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Cannot Do This 2

Part 2/2

Read Part 1 Here

Masterlist

Pairing: Thor Odinson X Reader

Summary: Thor was your best friend, your whole world really. You were in love with him, desperately so. Though just as you thought he felt the same way about you, you overheard him say that you were just a tool of the throne. Heartbroken, you left asgard for a year, only to return to a Thor who clearly dispised you.

Content: Slow Burn, Best Friends to Enemies To Lovers, ANGST, Yearning, Tension, A Lot Of Arguments (don’t say I didn’t warn you), They Are Bickering Every Chance They Get, DESPERATE Thor #walkhimlikeadog, Possessive Thor, Obsessed Thor, Jealous Thor, Jealous Reader, Reader Is Stubborn Asf, Arranged Marriage, Forced Proximity But It’s Forced by Thor, Denial Of Feelings, MISUNDERSTANDINGS, Miscommunication, Explicit SMUT at the end

Word Count: 38.6k

Note: Sooooo sorry to keep you waiting!! This took me a while, writing almost 40K words takes a lot of time and I’ve been really busy—I HOPE THIS FEEDS YOU💕 not proofread, posted immediately after i finished it.

Minors Do Not Interact

—

As you gained consciousness, you noticed two things. One: your head ached so bad it felt like someone was drilling into your skull. Two: You desperately needed a bath. You slowly forced your eyes open, finding yourself in the familiar comfort of your own room back in Asgard.

Thor must've brought you straight back and demanded you be treated in your chambers instead of the public halls of the healing houses.

Nice. At least you didn't have to deal with the prying eyes of the court.

You carefully peeled back the heavy silk sheets and looked down at your stomach, seeing that the horrific wound was completely gone—not even a scar was left behind on your skin.

You looked around the room for some water, trying to force your heavy, stubborn limbs to move. Just as you succeeded in lifting a shaky hand, the heavy oak doors barged open.

“Treasure,” Thor mumbled, letting out a massive, ragged breath of relief as his eyes locked onto yours.

You couldn't even form words yet, so you just gestured to the silver pitcher of water across the room with your eyes. He immediately caught on, moving across the chamber with a hurried urgency.

“I leave for a damn second and she wakes up,” he murmured to himself, his voice rough with exhaustion. He poured the water into a glass, walking back to the edge of your mattress. Carefully, he slid his massive hand behind your back to give you support, lifting your upper body gently as he helped you guide the glass to your mouth.

The cold water was pure relief against your dry, parched throat, immediately relieving the burning sensation.

“Thank you,” you rasped out, your voice sounding small and cracked.

Thor set the glass down on the nightstand, his eyes scanning over your face, searching for anything out of the normal. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his large palm finding your right cheek as he tenderly grazed your cheekbone with his thumb.

“I feel—“ You paused, clearing your throat to rid it of the remaining gravel. “I feel okay. There isn't even a scar left,” you mumbled, staring down at your flawless skin in slight disbelief.

He smiled down at you, the expression tired but incredibly warm. “Did you think I would let anyone touch you if they didn't know what they were doing? I brought the best healers in the Nine Realms here, for you.”

Your heart gave a traitorous, violent leap in your chest. He did all that for me? you thought, the wall around your heart threatening to crack again under the weight of his devotion.

You tried to pull yourself together, shifting the topic to something grounded.

“How long was I out?” you asked, shifting your weight as you started sitting up.

“Easy there, love,” he said instantly, his hands moving to support your shoulders and waist to keep you steady. “I— I thought I lost you,” he murmured, “It's been two days. The healers' magic was keeping you asleep so that your body could rest without interruptions.”

“Oh,” you said, looking down at the sheets as the timeline registered. Two days.

A heavy, suffocating question immediately lingered in your mind, drowning out everything else. What about the wedding? The arranged union that had been looming over your head like an executioner's blade. “The wedding?” you asked quietly, not needing to specify exactly what you meant.

“It was delayed. We have another week,” he said, his hands remaining firm and grounding on your skin as he carefully helped you swing your legs over the edge of the mattress, supporting you as you stood up on your own two feet.

“I see,” you said, nodding your head slowly as your mind raced.

The room fell into a heavy, charged silence as your feet touched the cold stone floor. You were alive, the physical pain was gone, and the wedding was pushed back—but the look in Thor's eyes told you that the peace wouldn't last. The final words you had whispered into his neck before the Bifrost took you were still hanging invisibly in the air between you, waiting to be addressed.

You had told him—told him you had heard him. Now that you were fully conscious and aware that you weren't at the brink of death anymore, a cold dread of regret settled heavy over you.

You shouldn't have fucking told him. He was going to ask questions now that he had heard you say those words to him. He would be wondering exactly what you meant—what it was that you had heard.

He assisted you toward the restroom, keeping a supportive arm around you, though now that you were moving a bit, you could feel your muscles rapidly gaining their strength back. The healers' magic had done its job well. Standing at the threshold of the bathing chamber, you gently eased yourself out of his grip.

“Thank you—for everything,” you said to him, looking up at him through your lashes.

Thor could feel his chest tighten painfully at the sight of you looking up at him like that. Gods, you were beautiful, even after lying at death's door for two days. The fierce, possessive urge to just lock you away in this room where nothing could ever touch you again roared in his mind, but he kept his hands to himself.

“I can handle the rest,” you murmured.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice heavy with lingering reluctance. His eyes scanned your face, hating the distance you were already putting back between you. “I could send in a few lady's maids—“

“It's okay. I'm okay,” you reassured him, offering a small, tight nod as you stepped into the privacy of the washroom, desperate to relieve yourself and take a damn bath.

“I will be right outside,” he promised quietly.

You watched him step back, and you heard the heavy oak door click shut behind him. Alone at last, you let out a long, shuddering breath and turned to start drawing yourself a deep, steaming bath, the scent of jasmine and oils filling the room as the hot water began to rush. But even as the steam rose, your mind remained entirely fixed on the storm waiting for you just on the other side of that door.

You had to get him away from you; you had to stop him from asking questions. You had to protect your poor heart from all this—you simply didn't have it in you to confront him. The fact that he was so attentive didn't help at all. It fucking made it worse, feeding a desperate, traitorous hope that somehow, against all odds, he might have the same feelings toward you that you held for him.

Fuck the throne, his broken voice echoed brutally in your mind. I am nothing without you.

You shook your head violently, splashing water onto your face as you tried to get your damn mind back together. He had only said those things because he was terrified you were taking your last breaths. It was your shared history as childhood best friends that made him say them, nothing more. He was mourning the loss of a companion, not a lover.

How were you going to marry him? How were you supposed to endure a lifetime bound to the man who kept systematically breaking your heart? You remembered the dull ache of watching him with other girls in your teenage years. You remembered Sif a few years ago—how you had smiled and acted your way through the crushing pain, pretending it didn't matter. Then came a year ago, with that suffocating, almost-kiss that ended in him tearing your heart out of your chest. Just a few days ago, with his eyes full of despise and his words full of hate.

And now, he was doing it with his gentle words.

His words cut so deep that it felt like you were constantly bleeding out from the inside. It kept bleeding and bleeding until you were practically choking on your own blood, your throat so full of the agonizing truth of your unrequited love that every time you tried to talk, it felt like more blood kept gurgling out, silencing you.

You leaned heavily against the edge of the marble tub, watching the steam rise into the air. You couldn't face him. You couldn't let him look at you with those panicked, beautiful blue eyes and demand to know what you meant. If he pushed you for answers, if he used that gentle, desperate tone he used on the mountain, the final walls protecting your heart would completely collapse, leaving you entirely ruined before you even walked down the aisle.

So when you emerged back from your bath, the fresh smell of flowers surrounding you, and you saw him anxiously waiting for you—waiting to ask you questions you didn't want to answer; you did the only thing you could think of, and that was to stall him until you could figure out a way out.

The second he saw you, he opened his mouth to say something, but before the words could leave his lips, you doubled over alongside faking a sharp sound of pain.

“Ah—“ you clutched your stomach, leaning heavily against the stone wall.

Thor's face instantly changed. The intense, questioning gaze he had been harboring turned into one of immediate, overwhelming concern. “What is it?” he asked, his voice changing into a panicked rush as he hurriedly made his way over to you.

“I don't know—“ you breathed out, squeezing your eyes shut for effect. “It hurts.”

