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False Love and Affection

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Loki's future husband-to-be is a bore.

Disgusting Aesir that look upon her as if she's some kind of trophy. For someone that had been complaining loudly enough for her to hear two halls over about his 'beastly' new wife, he has quickly snapped his mouth shut at the sight of her.

She has yet to dress in the robes the Asgardians demand for the ceremony, waiting in her Jotun attire for the hand maidens to return. This is her personal protest to her father and far be it from her to feel ashamed at her clothing. In actuality, Thor isn't even supposed to see her until the ceremony--some kind of condition her father had haggled for, as if worried that Thor would change his mind. She feels a small sliver at pride that his first glance of her is as she is meant to be, the crown princess of Jotun, not some foreign bride for him to waste his pleasures on--garbed in Aesir robes and made to look like their kind. She feels just the littlest bit avenged.

Aesir customs are strange, and she hardly deigns to understand them. The men stare at her openly, as if she is some kind of rare animal. She sneers with disdain at Thor's open mouth, his fellow groomsmen equally amazed. Well at least her father's fears would be put to rest.

"I should think the first prince of the house of Odin would carry some of his father's famed intelligence. Tell me, is it standard to stare upon your 'beastly' new wife in the same vein you would a wild animal?" She crosses her arms, ignores how his eyes follow the movement to her chest.

By the All-father, does he really only have one thing on his mind? She fights the disgust from spreading onto her face, keeps her tone and voice neutral.

"I misspoke, Loki Laufeysdottir." Thor graces her with a smile, tries to reach for her hand to kiss, but she slides it further behind her with a raised brow. "Forgive me, I was unprepared for your beauty."

Loki almost scoffs at his failed attempt at a lie; it is near pathetic. She can almost see his mouth watering at her rebellion. She feels bright, hot anger at the mere thought that he is looking upon her as some new, unspoiled toy. She's no stranger to the tales of the many wenches and shield-maidens that have seen Thor's chambers before her. She has vowed to herself already that she will not become some new dishrag for him to rut into before tossing away.

She rolls her eyes and turns on her heel, she will find somewhere else to wait out the preparations. She has her whole life ahead of her to be his prized Jotun mule. She will savor her solitude if only for a few more minutes. She hopes, at the very least, to perhaps find her brothers. Let her last few moments as the crown princess of Jötunheimr be spent with the Jotuns as it should be. Should have been.


Fandral whistles appreciatively, clapping Thor on the shoulder.

"Dearest friend, if you require this boon of me, I will take it." His eyes have not left the retreating Jotun princess's form. "Oh sweet Valhöll, that backside..."

Thor shoves Fandral half-heartedly, eyes never leaving his future wife's figure. The knowledge that she is to be his in a few short hours makes him heady. She is far different than all the maidens he has laid with. A magic user, princess of the Jotun, her touch will have no effect upon his fair skin. She was hardly the mannish thing he was led to believe. She was tall, near his height, and by the All-father was she smooth, her Jotun lines only accentuating her shape. She is feminine, her body wonderfully curved and supple. Her face is a sight to behold, beautiful high cheek bones, clever eyes, and plump, plush lips. Her skin oddly enough doesn't seem to deter him; she looks more like an Aesir with Jotun coloring. She is almost like a sculpture come to life. Cut perfection from ice. Those tall legs, those smooth arms, and those wonderful breasts present for him and him alone, soft mouth uttering his name in worship as he touches her.

His mouth goes dry at the thought of his access to this beauty daily, able to have her whenever he pleases. He awaits the ceremony and the night after with a new-found sense of impatience. His future hardly seems such a dark thing to him anymore.


Helblindi and Býleistr are lucky: They can still openly protest to their father. They're allowed to defend their sister's honor, her very future. She is not afforded the same luxury. Because of this, they've both been forced from Laufey's sight, waiting outside in the courtyard and stewing in their own anger. They've been made to wear Aesir forms, and though Loki finds it a very tragic and surreal image to see them robbed of their skin and horns, she knows logically that the precautions had to be taken.

Along with father, they tower over the Aesir; they are through and through the proud, warring men of the Jotun high court. Privately she allows herself to keep to the belief that the All-father forced their enchantments out of fear. She feels strangely comforted that her small stature and strange (even for a Jotun) appearance lets her free from the degradation. Still, the minute she approaches them, they both turn to her, as if almost relieved. Let them be brothers and sister for but a little longer.

