Chapter Text
Morning light spilled gently through the curtains, painting the room in gold. Loki stirred first, lids heavy as he blinked away the remnants of sleep. His gaze fell on you, curled against his side with your head resting on his chest. For a long, unhurried moment, he simply watched the rise and fall of your breath, the serenity softening your features. A smile, unguarded and tender, tugged at his lips.
He bent, brushing the lightest kiss across your forehead, and drew you closer into his arms.
"Good morning, my darling," he murmured, voice husky with sleep, every word wrapped in warmth as though you were the most precious sight in all the realms.
Your lashes fluttered, and the first thing you saw was him. His affection laid bare in the curve of his smile, the softness in his gaze. A sigh of contentment slipped past your lips. "Morning," you whispered, burrowing closer into the steady beat of his chest, the rhythm calming you.
Loki exhaled a sound that was half relief, half joy, resting his chin atop your head as his fingers traced slow, idle patterns along your back. "I've missed this," he confessed, his tone so quiet it almost blended with the morning hush. "Waking with you here."
"Me too," you breathed, pressing a faint kiss to his chest. The smell of him, his subtle cologne, made the moment feel like home.
He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you. "We should savor it while we can. The world will come knocking soon enough."
"Let's ignore it a little longer," you murmured, eyes slipping shut again. "Pretend there's no politics, no titles... just us."
His lips brushed your temple, lingering there. "If only we could," he said softly, a note of wistfulness threading his words. "But reality is persistent, and I suspect Gitte will be at your door before long."
The comforting closeness soon sparked something warmer, bolder. You felt Loki's semi-erect cock pressing against your thigh, a teasing reminder of what happened several times last night. A mischievous glint lit your eyes, and you let your hand drift lower, brushing him through the sheets with the lightest of touches.
His breath hitched, and a soft, playful warning slipped from his lips. "Hmm, don't tease me unless you plan to finish what you start," he murmured, his voice thick with promise. He eased back against the headboard, his eyes never leaving yours.
You bit your lip, heart hammering with anticipation. "Who said I wasn't planning to?" you whispered, sliding into his lap and straddling him in one fluid move.
His cock twitched beneath you, fully hard now. A low sound rumbled in his chest as his hands found your waist, pulling you against him. You rocked slowly, deliberately, delighting in the way his composure began to unravel. "You're impossible," Loki growled, though his smirk betrayed his enjoyment.
"Impossible, or irresistible?" you countered, brushing your lips against his in a feather-light tease. A rush of heat sparked between you, and suddenly his mouth was on yours—deep, demanding, and desperate. You melted into the kiss, losing yourself in the press of lips and the urgent mingling of breath.
"Enough teasing," Loki finally growled, gripping your ass firmly. With one forceful thrust, he sheathed himself inside you, drawing out a gasp that was equal parts shock and delight. The rhythm that followed was instinctive and intense, your bodies moving in perfect sync.
The hunger in his kiss, in his touch, left you reeling, every nerve alive beneath his fingertips.
You clung to him, fingers tangling in his hair, moans and ragged gasps filled the chamber as Loki drove deeper, each thrust leaving you breathless.
Then, to your utter frustration, a knock shattered the moment. You froze, every muscle tense, torn between ignoring it and surrendering to reality.
"Begone!" Loki barked, his voice sharp with irritation. But the knocking persisted, each rap more insistent than the last.
A soft laugh slipped from you despite yourself. You stole a quick kiss, lingering just long enough to tease. "We'll have to pick this back up later," you whispered, adding one more playful grind before you reluctantly drew back. The sudden loss of closeness made you ache.
You grabbed a sheet, wrapping it loosely around yourself as you tried to smooth your hair, cheeks still flushed. Loki rolled his eyes, exasperation etched in every line of his face. With a wave of his hand, his clothes shimmered back into place, though the annoyance in his expression made it clear he'd rather hex the door shut.
Another sharp knock rattled the door. With a growl of impatience, Loki strode across the room and flung it open. "What in the Nine Realms is so urgent that it cannot wait?" he demanded, his voice cutting and cold.
From your place on the bed, you couldn't see who stood beyond the threshold, but the sight of Loki, every line of him coiled with authority, his irritation barely leashed. You had to admit that it made your pulse quicken. He was magnetic, commanding, and all you wanted was for him to slam the door and return to you.
