#tom hiddelson

He decided to divert the topic. “Why are we doing this again?”

“For the same reason we humans have been exploring Mars,” his mission partner answered without looking at him. “And because it’s better than running around and knocking people out or killing them,” she added with a smile. “Sometimes I get so tired of it!”

“Well,” Loki replied with a shrug, “that is the real fun!”

“Hmm,” the woman was deeply engaged in investigating a pale-looking, small blue flower that bloomed in bunches on a small plant.

“Found something interesting?” Loki waddled through the tall grass and weeds to where his partner was.

“Yeah, look at these…” Her attention was still robbed by the flowers. “I think I have seen them somewhere. They look very familiar. But…”

“They look harmless,” Loki extended a hand to examine a flower. The bottom of the pedicle was covered in what looked like tiny hairs that stuck to his glove. He tried to pull the flower off of him with his other hand but they just stuck to the other glove. No matter how hard he jerked his hand, the flower just would not come off.

Giving up with a sigh, he started to remove a glove.

“Don’t!” His teammate warned him once again.

“I am a god! These frail Midgardian things do not affect me.”

Before she could protest, he had already pinched the pedicle. What followed was a hiss, accompanied by a small jump, and a set of bleeding thumb and forefinger. What had appeared to be harmless hair on the stem, turned out to be a wrap of fine thorns.

“Damn!” Loki threw the flower to the ground.

“Damn you, you idiot!” His partner cursed him. “One day you’re going to get yourself killed because of your overconfidence!”

The said god shot her a deathly glare but it went totally ignored as she was busy squeezing the blood out of his wound.

“Do you feel anything pricking inside?” She asked. Concern veiled her face and wrapped itself around her throat.

It was her softness, her caring nature that always knocked the wind out of him. And it did so again. Loki whispered a soft ‘No’ as his eyes fixated on her countenance and her actions.

“Are you sure? Don’t hide your discomfort behind your ego.” A panicked (Y/N) pulled her mask down, and raised his fingers to her lips to gently suck the blood from the cuts one by one.

A shudder trembled down Loki’s body. Thankfully, she was too busy worrying about him to notice his wide eyes, dilated pupils and flushed face.

With a sudden jerk, Loki pulled his hand away from her. “I’m fine,” he huffed.

“Well, there is nothing to be disgusted about. The saliva kills any germs that might be lingering on your cut.” Though she narrowed her eyes in mock anger she certainly sounded hurt.

“I never said it was disgusting!” He protested.

“But your action said so!”

“I pulled away because-” How could Loki explain that he had to pull his hand away because her actions were doing unspeakable things to him!

With a frown, she silently waited for an explanation.

“Because I did not want you to accidentally swallow any poison or anything,” he concluded in a tone that was much softer than where he had left.

This time, it was her turn to feel butterflies in her stomach. Pushing all rosy thoughts down because c’mon!, the charming god of mischief could never like her back, she pulled her mask up along with her professional demeanour.

“Let’s finish this before you get yourself into more trouble,” she mumbled, and continued down the trail that they had taken before the blue flowers so temptingly distracted them.

—-

Loki woke up in the middle of the night to find himself covered in sweat, with his heart beating thunderously. At first he feared that it might be the effects of the flower that had pierced its thorns in him not many hours ago. But as the fog of sleep gradually evaporated, the reason became embarrassingly clear to him.

It was not any fever or infection that woke him up. The indecent scene that had popped up in his mind during the expedition, regarding his teammate, had morphed itself into a vivid dream, and had engulfed all his senses.

They were in the midst of a meadow. And while he knew that they should have been busy examining flowers, they were far, far from it. Pale blue flowers surrounded them, as if witnessing and spurring them on. And them?

Well, Loki was lying on the moist grass, the soft sun caressing the pale, sweat-glistened skin of his naked back. His mouth was busy sucking the slender neck of his teammate who was writhing beneath him in a stark state of nature, while his hands pinned her arms down to the ground.

Her bare legs had wrapped themselves around his own as he kept on rubbing himself against her plush wet folds, trying to find his release and hers. Their moans echoed in the trees encircling the meadow. The sky watched as he flipped them over. The wind tickled their aroused skins as she sat atop him like a queen perched atop her throne, and looked into his eyes like a huntress staring down at her prey. Loki’s throat went dry when she brought his hands up to her breasts. And when she started moving her hips - oh, the way she moved, like a dancer with a murderous intent - the grunt that left the sorcerer’s throat told the entire world of his pleasures…

These kinds of dreams about her weren't new to him, true, but this one was so detailed and realistic that he still could not wrap his head around what he saw. He had no idea his mind had the capability of conjuring up such a thing.

After helping himself to some water and breathing deeply to calm his nerves, the sorcerer laid down to try and get some sleep. But glimpses from his recent virtual activity kept flashing before him until he could fall asleep again, and then taunted him a little more after that, too.

—-

The next morning, after the entire team had almost finished their breakfast, (Y/N) pulled Wanda to a corner.

Hesitation was etched on her face as she fidgeted with the edges of her phone and looked around nervously.

After a little nudge of encouragement from the redhead, she finally asked but with a shaky voice, "Have you…have you ever had…uhm…dirt- uhm… indecent dreams about your…your coworker?"

Wanda's eyes widened at the question and a slender hand flew to her mouth to cover the prominent O and the giggle that was about to follow.

"Why, who did you dream about?"

Before the other person could answer, another woman slid into the conversation.

"Loki," Natasha confidently threw her answer to the duo.

"Shhh! Shh!" A panicked (Y/N) tried to keep things down.

Wanda's eyes became wider, if that was even possible. "And how do you know?"

"She has been fumbling and stammering around him since this morning. At first I thought it was her usual crush thing but heightened. But then I heard this question, and everything just…clicked!" She snapped her fingers and winked.

“I don’t have a crush on him!” (Y/N) protested in a hushed voice.

“You do!”

“You do!”

Both her friends opposed simultaneously.

Defeated, she hid her face in her hands, and mumbled almost incoherently, “Am I that obvious?”

“Well,” Natasha began, “your state of heart is as clear as a dazzling day to everyone in the compound.”

(Y/N) groaned.

“But not to Loki,” the spy added.

This made the former peek through her fingers.

“Yeah,” Wanda chimed in, “he’s a bit thick in the matters of the heart.”

“So, you’re saying he doesn’t know yet?” (Y/N) sat up straight.

Seeing her spirits, Romanoff rolled her eyes while a little red glow sizzled on Wanda’s fingertips. “Well, I can change that,” she lifted her hand and swirled her fingers.

“Or maybe,” Natasha joined, “I can go up to him and tell him everything to his face.”

“No!”

“Then tell him yourself.”

“No!”

“Coward!”

“M not!”

“Whatever! Just tell us about this “indecent” dream you saw, and we'll try not to pester you,” Nat tried a bargain.

"And that's why I did not want to tell you!" (Y/N) whisper-shouted.

“All the details, please!” Wanda’s face broke into a wide grin.

—

It took her more than just words to shake her friends off. They were having more fun watching her drown in sheer embarrassment than they were interested in listening to her story. In the end, however, she succeeded in keeping her secret to herself.

Grinning to herself, she was walking back to her room when she almost collided with someone. She did not need to look up to see who the tall person was. His scent engulfed her. As soon as it hit her nostrils, the air around her seemed to change into a feverish smoke.

“Sorry!” A sheepish smile was all that she could afford.

“It is alright. I was not looking either,” the (in)famous SilverTongue stammered through his words.

One look at her brought back all the scenes from his latest dream in technicolour, and he had to cough the awkwardness down his throat. It was only after his discomfort subsided that he noticed the red cheeks and ears of the other person.

“Are you feeling unwell?” His eyebrows knit together.

“What?”

“You look…flushed!...Do you have a fever?” Loki placed the back of his hand to her forehead.

Only the heavens knew the strength it took her to suppress the moan that threatened to escape her! Closing her eyes, she bit her lips to forbid any sound from escaping her.

Little did she know that this struggle of hers was making things difficult for the person in front of her. Loki removed his hand quicker than he had planned.

“You should… you should get yourself checked,” he advised. “Who knows what bug you might have caught yesterday.”

“I’m fine, really,” she cleared her throat. “Just… could not sleep well. I think I shall take a nap. Should be feeling fine by evening!”

Loki hummed in agreement.

“Are you well?” She asked after some hesitation.

“Yes! Why do you ask?”

“Well, you look… how do I put it? It’s as if some thought has been consuming you. You’re not your usual confident, mischievous self today. You okay?”

The trickster was surprised at how well she could read him. Almost choking with joy, he nodded, “I am fine. There is something going on in my head, yes. But it is nothing to worry about.”

“Good. Well then, I shall go get some rest.”

With a smile, they went their separate ways, each grinning like an idiot and praying that the other person does not know about it.

—-

Y/N was sitting by the window, reading a book when the knock on her door startled her. Keeping the book on the nearest table, she almost jogged towards the door to open it. On the other side stood her favourite teammate - the raven-haired god from outer space.

“Wanda told me everything,” he declared in a deep baritone. “Romanoff told me about the dreams you are having. Tell me,” he took two steps inside, making a stunned Y/N walk backwards, “do you dream about me often? Hmm? This innocent face of yours… these naive-looking eyes of yours… Oh! And all the dirty thoughts they carry! Tell me, pet, do you often fantasise filthy things about me?”

He had already won the game when he started speaking in that rich voice. And when he called her “pet”, she could not help but clench her muscles  and rub her thighs together.

Loki did not fail to notice that. When she did not respond but simply stared at him open-mouthed, he slowly nudged her chin to close her mouth, only to tantalisingly swipe his thumb across her bottom lip.

“Do you?” This time, his question was breathed upon her mouth.

“No!” She managed to croak.

Loki narrowed his eyes towards her, as though disbelieving her. It worked, for the truth spurted out of her in the form of a whimper.

