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mintyys-blog · 2 months ago

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BLACK SHEEP— loki laufeyson

WARNINGS: reader is Thors NON BIOLOGICAL daughter and she is over 20. Implied sex, forced marriage,

The golden halls of Asgard were always filled with light, with laughter, with the echoes of a realm that thrived in its own glory. Yet, despite its splendor, you had always felt like a shadow drifting through it—a presence that did not quite belong.

You were Thor’s daughter. Not by blood, not by birthright, but by choice. He had raised you with all the devotion of a father, his love fierce and unwavering, his protection absolute. He trained you himself, his booming laughter filling the training grounds as he praised your strength, his pride shining brighter than the golden armor he donned in battle.

And yet, the whispers never ceased.

She is not one of us.

She is an outsider.

She does not belong.

You had learned to ignore them, or at least pretend to. But tonight, as you stood beside Thor on the grand balcony overlooking the kingdom, the weight of it all felt unbearable.

Thor, ever perceptive when it came to you, turned toward you with a knowing look. “You are quiet tonight, little one,” he said, his voice a deep rumble softened just for you.

You hesitated, your fingers tightening around the goblet in your hands. The wine tasted bitter on your tongue, much like the thoughts you had been forcing down for years.

“Do you ever wonder if I was a mistake?” The words slipped out before you could stop them. You could feel Thor stiffen beside you, the golden light of the torches flickering across his face as he turned to face you fully.

“A mistake?” he repeated, as if the very idea offended him.

You exhaled sharply, gripping the cool railing of the balcony as your gaze drifted across the kingdom. “I don’t belong here, Thor,” you admitted. “I never have. The court tolerates me because of you, but I see the way they look at me. Like I’m… out of place. A black sheep among golden lions.”

Thor’s expression darkened, but not in anger. No, this was something else—something wounded, something aching. He placed a firm, calloused hand on your shoulder, grounding you with his warmth.

“You are no black sheep,” he said firmly. “You are my daughter. My family. No one in Asgard can ever take that from you.”

You swallowed against the lump in your throat. “Even if I never truly fit?”

Thor sighed, running a hand through his golden hair before leaning against the railing beside you. “There was a time I thought I did not fit either,” he admitted. “I was reckless, arrogant. I did not always understand my place.” He turned to you, his blue eyes filled with something deeper than mere reassurance. “But in time, I found it. And you will too.”

You wanted to believe him. You truly did. But there was a nagging feeling deep inside you, a restless ache that told you that no matter how much Thor loved you, no matter how fiercely he fought to keep you by his side, Asgard would never truly feel like home.

Thor’s words should have been enough. They should have soothed the ache inside you, but they didn’t.

That night, long after the halls of Asgard had quieted, you wandered. The golden corridors stretched endlessly, their polished floors reflecting the dim torchlight. You weren’t sure where you were going—perhaps nowhere, perhaps searching for something that didn’t exist.

You weren’t surprised when you found him. Or rather, when he found you.

“You look troubled, little one.”

Loki’s voice was like silk, smooth and effortless, wrapping around you before you even turned to face him. He stood in the shadows at the edge of the corridor, half-hidden, half-watching.

“You always seem to be lurking,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

His lips curled into an infuriating smirk. “And you always seem to be running.” He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “Tell me, do you ever find what you’re looking for?”

You exhaled sharply, looking away. “Not all of us have the luxury of knowing exactly where we belong.”

Loki hummed, tilting his head. “Ah. So that is what troubles you tonight.”

You tensed at his words, hating how easily he could read you. He had a way of peeling back your defenses, of seeing the things you wished to keep hidden.

“I don’t belong here,” you admitted, your voice quieter than you intended.

Loki’s gaze flickered with something unreadable. “No,” he murmured, “you don’t.”

You looked up sharply, expecting mockery, expecting him to revel in your insecurity. But there was no satisfaction in his expression. Only understanding.

Of course, he would understand. Loki, the second son. The shadow of a golden brother. The one who was always too much or never enough.