Instead, he drew a sharp breath through his nose, muttered something low, and stepped out into the hall. The door shut firmly behind him, sealing you in silence. The stillness felt louder than any noise, your body thrumming with need. You pressed a hand to your racing heart, mind still tangled in the heat of him, his touch, the way you fit together so perfectly.
Just as you moved toward the bathroom, the door creaked open again. Loki slipped back inside, a mischievous smile curving his lips. His emerald eyes gleamed and without a word he closed the door.
He drew a slow, deliberate breath, his form shimmering as his attire vanished in a ripple of magic, revealing the sculpted lines of his body. Your pulse jumped, heat blooming low in your belly as his bare figure came into view. In two long strides he was before you, hands sliding to your waist with a grip that was both gentle and possessive. He turned you with practised ease, guiding your palms against the counter, enveloping you as he pressed close.
A soft gasp escaped your lips as he lightly teased your entrance, clearly determined to erase any memory of the rude interruption that had pulled him away. You melted against him, overwhelmed by the heady thrill of being wanted so completely.
"They can wait," Loki murmured, his voice husky against your ear. His breath sent shivers down your spine. "But you, darling, remind me just how sweet you sound when I claim you. Thoroughly."
The words, low and commanding, unravelled your composure. You melted beneath his touch, caught between desire and the intoxicating thrill of surrender.
All it took was one unhurried, deliberate movement, and he was inside you again, setting an urgent pace that made your head spin. You desperately clung to the counter, moaning his name in a breathless chant, each thrust sending electric waves of pleasure coursing through you. The room filled with a symphony of sighs, ragged breaths, and the rapid slap of skin against skin.
Your orgasm tore through you like a sudden downpour, stealing your voice and leaving you quivering in his hold. Loki's own climax followed soon after. He let out a low, rich groan as his cum spread inside you. Both of you stayed there for a heartbeat longer, skin flushed and hearts pounding.
Loki steadied you with quiet tenderness, pressing a kiss to your temple before turning to the wide golden bathtub. With a flick of his fingers, water began to pour, steam curling into the air as he prepared the bath.
He offered his hand, and you let him guide you into the steaming bath. The water enveloped you, its heat a soothing balm against your skin. Loki slipped in behind you, drawing you carefully against his chest until you rested with his arms circling you. For a time, neither of you spoke. The quiet was filled only with the sound of water lapping and the steady rhythm of his breath against your ear.
His hands began to move, slow and deliberate, tracing idle patterns along your arms and shoulders as though memorizing you by touch alone. His lips brushed your neck, light at first, then lingering, savoring.
One hand slid between your arms and cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples before he rolled them between his fingers. Firm, deliberate, and achingly slow. You tilted toward him instinctively, fingers reaching back to tangle in his hair, urging him closer.
The faint scrape of his teeth sent shivers racing through you, and a soft gasp escaped your lips. Loki hummed against your skin, pleased, his voice a low murmur that seemed to curl around you like the steam.
His hands didn't stop moving. One stayed at your chest, still toying with your nipples until they peaked under his touch, while the other slid lower, skimming down your stomach at an agonizing pace.
He pressed himself against you, allowing you to feel how hard he'd grown again. His fingers slipped lower, slow and teasing, brushing over your clit with just enough pressure to make your hips jerk in response.
"Still so beautifully responsive," he whispered, the words heavy with both mischief and devotion. "I could spend hours like this—simply learning every way to make you tremble."
The water rippled softly as Loki's touch grew more purposeful, every movement measured to tease and torment. His chest pressed against your back. His hands traced their way lower, deliberate, lingering, until anticipation had every nerve in your body alight. Your moans grew louder as you clung to him, nails digging into his shoulder, desperate for more.
His fingers never stopped circling, stroking, dipping just inside before retreating again, teasing you with the promise of more. Water sloshed softly as you shifted your hips, trying to grind against his hand, but he only chuckled low in your ear.
A low chuckle brushed your ear when your hips shifted, seeking more of him. "Patience," he murmured, the word dark and velvet-smooth. "I want to savor this... savor you."
His mouth found your shoulder, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, the sharp sting soothed instantly by the warmth of his lips. He slid two fingers deep inside you, slow and steady, curling just right as his thumb resumed its torturous rhythm over your clit. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry, head tilting back against his shoulder as pleasure pulsed through you.
The rhythm of his touch built, coaxing you higher and higher until you could barely hold yourself still. You gripped the edge of the tub, knuckles whitening as the pressure inside you coiled tighter, every breath breaking into loud, desperate cries.
