#odin little | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years

Text

Little Lies 23

Warnings: this fic includes grey/dark content including dubcon, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: Your boss throws your comfortably dull life into chaos. (Boss AU)

Characters: Loki

Note: Sometimes I don’t know what to put in the notes and just have a silly song in my head so ignore this and read the chapter.

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

Love you all like the Gingerbread Man loves gumdrop buttons. Take care. 💖

You sit at your desk, yawning. Loki’s gone out to fetch coffee, another insistent offer, a play at the gallantry he’s put on as late. As much as it chips away at your pride, he is much more manageable when you toss him a bone or two. You’re not fool enough to think it is empathy for your injury that keeps him amenable.

You press the end of a pen to your lips as you review the spreadsheet, comparing expenses with those jotted down in your boss's long, slanted handwriting. You don’t look up as the door opens, presuming it’s only him, appearing as he ever does at the mere thought of his existence.

“Great, you’re back,” you say from behind the monitor, “I think I need you to decipher some of this, I can’t quite make out–”

“Ahem,” you sit up as the arrival, not Loki, clears his throat. He is no less familiar than your boss and you can’t help but smile, more than your usual service standard mask, “sorry to disappoint, it’s me. I’m afraid however, I don’t have an appointment.”

Jonathan closes the door gently behind him before he nears your desk. You reach for your crutch and he raises his hand in a polite gesture.

“Please, not on my account,” he insists.

“Jonathan,” you greet, clutching the bar of your crutch but accepting his suggestion to remain seated, instead rolling your chair out to see him better, “I… what brings you here?”

“Well, it seems time to say goodbye to Castor Street,” he shrugs, “but I’m not entirely versed in the realty business…” he reaches into his pocket.

He’s dressed unlike you’ve ever seen him. Usually, it’s denim and cotton, basic. That day, he wears tan pants with a subtle plaid, a plain blazer and a crisp cream button-up, the collar open and casual.

“You gave me this when I moved in,” he steps closer and sets the wrinkled and worn card on your desk, a business card. You remember, that week you’d been expecting a delivery and he offered to accept it on your behalf. That was nearly two years ago, “I thought it might be convenient to, uh, put it to use.”

“Oh, well, um, L– Mr. Laufeyson isn’t in right now, he should be back shortly but I could pencil you in,” you offer.

“Of course, of course,” he pauses and touches the arm of the chair across from you, “may I?”

“Yes, go ahead,” you say cheerily as you save the spreadsheet and switch out to your scheduling software, “did you have a time in mind? This week?”

He sits, legs apart, shoulders and spin straight. He’s tall, like Loki, but slightly more brutish. The way he carries himself has less pretense, less control.

“How’s your foot? I suppose that thing should come off soon. Will you still be coming back to Castor?”

“Oh, it’s healing, thankfully,” you answer, “and that’s the plan. But it seems, I might be due to relocate as well. Perhaps a condo–”

The door opens behind him and Loki strides in with his hands full, “darling, I got you this–” he stops short as he sees Jonathan perched across from you. Your prospective client looks over his shoulder with a cool grin and is met by a tight-lipped smirk from your boss, “apologies, I didn’t think we were expecting anyone.”

“I must admit,” Jonathan stands to greet Loki, “I did drop in impromptu. I’m in need of some professional guidance on the matter of property.”

“Ah, very well,” Loki gives a curt nod, “a moment–”

Your boss steps around the visitor and places a tall insulated cup beside your mouse, the lilac hombre effect shining in the light. It’s new, an unexpected purchase. He rests another cup on the desk, that one paper next to it and turns back to Jonathan and holds out his hand formally.

“Welcome to Serpent Realty,” he says.

They shake hands, both tensing in a sort of tug-of-war of white knuckles. You squint, unimpressed by their masculine posturing. You roll your eyes and pop the lid of the purple cup, inhaling the scent of cinnamon. The finally let go of each other.

“We were just about to set up an appointment,” you explain, “go over his needs–”

“Nonsense, I haven’t anyone scheduled, I can go over it right now,” Loki declares.