Maybe that was why you had always gravitated toward Loki.

“You could try, of course,” Loki continued, leaning against a marble pillar. “You could spend your entire life pretending, bending yourself into something more palatable for them.” His eyes darkened slightly. “But you will always be other.”

You swallowed hard, his words striking something deep inside you.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to belong,” you said, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.

Loki stepped closer, his presence unnervingly steady as his fingers ghosted just near your wrist—not touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat of him.

“Perhaps you’re searching in the wrong place,” he murmured.

The air between you was heavy, thick with something unspoken.

For the briefest moment, you wondered if he was right.

You should have pulled away.

Loki was dangerous, a master of weaving words into traps, of making you second-guess even your own thoughts. And yet, you stayed. You let the silence stretch between you, let his words linger in your mind.

“You speak as if you know where I should be,” you said, watching him carefully.

Loki’s smirk was slow, deliberate. “Perhaps I do.”

There was something unnerving in the way he looked at you—something far too knowing. It made your skin prickle, not with fear, but with something else entirely.

“And where is that?” you challenged.

Loki didn’t answer right away. He let the question hang in the air, his gaze flickering over you in quiet assessment. “You’re more like me than you are like them,” he said finally, his voice softer now, less playful. “You feel it, don’t you?”

You hated that he was right.

Thor’s reassurances had been warm, comforting, but they had not erased the doubt inside you. Loki’s words, however, fed it. Stoked it. And worse, he knew it.

“You don’t belong to them,” he continued, stepping closer until he was just a breath away. “But that does not mean you do not belong.”

You wanted to deny him. Wanted to tell him he was wrong, that you were Asgardian, that you did belong here. But the words never came.

Loki exhaled a quiet chuckle, as if hearing the answer in your silence. “I wonder,” he mused, tilting his head. “If you ever stopped chasing Thor’s approval for just a moment… would you finally see the truth?”

Your breath caught, but before you could respond, he was gone. A swirl of shadows and green magic, disappearing into the darkness as if he had never been there at all. The kingdom was in chaos.

“You will not touch her.”

Thor’s voice was thunderous, shaking the very walls of the palace. His fury crackled in the air, barely restrained, barely contained. He stood in the center of the throne room, his broad form rigid with rage, Mjolnir clutched tightly in his hand.

Across from him, Loki stood at ease, as if unconcerned by the storm brewing before him. A smirk ghosted across his lips, his hands folded behind his back in feigned patience.

“You speak as if it is your choice, brother,” Loki said smoothly.

Thor took a threatening step forward. “She is my daughter.”

Loki’s expression flickered—just for a moment—before amusement replaced it. “No, she is not,” he said, tilting his head. “She was never truly yours. No more than I was ever truly Odin’s.”

A sharp breath caught in your throat.

You had not meant to eavesdrop. You had been walking toward the throne room when Thor’s voice, filled with unrestrained fury, stopped you cold. Now, you stood frozen just outside the grand doors, listening—unable to turn away.

“Is that what this is?” Thor spat. “Some desperate attempt to spite me? To take what is mine simply because you cannot stand to see me with something you lack?”

Loki’s smirk widened, but there was something dangerous in his eyes now. “Oh, Thor,” he drawled, “you mistake me.” He took a single step forward, his voice dropping to something lower, something dark. “I will take her as my wife—whether you approve or not.”

A cold shiver ran through you.

Thor’s breath hitched, his knuckles whitening around the handle of Mjolnir. “You will not,” he growled. “I swear it, Loki, if you so much as—”

“Do not challenge me on this,” Loki cut him off, his voice sharp, edged with something lethal. “You think I need your blessing? You think I care for your permission?” He let out a quiet laugh, void of humor. “She was never yours to keep, Thor. She will be mine.”

Silence fell between them, thick with unspoken threats.

You barely dared to breathe.