"Beautiful," Loki whispered against your ear, his voice thick with awe and desire. "Every sound, every shiver, every delicious orgasm... all mine."
The words unravelled you as surely as his touch. Your body tensed, a moan escaping before you collapsed back against him, shivering as he held you steady, guiding you through every lingering wave.
Your body slowly relaxed against him, leaving you trembling in his arms, spent but safe. Loki's lips brushed your shoulder in a soft kiss before he drew both arms snugly around your waist, pulling you tighter against his chest.
His heartbeat pressed steady against your back, calm and grounding. He rested his chin in the crook of your neck, and silence settled between you, broken only by the gentle lapping of water. One hand trailed lazily over the surface, while the other clutched you as though he might never release you.
"Are you all right?" he murmured, voice hushed and tender now, the sharp edge of desire softened into affection.
You tilted your head, letting him kiss the hollow just beneath your ear. "More than all right," you whispered, a soft hum rising from your chest.
His smile curved against your skin, his breath tickling your damp hair. "Good," he whispered. "You were perfect."
Loki reached for a cloth, dipping it in the water before running it slowly over your skin—your thighs, your stomach, every touch careful, reverent. When he was done, he pressed another kiss to your shoulder.
You shifted, turning just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes caught yours, so soft it made your chest ache. He brushed a damp strand of hair back from your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin with gentle insistence.
"Stay like this for a while?" he asked quietly.
You nestled into him, whispering, "Don't let go."
"Never," he answered simply.
~~~~~~
"I've brought your gown for the evening, Princess," Gitte stepped inside with a small curtsy. Draped carefully over her arms was a breathtaking sapphire-blue dress, its fabric shimmering like liquid night. "Prince Loki selected it himself. He was... insistent this was the one you should wear."
You blinked, startled from your thoughts. Your hand drifted forward almost on instinct, fingertips brushing the smooth, cool fabric. "He chose this?"
Sapphire wasn't Loki's color. He always gravitated to his greens and black leathers, sharp and commanding. But this blue... this was yours.
The thought sent warmth rising in your chest. This wasn't just a gown. It was Loki's way of telling you how he saw you. Not as the princess others tried to shape, but as yourself. And in choosing it, he'd given you a silent kind of praise more intimate than words: a reminder that to him, you weren't just royalty. You were his.
"Yes, Your Highness," Gitte confirmed with a small smile, unaware of the storm of emotion the gown stirred in you. "He said it would suit the crown your mother entrusted to you."
Warmth bloomed quietly in your chest. Somehow Loki always noticed the details. Even in moments when his touch had been anything but restrained, there had been such careful devotion in every movement. And now this gown to mirror the only heirloom your mother had given you.
"I'll have to thank him," you murmured, your lips curving into a soft smile as your fingers lingered on the gown. Then, glancing up, you added gently, "Oh, and please, Gitte, just call me Nova."
She hesitated, her expression faltering. "I'm afraid I cannot, Your Highness."
You arched a brow, half teasing, half hopeful. "Says who?"
"It is protocol," Gitte replied, shaking her head. "A lady of my station must address her princess properly."
The title landed heavier than you expected, sinking into you with sudden weight. Your gaze dropped, your voice quieter. "Oh..."
Here in Asgard, the weight of rules pressed in. Reminding you that even your name, something so simple and personal, was no longer yours to give freely.
"I consider you a friend, Gitte," you said softly. "Not just my lady-in-waiting. I really don't mind."
One of your first requests to Frigga had been to elevate Gitte's station. A request easily granted, given how quickly the queen had come to trust her. But despite the formal recognition, you had hoped this friendship wouldn't change.
Gitte's expression gentled, her eyes bright with sincerity. "You're very kind, Your Highness," she replied, bowing her head. "But I must decline. I would never risk giving others reason to question your place here. Not in Asgard."
The truth struck you then. She was trying to protect you from the whispers that could follow. The realization brought a bittersweet smile to your lips.
"Very well," you said at last, warmth threading through your voice. "But behind closed doors, you have my blessing to call me Nova. I promise I won't scold you for it." You paused, letting a playful curve soften your tone. "And if I stumble over some royal custom, I'll rely on you to keep me in line. I'm still learning what it means to be a proper princess and I am sure I will mess up a lot."
Gitte hesitated, then allowed herself a shy smile. "I... will consider it, Your Highness. Nonetheless, I shall provide the support Your Highness needs."
