Loki one-shots fanfiction ♡

33. we burn ourselves in flames

Pairing: Loki & Steve Rogers

After the revolution on Sakaar, Loki never escaped the planet. He ended up the Grandmaster's slave for four years before he, still under the Grandmaster's thumb, found himself in a brothel on Earth. Things got more interesting from there.

Trigger warning for forced prostitution (not explicit) and non-consensual drug use.

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If Loki had a choice, Midgard would undoubtedly be the last place he'd set foot on — there was just... too much history, most of which he wished he could forget — operative word being if. He didn't have a say in anything anymore, and the quicker he learned to accept that, the better.

After what he and Thor did years ago on Sakaar, and Thor so carelessly left him writhing on the floor, with the obedient disk radiating waves of electroshock throughout his body, leaving him defenceless, the Grandmaster found him. And Loki had expected his death to be a slow, painful one. Only that the Grandmaster had found another use in him, the one that required him to be alive and breathing. Turned out he was... quite valuable in the right kind of market. After all the Grandmaster needed credits, since he was exiled from his own homeland (and he had Loki to thank to for that. Of course, he made sure Loki always remembered his crime)

The Grandmaster was pissed, sure, Loki and Thor lost him his kingdom, which led to him having to travel aimlessly through the cosmos, never staying in one place for too long, never calling anywhere home. So it wasn't surprising at all, how Loki went from being his right-hand to his personal sex slave where he'd sell him to anybody for a night for some cash.

Loki had hated Thor, cursed him for leaving and never looking back. But the truth was none of this would've happened — he would have been somewhere far away from the lunatic that was his owner, and with his brother still — hadn't he tried to betray Thor that day. He always did, he always betrayed and lied every chance he got, so Loki supposed this was, in its own right, his comeuppance.

He had tried to escape, only to learn the hard way the only thing his fruitless attempts brought was pain. And there was no point; no matter how well-calculated he thought his plan was, the Grandmaster was always one step ahead of him. You could never be free, there was no point in fighting this. You'd only hurt himself more.

His hatred, too, faded away as weeks rolled into months and months turned into years. There was simply no pride nor dignity.

This is your life now. Accept it and it might hurt a little bit less.

So the hatred and rage turned to exhaustion and numbness. Most of the times it happened — and it happened every night — Loki was almost grateful he somehow learned to manage to detach his mind from his body, mentally going somewhere where he was safe and be as out of touch as he could from reality. Just a body, he'd told himself, convinced himself to believe that, because he would've lost his mind otherwise.

He was normally drugged enough that he wouldn't know his current whereabouts, which he thought was somewhat a blessing; for each god-forsaken place was the same, in Loki's opinion. It wouldn't matter where the Grandmaster had dragged him along. It wouldn't matter who he was sold to. Nothing ever mattered anymore.

It did matter when Loki found himself back on Earth. He wished he was intoxicated enough that he didn't know he was back on Midgard, or wished the Grandmaster would've chosen any other place that wasn't here. Because being here meant he was about to be sold to a mortal of the race he had once, even if it felt like a lifetime ago, demanded their submission. How humiliating. How pathetic. Last time he was here he was their most intimidating threat, now he was a whore.