Then, Loki turned, his footsteps echoing against the marble floor as he strode toward the door. You had no time to move, no time to hide before he emerged from the throne room—his gaze locking onto yours instantly.

You should have looked away. Should have run. Should have done something.

But you didn’t.

Loki’s smirk was slow, curling at the corners of his lips as his piercing green eyes flickered over you, reading every unspoken thought, every unsteady breath.

And then, without a word, he walked past you.

Leaving only the weight of his promise hanging in the air.

Odin had fallen into the Odinsleep, his once-mighty presence now reduced to nothing more than a fragile body lying motionless in the healing chambers. The golden halls of Asgard, once filled with light and laughter, now echoed with uncertainty and fear.

Then, Thor was gone.

Banished to Midgard, stripped of his power, his name whispered in confusion and sorrow among the court. Asgard had lost its prince, its protector.

And Loki had stepped into the void.

He took the throne with a grace that was almost effortless. Where others saw disorder, he saw opportunity. The golden crown suited him in a way that unsettled you, as if it had always been meant for him.

“You should not be here,” you had told him on the day of his coronation, standing in the shadows of the throne room as the courtiers knelt before him.

Loki had only smiled. “And yet, here I am.”

You watched as he ruled—not with Thor’s brute strength or Odin’s measured wisdom, but with cunning. He played the court like a game of chess, manipulating their fears, bending them to his will.

You wanted to hate him for it. You wanted to stand against him.

But something held you back.

Perhaps it was the way he looked at you now—not as an outsider, not as Thor’s shadow, but as something else. Something he had been waiting for.

And that terrified you more than anything.

The wedding was not a celebration.

It was a declaration. A conquest.

The golden halls of Asgard were draped in emerald banners, the mark of the new king. Courtiers whispered behind jeweled hands, some in fear, others in quiet approval. None dared to challenge him. None dared to challenge this.

You stood at the center of it all, dressed in flowing silks of deep green and gold, a mockery of the Asgardian regalia you had once worn so proudly. The delicate crown atop your head felt heavier than the weight of the moment itself.

Your hands trembled at your sides, and Loki noticed.

He always noticed.

His fingers curled over yours, a seemingly gentle touch—but beneath it lay possession, an unspoken warning. You felt his breath at your ear as he leaned in, his voice a whisper only you could hear.

“Do not mistake this for anything less than destiny.”

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. Your silence was the only defiance left to you, the only thing you could still call your own.

Odin was silent in the chambers of his Odinsleep. Thor was gone, banished, powerless to stop this. There was no one left to fight for you.

No one but yourself.

And yet, as the sacred vows were spoken, as Loki slid the cold metal of a ring onto your finger—a symbol of his victory—you felt something far more terrifying than hatred.

Because buried beneath your resistance, beneath the loathing, beneath the desperate wish to undo everything that had led you here…

There was something else.

Something dark. Something deep. And it terrified you more than anything else. The vows echoed in your mind, repeating like a chant that didn’t belong to you. But they had been said, spoken into existence, binding you to him in ways you could neither understand nor escape.

The ceremony had ended with no fanfare, no joy, just the cold finality of Loki’s victory. The courtiers had left one by one, all retreating to their own corners of Asgard, leaving you and Loki alone in the grand hall.

For the first time in hours, you were allowed to breathe without the weight of eyes upon you. But even in this space, there was no comfort.

Loki’s gaze never left you. He studied you with a kind of hunger, a silent anticipation that made your skin prickle.

“Do you feel it?” he asked softly, his voice almost a purr.

You didn’t answer. How could you? How could you explain what churned inside you, the clash of resentment and something darker, something more invasive?

Loki reached out, cupping your chin in his fingers. His touch was gentle, but it felt like a brand. “I can see it in your eyes,” he murmured. “That fear. That resistance. It will pass.”

His thumb stroked over your skin, the sensation far too intimate, too possessive to be comforting.

“Will it?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Loki’s smile was slow, deliberate. “Yes. Because you will want me, just as I have wanted you.”

