Avengers/MCU Fanfiction

The sun-warmed water lapped at your skin as Tony’s hands fidgeted around the clasp to your bra. There was hesitation, uncertainty in his actions, but he pressed forward, with one final glance towards the door to ensure your privacy. He undid your bra with a practiced grace, tossing the wet bundle behind you, and examining the newly revealed flesh. He gingerly caressed one of your breasts, as if measuring the weight in his hand, and carefully lowered his mouth to the supple skin. He could taste the chlorine on your skin, eyes flicking up to yours as he laid a line of hurried kisses down the valley of your breasts. He wanted to savor this, remember every part, from the way you scrunched your nose, to the little sounds you smothered between your lips. 

God, it had been too long. It was hard not to be embarrassed by the way you ignited under his touch, the way your heart pounded when he met your eyes, the way your thighs pressed into his hips. Surrounded by attractive superheroes, maybe it was a surprise that you hadn’t gotten “any” since your arrival in Wakanda… but it was true. Aside from a few drunken hookups in your final semester of university, the last meaningful sex you’d had was… with Tony. 

Tony’s hands had moved down to your hips, fingers dipping into the waistband of your panties, pausing to study your expression. “What are you thinking about?” He asked quietly, voice soft with a latent fondness just returning to the surface. 

“The last time we…” you frowned, the memory souring as you remember what came after. “Were together.” 

Ah. A sore subject for both of you then. “I’m not going to leave you,” he promised, eyes searching yours for understanding. “Either we go together, or we stay.” There was a satisfying finality in the statement. 

Staving off the insecurity, you nodded, lifting your hips ever-so-slightly to return his attention to the task at hand. 

Tony smiled, pulling the water-soaked cotton briefs over your hips and down your legs. He tossed them behind you, presumably close to the bra, and met your eyes with a wry grin. “I’ve thought a lot about this,” he mused, pulling you closer to him, and rewarding himself with a fistful of your ass. 

You flushed, trying not to focus on the fact that you were fully nude and he was still mostly clothed, lips pursed in a tight line. “Do I live up to your expectations?” You rolled your eyes at the sight of his wide smile, unable to fight your own. 

“Always.” He tried to support your weight with a single arm, struggling with his swim trunks, and cursing under his breath. “Goddamnit, can you--”

Without a word, your hands overtook his own, effortlessly pushing down the elastic waistband, allowing it to harmlessly linger around his thighs. “Good enough?” A simple glance informed you that the scientist was more than happy to have you in his arms again. The thought filled you with a smug pride, after all these months, a few kisses, and a little groping reduced him to a blushing teenager. He lost the bravado, the character of Tony Stark, he was just… Tony. 

He let your curious eyes roam, focusing on the urgent task at hand. He let his hand drift between your thighs, gauging your arousal, and tempering his expectations. You needed a little more attention before you were ready for him, and he was then happy to oblige. He pulled you closer, leaving you the slimmest of supports to balance your weight on, and returning to his previous task of paving your soft skin with sloppy and hurried kisses. His hands roamed the uncovered expanses of your skin, before finally settling back between your thighs, using the added slick of the water to glide along the sensitive area, just shy of your sex. 

It was a sensual, teasing display, and you suspected Tony knew exactly what he was doing. He could very easily finger you, take any number of short-cuts to turn you on, but he was taking his sweet time. Maybe he wasn’t as desperate as you thought, you noted with some sweet irritation, if he was patient enough to toy with you. 

He spent a few more minutes like this, enjoying the way your breathing quickened, the flush traveling down your neck, and the clear restraint as your fingers curled over the stone edge of the pool. But, as an almost painful throbbing reminded him, he had needs too. He took the luxury of one final glance, but he didn’t get far. 

Your lip was caught between your teeth, eyes opened through narrow slits, wisps of hair stuck to the edges of your face. You were serenely beautiful, and Tony almost came undone at the sight. But he pushed it back, and gently looped his arms beneath your knees, judging the angle with a critical eye, and offering a delicate kiss to your jaw as he aligned his member with your sex. “I love you,” he reminded, almost too quiet to hear, before carefully pressing in. 

