Lexi

“But what if something happens and I’m not here-“ You tried, brows furrowing in worry.

“I’m a God, remember?” Loki cut you off, raising a brow, shrugging. “Besides, what could possibly go wrong?”

Famous last words it seemed.

Freya had been crying for the last twenty minutes. Nothing seemed to be working. Not even a touch of illusionary magic was doing the trick. It seemed to work for the tiniest of moments, Loki letting out a breath of relief, before suddenly the wailing continued as if she was now offended by his attempt to quell her upset.

Yes, this was the first time Loki had been left alone with Freya - if you couldn’t already tell.

Children of his own was never something Loki had ever considered, but when you came along and time went on… Well, having a child seemed less like a nuisance and more like an adventure. Being on Midgard for the last five years had changed Loki. Sure, he was still very much the God of Mischief, but now, he had an air of maturity about him. Being apart of the Avengers, having somewhere he belonged… Friends… You… Of course, if you had told him this would be his situation years ago, he would’ve laughed and called you ‘absurd’. Yet, here he was.

The God of Mischief… Defeated by a baby.

“Can we not discuss this like adults?” Loki asked rhetorically, a sardonic wry edge to his voice as he bounced Freya gently in his arms, one of his large hands supporting her back. His brows were furrowed, lips parted slightly as he looked at his daughter who was insisting on wailing still. “I mean, really, I think you’re making some… excellent points-“

Another wail.

“Yes, I agree.” His hand at her back patted her lightly as he let out a deep sigh. Freya’s tiny hand found its way to his curls tucked behind his ear as she grasped it, pulling in her little rage. “Ow! No- No, we do not- There is no need for violence.” He moved towards the couch, feeling a headache begin to form. He began to feel slightly self-conscious, worried he was doing something wrong.

He’d read all the baby books possible before she was born, but it seemed even they didn’t have an answer for everything. He’d tried feeding her, rocking her, putting her down for a nap, illusions, change of nappy— Everything that could’ve been the issue. He sat on the couch, shifting Freya so she could sit on his lap, his hands still supporting her, one staying at her back whilst the other held under her small arm. He looked down at his daughter, seeing her blue eyes all glassy, cheeks red and puffy from crying. It was a sight he would’ve once found extremely… well, snotty. But with Freya, his flesh and blood, it only unsettled him, tugged at his heart.

“You certainly are your father’s daughter.” Loki mumbled to himself. “Throwing a fit of rage for reasons no one else seems to understand.” He tilted his head slightly. “Perhaps someone misses their mother, hm?” At that, Freya went silent for a moment, as if she understood. Loki raised a brow, holding his daughter’s gaze. “Oh… Is that it?” He slowly began to realise that he was likely correct. It was the first time she had been without you since she was born, and whilst people underestimated babies capabilities to understand their surroundings, he knew better.

“Well, I’m here.” Loki said lightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “And I may even be considered more fun than mum.”

Another wail.

Loki winced at the sound, his smile dropping from his face. She didn’t like that notion it seemed. He glanced at the clock, it had only been an hour since you’d left - although it felt like several.

“Right.” Loki muttered under his breath, before getting up from the couch, once again holding Freya to his chest. “Let’s try something different, shall we?” His hand shifted to cradle the back of her head gently, once more bouncing her softly in a soothing motion. Clearing his throat quietly, he let out a breath before opening his mouth as a low, comforting melody fell from his lips.

“I stormsvarte fjell, jeg vandrer alene,

Over isbreen tar jeg meg frem,

I eplehagen står møyen den vene,

Og synger: “når kommer du hjem?”

The last note rang out softly as Freya’s cries had ebbed, giving way to a few sniffles. Loki held his breath, waiting to see if the old song had managed to quell his daughter’s cries fully. After a few seconds of no wailing, he let out a relieved breath, feeling a warmth in his chest at the fact he had managed to comfort his daughter. After a few tries, but still. That was being a parent.

“So, it seems someone prefers my singing to my show of powers.” He mused playfully, keeping his tone soft and quiet, scared if he spoke too loud he would send Freya into another episode of tears. “You take after your mother on that one.” He smiled slightly, tilting his head to meet his daughter’s eyes. “Although, sometimes I think she prefers it when I’m completely silent.” His smile widened, seeing how Freya was now giving him her full attention. “Can’t say I blame her.” He whispered teasingly, moving to grab a nearby cloth to wipe away the remnants of tears - and snot - from Freya’s adorable little face. “There. Much better. Can’t have my princess looking like her uncle now, can we? All snotty and bubbling.” He smirked, placing the dirty cloth aside as he began to move back towards the couch. “Not very becoming of her highness.”

Freya made a soft gurgle, making Loki laugh quietly, sitting back against the couch as he kept Freya in his arms, resting against his chest so he could look at her. She was the perfect blend of both of you. His eyes, with raven tuffs of hair, your nose and mouth… She truly was a marvel. “Why don’t I tell you about the time I turned your uncle into a frog?”

—

Letting out a breath, you entered the home you shared with Loki, kicking off your shoes as you paused, listening for any sounds. Silence. Your brows furrowed, glancing at the clock on the wall in the hallway. It was around the time Freya would wake in the night and decide it was time for everyone to be awake with her… Yet, no noise. Creeping down the hall, you approached the doorway of the lounge, peering inside. There you saw it. A sight that melted your heart. Loki had his eyes closed, Freya sleeping on his chest, his hand supporting her head whilst the other held her back. The house hadn’t burnt down, there was no mess, no illusions of frogs or god knows what running about the place… Just… peace.

You felt tears well in your eyes as you leaned against the doorframe, heart feeling like it could burst out your chest. After a few seconds, Loki slowly opened an eye, instantly finding you. His brows furrowed faintly, the glow of the lamp reflected in your glassy gaze as he opened his other eye. It took a moment, but then he recognised that look.

“You had a few glasses of wine, didn’t you?” He asked playfully, voice barely above a whisper. You sniffled, straightening.

“No…” You mumbled, tone completely giving you away.

“Hm.” Loki smirked, before carefully lifting his hand from Freya’s head to not disturb her, reaching out towards you. You immediately headed towards him, taking his offered hand as his slender fingers grasped yours. “Your teary eyes tell me otherwise.” He teased softly. “You get emotional every time you have a glass or two.”

“How can I not-“ You drawled quietly, lips pouting faintly. “-when I come back to this?” You gestured loosely towards Freya, referring to the sight that was before you of the two people you loved most in the universe. “And nothing is on fire.” Loki had to hold back a chuckle at that, his lips quirking upwards.

“See? I told you I could handle it.” Loki mused, a hint of his typical smugness entering his voice as he gazed up at you. Besides, you didn’t need to know about the first hour… In the end, it all worked out perfectly and he felt a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment because of it. “Although, she is most definitely my daughter.” He added in a wry murmur, glancing back down at the bundle of sleeping joy on his chest. Your eyes followed his, your features softening even further - if that was possible. After a moment of silence, you spoke again.

“She wailed a lot didn’t she?”

“How did you-“

“Because you also wail a lot-“

“I beg your pardon? I do not ‘wail’, I… express my frustration eloquently like an adult.”

You were more accustomed to the golden halls of Asgard than the floral ones of Alfheim, more familiar with rounded ears than the long, pointed ones you were born with.

The blood princess of the light elves, yet your childhood was spent not preparing to ascend the throne of your own realm, but adapting to the politics and ways of the Æsir.

It wasn’t until you were a few centuries old—and no longer considered a child by Æsir or elven standards—that the true reason for your upbringing in Asgard was revealed to you.

It was not an uncommon practice within the nine realms to wed for alliances rather than for love, so the knowledge that you were set to marry a prince of the very realm you had called second home since the early stages of youth hadn’t come as such a shock.

Not many who found themselves in a similar situation could look to the future with any sort of contentment; to marry someone you had no true feelings for, and in most cases, had only known or interacted with through meetings filled with people, was a burden that many young royals bore. In your case, however, there was reason to look ahead and find relief, for you had in fact known Thor Odinson for most of your life.

You can still recall the very first day you met.

“Be mindful of that first impression, for it is the first which sticks,” your mother had wisely advised before an introductory feast with the royal family of Asgard. You had been so petrified of doing something that would project shame and ill-manners upon you and your people. You had been as stiff as stone during most of that dinner.

Thor had not shared the same level of nerves, for the young prince happily and enthusiastically gorged himself on nearly everything that was served. A cracking voice which was still undergoing that most awkward part of boyhood seeping into every attempt at conversation.

Next to him sat his brother, Loki, a younger—though far more reserved—version of Thor, whose inquisitive eyes, not yet the cleverness or cruelty they would later be famed for, openly studied you without once shying away.

The first impression had indeed stuck.

Thor and his brother became frequent fixtures in your life as the years went by, and while it was easy to befriend the boisterous prince, it was the mischievous second prince that proved to be the biggest challenge.

Loki was a quiet boy with a penchant for tricks and a tongue as sharp as the very daggers he favored. You were an energetic girl with an abundance of curiosity and a habit of speaking your mind. Needless to say, your clashes were legendary.

He found your inability to sit still and focus on a single task frustrating. You found his haughtiness and holier than thou attitude infuriating. Your verbal spars were the talk of the palace, and though Loki had the tendency to walk away when you had bested him in an argument, there would always be a gleam of amusement in his eyes.

In hindsight, he probably enjoyed having someone who could keep up with him.

There were times, however, when the two of you managed to put your differences aside.

For instance, the days he would show you a new spell he learned because ‘no one else can appreciate the art of sorcery quite like you can.’ Any sentimental words were often extinguished with his follow-up threat to turn you into a frog.

Or the time you were so homesick you locked yourself in your chambers and refused to eat for two days. Eventually, you found a book filled with poetry and short stories from Alfheim underneath your door. He denied having anything to do with it, even going as far as to say he wouldn't waste his time on literature filled with such frivolous drivel, but you noticed his uncharacteristic lack of snideness when your feasting returned to its normal frequency. Of course, that particular grace period proved fleeting; by your next appearance in his company, he had returned to his usual caustic self, ready to resume the war of words that was your relationship.

You would not define what you and Loki had as friendship—you didn’t even know if the cunning prince could like anyone save for himself—but there was some kinship there. Something that kept you returning to the challenge that was Loki Odinson.

You trusted him, despite his talent for deception. You liked him, despite his inclination for maliciousness. In his own way, you knew that he reciprocated.

But three weeks and four days had passed since Odin declared your engagement with his eldest son in front of the court and royal family of not only Asgard, but Vanaheim, Alfheim, and several noblemen and women of other realms who traveled to celebrate your union. Three weeks and four days since Loki had last looked you in the eyes or even spoken your name.

Finally, the silver tongue had ceased its poisonous stings. No more clever insults traded or merciless mockery at your expense.

You should have been grateful.

You should have rejoiced at having nothing to sour the good spirits in which you should be in as you neared closer to the time that would mark the rest of your existence.

You weren't.

Gone was the familiar feeling of being challenged. Absent was the usual flare of adrenaline that sparked to life every time you found yourself locked in a duel of words, weapons, or both.

Never in your many years had there ever been an absence as cold as this. Not even the snow-capped peaks of Jotunheim could bring about a chill so biting.

A feminine giggle snaps you from the past and pulls your attention to the current feast where sounds of merriment and conversation are at their most lively.

”He is very handsome, Prince Thor. I have heard some of the other ladies whisper of envy at your good fortune in securing him,” gushes a Vanaheim girl, clearly attempting to coax you into further discussion about your betrothed. Perhaps to stir a bit of gossip to carry home with her.

You are sat at the high table while your husband to be has made himself comfortable mingling around the great hall.

There are nobles and wealthy merchants from all over the nine in attendance, dining and drinking their fill as if their bellies are hollow caverns and their cups never empty.

All manner of activity surrounds you; performers playing music, warriors demonstrating their skill with sword or axe, jovial dancing taking place, and the seemingly unending laughter which floats over all. All typical of any celebratory banquet thrown by Asgardian royalty, which is bound to last until after the official binding ceremony—meaning you have a whole 72 hours of this, at least.