Helblindi has no love lost for Loki's husband-to-be since they've made acquaintance on that fateful day when Laufey and Odin came together first to come up with the terms of their...arrangement. Even now, they can hardly stand to be in the same room as Thor, quick to growl threats and even quicker to strike. He mourns her loss pre-emptively, has blamed himself for being unable to defend his sister against the Aesir's whims, despite Loki's unconvincing insistence that it is simply a role she must partake. She finds it easier to think of her marriage as a task asked of her that only she can fulfil--something that would ultimately help her people in the end. She cannot bring herself to think of her father selling her to the Aesir like some exotic trinket like Helblindi thinks. He is carelessly angry with his words, they wound everyone around. Even though he shall inherit the throne, the thought of his failure of something so basic as protecting his family makes him keep his teeth bared in a sign of deep, deep fury, remorse shining in his eyes. Once again the Aesir have conquered them.

"If I would sister, I would have you married to Grid's son, loyal to our throne and family." Helblindi promises these escapes many-a-time, if only for his own comfort instead of hers. "A good Jotun husband, not this. Never would I have wished this upon you. The shame, the shame dear sister you must bear." He replaces the suitor with every utterance, each more loyal to the throne and their father than the last.

Býleistr, ever strange, only places his hands upon her shoulders. Touch and affection are hardly common amongst the Jotun, but he holds her still as if trying to memorize her. Perhaps he's recognizing the loss they are all to face. Knowing her before she is destroyed by the Aesir and their burning skin. Soiled. Even in his false form, the cooling comfort of his cold fingers fills her with ease.

"You smell of the Aesir prince," Býleistr murmurs after a moment, leaning close, voice like the white winds of their home, loud in volume yet complacent in tone. The effect on Helblindi is almost instanteous as he narrows his foreign eyes at her.

"Did that disgusting monster touch you?" He demands, immediately seizing her arm, promising retribution for the slight, "if he has trie--"

"No, he did not." She is tempted to lie. Tempted to exaggerate, Helblindi would not fault her if she did, but she knows there were witnesses, and it would seem like the house of Jotun is full of naught-but oath-breakers. "We ran into each other in the hallway. He with his groomsmen, and I awaiting the ever-dawdling handmaidens."

"Did he say anything?" Even Býleistr tenses, ready to take his leave and attack. Helblindi furrows his brows waiting her answer.

"He spoke of nothing and was quickly led away,"" she lied. She would hardly tell her brothers the exchange before. They would only be offended, ready to attack. The last thing their father would want now is a war over the Odinson's wagging tongue.

Her brothers remain unconvinced. Helblindi opens his mouth in protest when there is the sound of eager footsteps and they all step away from one another. Loki turns to find the handmaidens, harried looks on their faces, the dreaded wedding robes clutched in their arms. "Your highness, we've been searching for you--it is time to conclude the preparations." From the shortness of the young girl's breath, they must've been hurrying around the palace searching for her. Helblindi quickly touches her shoulder, a gesture that shows more affection than he had ever done in Jötunheimr.

Býleistr exhales a loud sigh, sounding like a dying wind. They both look at her with the same expression. This is goodbye, eldest sister.

She does not cry, even though she feels the desperate pressure against her skull.

"I will see you at the ceremony brothers," she says instead, and goes.


Asgardian weddings are lavish, unnecessarily public affairs. Compared to the simple and intimate Jotun binding ceremonies, the Aesir parade their personal life as if it is some spectacle. It is a long affair, Odin gives many speeches, the robes chafe and restrict her so and the entire time she must hold Thor's hand as a sign of the pact their families are agreeing to. There are so many unnecessary acts they must perform before the crowd behind them and it grates at her that they easily throw around their support with equally boorish cheers and claps. She does not even acknowledge the many stares she garners, more from men than women.

Thor also does not cease to sneak glances at her; he tries to get rises from her. But she grants him no reactions and stares straight ahead. Unfortunately he just finds it all the more endearing, whispering as Odin recites the final stanza of their vows to their collective audience: "One would think you've been sentenced to death, my Queen, from the way you and your family are behaving. I am hardly a worse fate than that."

She fights the urge to roll her eyes at his statement, instead she says nothing. His grip tightens almost painfully on her hand as if to test her mettle.

The ending of the damn ceremony cannot come fast enough.

Thor reaches for her, wraps his large arms around her middle and swings her to him, as if she is some kind of doll and forces his kiss upon her. It is not a bad kiss. Loki has certainly had worst, and she has to admit the Odinson has talent with his tongue. She is however, unappeased as he proceeds to try and pillage her mouth. She fights back, kissing with a ferocity that many of her previous lovers would go into a frenzy for. They separate; Odin and Frigga look on almost embarrassed. Helblindi and Býleistr are pale, Laufey’s arm restraining on Helblindi’s right shoulder. Thor grins as if faced with a new challenge; Loki feels her lips tighten in annoyance.