“Yes.”

“Yes?* He asked again like a big cat playing its last game with its prey.

“Yes!” She breathed.

“Oh my poor little darling!” Loki purred. “You should have told me sooner. I would have loved to end your misery!”

With these words, he bent down to suck the side of her neck and mark her. When he released the bruised skin, his lips followed the trail of her jawline until they reached her chin. Taking it gently between his teeth for a while, he licked a long stripe from the hollow of her neck up to her panting lips.

“Do you touch yourself when you think of me?” His hot breath on her earlobes seemed to take the life out of her.

She did not want to reveal her secrets before him and yet her hazy mind kept betraying her.

“Yes!” She confessed.

“Mmh! Had thought so!” He growled. “Show me!”

“I-I… no… No, I can't!” Her face went beet red.

“Well then… I shall find out for myself. Do you touch yourself here?”

His long fingers found their way beneath the hem of her shorts to her inner thighs. There, they brushed the skin very lightly, stoking the fire within her core.

“Or is it here?” His fingers trailed upwards. 

“Here?” His slender, sinful fingers skimmed the surface of her bare mound while carefully avoiding the very spot that had her squirming.

“Loki!!” Her whimper was met with a triumphant smirk.

“What? I am only trying to find out where you touch yourself. Am I not on the right path?”

“Please!!” Damn! She was begging, against all the protests of her now-moderately sane mind.

“‘Please’ what, pet?” His lips were brushing the shell of her ear. “Tell me what you want from me. I am a benevolent god. I shall not deny you of your pleas. Not when you squirm and beg like that!”

Her tongue tried to hold itself but her body was on fire. It was only by giving in that she could find release from this torment.

She screwed her eyes shut. “Please touch me, Loki!”

“Well, I am touching you.” Loki continued his sweet, smooth torture. “Is there anywhere specific that you want me to touch, darling?”

Damn this god of being an asshole!!!

This time she looked up in his eyes, and spoke with a lewd confidence, “Touch my cunt, Loki. Make me cum.”

The growl that escaped him was enough to take her to the peak. As nimble fingers entered her, the god’s eye became hooded and his mouth parted, releasing a sigh that landed on her mouth, only to be chased by his hungry lips on them.

They buried their moans in the other's mouth. When Loki pushed her against the nearest wall, she tried to pull him closer. But Loki freed himself out of her hold. Worried, she opened her eyes to find the god slowly kneeling before her. Staring deep into her eyes, he pulled her shorts down with him. And when his knees landed on the floor, so did her shorts.

Sitting face-to-face with her dripping folds, he gently stroked his fingers along the length of her left thigh, all the way down to her calf. Slowly, he picked the leg up, and put it on his shoulder. Licking his lips in the most sultry way she could have imagined, he buried his face between her legs.

The delightful scream that forced itself out her throat was probably heard by all inmates of the compound. But that did not stop Loki from exploring every corner of his delicious treasure.

A loud knock on her door made her spring out of the moment.

“Maybe they did hear my scream,” she thought “Shit! But wait…what…the fuck?”

Loki was nowhere around. She was lying on the bed, her side-pillow tucked in tight between her legs.

So, was that all…another dream?

The knock on the door had now transformed into banging.

“Are you alright in there?” It was Steve’s voice. “Why did you scream?”

So, I had actually screamed while dreaming?? Shit! Fucking shit!!

“(Y/N), I’m going to come inside.” Steve was absolutely worried!

No no no!! He cannot see me in this mess! I shan’t be able to face anyone again!

“I’m fine, Steve!” She shouted back. “I…uh…I thought I saw a spider, and I screamed. It was only a small bug.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Absolutely fine! Just got a silly little scare.” She forced a laugh.

“Fine then. I’m gonna…go” Steve sighed in relief although his words sounded hesitant.

“Yup! See you later!”

When she was sure she heard the captain walk away, she let out a long breath.

“Fuck! What the hell is happening? Why do I-”

Realisation hit her like a brick. It had all begun after their return from the plant-hunt.

“Those blue flowers…d-did they really affect me? … Did they affect Loki? He was the one who was actually pricked!” The scenes from that fateful day kept unfolding in her mind. “Damn! Is that why he has been behaving awkwardly? ... But wait, if this flower is indeed an aphrodisiac, why am I having troubles only around Loki? Is it because I like him or…is it because we were both affected by the same flower? Fuck! I must find out.”

—-

At dinner, (Y/N) observed Loki closely. Well, she had always “observed” him rather closely but this time it was more like analysing a target. She realised that he was fine with the rest of the team - even with the other women - but when around her, he fidgeted a lot. Even his glances towards her were hesitant. And yes! He did avoid physical contact - even the slightest possible brush of their little fingers.

There was definitely something going on.

“Sam,” her sudden approach startled the soldier who was busy looking for dessert in the fridge. “Hold my hand.”

“What?”

“Hold my hand!”

“But why?” He looked at her as if she had grown two heads.

“Just … I need to test a theory.”

A smirk surfaced on his mouth. “I knew you’d warm up to me one day.”

But the glare that he received for an answer made him quickly take his words back. “Just kidding! You know that well, don’t you!”

Sam curled his fingers gently around her extended arm.

“What now?” He asked curiously.

Eyebrows knit together, her eyes darted across the tiled floor, trying hard to gauge her body’s reaction. Nothing; she felt nothing.

Pursing her lips, she hummed. “Well, thank you, Sam!” With a pat on his upper arm, she walked off, leaving the man a handful of questions in his mind.

So, her theory was correct: it was only Loki who was affecting her. And apparently, it was only her affecting the god. She had been training with others; she felt nothing. Loki had been training with everyone else with ease. But when they were paired together, the air that they breathed seemed to turn into an erotic enchantment. The discomfort was evident on both their faces. So much that neither could focus during the session, thus resulting in a quick end to their sparring.

Once everyone had started retiring for the day, she decided to put her plan into action. She had wanted to stay behind or follow Loki down whichever corridor or floor he took; whatever it took to find him alone and confront him.

It had almost worked. Almost. But with Steve in the middle of a serious conversation with her, all she could do was watch out of the corner of her eye as the trickster walked out of the sitting area. Now, had it been anybody else, she could have excused herself without a second thought; she would have amended for it later. But this man - the captain - held an entirely different zone of respect in her heart. Never in her life could she interrupt him.

Luckily for her, the conversation ended soon enough - just in time for her to jog down the corridor where Loki resided but only to catch a glimpse of him as he disappeared into his room.

Damn!

But she had enough! She must know!

Cursing under her breath, she marched determinedly up to his doorstep.

But that was it.

That was where her confidence melted into a puddle. This was not any man that she had to talk to. This wasn’t Bruce or Tony with whom she could discuss the most embarrassing subject and yet turn everything into logic and science. No! This was the biggest crush of her life, staggering on the verge of becoming - perhaps - the love of her life! And she was going to ask him if he has been having filthy dreams about her just as she has been having about him! Could it be any more complicated!!

Fiddling with her fingers, she stood for a while in front of the closed door, replaying the plan over and over again in her head.

Okay. This is it. I’m going to do it. I’m going to ask him, and I’m going to solve this mystery once and for-

The door swung open before she could even tap on it! Loki stood at the other end with his brows scrunched up.

Her first instinct was to run. But she stood her ground. Afterall, she had some self-respect, right?

“You have been standing there for quite some time now,” Loki stated but it sounded more like a question.

“Well, I… I was…just passing by.” That weird, sheepish smile appeared on her face again.

Loki sighed. “First, they call me the God of Lies for a reason. And second, your feet are eclipsing the light from the corridor thus making them clearly visible under the door.”

Hanging her head low, she let out a long sigh. “You got me!”

If only she had seen the smile that broke out on Loki’s divine countenance. Or maybe it was good that she had not, for it might have increased her desires even more. They had already started weaving themselves in every cell of her body as soon as her eyes had landed on the god.

“Now, will you tell me what is going on or should I read your mind?” Loki urged.

She was surprised by his confidence! He sounded nothing like the person who had returned with her from the expedition.

Has the affects of the flower worn off of him?

“Loki, I need your help!” She tried to hold his hand in desperation, only to find her own pass through thin air with a green glimmer.

Her plan was to check Loki’s pulse in the guise of holding his hand for help. Had his heart rate been abnormally high, she would have asserted her doubts, and would have straightforwardly asked him if he had been having weird dreams.

What she never expected was to be met with an illusion. The Loki at the door now frowned in worry as she looked up at him in confusion.

Why would Loki create an illusion for talking to me? Why- Wait…

As she walked right through the facade, she saw it all evaporating, eventually revealing the real Loki who was standing near his writing desk. Distress was clearly written on his face. He looked so helpless that all plans and plots vanished from her mind. Her answer was right in front of her. She did not need to play games now.

“You should not be here.” There was an earnest plea in his eyes. “Please, leave!”

The sight of Loki leaning against his writing desk - fingers clenched on the wood so hard that it looked like the desk was going to split in two, face partially covered by hair that was dishevelled from running his hands through it, partially unbuttoned shirt, half-opened mouth and glazed eyes - made her visibly shudder from the electricity coursing through her veins. But that did not keep his desperate words - words which were more like a warning - from reaching her senses. It turned her on and yet worried her.

“Loki, you do not look good. You-you look like you’re in…pain!”

“I told you…” the god’s voice was more strained than before, “you…should not…be here!”

She took two careful steps forward. To avoid anybody else from accidentally walking in, she had softly closed the door behind her. They needed to sort this out between themselves first.

“Loki,” she called soothingly, “if this is about the flower, … you can tell me. … If it helps to know, I…I was…I am…affected by it, too!

The Asgardian’s eyes widened. He swiftly advanced towards her - well, almost did - but quickly retreated back to his safe circle.

“So, you must be-”

“In pain?” She did not let Loki finish his sentence. “Yes! Very much!”