Already you can imagine the tinge of aching at your temples by the time it is over, along with the emptiness of your stomach at having abstained from nearly all the offerings to ensure the voluminous gowns of wedding tradition fit as seamlessly as possible.

“Oh, yes,” another girl jumps into the conversation with fervor, this one seemingly much younger than the first yet still with aged beauty and features to match. You take a slow sip of mead, masking the unamused twitch in your eye as best as you can. “You must feel as if the Norns themselves smiled down and gifted you. He is the dream, is he not?”

So enthusiastic and eager are the pair, you half expect them to reach over and clasp hands to squeal and swoon over your husband to be.

You love Thor, but hearing women fawn over him for the better part of the night was growing wearisome.

Being the dutiful daughter and newly acquired bride of a future king, you temper the urge to snap at them and their vapid prattling. Instead, you grin sweetly as they lean in and vividly await your thoughts.

It takes great effort to remain cordial in tone, but you manage somehow.

“Prince Thor has indeed gifted me with much to be thankful for; he is a truly kind, generous man, and I have only the most optimistic predictions for our future together."

The girls gaze back at you in obvious admiration for a brief moment before excitement replaces it.

“Not to be improper and overly forward, but is it true what they say about him? That he is indeed a generous lover in the bed as well as out of it?”

You are thankful you have set your goblet down, for had you not, you might have dropped it in complete bafflement at the question. Not only for its boldness but mainly for its implication.

You hadn’t considered the possibility that Thor would have had such relations with other women in the years leading up to your engagement, although now it strikes you as quite foolish to have not. After all, it was not unusual or considered improper for men to occasionally indulge in carnal pleasures—not in Asgard, at least.

You, on the other hand, were expected to practice abstinence in such matters, as to preserve your innocence and untarnished virtue until you were officially married. It was an elvish custom, one you only followed because… well, you suppose it had nothing to do with the custom and everything to do with your lack of interest.

When you did not immediately answer, the first girl scoldingly slaps her companion's arm with disappointed admonishment.

"Tis a bit disrespectful to ask such private questions, would you not think?"

The second, however, is unrepentant. Her reply comes quickly and is tinted with playful rebuke.

"Have we not all thought it at least once? Why, even you, Sesi! The tales of him are quite.. ravishing.” She returns her gaze to you, her mischievous expression only then losing some of its cheer at your quiet response. "Oh...I've said the wrong thing. Forgive me, Princess, it was not my intention."

Sheepishly, she tucks her hair behind her ear and shares an uneasy look with whom you now know as Sesi.

Putting a swift end to her discomfort, you laugh. It is high and airy, and is laden with enough mirth to be perceived as genuine. You hope.

“Fret not, darling. Your boldness shall be forgiven and forgotten.”

Except it was most certainly the first and not the second.

You suddenly felt very aware of your inexperience.

In three days' time, you would not only become an official princess of Asgard, but would finally be joined with your betrothed to consummate your union.

Thor would bed you. Thor would see your nakedness. Thor would pleasure you. Thor, who apparently has not lived a prudent life, would bear witness to your lack of experience in just about every area. And not only him, but all those who would attend the ceremony to watch.

Gods, would he compare you? What if the differences between Æsir and elves proves to be so grand that your sexual incompatibility is laughable? What if—

No.

You take another long sip, silencing the flood of overwhelming thoughts with the oncoming burn that soothed your tight throat.

There is no room for such negative thinking. You love Thor. Thor loves you. Your marriage is certain to be a harmonious one.

…but what if you could not satisfy him?

Great.

Just great.

You continue the charade of being lost in polite conversation for another half hour until the two girls scurry off to bother someone else. You only have a few fleeting seconds to breathe before your mother approaches you.

“I do believe you’ve had a touch too much of alcohol this eve, daughter.” She takes the freed seat next to you and eyes the goblet of your fourth fill. Although her tone is only lightly reprimanding, she conveys a look of stern disapproval.

Perhaps she’s right. Your cheeks were flushed with warmth and the slight glaze in your eyes must have betrayed any semblance of sobriety you were hoping to exhibit. But after the conversation you just engaged in, you figured it was well deserved.

Defiantly, you meet your mother's eyes and drain your chalice with several heavy swallows. No longer does she bother with veiling her discontent.

"This is not suitable for a lady of your position to behave. You need to keep your wits about you, lest you unintentionally give off a poor example of how a princess should act,” her voice, barely more than a whisper, is strict in its scolding.

Whether or not it was for your own sake or her image, you did not know. Your tongue grows sharper at that.

“Did you also lecture Prince Thor on the manner in which he chooses to behave? Last I saw, he was deep within his own cups and singing along to a very uncouth song with Volstagg.” You nod towards the center of the feast where you can spot both aforementioned individuals hollering raucously, but your mother's focus does not stray from you.

Maybe she did not deserve to be dealt the tongue that so quickly responded with animosity. Yes, she could be controlling at times, but you did love her fiercely. Still, when you spoke, it was without thinking. It always has been.

The alcohol only acted as the spark to light the fire.

She deeply sighed. “Be that as it may, a prince's behavior is far from what is expected of a princess.” She softens, ever so slightly, and gently rests a hand upon your own that sits atop the table. You almost want to pull away and further distance yourself, but it feels a waste to ruin the small gesture with more childish obstinacy. "Something has put you in poor spirits of late, I have noticed.”

And for the first time that night, you crack and release the sigh that had been building for the better part of three hours.

Three weeks and four days.

Truthfully, your foul mood could not entirely be blamed on gossip. Of course, that was the proverbial icing atop the cake, but underneath all its sugary layers lurked a more bitter component.

Loki.

It was so childish, to actually miss the anger and constant, ceaseless baiting. But his departure from the norm brought about an unusual feeling of emptiness. It were as if something was so fundamentally missing in your life.

Your eyes do not lift to her face as the explanation internally unfurls itself.

Suddenly, a pointed finger presses into the sensitive space beneath your chin and forces your head upward. Your mother gazes down at you with a steely expression, not allowing escape from the lock she has ensnared you in.

“Is this about the wedding? Is that the cause of this rather abrupt melancholy?"

Your brows furrow and you instinctively recoil.

“What—of course not!” So strong and fervent was your exclamation, a handful of revelers briefly look to the direction of your table. Instinctively, you lower your voice, aware of the watchful eyes that turn back to their previous interests. "No, that isn't—”

“Because if that is the case, you mustn't worry. In time, you will be completely at ease with your role. And if not… well, you must learn to work through your discomfort or, at the very least, ignore it completely.” The words are cold and cutting. Not a shred of tenderness seeps through, but her touch remains gentle. "Your union with the prince will bring Alfheim the opportunities it has so long dreamed of achieving. This is about more than you, dear."

A long silence stretches over you, your eyes unblinkingly affixed on your mother's, who displays the same intensity.

It dawns on you how naïve you've been, thinking that anything aside from what serves the realm of Alfheim's interest was of any care to her. She is a queen, after all.

She could not have been farther from the truth, but the lack of motherly concern felt like a kick to the gut nonetheless.

Really, the only doubts you had were directed toward your capabilities as Thor's partner. His lover. Not once did you consider being anything less than a satisfactory wife.

Instead of addressing it, or even deeming the topic worthy of discussion, you just nod wordlessly.

Your gaze subconsciously flit across the room, where you spot Thor now dancing a wild, flail-filled number with lady Sif. His laughter easily carries through the space, boisterous and energetic, as her infectious merriment could be felt by all.

They had always been close, those two. There had even been a time in their youth, when their closeness was considered suspect, that Thor admitted to kissing her. He claimed, however, that it did nothing to ignite even the smallest amount of desire. Now, though, watching the two dance around one another and occasionally steal looks filled with what you could perceive as intimate familiarity, you wondered.

Maybe it was the alcohol or the ever pleasant conversation with those vanaheim girls that was fueling this current line of thought, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he had ever lain with Sif.

With a heavy sigh, you push your chair away and rise to your feet.

"Forgive me, but maybe I have indulged myself too much tonight after all. I wish to retire for the night.. Please, pass my sincerest apologies to the royal family.”

She searches your face, likely contemplating the validity of the excuse, but you are gone and weaving through the crowd before she has the chance to respond.

***

You had intended to head straight for your quarters, to fall upon the comfort of your bed and sleep away the doubt and displeasure that blanketed your mind.

What you hadn’t planned on was getting sidetracked and landing yourself outside the door of someone else's.

Especially not Loki's.

You blame it on the influence of drink that is coursing through your body. It must be the alcohol, for otherwise, you would not be anxiously wringing your hands and trying to get up the nerve to knock.

A large inhale does nothing to quell the nervousness, but your fingers are able to reach the solid oak and rap upon the door with a quiet 'pat pat pat.'

Immediately, you begin to doubt the rationality of coming here. What where you even thinking, showing up unannounced? What do you hope to gain from this visit, aside from an uncomfortable exchange and your own embarrassment?

Stupid, stupid.

After several seconds of complete stillness and utter silence, you make the quick decision to leave. It would be for the best.

One foot is just barely stepping backward when the door swings wide and you freeze mid-motion, caught like a frightened little deer by piercing green eyes.

As soon as you see him, standing there in nothing more than his silk green robe with his hair loose and splayed over his shoulders, you immediately wish to turn and run away as fast and far as you can. But your feet seem to be stuck, frozen much like your lungs.

An exasperated exhale serve as his first greeting. "You do realize the lateness of the hour, do you not?"

Your response is sheepish and floundering. "Yes. Of course.. I only—Well, no actually—you weren't present at dinner tonight—"

He quirks an eyebrow up, waiting for your words to connect with coherent meaning.

"—and I wanted to check in on you."

That earned a deep, grating chuckle that only adds to the already prevalent warmth creeping across your face.

“Check in on me. How noble. Pray tell, what has put you in such a charitable mood?"

You decide to meet the obvious ridicule with honesty. "You have been avoiding me.”

It was said simply, without malice and more like a child delivering a simple declaration that the grass was green. He stiffens a little, but his features remain impressively unbothered.

“Poor thing. Did you miss my presence all that terribly?"

"Do not patronize me,” comes your annoyed retort, with far too little effort for your liking. "Tell my why you have been behaving so oddly.”

“Your pardon, princess, but I believe the one behaving oddly is you—barging into someone else's chambers this late in the night and uninvited no less." He narrows his eyes at you accusingly.

"Loki—”

“So, tell me—where is Thor? Surely, he wouldn't condone his precious betrothed fleeing her own celebration to seek out another man's chamber, much less that of his… brother."

He nearly sneers out the last word like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, but you don’t quite understand the reason behind the reaction.

“I am my own woman. I need not inform him or seek his permission every time I wish to do something,” you point out heatedly. “Not that what you are insinuating is even true.”

That earns you a cocky smile, a small tick of the corner of his mouth.

“Are you not standing before my door, seeking my company?"

"You are missing the point on purpose."

His face smooths into something less hostile but also unreadable. You fold your arms over your chest and attempt not to feel vulnerable under the heavy scrutiny that is Loki's stare.

"Very well," he finally concedes, stepping away from the threshold in a mock welcoming gesture. "By all means, come in."

You visibly hesitate.

Sure, you hadn’t exactly had a plan when coming here, but at least what small degree of one you did possess included the certainty that it would remain at the doorway, out in the open halls of the palace.

Despite yourself, you step forward. The door shuts with an echoing 'click' as soon as you clear the entrance.

You take a moment to glance about the room—at anything other than the god standing mere inches away from your back—and note how uncomfortably personal the place feels.

It is spacious, like most of the royal living quarters, but filled to the brim with a miscellany of various trinkets, books, maps, and artifacts. Much different, you note, from the comfortable simplicity that is Thor's quarters.

There are shelves upon shelves of books. Many appear to be magical tomes of spells, enchantments, and runes while the others are fiction filled with adventure and lore. All seem equally worn.

"Should I offer you something to drink or shall we forego such formalities," comes Loki's voice, much closer now.

You swiftly turn back around to face him and his familiar snide smile.

"I have already had more than enough,” you admit.

"That would explain your decision to grace me with your company on this most delightful evening." His condescending tone is an annoyance, but his sarcasm is familiar. To your horror, comfortingly so.

You wonder again how foolish coming here was

“Or maybe I am not fond of being avoided?" You deflect his underlying accusation.