Within a heartbeat, he was right next to you, his massive hand securely holding you by your waist to support your weight. You reached out, grabbing onto his bicep to steady yourself.

Oh, those were some good arms—

you gave yourself a harsh mental pinch. Now was absolutely not the time to be admiring his physique.

“Where does it hurt? Darling, I thought you were okay?” he said, his eyes frantically scanning your face and your midsection. His voice sounded so utterly panicked, yet so incredibly gentle that the sheer warmth of it grazed your aching heart.

“I don't know—can you help me to bed?”

“Damn those healers,” he muttered fiercely under his breath, his grip on your waist tightening protectively as he carefully guided your steps back toward the mattress.

You knew this wasn't really ethical, but you would do absolutely anything to escape from that conversation.

He helped you lie down, adjusting the heavy pillows behind you as he murmured, “I told you I should've brought lady's maids.”

You breathed a genuine sigh of relief at the first contact with the soft bed, the exhaustion from the tension finally catching up to you. “Thank you,” you breathed, your hand sliding down from his bicep, your fingers still holding onto his arm—his forearm now, feeling the hard muscle. “I think I should rest a bit more,” you muttered slowly, deliberately signaling for him to leave you alone.

He understood the cue immediately, his features softening with a reluctant understanding. He nodded, slowly easing his arm out of your grip so you could settle under the sheets. He stood by the bedside for a lingering, heavy moment, just watching you breathe, before he finally turned to walk toward the door.

Before he exited the chambers, he paused at the threshold, his blue eyes casting one last protective look over your form. “Call for me if anything happens.”

With that, the heavy oak door closed quietly, leaving you alone in the quiet stillness of your room.

—

You didn't call for him like he told you to, nor did you look for him.

You simply started avoiding him. Whenever he came to your doors, knocking softly in the quiet hours of the evening, asking to come in and asking if you were okay, you just muttered a simple, tight “I'm fine” through the heavy wood. You never made any moves to turn the handle. You never opened the door. You avoided him at all costs.

You changed your paths in the palace, taking the long, winding servant corridors just to bypass the grand hall. The second he entered a room, you left it, fading into the shadows of the pillars before he could even cross the threshold.

When you absolutely could not escape his presence during mandatory strategy meetings, you reverted entirely to cold, professional bowing—lowering your head just enough to be respectful, but keeping your eyes fixed strictly on the stone floor.

You were entirely aware that you were courting a scandal. The court certainly noticed your freezing coldness toward your betrothed. The handmaidens whispered behind their silk fans, and the lords exchanged knowing, amused glances whenever you slid your hand away from his during formal processions.

But you didn't care about the gossip. You had to protect yourself from the absolute wreckage he would undoubtedly cause to your heart if you let your guard down for even a second.

Thor was going insane.

He didn't understand what your problem was, nor did he understand your coldness towards him. After everything that happened, after he almost lost you in the mud of Vanaheim, your distance was dismantling him slowly. Pulling him apart and apart—limb by limb, until there was nothing left of him.

He came to your door, his heart begging to see you, begging to get just a glimpse of you.

But you just answered him through the damn door and never got up to actually open it. He could feel his heartbeats slowing every time you hit him with that coldness, like he meant absolutely nothing to you.

He could feel you changing your damn path when you saw him, probably thinking he didn't notice you. But he did. He always fucking did, and the way you hurriedly ran away from him made him want to summon all the thunderstorms he could and fucking burn down all of Asgard.

Yeah, that's how you fucking made him feel.

On the third day of your avoidance, he entered the grand hall to see you eating dinner. You had looked up from your plate immediately, feeling his presence the exact same way he always felt yours.

His heart squeezed at seeing your beautiful, angelic face after three heart-wrenching days.

He wondered what he did wrong for you to be avoiding him like this, so thoroughly that he hadn't seen you for three whole days.

He made his way towards you then, his jaw set but his gaze completely locked onto yours, determined to sit right next to you and calmly demand an explanation.

Though as he made his way to you, you got up, your chair scraping sharply across the floor as you looked at him. He stopped dead in his tracks. You wouldn't leave like this, would you?

He saw you bite your lip, calculating your next move like this was a tactical mission you had been sent to. You started walking towards him, your heels clicking in a steady rhythm on the marble.

This is it, he thought, a desperate spark of hope flaring in his chest. She's finally going to talk to me.

But it was not what he was hoping—praying for.

You simply stood before him as you muttered a low, hollow “Your Highness,” and bowed before him.

You had never done that before. Ever.

He felt his heart break into a thousand pieces, the sharp, broken edges etching themselves deeply into his lungs until it was painful to breathe. What the actual fuck was your problem? What had he done that had you treating him this coldly?

He would give you the entire Nine Realms if you asked—he would fucking carve his own heart out of his chest and hand it to you if you asked it of him, and he would do so with a damn smile on his face.

Why were you doing this to him?

You simply scrambled away, slipping past him before he could even process the movement, leaving him entirely frozen. His gaze was stuck, glued to the exact spot on the floor where you had just bowed down to him like a common stranger.

The sorrow in his chest hardened into something fierce, untamable, and dangerously dark. He was determined now.

He would force you—force you to tell him what he had done so wrong that had you treating him this way.

He would force you to tell him exactly what the words you whispered into his ear meant.

—

Five days after your return from Vanaheim, you felt completely suffocated—suffocated by the sheer, exhausting workload of avoiding him when he seemed to haunt every corner of this palace, suffocated by a love that kept drowning you further and further down into the dark, crushing deep sea of your own feelings, until you had no hope of ever escaping it anymore.

You were fucking suffocated by the phantom sensation of those gentle words he whispered against your skin, the vivid memory of the way he kissed you, the way he tasted you, the way he held you with a tenderness so profound it literally tore your heart to pieces. He had whispered how much he wanted you, but he didn't fucking love you—how could he?

Yes, he had clearly shown how deeply attracted he was to your body, but you didn't know where his actual heart laid, and surely, it was not with you.

Everything pressed down on you all at once, a weight so heavy you couldn't even breathe the palace air anymore.

Desperate for release, you sought out the only place where you could still catch your breath: the high, arched balconies overlooking the grand training courtyard.

The afternoon air was crisp and biting against your face, and you leaned heavily against the cold marble balustrade, closing your eyes tight just to let the rushing breeze wash over your spiraling mind.

Thor was drowning. He was drowning in his fucking want of you—he was drowning in his need for you, he was drowning in his love, feeling his breath leaving him each minute that passed, never to return to him.

You clearly didn't want him. You avoided him like the plague, and you had bowed down before him in front of other people when you were his betrothed—you were a cruel woman.

He thought of the way you writhed under him, the way you kissed him when his tongue tasted of you, and you begged him, told him how much you wanted him—okay, maybe you did want him. But you certainly didn't love him.

He still thought of the reason you left him that day. Because you heard him? What could you have possibly heard? His fucking devotion to you? His greater than all of the Nine Realms combined love for you?

He sighed heavily as he entered the training grounds, seeing Sif training there. She noticed him immediately, lowering her sword with a smirk as he walked out onto the dirt in just his simple tunic.

“You look like shit, my prince,” Sif called out, her voice filled with their usual, friendly bantering as she wiped sweat from her brow.

Thor let out a breathless, hollow laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Thank you, Sif. Your compliments always warm the heart.”

“I am serious,” she said, walking over to him and propping her training blade against her hip. “You are finally about to marry her. You are officially her betrothed. You have wanted this since we were reckless children, yet you look like you are marching to your execution.” Sif shook her head, a soft, self-deprecating smile touching her lips. “I look back now and think of how foolish I was to even try and pursue anything with you. It was a lost cause from the start. It was always clear how much you both were completely in love with each other.”

Thor laughed at that—a genuine, deep sound that shook his chest for a fleeting second—but then his throat suddenly went completely dry.

Because you didn't love him. She was wrong. So fucking wrong.

A sharp burst of laughter echoed from the courtyard below, the familiar sound of his voice filling in your ears. Your eyes snapped open, your gaze instinctively dropping to the training grounds.

There, standing in the center of the ring, was Thor. He had his armor off, wearing only a simple tunic that stretched tight across his broad shoulders. He looked like a dream, like the prince he truly was— your heart soared at the sight; you could feel the flutters in your stomach, your traitorous heart begging you to keep looking at him.