“And,” he continued, “have you done anything to…get rid of it? Or-or soothe it?”

She shook her head slightly. “No.”

A nod, slight for most people to notice, accompanied a whisper of a breath released by Loki.

“And … you are dreaming of…?”

For a short while his question floated between them, searching for an answer. She looked deep into his eyes. Pleadingly. Hoping that he would understand what her tongue was too ashamed to confess.

He probably did. He looked like he did. But he needed assurance, for it seemed too far-fetched for even him to believe that his fantasies could come true in such a miraculous way! He could not be so lucky, could he?

When Loki did not say anything, she decided to say it aloud, all shame be stripped aside.

“You!” She declared. “It is you that I dream of, Loki!”

It took him all his godly strength to hold himself back. But he knew that his resistance was thinning out. The enhanced effects of the flower, her presence in the closed space, and now her confession - everything was making things all the more difficult for him.

“I’m burning for you, Loki!”

And indeed she was! All the things that were triggering the powerful god were affecting this human as well.

Loki inhaled deeply, only to be engulfed in her scent even more.

“I am sorry!” Her lips trembled. Her eyes betrayed her resilience with the first wave of tears. “I know this is all very embarrassing for you. I … I swear, Loki, I never wanted it to be this way! I-”

“I never wanted it to be this way either,” Loki’s words crushed her. Of course, he would never want anything to do with her, not even what could have been a shadow of a romance!

“I had wanted this to be very special,” he continued. “I had wanted to do it right. To court you first, to woo you, to steal a kiss or two from you, and then … and then make you mine.”

His voice was strained, just like before. But his eyes were feral now.

Damn, they scorched her! Loki’s words were killing her!! But her lust-driven-yet-dejected mind could not wrap itself around them. None of it made sense. Why would Loki want to court her, kiss her … “make her his” … ? Unless …

Oh!

The realisation left her shocked and elated at the same time. But she needed enough proof to believe it.

“Are you- What are you saying? Why would you- Loki, I think this is not you but the effect of the flower speaking.”

The god laughed. “‘Effect of the flower’? Darling, I have been having all kinds of thoughts about you for years now! Thoughts that would warm your chest with love. Thoughts that would make you blush crimson! … That wretched flower has only heightened it all And made it unbearable!!”

It was all too much to take in. Her state of disarray - limp shoulders, wide eyes and a half-open mouth - told Loki that she had not yet grasped the entirety of the situation.

“Oh darling,” he spoke with hope in his eyes and joy on his lips, “you do not yet know what the flower was, do you?”

She shook her head in a daze.

“It is called ‘Midnight’s Bane’. Or ‘Boon’, as some like to call it. I found out about it in one of our old books from Asgard.” He took a few slow, deliberate steps towards her as he spoke. “It has some … medicinal uses. But it is famous as a catalyst for … midnight’s activities, if you know what I mean.” The smirk that he wore would have made even an unaffected person’s knees go weak. “It does not make two people fall in love, no! The flower simply increases what one already feels for someone. … And if you are dreaming about me, if you want me just the way I want you, then it can mean only one thing.” Loki placed a gentle hand on her cheek. Her eyes fluttered in response. “That you love me … just the way I love you.”

She did not need further convincing. In one swift motion her lips were on his. Her arms had wound themselves around his neck, pulling him as close as possible.

The dam finally broke.

Loki held her face with both hands, greedily devouring every moan and whimper. In the miniscule break that they took to breathe again, they drank in the sight before them, further intoxicating themselves. (Y/N)’s finger’s began making quick work of the remaining closed buttons on Loki’s shirt. But he was impatient. Removing her hold on them, he pulled the cloth over his head.

If it was humanly possible to be more aroused, (Y/N) certainly had hit the next level. Placing a quick but deep kiss on her open mouth, Loki tugged at the hem of her blouse. The lifting of her arms over her head was permission enough for Loki to pull it up and discard it on the floor.

How and when the rest of the clothes got scattered around the room remained a haze. All they remembered later was that it was somewhere between heated kisses and lots of shameless touching.

Loki picked her up by the hips, and sat her on the writing desk. She probably landed on an old open hardbound. Neither cared.

While his mouth worked on her neck and shoulders, eliciting hisses and moans from her, his large hands travelled down her body, taking note of every curve and plateau, until he reached her thighs. There, they rested for a brief moment, kneading the satiny skin beneath his palms, before venturing towards the soft flesh on the inner side. Very slowly, he parted her legs open, and stepped inside. Her immediate reaction was to wrap them around his slender waist. With her bare heels pressing on his bare butts, she nudged him forward until his arousal was pressed against hers.

Both of them groaned loudly. With hooded eyes they looked at each other, trying to seek the obvious consent that had been there right from the beginning. When her hand wrapped around his length to line him up with herself, he almost swooned.

“This is going to hurt,” he warned her.

“I know, and I don’t care. Just take me, Loki! Please! Make me yours.”

He could have come right then simply from her words. With one hand on her back, and the other holding himself, he entered her slowly, passing carefully through the tight wetness.

Loki was aroused like never before, ready to devour the woman sitting brazenly naked in front of him - the love of his life -  and yet, a part of him could never forget to take care of her, to worry about her.

When he had buried himself fully within her, they both rested their heads on the other’s shoulder for a brief moment. It was an outworldly feeling - it seemed like the perfect end to all those years of pining, like the perfect beginning to their story of being together. It felt like the perfect cure to all the burning desire that they had been enduring for the past few days. Most importantly, it felt right. It had never and would have never felt so perfect with anybody else.

(Y/N) patted his backside lightly. As if afraid that he’d hurt her, Loki started moving slowly, carefully. The pace was sensual, romantic but excruciating as well! The drug running in their veins demanded more. Their bodies demanded more.

“Loki, please!”

She did not know what she was asking for but he understood. Steadily but quickly, he accelerated, earning himself sultry moans and breathy chants of his name as rewards. She felt like her body would have given away had Loki’s strong arms not been holding her.

“Oh (Y/N)!”

Hymns of each other’s names and repeated confessions of love brought them closer to release. When his movements started getting sloppy, he reached between  them and placed his thumb on her bundle of nerves. When she cried out and her back arched,he whispered with hot breaths in her ear, “Come with me, love. Please.”

It might have been his ministrations down south on her body or it may have been the way he rasped the word “please”. Some magic worked, and she came crashing down on him, flooding him, drowning him in her ecstasy. That was the final tug on the restraint that Loki had put on himself. He came inside her with a loud moan of her name, surrendering himself to his lust completely.

Thanks to the desk, Loki found some support for his limp body. As they rested on one another and kissed each other feebly, having experienced the most epic orgasms of their lives yet, she eventually came to realise what she had been sitting on. She tried to look but with Loki still buried inside her, it was impossible.

“I think I’m sitting on a book,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Oh?”

The moment he pulled out of her, she whined at the sudden emptiness inside.

Loki laughed. “Do not make the mistake of thinking that I am done with you, love! Give me a few minutes, and I shall fill you up again.”

The filthy look in his eyes, the promise in his voice, and his tender dominance made her walls flutter that very instant. Loki grabbed her butts and lifted her off the desk, while she wrapped her limbs securely around him.

As he carried her to the bed, his eyes landed on the tattered and soaked pages of the book that she had been sitting on. Pausing in his tracks, he tilted his head and smirked.

“What is it?” She asked curiously.

Following his eyes, she found the poor book - an open testament to their raunchy activities - and clicked her tongue.

“Can you fix it?” She looked back at him.

Stealing one look at her, as though accepting her simple challenge, he held her securely with one arm, and extended the other towards the book, reverting its fate with a subtle move of his open fingers. Once the pages were crisp and readable again, (Y/N) understood the cause of his amusement.

Staring back at them from the pages was a hand-drawn picture of the same flower that caused all these “fateful” events. Her eyes swept through the descriptions about the flower.

“Pale Blue Midnight’s Bane”, the title read. In smaller words, it added, “ Also known as Midnight’s Boon”.

Loki chuckled. “We gave the flower what it wanted. Literally.”

It made her laugh. “Well, at least it put an end to years of misery! We should be thanking it.”

“In a way that it likes?” Mischief was sparkling in Loki’s green eyes.

“Exactly my thoughts!” She resonated.

Loki was not gentle this time as he threw her on the bed and hungrily watched her curves jiggle. She was surprised to find that she rather enjoyed being manhandled by the trickster. He hovered over her like a hunter over his prey, and started his assault on her chest.

“Loki?”

“Mmh?” His mouth was full and his tongue busy.

“Shouldn’t we inform Banner about our discovery?”

“Later,” he exhaled right before shutting her up for the moment with a long and deep kiss that made both their heads spin.

***

Taglist!

You swallow hard. “And which prince?”

A pause stretches between you, long enough for your heart to skip several anxious beats. Your father finally answers, his voice calm, though his eyes betray some unease. “Prince Loki.”

The name settles over you like a shadow. You’ve heard stories of Asgard, of its golden spires and indomitable warriors. Tales of its princes, too—Thor, the golden-haired god of thunder, beloved by all, and Loki, the sharp-tongued trickster whose reputation is far more ambiguous.

You straighten in your chair, forcing yourself to remain composed despite the storm building inside you. “I see. And when am I to meet this... prince?”

“Soon,” your father says. “King Odin and Queen Frigga have agreed to host a meeting at their palace. You will accompany me to Asgard in three days' time.”

Three days. That’s all the time you have to prepare yourself for the encounter that will determine your future. You nod stiffly and rise from your seat, excusing yourself from the conversation.

Once you’re alone in your chambers, the weight of it all crashes down on you. You pace the room, the rich fabrics of your dress swishing around your legs, your mind racing. Betrothed to a prince of Asgard. It sounds like something out of a storybook, but you’re no naïve dreamer. You know enough to understand the realities of political alliances.