“Attention, you truly do thrive for it. I always believed so."

The witticism is delivered dryly. You scoff.

"How ironic, coming from you," you snap.

He says nothing at first, lips pursed in silent contemplation.

"So this is what your true purpose for coming is then: to quarrel with me." His face contorts back into one of amused wonder, and he clasps his hands behind his back. "Have you missed our games, princess?"

You open your mouth, ready to strike, but quickly pause when you actually stop to consider the validity of the accusation. Had you?

There is a glint in his eyes when your momentary hesitation proves to him that you, in fact, have.

“Ah—So you did."

"No." The denial is too hurried and strained for credibility, but you make the attempt, nonetheless.

He doesn’t miss a beat. "Do remember who you are attempting to deceive.

The God of Lies.

You huff and drop onto a cushioned sofa by the grand fireplace, your posture finally relaxing after what seems like days of perpetual tightness.

He does the same and sits adjacent on a second loveseat.

In his natural element, it was difficult to ignore his handsomeness. You couldn’t recall ever seeing him like this—hair loosely swaying over his shoulders, thin night robes draped and fitted to his slender body, looking disarmingly unlike the battle-hardened prince you had come to know.

It was an unsettling thought to have, one you again blamed on the drinks.

You avert your eyes quickly, keeping them focused anywhere else. The flickering fire is a good choice.

“Can you just tell me the reason for your behaviour these past weeks," you ask.

There is a long, strained pause—almost too long—before he responds, carefully.

"I simply have better things to tend to," he answers dismissively. "Thor’s political entanglements bore me. My apologies for not sharing in your enthusiasm for them."

"Better things," you deadpan skeptically, finally turning to face him. "Such as—?”

His lips twitch into the ghost of a smile.

"Scheming. Plotting. Taking down the universe..."

You roll your eyes at his facetiousness.

He continues, this time more serious. "Why would I wish to attend events which serve only to praise Thor and celebrate his success? The tedium would suffocate me."

Of course. How had you not thought of that before? You had witnessed firsthand over the course of your youth, his discomfort at being overshadowed. His bitterness at constantly falling short, his scorn toward his brother's prideful boasting.

It all made sense.

You cast your head down and feel your previous anger and frustration abate. The room is suddenly filled with thick awkwardness.

"I am sorry. I didn't even consider—"

“Oh spare me. Save such gushing sentimentality for the oaf."

A silence falls heavily upon the room, the weight of which almost seems physical.

Your eyes are avert once more as you are once again left unsure of what to do. Never had the two of you sat together in such quiet stillness. It was odd, unnatural.

Unpleasant.

Eventually, after what seemed like ages, his voice cut in.

"I answered your question, I believe it is your turn to answer mine."

You say nothing, waiting.

“Why, out of all nights, do you seek my company on the one in which you are expected to partake in feasting and celebrating?”

You shift uncomfortably under his intense scrutiny.

"I was not feeling well and decided it best to retire early.”

Another lie.

You don’t have to see his face to know he knows. You know because you know him. He is too clever and too aware, and as he had pointed out earlier, too skilled at deception himself to not see right through your poor attempts at it.

“Liar,” he whispers, deep and drawn out.

Shame coils in your belly when you can not find it within yourself to argue. You purse your lips and say nothing.

“Your face is as warm as the flames you have so dutifully gazed upon for the past five minutes,” he points out smugly. "Go on, then—what ails your heart?"

'Nothing,' is what you want to respond, but the syllables do not come forth.

This so clearly catches his interest, as he leans forward in his seat, watching you expectantly.

"Are you unhappy, perchance," he queries after some time. A teasing, amused undertone colors his words. "Has the prospect of spending eternity with Thor begun to finally sink in? As does any reasonable woman in her right mind, has the dullard become dull to you? Tell me, is the sun becoming dimmer the longer you look?"

You could not believe what you were hearing.

"What?" You shake your head in disbelief of his ridiculous claims. You are growing tired of everyone assuming how you feel—what you desire, think, hate. It is maddening. "No, that is not it at all. How could you say—why would I..?”

He barely reacts.

“I could stop it, if you so wished. Think about it—little elven harlot ignoring her duty to drunkenly stumble into the youngest prince's private chambers—"

“Loki.. stop—”

“—yearning for the kind of attention her betrothed could never offer her. Seducing him in his vulnerable, unsuspecting state. The scandal would be considered so grand my father would have no choice but to annul your engagement.”

You shoot out of your seat at his words, your teeth gritted together so tight the ache radiates up through the bone and makes your ears ring.

He remains seated, face the portrait of unaffected nonchalance.

“Are you threatening me?”

“I am offering you an out. I, for one, would not mind sending you realms away.”

His cavalier response infuriates you all the more.

“I left the celebration because I did not feel like hearing of Thor’s intimate escapades by every lady present!” You finally snap, your voice shrill in both volume and pitch. A confession that, upon seeing the sudden mirth that consumes his smug, stupid face, was one you immediately wished to take back.

“Careful, your envy is showing."

If you could murder with the force of your glare, he would not exist.

“I am not envious of such things."

His eyebrow quirks.

"No," he drags out in that same infuriating way, tinged with absolute glee. "Which is why you retired early in hopes to escape all the details of such escapades, as you so graciously put it."

The longer you look at him—see the clear, vicious delight written all over his face—the stronger the urge to commit treason grows. How you would love nothing more than to wrap your fingers about his slender, pale throat and squeeze.

“Wanting to avoid those details does not indicate jealousy!” You argue, in which he gives a nod so condescending you want to break his nose.

“Oh, perhaps, jealousy was not the correct word. Shall we amend to lividness instead?"

You don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer, although your silence and reddened cheeks were undoubtedly fueling it all the same.

“I would argue it unwise to marry someone who is so open—boastful, even—about his sexual adventures when you are so easily made uncomfortable."

Even talking about this subject was enough to make you want to crawl beneath the ground and remain there until the end of time, and discussing it with Loki seemed even worse.

“I am not jealous. I just..” You trail off helplessly.

“..you just?”

"It is foolish," you murmur, unsure why you even want to finish the thought.

“All the more reason to be heard."

You feel sickened that you actually want to say what comes next, and really, you have no valid reason or justification.

Only that your mind was flooded by a haze of ale and bad judgment.

"I’ve never… I mean, I haven’t even…"

You expect him to tease you in the merciless way he has always teased you—expect the nasty mockery at your shamefully chaste background. But he only blinks slowly at you, completely quiet, so unlike the Loki you are familiar with.

After several awkward beats, you finish your stilted sentence.

"I have not lain with anyone, nor kissed anyone," you continue, albeit very quietly.

Finally, his lips twitch.

“Now there's a shock."

"I should leave."

You make your way for the door quickly, refusing to look his way again lest the floor swallow you up, but your foot barely has time to cross the threshold when he magically transports himself from the loveseat and behind you, his large hand slamming against the door frame before you can even touch the handle.

You whip around, facing him in equal parts surprise and anger at the barrier.

“How dare—"

Whatever insults you were hoping to hurl are lost to a flustered stammer when you notice how close he is to your body, a hairbreadth's distance separating you.

“You are worried about your upcoming bedding ceremony. That is it, isn't it? You know not if you will be able to... please, him?” He moves away a fraction as if suddenly remembering himself. "Innocent little thing that you are, no doubt terrified that my brother will find fault in your performance.”

It felt as if you had swallowed a rock.

He smiles coldly.

"That is what truly keeps you from indulging in tonight's celebrations. Imagine, all those eyes watching, scrutinizing your every move—looking for any flaw. Any chance for gossip and disapproval." He leans forward. "You are worried you will fail."

“You know nothing," you manage weakly. It didn’t even sound convincing to yourself.

You open the door just enough to slip through the slim opening, but once again you are stopped in your tracks.

It was not by physical means or magical trickery this time; rather, it was the sound of his next sentence and its implications.

"I could teach you."

Everything around you grinds to a standstill.

Did he just..?

Is he.. suggesting..?

Slowly, you turn around.

"Teach me?" Your mouth was dry, and the words tasted ashen.

There is that devious glimmer in his eyes, the one that spells trouble. The same one that had danced there countless times before; except now the tides were shifting and the context was... different.

This had to be some sort of joke.

Yet his expression was as genuine as you had ever seen him.

“You are to be wed in three days time. That is three days to teach you all you will need to know," he states, calm as the stillest pool of water, but there was a hungry quality there that made your skin crawl.

All you could manage in response is a measly:

"Why?"

If you had learned anything, it was that Loki did everything with the hope to gain. And oblivious as you could be at times, you did not see the benefit here, aside from his own obvious amusement. But he could find amusement anywhere.

The answer he gave was one that caused a strange reaction. Your stomach twisted and knotted itself, and your lungs became devoid of air.

"If not for the satisfaction to have something meant for my brother and my brother alone?”

He takes a deliberate step forward, and despite yourself—despite being in the openness of the palace corridors and despite all common sense and reason—you don't move back.

A feathery light touch starts from the very tip of your finger and slides its way up to the very top of your shoulder.

It was soft.

Deceitfully, dangerously, so.

Then, he leans in, and in the most sickeningly sensual of voices says:

“To fuck the lifelong hatred from your eyes and ruin you so thoroughly, so completely, that your miserable existence becomes centered upon the memory of me alone. To know that no matter how much love your marriage may bring, I shall always be a bitter thorn lodged deep into your tender side. A reminder of a filthy secret and an irrefutable fact—that no one can make you feel the way that I, the person you hold in contempt, once made you feel."

You watch with wide-eyes as he strokes your jaw.

“That is why."

The stairs creak as you make your way to the kitchen. The varnished wood of the bannister feels glossy and cool beneath your tentative fingertips, steadying your gentle footsteps so as not to disturb anybody.

The expansive windows stretch the further you walk into the main living area, overlooking the mountains. It’s a daunting sensation to realise you’re so small and insignificant, sucked in by the misty rocks and endless snow, ribboned with twilight shades of silver and blue. You quietly wonder what mysteries lay beyond, stretching out in haunting invitation.

His voice comes out of nowhere. “You lost?”

“Jesus, Josh. Scared the shit out of me.” Your voice is a sharp whisper, but the narrowed-eye look you shoot him only makes him laugh— a warm rumbly thing that makes your chest flutter.

“Sorry,” he says, but his mischievous tone is anything but. He glances you up and down. “Cute PJ’s. What’re you doin’ up?”

You suddenly feel exposed in your pyjamas, a little slip of black silk shorts and a matching vest.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you scowl, crossing your arms over your chest after fiddling with the thin strap on your shoulder. “I couldn’t sleep. I just needed some water.”

You pause, hesitating as if waiting for him to say something.

His smile grows almost imperceptibly, time dragging like slow honey drips as he drinks in your bashful fidgeting and challenges your fast-slipping eye contact.

Eventually, he nods directionally without his gaze leaving you. “Kitchens that way,” he says, and the tension bubble pops between you.

You roll your eyes. “I know, asshole. I practically live here.”

He grins. “That so?” He calls after you as you walk away, mock surprise in his tone. “Guess I never noticed you before.”

You stick your finger up over your shoulder, but there suddenly isn’t a trace of cold in your body.

“Hey, you wanna join me outside for a bit?” Josh asks, peeking his head through the door as you sip your water. “Place gets kinda lonely at night.”

His voice remains low, unconvinced— like he’s not sure you’ll agree. You’re not entirely sure you should. You and Josh aren’t exactly close— friends, sure, but only through his sisters, but his invitation feels warm, not awkward.

Moments later, after brief deliberation and realising you have nothing to lose, you follow him through the side door, the midnight summer air a balm to your skin.

He’s leaning over the balcony railing, eyes cast over the mountain treetops. A thin line of pungent smoke curls up from between his fingers and disappears.

He turns to you with a raised brow when he notices you watching. “Busted,” he says, smirking softly as he lifts the joint to his mouth. “You gonna rat me out to my parents?”

You roll your eyes. “Who’d believe me?”

He laughs, gesturing toward you and offering the joint without preamble. You freeze, hoping to not look like a total loser, but Josh catches your hesitation with perceptive eyes.

“What, never done this before?”

“Honestly? No,” you answer, trying to fight the warmth on your face.