“That’s wonderful,” Jonathan intones.

“Our agency has the most premium properties in the city, I’m certain you’ll find the perfect place, however, there is first the matter of finances–”

“It’s all sorted, My portfolio is ready for review. I have been overly eager now that I have the funding to do so. Say, do you also deal in business properties? I’ve been operating out of my apartment for the most part but with the merger–”

“Oh, yes, we can go over options,” Loki interjects, “please,” he steps past Jonathan and struts to his office, pushing the door inward, “if you would, I will just have a word with my assistant before we proceed.”

Jonathan pushes his shoulders back and follows Loki’s path in a march, “happily.”

Your neighbour’s shoulders by your boss who lets his chagrin seep through as he turns to you. He comes back to your desk and reaches for his cup. He sighs, long and low.

“This is most unexpected,” he speaks quietly as you hear Jonathan in his office, the subtle groan of a chair.

“It is,” you give him a look, “be nice.”

“I am always nice,” Loki argues as he blows over the lid of his cup and takes a sip, “do you like it? It was on sale and I thought of you.”

He points to the purple container. You can barely withhold your surprise or the twinge of concern. Thought of you?

“Uh, sure, it will be useful,” you say.

His cheek tics and his lips thin, “well, I suppose I shouldn’t keep a client waiting. Even if he likely can’t afford any of our options–”

“Loki,” you warn, “I had no idea, alright? He just showed up and it does us no favours to be picky.”

“Us?” he lifts a brow.

“The business,” you sit back and cross your arms.

He considers you and picks at the plastic edge of his cup, “I got you a cinnamon latte, thought it sounded fun.”

“Mm, thanks,” you say, “now go, and for the agency, try to smile.”

He scowls, affronted at you turning his usual remonstrance upon him. He takes another drink of coffee as he turns away. He won’t forget that but the brief satisfaction of his irritation is worth it.

His door closes as his low tone wafts within, met by that of his new client. You tisk to yourself but your amusement dies as your phone shakes. It’s a number you've become all too acquainted with. You answer out of obligation, out of dread. It is better to be done with Frigga and not tempt her wrath.

You hit the green dot and slide your thumb over, “Lady Frigga,” you answer.

“Hello, dear,” she greets. She has grown complacent if not amiable in the last days. Perhaps Odin was right to advise patience, “I’ve fantastic news for you. The dresses have arrived from Asgard, I’ve had them sent to Loki’s house so that we might review them this evening–”

“Dresses? Already?” you press your thumb to your chin as anxiety piques up your throat. The more the arrangements come to fruition, the more real everything feels, even as you remind yourself of its intrinsic deceit.

“Yes, already,” she laughs but not meanly. You’re still wary of her friendliness, “once we’ve made a selection, we will see a seamstress–”

“Um, okay, yeah,” you speak into the speaker, squishing it between your shoulder and cheek as you untwist the lid of the cup and let the steam out. You inhale the cinnamon again and take a cautious gulp, “that sounds fine, but my foot–”

“Well, of course, we will have to decide upon shoes at a later date,” she assures, “we might have a lovely time of it, I think. Some champagne to brighten the occasion.”

“Sure thing, Frigga,” you say, “I will let Loki know–”

“Oh yes, do, of course he can’t see you in any of them, to think,” she gasps, “he is such a sneaky scamp.”

You nod and look at the office door. You almost envy that encounter to your current one.

“Right, well, I’ll see you tonight. I have to get this monthly report done–”

“Oh, you work so hard, dear, I understand, I will have everything prepared,” she nearly squees and you frown. That voice in your head, the one that knows Loki well, knows his tricks come from somewhere. You don’t trust either of them.

“Thank you, again, um, bye.”

“Buh-bye, dear,” she trills and the line dies.

You put the phone screen down and drop your head into your hands, rubbing your eye sockets in exasperation. You had some misguided hope for a quiet night but once again you’ve been foiled by an Odinson plot.

💚

“Yes, mother, I will make myself sparse,” Loki avows as his mother accosts you at the front door as you strip away your wintery layers.