The crowd cheers.


Thor observes his new wife from the corner of his eye as he converses with his friends at their reception, the dining hall loud with celebration, cheers and well-wishes echoing off of Odin’s grand halls. Loki is keeping council with her brothers, both of whom were keeping all other company away with some unknown force.

“Your new wife is not one for excitement, is she?” Sif observes, though she hardly sounds upset, draining another tankard of mead. “Though she certainly put you in your place—I predict a formidable foe in the future.”

Thor paused in his musings to glance back at her, brows furrowed. Sif, Fandral and Volstagg snort their agreement into their own drinks next to him. Even Hogun avoids his gaze almost suspiciously.

“What do you mean, Friend? We’ve hardly spoken besides brief encounters,” Thor remarks--tries not to let the fact they’re still smirking at him like he’s a slow child affect his merriment, in a few hours, Loki will be his.

“Thor, she’s been ignoring you this entire time. Did you think we were honestly blind to your taunting and teasing at the ceremony?” Sif almost looks as if she holds respect in her eye as she glances back at Loki and her brothers. “She’s the first maid that hasn’t lost her wits for all your charms.”

“Besides you, Lady Sif? Perhaps you’ll find a comrade in the dear queen Loki…” Fandral’s expression isn’t nearly as lewd as his eyes are and both Thor and Sif gave him chastising glares, though Sif does not protest vocally. Fandral quickly sobers.

“She’s probably just nervous, doesn’t look like the type to have done much by way of bedding,” Volstagg offers, tearing into a turkey leg. “Poor girl must be spooked.”

“I beg to disagree, Friend, did you see the way she kissed?” Fandral marveled. “Even Thor look weak-kneed after. This is a Jotun princess we speak of, and a beauty at tha—”

Silence Fandral.” Thor found his good humor quickly fading at the remark, considering the reality behind his friend’s words. He felt a tendril of hot anger flood him at the thought of other men touching her, other men partaking of her soft lips.

“Stand down Thor, he was only joking.” Sif’s voice breaks through. She sighs across from him, placing her tankard down with a thud upon the table top. “Do not go to your new wife angry on your wedding night over invisible slights.”

Sif’s disapproving tone slowed Thor’s anger. He merely nods and reaches for his own turkey leg, taking a large, passive-aggressive bite.

“You’re her husband now. Does it really matter what happened in the past? She’s certainly not thinking of the many trysts you had,” Sif continued, slightly bitter at the thought of so many dear maidens wasted upon her friend’s bed. “Take comfort in that she is your wife and yours alone—don’t go traipsing about and yelling at her for deeds she may or may not have done.”

The mood dissipates after a few moments. His friends are once again merrymaking with the rest of the guests without any lingering bitterness. Thor cannot keep stop watching his new wife; her smooth shoulders that peek from the cut of the dress, the way she holds herself.

She looks up from her conversation and regards him with a cool glance. It seems almost beckoning to him. She turns her attention back to her brothers almost instantly, her hair a black curtain shielding her pretty face away from him.

He cannot hold out much longer, anticipation thrumming through his veins. Heady with the knowledge he can have her now if he so wishes, Thor rises to go.


“Sister, your husband will approach soon.” Helblindi does not bother to hide the rage clouding his voice. The night has dragged on long enough. Loki knows that it was foolish to hope that her oaf-of-a-new-husband would simply contend himself with the party and retire too exhausted from the festivities for their coupling. She does not deny he probably has prowess, their love making may even be pleasing to her. She simply does not want to have to contend with his attitude after and during. Proud lovers were always the worst.

“Brothers, when we meet again, I vow that I shall remain ever your sister,” she states, rising. She has been considering the best course of action to take, knowing full well she must reign in the new prince-husband before he can take his control of her. She notes how he almost runs in his eagerness for her.

And a most delicious plan formulates in her mind, she turns to her brothers. Grin tightly wound across her face.

“Believe me when I say this Býleistr, Helblindi. Do not pity or worry for me—I am more than capable of ruling the Aesir.” Helblindi’s eyes widen at the implications, Býleistr only looks upon her dully, but he once again touches her shoulders in a movement of caution. Be careful, Sister. Protect yourself as we had vowed to protect you.