Though it didn't last long, cause right in front of him, laughing brightly as she sheathed a training sword into its scabbard, was Sif.

Your heart dropped to your stomach, a tightness forming in your throat. Of course.

You watched, your throat tightening more and more as Sif stepped closer to him, her hand moving with a familiar, casual ease to rest against his bicep—the exact same spot you had desperately gripped just days ago. Thor said something, a low murmur you couldn't hear from the balcony, and Sif smiled, leaning in slightly as they spoke intimately about something you didn't know but guessed as something from their past.

A wave of bitter, blinding fury crashed over you, followed immediately by a pain so sharp it made your stomach churn. You couldn't breathe, couldn't feel your heartbeat—couldn't feel anything but the burning sensation in your chest.

Look at him, your mind whispered viciously. Look how quickly he went back to his old ways.

The desperate declarations he shouted in the mud, the way he held you as if you were his entire universe, the way he cared for you—it was all a lie. A high-adrenaline performance born out of guilt because he thought a fellow warrior was dying on his watch. He didn't love you. He never had and he fucking never would. He was just playing the part of the tragic, protective prince before returning to the women who actually mattered to him. Just as you thought.

Down in the dirt, Thor's breath hitched. He had been forcing himself to laugh, forcing himself to follow Sif's words, but the heavy weight of a gaze pressing into the back of his neck made him freeze completely. He knew that feeling. He would know the phantom brush of your eyes anywhere in the Nine Realms.

Slowly, his blue eyes drifted away from Sif, looking past her shoulder and scanning the upper levels of the palace until his gaze locked squarely onto you. His damn heart near stopped at the sight of you.

The ease vanished from his posture instantly. His jaw set, his chest rising and falling heavily as he stared up at you, completely exposed in the afternoon light. He looked desperate, his eyes silently pleading with you from across the distance, silently begging you not to turn around, not to run away from him again.

The sight of her hand on his arm was a knife turning in your ribs. You held his gaze for one devastating second—you were fucking upset—so fucking upset—before you deliberately pulled your arms off the balustrade, turned on your heel, and walked away into the dark palace corridor.

“Wait—“ Thor's voice cracked, dropping all pretense as he abruptly took a step forward, completely abandoning Sif in the middle of the ring.

Thor’s voice echoed from below, a desperate, fractured sound that reverberated off the high stone arches, but you didn't stop.

You quickened your pace, the sharp, frantic clicking of your leather boots against the polished marble floors sounding like a countdown in the suffocating silence of the corridor as you headed toward the secluded, shadow-drenched corridors of the West Wing. You just needed to get back to the sanctuary of your room. You just needed to lock the door, throw the iron bolt, and get yourself away from him as far as you possibly could—perhaps to leave Asgard entirely, to flee across the branches of the world-tree, because how could you bear to be married to him when he clearly—

“Stop! Please, just stop!”

The heavy, booming thunder of rushing footsteps echoed down the long hallway behind you, vibrating through the very stones beneath your feet. He ran after you through the public corridors of the palace, entirely disregarding his own royal dignity, utterly ignoring the guards and highborn servants who froze in absolute shock. It was a damn rare sight indeed—the golden prince, the formidable God of Thunder, reduced to chasing a woman through the halls of his ancestors, his voice raw and heavy with a public begging that Asgard had never once witnessed.

You kept walking, your jaw aching from how hard you were clenching your teeth, trying to anchor yourself against the tidal wave of emotion crashing over you. “Leave me be, my prince. I am returning to my quarters.”

“No—please just—please,” he gasped out, the words a breathless, agonizing mix of desperate begging and mounting frustration. He closed the distance between you with terrifying, effortless speed, his massive hand reaching out through the space separating you and carefully, but unyieldingly, grasping your wrist. The heat of his palm burned through your skin, forcing you to a sudden, jarring halt. “You have escaped me for five miserable days. Look at me, darling. Please. It is not what you think—“

“Let go of me,” you whispered, keeping your back resolutely turned to him, refusing to let him see the furious, hot tears currently stinging the corners of your eyes and threatening to spill over.

“I won't,” Thor said, his voice cracking slightly as he stepped closer, closing the gap until his broad chest was heaving against your back, the sheer warmth of him enveloping you. “I won't let you slide away into the shadows anymore. You look at me with such utter disdain, you treat me like a common stranger in my own home—why?! What the hell did I do? Tell me what I did to make you treat me like this!”

“Thor, leave me alone—haven't you done enough?!” you screamed, turning towards him now, the fragile dam of your composure bursting wide open.

When he saw your face, though, his heart stopped dead in his damn chest. You were crying. You were fucking crying, the bright, damp trails cutting through the stone mask you had worn for days, and it was entirely because of him. It was an absolute knife to his throat, he could not bear the sight of it, and worse—everyone was watching.

Every single servant, every armored guard in the grand corridor was lingering, their eyes wide, drinking in the spectacular ruin of your privacy.

You were breathing hard, so hard your chest felt as though it was going to explode from the weight of years worth of suffocating pain.

“Brother, what is happening?” came Loki's sharp, calculating voice, accompanied by the swift, hurried click of his steps approach from the adjacent hall.

Thor saw how everyone was looking—how the court was practically dying to see a scandal happen, how the vultures of the palace were already waiting to twist this, to probably blame you for every single drop of tension between you.

“It's alright, brother,” Thor said, his voice dropping into a defensive growl as he kept his blue eyes locked fiercely on yours. “Just me and my betrothed having a little disagreement, that's all.” He said the words for the crowd, but before you could even process the warning, his grip tightened protectively, and he started pulling you away, hauling you toward the nearest door to escape the predatory eyes of the court.

“Stop it—where are we going?!” you yelled at him, your voice echoing off the ceilings as you tried to tear your wrist away from his iron grip, your fingers clawing at his hand.

He turned his face back to you as he kept walking, his jaw tight, his expression etched with a fierce, possessive desperation. “Everyone is watching us, Treasure. I am trying to shield you from the talks of scandal—“

“Oh, like you fucking care!” you yelled, the venom slipping out before you could stop it, but the words turned into a sharp yelp as he pulled you directly into an empty, dimly lit library alcove.

The heavy door slammed shut behind you both with a deafening, final thud, the iron latch clicking home like a guillotine. It instantly cut off the weight of the prying eyes, leaving you both trapped in the quiet, dust-moted stillness of the cavernous room.

Thor didn't let go of your wrist immediately. He stood there, his massive chest heaving with ragged breaths as he pressed his back hard against the closed wood, his massive frame effectively barring any chance of your escape. The dim, golden light filtering through the high, arched stained-glass windows caught the tangled strands of his hair and the deep, fractured blue of his eyes.

He looked down at you, and the sight of your tear-stained face—the quiet, devastating wreckage of your heart—seemed to physically tear through his very soul.

His grip on your wrist relaxed, his large, calloused fingers sliding down with breathtaking slowness to brush against your palm, a silent, trembling plea for you to just hold on, to not pull away into the dark.

“I do care,” he whispered, his voice cracking, stripped entirely of the proud, booming resonance of the crown prince. It was just Thor. A man completely undone, standing before the only woman who held his life in her hands. “I care more than my own life, more than the crown, more than every single breath I draw in this wretched place. Please... do not say that to me.”

He took a slow, deliberate step forward, closing the space between you until you could feel the radiating heat of his body. He raised his free hand, his fingers hovering just millimeters away from your wet cheek, trembling because he was too terrified to touch you, too terrified that his touch would only push you further down into a more heated anger.

“Look at what you are doing to me,” he breathed, a broken confession escaping his lips as he looked down at you through his own unshed tears. “You have completely destroyed me in the span of five days. I am begging you. If I have wronged you—if I have done something to cast this shadow over your heart—tell me. Punish me, scream at me, draw your blade against me if you must. But do not look at me like I am a monster who does not care for you. Do not slide away where I cannot reach you.”

Everything was too much—his hand hovering by your cheek, his hot breath fanning over your face, his words that sounded so fucking genuine but you knew were the absolute farthest thing from it. Your heart was beating so damn fast, slamming against your ribs so violently it was probably going to leap straight out of your chest. It was all just too much to bear. “Don't, please,” you said, holding up a shaky hand between you, the palm a weak barrier as you took a sharp step away from him, desperate to reclaim your air. “Do not talk like that—like you fucking mean it,” you begged him, your voice cracking into a broken whisper as fresh, hot tears filled your eyes, blurring his tortured face.