Still, you can’t help but wonder: why would Asgard—a kingdom so vast and powerful it dwarfs your own—be interested in such a union?

Three days later, you stand before the shimmering Bifrost Bridge, its prismatic light almost blinding. The sight of it steals your breath, though you quickly compose yourself as the Asgardian guards usher you and your father toward the grand palace that looms in the distance.

The palace is even more magnificent than the stories described, its golden towers piercing the sky, its halls adorned with treasures from realms beyond your imagination.

You feel small here, insignificant. But you refuse to let it show.

In the throne room, King Odin sits atop his gilded seat, his presence commanding, even intimidating. Beside him stands Queen Frigga, her beauty and poise as striking as the rumors claimed. The sight of her eases your nerves slightly; she seems kind, her gentle smile a stark contrast to the stern expressions of her husband and the guards flanking the room.

And then you see him.

Prince Loki.

He stands a step behind his parents, dressed in sleek black and green, the golden accents of his attire catching the light. His dark hair is neatly combed back, his pale features sharp and angular. There’s an air of arrogance about him, a cool detachment that only adds to his enigmatic aura.

Your father bows, and you quickly follow suit, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor.

“Your Majesties,” your father begins, his voice steady. “It is an honor to stand before you. I thank you for welcoming us into your home.”

Odin nods curtly, his single eye fixed on your father. “We are pleased to have you here. This alliance is of great importance to both our realms.”

Frigga steps forward, her smile warm. “And you must be the princess,” she says, addressing you directly.

You lift your head, meeting her gaze. “Yes, Your Majesty. It is a privilege to be here.”

Frigga’s smile widens, and for a moment, you feel at ease. But the feeling is short-lived as you catch Loki’s gaze. He’s watching you, his expression unreadable.

“Loki,” Odin says, gesturing toward you. “This is the princess, your betrothed.”

The words hang in the air like a thunderclap. Loki’s lips curl into a faint, almost dismissive smirk. He inclines his head slightly but says nothing.

You suppress the urge to bristle. Fine, you think. If he’s going to be curt, so be it.

Frigga notices the tension and steps in, her voice soothing. “Why don’t the two of you take a moment to speak privately? Get to know one another.”

Your father nods in agreement. “An excellent idea.”

Before you can protest, you’re being led to a nearby chamber, Loki following behind you at a leisurely pace. Once the door closes, you turn to face him, your hands clasped tightly in front of you.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence is thick, uncomfortable.

“So,” you begin, forcing yourself to sound calm. “It seems we are to be married.”

Loki leans against the nearest wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “Indeed. Though I must admit, I find the arrangement rather curious.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Curious? In what way?”

He shrugs, his tone casual but laced with condescension. “Our kingdoms are not exactly equals. One might wonder what my father hopes to gain from such a union.”

The words sting, but you refuse to let him see it. Instead, you smile sweetly, matching his tone. “Perhaps he hopes I’ll teach you some manners.”

Loki’s eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he regains his composure. “Manners? How quaint. I wasn’t aware my betrothed was a tutor.”

You take a step closer, meeting his gaze head-on. “And I wasn’t aware mine was a child.”

His smirk falters, and for a moment, you think you’ve won. But then he chuckles, low and amused. “You have spirit, I’ll give you that. It’s almost endearing.”

“Almost?” you echo, tilting your head. “I’ll take that as a compliment, though I doubt you intended it as one.”

Loki studies you for a moment, his green eyes piercing. “You’re not what I expected.”

“And neither are you,” you reply, refusing to look away.

The tension in the room is palpable, an unspoken challenge hanging between you. Finally, Loki straightens, his expression unreadable once more.

“This should be interesting,” he says, his voice quiet but carrying an edge.

You don’t respond, watching as he strides toward the door and leaves without another word.

When you return to the throne room, Frigga gives you a knowing look, as if she can sense the clash of wills that just occurred.

“I trust you had a productive conversation,” she says gently.

You offer her a polite smile. “It was... enlightening.”

Loki says nothing, his expression calm but his eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place.

As the meeting concludes and you prepare to return to your chambers at Asgard for now, you can’t shake the feeling that this is only the beginning of a battle of wits and wills. And for the first time since hearing of the betrothal, you find yourself almost looking forward to the challenge.

The news spreads faster than you’d expect. Within days of the announcement, the realms are abuzz with the most unlikely engagement of the century: Loki, the so-called “trickster prince” of Asgard, and you, the princess of a modest but proud kingdom.

You learn of the reactions secondhand—your father shares reports from neighboring realms, some of which range from incredulous laughter to outright disbelief. Even within Asgard, whispers fill the air. Servants, courtiers, even the warriors of the great halls exchange furtive glances as you pass, clearly wondering how and why such a union has come to be.

You, however, have no answers for them.

Forced to stay in Asgard for the duration of your courtship, you find yourself in a whirlwind of carefully orchestrated meetings, formal dinners, and—most excruciating of all—dates.

The first one is planned with all the subtlety of a lightning bolt. Frigga herself announces it over breakfast, her tone pleasant but brooking no argument.

“The two of you will take a walk through the gardens this afternoon,” she says, her serene expression giving no indication that this is a royal decree rather than a suggestion. “It’s a lovely day, and I’m sure you’ll find the fresh air invigorating.”

Loki, seated across from you at the lavish dining table, barely looks up from his plate. “Invigorating,” he echoes dryly, his tone implying that being dragged into the sunlight is the last thing he finds appealing.

You sip your tea, determined not to let him ruin your mood. “It sounds delightful,” you say, forcing a bright smile.

When the time comes, the “walk” is as awkward as you anticipated. The gardens of Asgard are, of course, stunning, with vibrant flowers and towering trees that look as though they were sculpted by the gods themselves. But the beauty of your surroundings does little to ease the tension between you and your betrothed.

“You seem thrilled to be here,” you remark as you stroll along a cobblestone path, glancing at Loki. He walks a step ahead of you, his hands clasped behind his back and his expression neutral.

“I’m beside myself with joy,” he replies without missing a beat.

You roll your eyes. “If you hate this so much, why not just tell your parents you’re not interested? I’m sure they’ll understand.”

Loki stops, turning to face you with an arched brow. “You think I haven’t tried? My father, as you may have noticed, is not particularly accommodating when it comes to matters of ‘duty.’”

You shrug. “Neither is mine. But at least I’m trying to make the best of it.”

“Ah, yes,” Loki says, his lips curling into a smirk. “You’re positively brimming with enthusiasm. Tell me, is sarcasm a custom in your kingdom, or is it just your natural talent?”

“It’s a survival skill,” you shoot back, crossing your arms. “Particularly useful when dealing with insufferable princes.”

Loki laughs—a genuine laugh, though he quickly masks it with a cough. “Touché.”

The rest of the walk is less tense, though the banter continues. By the time you return to the palace, you’re both mildly annoyed but also—if you’re honest with yourself—mildly entertained.

The dates that follow are no less eventful.

One afternoon, you’re coerced into accompanying Loki to the library, which he claims is his “sanctuary.” You quickly learn that by “sanctuary,” he means a place where he can hide from people and indulge in his penchant for mocking their intellectual inadequacies.

“You know,” you say, trailing your fingers along the spines of ancient tomes as Loki lounges in a nearby chair, “if you put half as much effort into being pleasant as you do into being smug, you might actually be tolerable.”

“Why would I aim for tolerable when I can achieve perfection?” he counters, not looking up from his book.

You grab the nearest volume and plop it unceremoniously onto the table in front of him. “Here. Enlighten me, oh wise one.”

Loki picks up the book, glances at the title, and smirks. “A Beginner’s Guide to Asgardian History? How quaint.”

You grin, leaning on the table. “Well, I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you with anything too advanced.”

For a moment, his eyes meet yours, and you swear you see a flicker of amusement there. Then he closes the book with a theatrical sigh. “Very well. Sit, and I’ll educate you—though I can’t promise you’ll retain anything.”

By the end of the afternoon, you’ve learned more about Asgardian history than you ever thought you’d care to know. And, despite his constant teasing, Loki is an excellent teacher.

Another date—a “ride” across the Bifrost on enchanted steeds—proves to be even more chaotic.

“Have you ever ridden a horse before?” Loki asks as you mount your steed, his tone suggesting he already knows the answer.

“Of course,” you reply confidently, though your grip on the reins betrays your nerves.

As the horses take off, galloping across the shimmering bridge, you quickly realize that Asgardian steeds are not like those of your kingdom. They’re faster, stronger, and seemingly unbothered by the laws of gravity.

You let out an involuntary squeal as your horse leaps into the air, soaring above the bridge for a heart-stopping moment before landing gracefully.

Behind you, Loki laughs—an infuriating, delighted sound. “Having fun, princess?”

“Shut up!” you shout, gripping the reins tighter.

By the time the ride is over, your hair is a mess, your heart is pounding, and you’re thoroughly mortified. Loki, of course, looks as composed as ever.

“Well,” he says as you dismount, his smirk firmly in place, “that was exhilarating. Shall we go again?”

You glare at him, brushing strands of hair from your face. “Don’t push your luck.”

Despite the constant banter, you find yourself… not hating his company as much as you expected. Loki, for all his arrogance, is undeniably clever, and his sharp wit keeps you on your toes. He’s also surprisingly observant, occasionally making remarks that reveal a deeper understanding of you than you’re comfortable admitting.

For his part, Loki seems to enjoy sparring with you, though he never lets on too much. There are moments when his smirk softens, when his eyes linger on yours a little longer than necessary. But just as quickly, he retreats behind his usual façade of indifference.

The days pass, and the courtship continues, much to the amusement of the palace staff and the frustration of your parents.

“They’re impossible,” Odin mutters one evening after dinner, watching as you and Loki exchange yet another round of playful insults.

“They’re perfect for each other,” Frigga replies with a smile, her gaze warm as she watches the two of you.