“Really?” He grins, eyes sparkling. “Wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

“Go ahead, laugh it up,” you roll your eyes, crossing your arms defensively. “I never cared to get around to it.”

His grin softens, holding it out to you, cherry-tipped and releasing smoke in gentle waves. “First time for everything?”

You take it off of him, deciding why not. You try mirroring his movements before, drawing in a shallow breath, figuring it works just like smoking a cigarette. The smoke, sharp and unfamiliar, stabs as it reaches your throat. You cough reflexively, flushing as you sputter.

“Oh, God— that sucks.”

He laughs fondly, somehow making you feel a little less embarrassed, and gently takes it from your fingers, leading you over to the plush outdoor bench. A hand on your shoulder as you both sit.

“First times always rough. You gotta do it slower— just- just relax, alright? It’s not a big deal. I’ll show you.”

You swallow, watching as he demonstrates, pulling in a slow drag and letting it fill his lungs before releasing it. There’s something almost hypnotic in the way he does it, so comfortable and at ease, like he did this all the time alone and you had no idea. He hands it over to you, guiding your hand around it carefully, his fingers brushing yours, lingering just a beat longer than they have to.

“Start small— just enough to get the feel.”

Warm under his watchful stare, you try to follow his instructions. You find it’s easier this way, only a slight burn as it passes your throat, gentle when you exhale, if a little irritating. His smile grows.

“There you go,” he praises, clapping your shoulder once before releasing you. “Doesn’t suck so bad, does it?”

“Sure, whatever,” you say, handing it back to him. He only half-chuckles at your dismissal, not put off in the slightest.

The silence settles comfortably, interrupted only by the soft hiss and flicker of the joint as he inhales. He tilts his head, watching the smoke disappear into the night air, expression distant. Thoughtful, like something crosses his mind.

“You and your boyfriend broke up?” He asks with a squint.

You peer over at him, holding onto your shins as you tuck your knees into your chest. “You know about that?”

“Sure. My sisters gossip,” he says, and you swear his eyes give you a once-over when he hands you the joint. “You were together for a long stretch, huh? You wanna talk about it?”

You take a hit, letting the smoke sit whilst you take a moment to hesitate. Josh isn’t exactly your confidant, but there’s something about the late-night, the quiet vulnerability of your interactions, that tempts you to lower your guard.

With an exhale, “It’s… not worth your time.”

He remains steady, sincere. “Try me.”

You sigh through your nose, staring at the sky above as if gathering strength.

“Well, I loved him, but he went to college, hooked up with another girl in the first week. A… mutual friend.”

“Oof.” He releases a low whistle. “Bummer.”

You frown sourly, gaze cast downwards. “Same old story.”

“You don’t have to say that… you seem upset about it,” he observes.

“I’m over it,” you say quickly, defensively. Tense shoulders when you speak. “I mean, I’m over him. He’s… whatever.”

He lounges back, sensing there’s more to the story. “But…”

“I think I’m just more angry with myself because I already felt like I was doing charity work,” you admit after a beat of consideration. “You give the ugly-funny guy a chance and he suddenly thinks he’s some…” you trail off, laughing bitterly. “He was so insecure, you know? Hated that I hung out with guys like you and Matt and— ugh. He was my first love, my first— …he’s not even worth the breath. Wasn’t even a good fuck.”

His eyebrows flash up. “Oh?”

Instantly mortified, you place your hands over your warm face, head swimming behind your closed eyes. “Oh my god, just forget I said that—”

“No, no—” he struggles to speak between bursts of laughter. A quick cough into his fist to compose himself. “Nothing wrong with being… open. Honesty is good.”

You groan, but the weed dulls the blade edge of your humiliation, making it manageable. It doesn’t quite cut your fingers when you hold it. A giggle escapes you from the ridiculousness of it— a light thing that seems to shake some of the weight off your shoulders, like blowing dust off an old book.

“I don’t know why I said that,” you mutter, eyes teary from laughing despite yourself. “It’s probably just the weed talking. Don’t laugh, Josh.”

“I’m not laughing!” He insists, but the teeth-flashing grin says he’s full of amusement.

You shoot him a glare and he laugh-yells when you swing for him with a bench pillow.

“Hey! I feel sorry for you, if anything. Never had him show you a good time.”

“We had good… times,” you say, but your tone fails.

“Uh-huh,” he responds, unconvinced. “Sounds like ugly-funny guy wasn’t all that.”

You drag your hands down your face. “Okay, fine. Honestly, no— he wasn’t. He barely paid attention. Like I was just… there.”

There’s something cathartic about it, opening up to the person you never thought you’d be having this kind of conversation with. It’s hard, with the twins— Beth isn’t exactly romantic, and Hannah’s all rose-tinted glasses. Josh’s perspective is… different. Refreshing. Exciting?

“That blows,” he shrugs. “Guess you got unlucky. Firsts shouldn’t have to suck that bad.”

You hum, closing your eyes as you bask in the warmth of your high, and his company. “I’m probably oversharing.”

“Nah, I get it,” he says. You peek at him and he’s all soft-smirks and understanding eyes, regarding you with low lashes. “We all got… we all got needs. Like cracking your neck, right? Doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

You nod in shy agreement.

“Just sounds like you need someone who, y’know… understands the art a little better.”

Your heart stutters behind your ribs, wondering if you really picked up on a subtle proposition or if you’re just imagining things. You’re higher than you need to be, but you still inhale another drag with shaking fingers as if the act itself will soothe you.

“Oh, is that right?”

The corner of his mouth ticks with mirth, eyes flickering something dangerous when he glances over your figure, tongue darting out as if drinking you in.

“Yeah, you know. Some better options.”

Your neurons are like butter in a pan: melting, sliding from one thought to another. You very suddenly can’t stop imagining what it would be like to have sex with Josh Washington— and not in the intrusive thought, “ew that’s my best-friends-brother” way, but in a way, that’s far, far more tempting.

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep it casual despite the sudden warmth growing in your shorts. “Got any recommendations?”

“Could be me,” he murmurs, voice low and playful. Half-serious, half-joking, a droplet suggestion in a gentle current. “Just as a… temporary thing, you know? We’d be doing each other... favours.”

Your pulse skyrockets, throbbing in your throat and between your thighs. A thrill, driven by your sudden insatiable curiosity. But still, a stab of reluctance pokes through the mist of your weed haze.

“Hey. You can forget I asked,” he says gently, meaningfully. “Just a… thought.”

You can feel yourself getting embarrassingly wetter by the second, desperate to ease the tension with an excuse, any excuse. No, no, God no, you shouldn’t indulge in the forbidden fruit of your best friend’s older brother, of your friend, even if the thought of getting your desperately high sexual frustration quenched is insatiably desirable.

“Josh. We’re both high.”

“…But you’re down?”

You throw him a look, soft, puppyish. Please don’t make you say no because you’re not sure you can.

“Sure, we’re high. Not stupid. Not drunk.” He senses your trepidation. “It doesn’t have to mean anything if that’s what you’re worried about. We’re friends, right? Besides, we’ve got the whole summer together, so…”

“…Might as well make the most of it.”

He pauses, bottom lip caught between his teeth in thought, and then a nod. “Exactly.”

“Jesus,” you murmur, head swimming after your final smoke.

His eyes don’t leave yours when he has his turn. A quick puff between his teeth, smoke misting around him in the low lighting. A rushed inhale, the cherry glowing, a hiss when he exhales. There’s something deliberate about the way he’s looking at you.

Without breaking eye contact, he flicks the roach over the railing, the dying ember tumbling into the dark. His hands quickly find the back of your neck decisively, thumbing along your jaw, pulling you towards him in a fluid motion, angling his head to meet you— and then he’s on you. His lips capturing yours with a reverent ferocity, an urgency that catches you off guard.

He tastes like acrid weed smoke and something subtle, sweeter, like hard candy lingering on his tongue.

A moment of sobriety snatches you from the moment when you consider what his sisters — your best friends — might think if they found out you were planning on screwing their brother on the family holiday they invited you to.

You pull away, just enough that your noses brush. “Josh…”

“Shh,” he coos, sweeping you up with his attention again. You don’t object, too paralysed by the moment to deny yourself of this. You high-pitch moan against his mouth as his tongue strokes yours, turning gelatinous and pliant when his hand slips down from your shoulder to your breast, to your waist. Gripping, staking claim, just a slip of silk between his fingers and your skin, warm where he holds you.

The kiss intensifies, his mouth moving over yours in a way that’s both gentle and demanding; he’s greedy, savouring every second and every tremble of your hand as you try to steady yourself with fingers bunched into his hoodie. He thumbs along the pulse in your throat and you feel him smile into the kiss, relishing, and you realise he’s loving this— loving kissing you with a slow, aching patience that leaves you needy and breathless.

A hand slides down your body to your thigh, smooth against bare skin. His thumb pressing just enough to make an indent in the soft flesh, fingertips edging to the hem of your pyjamas and your heart jumps.

“This alright?” He asks, as his fingers form a gap between the waistband of your shorts and your skin.

“Mhm.” It pitches high. 

“You’re really hot when you’re excited.”

A hand on his neck. “Let’s hope you back up that talk then, huh?”

His fingers feel cool when they slide against your middle, hot and wet. A shuddery breath escapes you as he rubs slow, once, twice, slickening up.

“You normally this wet?”

“God, d-don’t,” you pant, clutching his shoulders. “It’s been a while.”

He laughs once in a breath, working his wrist slowly. “Don’t worry. Me too.”

Your breath hitches as he rubs circles into your clit, heat liquidising and pooling into his touch.

And when he lifts from the couch, fingers retracting from your heat, you suddenly become very shy and very aware that you’re outside. He starts tugging your shorts down, and he shoots a grin in response to your reflexive tense.

“What, lost your nerve?” He murmurs, lowering to his knees. “It’s just us.”

You flash with knowing and suddenly freeze. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Why not? Isn’t this the best part?”

“Um…” you chew on your lip.

Recognition flickers on his face. “Damn. Your ex really was an asshole.” But when he looks up at you again, it’s fond. Sweet.

“Relax. I’ll take care of you.”

You squirm as he pulls your shorts down, silk over flesh, no underwear beneath, eyes hungry. Too embarrassed to watch him as he parts your knees and presses kisses to your inner thigh, traces the blade of his tongue across a stretch mark, too horny to resist. A flash of eye contact— the last chance to back out, but you’re so swept up in the moment you’re not sure you could form the words.

His lips are quick against your warm middle, tongue parting you deliciously slow, a hum of delight and pressure when he pushes deeper. A bated breath escapes you in a shuddering pant, fingers knitting into his hair, all challenging words and witty remarks dissolving on your tongue.

Yeah, you’ll never look at Josh Washington the same after this.

“Fuck.”

He moans contentedly, pleased with your vocalisation, and the vibrations ricochet up your spine.

Can’t remember the last time someone went down on you. Your ex never made a big fuss about it, not that he ever got you there often. You bubble with over-sensitivity, twitching when he licks you, a gentle push on his forehead.

“Slow down,” you stutter.

He kisses your thigh. “Sensitive, huh?”

“Shut up.”

But he listens— pace gentler, more controlled. Flat-tongued strokes that made you shudder, liquid heat pooling against his mouth. So sweet when he suckles on your clit, laps at your core, arms caged around your thighs without possessiveness. Every sweep is like a countdown, weeks of grief and heartbreak a distant memory with his face in your pussy.

Tension coils and everything narrows down. You’re not outside, not getting eaten out by your best friend’s older brother, not doing anything you’ll regret.

You cum quick— quicker than you have with any previous partners. It’s tingly, a rise and fall that leaves you breathless, knees locking, heart pounding. He releases his from you with a soft, wet pop, rising to his feet and white-knuckling a fist into the backrest of the bench. A quick body scan, a tick of his head to see if you’re alright.

When you nod, his free hand reaches to sink two fingers knuckle-deep, parting your slick velvet with ease as you still pulse rhythmically in the aftershocks.

Oh God it’s vulgar, the sounds you make. Honeydew-wet, drip-dropping onto his palm as he curls upwards, a high-strung moan that you bite into the back of your hand. Scrunched eyes flickering up to meet him as he stares down at you, lips shining arousal-wet.

