What neither of them anticipated was Thor crashing into their lives again like a golden retriever with a god complex and a hammer. He landed dramatically during a research presentation, lightning still fizzing off his cape, and made such eye contact with Jane that the projector screen behind them shorted out.

And then he saw Danny.

“Young one!” Thor bellowed, eyes wide, blond hair tousled by divine winds, “You must be her son.”

Danny blinked. “I—what?”

“Of course!” Thor clasped his shoulder. “You have her radiant intellect and tenacity. Truly, you are worthy of Midgard’s finest mother.”

“I—she’s not—” Danny tried.

Thor turned to Jane, face alight. “You did not tell me you had borne a child! And one so strong in spirit! A scholar of the stars!”

Jane rubbed her temples. “Thor. He’s nineteen. I met him last month. He’s my apprentice. He is not my son.”

Thor shook his head gravely. “Say no more, Jane. I understand. You wished to protect him from the dangers of our past. But I vow upon Mjolnir’s handle, I shall be a father to him.”

“What the hell,” Danny muttered.

Over the next few days, things escalated fast.

Danny woke up one morning to find a goat outside the lab. A live goat. Wearing a ribbon. The tag read: For my brave son, may his mornings be strong of milk and noble of beard. Jane nearly choked on her cereal. Darcy screamed and immediately named the goat “Spacey.”

Thor showed up during Danny’s lecture on cosmic radiation and brought a sack of Asgardian textbooks written in glowing runes, which promptly caused two lab interns to faint and one professor to file a complaint.

Danny begged Jane to tell him this would stop.

“No,” Jane said, sipping her coffee without looking up. “You’re his emotional support stepson now.”

“I don’t want to be anyone’s emotional support anything!” Danny cried. “I have ectoplasmic trauma and insomnia!”

But Thor persisted.

He invited Danny to spar in the desert, claiming it would “toughen his warrior instincts.” Danny blasted a crater in the sand when a ghost startled him mid-match, and Thor wept with pride. “Such fire! Truly, a son worthy of thunder.”

Jane sighed. “You’re going to give him a complex.”

“I already have a complex!” Danny yelled from where he was half-buried in sand.

Then came the night Thor pulled Danny aside with intense solemnity.

“Daniel,” he said, kneeling, “I seek your blessing.”

Danny froze, halfway through a sandwich. “I—what—blessing for what?”

“To court your mother.”

“She’s NOT my—!”

Thor raised a hand. “Please. I know you wish to protect her. But my heart is true. I have spent long hours learning Midgardian courtship. Observe.”

He pulled out a guitar. A guitar. From nowhere. And began strumming aggressively while singing off-key.

“Oh Jane, fairest in the stars, your eyes burn like a neutron quasaaaaaar—”

Danny screamed into his sandwich.

Jane screamed into her coffee.

Darcy recorded the entire thing.

By the time the Avengers got wind of what was happening, it was too late. Tony Stark showed up purely out of pettiness.

“So this is the ‘son,’ huh?” he said, looking Danny up and down like he was a new model of iPhone. “You do look like Jane. Same ‘don’t talk to me before coffee’ vibe. But with a sprinkle of sleep-deprived raccoon.”

Danny glared. “You must be the one Jane threatens to launch into orbit when she’s annoyed.”

“See? Family resemblance,” Tony muttered.

Then Steve Rogers took Thor aside and whispered, “Are you sure he’s her kid? Jane would’ve told us if she had a child.”

Thor nodded gravely. “It is the only explanation. He speaks with passion, has knowledge of the stars, and I saw him summon green fire from his hands!”

“It was a ghost, Thor,” Danny shouted from across the lab. “It was literally a ghost trying to possess a vending machine!”

“Exactly!” Thor beamed.

“Thor. I’m nineteen. Jane is thirty-seven.”

“She is a goddess among mortals. Perhaps she birthed you when she was five.”

“That’s not how—YOU KNOW WHAT, NEVER MIND.”

Soon, even Loki showed up, slinking into the lab with a smirk like a serpent in silk.

“I had to see for myself,” he purred, circling Danny like a shark. “The mortal child who ensnared my brother’s affections.”

Danny just blinked. “I’m not his kid. Or Jane’s. I’m not even sure I’m awake right now.”

Loki chuckled. “You’ll make an excellent prince. Do you have any interest in necromancy?”