“What?…” he trailed off, looking completely and utterly confused.

Why won't you believe him? What sin could he have possibly committed for you to be so deeply doubtful of him? He was entirely sure he hadn't done anything to warrant this agony, and as the maddening helplessness of the situation set in, his expression suddenly sharpened. The desperate pleading in his eyes hardened into a defensive, wounded edge.

“You won't believe me, but am I the one who left without a single word?” he said, the accusation slipping out raw as he took a heavy step closer to you, refusing to let the distance grow.

You backed away, the cold marble wall of the alcove looming behind you as you felt your hands go completely numb and icy. “Stop it,” you choked out.

He continued, the pent-up frustration of twelve miserable months finally breaking through his restraint. “Am I the one who didn't come back for a year—who didn't respond to my letters, to anything?” he pressed, his massive frame stalking forward, keeping you pinned under the sheer weight of his grief as he kept coming closer and closer.

Your ears were ringing, a high, deafening buzz that drowned out the quiet of the library, and your chest heaved as your tears fell without restraint.

“Stop crying—I beg of you,” he pleaded suddenly, the anger evaporating as quickly as it had come, his face softening into pure, unadulterated agony at the sight of your suffering. He closed the remaining space, trapping you against the wall, before delivering the final, devastating blow.

“Was I the one who fled away?”

“Stop it!” you screamed, your voice cracking as your hand desperately swept across the nearest surface, trying to find something, anything, to throw at him. What could you possibly throw? A heavy leather-bound book? The solid iron candle holders?

“I just want to know why the fuck you would leave me when I am desperately, utterly, completely in love with you!” he screamed back. The deafening roar of his confession shattered the quiet of the room as he gripped his head in his hands, his own hot tears slipping out, tracking through the dust on his cheeks before he could even think to stop them.

You stopped dead in your tracks.

What?

The breath was completely stolen from your lungs. Your hands trembled violently as you brought them up, burying your mouth in your palms.

Did he just say he loved you?

For a single, fleeting second, you could feel your heart soar to impossible heights, a thousand wild butterflies erupting in your stomach, fluttering against your ribs. Yes, your traitorous heart whispered to you, aching to believe him. Yes, this is it. He loves you.

But before the ghost of a smile could even touch your lips, before you could cross the distance between you and claim his lips, your mind slammed the brakes. Remember, the cold, vicious voice in your head reminded you, cutting through the euphoria like ice water. Remember how cruel he is.

He was playing with you. He had to be. He was spinning beautiful, calculated lies, trying to turn you into his perfect, submissive pawn because you were supposed to be marrying him in less than forty-eight hours. The whiplash of hope turning into betrayal sent a wave of blinding anger boiling inside your veins, so fucking hot it scorched through your entire chest.

“You fucking piece of shit!” you screamed at him, pushing him away from you with all your might and in a blur your fingers clawed into the nearest heavy volume you could grasp and hurled it straight at his chest with all the furious strength left in your body.

Did she just throw a damn book at me? Thor thought, the sheer absurdity of the strike causing the blood in his veins to go completely cold.

“WHAT ARE YOU, CRAZY?!” he yelled, his massive arms coming up to shield himself, his jaw dropping in absolute, stunned disbelief. He had just laid his entire, bleeding heart out on the floor for you, stripped away every ounce of his royal pride, and this—this was what you did?

“I AM!” you screamed, your vision blurring with a fresh wave of angry, frustrated tears. “I am fucking crazy—you drove me crazy!”

You kept going, your hands moving like a whirlwind as you found other books, gripping the heavy spines and throwing them at him one after the other, not caring where they landed.

“You wanna know why I left?! You wanna know what I fucking heard?!” you shrieked, the agony of a year's worth of silence finally tearing out of your throat.

“YES!” he yelled back, his booming voice vibrating the very bookshelves around you as he took the hits, refusing to back down. “I fucking laid my heart out to you and this is what you do with it?! I wanna know why!”

“Your heart, huh?” you mumbled, a bitter, breathless laugh escaping your lips as you looked at him. “What about my heart?”

His confusion only deepened at your words, the fresh tears spilling out of his eyes now, tracking down his cheeks just as yours were. “What?..” he breathed, entirely lost.

You scoffed, the sound sharp and cutting in the quiet alcove. “You are one hypocrite, talking about broken hearts.”

“What are you saying?” he asked, his voice entirely breathless, his chest heaving as he stared at you.

“I heard you, Thor. The night of the feast, talking to Loki.”

At the mention of his brother and that specific night, Thor froze. His mind scrambled through the haze of a year-long ache, trying to pinpoint the exact moment you were weaponizing against him. “What about it?” he asked, his voice growing more broken as he grew more confused.

“Are you kidding me? You have no shame?” you asked, your anger growing to impossible heights, a fierce, blazing fire that scorched away the last of your restraint. “I heard you say that I'm a tool of the throne! I heard you say one does not weave poems or bring flowers for the blade that guards the gate!” you confessed, the words tearing out of your throat like broken glass.

You felt his breath hitch violently. The air left his lungs in a sharp gasp. “What?” he asked again, but this time his blue eyes widened in absolute, petrified horror. The color completely drained from his face as a terrifying realization struck him.

Had you not heard the rest?

“Have you—“ He cleared his throat roughly, his voice cracking as he desperately tried reaching out, trying to grab your trembling wrists to hold you still. “Have you not heard the rest?”

“There was no rest,” you said, your eyebrows furrowing in deep disdain.

Was he kidding? Was he seriously trying to deny the very words that had ruined your life?

One Year Ago

Thor was in the grand council room, standing alone by the high, arched window. The echo of the joyous feast down the hall was nothing more than a low murmur against the glass. His eyes were locked onto a small cluster of night-blooming flowers in the garden below—blossoms that looked so beautiful, so incredibly radiant in the moonlight, that they instantly made him think of you.

Oh, how desperately in love he was with you. It was a terrifying, all-consuming thing, finding traces of your existence in everything he looked at, even in the delicate petals of a courtyard garden. He needed to get a grip. He was the crown prince, yet his mind was entirely occupied by the simple, domestic thought of plucking those flowers and giving them to you.

Would you like them?

You would. Definitely. He could picture it perfectly—your smile would be brighter than the stars in the night sky, warming the cold spaces of his chest. His heart skipped a beat at the mere thought of your smile. But as he stared at the blossoms, a heavy sense of inadequacy settled over him. You deserved more. More than simple flowers.

You deserved the stars themselves; you deserved every single beautiful thing he could possibly give, and more.

His deep, reverent thoughts were abruptly intercepted by the sharp, mocking cadence of Loki’s voice from the shadows of the doorway.

“Honestly, Thor, the way you moon over your loyal shadow is becoming a public spectacle," Loki drawled, stepping into the light with a sly, knowing smirk. "Tell me, do you intend to make an honest woman of your little soldier, or is this merely a tactical distraction?”

Thor didn't turn toward him. He merely rolled his eyes, a sudden defensive wall slamming up inside him as his mind snarled, What is with him asking about her? Why was Loki prying into the one sacred, vulnerable corner of his heart?

“Court her? Brother, do not be absurd,” Thor’s voice rang out. It was a sharp, defensive bark—the sound of a man entirely cornered, desperately trying to protect his deepest secret from his brother's razor-sharp wit. “She is a warrior, a tool of the throne. One does not weave poems or bring flowers for the blade that guards the gate.”

Loki laughed coldly, the sound echoing off the stone walls. “So, no soft words for your favorite companion? No romantic gestures for the one who bleeds at your side?”

“Romantic gestures are for court ladies who stay behind the walls,” Thor snapped, his voice rising, a dangerous spark of lightning flickering beneath his skin as the mere thought of Loki turning his calculated attention toward you made him see bright red. He wanted Loki away from you. He wanted your name out of his brother's mouth. “She doesn't need trinkets. She is steel—“

A faint, subtle rustle of fabric echoed from the dark corridor outside the heavy council doors. Thor didn't care, his focus entirely consumed by the protective fury raging in his chest, but Loki’s sharp ears caught it. His brother's green eyes flicked instantly toward the sound of the door, watching the shadow glide away in a hurry.

But Thor was too far gone in his own defense to notice. He stepped away from the window, his voice dropping into a low, fiercely reverent register as he spoke from the very depths of his soul.