You shivered, unable to stop it, your heart racing despite yourself. The room seemed to close in around you, the walls pressing in with the weight of his words.

“I don’t want this,” you said sharply, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Loki’s eyes gleamed with something dangerous. “No,” he agreed, “you don’t. Not yet. But you will.”

He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking with each heartbeat. “You will want me until you cannot stand it. Until you crave me the way I crave you.”

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “And then, my dear, you will surrender. Not because I make you, but because you will choose it.”

Every word he spoke was a tightening coil around your chest, each one more suffocating than the last. And still, you couldn’t pull away. You couldn’t fight the pull.

Your mind screamed, telling you to break free, to tear away from him before it was too late. But your body… your body betrayed you, responding to the subtle power he held over you in ways you couldn’t control.

Loki’s lips brushed against your neck, his presence consuming you, wrapping around you like a dark cloud.

“You are mine now,” he whispered, and you could feel the truth of it deep in your bones.

Even as you hated him, even as every fiber of your being screamed in defiance, there was a part of you that trembled at his words, that responded to his touch in ways you could not ignore. And that realization—that was the most terrifying thing of all.

Loki’s grip on your chin tightened, his fingers digging into your skin with just enough force to keep you still, to hold you in place as though you were nothing more than a prized possession. The space between you was charged, every second stretching longer than the last. His eyes, dark with intent, studied your every reaction—waiting, calculating.

“Don’t fight it,” he murmured, his voice smooth, soothing in its wickedness. “You may not want this now, but soon, you’ll crave it. You’ll crave me. Just as I’ve craved you.”

You trembled again, your breath shallow, your pulse quickening in spite of yourself. A foreign heat flooded your chest, an unsettling warmth that bled through your veins. You wanted to push him away, wanted to escape this maddening feeling—but somehow, you couldn’t. Every movement he made, every word he spoke, pulled you deeper into his world, into his control.

He leaned in, his lips grazing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “You are mine. And you will accept it.”

The finality in his tone struck like a hammer, and for the first time, you didn’t know whether to hate him more for his arrogance or to fear the dark temptation in his voice. Loki wasn’t just taking you. No, he was reclaiming you, as if you had always been destined to fall into his grasp.

The crown atop your head suddenly felt unbearable, a cruel reminder that you no longer had the freedom to choose, that you no longer had a say in your own fate. It was as if Asgard itself had turned its back on you, leaving you here to deal with the consequences of this dark, twisted bond.

“You still don’t understand, do you?” Loki’s voice was colder now, the amusement gone, replaced by something darker, more dangerous. He tilted your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze—his eyes shining with a promise you couldn’t yet comprehend. “This isn’t about what you want. This is about what is meant to be.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your neck in a slow, deliberate caress, each press against your skin like a brand. A low growl rumbled in his chest, as if savoring the way your body tensed, your muscles reacting to his proximity.

“You can fight it,” Loki continued, his voice thick with hunger. “But it will not change what you feel.”

Every part of you wanted to scream, to tear away, to escape from him and from the twisted path you were now on. But the words died on your tongue. The pull, the intensity, the ache in your chest—it was like a magnet drawing you closer, despite every instinct telling you to flee.

“You will fall in love with me,” Loki whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “And when you do, you’ll understand that it was never about your choice.”

And as he said those words, you felt the terrifying truth begin to sink in. He was right.

You could already feel the seeds of something stirring inside you. Something dark. Something you didn’t want.

Loki smiled against your skin, as if sensing your surrender, and for the first time in your life, you wondered if you had ever truly been free.

The air in the room was thick with tension, heavy and suffocating. The golden light from the candles flickered, casting shadows that seemed to move with a mind of their own, mirroring the unease that churned within you.

Loki stood in front of you, his eyes never leaving your face. His smirk, that ever-present mask of confidence, had faded to something more predatory, more dangerous. The room was quiet except for the sound of your breathing, shallow and uneven, as your pulse raced in anticipation of what was to come.