There was a brief sensation of stretch, but Tony’s careful preparation made you more than comfortable while he seated himself inside of you. You felt the tension leave your chest, taking a deep breath, and letting your head fall back. God, was it sweet. 

If he was weak for you before… he felt powerless now. Whether it was the time apart, or the sweetness of the reunion, each little movement seemed to pluck one of his heartstrings. He could feel the vibration deep in his chest, and let go of the breath he was holding. It was good, so good. He gave you a moment to adjust, and only when you wriggled in his arms, did he offer a few shallow pumps. It took every ounce of restraint to hold back his climax, the sweat of determination building at his temple. “Fuck,” he cursed softly, attempting to bury his face in the crook of your neck. 

“Tony--” 

His brow furrowed. That wasn’t your voice. That was a man’s voice. He lifted his head, and gave you a curious look. But, he was surprised to find you white as a sheet, eyes wide open, and looking towards the entrance to the swimming pool. 

Loki interposed himself quickly, his eyes flashing with warning as he tucked you behind him protectively, his hand on your waist. “Father,” he didn’t address his brother, those his gaze burned with seething hatred on the blonde, “the acquisition is fragile as it is, now is the time for finesse, not brute force.” Then, for added measure: “he should spend his time in the brothels if he’s longing for company.” 

From your position behind Loki, you peeked out just around his shoulder to watch the exchange. It was ironic, you thought to yourself, that Odin had addressed the question to you if he truly intended to just offer you as a prize to the victor. 

Thor returned the deadly glare, his jaw tight with anger. “You can’t hide your toys from me forever, brother.” The threat was spoken on the edge of a whisper, the acknowledgement of defeat sorely in his voice. Loki had always been able to wiggle his way into getting what he wanted, being the oldest, and clever with his words-- but Thor’s patience was waning with each barb. 

Odin spoke after a few seconds of heavy silence, stepping forward and laying a hand on Thor’s shoulder, if to draw him away from the fight. “Then its settled?” 

Thor didn’t pull away from his Father’s touch, his eyes moving over to the small visible sliver of you behind Loki. 

“Clearly,” Loki allowed the smallest bite of satisfaction into his tone. “Princess?” His grip on you slackened, turning to face you and offering a small smile, drawing your hand into his own and laying a soft kiss upon your knuckles.

You both admired and despised his effort to make you comfortable. This man had tortured your brother to coax you out of hiding, he’d slaughtered your father, sacked your kingdom-- but he forced fondness into his expression when you were looking. Could you stomach being his wife? There was such elegance in his cruelty, pretending to woo you, knowing that you were a fly in his web. You were stuck in place, staring at his hand in yours, the slightest quiver to your lower lip. 

“Princess?” Odin inquired, curiosity in his tone. 

“Yes,” you spoke, trying to stand a little taller, ducking your head in reverence to Loki, and averting your gaze. “I respect your decision, Odin, I look forward to the ceremony.” The words felt like a white-hot knife pressed into your chest, submitting to his power. You made an attempt to retrieve your hand, but found that he did not release it. 

“I will escort you to our chambers, Princess,” Loki insisted, gently guiding you towards the exit of the throne room. “I think some rest would suit you well.” He cast a brief glance back at his father, and his glowering brother, before he ushered you into the hallway. 

“Our chambers?” You asked softly, trying very dearly to keep the shock out of your tone. “Are the Asgardians not... chaste until marriage?” You had sworn that it was a custom shared between your two kingdoms, straining to remember those lessons you’d received as a child. 

Loki allowed a small laugh to break through his lips, but not long enough to mock you. “We will not be... consummating this evening, if that’s your inquiry. I will explain our living arrangement in more detail when we arrive,” he brushed off your concerns, making no effort to hide the smile that resulted from your naivety. He was not concerned with eavesdroppers, per se, all of the servants knew to keep their ears (or mouths) closed when the royal family spoke of private matters. But with impending vows, and threats from his brother, it was better he contained intimate words with you to behind closed doors. 

Odin’s palace seemed endless, each corridor looked exactly the same, and they were all impeccably decorated. Perfectly smooth marble tiles covered the floor, free of any scratches or signs of wear, veins of gold in-between, meticulously clean. Without Loki’s confident direction, you would no doubt be lost in these grand halls-- this place was practically a labyrinth of opulence. 