“I’m a ghost half the time,” Danny deadpanned. “Define interest.”

Loki grinned wider.

Eventually, S.H.I.E.L.D. got involved. Fury showed up, took one look at the scene—the goat eating research notes, Thor trying to build Danny a golden throne, Jane yelling about radiation levels, and Danny levitating out of sheer stress—and muttered, “Nope,” before turning around and leaving.

But beneath all the chaos, Danny… didn’t hate it.

Jane never treated him like a kid. She taught him everything, from solar flares to Bifrost trajectories. She let him make mistakes, then helped him fix them. She told him he was brilliant, and for once, he kind of believed it. And Thor, for all his thunderous confusion, brought him starfruit from Alfheim and carved him a wooden Mjolnir as a “coming-of-age” gift.

Danny didn’t even mind the goat anymore.

He still insisted, every day, that Jane was not his mom.

But when Thor presented him with a massive, hand-forged broadsword inscribed with: To my noble son, may your ghosts be vanquished and your GPA ever high, he kind of teared up.

A little.

One evening, as they watched the stars from the roof, Jane handed Danny a cup of tea.

“He really does think you’re my kid,” she said.

Danny took a sip. “Yeah. I gave up trying to convince him.”

“Is it weird?”

“Kinda. But… not bad.” He hesitated. “Do you… mind?”

Jane looked at him, surprised. “No. I mean—you’re not. But if you were, I’d be proud.”

Danny stared at the stars until they blurred.

Later, Thor appeared beside them, cape fluttering dramatically despite the lack of wind.

“I have returned with tales of valor,” he declared, “and also cheesecake.”

Danny took the box.

“Son!” Thor beamed.

Danny sighed.

“Fine. You can have my blessing.”

Thor dropped Mjolnir in joy.

Jane looked horrified. “Danny, what the hell?!”

“I didn’t say I wanted it to happen,” Danny muttered. “I just figured he’d stop bringing me swords if I gave in.”

“He won’t,” she said flatly.

He didn’t.

The next morning, Danny woke up to find a full set of Asgardian armor beside his bed and a note that read: For my beloved heir. P.S. I have begun planning the wedding. Do you think your mother would prefer swans or flaming eels as decoration?

He screamed into his pillow.

“I need you,” a beg ripples through your tongue. He’s the only god you need. Fuck the holy Spirit. “Please, Thor, please,”

A rough grunt spills from his lips, snagging his hand away from your cunt to glide up your midriff before tweaking at your breast, pinching a nipple. You could feel the smirk gloss his mouth as his head falls against your spine with each thrust of his hips. Your vision blurs as he whispers against your skin, “you want me to fuck you harder, saint?”

WIth vigor, you nod, an inviting moan falls past the back of your throat, causing his cock to twitch inside of you.

“Oh, precious little girl,” he coos, leaning his head next to your ear, “how does it feel to seee a God for all he’s worth, hmm? Oh, the sinner sins, hmm?”

A boistroius whine escapes your lips once more, lip quivering at the soft voice next to you as you allow your head to fall forward, his thrusts rocking your body on the cold stone steps of the church. Thank the heavens for he cover of hte night. 

“Oh, my gods,” a stutter climbs its way pass the moans from your chest as you clench his cock so tightly inside you, causing him to erupt moments later.

You took a deep breath, the fabric of the wedding dress scratching against your skin. Everything you wore was hand picked for you. You had seen the dress when you were told a few weeks ago that the arrangement had been made. Everything had been tailored for him, it seemed – no one cared what you wanted. But what was it you wanted? Not to get married to a man you didn’t know, that was for sure. The freedom to choose your own clothes and not worry about your posture. A deep sigh pushed through your lips. Such fantasies weren’t for you – the boning of the dress poking at your sides reminded you of that. 

A rustle of the bushes had you whirling to your left. No one should be here, the gardens you were in were private. So why the hell was a long leg popping out of the flowers? The leg, clothed in black, found purchase on the lush green grass and was followed by its twin. A body emerged with an oomph, back facing you. It was a man, tall and lithe but lean. His hair was the same shade as the night and rest upon his shoulders. Slowly, he turned toward you, dark brows furrowed and set atop piercing blue eyes. Your mouth parted and your heart skipped a beat.

“Who are you?” you asked, voice wavering. You knew the answer long before you asked the question, but you needed confirmation. Needed to know this wasn’t a delusion conjured by your stress. 