“Your father is in the study, he will be sure of it,” she points him towards the staircase, “and you will keep him from drinking too much whiskey. He’s become overly fond of it.”

“Ah, yes, I am aware, I’ve only just replenished my supply since his last visit,” Loki drones.

“Alright, shoo,” she flicks her fingers at him.

“Mm,” he grumbles, “yes, mother.”

He pivots and kisses your cheek before laying another on hers in turn. He leaves you off-balance, physically and mentally, his footsteps echo up the stairs as Frigga beams expectantly. You give an awkward smile and nod.

“Uh, so, where–”

“Well, considering your condition, we didn’t want to do it upstairs of course so we’ve taken over the den,” she waves you across the entryway.

“We?” you wonder as you follow her on your crutches, thumping to a halt as you find others awaiting your arrival.

“Oh yes, you’ve not met my daughter, Loki’s sister, Hela,” she gestures to the dark-haired woman who shares a similar bearing as your boss. One long leg hooked over another as she swirls a glass of dark wine.

“Pleasure,” she looks up from the crystal, “and my regrets at your ill luck. You must be mad to marry my brother.”

“Hela,” Frigga remands and receives a dark chuckle in response.

“Of course, you know Lady Sif–”

You raise your chin and poke your tongue in your cheek as you withhold agitation. Sif’s blue eyes twinkle as she gives a directed look at your foot. You shift on your crutches and exhale heavily.

“My sister, Fulla, Countess of Aegrin,” she introduces another woman, pale golden hair with similar silver streaks as Frigga, but a fuller body with round hips and an ample bosom, cheeks rosy as she holds a glass of bubbly champagne.

“Nanna, a cousin from Odin’s side, Viscountess of Tyrn,” she introduces a woman closer to your age with wild red curls, she waves as she nibbles a piece of shortbread, “I apologise as I did try to search out some guests from your own family but my son could provide me little detail and I was unable to find much of anyone–”

“That’s fine,” you assure her, “it’s just me.”

“Oh, dear,” she says grimly.

“It’s not like that,” you wave her off, “really, only child.”

“Ah,” she seems unconvinced by the excuse, “well, let us begin. We did have a peek and I think we are all fond of one in particular. Perhaps we might start with that one.”

“Oh?” you follow her on your crutches as she guides you to a cover rack and unveils it from beneath a sheet of silk.

“Did you need help?” Sif asks as you look over the collection of ivory, off-white, and pristine whites.

“I can dress myself,” you assure her without glancing over as you push aside hangers. The frills, the applique, gems… it’s all a bit much.

“I can assist with the laces,” Hela offers, “I do run a boutique myself. Those dresses are not easy to put on.”

“Well, I suppose,” you chew your lip.

Hela stands and clinks her glass down, “I’ll drink myself stupid if I have to sit still any longer,” he smoky voice grows near and she pulls out a dress without much concern, “come on, let’s get this show going.”

“Oh, uh, okay, well,” you are too tired to resist and too irked to do more than swallow down unspoken gripes. You can’t keep fighting an uphill battle against this vaunted clan of Odinsons.

You follow Hela into the half-bath behind the den, positioned just off the kitchen. She closes the door and hangs the gown on the back. You look at her and she smirks.

“Oh, don’t be shy, sweetheart, you might be my type but I don’t go for my brother’s scraps, not like Thor,” she snorts and you can’t help but do the same, shocked by her candour. “Trust me, I know my family is a bit much. You look constipated just from dealing with them.”

You shake your head and breathe out, a sigh of relief as pretense washes out and eases the tension. She takes your crutches to lean them against the counter before she turns to unhook the straps of the dress. She works at loosening the laces as you undress to your undergarments.

She opens the dress and angles it over your head, “not exactly what I expected from Loki if I’m being honest, but I see how Sif looks at you. I’ve heard much of your Asgardian invasion. Oh, yes, you scandalised my mother thoroughly.”