“—She is more than any poem could ever capture,” Thor continued, his eyes blazing with a truth he had been too cowardly to say aloud. “To offer her simple flowers would be an insult to the fire in her spirit. Her strength, her grace, the very ground she walks upon is far too sacred for the shallow, manipulative games you play, Loki. She is not a court lady to be flattered with cheap words. She deserves the Nine Realms, and I will spend my life proving she has them.”

Loki stared at his brother, the mocking smirk slowly fading from his face. He looked back toward the empty doorway where the shadow had just fled, a wave of understanding washing over him. The coldness in his expression thawed, replaced by a rare, genuine warmth as he realized the unyielding depth of Thor's devotion.

Loki let out a soft laugh then, his voice sounding warmer than it had in centuries. He stepped forward, clapping a hand firmly onto Thor's broad shoulder. “Go get your woman,” Loki said, a wide, knowing smile breaking across his face.

Present

Thor stood before you, his hands trembling violently as his large fingers finally closed around your wrists, not to trap you, but to anchor himself as he looked down into your bewildered, tear-stained face.

“You left,” Thor whispered, the realization hitting him with the force of a thousand stars, his voice breaking completely as his own fresh tears spilled over. “Treasure... you walked away before I could finish.”

You hadn't heard the part where he was about to say, “She is more than any poem could ever capture.” You hadn't heard him try to explain to his brother that he thought your strength was too sacred for the shallow, manipulative games Loki played.

You were trying to breathe, desperately trying to expand your lungs, but it was to no avail. Why was he being this cruel towards you? Why was he inventing such beautiful, devastating lies? He certainly didn't love you.

Thor felt physically sick. A heavy wave of nausea took over him as the horrifying reality crashed down upon his shoulders—he realized you had left, that you had suffered alone for a whole year, all over a misunderstanding. He had spent months drowning in resentment, he had fucking almost hated you for abandoning him, and it was all because of a goddamn misunderstanding.

“It was a misunderstanding—please,” he begged, the words catching in his throat as his tears spilled out without restraint, tracking through the dirt on his face. “That's not how I ended that conversation—I swear to you on my life, that is not how it ended! I said you are more than any poem could ever capture—I said offering you simple flowers would be an insult to the fire in your spirit—I love you, please.”

He begged you, taking in a sharp, broken breath that shuddered violently through his massive frame. He couldn't breathe. The air in the library felt as thick as glass.

“I—“ he began, desperately trying to find the words to stitch your heart back together, but the sight of your tired, broken, tear-filled eyes stopped him dead.

You didn't believe him.

How could you?

He had broken you a year ago without ever meaning to—he had absolutely no intention of causing you a single drop of pain—but then, when you had finally come back to Asgard, he had intentionally used his words to hurt you out of spite. He had weaponized his tongue to punish you for leaving, unknowingly grinding salt into the exact wound he had accidentally inflicted. He had ruined his own truth.

“You don't believe me...” he whispered, the words a hollow, horrified realization. He stepped away from you in absolute shock, his hands dropping limply to his sides as if the strength had entirely siphoned out of his body. He felt his heart drop straight to his stomach, shattering into dust.

“Have fun with Sif, my prince,” you said brokenly, your throat tightening as you tried gulping down the heavy sob rising in your chest. You looked away from him, unable to bear the sight of his face for another second. “But do stay off of the radar, please. I do not need to be humiliated more by the court.”

You stepped to the side, bypassing his frozen, petrified frame, and left the alcove, slipping out into the shadows of the corridor and leaving him entirely alone in the dark with his bleeding heart in his hands.

You caught sight of Loki looking distressed as you got out of the alcove, though you didn't pay him any mind as you looked away, sweeping past him without a word.

You were trying to breathe, but it felt like the air had turned into lava, burning through your throat and lungs, melting them off as it went through.

He was lying—not only was he lying, but he was using love as his fucking front.

You wanted to believe him, you desperately wanted to believe him, but you had no solid reason to. Even if he was telling the truth about his words to Loki back then—he had certainly meant every single one of those hateful, venomous words directed towards you when you finally came back. He had meant to inflict pain. So no, you couldn't believe him when he said he loved you.

Then, the vivid sight of him and Sif on the training grounds infiltrated your mind as you hurriedly walked towards your chambers. You closed your eyes tight as your steps faltered, the world spinning around you.

Not only was he lying, but he was going to humiliate you with her throughout your entire marriage, leaving you to endure the whispers of the court forever.

Back in the dim stillness of the library alcove, Thor finally forced his numb limbs to move, as he opened the heavy wooden door to leave he was faced directly with his brother standing in the corridor.

Loki looked at him, the usual mischievous glint completely gone from his green eyes, replaced by a heavy, uncharacteristic gravity.

“Well,” Loki said, his voice quiet as he took in the absolute, tear-stained ruin of Thor's face. “So that was her hurrying away that night.”

—

Two days have passed since you tore open your oldest wound and confessed to Thor the devastating truth of what you had heard that night. Two days of absolute, self-imposed isolation. You hadn’t left the sanctuary of your chambers unless it was to eat, stubbornly refusing to look upon his beautiful, handsome, stupid face. You knew yourself too well; you knew that if you looked into his eyes, you would let yourself believe his desperate, beautifully crafted lies, because you were just that goddamn desperate to escape the weight of your own reality.

Now, the dreaded dawn has finally arrived. It was the day of your wedding, a milestone you had been anticipating with a cold, paralyzing dread for days. Yet, beneath the terror, a twisted sense of relief washed over you; at least you wouldn't have to carry this heavy, sickening feeling sitting on your stomach for much longer. The agonizing anticipation would be done with in a matter of hours. A quick, beautiful death, as you might call it.

You stepped into the vast dressing room, your ballet flats sounding hollow against the stone, as the lady’s maids followed in a silent, disciplined procession right behind you. You hadn't been allowed to see your wedding dress yet. You had merely guessed it would be a weapon of high price, woven from the most expensive fabrics Asgard’s merchants could procure—much like the rest of your closet, which he had taken the grand liberty of filling with dresses so breathtakingly pretty your heart physically ached every time you looked at them. Every thread of them reminded you of him.

You shook your head violently, forcing the thoughts away as the tears threatened to spill.

No, now was not the time to think of him.

You were already facing an eternity of beautiful torture as his wife; you were absolutely not going to let his ghost ruin the one thing you had genuinely fantasized about since you were a young girl: your wedding day.

As you reached the center of the chamber, the maid on your left spoke in a low, reverent murmur, “I will be back with your dress in a second, my lady,” and she disappeared into the draped shadow of the back alcove.

You just nodded, feeling your mouth go completely dry as you stood alone before the mirrors. My dress or my coffin? you thought bitterly, a cold, hollow shiver settling deep within your bones as your eyes scanned the room.

The dressing chamber was a spectacular, intimidating vault of royal luxury, illuminated by the soft, golden glow of heavily sculpted bronze sconces that lined the walls like burning stars. Towering, arched windows of ancient stained glass rose toward the vaulted ceiling, casting fractured, bleeding patterns of crimson and deep violet across the polished marble floor. Heavy, dark velvet drapes clung to the massive stone pillars, absorbing the nervous, trembling breaths that escaped your lips. At the center of the room stood a massive, gilded three-way mirror, waiting like an executioner to reflect the tragic, breathtaking spectacle you were about to become. The air smelled faintly of crushed lavender, white roses, and expensive oils—a sweet, suffocating fragrance that made your chest tighten until it felt ready to burst.

When you heard the heavy, distinctive rustle of fabric shifting from the darkness of the dressing alcove, your gaze instinctively snapped toward the sound.

The maid stepped out into the light, carefully holding the grand gown aloft, and your eyes went wide, the breath completely dying in your throat. Your pulse quickened with a rhythm so fast, so erratic and terrifying, you felt yourself swaying on the absolute brink of passing out right there onto the cold marble floor.

Your mind spun, your hands flying to your lips to stifle a gasp.

This was your dress.

No, not a royal garment chosen for you—literally, your dress.

8 Years Ago

You were watching the sunset bleed across the golden horizons of the royal garden, the sky a bruised canvas of deep lavender and burning orange. Thor was sitting beside you on the lush, manicured lawn, his massive arms planted behind him, supporting his upper body as he watched the nearby fountain with intensely focused, quiet eyes. Your head laid heavily upon his thighs, the muscles shifting beneath you with every breath he drew.

