#thro

As you enter through the back door, you hear Frigga humming from the kitchen. You try to sneak by but she spies you through the doorway. You blanch and stop short.

“Would you go check on my son? Take your time.” She prompts.

“Oh… sure.” You nod and press on.

You go upstairs, more hesitant with each step. You get to the bedroom door and steal yourself. Slowly, you push down on the handle and ease inward.

Loki startles you as he stomps toward you in a black silk robe. You try to back up but he wrenches the door open from the other side and catches your wrist. He drags you into the room and swings the door shut.

“Where did you run off to?” He hisses.

You bat your lashes and tense up. For a moment, you’re a teen girl again, sneaking in to find your foster dad waiting with his belt. You squeak and shake in his grip.

“Well?” He snips.

You stare at him. “Please, just make it quick.”

He flinches. “Pardon?”

“Please. I won’t fight.” You open your hands to show your palms.

His eyes flick up and down and he shakes his head. He lets you go. “I was only asking,” he takes a step back. “You need to change.”

He spins and struts away from you. You rock and rub your arms. You watch him, waiting for him to explode. He searches the wardrobe and brings out a burgundy dress. Long sleeves, beaded trim around the neckline and cuffs, cut to the knee. It’s very refined. It doesn’t suit you.

“Oh, it’s pretty–”

“As my wife should be. Hair, face,” he gestures with his free hand as he shoves the hanger into your chest. “You will get yourself together.”

He turns and undoes his robe. He strips it off without shame. You cover your eyes and turn away from his naked figure. “I will find a tie to match.”

You nod and quickly skirt around the bed. You change with your back to him, on the other side of the king-sized expanse. You can hear him shuffling and rustling with his attire.

You peer around and go to the vanity to look in the mirror. He nears. In slacks and an unbuttoned shirt. Your eyes flit between the reflection of his exposed torso and your face as you try to tug your hair tidy. He slides open the drawer.

“All you need is within,” he taps the wood.

You look down. Pots, tins, tubes galore. You cautiously sit and sift through. He buttons his shirt as he stands beside you. You take a deep breath and your chest bulges against the neckline.

“Mm, I might have misestimated,” he touches your shoulders and drags his fingertips across. “You do have a pretty neck.”

You nod. “Thank you.”

“You must keep it straight however,” he encircles your throat with his long fingers. “Your head must be held high, Mrs. Laufeyson.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Loki,” he corrects. “Or honey? Darling? Dear husband.”

“Honey,” you utter.

He purrs and draws away. He strides across the room and searches the inside of the wardrobe door. You peek over as he loops a deep red tie around his neck, knotting it effortlessly before folding his collar down.

You twist back to your reflection and focus on making yourself match him. You tame your hair first, then tend to your face. The creams even out your complexion and the mascara wand brightens your eyes. You never tried much with makeup before. You just didn’t take the time or spend the money when it was better used elsewhere.

“Acceptable,” he praises as he approaches, smoothing the lapels of a dark grey suit.

You cap the lip oil, a thing you’ve never heard before, and place it back in the drawer. You shut it and turn on the cushioned seat.

“Thank you,” you stand but find him closer than you expect.

“Mm,” he considers you. “I cannot complain for your manners at least.”

“Yes… dear,” you swallow. “Your mother… I met her by the pond. I said I’d help with breakfast.”

“By the pond?” He sniffs. “With the birds?”

“Ducks, sir. Loki. Uh, darling,” you stutter. “I only watch–”

“You should remain within and play your part, as lady of the house. My mother should not be the one guiding you. You must keep her and my father comfortable. You are their host.” He chides.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t. I never…” you shrug. “I will be better.”

“Oh, darling, you didn’t but now you do and so my expectations are clear,” he runs his hands up your sleeves and shifts in his leather shoes. “This does look rather nice.” He slips his touch from your arms and tugs on the neckline, surprising you. “I didn’t realise you were so… buxom.”

You chew your lip. You’ve never been called that before. You reactively grab his hands and try to push them away.

“Darling, I am your husband.” He flicks your hands off his. “You do not push away my affection.”

You twitch and drop your arms. You stare at him, his tone unnerving. He sighs and backs away. “We must distract from your… figure.” He struts to the vanity and opens the leather jewelry box in a shade of dusted rose. He takes out a silver chain with sparkling square gems. “This will do.”

He steps behind you and strings it around your neck. He clasps it and tickles along your hairline. He purrs and you curl your shoulders. He catches them and pushes them back.