“Bitch.” Loki leans down and fetches another one item of clothing. This one’s hers—a red, lacy bra that has been noticeably ignored, but that’s fair enough. She throws it anyway. “I’m serious, I need one of those books. I’m your wife, be nice to me.”
“That isn’t--” He tries to keep his deadpan, but the bra sticks to him so he has to scramble to get it off him. “That isn’t the magic word. And for the record, you’re absolutely not my wife. You’re my demon-goddess-whatever-in-law at best.”