“Shall we retire, my lady?” Thor’s voice booms behind her, ignoring the murderous looks her brothers are more likely sending him. She turns, schooling her expression to that of nonchalance instantly.

“Yes, my lord," she replies, taking his hand effortlessly. She does not spare her brothers a backwards glance, cannot look past the blur of people in front of her, Thor’s grip tight on her hand just like earlier.


Thor barely makes it out into the hallway before he turns to kiss her, pressing her none too gently against a pillar as he tastes her. Already she can feel his hardness against her thigh, his eager touch as he bites his way into her mouth. He is passionate, clearly a tempest of lust that has boiled and brewed since the ceremony.

“My lord, shall we not retire to your chambers after all?” she asks between his kisses, pressing the words against his lips, she tries not to smirk as a flash of possessiveness shines through his brilliant blue eyes. He separates from her, grabbing her hand and tugging her along without a word, only letting out a growl.

He practically breaks down the door to the bridal suite, barely closing it behind him in his frenzy. Loki quickly begins to put her plan in motion, pausing to give him another kiss. She pushes away from him, when he becomes demanding, his hands already moving to rip the robes off of her.

“Let me please you,” she coos, pretty and bright with her words weaving their own sort of spell. Thor climbs upon the bed, almost shaking in anticipation as she sets about to strip herself of her clothes for him.

She takes a deliberate slowness, undoing her fastenings and bindings. Thor is already tearing off almost all his ceremonial garb and armor, his strong, hot, and heavy erection clearly visible against the tan of his lower torso as he reclines against the covers. She makes sure to lick her lips slowly as she looks upon it. It almost twitches, begging for her mouth, her soft opening, to be taken inside her.

She glances up again to see Thor’s stormy blue eyes consumed in lust. She allows herself a smirk as she pauses in her undergarments, knowing that her breasts are barely contained in their hold.

“My lord, I would ask of you a few terms for our own marriage.” She plays hesitant, makes sure to twist her hips just so. “I would seek them after our consummation, and yet it is Jotun tradition to ask before. Surely you must respect my heritage for me to make these pleas.”

Thor, she notes with satisfaction, is having a hard time processing her words through the cloud of want he is trapped in.

“Ask and you shall receive, you are now the wife of the heir to the throne,” he utters, though his breath hitches as she slinks towards him. She crawls on top of him, semi-clothed, straddling his legs.

“Dear husband, I would ask that you grant me these favors for our marriage to work.” She moves herself over his thighs, lets his hardness press against her own covered need, lets his pre-cum soak through the fabric. “I pray that you’ll grant them favorably.”

“Just so,” he mutters, closing his eyes and leaning his head back as he tries not to thrust up into her. Loki drinks in the sight with a pleased sound. The ripple of his muscles as he tries not to move, lest he lose all control, feels wonderful under her fingers.

“My lord, I ask that you please let me visit my family. They are all I have and I cannot bear to be without them too long. If this is too much, if you must separate us, at least let us have correspondence.” She makes sure to subtly shift her hips, grinding against him, “Please.”

“They can visit, and if you should like, we will together go to Jötunheimr to pay our greetings,” Thor hisses, opening his eyes slightly to look upon her. Loki tries not to let the disappointment show: She’d rather not that he come, but it’s still a concession that she has won over with barely any effort. She continues.

“I would ask that you let me continue to study magic here as well.” She pushes her ample breasts against his strong chest, feels his arms instantly wind around her waist. “I have heard many positive things about Asgard’s mages, and I should like to learn their ways as their queen.”

“You may learn what you please, my wife.” Thor nods instantly, his hands moving to roam over her. They both pause at her breasts, massaging through the fabric, feeling their weight in his palms. She feigns a gasp at the action, and he gives her a self-satisfied grin.

“Another concession my lord.” She presses against his aching manhood, making sure he can feel wetness from her folds. The action makes him growl and bite at the long line of neck she exposes just for his pleasure. “I would like to ask that if you are allowed to keep lovers, I be afforded the same right.”

The effect is instant, Thor freezes up completely and almost throws her from his lap. He instead pushes her off of him in a rage.

“You dare ask this of me, your husband? To allow men to touch you and mark you, claim you as their own—when we have not even consummated?” he demands, anger hot and thick, and she pauses, considering his temperament. “This insult you have placed upon me—”

“You will be allowed to have many mistresses. You will be allowed to have any take of your virginal discretions. I only ask for the same opportunity with the men of Asgard?” She couldn’t help but almost be amused at his offense. “Husband, I know of the many you’ve already taken to your bed willingly. If this angers you so, please go ahead and go out into the party and pick up a wench for your pleasures.” She hisses the words, getting up from the bed in a swift movement. “But do not expect me to keep company to myself when you indulge. Many warriors seemed eager for just my glance in their direction tonight.”