Perfect. You wouldn’t go that far. But as you lie awake in your chambers that night, replaying the day’s events in your mind, you can’t deny that something about Loki intrigues you.

And though you’d never admit it, you’re starting to think that this arrangement might not be so terrible after all.

The day of your wedding looms ever closer, and Asgard hums with preparations. The golden halls are adorned with garlands of flowers, banners bearing the crests of your kingdom and Asgard hang side by side, and the palace is abuzz with activity. Servants scurry to and fro, courtiers gossip behind jeweled fans, and Frigga oversees every detail with her characteristic grace.

You, meanwhile, feel like a tightly coiled spring, caught between nervous anticipation and the persistent irritation that comes from dealing with Loki.

If the prince’s attitude was difficult before, it’s positively maddening now. You’re not sure what changed, but he’s been colder, more distant, his biting remarks sharper than usual.

One day, as you’re walking through the palace gardens, you decide to confront him.

“Alright, what’s your problem?” you demand, stepping in front of him and blocking his path.

Loki arches a brow, clearly unimpressed by your attempt to corner him. “You’ll have to be more specific, princess. I have so many.”

You cross your arms. “Don’t play coy. You’ve been acting like an even bigger ass than usual lately, and I want to know why.”

His lips curl into a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You flatter me with your concern.”

“I’m serious, Loki.” Your voice softens, though your gaze remains firm. “If I’ve done something to upset you, just tell me.”

For a moment, his expression falters, and you think he might actually answer you. But then his smirk returns, colder than before.

“Perhaps I’m simply preparing you for the reality of being married to me,” he says, his tone light but laced with something darker.

Your stomach twists, but you refuse to let him see how much his words sting. “Fine,” you snap. “Be an ass. See if I care.”

You storm off, leaving him standing in the garden, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

The tension between you only worsens with the arrival of Thor.

The golden-haired prince returns from a long mission, his presence immediately commanding attention wherever he goes. Thor is everything Loki is not—open, friendly, and effortlessly charming. He greets you with a beaming smile, his blue eyes sparkling with genuine warmth.

“You must be the princess,” he says, clasping your hand in his large, calloused one. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” you reply, returning his smile.

“Of course!” Thor’s laughter booms through the hall, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. “I can see now why my brother is so reluctant to share his time with you. He must be afraid I’ll steal you away!”

You laugh politely, though the comment catches you off guard. Before you can respond, Loki appears at Thor’s side, his expression carefully neutral.

“Thor,” he says smoothly, his tone deceptively light. “How delightful of you to join us. I see you’ve already met my betrothed.”

“Indeed, I have!” Thor claps a hand on Loki’s shoulder, grinning. “She’s delightful. You’re a lucky man, brother.”

Loki’s smile tightens, and you swear you see his jaw clench. “Yes,” he says, his voice a touch colder. “Lucky indeed.”

From that moment on, Loki’s demeanor shifts even further. He grows colder, more distant, and his once playful banter becomes outright cutting.

During a dinner with Thor and the royal family, you find yourself on the receiving end of one of his more caustic remarks.

“Tell me, princess,” Loki drawls, leaning back in his chair. “Have you been enjoying your time here in Asgard? Or is it too overwhelming for someone from such... modest origins?”

The table falls silent, all eyes turning to you. Thor frowns, clearly disapproving of his brother’s behavior, while Frigga gives Loki a sharp look.

You take a deep breath, forcing a smile. “Oh, it’s been lovely,” you reply sweetly. “Though I must admit, the company has been a bit... mixed.”

Thor bursts out laughing, while Loki’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“Well played, princess,” he says, his voice low and icy.

The tension between you only seems to escalate as the days pass, culminating in a heated argument the night before the wedding.

“You know,” you say, standing in the middle of the grand hall where the ceremony will take place, “if you’re so miserable about this marriage, why don’t you just call it off?”

“And bring shame to both our kingdoms?” Loki replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I think not.”

“Shame?” You scoff. “Oh, please. Everyone knows you don’t want this any more than I do.”

“And yet here we are,” he snaps, his eyes flashing with anger.

The argument spirals, both of you hurling insults and accusations until you’re both breathing heavily, standing far too close to each other.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The air crackles with tension, and you half-expect Loki to say something cruel, something to end the conversation once and for all.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he steps back, his expression unreadable. “Goodnight, princess,” he says quietly, before turning on his heel and walking away.

You’re left standing alone in the empty hall, your chest tight and your mind racing.

The day of the wedding arrives, and you wake with a mixture of dread and resignation. You’re dressed in an elaborate gown, the finest your kingdom has ever produced, and escorted to the ceremony by your father and a contingent of Asgardian guards.

The hall is packed with dignitaries and guests from across the realms, their eyes fixed on you as you make your way down the aisle. At the end of it stands Loki, dressed in black and gold, his expression a perfect mask of calm.

As you approach, you search his face for any sign of emotion, any hint of the man you’ve gotten to know over the past weeks. But he gives nothing away.

The ceremony proceeds smoothly, the vows exchanged without incident. But as you stand before the gathered crowd, your hand resting in Loki’s, you can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted between you.

When the officiant finally declares you husband and wife, Loki leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, “The games begin, princess.”

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “Bring it on, prince.”

The crowd erupts in applause, oblivious to the battle of wills raging between the two of you.

And as Loki leads you down the aisle, his hand resting lightly on yours, you can’t help but wonder what the future holds for this strange, tempestuous union. One thing is certain: life with Loki will never be dull.

The wedding feast is a blur of golden light, laughter, and endless toasts. Your smile is painted on, your cheeks aching as guests from every realm offer their congratulations. Loki plays his part impeccably, charming the crowd with his wit and occasional glances in your direction that are just shy of affectionate.

Inside, you feel like a tightly coiled spring, wound tighter with every passing moment. You know what comes after the feast. The thought sits heavy in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

The hour grows late, and when the last of the guests have finally departed, you’re escorted to the chambers that have been prepared for you and Loki. The halls seem longer than usual, the distance to your destination stretching endlessly as your nerves build.

When you reach the door, the servants offer you both polite bows before disappearing down the corridor, leaving you and Loki alone.

He opens the door, gesturing for you to step inside. His expression is unreadable, though his usual smirk is noticeably absent.

The chambers are stunning, of course—richly furnished and illuminated by soft, flickering candlelight. But all you can focus on is the massive bed at the center of the room, its silken sheets and embroidered pillows looking more like a throne than a place to rest.

Loki closes the door behind you, and you hear the faint click of the lock.

You stand frozen in the middle of the room, your hands clasped tightly in front of you as you stare at the bed.

“Well,” Loki says after a moment, his voice breaking the tense silence. “I suppose this is the part where we consummate the marriage.”

Your stomach flips, and you force yourself to turn and look at him. “I... I know,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

Loki studies you, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. Then, to your surprise, he sighs and moves to the nearest chair, sinking into it with an almost theatrical air of exasperation.

“Let’s make one thing perfectly clear,” he says, resting his elbow on the armrest and propping his chin on his hand. “I have no intention of forcing you—or myself, for that matter—into anything tonight.”

You blink, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he replies, his tone dry, “that we don’t actually have to do anything. All anyone needs to know is that we sayit happened. As long as we both stick to the story, no one will be the wiser.”

Relief floods through you, so sudden and intense that your knees nearly buckle. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” he says, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “I find the idea of spending the night in awkward silence far more appealing than the alternative.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, nodding quickly. “Alright. I... I agree.”

“Good.” He stands and moves to the other side of the room, unfastening his cloak and draping it over a chair. “We’ll sleep in the same bed—appearances and all that—but I promise to stay on my side. You won’t even know I’m there.”

You hesitate, glancing at the bed again. “Alright,” you say softly, your voice steadier now.

Loki changes into a loose tunic and trousers while you slip behind a screen to remove your elaborate gown and don a simple nightdress. When you emerge, he’s already lying on one side of the bed, his back to you.

You climb in cautiously, keeping to the very edge of your side. The mattress dips slightly under your weight, and you can feel the faint warmth of Loki’s presence, though you’re careful not to look at him.

The silence stretches between you, heavy but not entirely uncomfortable.

“Goodnight, princess,” Loki says after a while, his voice quiet but laced with his usual sarcasm.

“Goodnight, Loki,” you reply, your lips curving into a faint smile despite yourself.

The next morning, you’re awoken by a knock at the door. Loki groans softly, rolling onto his back but making no move to get up.

“Come in,” he calls lazily.

The door opens, and a group of servants enters, carrying trays of breakfast and fresh clothing. They’re followed by Frigga, who takes one look at the rumpled bed and your mussed hair and smiles knowingly.

“I trust you both slept well,” she says, her tone light but her eyes sharp with curiosity.

Loki sits up, running a hand through his disheveled hair and flashing her a lazy grin. “Like babes in a cradle, Mother.”

You flush, quickly busying yourself with the tea that one of the servants has placed on the bedside table.

Frigga’s gaze lingers on the two of you for a moment longer before she nods, clearly satisfied. “Good. The court will be eager to hear that the union has been properly sealed.”

You nearly choke on your tea, but Loki remains perfectly composed, raising an eyebrow at his mother. “Of course,” he says smoothly. “They needn’t worry about that.”

Frigga gives him a pointed look, then turns to leave, her skirts sweeping gracefully behind her.

When the door closes, you let out a shaky breath, your cheeks still burning.

“Well,” Loki says, leaning back against the headboard with a smirk. “That was convincing enough, wouldn’t you say?”

You glare at him, though there’s no real heat in it. “You could have warned me she’d ask.”

“And deprive myself of the pleasure of seeing you flustered?” He grins, clearly enjoying himself.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

The rest of the day is a whirlwind of public appearances and well-wishes from guests and courtiers. You and Loki play your roles to perfection, standing side by side and accepting congratulations with polite smiles.

But every so often, you catch Loki’s eye, and there’s a flicker of something there—something you can’t quite define.