“You know what this is,” he said softly, his voice low, almost too calm, as he stepped closer.

You didn’t respond, couldn’t find the words. How could you? What was there to say? Every part of you screamed to run, to escape, but your body remained frozen, as if paralyzed by the weight of the moment.

Loki’s fingers brushed the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine, before he reached for the clasp of your wedding dress. The cool metal of his fingers against your skin made you wince, but you couldn’t pull away.

He took his time, slowly unfastening the intricate buttons, each click of the fabric loosening you from the tight cocoon you had once worn so proudly. You felt the weight of the dress lift, a small but undeniable part of you wanting to keep the only thing that marked you as someone untouched, someone who still held some semblance of control.

But it was too late.

As the dress fell to the floor in a silken heap, you stood before him in nothing but your undergarments. Vulnerable. Exposed.

Loki’s gaze darkened as he took you in, his eyes roaming over your form, assessing, measuring, as if you were something to be consumed. He stepped closer, his breath hot against your skin as he traced his fingers along the curve of your shoulder.

“You look… perfect,” he murmured, and you could hear the darkness in his voice, the possessiveness that made your stomach churn. But there was something else, something that ignited a flicker of heat deep inside you, something you despised.

Without warning, Loki’s lips were on your neck, hot and demanding, as he pulled you into him. His hand gripped your waist, pulling you tighter against his chest, and you could feel his heartbeat—strong, steady, as if he already knew how this was going to end.

You tried to resist. You wanted to push him away, to break free, but his touch was unrelenting, like fire against your skin, and you couldn’t help but respond, just a little, to the way his body pressed against yours.

He pulled away just enough to look you in the eye, his breath heavy. “You’ll learn, eventually,” he said softly, a promise in his tone. “That you want this. That you need this.”

You wanted to scream, to tell him that he was wrong, but the words caught in your throat. Loki wasn’t asking for your consent anymore; he wasn’t giving you a choice. This was his claim, his victory, and you were too far gone to escape.

“Let me make you mine,” he whispered, and you couldn’t deny the shiver that ran down your spine, the way your heart beat faster in your chest, against your will.

As he kissed you again, deeper this time, you closed your eyes, trying to block out the part of you that wanted this—desperately wanted it—and focused only on the hatred that burned in your chest. But it was hard. Harder than it should have been.

His hands were everywhere now, exploring your body with a mastery that made you feel like prey. You were trapped, caught in a web of his making, and there was no escape, not even from yourself.

And when he finally pulled away, his breath ragged, his eyes darkened further with that same twisted satisfaction. “Soon,” he whispered against your lips. “Soon, you will beg for me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with the promise of what was to come. You were no longer just his wife by title. You were his to command, his to claim—and he had only just begun.

You lay there, motionless under the weight of his words. His presence enveloped you like a storm, violent and overwhelming. The room seemed smaller, suffocating, and each breath you took felt thick, as though the very air was pushing against you. The flickering candlelight danced in the shadows, but it couldn’t hide the truth of your situation, the truth of what had just begun.

Loki’s eyes never left you, studying you with a predatory gaze, as if savoring every moment. He ran a hand over your waist, his touch both gentle and possessive, as though marking you, claiming you in ways that words could never fully express.

“Do you feel it?” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, as his fingers traced the edge of your undergarment. His touch was deliberate, each movement calculated, as if he were measuring your resistance, gauging your response. “The way your body betrays you?”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to push him away, scream at him to stop. But there was something inside you, something dark and unknown, that pulsed in time with his touch. The more he touched you, the more it became impossible to ignore. It was like a wildfire, spreading through you, igniting something that you hadn’t known existed.

His lips found your neck again, pressing against the soft skin there with an intensity that made your breath catch. His kisses were rough, hungry, each one leaving a trail of heat in its wake, and you could feel the way his body pressed against yours, hard and unyielding.