After a few moments more, you approached a beautiful set of doors, carved out a smooth dark wood, subtle bronze handles on each. 

Loki casually flicked out his fingers, and the doors opened smoothly, pulled by the invisible force of his magic. “I know you are without many of your personal comforts,” he offered, leading you inside the chambers, “tomorrow morning, I’ve arranged for a tailor to fit you for some new gowns.” 

The chambers were massive and luxurious. You first entered a parlor, with an emerald green chaise framed by two daunting bookcases-- full of titles you had never heard of, many of them in other languages. Simple and elegant sconces hung on every wall, illuminating the room with a soft candle light. 

He tugged on your hand to recapture your attention, leading you into the next room. A large four-poster bed sat in the center of the room, with similar green sheets draped across the mattress fit for two-- or more-- people. Gauzy golden curtains were drawn back to reveal the interior of the bed, for some semblance of privacy, you guessed. He finally allowed your hand to drop from his own, walking to the window and looking out at the vast blanket of stars. 

You lingered in the doorway. This was... extravagant beyond all belief. You doubted even your Father could afford such fineries for himself, let alone for his children. “My things,” you began, sitting on the edge of the bed, relieved to be off your feet after such an exhausting day, “will your soldiers retrieve them?” You had no need for jewels, or dresses clearly, but some tokens of your childhood would certain help ease the sting of grief in your chest. 

“Of course,” he offered dismissively, as though the question was silly in the first place, “Odin’s acquisitions are always polished and perfected before they become part of his greater empire,” it sounded as though he was reciting some elementary truth that had been nailed into place through years of repetition. “Your castle will be cleaned, repaired, and improved in preparation for our arrival after the wedding.” He said this without flourish, though he glanced over his shoulder in your direction. “Your things will not be touched, Princess, on my honor.” 

From what you’d heard of Odin’s eldest, you doubted his honor was worth much. “Thank you,” you offered politely, taking a moment to look around the room-- purposefully avoiding Loki as you admired the embroidery of the quilt. 

Loki managed a small smile in return, however disingenuous it was, and moved to sit beside you on the bed. “I should explain your expected code of behavior,” he offered, more to himself than you, “Asgard is... very different from most kingdoms. You will be marrying into the most powerful bloodline in the galaxy, and your children will be descended from Odin. As such, there are certain expectations placed upon you.” Slender and cool fingers began to brush the hair away from your neck, his fingers beginning to fuss with the ties of your gown, loosening the corset in an attempt to help you relax. 

“Oh?” You mumbled hollowly, feeling yourself stiffen under his touch. This was beyond inappropriate. 

“Whatever your position may be in our new kingdom,” his breaths fanned coolly against the back of your neck, “you are beholden to me, Princess.” This information was presented as he very slowly unwound your corset, emphasizing the words that suited his tone. “Your people will be looking to you for guidance. We must project an image of unity and amicability,” he gave the cords a sharp tug, “My word is final, as your better.” There was a cold analysis beneath the calm diplomacy of his tone, a verbal vice winding tighter and tighter around your throat. 

You thought of your brother as your will faltered, forcing the image of his bondage through your mind, and forcing your revulsion down with a stiff nod. How badly you wanted to scream with defiance, spit curses in his face and run far far away from here-- but what would they do to your brother if you did?

“You will not criticize Odin or his rule, naturally,” he continued, “and you are forbidden from laying with another man,” he finally withdrew his fingers, content to see the corset slumping around your waist. “You will spend each night here, beside me.”

Another man? You very nearly scoffed. Who? His oaf of a brother? One of the hapless guards? No, you assured yourself, there would be no other man. Sharing a bed with the Asgardian however... perish the thought. His polite disposition aside, you did not trust his chivalry. You thought again of your father, your mother, and your brother, a farce attempt to swallow a bitter pill with honey. You could hear his breathing beside you, see him out of your peripherals, the monster blinded by pride and privilege, but to sleep beside him? To call him your husband? To watch your children call him father? “I wish to retire,” you spoke softly, keeping your composure as closely as you could.