As the sun sets and the festivities wind down, you find yourself wondering if this strange, tentative partnership might become something more.

The passing weeks blur in a mix of royal duties, public appearances, and private moments that seem far too fleeting. You and Loki settle into an unexpected, but not unwelcome, routine. It’s not one born out of affection, nor of any deep romantic feeling—at least not on your part—but something else entirely.

It’s friendship, of sorts, though it has an edge of guardedness on both sides.

Loki is still as sarcastic as ever, his barbed words often making you want to throw a pillow at him, but there’s a subtle shift in his attitude. He doesn’t try to make you uncomfortable, nor does he push you into situations that force your discomfort. Instead, he lets the two of you share moments of quiet companionship, moments that pass without him demanding anything more than just… being together.

At times, you even catch him offering a rare, genuine smile when the two of you exchange witty banter, the edge of coldness in his eyes softening for just a moment before it’s hidden away again.

It’s those moments—small, fleeting—that make you begin to wonder if there’s more to Loki than meets the eye.

But then, every time Thor is around, Loki retreats into himself. His demeanor hardens, his eyes become colder, and the playful teasing he once directed at you disappears, replaced by something almost resembling disdain.

It’s frustrating. You had grown used to Loki’s sharp wit and dry humor, but around Thor, he becomes a stranger. It’s as though he’s a different person entirely.

It’s in those moments that you realize just how much Thor’s presence affects Loki. The way his brother’s easy charm and warmth seem to have earned him the favor of everyone around them, especially their father, Odin.

The stark contrast between the two brothers becomes painfully obvious during family dinners.

On this particular evening, you’re seated at the grand table in the palace hall, flanked by Frigga on one side and Thor on the other. Loki sits at the far end, his posture rigid and his eyes fixed on his plate. The tension between the two brothers is palpable, though it’s subtle, buried beneath layers of carefully crafted politeness.

Frigga chats lightly with Thor about his latest battle, her soft voice carrying through the room. You listen attentively, though a part of you can’t help but glance over at Loki.

You can feel the weight of his silence, the way he seems to withdraw into himself whenever Thor speaks. Loki only offers the occasional half-hearted comment, his tone distant, as if he’s not really a part of the conversation.

Frigga, ever perceptive, seems to notice as well. She glances between Loki and Thor, her expression one of quiet concern.

“Loki,” she says gently, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken understanding, “is there something you wish to add?”

Loki straightens slightly but doesn’t look up from his plate. “No, Mother. I’m simply… observing.”

You can’t help but notice the way his jaw clenches, his gaze still fixed on his food as though he’s avoiding looking anyone in the eye.

Thor, ever the optimist, tries to break the tension. “Come now, brother. Surely you have a better tale to tell than mine. You’ve always been the more… creative one when it comes to storytelling.”

Loki’s eyes flicker toward Thor, but the look he gives his brother is colder than you’ve ever seen it. There’s something there, something unspoken that hangs heavy in the air between them.

“I have no tales to tell,” Loki replies coolly, his voice flat. “Not tonight.”

The silence that follows is thick, awkward. You shift in your seat, unsure of what to say, and Frigga clears her throat, clearly attempting to shift the atmosphere.

“I’m sure Loki has many stories to share when he’s in the mood, Thor,” she says, giving her son a kind smile. “But for now, perhaps we should allow him the peace to enjoy his meal in silence.”

Thor seems to take the hint, though there’s a flicker of confusion in his eyes as he nods. “Of course, Mother.”

But you notice the way he glances at Loki one last time before he turns his attention to you. He smiles, his usual warmth returning.

“It’s good to see you again, Princess,” Thor says, his voice easy and kind. “I trust you’ve settled in well?”

You smile back, grateful for the change of subject. “Yes, thank you, Thor. Asgard has been… more than welcoming.”

Loki stays silent, his fork moving absently as he pushes food around on his plate. You try not to let your gaze linger too long on him, but it’s difficult to ignore the way he seems to withdraw further with each passing moment.

Later, after the dinner has ended and the courtiers have dispersed, you find yourself walking the halls of the palace, your thoughts a tangled mess.

Loki’s behavior continues to trouble you. It’s clear that there’s something between him and Thor, something deep and unresolved. You can sense it in the way Loki acts when his brother is near, the way he retreats inward, shutting everyone else out.

And then there’s Odin. You’ve seen it too—the way the Allfather seems to favor Thor in ways that Loki could never seem to earn. The way Odin’s praise comes effortlessly to Thor, while Loki is left in the shadows, forced to fight for every scrap of recognition.

You’ve begun to notice the small things—the way Loki’s expression shifts when Odin speaks to Thor, or how he watches them both with an almost painful intensity when they stand together.

It’s hard to ignore the dynamic between them. Loki’s desire to prove himself to his father, to gain his approval in a way that seems perpetually out of reach, is something you can’t help but empathize with.

But you don’t know how to talk about it, how to approach him without making things worse.

That night, after the dinner, you retreat to your chambers, the silence of the room settling around you like a weight. Loki is already there, seated on the edge of the bed, his back to you as he stares out the window.

The flickering light from the torch on the wall casts shadows across his face, making his expression seem distant and closed off.

You hesitate in the doorway, unsure of what to say. But the longer you stand there, the more the words seem to push their way out.

“Loki,” you begin, your voice tentative, “I know things have been… difficult lately.”

Loki doesn’t turn around, but his shoulders tense at the sound of your voice. “Difficult? You mean the constant parade of Thor’s victories and Father’s adoration?” His words are sharp, laced with bitterness.

You step further into the room, your heart aching at the venom in his tone. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you say quietly. “But I can see it, Loki. I can see how much it hurts you.”

For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then, Loki sighs deeply, rubbing his temples as if trying to stave off a headache.

“I don’t need your pity,” he mutters. “I don’t need anyone’s pity.”

You take a careful step closer, your voice soft. “I’m not pitying you, Loki. I’m just… I just don’t want you to feel alone in this.”

He laughs bitterly, his shoulders shaking as he turns to face you. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t understand what it’s like to be cast aside, to never be good enough no matter how hard you try?”

You swallow hard, your throat tight as you look at him. “I don’t know what that’s like,” you admit, “but I know what it’s like to feel like you’re constantly trying to prove yourself to someone who doesn’t even notice.”

Loki’s gaze flickers briefly to yours, and for a moment, there’s a crack in his armor. But it’s gone almost instantly, replaced by that familiar coldness.

“I don’t need your sympathy,” he repeats, though there’s less conviction in his voice.

“I’m not offering you sympathy,” you reply firmly. “I’m just saying… if you ever want to talk about it—about anything—I’m here, Loki.”

He stares at you for a long while, his eyes unreadable. And then, with a quiet sigh, he nods once, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you, princess. But I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

You nod, though your heart aches at the weight of his words.

“I’ll be here when you are,” you say softly.

Loki doesn’t answer, but the silence that falls between you is… less heavy somehow. Less lonely.

You’re not sure what the future holds for the two of you, but in that moment, you both find a small measure of peace.

And for now, that’s enough.

The days following your conversation with Loki are a strange blend of light and shadow. The weight of your words lingers in the air between you two, but there’s an undeniable shift. It’s subtle, at first—a slight softening in the way he looks at you, a rare but meaningful smile that occasionally plays at the corners of his lips.

But it’s clear, too, that there are walls around him, walls that are not easily torn down. You don’t press him further, content to let him open up in his own time, if at all.

Then, one evening, when the palace is quiet and the rest of the court is engaged in a distant gathering, Loki surprises you.

You’re walking down one of the many hallways, heading back to your chambers after a rather dull meeting with various nobles, when you hear his voice.

“Princess,” he calls softly, his voice carrying through the silence of the corridor.

You turn to find him standing a little ways down the hall, leaning against the stone wall with his arms crossed. There’s something different in his stance—less guarded, more… open, though he still holds that impenetrable air around him.

You raise an eyebrow. “Loki? What’s the matter?”

He shifts, a subtle but noticeable tension in his posture as if he's deliberating whether or not to speak. Finally, after a beat of silence, he steps toward you, his footsteps soft on the stone floor.

“I… I’ve been thinking about our conversation,” he says, his voice quieter than usual.

You give him a careful look. “What about it?”

Loki glances down, avoiding your eyes for a moment before meeting your gaze. “About my father.” His voice tightens slightly, but it’s not the usual bitterness. It’s something more raw. “You were right. I… I’ve been carrying a lot of things for a long time.”

You wait, not wanting to interrupt, giving him space to speak.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever told anyone this, but…” Loki exhales slowly, his breath shaking as if he's letting something go for the first time. “I’ve never felt like I was enough for Odin. For my father. Not in the way Thor is. Not in the way that he needs me to be.”

You step closer, drawn in by the vulnerability in his voice. “Loki…”

He shakes his head, as if frustrated with himself. “I’ve always tried to do everything he wanted. Prove myself, be the son he wanted. But it’s never been enough. Every time I think I’m close to earning his favor, Thor does something. It doesn’t even matter what. Odin just… adores him.” Loki’s words come out with a sharpness, like they’ve been pent up for years, and yet there’s an unmistakable sadness there.

You want to reach out, to comfort him, but you don’t. Not yet.

“Thor…” Loki scoffs, though it’s not with malice—more a mixture of frustration and helplessness. “He doesn’t try. He just is. And Odin… he praises him for every little thing. Meanwhile, I’m left to pick up the pieces, to try to carve out a place for myself. But nothing ever works.”

A knot forms in your chest as you listen to him. It’s impossible to ignore how deeply Loki’s words cut, how much he craves the recognition and love he feels he’ll never receive.

“I know it’s not Thor’s fault,” Loki adds, almost as an afterthought, as if the words pain him. “But sometimes, I just… I can’t help but resent him.”

There’s an ache in his voice that hits you like a physical blow, and without thinking, you step forward and place a hand on his arm.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Loki,” you say quietly. “I can see how much this hurts you.”