Need flashes through you, the incessant little voice in your head reminding you that this is your friend Josh vanishing with each jolt as he finger-fucks you. Not quite satiated as you squeeze tight around his fingers. You kiss him, lavishing the taste of his mouth, grabbing his wrist to urge him deeper, closer, ball of his palm atom-close to your still throbbing clit.

You break the kiss only to ask, “Do you have a condom?”

His fingers leave you, slick-wet on your thigh as he grips you. “In my pocket.”

“Did you plan this?”

He grabs the foil from his jeans. “Always gotta be prepared.”

There’s no space to take pause and consider the consequences when he tugs you onto his lap, jeans pooled around his ankles, cock sheathed in the condom and hard in his fist— not that you could formulate a cohesive thoughtwhen you’re this high and this horny.

Nails curl around his shoulders for support, desperate to tongue the firm planes you feel beneath his shirt, suck on the pulse that throbs in his neck, but the barrier of friendship draws an invisible line. He steadies you with a hand on your hip when you lower yourself, unhurried at first, just enough to stretch you out.

Shivery eye contact urges you on, and you slowly slide down, inch by eye-rolling inch, and then in one final swift drop, you’re pelvis-deep, wincing against the pleasure burn of the intrusion in your middle. A gasp escapes you, and his eyes find yours.

“Shit,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, breaking into a half-laugh. “You okay?”

You nod, but you’re trembling as you adjust to the size of him. “Yeah… yeah.”

Misty with sweat from the connection, your forehead settles against his, lips parted. You take a moment, adjust to the feeling, the weight of him inside of you. He’s as big as you thought he’d be— not that you’d tell him, as if his ego needs inflating anymore.

“It’s just… a lot.”

“I know,” he says, softer.

The world narrows down to the sensations: the midnight air cool against your skin, intimate heat pooling where you and Josh join, the feel of your heartbeat thrumming so hard your fingers shake against his shoulders. His touch slides down your back, under the small slip of your vest, brushing your sides with the same care he’d use to handle something delicate.

“Take your time,” he murmurs, voice low, strained. His stroking hands land on your thighs, thumbs pressing soothing circles into the bones of your hip. Grounding, despite the haze of arousal clouding your judgement.

You nod, swallowing hard, gripping his shoulders as you slowly lift yourself. Lungs tighten with caught breath at the way his cock shifts inside of you, the drag overwhelming and delicious— a punch of liquid-heat pleasure that makes your legs tremble when you lower yourself again, a slow descent that has both of you groaning softly. A gentle rhythm, a burn in the thighs.

“Feels good,” you stutter.

A short laugh, drifting into a tight sigh. “Too good.”

Trickling slow-building pressure settles low in your belly and has your hips shifting, testing. Tentative at first but growing bolder with each, slick pass. His grip tightens when you move, jaw clenching, throat bobbing when he swallows hard.

“I— fuck,” Josh breathes, fingers digging, the corner of his mouth ticking into a smirk despite his strung-tight tension. Abs flexed to gather control, breath hitching when you take him a little deeper. “That’s it, just like that.”

The praise shoots through you like a spark. Your body reacts instinctively— grinding against him, chasing the friction that licks pleasure in your belly like curling smoke. Slow, decadent, spreading, spreading…

“Jesus. You’re unreal.”

“Yeah?” You breathe, movements quickening, testing the waters of his endurance. Lips close to his jaw. “You like it?”

His response is immediate— a low, throaty groan as his hips tilt up to meet yours. “God, yeah,” he rasps, head tipping back, exposing the curve of his throat, the chords bobbing as he swallows thickly. “Fuck. Look at you.”

A smile teases the corner of your lips as you work him with your hips, spurred on by the thrill of his wearing tether.

“Did you really never notice me before?” You ask sweetly.

His head rolls back further, laughter torn through a sharp inhale. “Course I did. I just said that because…”

You tilt your head innocently, rhythm never faltering. “Because what?”

“It’s hard to focus when you keep— fuck— clenching like that,” he breathes after a squeezed blink, voice strained. “I said it because… shit, because you looked so good. Never— never let myself think about you like this before.”

Giddy from the affirmation, you bite on your lower lip. “So you think I’m hot, huh?”

“Don’t start.” His groan carries a weak laugh, but there’s no mistaking the warmth in his eyes. “You’re the one who came downstairs looking like that.”

You laugh breathlessly, a mix of indignation and amusement. “Hey, you invited me out here! I was just getting water.”

“And yet, here you are,” he shoots back, eyes dazed as he struggles to focus, but his smirk still bites mischievous.

“Josh!” You gasp, half-laughing. “You’re taking advantage of me, you know. I’m emotionally vulnerable.”

His smirk softens, shifting into something more genuine. “Yeah? You look real vulnerable right now.” His hands slide to your ass, squeezing with a force that makes you stutter a gasp. “The way you’re moving? Pretty sure you’re the one taking advantage of me.”

Your lips part with a retort sharp on your tongue, but his voice drops to a low murmur that sends heat pooling in your stomach.

“God, keep going. Feels so fucking good.”

Whatever witty comeback you mustered dies on your tongue, replaced by a shy moan as his hands guide you, hips sliding up to meet yours. Hands all over his chest to steady yourself, tingly to the bone when coiling tension blooms at the base of your spine. Pressure builds with each rolling thrust you muster, sharp with a pleasure ache when he nudges deeper.

“Josh,” you whimper, hands smoothing up to grip his tense shoulders. Your motions grow desperate, needy. Bursts of pleasure each time you snap together. Your breath comes faster, body trembling.

“Yeah?” He murmurs, voice strained but tender, teasing. “You close?”

You can’t form words, too lost in the pleasure building inside of you, so you frantically nod.

“C’mon,” he mutters, tone syrupy low and coaxing. His thumb slips between your bodies, finding your clit and applying pressure and circles in time with his thrusts. It’s like a strike of lightning, head tipping back as you arch into him. “That’s it. Let me feel you. I got you, I got you—”

His words shoot arousal straight to your core and your body seizes, locked-tight until the dam breaks, white-hot and all-consuming. Shuddering as you pulse, white-knuckle bunching his hoodie in your fists. Wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, walls clenching in rhythm around his unrelenting thrusts.

His hips stutter against your clenching, faltering when you fall apart in his arms. He slows— riding out your aftershocks, thumb still pressed against where you flutter and pulse.

“Shit,” he mutters, leaning back, drinking you in. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come.”

You flush warm. “Don’t say that,” you stammer.

“Can’t help myself,” he replies gently, thumb circling you.

Shivering, you place a hand on his forearm, breath coming in short, uneven bursts.

“Josh— wait. Sensitive.”

He slows immediately, hands leaving you to cradle your back. “Sorry,” he says, softer. “Got carried away.”

You whimper when he spreads your thighs, an impossible stretch, and drives faster. Too much, too much, too—

“I know, I know,” he breathes. “Just a little longer. I— shit. I’m so close.”

His palms glide under your ass, fingers gripping, lifting and lowering you in a rhythm that’s all his, each rut drawing broken noises from both of you. When he finally lets go, with a collision that notches him deep, it’s with a groan that’s half your name half a sound that you’ll never forget. His breath is shaky, face wincing, as he pulses strongly inside of you, spilling into the condom.

For a long, stretched moment, the only sound is your mingled breathing, bodies still trembling in the aftershocks of strong-beating hearts, cock still twitching within you. The mountain air, cooler now against your sweat, grounds you. Eyes slipping closed as you collapse against his chest, his fingers up and down delicate over your spine.

“Jesus,” he says after a while, ragged when he catches his breath. There’s a subtle laugh to it, more out of disbelief than humour.

You mirror him, shaky and breathless when you laugh. “Yeah.”

The silence spreads thin again, palpable with a not-quite awkwardness, but heavy with something you can’t quite name. Slowly, you ease yourself upright, head lifting to meet his gaze. His eyes are softer now, reverent but searching as if looking for some reassurance.

“You okay?” He asks, voice careful, full of trepidation, a little earnest and vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache.

You nod, smiling tiredly. “Yeah. I’m okay. You?”

“Better than okay,” he admits, grinning sheepishly but all dopamine-warm, sugary sweet in the afterglow. “Kinda feel like I should say thanks or something.”

“Please don’t.” You snort, rolling your eyes as you carefully pull away from him, hollow where he slips out of you soft and wet. Legs gelatinous when you stand, the high buzzing anxiously in your chest now you’ve settled.

He laughs with more strength now, lighter, more familiar. Some tension eases when you pull your shorts up, hyperaware of how exposed you are. You glance at him as he buttons his jeans, knotting and disposing of the condom discreetly.

For a moment, neither of you speak. He leans back on the railing, staring out at the mountains. You follow his gaze, letting the breeze fill the space between you.

“So,” he says after a beat. “We’re… good, right?”

When you glance at him, his expression is carefully neutral. Guarded, like he’s trying not to give too much away.

“We’re good,” you echo, lazy-lidded but mostly sober now.

“Good… good,” he trails off, hand knocking against the railing. “Don’t wanna make things weird, you know?”

“Bit late for that,” you tease, but then you lean next to him affectionately, platonically. “It’s not weird, Josh. It doesn’t have to be. Right?”

He turns to face you, his grin turning playful again. “Right.”

“Not getting cold feet, are you?”

“No, no— I don’t regret it, or anything,” he says, a flicker of uncertainty in his tone. “Just gotta make sure where we stand, you know?”

“Uh-huh,” you answer, not entirely convinced. “You just didn’t think I had it in me.”

He laughs, gaze dropping as colour rises on his face. “Shut… shut up.”

The quiet settles over you like the weight of the mist hanging over the mountains, heavy and expectant. Josh leans against the railing, his arms crossed as if he’s bracing himself, his gaze drifting to the lodge and then back to you. The air is cool now, biting against your sweat-slick skin, but his eyes— soft, searching— feel warmer than the sun.

A deep breath. You smell pine and mountain dew and a distinct linger of his cologne somewhere on your skin. When you open your eyes, he’s staring at you.

“You going back in, or… staying out here for a while?”

You glance over your shoulder where warm, inside light floods from the sliding doors. He looks on, expectantly. You have to practice some self-control when you speak, a near-melted puddle of organs and bliss from how he looks at you.

“I should probably head back in,” you reply.

His expression doesn’t falter, but the sweetness in his eyes dips a little.

“Yeah. Probably a good idea.”

You hesitate, caught in the lingering gravity between you. Thoughts bob like waves in your head, incessant badgering like: you’re high, it’s hormones, he’s just your friend’s brother.

But it’s not “just” anymore.

“Guess I’ll, uh… see you in the morning?” He says, uncertain as if unsure how to part ways.

You nod, trying to play it cool, but your heart flutters. “See you in the morning.”

He smiles faintly, the mischievous edge creeping back into his expression. “Sweet dreams.”

You roll your eyes as you leave, softened by his teasing demeanour, and you’re unable to bite back your smile.

You feel like you’re floating in your bed, light and airy when you stare up at the ceiling. Mind anything but clear, higher now that you’re alone in the dark.

You try to steady your thoughts, but they keep drifting back to Josh: the curve of his throat, the way he looked at you like he wanted to know more. Cells, pulled apart, pressed onto a slide, microscopically observed.

The heat of his touch lingers on your skin, the ghost of his fingers and lips making your heart ache with something tangled and intangible. Anticipation? Guilt? Excitement?

The summer had barely started— and it already felt like it was spinning out of control. You’re swept up, dictated by the gravity of his shit-eating smile and the feel of him inside of you.

With a sigh, you close your eyes, the sound of the breeze outside lulling you into a restless sleep. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder what tomorrow will bring— and whether Josh will be waiting for you with that same knowing smirk, with more favours to offer you.

“Oh hells!”

Your high-heeled foot snagged on the hem of your dress, and you neatly tumbled into the ornately carved door in front of you.

Your hands slammed into the wall with a dull thud as you regained your balance, muttering curses under your breath all the while.

Frantic, you scanned down the vast, empty halls, and you were assured no one heard you.

Thank gods that Thor, in his delirious birthday drunkenness, had given the night off to the palace guards. You were certain they were happily drowning themselves in kegs and kegs of drink in the servants’ quarters below.