“You belong to me now,” Loki said softly, his voice barely a whisper against your skin. The words sent a tremor through you, but not the kind you wanted. It was a tremor of helplessness, of defeat, as if his words were carving something into your very soul.

Your heart pounded, but it wasn’t fear that quickened your pulse anymore. It was something darker, something that made you feel as though you were losing yourself, bit by bit.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his face hovering inches from yours. His eyes were dark, filled with desire, with control, with something else. Something dangerous. “You’re going to learn,” he said, his voice dripping with certainty. “Learn to crave me. Learn to need me in ways you can’t even imagine.”

You swallowed, trying to push away the feeling that was growing inside you. The fear. The disgust. The longing. You wanted to scream, to fight back, but the part of you that resisted felt weaker with each passing moment.

Loki’s hand slid up your thigh, his touch light but unmistakably possessive. “Soon, you won’t be able to stand being apart from me,” he whispered. “I’ll make sure of that.”

He wasn’t asking for permission. He wasn’t waiting for you to come to him. This was no longer about choice. It was about his power over you, about his dominance, about claiming you completely, body and soul.

You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to summon the strength to push him away, to tell him no, to make him stop. But the words died in your throat. Your body betrayed you, responding to him even when your mind screamed in defiance.

Loki’s lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile as he saw the struggle on your face. He knew. He always knew.

“You’ll come to understand,” he murmured, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “That this is what you were meant for. What we were meant for.”

His hand moved again, this time pulling at the remaining fabric that separated you from him, and you closed your eyes, trying to block out the pull, the ache, the undeniable truth that this was happening whether you wanted it or not. Whether you accepted it or not.

When his lips met yours again, it was no longer a question. It was a command. And you, despite everything, despite the hatred and fear and resistance, found yourself giving in.

Loki’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he studied you, his gaze lingering on every detail.

“Ah, little one,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire. “I’ve waited for this moment for what feels like an eternity. You’re so captivating, so full of untapped potential. I’m going to enjoy uncovering every part of you.”

He moved closer, his fingers brushing the curve of your neck, sending a chill through your body. “Don’t worry,” he added softly, his breath warm against your ear. “I’ll be patient with you… at least, at first.”

His lips brushed against yours, light at first, but deepening with a growing intensity. His touch became more certain as he drew you closer, and you felt the heat of his presence enveloping you.

As he kissed you, his hands roamed slowly, tracing the outline of your body, sending sparks of energy through your skin. You felt a surge of heat rise inside you as he moved, the intensity of his touch pulling something out of you that you hadn’t anticipated.

“Let me see you,” Loki whispered against your lips. His eyes burned with unspoken hunger. “Show me who you really are.”

For a moment, you hesitated, but something in the way he watched you, the power in his gaze, made it impossible to deny. You complied, and Loki’s eyes darkened with admiration as he took in the sight of you, studying every inch with unrelenting focus.

Loki reached out and pulled you close, his gaze intense as he hovered near you. His lips brushed against yours again, a soft kiss that left a warmth lingering between you. Slowly, he moved lower, his touch gentle but purposeful.

“You’re so intriguing,” Loki murmured, his voice a mix of admiration and something deeper. “You’re like a rare treasure, and I can’t wait to discover every part of you.”

As his lips brushed against your skin, you felt a shiver run through you, the sensation soft but undeniable. He took his time, savoring the closeness, his hands exploring carefully, as though learning every curve, every detail.

His movements were slow, deliberate, each gesture building a tension between you. With every touch, you could feel something stir within you, a sense of something more powerful, more complex than you had anticipated.

Loki pulled back slightly to look at you, his expression unreadable. “You’re so much more than you know,” he said softly, almost to himself. His fingers gently brushed along your arm, the simple touch sending a wave of warmth through you.

He laid you on the bed, and you looked up at him with uncertainty. He removed the last of your undergarments, taking in a breath. “You are even more beautiful than I imagined.”