Slender fingers straightened the lapel of formal wear. Shoulders squared, back straightened, he answered, “Prince Loki Laufeyson.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m assuming you’re the bride.” There was a bite in his tone. 

“I am,” you answered softly. “I am your bride.”

Loki’s limbs became visibly rigid. He looked you up and down, his brow creasing. His face was a mask of indifference, but you could see his muscles loosen a fraction. Was he pleased? Suddenly, you became too aware of his too blue eyes on you. Your skin prickled and pimpled. 

“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” you said, shuffling your feet. 

Loki scoffed. “As if that would make a difference. Our lives have already been decided for us,” he responded, voice dripping with acid. 

Anger bubbled in your chest. “Why are you here, Loki?”

He stepped forward, away from the bushes. He looked you over again, really, looked you over. The corner of his mouth tugged slightly as his eyes roamed over your waist and torso. “I was running away.”

You rolled your eyes, placing a hand on your hip. “Is that so? Then by all means —” you gestured to the many exits around you “—don’t let me get in your way.” You knew Loki was known for his mischievous antics, and if this was one of them, you were not in the mood. If he were telling the truth, good riddance. You were sure Loki could be a kind man and a dutiful husband, but you didn’t want a husband. Not now at least. If he ran now, he’d be sparing you both. 

Loki tilted his head to the side. “You aren’t going to stop me?”

It was your turn to scoff. “As if I have any power over a prince of Asgard.” You waved him off, walking towards the veranda attached to your room. “I do not beg. If your desire is to run, then run already.”

You heard a dry laugh from behind you, then the crunch of grass. “I think we both know that running is not a viable option. My father would find me, then drag me to the altar himself if needed. In chains if he wished.”

You huffed out a breath, annoyed by his presence. Why state the obvious? It was like rubbing salt on an open wound. Both of your futures had been decided for you. You were to wed against your protests. You leaned against a pillar, your shoulder bumping into the marble a bit harder than intended. 

“Like I said,” you drawled, “you’re free to leave.” With your back towards him, boldness bubbled in your chest. “You’d be doing us both a favor.” Secretly, you did wish he’d leave. The chains binding you together would be broken, but would they be bound to someone else? You mused over the thought. If Loki left, would they force him to come back, or would they have Thor fill his shoes? You supposed you wouldn’t mind that. Afterall, Thor was kind and warm and very handsome. But you’d certainly become a target amongst the ladies of the court. You chewed on the inside of your cheek. You didn’t want that – didn’t want marriage at all. Why couldn’t they just set you free? 

“‘Favor,’” Loki repeated, tasting the word. “And what would that favor be? Letting them walk you down the line of marriage arrangements until one sticks? Being cut off from my family – my wealth? That doesn’t sound like a favor.”

You pushed out a breath. “Your window to run is closing.”

Footsteps sounded behind you, light and calculated. “Let’s make a deal.” Your shoulders tensed, sensing the danger behind his words. He didn’t give you an opportunity to respond before he continued. “We’ll get married and explore our freedoms in this new status. Eyes won’t be on us anymore – no one will tell us what we can or can’t do. There won’t be a need for a child, Thor bears the burden to produce an heir.” Loki scoffed. “Honestly, I’m surprised they’re forcing you to wed me instead of him.” 

You pursed your lips, thinking his words over and what they implied. Freedom. You almost laughed at the word. You turned around to face Loki, stifling your surprise when your nose almost brushed against him. You looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “This version of freedom you are speaking of will paint me to be a fool. If this is your version of a compromise to something we are forced to do, then I only ask that you exercise your freedoms in private. If I wish to exercise those freedoms, I’ll do so in private, too. It’s important that there be at least some respect.” 

Loki nodded in agreement. He looked down at you, eyes grazing over your features. He lifted a hand, his knuckles brushing against your cheekbone with a softness you didn’t think Loki was capable of. Or maybe it was a disinterest you were misinterpreting as softness. “I agree to those terms.” 

He took a step back, then another. He took another good look at you, then vanished in a plume of green and black mist, as if he’d never been there in the first place. The arrangement wasn’t what you wanted, but maybe you could work with it. Maybe you’d be able to use it to your advantage. You turned back to your room and sat at the vanity. You took a good look in the mirror. You could do this. You could get through this marriage.