Trying not to lose your nerve, you creaked open the door. The sound of your own breath was deafening in your ears.

In the slit of torch light from the hall, you could just make out a lone sleeping figure in the bed, dark hair messily splayed out on a pillow. One pale, toned arm slung behind his head. A slight rise and fall of his chest told you he hadn’t been awoken by your little tumble.

Or he was just pretending to be asleep.

He was Loki after all.

The trickster god.

Brother of Thor, son of Odin.

Second prince of Asgard.

And your best friend in all of the 9 realms.

At least he was. Nowadays, you weren’t so sure what exactly, was the nature of your relationship.

A rustling of the sheets made you flinch, shaking you out of your thoughts.

Immediately, you regretted everything. You turned too quickly, tangling yourself on your ridiculous emerald gown again. The clumsy stomp of you saving yourself from falling flat on your ass, rang out loudly. If he wasn’t awake before, he certainly was now.

Your shoulders braced against the sleepy drawl of his voice.

”Well. I’ve imagined you in my bedroom many times my dear, but certainly not out of your own volition.”

Your ears flushed hotly at the thought of what in the worlds Loki had fantasized would happen with you.

Here.

In his bed.

How little did he know that your own traitorous mind could not stop thinking about the very same thing. It’s what brought you here, practically against your own will, and definitely against your better judgement, to his door in the middle of the night.

“I’ve thought of many a method to convince you. Dragging you kicking and screaming was an appealing one. Or perhaps a love potion. A persuasive spell was another.” He rambled on leisurely. “I hadn’t quite decided and yet—“

“I want you.”

At your interruption, Loki paused mid-sentence. He took in your face as a multitude of emotions flashed across it. Regret, and apprehension. But there was desire there too. Determination. A desperation and openness he hasn’t seen since the two of you were much younger.

Since before tragedy had hardened your heart.

“Come here, my love.”

Your heart practically melted at the endearment. Loki has flirted with you constantly for years, feeding all sorts of wild rumors in the court.

But somehow, tonight, in the quiet darkness of his bedroom, you finally believed him.

That underneath all the joking and teasing, he really did love you.

With a flick of his wrist, Loki lit the lamps, bathing the room in a soft amber glow.

He rose from the bed and the sheets gracefully fell away, revealing a shirtless Loki in a pair of loose fitting pants.

Not much was left to the imagination and seeing him like this, in this context, made your face heat up like a furnace.

Slowly, Loki took one of your hands in both of his. His green eyes studied your expression with an intensity that made you want to look away. But you didn’t. You held his gaze steadily and met it with the same intensity.

The same passion.

“You’re serious about this.” His words came out in a whisper. All the humor left his tone as he regarded you with awe.

Not trusting your own voice, you took the smallest step closer to him, closing the gap between your bodies.

Loki was utterly baffled. He’d spent his whole life watching you. Observing you. Studying you.

He knew every expression, every nervous habit—like how you cracked your knuckles right before you had to talk to someone you hated (which was everyone at court). Or how your eyes crinkled in affection and sadness anytime you saw your father with Odin.

The way you rolled your eyes at his idiot brother’s boasting.

And your raised eyebrows and slight smirk whenever Loki pulled yet another prank on him.

Loki knew what you looked like when you steeled yourself for battle. How your shoulders drew back, your hands gripped your sword, and your eyes sharpened with a predatory focus.

He knew that your jaw would clench in pain, and your face fall into an impassive mask at the mere mention of your fallen Valkyrie mother.

Only for him to find you in silent tears in your favorite hidden corner of the library that only he knew about.

He knew that any romantic advance he would make towards you would be met with a laugh, a painful shove to the floor, or a condescending pat on the head. Along with a decisive declaration that he was “like a brother” to you, and nothing more.

But tonight, in this moment, Loki was struck with two things that went directly against everything he thought he knew about you.

One.

Ever since your mother was slain in battle, you hated being touched. By anyone. Even your own father.

Two.

You never, ever allowed yourself to be commanded by anyone other than Odin, your father, or your Valkyrie generals. Loki couldn’t tell you to do a goddamn thing. Nor Thor for that matter.

And yet, when he asked for you, you approached him willingly.

You let him hold your hand.

And now, you were looking at him expectantly. As if you were asking to be kissed.

“If this is a dream, don’t wake me.” Loki breathed into your mouth right as he sealed his lips over yours.

At the first taste of him, your body relaxed all the tension you didn’t realize you were holding. He tasted of spiced wine and smelled of parchment and evergreen wood like the palace library. You inhaled deeply and unconsciously pulled him closer to you by wrapping your arms around the back of his neck.

“You smell like the library.” You smiled. Of course he would smell like your safe place.

“Where do you think I spend all my time hiding from my family?” Loki joked, his hands held your waist as if this was an everyday occurance.

“And with me.” You retorted playfully. You were a battle strategist before you were a warrior. People called you calculating, and ruthless in war, but Loki saw you as brilliant and under appreciated by the Valkyrie’s and his father. Where your mother was a fearsome, powerful commander, you were just as fierce, in intellect instead.

It’s what drew the two of you together to be fast friends since you were young. And formidable partners on the battlefield. Thor would dive headfirst into the enemy, relying on brute force. But you and Loki stood back, observed, made a plan, and vanquished the opponent by outsmarting them.

So Loki knew your actions weren’t a spur of the moment, brash decision of lust. It was meticulously decided. Every possible outcome had been weighed and mulled over. And somehow, you had landed on finally coming to his side.

He kissed you again, softly, as if to reassure himself you were really there. Really letting him hold you and kiss you.

He led you to the bed and sat you down and knelt before you in full surrender. He looked up at you, emerald eyes shining with emotion.

“I have not an inkling as to what caused your change of heart, but I will do anything in my power to please you. Anything to make you happy. I am yours, and I’ve been yours for years.” Loki confessed with reverence, and he brought your hand to his lips.

You stilled the slight tremor of his hand by holding it in your warm palms. A rush of power, and thrill, raced up your spine as you gazed down at Loki, a prince of Asgard, prone at your feet, professing his loyalty and love to you, a mere woman. Well, a formidable, intelligent, warrior-woman, but not by any means a goddess nor princess.

“Loki.” You breathed out his name with a clear realization. This man, no, this god, was truly, deeply, and undoubtedly in love with you.

You decided to be fully transparent with him. He deserved to know how you truly felt about him.

“Loki, you know I trust you. I trust you with my life on the battlefield, with my position in this court of snakes, with the well-being of my father and myself, especially after Mother died.” Your voice started to tremble with emotion.

You thought back to sleepless nights as a teenager, where you were awake with grief. And Loki, lonely Loki, was the only one who could understand your loss. In a land that professed to be paradise, and buried pain, Loki relished in it, understood it, harnessed its power.

He was an orphan, an outcast in his own kingdom, in his own family. He knew grief. He knew suffering.

But when he saw it in you, all his selfish ambition faded away into wanting to protect you from ever hurting like that again.

”I remember.” Loki murmured, looking at your intertwined hands.

“You cared for me Loki. You always have. You were the one who sat with me in my grief until the sun rose in the library. You were the one who vouched for my abilities in battle and saved me from death countless times. You were the one who drove away unwanted suitors who were after my power, not my heart.”

“By courting you myself instead.” Loki chuckled. He thought back to the first time he cracked a half-hearted joke about proposing to you and you, in full shock and embarrassment, kicked his feet out from under him, knocked the wind out of his lungs, and threatened him at sword point to never make a joke like that again.

So of course his flirting has been unrelentless ever since.

“You know, I didn’t believe you at first.” You laughed with him, and the sound was as beautiful as the most talented Asgardian musicians could play.

“I was serious the whole time. And still am.” Loki confirmed.

“I knew you loved me. I never doubted it. And I knew as we grew older that that love had become more than friendship. More than family. But…” You hesitated, unsure how to form into words what you were feeling.

“But what, my dear? You still haven’t answered me. Why the change of heart if you knew I loved you for all this time?” Loki pressed gently.

”I—I knew I loved you as well.” You confessed, and Loki inhaled sharply. “Like a brother! Like a best friend.” You clarified, but continued on.

“I’ve been thinking over for a long time if I’d ever want to be with someone. I’ll be honest, I didn’t think it was in my future. I’m too cold, too hardened for love.”

Loki opened his mouth to refute this but you held up a palm to stay his words.

“But my heart changed. I don’t know when it began, but I started missing you. I found myself wandering around the palace, looking for you. And when we weren’t in the library together, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, wanting you to be by my side at every boring council meeting, every court function where I had to show up alone, yet again. And in the evenings, when the weight of my grief and loneliness felt too much to bear, I longed for you, Loki.” You felt another flush creep up your chest. It was beyond embarrassing to be this honest with Loki right in front of you.

“So tonight, watching women fawn over your brother, the court in drunken lust from wine, and everyone sneaking into beds that were not those of their wives, I just kept wondering…” You trailed off, definitely too shy to say what you really thought.

”Who was in mine?” Loki finished for you.

You buried your face in your hands and nodded, your own cheeks hot to the touch. At that, Loki rose up and sat next to you on the mattress.

Gently, he pried apart your fingers and was shocked to see tears lining your eyes, making them sparkle in the lamplight.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of someone else sharing your bed and I don’t know what I was thinking, barging in here to—I don’t know—spy on you? Confront you?” You babbled, feeling like a fool, and utterly overwhelmed with emotion. You wanted to curse whoever invented love; you felt awash at sea, and totally out of control.

“There was never anyone, my love.” Loki wanted to laugh at how ridiculous the idea was that he wanted anyone other than you.

But instead, he leaned in and kissed the tears away from your eyes.

“It has always been you. Only you.”

You let yourself be caressed by his kisses, by his touch. His fingers danced across your collarbone and pulled down the soft fabric covering your shoulders.

“Do you still want me?” Loki murmured against your shoulder. His eyes flicked up to meet yours. In them you could see for yourself, his love, his loyalty. His deep, yearning want for you and you alone.

“Yes.” You breathed out the single syllable with all the love, all the desire in your heart.

“Let me show you how the only person I could ever want, could ever love, is you, my dear.”

This time, it was you who initiated the kiss. Cupping under his chin, you drew Loki’s beautiful face to yours and pressed your lips to his waiting ones.

An unseemly moan escaped from your throat and Loki startled, but didn’t let you pull back.

Instead, his deft fingers found the tightly knotted ribbons on the back of your gown and tugged them free. Your dress fell in swaths of fabric at your waist, revealing soft breasts with nipples that pebbled in the nightly breeze.

Loki brushed his fingers across the tops of your breasts until he found your sensitive nubs and pinched them softly.

You’ve never had a lover, and so the only touch your body knew was your own.

But Loki, sweet, sensual Loki—his touch. His touch was magical. Your body immediately reacted and you were under his spell.

“Loki—what are you—!” You failed to form coherent phrases as you gripped his shoulders, your head buried in his neck.

“You are beautiful, my love.” He swooped your hair across your shoulder and kissed the hot skin of your exposed neck. His lips trailed further down until he reached your nipples and swiftly sucked them into his mouth.

“Ah!”

“And very, very sensitive.” Loki grinned and clamped a hand on the other breast, pinching harder while his tongue swirled circles.

Getting overwhelmed, you couldn’t decide whether to pull his face away from your chest, or bury him deeper. But when you felt teeth on your flesh, you drew back, startled.

“Loki!” You gasped in shock. “You bit me!”

“A love bite,” Loki bit down on the other nipple. “Do you like it?” He teased you, mischievously.

“L-Loki!” You sputtered out, unsure what to say.

“I love it when you’re speechless.” Loki laughed. “It’s a rare occurrence.”

At that, he finally released your breasts and gripped the back of your head. He crushed his lips to yours with so much force, you were certain it would bruise.

But you kissed him back just as forcefully, relishing how soft, how hot, how wet his mouth was. You’ve seen lovers practically eat each other when they kissed and it always made you want to throw up in disgust.

But when Loki kissed you, all you could think was this:

Kissing Loki was lighting you on fire.

“I want that sharp tongue of yours.” Loki suddenly panted out.

“What?” You sucked in some air, still figuring out when to breathe while making out.