You looked up at the vast Asgardian sky, your eyes trying desperately to avoid looking at him—to avoid the dangerous gravity he always possessed—but you failed miserably. He was so breathtakingly handsome it physically hurt you; your gaze was a helpless thing, bound by an invisible thread that forced you to follow him wherever he went, tracing the sharp line of his jaw and the golden strands of his hair.

The soft rushing of the nearby fountains filled the silence between you, a soothing melody that played against the quiet of the evening. A sudden, sharp breeze grazed over the garden, rustling the leaves above and sending a sudden wave of chills appearing across your bare arms.

The moment the wind stirred, he turned his gaze down to you, his instincts flaring immediately when he felt the change in the air.

“Are you cold, Treasure?” he asked softly.

Before you could even answer, his large hand moved to check your arm, his warm palm pressing against your chilled skin. The contrast was staggering; his touch burned your arm with a heat so intense it made your breath catch, his deep blue eyes gazing straight into yours, searching your face with a tenderness that made the rest of the world fade into nothingness.

“I’m okay..” you mumbled, your voice barely a whisper. You didn't want to break the spell. You didn't want to disturb the profound, fragile peace you’d been offered after days of relentless terror on the battlefield. You just wanted to exist here, in the quiet, safe hollow of his shadow.

You kept looking at each other, your eyes locking onto his with an intensity that seemed to pull the very air from the space between you. You heard his breath hitch suddenly, his chest freezing for a fraction of a second.

“Are you okay?” you asked, your eyebrows knitting together as you checked him, searching his face for any sign of pain or something out of the ordinary.

He was, in fact, completely not okay. The overwhelming sight of you laying there on him, your hair spread like a halo over his thighs, your eyes shining so incredibly bright as the dying sunset cast a dim, ethereal light over your skin—it was destroying him. You looked like a goddamn angel fallen into the dirt of Asgard, and he was dying from the sheer weight of how much he adored you. His throat felt dry, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped beast.

Desperate to break the suffocating spell of his own devotion, he abruptly changed the subject, blurting out the first thought that crossed his mind.

“Do you ever think of getting married?” he asked.

The question hung in the air, the suddenness of it surprising even him. I’m an idiot, he thought fiercely to himself, his fingers tensing against the grass as a flush of heat crept up his neck, terrified he had overstepped as he waited in agonizing suspense for your answer.

“I do,” you said, your eyebrows furrowing slightly at the unexpected nature of his inquiry. You looked up at him, studying the nervous twitch of his jaw. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” he lied quickly, shrugging his broad shoulders as he forced that familiar, boyish grin onto his face—the exact smile that always made your knees go entirely weak, the one that made you forget every piece of armor you wore. “Just wondering if my favorite lady has ever dreamt of a wedding.”

A soft, genuine smile broke across your face at his words, the warmth of them settling deep into your chest. “I have—I dream about it, often.”

“Really?” He was visibly shocked, his blue eyes widening. Never in a million years would he have thought you would be dreaming of a white veil and sacred vows; you were steel and shadows, a warrior who walked among blood and dust, and you never seemed the type to dwell on such soft, romantic matters. A sudden, desperate hunger flared in his chest to know that hidden, delicate side of you. He leaned down slightly, his voice dropping into a reverent rumble. “Tell me all about it.”

“I—” you said, completely bewildered, the breath catching in your throat as you looked at him. “I can’t possibly—”

“Please,” he begged softly, his voice dropping into a rumbling plea as he reached out and cradled your cheek with his massive palm. The warmth of his skin radiated through you, and before your defenses could stop you, you leaned your face into his touch like it was second nature, like you were a flower turning toward the sun.

“Okay,” you mumbled, your smaller hand coming up to gently hold his hand against your face as you looked up into his deep blue eyes. His heart gave a violent leap at the sight of you, completely captive to the raw trust in your gaze.

“I dream about a wedding where the air is crisp, filled with the soft, glowing warmth of thousands of floating candles,” you murmured, your eyes drifting as you pictured it. “There would be no loud, overwhelming court—just a classy, heartwarming atmosphere. Soft music played on stringed harps, the scent of fresh white roses clinging to the stone arches, and the people who truly matter to us gathering in a circle of quiet, sacred celebration. It would feel like a sanctuary, far away from the wars and the noise of the realms.”

“It sounds beautiful,” he mumbled, his voice thick with an emotion he could barely contain as his thumb gently stroked your cheekbone. He swallowed hard, completely entranced by the vision of a future with you, he couldn’t help but imagine himself— because who else?

He continued, “What about your dress?”

“Oh,” you giggled, the sound light and rare, sending a thrill straight through his veins. “My favorite part. I see a silhouette that feels both strong and timeless—a structured corset with intricate, delicate lace details woven through the bodice, holding everything perfectly. It would be sleeveless, leaving my shoulders completely open to the evening breeze, and then it cascades down into a grand, sweeping princess skirt made of heavy, shimmering fabric that pools around my feet like water.”

He smiled down at you, his eyes burning with a fierce, quiet devotion. “I can imagine you in it, treasure. You would look absolutely beautiful.”

Your breath was taken away from you, your heart hammering against your ribs at the sheer intensity of his gaze, hoping in that very moment that you would walk toward him in that exact gown.

Present

Your eyes filled up with hot, stinging tears as you stared at the fabric trembling in the maid's hands, looking at the exact same dress you had described to him all those years ago in the fading light of the garden.

He remembered.

He fucking remembered every single detail, down to the lace on the corset and the precise drape of the skirt.

You loved him—gods, you loved him so deeply it felt like a sickness—but he was a cruel, cruel man for lying to you about his heart, for playing these beautiful, elaborate games with your soul when he had already broken you, it hurt you so much—

“My lady? You don't like the dress?” the maid asked cutting your thoughts off, her voice turning sharp with sudden panic as she saw the tears streaming down your face. She gripped the hanger tighter, her eyes darting between you and the gown. “I can try to find another—Prince Thor had this made just for you, by the finest weavers in the realm... I mean, I think it is a beautiful dress, it would look so lovely on you—”

The maid rambled on, her words a blur in your ringing ears, but you cut her off, your voice cracking as you talked.

“I love it.”

“Oh..” the maid sighed, a profound wave of relief washing over her face as she smiled warmly. “Let's get you ready, my lady.”

With a swift, practiced motion, she and the other maid stepped forward, carefully lifting the heavy silks and beginning the meticulous process of putting on the dress.

How was this even possible? How could he possibly remember the exact dress you had whispered about in a garden years ago, a lifetime before the blood, the distance, and the bitter silence?

our head was still aching fiercely from the events of the other day, the phantom echo of his shouting still ringing in your ears. You tried to breathe, to catch a solid lungful of air, but the structured dress the lady’s maids were helping you get into made it infinitely harder than it already was. The weight of the cascading fabric made you feel entirely lightheaded, the room spinning slightly around the edges.

You exhaled a sharp, shaky breath as the lady’s maid behind you pulled the silk laces taut, firmly cinching the waist of the corset. The corset gripped you tight, forcing your posture upright, and when you finally raised your eyes, you looked at yourself in the grand, gilded mirror.

You looked beautiful—hauntingly, devastatingly beautiful.

You felt the elegance of it radiating from your reflection. Slowly, your trembling fingers rose to roam over the exquisite fabric of the bodice, tracing the delicate lace detailing that mapped perfectly against your skin. It was exactly how you had imagined it in your dreams. Gods, the contradiction of it tore through your chest so violently you didn't know whether you wanted to kiss him or slap him across his handsome face.

“You look beautiful, my lady,” the other maid said softly, her eyes shining with genuine awe as she smiled up at you.

“Thank you,” you muttered, forcing your lips to stretch into a tight, strained smile that didn't dare reach your eyes.

Without wasting another moment, they began the final preparations. They worked with an effortless, delicate care, doing your makeup exactly as you instructed—keeping it entirely minimalist, focusing on a sharp, clean flick of dark eyeliner that accentuated your eyes. They styled your hair with elegant precision, just as you preferred. As they gently rubbed warm, scented oils over the exposed skin of your shoulders and collarbones, the fragrance of white roses and sweet amber bloomed in the air, and the maids began to gossip in low, excited tones.

“The prince will surely be delighted to see you,” the one on your left giggled, her hands deftly pinning a stray lock of hair into place.