His eyes soften for just a moment, a flicker of something—something like gratitude—before the walls go back up. But it’s a start.

“I know you understand,” he mutters, his gaze dropping. “It’s just… hard to admit, even to myself.”

The silence between you two stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels like a shared understanding, an unspoken bond that has formed between you.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” you say softly, stepping back a little but keeping your eyes on him.

Loki looks at you, his expression unreadable. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he gives you a faint smile. “Thank you.”

It’s more than he’s ever said to you in any of your interactions, and it makes your heart flutter, though you don’t show it.

“Anytime, Loki,” you reply, your voice steady, though your hands are trembling ever so slightly.

The next day, Odin makes his usual rounds through the court, his presence like a weight hanging over everyone. He speaks with courtiers, listens to reports from the generals, and gives out orders. But as usual, his praise for Thor is effusive, his voice rich with admiration.

It’s when you’re walking through the hall toward the council room that you catch the conversation between Odin and Thor. They’re speaking loudly enough for you to overhear, and you can’t help but wince as Odin lauds Thor’s latest achievement.

“Thor,” Odin says, his voice full of pride, “you’ve done the kingdom proud. Truly, your battle strategies are unmatched. I’m so glad to see you take your place as the leader Asgard needs.”

Thor laughs, clearly pleased, though there’s no sign of arrogance in him. “Thank you, Father. But I couldn’t have done it without the support of my allies.”

Odin waves off the sentiment with a chuckle, his voice warm. “Your humility is one of your finest qualities, my son.”

And that’s when it hits you—how blatant the favoritism is. How obvious it is that Odin is always quick to praise Thor, but Loki, despite his brilliance, is always left in the shadows.

Your chest tightens with the unfairness of it all. You’ve heard whispers before—how Odin has always placed Thor on a pedestal, how his approval has always been out of reach for Loki.

You’ve seen it yourself, in the way Odin looks at his sons. Thor, with his easy smiles and loud boisterousness, is clearly the favored one. Loki’s quieter, more calculating nature doesn’t seem to earn him that same adoration.

And something inside you snaps.

You’ve had enough of watching Loki suffer in silence. Enough of the obvious bias that Odin so openly displays.

With a deep breath, you step forward, deliberately interrupting the conversation between father and son.

“Lord Odin,” you say, your voice steady and louder than you expect. Both Odin and Thor turn toward you, surprised by your sudden interruption.

Odin’s eyes flicker over you, but his expression remains neutral. “Princess,” he greets, his tone polite but distant. “What is it you need?”

You take a step closer, finding the courage you’ve never had before to speak your mind. “I think it’s time someone pointed out something that’s been bothering me for some time,” you say, meeting Odin’s eyes with unwavering resolve.

Thor looks at you, clearly surprised, but Odin’s expression doesn’t change.

“I’ve noticed,” you continue, “that you never seem to acknowledge your sons equally. You give Thor praise, constantly sing his virtues, while Loki…” You glance over at him, who stands with his arms crossed, looking more uncomfortable than usual. “Loki deserves the same recognition, and it’s time someone said it.”

Thor’s eyes widen at your words, and Odin’s gaze sharpens, though he doesn’t immediately respond.

“Princess, this is a matter between my sons and I,” Odin says, his tone calm but with an edge that warns you to back down.

But you don’t. “It’s a matter of fairness,” you say, your voice unshaken. “Loki is just as capable, just as brilliant, and he deserves the same respect as Thor.”

For a long moment, there’s silence, a heavy, thick silence that seems to hang in the air. Odin’s eyes study you carefully, as if deciding whether or not to chastise you.

But then, to your surprise, he lets out a slow breath. “Perhaps you are right,” he says, his voice thoughtful, though still carrying the weight of authority. “I will consider your words, Princess.”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest as you turn to leave. You know you’ve probably made a powerful enemy, but for once, it feels worth it.

As you walk away, you can’t help but glance back at Loki, who is now watching you with a look of surprise—and something else, something softer.

Later that night, you’re in your chambers, lost in your thoughts when a quiet knock at the door pulls you from your reverie.

You open it to find Loki standing there, his usual composed demeanor in place, though there’s something different in his expression.

“Loki,” you say, surprised to see him. “What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to thank you,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “You didn’t have to do that. But you did.”

You shrug, trying to appear casual despite the flutter in your chest. “It was the right thing to do.”

“I know,” he replies, his tone soft. “But that doesn’t make it any less… meaningful.” He hesitates, then takes a step closer, his eyes meeting yours. “You’ve… you’ve done more for me today than anyone has in a long time.”

The words settle between you, and for a moment, everything is quiet.

You don’t know what to say. But somehow, it doesn’t matter. The air between you is charged, but calm, like a storm that’s waiting to break.

And then, without thinking, you step forward, closing the distance between you.

Loki’s breath catches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. His hand brushes yours, tentative but warm, and that’s when you both understand.

You look into each other’s eyes for a moment, the words unsaid but understood, and then you kiss—softly, tenderly, as if this moment, this connection, is something you both desperately need but never quite expected.

It’s gentle, quiet, and everything in between, and for the first time in a long time, you feel as though the walls between you are starting to fall.

The day after you stood up to Odin, something subtle but undeniable changes between you and Loki. The lingering tension that had once surrounded him, the cold barrier he had erected between himself and everyone, especially you, seems to soften just slightly. He still wears that aloof mask he’s perfected over years of deflecting people’s attention, but there are moments when he looks at you differently—like he sees you, really sees you, as something more than just the princess he was supposed to marry.

But of course, Loki is Loki, and despite the small shifts, he’s still a master of maintaining distance. He keeps his emotions locked away as tightly as his wit, but you’ve begun to notice the cracks. Maybe it’s in the way he lingers a little longer when you’re together, or how he catches your gaze in passing, holding it just a little longer than necessary.

Despite the changes between you two, the world around you continues to spin, and your role as the Princess of Asgard, as Loki’s wife, only grows more public.

The next day, after an awkward breakfast with Frigga, where she kept giving you knowing looks and you were pretty sure you heard her suppressing a sigh, you find yourself walking through the gardens, trying to escape the subtle whispers of court life.

As you stroll among the flowers, you hear footsteps behind you. A familiar, booming voice calls your name.

“Princess Y/N,” Thor’s deep voice rings out, and you stop, turning to face him.

Thor looks even more like the golden child of Asgard today, his wide smile blinding and a glimmer of guilt in his eyes. “I’ve been meaning to thank you, for what you did yesterday. Defending Loki like that.”

You tilt your head, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I never saw it, you know?” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “The way Father favors me and how much it’s hurt Loki. I’ve always thought he was… I don’t know, distant, difficult. I didn’t realize I was a part of the problem.”

You blink, a little surprised by his sincerity. You’ve never seen Thor look so humble, so… vulnerable. It’s a stark contrast to the loud, boisterous warrior he usually presents to the world. “You didn’t know?” you ask softly.

He shakes his head, his broad shoulders slumping a little. “No, not really. And I’m ashamed to admit it. But I never thought about how he might feel when all the praise I get… it takes away from what he deserves. Loki’s clever, more than anyone gives him credit for. I see it now. I see how I’ve made him feel… less.”

Your heart aches a little. There’s so much more to Thor than the world gives him credit for, and perhaps there’s more to Loki’s pain than you even realized.

“Thor,” you start, your voice a little unsure but kind. “I think you need to tell him that. He needs to hear it from you.”

Thor gives a tight nod, the look in his eyes both heavy and sincere. “I will. But… I wanted to talk to you first, because I didn’t want you to think that I… I didn’t care.” He pauses, as if weighing his next words carefully. “I know you’re in a difficult position, Y/N, especially with Loki…”

You shrug lightly. “It’s not difficult. He’s my husband, Thor. I have a duty to him, yes, but I also want to see him happy. I don’t want him to feel this way anymore, either.”

“I understand,” Thor says with a soft smile. “And I promise you, I’ll try to make things right between me and Loki. But thank you. Truly.”

He offers a warm, brotherly smile and pats you on the shoulder, making you smile back, a little touched by the earnestness in his voice. It’s rare to see Thor so serious, but in moments like this, you realize just how much he cares about his family—even if it’s a little too late.

As the conversation dies down, Thor bids you farewell, walking off in the opposite direction to presumably find his brother. You remain in the gardens for a few more minutes, deep in thought. There’s a strange, almost bittersweet tension in the air now, an unspoken understanding of the dynamic between the brothers.

The next day, you find yourself walking the palace halls when you catch sight of Loki. He’s talking to a group of Asgardian nobles, but the moment he notices you, his demeanor shifts instantly. His sharp, emerald eyes cut toward you, his mouth forming a thin line. He says something to the nobles, and they scatter quickly, leaving him alone in the corridor.

You pause for a moment, unsure of how to approach him. But before you can decide, Loki walks toward you, his footsteps purposeful. You can feel the chill of his presence before he even speaks.

“What was that, then?” Loki’s voice is cool, his usual aloofness cloaking his words.

You raise an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

His eyes narrow. “You and Thor,” he sneers slightly, as though saying his brother’s name leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “You two spent an awfully long time together yesterday, didn’t you? Talking about me, no doubt. What was it this time? His concern for my well-being?”

You bite your lip, taking in the sharp edge of jealousy in his voice. You feel a slight pang of guilt, but you stand your ground. “We talked about you, yes. But it wasn’t to criticize you, Loki. It was about… understanding.”

Loki scoffs, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, and his gaze shifts toward the floor. “I see. Understanding.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you say, your voice softer now. “You don’t have to push everyone away. Not me. Not him.”

Loki’s head jerks up, and his eyes flash with something unreadable. “I push people away because I know how this ends, Y/N. Thor always takes what he wants. He took Father’s love, and now he wants to take you, too.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, the raw, vulnerable emotion in his voice twisting something deep inside you. You take a step toward him, but he recoils slightly, his posture rigid.