“Put your tongue in my mouth. I want to taste you.”

“Oh my gods, you can’t just say that—!”

He interrupted your embarrassment by devouring your mouth, forcing it open, and you hesitantly obeyed by sticking your tongue out.

His firm, wet muscle somehow tangled with yours, sliding across with certainty. The feeling was foreign but not unpleasant.

Far from it.

In fact, his tongue was sending vibrations of lust straight to your core. You could feel your innermost muscles contract and release in desire.

You were practically humming with want.

“Mmm!” You moaned, “L-Loki!”

“How was that for you, my dear?” Loki swiped his tongue along his lips, making a show of savoring your taste.

“G-good.” You stuttered, swollen lips making it hard to speak.

“Just ‘good’? I was hoping for higher praise.” Loki teased you, his arrogant side appearing. “No matter. I’ll show you what else this tongue can do.”

He pulled your dress off your hips and was met with a welcome surprise.

“Nothing underneath?” He stared at you in lustful awe and a grin split his face.

You couldn’t meet his eyes and resisted the urge to cover your body. So you simply shook your head.

“Well then. Let’s see how you taste.” With that, Loki dove headfirst between your legs. His firm grip pulled each of your thighs up to give him clear access to your dripping center.

You twisted the bedsheets in your fists when you felt it.

When you felt him.

Gods, Loki’s tongue worked wonders on your pussy. His tongue explored every fold while your center gushed and throbbed uncontrollably. He kissed, stroked, and invaded your flesh as deep as he could go.

The most sinful, wet, squelching sounds came from where Loki’s face was buried in you and you found it impossible to keep from moaning continuously.

“Ohhh!” You cried out. “It’s too much!”

“That’s it, my darling.” Loki encouraged you. “Let go.”

He returned back to your pussy, finding your clit this time and swiping his tongue rhythmically across it.

“Oh my gods!” You screamed. “I can’t—!”

You inadvertently clamped your strong thighs against Loki’s head, holding him against your clit as the orgasm ripped through your body.

You had always kept a tight reign on yourself and Loki unraveled every ounce of self-control you ever had. The sounds that ripped from your throat could not have been you. The whimpers, the erotic moans, the ragged gasps.

Where was the Valkyrie? The strategist? The warrior?

At his touch, you melted under Loki’s command for the first time. How quickly the tables had turned the instant you fell in love.

These thoughts ran rampant in your head as you gathered your wits post-orgasm. Now feeling boneless, your knees dropped to the side and Loki freed himself.

You looked down and wanted to laugh. His hair was plastered to ruddy, sweaty cheeks. Dribbles of your juices were smeared all over his chin. His chest and neck flushed red with the exertion that was eating you out within an inch of your life.

He was a mess. And you made him that way.

“Come here.” Now it was your turn to command him. You swiped the juices off his face and smoothed his hair back with your fingers.

“Make love to me.” You locked eyes with him, letting him see your conviction. ”Be mine.”

Loki stared at you, robbed of words. He tugged himself free of his clothing and sat back on his heels. You couldn’t help but stare at his cock. It was a soft, fleshy pink, engorged with veins protruding on the shaft. A small drop of liquid formed on the bulbous, angry looking head. And, unsurprisingly, it was sizable in length and girth.

It was the cock of a god—that you weren’t sure you could handle.

“I have been yours from the beginning.” Loki replied with awe in his voice. “But if I fuck you…if I take your virgin pussy tonight…”

“Loki!” Your eyebrows shot up as you exclaimed at how dirty his words were.

“You belong to me as well.” Loki’s voice grew serious. His green eyes darkened in desire and he crawled across your body until he caged you in his arms. You held your breath, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable underneath him.

Loki had never been intimidating to you. In fact, as children, you often bested him in both duels and in lessons. But now, your eyes were glued to the muscles of his chest, to the ripple of his abs. He drew back, kneeling on the bed with your hips between his knees. Your gaze viewed him completely differently now that you saw him as a man. As a lover.

For Loki, it was a sight he burned into his memory. Your flushed skin, the sharp rise and fall of your beautiful breasts betraying your desire for him. Eyes awash in lust and love that had once only regarded him with equal parts familial affection and sisterly impatience.

“I’m not letting you go.” Truer words had never been spoken from his lips. You belonged to him and him alone.

A shiver of excitement shuddered through your body. You knew you were growing wet just from his words. A flirtatious jest in the past, but now? His possessiveness made your body sing with want.

Your next words came easily. You had surrendered your control, your desire, the whole of your being to Loki the moment you found yourself in his bedroom and confessed “I want you.”

“Do it.” You challenged him with a sinful smile. “Fuck me, Loki.”

Loki released a growl from clenched teeth and threw himself on you. A sharp grip enclosed on your jaw, fingers dangerously close to your throat as he kissed you like a man possessed.

“Mmm, more! L-Loki!” You managed to cry out between breaths.

Loki could sense your need because he pulled that bothersome green dress over your head and continued to kiss you all over your hot, tortured skin.

”Did you wear my favorite color on purpose, my love?” Loki teased you, sucking your earlobe into his mouth.

The sensation was ticklish, and made you squirm.

“Perhaps,” you giggled. You never giggled like this. Who was this woman who was so quickly undone by the touch of a man?

“You looked ravishing in it.” Loki whispered hotly into your ear. “I couldn’t stop staring at you all night.”

He kissed down your body once again, hands holding your wrists above your head so that you couldn’t escape his grip.

“It made my mind wander, my love.” Loki confessed to you now. “To a dark and hungry place. You don’t know how long you’ve tortured my mind,” another kiss, “and my heart.”

“How many times have you thought about…” a groan of pleasure broke through your lips, “a-about having me, Loki?” You strained out the question as your back arched from Loki’s teeth on your nipples.

Loki spread your thighs now, looking down at the glistening sheen of your core. You were more than prepared for him to enter. His mind seemed far away as he stared down at you.

“Beyond counting.” His answer came out in a whisper.

He couldn’t believe this was finally happening. All the years of watching, of longing for your glance. Searching for your attention, your affection. And you would give it to him, in your laughter at his sarcastic remarks, in the comfortable silence of reading side by side in the library. In your knowing eye contact across a crowded room, or a confident nod on the battlefield. He had your trust, he had your friendship, but now, at long last…

He had your love.

You mistook Loki’s hesitation for uncertainty on your part.

But you felt a certainty deep in your soul. You had never been more sure of your decision in your life. You and Loki—there could never have been any other.

This was right.

This was good.

This was love.

“You need not wait any longer, my love.” You spoke with a softness you have not been able to voice in years. Loki was bringing out sides of you that you didn’t know you had.

At your words, Loki pushed into you for the first time, his ears ringing with your endearment over and over.

My Love.

“Ah!” A gasp wrenched from your throat. The initial breach—painful and sharp— was immediately soothed with throbbing waves of pleasure. “L-Loki! It feels—!”

He thrust forward, harder, deeper into you. His hands pulled the back of your knees into himself so he could gain even more access to your wettened, clenching core.

My Love.

You could feel the stretch, the penetration. The sensation teetered on the edge of pleasure and pain unlike anything you had known before. Your body responded, molded to his size, as if it were made for sex. Made for his cock. Made for him.

My Love.

Loki’s arms wrapped around you now, and he pressed his chest to yours. His hips slammed down, pulling out only to push in once again. Ravenous. Hungry. Passionate. Your hands found his hair and held on, your bodies twisted and tangled like only lovers could.

A keening whine released from your lungs. It was overwhelming being fucked by Loki. It was so sinfully good and you didn’t know how much more you could take. And yet, at the same time, you felt utterly insatiable.

“Mmmh! S-so much! It’s so much!” You whimpered.

Sweat dripped down the side of his face from the exertion. On impulse, you licked it. Salty and tangy. A taste that belonged solely to your lover.

Loki whipped his head back to look at you in surprise. A smile lit up his whole face and he looked like the carefree boy from your youth.

And it made you fall for him all over again.

Somehow, in each other's arms, you could forget the pain, forget the sufferings the both of you had endured.

Tonight, with Loki’s body wrapped in yours, as close as any two people could be, you felt a serenity and a fullness that could only be found in a soulmate.

“Ah!” You squealed. “My love, slow down a moment.” You panted out after a particularly rough thrust.

You kissed his flushed face. “I want to savor this.”

Loki paused, his face scrunched up from passion, now relaxed into affection. You had a feeling he could keep going for hours without tiring. You, on the other hand, had already come once.

“Of course, my dear.”

He carefully eased out of you, and your core clamped down, unwilling to let go. The slow stretch and pull was an encaptivating sensation, well-lubricated by your juices.

“Ohhhh my gods!” You mewled, a high-pitched, desperate sound. Loki, for his part, gasped at the sudden pressure on his cock. Then he groaned as he felt you throb into another orgasm.

Twice. Now he had made you come twice. After the peak of your high passed, your core finally released him and Loki fell back heavily on the bed.

He stared at you with the most gobsmacked expression. “T-that was incredible.”

You slowly sat up, legs shaking, chest heaving. You reached for him and Loki scrambled to hold you. You rested your spinning head on his shoulder, trying to calm down.

“One more,” you murmured into his skin once you had recovered your senses. “I want one more.”

“Anything for you, my love.” Loki obeyed you without question, but this time, he let you set the pace.

Gingerly, now suddenly aware of how sore your pussy was becoming, you climbed into his lap and held his cock in your right hand. The weight surprised you, and you squeezed it gently, feeling how firm he still was.

“C-careful my darling!” Loki gasped out. “I don’t want to come before you do.”

“Is that so?” You teased, a mischievous twinkle in your eye. Loki recognized that look. It was the look you had right before you bested him. Right before you knew victory was imminent.

Before he could react, you brought your lips down to his cock and sucked him in fervently.

“Oh hells!” Loki growled. He almost crushed your head in his hands, and you couldn’t tell if he was trying to pull you off, or push you down further.

Regardless, you pulled his cock in as deep as it could go. Your tongue wrapped around the shaft, sliding and slipping along his generous length. Somehow the taste of him made you hungrier for more.

You slowly released him and kissed all around his member. You gave particular attention to the head, running your tongue along its smooth, sensitive surface. His cock started to tremble, and you could tell Loki was almost at his limit.

“P-please my dear!” Loki’s voice broke out in a hoarse gasp. “P-please—I want to come inside you, for our first time.”

The god of mischief had resorted to begging. Another thrill of power licked through you.

A woman's lips on his cock — a noteworthy weak point that you will definitely use against him later.

“Alright, alright.” You acquiesced with another cheeky kiss to his cock. “Come inside me.”

With shaky hands, Loki guided you on top of his lap, his knees fallen to the wayside to make space for your curvaceous bottom. He firmly grasped his cock to let you slowly sink down.

Your core split and stretched for him once more, and you couldn’t help but cry out again. You knew you would never tire of the pleasure that was Loki’s cock fucking your pussy wide open.

“L-Loki!” You whined, nails digging into his shoulders, trying to control the descent and being pushed into so deeply.

“I know my love,” Loki comforted you, “you can do this. You can take me.”

With another moan, finally, you bottomed out and Loki kissed you soundly. You were so full, so utterly complete with him inside you.

“You did so good,” Loki breathed into your mouth. “So good for me.”

He continued to murmur sweet nothings as his lips pressed gentle kisses all over your face. You naturally began to roll your hips into his, and you could feel the press of his cock inside your core with every motion.

“You feel so—!”

“Incredible.” Loki finished for you in a low voice. “You’re incredible.”

Loki pressed his face into your bosom as you continued to undulate in his lap in a sensual slow dance chasing your pleasure. Each rock of your pelvis was enough to make Loki—and yourself—vocalize just how good you felt around his cock.

“Mmm!” Loki groaned into your chest for the umpteenth time. “Can you take more, my love?”

At this point, your own movements were not hitting how you wanted it to. You could feel the build up to your third orgasm was coming, but you couldn’t quite get the sweet spot you were itching for.

“Y-yes!” You mewled greedily. “More—I want more!”

With your consent, Loki grabbed his arm behind your back, locking you into himself. The air was squeezed out of your lungs from the strength of his grasp.

Then he slammed his hips up.