If he wanted to press you further for a definite answer, he contained himself, and stood, approaching a dresser on the far side of the room, and pulling a garment from within. “I’ll step into the other room,” he informed, laying the slip on the bed beside you. 

You waited until the door closed with a quiet ‘click’ before you allowed tears to burgeon in your eyes, pressing a hand over your mouth to smother the sound. Your shoulders heaved with the effort of your silenced sobs, repressed emotion bursting out like a flood. You’d lost your home, your family, and your independence in the span of a day. You’d be married to a murderer, and your people trapped under Odin’s rule, and forced to smile through it all. 

Loki waited until the door closed behind him before lifting a hand and pinching the bridge of his nose. This was not what he had intended. Emotion made fools of the rational, and judging by the muffled sobs, you were far from unemotional. One outburst, or snide remark to Odin, and the both of you would be in a world of pain. He needed a way to control you, keep you in line and away from his brother. 

The metal was hot to the touch, almost painfully so, but you followed the command without a word of dissent. You were worried his thin psyche would snap, he already seemed to be teetering on the edge of some psychotic break. 

His hands followed his eyes in a slow trail up your exposed thigh, his expression neutral, testing almost. “I thought, for just a second, that you were better than him,” his voice shook with untapped anger, “but the apple doesn’t fall far from the fucking tree!” He slapped the hood next to you, and grinned as you squeaked and jumped with fright. 

You were frozen in place, staring at him with wide eyes, withdrawn ever so slightly to keep him at a distance. “Please,” the word left your lips in a choked out whisper, “he’ll pay you whatever you want,” you offered, racking your brain to find something to tide over the psychopath in front of you. “Anything.”

His expression parted for an amused smile, his hand sliding further up your inner thigh and reaching the barrier of cloth. “No, he won’t,” he shook his head, pinching the soft fabric between his fingers. “Daddy’s money won’t solve everything, Y/N.” He sounded chiding, disapproving, but the smile stayed in place. “You’ll have to pay for this yourself.” His hand dropped to his belt, but his eyes stayed locked on you. 

///

Tony was shit-faced. 

Celebrating a successful mission with a toast... and then another... and then a third. They’d saved the world, again, so why not enjoy it for once? 

Steve on his left, and Barnes on his right, Tony stumbled up the steps to Stark Tower, groaning to himself as he blinked away a bout of dizziness. Even for him, this was excessive-- he vowed not to do shots with Bucky again-- the Super-Soldier took the booze without issue. 

The night security guard, Reynolds, waved them in and looked over the drooping billionaire with a halfhearted sigh. 

“Anything happen while we were gone?” Steve asked patiently, helping Tony over to the elevator. “Anyone come by?”

Reynolds thought for a minute. “A guy came by to pick up his stuff, but he must’ve used the back exit, he never came down,” he shrugged. “He had low security clearance, I don’t think it was anything special.” 

Tony grunted with acknowledgement, vaguely remembering something about a former employee coming by tonight, but incoherent enough to avoid forming a sentence explaining that. 

Steve gently eased Tony forward into the steel-walled elevator, turning to press the button and discovering something affixed to the wall. His brow furrowed, and he glanced over to Tony, before rolling his eyes and turning to Bucky. “You recognize this?”

Bucky shrugged. “Wasn’t here when we left. Maybe maintenance?” He offered, reaching out to give it a tug. It was attached with cheap adhesive, and was crudely made to look like a cellphone. He prodded at the device as the elevator zoomed upwards. “It would be a better question for him,” he inclined his head towards Stark, handing the thing back over to Steve. “Leave it on his desk?”

“Give it here,” Tony slurred, reaching out a hand, and snatching the device with unexpected speed. He stared and swayed, examining the ‘phone’ with arrogance. “It’s an EMP, and a crappy one by the looks of it,” he thrust it forward with confidence. “Probably made by that guy who came in earlier.” 

Steve and Bucky exchanged a glance. No-one was here, they had all been at the nightclub... so what was the objective of tampering with some elevator buttons? If someone was trying to steal something...

Tension grew thick as the elevator approached its destination, and Bucky slid out first, silently sweeping the room and snagging the handgun above the sink. It was there for emergencies, and if someone was in the Tower, that constituted as an emergency. 