Oh, gods.

“I—” you stammered, taken completely aback, the words dying in your throat as the sudden, overwhelming thought of his blue eyes burning into you flashed through your mind. Oh, how desperately you missed the warmth of those beautiful eyes on you—and yet, how intensely you dreaded to see the weight of them in less than two short hours.

The maids, misinterpreting your sudden breathlessness for the sweet nerves of a blushing bride, only giggled more at your flustered reaction.

But the brief, fragile warmth evaporated in an instant. Your thoughts were abruptly infiltrated by the vivid memory of Sif standing next to him in the dirt just days ago—laughing with him, sharing private whispers, touching his bare arm with a casual, practiced ease.

The image burned behind your eyelids, and it instantly became hard to breathe. He had looked so relaxed, so utterly happy next to her, while you had been drowning in the dark.

You cast your eyes downward, staring blindly at the polished marble floor as you tried to gulp down the rising lump of glass in your throat. The ethereal beauty in the mirror faded as your expression turned completely sour, your jaw tightening.

“Right…” you said, the word nothing more than a small, broken whisper that died in the vast, indifferent room.

You bit your lip as the final minutes ticked away, waiting in the quiet room for your uncle as you nervously stared down at your trembling hands. Your head felt incredibly heavy, a storm of overwhelming emotions crashing over you all at once.

Amidst the chaos of your thoughts, a sharp, physical pang struck your chest at the sudden thought of your parents. Gods, you missed them so much. You had lost them so long ago, and the brutal memory of that loss squeezed your heart like a vice as you wished, with every fiber of your being, for them to be here to witness this day. But since your father was not here to walk you down the aisle, you had asked your uncle—the closest, best thing to a father you could ever ask for.

A soft, hesitant knock was heard on the wooden door, followed by his gentle voice. “Are you ready, dear?”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady the tremor in your throat. “Yes, uncle, please come in.”

The door creaked open and he walked in, a big, proud smile gracing his face. But the moment you looked at him, your breath stalled. He looked so incredibly, painfully like your father, and the striking resemblance only made matters worse. The fragile dam you had built around your emotions shattered instantly. Your vision blurred, your chest heaved, and—

A broken sob tore out of you.

His proud face instantly fell, replaced by deep concern as he made his way over to you with hurried steps. “Dear, what is it? What’s wrong?”

”It’s—” You looked up toward the ceiling, desperately trying to blink back the flood and prevent your tears from ruining your makeup. “It’s just that you look so much like him, and I miss him so dearly—”

He wrapped his arms around you, drawing you into a warm, protective embrace and cutting off your fractured words. You immediately hugged him back, burying your face against his shoulder, holding onto him as if he were an anchor in the middle of a raging sea.

“I miss him too,” your uncle murmured softly into your hair, his voice thick with his own quiet grief. “But I am here. I am right here for you, always, if there is anything you ever need.”

“Thank you,” you whispered back.

You gradually pulled away, exhaling a long, shaky breath as you dabbed carefully at the corners of your eyes. You had become such a pathetic crybaby these past few days, completely unable to stop crying for one damn minute over everything that was unraveling.

After a long moment, when the tears finally subsided and you managed to calm the erratic racing of your pulse, you looked up at him and forced a nervous, fragile smile onto your lips.

“We should go,” you said softly.

He nodded, his eyes full of a fierce, fatherly affection as he held out his armored arm to you. You took a deep breath, smoothing your hands over your corset one last time, and slid your hand through his arm, stepping forward out of the room to face the altar.

Your gown whispered against the stone, but it was the sharp, echoing click of your heels that measured the final seconds of your freedom as you made your way towards your beautiful demise. With every step you took down the long, vaulted corridor, your hold on your uncle's arm tightened, your fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeve. Sensing the silent terror rolling off you, he placed a warm, reassuring hand over yours, squeezing gently to ground you.

When you finally reached the towering, gold-embossed entrance of the Great Hall, you stopped. You forced yourself to take a deep, stabilizing breath, trying to calm the wild, erratic hammering of your ribs. You could do this. You had faced armies; you could face the altar.

Then, the massive iron-reinforced doors groaned open.

A collective, breathless murmur rippled through the air as every single eye in the vast hall turned toward you. But as you took your first step across the threshold, your eyebrows knitted together in utter confusion at the surreal scene unfolding before you.

How the hell was this possible?

You stopped breathing for a fraction of a second, your gaze sweeping across the space as your breath left you in a gentle, stunned huff. It was a masterpiece of impossible devotion. Above you, the towering vaulted ceilings were entirely gone, obscured by the soft, enchanted glow of thousands upon thousands of floating candles that suspended themselves in the air like a galaxy of trapped stars. The metallic scent of the palace had been completely replaced by the deep, intoxicating fragrance of fresh white roses clinging to every stone archway and pillar. Soft, ethereal music played on stringed harps vibrated through the very stones beneath your feet, casting a profound, sacred serenity over the entire room.

Everything looked exactly as you had imagined it all those years ago in the garden. The only detail he couldn't entirely bend to his will was the crowd; it was a grand royal wedding after all, and the benches were packed with Asgardian nobility, but they had been pushed back into the shadows, leaving the aisle wide and open.

Your gaze found his then.

Thor's eyes were already locked on you, burning with an fire so fierce it felt like your whole soul was set on fire, tracking you the entire time you made your way down the aisle toward him. He was standing on the raised dais, right before the sacred altar where your vows would be bound. He wore his brilliant ceremonial armor, the polished silver and deep crimson velvet catching the candlelight, his massive, giant nature taking over a lot of room at the front of the hall. Your breathing grew faster, shallower, at the mere sight of him. He looked handsome—so goddamn handsome it was a sin, a vision of a king that made your knees turn to water beneath your heavy skirt.

Thor couldn't take his eyes off you. Not for a single, solitary second.

Oh, how heartstoppingly, breathtakingly beautiful you looked. He felt his massive hands tremble against his sides as he took in the sight of you walking toward him.

You looked a thousand times better than he had ever fantasized on that summer evening when you had whispered your secrets to him, your head resting on his thighs. He had made it happen. He would have torn down the stars from the heavens and rewritten the laws of the Nine Realms just to see you stand before him like this. He had remembered every single word, every fleeting desire you had confided in him, and he had poured every ounce of his power and soul into bringing your dream wedding to life in a matter of forty-eight hours.

The only thing he couldn't completely vanquish was the presence of the court, but looking at you now, the rest of the world didn't even exist.

When you finally stepped onto the raised dais, standing directly in front of him before the altar, your uncle gently released your hand and stepped back into the crowd.

Thor looked down at you, a soft, incredibly vulnerable smile breaking through the tension on his face. Nerves were absolutely eating him alive, his heart hammering against his ribs as he looked at you for the first time after two whole days of silence.

Could you ever forgive him for breaking your heart so recklessly? Could you ever look past the venom he had thrown at you out of spite and believe the truth of his love?

He didn't know the answer, but as he reached out, his large, trembling fingers carefully, reverently taking your hands in his, he knew he was going to try with every single fiber of his being for the rest of his days.

“You look heartstoppingly beautiful, treasure,” he whispered, his deep voice cracking with a raw, overwhelming emotion that completely ignored the hundreds of people watching them. He squeezed your hands, his blue eyes drowning in a sea of unspoken pleas.

You averted your gaze, keeping your jaw tight as you murmured an icy, detached, “Thank you.”

His eyebrows knitted in absolute despair at the frost in your tone, the brief light in his eyes fracturing. He stepped closer, his gaze intensely scanning the canvas of your face until his eyes widened with a sharp panic.

“Have you been crying?” he asked suddenly, his massive hands squeezing yours even tighter as if he could physically hold you back from slipping away.

How the hell could he tell? Your cold gaze snapped back to him, turning into one of sheer shock. You had done everything to hide it, relying on the cosmetics to mask the exhaustion. “How—”

“I could never miss a detail about you, darling. Your eyes are all red,” he said, his voice tightening with a mix of guilt and agony.

The thought hit him, taking his breath away.

Have you been dreading this so much that you fucking kept crying until the last minute?

He felt his heart drop straight to his stomach, his throat forming a hard, barbed lump at the thought. You did not love him—not even for a single bit. Every ounce of hope he had harbored of you ever reciprocating his feelings evaporated into the air of the Great Hall. Yet, even as the realization broke him, a fierce, desperate determination took its place. He was going to make sure he fixed your broken heart, he was going to spend every breath trying to undo the damage, even if it meant it broke him into completely irreparable pieces in the process.