After everything had settled, the room was quiet except for the soft sounds of your breathing, both of you taking in the stillness that followed the intensity of the moment. Loki sat beside you, his eyes softening as he looked at you, the usual sharpness in his gaze replaced with something more gentle. He reached over, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch unexpectedly tender.

“Are you alright?” Loki asked, his voice quieter now, a hint of concern behind his words.

You nodded slowly, still processing the emotions that lingered, unsure of what to say or how to feel. You weren’t sure if the storm inside you had settled or if it was just the calm before something else.

Loki shifted closer, wrapping his arm around you in a gesture that felt more protective than possessive. “You’re safe,” he assured, his voice low and comforting. “No harm will come to you here. I’m not the monster you think I am.”

His words were simple, but there was sincerity behind them, a side of him you hadn’t always seen—the side that cared, in his own way. He gently guided you to lean against him, offering warmth and a rare moment of peace between the two of you.

He ran his fingers over your arm, slowly, as if trying to ease the tension from your body. The warmth of his touch was grounding, and despite everything that had passed, you couldn’t deny that it had a calming effect. It wasn’t what you had expected from him, but somehow it made sense. Loki, for all his complexity, wasn’t without his moments of vulnerability.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he said after a while, his voice soft. “But I’m here. Just rest.”

As you lay there, the softness of the moment settling around you, you couldn’t help but wonder about the strange connection between you—how it had shifted from something intense and overwhelming to something almost… comforting. Loki wasn’t perfect, and neither were you, but in that moment, there was a quiet understanding between you, something deeper than either of you had expected.

The days that followed were a blur of quiet tension and inescapable reality. Loki ruled Asgard with an iron fist, his once-cunning mischief hardened into something far more dangerous. The golden city was now cloaked in an air of fear and submission, its people bending to their new king’s will. You watched it all from the confines of the palace, no longer just Thor’s ward but Loki’s wife—his queen, in name, if nothing else.

Servants moved through the halls with careful, measured steps, their gazes lowered as they passed. The throne room, once a place of justice under Odin and Thor, had become something else entirely—a place where Loki’s word was law, where defiance was met with swift and merciless retribution.

And yet, to you, Loki was different.

When he came to your chambers, he was not the tyrant who ruled over Asgard. With you, there was something else—something possessive, yes, but also strangely tender. He would sit beside you, trailing his fingers over your wrist, your jaw, as if memorizing you all over again. He would hold you at night, his grip tight, as if afraid you would vanish if he let go.

But even as he treated you with a twisted sort of care, you could never forget the chains that bound you to him. The golden wedding band on your finger felt heavier than any shackle. No matter how gently he touched you, how softly he murmured your name, you knew the truth: he had taken you, just as he had taken Asgard.

One evening, you stood by the grand window of the palace, looking down at the city below. The people moved with caution, their fear palpable even from a distance. Loki’s rule had changed everything. The streets were patrolled by his guards, and those who dared to resist had long since been silenced.

“You look troubled, my love.”

Loki’s voice was smooth as he approached, draping an arm around your waist. His presence was intoxicating, as always—a blend of danger and allure that made it impossible to think clearly.

“You’ve turned Asgard into something unrecognizable,” you said quietly, keeping your gaze on the city. “The people live in fear.”

Loki chuckled, the sound rich and unapologetic. “Fear is necessary. They never respected me before. Now, they will.”

“You think fear is the same as loyalty?” you countered, finally turning to face him.

Loki’s expression darkened, though there was no true anger in his gaze—only amusement, as if he enjoyed the fight in you. “Loyalty is fickle. Fear is constant. Would you rather I be weak, as Thor was?”

You swallowed hard, knowing there was no winning against his logic—not when he had already made up his mind. Loki had always been brilliant, always three steps ahead of everyone else. But now, that brilliance was sharpened into something cruel.

He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’ll come to see it my way in time,” he murmured. “Asgard belongs to me. And so do you.”

His lips brushed against yours, slow and deliberate. A reminder. A promise. A threat.

And despite yourself, despite the war inside your heart, you didn’t pull away.

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