Steve was more direct, turning to Tony, “hang tight for a minute, there might be someone in the apartments.” He instructed quietly, stepping out and nodding to Bucky, moving towards the long hallway of doors where most of the Avengers slept. 

Tony, however, wasn’t content with staying put and stumbled out of the elevator-- making an obscene amount of noise as he bumped into decor, and tried to follow the two sleuth. “Y/N!” He called, only a few steps behind Steve. “Y/N, are you up?”

Bucky whirled around and gave Tony a furious glare as whatever cover they had was blown. But... his rage was quickly sapped at the lack of response. It was still here, entirely silent. He could hear the soft hum of the air-conditioner, and nothing else. He gave Steve a worried glance, and drew further forward, glancing at each closed door until he neared yours-- which was open. 

/// 

Quinten watched you analyze the situation, no doubt wondering if you could outrun him or call for help, and carefully began to undo his belt. 

Your shoulders sagged with resignation, and you crossed your arms, looking off towards the curb as you heard the soft clink of his belt coming undone. To any passerbys, it would look like a typical couple fooling around in on the side of the road, maybe you’d get lucky and someone would call the cops. “Can we at least... go to the backseat?” 

His expression broke into a small grin, a soft laugh bubbling past his lips. “Feeling shy?” He inquired, making a show of looking around the abandoned street, and looking back to you when he was done. 

You didn’t rise to his jabs, hearing your blood rush to your ears. “Please?” You asked softly, lifting your eyes to meet his.

He weighed the choice, allowing you to agonize a moment more, before offering a hand. His expression was coldly apathetic. “It doesn’t matter to me,” he concluded, not allowing a crack of doubt to show through his mask. “After you.”

You swallowed, and accepted the offered hand, feeling the warmth of his hand in yours as he nudged you toward the backseat of your precious vehicle. Pretend its not real, you reasoned. Pretend like your back at home, in bed, and this is all just a dream. You opened the door, and watched the car flood with light, the backseat laid out before you, impeccably clean leather seats inviting debutantes and billionaires-- not the man who lingered behind you.

His free hand drifted to the small of your back, questioning your hesitation. 

You recoiled from his touch, drawing a soft breath through your nose, and carefully climbing into the back, on your hands and knees. Your heart was pounding with trepidation, and you watched your reflection in the glass of the window. 

Beck let his eyes drift over the barely decent shorts, and the slight stripe of skin revealed by your night-shirt, considering his next move. He placed his hands gingerly over your hips, testing the waters, and pulling you closer to him. 

You hated yourself for enjoying his authoritative grip, and restrained a shiver as his eyes raked over your pajamas. No. You were not enjoying this. No way in hell. You forced yourself to focus on one of the seams of the leather seats. 

His fingers curled over the elastic waistband of your shorts, quickly pulling them over your rear and exposing the flesh. He ignored your gasp, and began to carefully caress the soft skin with his hands, eyes exploring every depraved inch. “You got a boyfriend?” He asked, thumb swiping up your now exposed slit, examining the glisten on his fingers with an air of amusement. 

“What?” You asked, freezing when you felt the sharp movements of his digits. 

“Wondering just how long its been,” he justified, “considering just how wet you are.” He said this with a smugness, repeating the motion, his thumb pausing at the crest of the movement. “You’re into this?” He asked, glad that your fear had given way for mild annoyance and denial. 

“I’m not,” you snapped defensively, “obviously I’m not.” You struggled in his surprisingly tight grasp, trying to edge forward and away from him. 

He held you in place with one firm hand, continuing to apply feather-light touches on the exposed skin of your core. “You don’t have to admit it,” he began to carefully probe into your heat with two experimental fingers, thumb brushing gentle circles on the exposed skin of your hip. “Because you want to know what I think?” He asked, sinking his fingers to the first knuckle, slowly and deliberately. “I think that part of you is fucking thrilled.” He hissed softly in your ear, bobbing the fingers and watching the slight quiver of your shoulders. “Finally, someone’s giving you the attention and not him.” 

You bit down hard on your lip, willing yourself to silence any sound that came to your lips. You wouldn’t say a word, you vowed, fingernails digging into the expensive leather. 

