you that you only nodded to yourself, but quickly realized what you needed, and asked the question, only raising your voice slightly, knowing that you and Thomas were alone in the house.

"Where's the toilet?"

"On the second floor, on the right," you heard an immediate response, and you retreated to the stairs with quick movements, or rather with quick steps. It was covered with a blue carpet and creaked slightly. How long has Thomas lived here? There were pictures on the wall all the way up the stairs.

You squinted as you got up to the second floor: is this his painting or something? I shook my head, and you looked at the small corridor that was narrow and only in length did not bother yourself. Your eyes darted to the right side. You let out a sad sigh. There are two doors here...

Reluctantly, was there something to warn you about?

Quickly brains and figuring that a person is unlikely to make a bathroom right next to the stairs? So most likely it was the second in a row.

You dreamed of walking down the hall at a brisk pace, then stopping at the door. It wasn't much different from the other doors. The same white, except that it was slightly splattered with paint. Pressing down on the dark brown handle, you entered the room.

Your eyes immediately widened, and your heart started pounding in your head. It was a room. Thomas ' room. And what you saw clearly impressed you. It seems that going to the toilet is worth letting go.

After checking to see if Thomas was around, you looked around, closing the weightless door, then swallowed. The first thing that caught your eye was you. What's it? What? At the moment, your zgoyad was only focused on the paintings. In the pictures that depict you.

You opened your mouth, feeling yourself tremble slightly in surprise. My hands began to shake and become sweaty.

Why are you depicted in Thomas ' paintings? Did Mr. Tom Hiddleston know about her? Is he much more dangerous than the man you met today, and every memory of him was accompanied by a herd of goosebumps that sent you a body. Was he following you?" Stalked him?

At the moment, your mind was focused only on the pictures. It was scary to be with such a person who does not hesitate to draw pictures with you: here you are like a nymph, a fairy, a goddess of the night with a wolf. And a couple of pictures of you standing naked and being hugged by some unknown man. Is this Tom by any chance?

"I forgot whether you should add sugar to your tea or not..."

My heart sank.

It became scary.

***

POV Tom

He didn't think he would meet his love tonight. It was such a surprise and a shock. And in the end, he was a hero for saving a girl from being raped.

The girl. If it was just a girl, not the girl who inspired him. That she had helped him get up from his knees and overcome the thought of taking his own life and going to the afterlife. Leave ugly, through cuts.

So no one has ever left beautifully. Usually, death from going too far to cut your wrists was very dirty, and they would find you in the bathroom.

Then... He didn't even remember how long ago it had been? At the time, Thomas had thought only of killing himself. Leave like you don't leave. Obsessive thoughts had often haunted him before. Suicide would have been the most logical end of his life. Dying of old age will be painful. It's better to just commit suicide.

Although Thomas had always admitted to himself that he couldn't do it. He just doesn't have the willpower. But the antidepressants and the morphine he was taking were definitely helping him keep his cool.

But then, one day, when he had to leave the house and go to get some paint, he saw you. So beautiful... So innocent... So brilliant and joyful that she doesn't notice the evil in the world... I wish he could be like that.

***

Obsessive thoughts haunted him. It was both pleasant to think about it, because he was finally going to the next world, to the next world. But on the other hand, it would be painful for him to do such a thing. Tension reigned in his mind, combining all his thoughts into one.

I wonder if...

"Excuse me, please!" Immediately, a loud and sonorous childish voice shouted in front of him. Thomas looked up as he saw the most beautiful girl in the world standing in front of him, trying to get some brushes from the top shelf. "But can you help me get them?"

Hiddleston stood by the shelves and stared wide-eyed at the girl in front of him. How beautiful she was! His artist's eye simply couldn't help but catch on to the small details. At the moment, his brain was bursting with the metaphors and comparisons that were going on in his head.

"Yes, yes, of course," Thomas seemed to come to his senses, blinking his eyes at a rapid pace.

***

And the most annoying thing about it was that he didn't even ask the girl on her behalf. He just stood for a couple of minutes near the empty shelves, as if he had forgotten that he wanted to buy paint and looked into the distance.

It's a good thing he followed you back then. I walked them to the bus stop, but I kept them in the shadows. A beautiful girl with an incredible voice and most likely an interesting view of the world. His thoughts of committing suicide immediately drifted away from him.

Back then, he was only interested in who you were. The inspiration that was sent by God? Or maybe Tom has finally found a muse.

And at this moment, he was standing by the door, looking intently at you and the way you were looking at the paintings that he dedicated to you. Such wonderful pictures turned out. He was so eager to draw you holo from life. You would pose for him, and he, enjoying you, would comment on your body with gentle words.

He didn't think you'd look in this room, because this is where he kept your paintings, since the living room was already littered with other paintings, and he hardly ever comes in here, so why not keep them here. Well, Thomas only comes in here to look at you once in a while.

He never thought that he would be able to pick up the brush again and start drawing. But apparently God was very merciful that day, to give him such a lovely muse.

Thomas didn't think about what would happen when he was found dead in his house. Maybe people would warm up a little bit, and later they would forget. It's quickly forgotten. The fact that he was a famous artist — people will remember, but the fact that he died in this way-no. Who cares?

He tried to fight it then. He even went to a psychologist a couple of times for a session, but she did not give him anything. No explanation, just suggested that I remember how it started.

In after all, and really with what? At what point did he decide to bring the judgment on himself? When did the inspiration disappear? When did the girl leave? Or because of what? It was so long ago that he could probably have completely erased those memories from himself.

"What is it, Thomas?" the most gentle and beautiful voice was heard, encouraging Hiddleston, and he was distracted from his thoughts, looking at you.

He would like to capture this moment. The moment when you, very ill, tense and tearful, lie in the middle of the room, trying to find an explanation.

And with such a demanding voice!

"Honey, I can explain everything..." I tried to reach you, starting with a calm voice, Thomas, but all I saw was that your eye twitched and you noticed that he had closed the door. "You know, you were my muse. My inspiration. The man who kept me alive and didn't kill myself. You are the person I love, " Thomas said softly, smiling a gentle smile, but still looking extremely tense in his eyes.

He saw your confused look. Your red eyes that looked at him with an extremely uncomprehending look. Your jaw was trembling slightly and your hair, whose process, as well as your eyes, he liked to draw, were tangled and a little wet. Apparently from tension. But no, his beloved can not strain.

"Love? What? What kind of love?" he could hear how hard it was for you to say these words and tried to be very calm in his face. Thomas watched as your face turned red from the strain. His breathing, he could feel it, was labored. "This is not love, Thomas!"

The man frowned, feeling his brows draw together. He sighed heavily. Does his beloved not understand all his love for you? Why doesn't she want to understand that? Understand how much he adores and cherishes you?

"Honey, you must be wrong. I understand that what you've been through today is clearly troubling you..."

"Were you following me?" Before he could finish, a voice called out, interrupting a long monologue about love.

"I took care of you. You inspired me, my dear!" starting to get closer to you, Thomas said sweetly to you, not holding back and sending you a tender look. "You saved me, honey..."