You poke your head out of the fabric and she pulls it down your body. It’s tight as the body constricts your torso. She arranges the capped sleeves as she straightens the gown, surprising you as she shoves her hand down the front and lifts your tits up. You squeak and she laughs again.

“Well, I can’t say he’s got bad taste,” she comments as she gives a cheeky grin and fluffs out the long, puffy skirts, “turn.”

You lean on the counter heavy and she pulls on the laces hard enough to jolt you. She tightens them until you can’t breath, your chests bulging over the top of the round neckline. The bodice is pure white, decorated with swirls of gems in a mimic of brocade, the skirts draped in layers of satin like a fairytale princess. It’s entirely not your style.

“Well, you look rightly ridiculous,” she comments, “let’s go appease the duchess.”

The fabric crowded the bathroom and she carefully sidles around to open the door. You take your crutches and precede her and she follows you down the hall back to the den. You enter without fanfare as she crosses her arms and stands behind you.

Frigga turns and draws the attention of the other women. She squeals and claps her hands, rushing over to fan out your skirts even bigger, “oh my, this is so wonderful. Look at her. Beautiful… and it would go well with a crown of lilies…”

You fight to maintain a placid expression and bite down. Frigga leads you over to a full length mirror brought in for the fitting and you stare at yourself, unable to hide your displeasure. The duchess tries to hide the crutches with the lengths of silk as she keeps tugging and prodding.

You look stupid. Like a real Cinderella, from ashes to extravagance.

“Too much fabric,” Hela offers from behind, “perhaps something with a sleeker silhouette?”

“Oh?” Frigga lets out the disappointed syllable, “but it is a proper wedding…”

“And? She doesn’t need to dress like some medieval damsel,” Hela goes to the rack and pulls out another dress, this one in ivory, “come on, sweetheart, let’s try my pick.”

“I’ll keep this one in mind,” you promise Frigga as you turn back and hobble out after Hela, heat gathering under the skirts and making you sweat. You don’t know that it’s just the layers, you think maybe it’s all a bit too much for you.

You stop just outside the bathroom as Hela carries in the silk gown, “do you mind if I grab some water?”

“There’s wine–”

“I just need to cool down,” you say, “I’ll be two minutes.”

“Sure,” she shrugs and holds up the dress, looking it up and down.

You rustle down the hall, crutches banging loudly onto the tile. As you enter the kitchen, you nearly scream out as a figure pops up on the other side of the island. Loki’s hair is slightly askew as he turns to you, plopping an empty whiskey bottle on the counter with a huff.

His eyes round as he sees you. You blink and cringe, “hi.”

“Darling,” he looks you up and down, his lips slanting, “you look–”

“Awful,” you interrupt, “it’s not this one, don’t worry.”

You swing over to the cupboard, your skirts tangling with your crutches. You growl as you struggle to push them away from the rubber feet and sneer. Loki watches, rather gapes, with that dumb expression.

“I need water, please.”

“Uh, yes, yes,” he nods and smirks, swiftly taking down a glass and filling it from the fridge, “here.”

He sets it down close to you on the island, his eyes still clinging to you, lingering on the top of your chest as it threatens to overflow.

“Would you stop?” you lean a crutch on the counter and grab the glass.

“I can’t, darling,” he says goofily, “you’ve no idea how badly I want to crawl under that skirt and–”

“Loki!” Frigga rushes in, waving her hand at her son frantically, “cover your eyes. You cannot see the bride!”

Loki’s brows rise and he promptly closes his eyes, hiding them dramatically with his hands, “sorry, mother.”

“What are you doing down here?” She whines.

“Looking for whiskey,” he says and parts his fingers, peeking at you again and receiving a jab from his mother.

“Oh, dear,” she turns and ushers you away, nearly spilling the water as she takes it from you, “we must choose another, surely. Oh, and I did like this one very much.”

You let her beckon you away, limping with one crutch as she herds you back to the hallway. You hear Loki’s low purr of satisfaction roll into a snicker. Oh, these Odinsons.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #little lies #boss au #au #mcu #marvel #avengers #thor #hela #frigga #odin

285 notes · View notes