“You don’t have to be afraid of that,” you say, your voice barely a whisper, but there’s certainty in it. “Thor won’t take me from you. I won’t let him.”

Loki’s eyes flicker toward you, the flickering of something darker in his gaze before he presses his lips together in frustration. “How can you be so sure?” His voice cracks slightly, and you don’t know how to respond, except to step even closer to him.

His face softens for a fraction of a second—just long enough for you to see how fragile he really is, how deeply the idea of losing you, losing anything, is etched in him. You place a hand gently on his arm, your voice even softer now.

“I know because we talked. Thor and I. He knows the way you feel, Loki. He’s going to make things right between you two. You don’t have to push him away.”

Loki’s jaw tightens, and you can see the battle within him, the struggle to trust his brother again. But then, something shifts in him, and his gaze softens, if only for a moment.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Loki admits in a low voice, the words barely audible, as though he’s afraid of speaking them too loud, afraid of what they might mean.

You reach up, gently cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin, and he leans into your touch. “You won’t lose me, Loki. I’m not going anywhere.” Your voice is steady, and you see his breath hitch slightly as his emotions threaten to overwhelm him.

He looks away quickly, his throat tightening, but the tremor in his shoulders betrays him. “I don’t deserve you,” he mutters, barely holding it together.

“Don’t say that,” you reply firmly. “You’re not perfect. None of us are. But you deserve all the love and respect in the world. And I’m here, Loki. Always.”

He looks at you then, his expression softening with that familiar vulnerability you’ve seen fleetingly in the past few days, but it’s stronger now, more present than ever before. Without thinking, you pull him into an embrace, wrapping your arms around him tightly. For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, his body stiff in your arms, but then he exhales slowly, his breath shaky, and finally, he holds you back.

The weight of everything between you two finally lifts, and the walls crumble a little more. The steady rhythm of his breathing in your arms is all you need to know that he feels safe.

Later that night, when you retire to your chambers, Loki follows you, a quiet presence in the doorway.

You look at him, feeling something deep inside you—a need for closeness, for reassurance that everything will be okay. “Stay with me?” you ask softly, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you see something like relief wash over his face.

“I don’t think I can ever go back,” he says quietly, his voice laced with exhaustion, vulnerability.

You reach for him, and without another word, Loki walks into your arms, settling beside you on the bed. You pull the blankets up around both of you, and without a word, you curl up against him.

His arm drapes around you naturally, and you breathe in the warmth of his presence, the security of knowing that, no matter what happens, you

’ve found something real between you two.

“Thank you,” Loki murmurs softly, as if you’ve given him everything he’s ever wanted, even when you haven’t fully realized it yourself.

You smile, tracing circles on his chest with your fingers, whispering back, “No need for thanks. Just stay here, with me.”

The night deepens, and the world outside your chambers is cloaked in quiet, but inside, there’s an unmistakable warmth that envelopes both of you. Loki’s arm around you feels like the most natural thing in the world. As the minutes pass, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. There’s a comfort in the silence, in just being close to him. You feel safe here, as if this moment is yours and yours alone, something you both can keep in the quiet intimacy of the night.

Loki doesn’t speak, but the occasional brush of his lips against your temple is all the words you need. Each kiss is a small promise, gentle and soft, as though he’s trying to tell you everything his voice cannot. The warmth of his lips against your skin lingers long after he pulls back, and the weight of the past few months—the distance, the uncertainty, the doubts—slowly begins to dissolve. You realize now that it was never about the marriage contract, nor the obligations that bound you together; it was about this—this connection between the two of you that had always been there, waiting for the right moment to surface.

You kiss him back, tentatively at first, but as you feel him pull you closer, your kisses deepen. They’re slow and deliberate, as though you both want to savor this, to make sure it isn’t just a fleeting moment but a beginning. His lips are warm and soft, and every time they meet yours, there’s a spark—a connection that has been years in the making, one that now feels as though it’s blooming into something beautiful, fragile, and new.

The kisses grow longer, more meaningful, as if both of you are learning how to express the things you’ve kept hidden for so long. Loki’s hand gently cradles your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, as if memorizing the feel of your skin. He deepens the kiss slightly, and you meet him with equal fervor, the world outside fading away until there’s nothing left but the two of you, tangled in the quiet intimacy of shared tenderness.

When the kiss finally breaks, neither of you moves, just breathing in the same air. Loki’s forehead rests gently against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath, still heavy with emotion.

“Stay here,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with something you can’t quite put into words. It’s a question, but more than that, it’s a plea—a quiet request for this peace to last.

“I will,” you reply softly, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm. And you mean it, more than anything. You know that, in this moment, everything between you has changed.

The night goes on quietly, both of you finding comfort in each other’s presence, the soft and tender kisses gradually fading into the warmth of shared silence. It’s a perfect peace, a moment of vulnerability and connection that neither of you had ever expected but now can’t imagine living without.

As the days pass, the dynamic between you and Loki shifts. What once seemed like a forced relationship, something borne out of duty and circumstance, is now something more. The distance that once existed between you two has shrunk, replaced by an ease that only comes when two people begin to trust each other in ways neither expected. Your interactions are now filled with light touches, shared glances, and quiet smiles. There’s a softness in Loki’s demeanor that wasn’t there before—a gentleness that’s slowly replacing the walls he’s built around himself.

You see it in the way he looks at you, the way he seeks out your presence even when there’s no need for it. There’s an undeniable shift in his behavior, one that others notice, too.

Frigga, ever observant, notices the change in the air the moment she steps into the palace halls. She smiles knowingly when she sees the way Loki watches you during breakfast, his eyes soft and full of affection. It’s the first time she’s seen him like this in a long while—less guarded, more present. She watches you both from across the room, her heart swelling with a mix of pride and relief. For all the missteps and misunderstandings, she’s always known that the two of you could find something real.

Thor, too, sees the change, though he’s not as subtle in his observations. He slaps Loki on the back one afternoon, his booming laugh echoing through the palace halls. “Well, well! Looks like someone’s finally figured it out,” he teases, a wide grin plastered on his face.

Loki stiffens at first, but then the corner of his lips quirks up, a smirk that’s less mocking and more content than it’s ever been. “What do you mean?” Loki asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t play coy,” Thor says, his tone playful. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. It’s about time, brother.”

Loki sighs, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I’m not in the mood for your commentary, Thor.”

But even as he says this, there’s a subtle flush to his cheeks, a fleeting moment of embarrassment that makes you chuckle softly. Loki’s pride may be as sharp as ever, but there’s a vulnerability there too, one that he tries to hide behind his biting sarcasm and quick wit.

As the days go by, your connection to Loki only deepens. The two of you spend more time together, finding moments of quiet solace amid the chaos of palace life. You talk—about everything and nothing at all. You learn more about each other in those quiet, unspoken moments than you ever did in the months before. It’s in the way he brushes your hair out of your face when it falls in your eyes or how he looks at you when you laugh at something absurd he says. It’s in the way he remembers small details about you, like the way you take your tea or how you always tie your shoes in the same knot.

The change doesn’t go unnoticed by the people around you. The courtiers whisper about it, the nobles gossip behind their fans. They notice the way Loki looks at you when you enter the room, how his eyes soften when you speak. They notice how the two of you sit together at dinner, heads close, sharing small private jokes no one else seems to understand. The shift in the way he treats you is almost palpable, and it doesn’t take long for the rest of the palace to catch on.

But the real surprise comes from the children.

It starts innocently enough. One evening, as you walk through the palace gardens with Loki, you hear giggling in the distance. When you look around, you see a group of young children playing near the fountain. They stop as soon as they notice you, eyes widening before they run over to you, their faces alight with excitement.

“Princess Y/N!” one of them exclaims, a little girl with bright red hair. “Is it true that you and Prince Loki are really married now?”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by the question, but before you can answer, another child chimes in.

“Yes! I heard you two are so in love!” The child’s voice is full of awe, as though this is the most magical thing they’ve ever heard.

Loki scoffs, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes. “I assure you, we’re simply fulfilling our duties. Nothing more.”

But the children aren’t convinced. They gather around you, bombarding you with questions. “When will you have babies?” one of them asks innocently.

You blush deeply, not quite sure how to handle the question. Loki looks absolutely mortified, but there’s an amused edge to his expression.

“Well,” you start, unsure of what to say, “we haven’t really discussed that yet. But we’re very happy.”

“Oh, I bet you are!” another child giggles, clearly not taking you seriously. “You two are always together now. You must be so in love!”

Loki looks at you in mild horror. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

You laugh, feeling the warmth in your chest spread. “I think we’ve just become a fairytale, Loki.”

The children’s excitement doesn’t end there. The next day, they’re playing again, this time reenacting your supposed “love story” with elaborate costumes. They insist on calling you and Loki the “Royal Lovers of Asgard,” and you can’t help but smile at their innocent enthusiasm. It’s impossible not to see the joy they find in the idea of your relationship, an idea that, in their eyes, is full of magic and wonder. The way they view you both—so wrapped up in this imagined romance—is innocent and sweet, and it makes you realize how far you and Loki have come.

As the days go by, the children’s stories spread throughout the palace. The courtiers begin whispering more frequently about the Royal Lovers, and soon enough, even the servants are in on the tale. You and Loki have become the subject of countless stories, both real and imagined. The court’s expectations of your relationship have shifted, but for the first time, it feels like you’re not just playing a part anymore. You’re both actively shaping this life, together.

And for all the teasing from Thor and the gossips from the children, there’s a part of you that feels proud of what you’ve built. It may have started as a duty, a contract forged by fate, but now it feels like something more. You and Loki are no longer bound by obligation alone. There’s affection, there’s trust, and there’s something deeper—something far more real.

It’s not the fairytale the kingdom expected, but it’s yours. And somehow, that feels perfect.