“You’re the perfect little daughter, always poised and prepared to clean up his mistakes,” the words were venom, finely mixed to strike at the heart of the matter. “But I think you go back to your room and pray that someone will knock down your ivory tower. Tell me,” he edged the fingers deeper, feeling your warmth envelop the digits, “am I wrong?”

You whimpered lightly, eyes squeezed shut. You could almost taste the blood in your mouth from your harshly bitten lip, but you didn’t break. 

“You can pretend that you’re above this,” he pushed a little deeper, curling the ends of the fingers to elicit another soft gasp from those locked lips, “but you didn’t have to say yes.” His hand snaked around your hip and found that delicious bud of pleasure, focusing his efforts as he worked his fingers in unison. “Am I the hero you wanted?” 

You tried to fight the warm feeling growing between your legs, tried to find the words to deny his accusations. A bubble of shame built in your chest, as you found, instead, that you lacked the will to pull away from the gratifying touch. 

He increased his tempo, a smile turning up one corner of his mouth. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered, overflowing with arrogance. He continued these motions, occasionally nudging your thighs apart with his knee, indulging in each of the strangled moans that left your throat. He finished you off with a flourish, pulling his fingers free, and watching your arousal drip down your legs. 

Your elbows buckled, and you slumped forward on the seat, your cheek resting against the cool leather. You could feel a lingering buzz throughout your body, your limbs heavy, and your mind sluggish. 

“What war?” Your brother wheezed, his eyes dark with fury. “There is no threat greater than Odin and his brood, you are nothing more than tyrants crushing weaker realms beneath your boot,” he spat with disgust, pulling against the two guards who held him in place. 

Annoyance flickered across Loki’s face as the boy interrupted him yet again, and he withdrew his hand, turning to face the shaking beast your brother had become. He gripped his bloodied chin, and forced his gaze up. “My leniency has its ends, cur, and I’ve had enough of your insufferable jibes,” releasing him, and muttering soft instructions to the handlers, who tugged your still struggling brother away from the pair of you. He turned back to you, and urged you forward with renewed vigor. 

Your eyes lingered on your brother until he was out of view, offering a silent prayer to whatever gods were still listening that he would be safe until you could negotiate his freedom.

Loki guided you through seemingly endless corridors and stunning parlors, describing each in detail that was quickly lost on you. The tour was concluded in a much larger hall, absent of the usual activity of the palace-- save for two figures at the front of the room. “My father,” Loki murmured in your ear, “and my brother,” the latter was mentioned with more irritation than reverence. 

Odin the Conqueror was less terrifying than you’d imagine. His hair had long since gone white, he was missing an eye, and he was dressed in finery-- ornate and well-decorated armor, speaking with his other son, the blond. 

Thor shamelessly admired his brother’s new prize, flashing you a predatory smile. He hardly glanced to his brother as Loki recounted their stunning victory, and the success of their conquest. He was too busy imagining the filthy things he would do when he got you alone; balling up that pretty skirt in his hands and making you weep with pleasure. 

Odin listened with interest, allowing his pride to shine through as Loki described his assault on the palace, and the recovery of two of the old King’s children-- including the beauty at his side. “You have done very well, Loki,” he complimented, gesturing for him to bring you closer. “Princess Y/N, welcome to Asgard,” he greeted cordially.

Overwhelmed, you finally spoke. “I-- thank you,” you offered lamely, wishing more than anything that you could be six again, hiding behind your mother’s skirts. It would do you no good to snarl and bite like a feral dog, you were outnumbered and outmatched, so you relied on the years of etiquette drilled into you by your tutors. “It’s quite… beautiful here,” you made no mention of the slaves that had built this beautiful palace, or the realms they’d pillaged to afford their fineries. 

Odin beamed like this was some great compliment, looking around his dazzling throne room with little humility. “I am glad that you are unharmed,” his eyes returned to you, “I… apologize for the violence you must have witnessed, I imagine it is a great weight for a girl of your age.” 

You couldn’t muster the will to offset his worries, your lips set in a tight line. 

“Your Father was a good man,” he looked slightly more solemn now, “but he had no vision. What did he hope to accomplish by defying us?” His tone implied you were not supposed to answer. “Your people are strong, proud, even farmers took up arms to protect your family-- that loyalty, it cannot be bought.” He leaned forward on his throne, as though he was explaining something complicated to a child. “You are their leader now, and they look to you for guidance.” 