Fast.

Hard.

And without stopping.

“L-Loki! Oh my gods!” You screamed out. The pace was unlike anything Loki had done earlier in the night. This was what it was like to have sex with a god. And you knew Loki wouldn’t rest until he made you both cum.

He bounced you on his cock incessantly as if you were weightless. Your core, a flood of wetness you didn’t know your body was capable of. The smell of sweat, sex, and the intermingling of your scents filled the air.

Cries of lust, of pleasure, of unfettered desire echoed off the high-ceilings of his bedchamber.

“My love!” You gasped, your voice broken into pieces. “I can’t anymore!”

“Yes, you can!” Loki gritted out, “Take it! Take all of me!”

All at once, the world spun to a stop and you fixed your gaze on the emerald eyes of your lover, ablaze with arousal.

You loved him.

You wanted him.

So much that your body ached, trembled, practically vibrated for him.

At once, an electric current sparked through your every nerve and the orgasm hit you like lightening.

A pleasure so strong, it robbed your lungs of air, your eyes of sight, your ears of sound.

But you could feel.

You felt the hot, slickness of his cock eject into your core. The throb of his member as he thrust into you one more time.

You felt his body shaking from the power of his own orgasm, his arms rubbing soothingly up and down your back.

Eventually, you slumped down into him, and you registered his gentle encouragements in your ear.

“You did so good for me. You were amazing, my love.” Loki murmured into your hair, holding you with a softness you knew he only showed to you and no other.

The two of you fell into familiar stillness. You, soothed into slumber from the rise and fall of his breath and the relaxation that only comes from orgasmic bliss.

Loki, on the other hand, stared out into the stars outside his window, wondering if tonight was truly real, or just a dream.

Did you really profess your love to him? Did he really spend the night making love to you? And you not only let him, but you wanted it?

You wanted him?

He must have spoken that last bit aloud because he heard a sleepy whisper from you.

“I want you, my love.” You sighed into his chest as you fell asleep. “Always.”

“Always.” He echoed in awe.

A tap on your window causes you to reach for your gun. Ever since your Papa had died and Jesse had left it had been up to you to protect your home.

“Who’s there?” you shout, not daring to look out the window.

“My name is Billy. I’m a friend of Jesse!” a voice beams. You scrunch your eyebrows and decide to look out. Your eyes are met with a tall man— kid. He couldn’t be older than 20. A part of you knows that anyone associated with your brother was bad news but when you see him in front of your house your heart skips a beat. His blue eyes almost make you lose focus.

“And?” you ask annoyed, your hand gripping your firearm.

“You’re his sister, right?” Billy questions and looks through the window, catching you off guard. You point

your gun at him and he takes a step back.

“Woah I’m not here to hurt ya,” he raises his hands in surrender, “Jesse sent me here. He said you’d help.”

You mentally curse Jesse out and open the door carefully. Billy takes another step back and watches you intently, his hands still up.

“And why would I do that?” you raise an eyebrow, “I don’t know you.”

“Cause you’re nice,” Jesse shouts from the corner of the house.

Your eyes widen when you see Jesse with a red head next to him. You pivot your heels towards the door hoping that he won’t catch up.

“Come on, I know you see me,” your brother bellows and runs behind you. You lock the door and lean against it. To say you loathe him is an understatement.. You let out a sigh and contemplate if ignoring him would do any good. Right when you are about to walk away you feel his arm come over your shoulder. You groan as you realize the back door wasn’t locked.

“Well that’s not very nice to do to your older brother, sweetheart,” Jesse lectures you as you both walk to the dining room, his men close behind. Billy gives you a sorry smile and leans against the counter. You hold back an eye roll and pick up an apple, pretending to inspect it.

“What do you want Jesse? Tired of stealing and running away yet?” you mutter avoiding his gaze. He laughs at your words and shakes his head. Ever since you had been little Jesse attracted chaos and destruction.

“Something like that. Listen me and the boys need a place to crash for a while,” Jesse explains and points at the two men behind him. “This is Billy and Beckwith.” Your eyes inspected the men in front of you— a blush covering your face as you saw Billy again. Your face quickly changed when your worried mind spun with possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you debate.

“Come on sweetheart,” Jesse nags, “we’re tired and hungry. We won’t cause any trouble, you have my word.”

“Mama won’t like it… she doesn’t want to see your face around here,” you remind him, hoping that he’ll forget the whole thing.

“Mama doesn’t know who you are. I doubt she’ll even recognize me,” Jesse counters. You sigh and lean against the counter, your arms crossed. Billy remains quiet and straightens up next to you. You think of Jesse's words and groan. He had a point, your mother’s condition had been going downhill, her often forgetting to even eat.

“I don’t want your men stealing from Mama,” you state, “no bringing women and no late night shootings.”

Your brother nods and a smirk appears on his face, “told ya’, boys. Come on, let me show you my father’s whiskey collection.”

Billy hesitates, but follows the blonde man.

.

You felt a headache coming and you went back to your plants. Jesse had only been back for a few hours and your body was already stressing out. You caught a glimpse of Billy once again, your shaky hands causing you to drop the task at hand.

“Need anything?” you ask and walk up to him. You squint, trying to cover the sunset.

“Jesse made me come out here,” Billy coughed awkwardly, “he’s wondering if you can make us some food.”

“Of course he is.” you groan. You sigh and clean your dirt covered hands on your dress. You look up at Billy and scan his face for a moment, his blue eyes doing the same. “When was the last time you all had a proper meal?”

“It’s been weeks,” he says truthfully and follows you back into the house. “been catching some meat here and there but we’ve mostly been eating berries.”

“Jesus,” you mutter and try to turn on a fire. You feel Billy’s eyes on you, your breath becoming uneven now.

“Here let me help,” Billy says and turns on a fire easily. You give him a once over and put on a pot. You wash your hands, Billy watches your every move and hands you a drying rag.

“I’m sorry for disturbing your peace. Jesse insisted on us coming here. He said you’d take us in,” Billy spoke sincerely.

“Why are y’all running?” you question him. Billy’s eyes darken as he recalls why Jesse and the other man had to hide.

“Stole some cattle and then accidentally killed someone.”

You stop what you’re doing and look at him. He stares back, not moving an inch. You search for a teasing smile or a glint of joking but find none. “How do you accidentally kill someone?”

He ignores your question and looks down at the apple you had been inspecting earlier.

“You can eat it. I’m tired of ‘em. Mama’s the only one who eats them,” you say and soften your face. He shakes his head in embarrassment but you roll it his way. “It’ll go bad. We’ve got more in the back.”

He reluctantly takes a bite and thanks you. You smile at him and you wash some vegetables. His eyes follow you and do your best to ignore him. He wasn’t making you uncomfortable per se, but it had been a while since a man had been in your home.

“Can you let Jesse know I’m cooking something?”

Billy nods and walks back to his friend. You can hear them in the other room, Jesse being the loudest. After a few minutes you hear Jesse’s laugh and then hear him speak once again.

“She’ll get over it, it was like five years ago.” Jesse told them and your heart sank. Anger flooded your body as you realized what he was talking about. You began chopping the vegetables with more force.

“Stupid Jesse and his stupid little friends,” you whisper to yourself. This had been why you didn’t want him in your home again. Jesse had the tendency to come into your life and cause old wounds to reopen.

..

“Dinners ready,” you shout and serve yourself a plate. You hear the boys come in and take a bite, ignoring them.

“Woah didn’t even serve us,” Jesse teases and serves himself. The two others follow suit and moan at the smell of your food.

“Y’all got hands,” you point out, this getting a laugh out of Billy. You smile at his reaction but cover it when Jesse sits next to you.

“That’s not very nice sweetheart,” Jesse replies and tries

the food on his plate. He whines at the taste of your food but you're too occupied with Billy, him sitting across from you. He wasn’t bad looking at all. His dark hair and blue eyes mesmerized you, making you lose your train of thought. Jesse calls out your name.

“What?” you knit your eyebrows at his voice.

“Said if this is Mama’s recipe,” Jesse repeated with a full mouth. You cringe at his actions and shake your head.

“It’s my own.”

“It’s delicious,” Billy compliments and takes another bite. You smile at him and try to keep yourself from getting red in the face. You look at his shape and frown, his body jagged and weak. The warm meal probably settled into his stomach quickly.

“Thank you Billy,” you smile at him and look at your brother and his other friend, “y’all like it?”

Beckwith nods and continues eating. You suppress a laugh and look at Jesse, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s alright,” Jesse teases while sipping on his beer, his eyes landing on your own “since when do you drink?”

You ignore him and look up at Billy who had been staring at you already. You cross my arms and observe him, “why are you drinking? Aren’t you too young, Billy?”

Billy smiles, amused at your curiosity, “I’m not that young.”

“He actually is,” Jesse mumbles between bites, “but after a long day one needs a nice beer.”

“One might argue that you need a bath as well,” you reply. Billy chuckles under his breath and continues eating. A hint of achievement covers your tummy. “But I am serious. I’ll bring some water for you all, you really do need to clean up.”

Jesse rolls his eyes but it goes unnoticed by you. You’re too caught up on Billy to look at your brother. Your eyes land on the dark circles under his eyes. It hadn’t occurred to you that the group of them might want to lay down and rest. You wipe your mouth and look at Jesse, his body filled with exhaustion as well.

You clear your voice and look back at all of them , “the baths can wait. I can set up your rooms if you wish. You must be tired.”

They nod and you stand up. You walk through the hallway feeling someone following you. You turn and are met with Billy’s tall and hard figure.

“Shit, sorry. I was just trying to help, didn’t mean to hurt ya,” Billy apologized. You looked up at him and he smiled, it not quite reaching his eyes.

“It’s alright, you must be drained out. You like sleeping with a lot of blankets?” you ask as you gather them from the closet. He sheeply nods and you gather more in your arms. Billy follows you, keeping a distance.

“This is my room,” you say pointing, “that one is Mama’s. This one is Jesse’s. You’ll have to sadly share with Beckwith.”

“That’s alright. It’s better than sleeping in a tent, darlin.”

“I suppose,” you reply and your eyes gleam at his words. You quickly open his door and show him where he’ll be sleeping. “It’s not big but you’ll each have a bed.”

He nod appreciatively and takes the blankets off your hands, “thank you for taking us in. I know you and Jesse don’t get along.”

You shrug and close the window in the room. In a swift motion you turn on a candle, carefully avoiding your fingers. “He's a pain in my ass but he’s still my brother.”

Billy smiles and leans against the wall. “Trust me, I know.” His eyes drooped, his fatigue becoming even more evident.

“Well you should sleep Billy,” you whisper and he agrees with you.

“Goodnight,” he says softly, matching your tone.

…

The next few days you steer clear from Billy and Jesse. The group of men spend their time resting or drinking. You engulf yourself with your mother and your fields of corn.

One morning Billy finds you working in the fields.

“Do you not rest?” he shouts, catching you off guard. You look up, wiping your forehead. You lean against your shovel, “I do, just like starting my day early. How’d you sleep?”

“Best sleep I’ve had,” Billy confesses and walks up to you. His steps grow louder as the gap between you two closes. He’s wearing the same clothes for days now but you say nothing. He reaches you and takes the shovel from you, copying your previous movements. You take a step back and let him help.

“That’s good to hear…” you say and stare at him. You couldn’t wrap your mind about someone as young as him running in Jesse’s circle.

“What?” he laughs at the look on your face, his own cheeks turning red.

“Why are you with Jesse and his men? You’re far too young,” you speak your mind.

“Told you, I killed a man,” he huffs as he digs a hole. You freeze at his voice.

“Hold on, you killed someone?” you say and silence settles over you both. “I thought Jesse or Beckwith had killed someone and that’s why you were running,”

“It was an accident,” Billy reminds you softly, using the same words from the first day.

You tilt your head, not sure if you should believe him. “How do you accidentally kill someone?” Not once does he stop digging, you can see his demeanor changing. Perhaps you had pushed too much.

“What? You scared of me now, darling?” he laughs at the look your eyes held. The noise coming from him almost scared you — almost.

“Oh I’m not frightened, I’ve seen Jesse take someone’s life. Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man.”

He laughs at your words and continues digging up. You remain in your position.