Thor looks almost horrified at the thought she would willingly leave his side for another man, his hardness is still straining near his stomach though, and she cannot help but roll her eyes.

“I would have no one but you tonight.” He insists and reaches for her, though she slides out of his grasp. “Do not be difficult about this, I would give you my word that I shall seek no other women.”

“Yes, not tonight, but in a few years perhaps? I know of the wandering gazes of men and I would sooner leave this place than have myself be some kept woman for you—taken when you fancy it. I have had far better.” The insult does its trick and Thor lunges for her, she teleports quickly. She conjures an illusion and he reaches for that one instead only to pass through. He howls in frustration.

“Why are you so upset, my lord? I have given you free access to all the mistresses you want. I only ask that I may keep my own lovers.” She already has a list formulating in her head of potentials, starting with that blonde groomsmen friend of Thor’s. He’d certainly seemed interested enough.

“No, I will not allow it.” There’s a hard set to Thor’s jaw and the next illusion she conjures sighs visibly, he grabs for it again and his hand goes through. He yells another curse upon her.

“Then I suppose my lord, I cannot let you have me tonight. For how am I to trust myself with a man that will be allowed to partake of other women, but will not allow me to partake of other men? Will you really be so selfish as to deny me when I will not deny you?” And oh, does that wound Thor. Noble Thor that cannot bear to slight his wife, clearly asking for equality in an area that is rarely given. The Aesir are relentless with their ideas of honor and valor. It’s almost distressingly easy to manipulate. She approaches Thor this time, reemerging from her hiding spot, and keeps her distance as she crosses her arms.

“I would ask a question,” he finally begins, peering at her almost hesitantly. She nods, waiting, almost cautious at the sudden softness of his tone.

“If I take no lovers, take no mistresses, only father your children in line for the throne, and never stray from you, dear Loki...” Her eyes widen at the endearment as he reaches for her (this time, she allows him) and presses his body to hers. “Could you swear the same?”

Loki recovers what she can at the sudden strange tenderness Thor offers, she tries not to let her surprise spill so openly upon her face. This is clearly not what she expected and she does not like the abrupt change. “Do not make vows you cannot keep, my good king.”

“My house is not that of oath-breakers, my queen,” Thor remarks back defensively and oh, her husband has such a beautiful face when it is warring with anger and weariness. “Do you swear that you, too, could keep fidelity to me?”

“I am your wife, am I not?” Loki tries not to let the sudden turn of events knock her off course. She allows him to lead her to the bed and lay her down upon it, his bulk pressing against her. “I am ever the neck that supports the head of the Asgardian throne.”

He seems satisfied with the answer, finally moving to remove her undergarments. She closes her eyes at the sensations. He is rough, almost as if to prove a point and she feels genuine delight at the treatment, equally eager as she runs her nails down his back and lets him hiss and bite into her gasp. They tear and claw, mark one another as he strips her. His naked erection is rubbing unhindered against her folds. She wraps her legs around his waist and he growls at the action.

They couple like they’re fighting, one challenging the other, and he pushes into her without mercy. She tightens her grip and contracts around him, eyes half-lidded and challenging. He thrusts into her harder, the movement shaking them both on the bed, the springs creaking with the weight of them and the speed of their actions.

Thor is large. Not as large as some of her previous lovers, but he handles himself well and she doesn’t bother to stop the sounds of praise that fall from her lips as he slams into her wetness. She keens deep in her throat and rolls her hips to meet him, ever-ready to bring him to sweet relief. She bites words into his neck, runs her fingers down his chest, and feels the muscles tense. He braces his arms on either side of her head and increases his efforts, adding more strength to the action and making her sigh. He whispers into her skin as he kisses her lips and down her chest, uttering a mantra of, “Mine,” over and over.

She feels dizzy with his administrations, but her mind is far more satisfied with the implications. The future king of Asgard will perhaps not be so hard a sword for her to wield upon the realms after all. The kingdom of the Aesir seems hardly as out of her reach as she initially thought. And Thor Odinson will perhaps be an interesting match yet. She will only need a little more time and observation…the very notion of ruling, truly ruling, makes her dizzy.

Yours, I am yours, Thor,” she answers back to his thrusts, and she is unable to tell if it is a truth or a lie.