You were confused, and it showed. 

Loki was in your ear almost immediately, “speak, Princess,” he urged, “you are safe here.” 

“I don’t understand,” you admitted, feeling a chill shoot up your spine as Loki’s lips brushed against your ear, “my kingdom is yours, isn’t it? Am I not your prisoner?” 

Odin laughed deeply, and leaned back to his usual posture. “Did you explain nothing to this poor girl, Loki?” He teased, standing now, and approaching you, standing before you as a God, a King, and a legend. 

Loki’s hand retreated out of respect, and he stood back, carefully watching the exchange. “Our time together was short, father.” He offered curtly, in defense of himself.

“Indeed,” Odin agreed, ignoring his son’s tone, and admiring you at closer distance. “Commonfolk do not trust their conquerors. They trust what they know, who they know-- and you are beloved in your kingdom.” 

It was not untrue. Your father had ruled for centuries, and had a reputation for being just, kind, and fair. With your extended lifespan, your Father had taught you many things, but above all-- that you must use your station to help those beneath you. With this in mind, you frequently would leave your palace to walk among the common folk, and help what you could. A little gold here, some food there, and within a few decades, you were adored by the common folk as the sweet Princess who would take the bread from her table and split it with the servants who served her. 

You didn’t respond, waiting for him to make his meaning clear. 

“Your Father had many allies, and if they see you submit to being part of my greater empire, they will follow,” he explained, “your father was respected, and as his daughter, you have more influence than you realize. Asgard seeks an alliance with the newly appointed Queen.”

You could almost scoff. After murdering your family and destroying your palace, now they wanted an alliance. “I cannot offer anything of value that you do not already possess,” you stated politely, with an edge to your tone. “And my people are not so easily tricked.” 

Loki smothered a smile, but kept any words from his lips, knowing that this moment was crucial. 

“You could offer yourself,” Thor chimed in from near the throne, finally freeing himself from his lustful thoughts. “Isn’t that all you have?” He spoke as though it was as simple as exchanging coin for beer, and not willingly putting yourself in shackles.

Loki rolled his eyes, stepping forward until his hand returned to its former position on your spine. “What my brother means to say, is that we seek an alliance through marriage. Myself, or my brother would wed you, and rule beside you-- ensuring Odin’s will in enforced. You would be there,” he searched for the word, “to ease people's worries, and your duties would remain nearly the same as they are now.” 

“It would be a smoother transition than appointing a new ruler,” Odin offered logically, “and you would be treated very well, provided you remain cooperative.” 

“And if I refuse?” You could hear yourself speaking, but your mind was blank with rage and anguish, “If I don’t want to be your puppet Queen?”

Loki stiffened imperceptibly behind you. His father was benevolent… to a point, but he did not tolerate disrespect-- especially from a captive. “I’m sure your brother would rather you took the offered choice,” he interjected, “it is rather generous, for a woman in your position.” 

Odin’s smile had disappeared, and he was left with a much stiffer expression. “But I suppose, in the end, it is your fate.” His voice was cool and unimpressed, and like this, you could see where the tales had emerged. This was the man who would slaughter entire bloodlines for a few more miles of territory, the man who had ordered your father killed, the man who’d spared you to suit another scheme. 

What choice did you have? If you refused, your sacrifice would be for nothing-- your brother would die, and your people would suffer under Odin’s regime. If you submitted, if you served him-- at least you could protect those that you loved. At least you could save your brother, protect your people from some cruelty. “And my brother will remain unharmed?” You asked, your voice on the edge of a whisper. 

“He will be kept to a cell, but unharmed,” Loki promised, inwardly thrilled by the lack of resistance in your tone. “On my honor, Princess.” It was one of the sweeter things in the world, submission. 

Odin watched you expectantly, his temper waning as you had rescinded your barbed tongue. It would be unfortunate, after all the trouble it took to bring you here, to have to kill you now. Wasteful, even. 

“If everything you say is true,” you straighten your posture and tried to emulate your mother, trying to present more of a presence, “then I have no reason to refuse,” you concluded judiciously.