With steady precision, she lifted the gown and eased it into place, her fingers working the corset laces with practiced care. The fabric cascaded around you in gentle waves, cool against your skin.
Gitte's hands moved with steady care, weaving your hair into elegant curls and braids. The style was regal yet understated. Designed not to overshadow the crown it was meant to bear, but to honor it. When at last she pinned the crown your mother had given you into place, she stepped back. Pride flickered in her eyes like candlelight.
"Gitte?" you asked softly as she began gathering the scattered combs and pins.
She straightened at once, offering a pleasant smile. "Yes, Your Highness?"
"Where are you from?" The question slipped out casually, though your pulse beat faster beneath the words.
"I was born here in Asgard," she replied without hesitation. "My family still lives near the river district."
You gave a small nod, then drew in a quiet breath. "And... what do you know about the Jotuns?"
For the first time, she hesitated. Her brow furrowed slightly, though her voice remained respectful. "Not much, I'm afraid. They come from Jotunheim, everyone knows that. They're said to be tall, strong... cold." She paused, thoughtful. "I suppose I have seen one—Prince Loki. But... he doesn't look like the Jotuns people describe, so I don't know if it truly counts."
Your thoughts flickered to the truth you carried. You had seen Jotuns with your own eyes—towering, broad-shouldered, with skin like ice and eyes that burned red. They had been formidable, frightening in their sheer size and presence. Loki shared their blood, yes, but he was nothing like them.
"Right," you murmured, then ventured carefully, "Are there any others here in Asgard? Any who are... accepted?"
Gitte shook her head. "None that I've heard of. Only the Prince. And even then... most prefer to pretend he's not Jotun at all. As if ignoring it makes it untrue."
A sigh escaped before you could catch it. The truth pressed heavier on your shoulders, an unwelcome reminder of the secret you carried. You worried what would happen when they found out you are just like Loki.
"If I may ask," Gitte said carefully, her voice softening, "what sparked your curiosity?"
Your heart gave a quick, betraying flutter, but you smoothed your face into a light smile. "No particular reason," you said, letting the answer sound casual. "Just... curious."
Gitte accepted it with a polite nod and bent to gather the stray pins from the vanity. "You look beautiful, Your Highness. I think your father will love it."
You turned to the mirror. The sapphire gown drank the lamplight, the crown catching it and throwing little silver sparks back at you. In that reflected frame you looked every inch a princess. And yet a smaller part of you felt like the servant girl you'd been on Midgard, still feeling as if she were pretending.
"Thank you, Gitte," you said, meeting her eyes. "Truly. I appreciate everything you do."
Her face softened at your gratitude. She reached for the last of the dressing tools, then paused, fingers hovering over a silver clasp as if summoning courage.
"Your Highness?" she ventured.
"Yes?"
"May I... ask a favor?" Her breath caught a little before she pressed on. "When you move to Vanaheim—whether soon or later—would you consider taking me with you?"
Your brow lifted. "To Vanaheim?"
She gave a shy shrug. "You're their princess, after all. It's only natural you might take your place there someday. I—I would like to remain in your service. If it pleases you, of course. With permission to visit my family here from time to time if that is possible."
Her request caught you off guard. You recalled Skadi mentioning the possibility, but it still felt far away, unreal. The idea of leaving Asgard—of leaving Midgard behind entirely—tightened something deep in your chest.
"I..." You swallowed. "I haven't made any decisions yet. I don't even know what my future looks like. But if it comes to that, I'd be honored to have you by my side. Just promise you'll give yourself the choice too. You may change your mind."
Relief softened her features. "Thank you, Your Highness. Wherever you go, I'll serve you faithfully."
The quiet promise struck something deep inside you, bittersweet and grounding. "That means more than you know."
With a final nod, Gitte dipped into a graceful curtsy. "May I be dismissed to prepare for the journey?"
"Of course," you said with a gentle smile. "I'll see you at the Bifrost."
She turned and left, her footsteps light as she disappeared through the door, leaving you alone in the flickering hush of your chambers.
You turned back to the mirror, taking in the full image of yourself one last time. The crown, the gown, the regal air. You looked every inch a royal. And yet beneath the surface, the doubt still stirred. The sense that everything was shifting and pulling you toward something vast and unknown.
You drew in a slow breath, steadying yourself.
Whatever came next, there would be no turning back.