He gulped roughly, unable to bear the heavy silence, and looked away toward the All Father to hide the fracture in his own expression. “Do you at least like the dress?” he asked, his voice rough and strained.

Just as you were about to reply genuinely—because the dress truly was everything you had ever dreamed of, a masterpiece of his hidden devotion—you paused. The fragile warmth in your chest was instantly incinerated as a memory rushed through your mind like venom, bringing back the exact, hateful words he had hurled at you when you first returned to Asgard.

‘I hope the dresses fit well. I had them replaced so you don't have to worry about looking like a common grunt while you’re busy avoiding your betters.’

Your heart was set on fire, a blazing, furious heat consuming the sorrow in your veins. You looked up fiercely at his averted gaze, your hands stiffening within his iron grip.

“I do, certainly,” you whispered, the words dripping with a quiet, lethal sarcasm. “Though I wonder, did it help me to not look like a common grunt, your highness? Am I fitting enough to stand beside my betters now?”

Thor felt his pulse go completely blank. The blood froze in his veins as he immediately turned his gaze back to you, his blue eyes wide with a horrified, breathless shock, only to find a raging, unyielding fire burning in your beautiful eyes.

The reminder of his own cruelty, weaponized against him at the very altar, left him utterly defenseless.

“Treasure—please, you know I did not mean that—“ Before he could even try to choke out an apology for the venomous lies he had used to hurt you, you sharply turned your head away from him, forcing a rigid, stoic mask onto your features to keep yourself from making a public scene.

He really fucking shouldn't have asked.

Before the silence between you could stretch into something noticeable by the court, a heavy, resounding thud echoed through the Great Hall. Gungnir, the great golden spear, struck the stone floor with a deafening boom that immediately commanded the absolute silence of every soul in attendance.

Standing right at the head of the altar, towering above the crowd with the absolute authority of the realms, the All-Father leaned forward. His single, piercing eye swept over the two of you, heavy with the ancient weight of a king who saw far more than either of you wished to reveal. He looked at his son's fractured, desperate expression, and then down at your rigid, blazing posture. He noticed the storms that raged between you, yet he raised his heavy, ringed hand over the altar nonetheless, his deep, booming voice echoing off the stone pillars like thunder.

“By the magic of Yggdrasil and the ancient laws of Asgard, the crown prince and his warrior are bound,” Odin proclaimed, his words carrying the absolute, unyielding force of a cosmic decree. A golden shimmer of magic rippled out from his outstretched palm, washing over the altar and settling into the air around you like a heavy, divine shroud. “May the throne strengthen your shield, and may the realm bear witness to a union forged in fire. The All-Father blesses this bond.”

The crowd erupted into a roar of cheers and applause, the nobility celebrating a union they believed to be perfect, completely oblivious to the fact that you were now officially bound to a man whose love you completely doubted, and who believed he had permanently broken you.

The perfect match indeed.

The Great Hall dissolved into a blur of blinding gold and roaring voices as the court erupted, but to you, the sound was nothing more than the dull, distant rush of a collapsing mountain. The heavy, golden magic of the All-Father’s blessing still hung in the air like a physical shroud, settling over your shoulders, cementing your fate into the very stones of the realm. You were his. He was yours. This must be a sick joke, you thought, a cruel trick of the Norns, though you were painfully, acutely aware it was far from it.

You didn't look at him as he led you down the steps. You kept your spine rigidly straight, your chin held high against the suffocating weight of the room, letting the heavy skirt of your wedding dress sweep majestically across the polished marble floor. To the hundreds of cheering nobles lining the aisle, you were the picture of ethereal grace—a fierce warrior transformed into a breathtaking crown princess.

They had no idea that beneath the perfect lace of your corset, your heart was bleeding out, the ragged pulse of it tearing you apart from the inside. And the man walking so closely next to you, matching your stride step for agonizing step, was the very reason for it.

You tried gulping down the rising panic as you looked around, the towering walls of the hall suddenly shrinking down on you, turning the grand architecture into a suffocating cage. As you were walking toward the grand feast hall, the sea of velvet and silk parted, and a few nobles stepped forward to stop you, eager to congratulate the newly bound couple.

You stopped dead in your tracks, your heels freezing beneath the layers of your gown, already utterly overwhelmed by the reality of the marriage that had taken place just moments before.

“Congratulations, your highnesses,” a lady in front of you murmured, lowering herself into a deep, sweeping kneel.

You went entirely rigid, your muscles locking up like ice. Thor felt it instantly. The sudden, stony tension rolling off your skin traveled down your arm, and beneath the heavy fabric of his sleeve, he squeezed your hand—once, twice—a quiet, desperate touch meant to ground you, to help you calm down. You swallowed the bitterness on your tongue, forced your voice to remain steady as you uttered your hollow thank you's, and continued on your way into the feast.

Before you could even catch your breath, before the roaring in your ears could subside, you were seated side-by-side with Thor at the center of the high table, elevated far above the sea of drinking, laughing Asgardian nobility. Everything around you was a dazzling, sickening spectacle of royal luxury; the long tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats, sweet summer fruits, and overflowing chalices of golden mead. Hundreds of enchanted candles flickered overhead like dying stars, casting a warm, deceptive glow over a celebration that felt, to your bleeding soul, like a beautifully orchestrated execution.

“Smile, treasure,” Thor’s voice cut through the overlapping din of the music and laughter, a low, fractured murmur meant for your ears alone.

He leaned in close, his massive frame shielding you from the peripheral glare of the court as he pretended to whisper a sweet, marital secret into your hair. But as his breath brushed against your skin, you could feel the tremor in him; his blue eyes were wide and wild with a quiet, suffocating panic.

“Please,” he begged against your temple, his voice cracking beneath the weight of the crown. “The whole court is watching. My father—he is looking right at us.”

You forced your lips to stretch, pulling them into a practiced, radiant smile that looked blinding from a distance but felt like glass across your face. You cast a brilliant, entirely hollow look toward the roaring crowd while your fingers dug so hard into the heavy fabric of your gown beneath the table that your knuckles turned white, the lace biting into your skin.

“I am smiling, my prince,” you whispered back, the words dripping with a quiet, lethal venom that contrasted sharply with the beautiful curve of your mouth. “Is this grand enough for you? Do I play the part of your prize well enough, or do you need me to get up and bow for my betters?”

Thor flinched as if he had been struck with a blade, his breath catching painfully, sharply in his throat. His hand, resting flat against the golden table, twitched with a desperate urge to reach out and cover yours, to pry your fingers from the fabric and squeeze the tension from your hands, but the mental wall you built between you forced him to remain still. The boyish, triumphant grin he usually wore for his people was entirely gone, replaced by a strained, hollow mask that threatened to break at any second. He was trapped in his own private prison of guilt, forced to sit beside the woman he loved more than life itself, knowing that every detail of this night—the flowers, the music, the very dress on your back—was a haunting, beautiful reminder of how deeply he had broken your trust. And how he was trying every goddamn thing in the whole Nine Realms to fix it.

“Please, darling...” he begged, his voice a breathless plea as he searched the rigid profile of your face, desperately hunting for any shred of the warmth he had stolen from himself.

To the people around you, the sight must have been a puzzle, one so hard to solve. The crown prince was looking at his bride with a raw, naked desperation that bordered on worship, his chest heaving beneath his ceremonial armor, while you refused to grant him even a single, passing glance. You simply stared out into the grand hall, your posture flawless, your chin unyielding, looking around at the cheering kingdom with the fakest, most devastatingly beautiful smile ever carved onto a face.

From across the chaotic expanse of the feast hall, sitting at a smaller royal table, Loki watched the two of you with an uncharacteristic seriousness on his face. The usual mischievous glint in his green eyes was completely absent, replaced by a somber, knowing look. He took a slow sip from his chalice, his gaze darting from Thor’s devastated, rigid posture to the fierce, icy fire burning behind your beautiful eyes. He knew the truth. He knew what Thor had truly said in his defense, and he knew the storm that had broken in the library alcove. From where he sat, he could see with lethal clarity that this grand, golden wedding was nothing more than a cage for two bleeding souls.

As you looked away from Loki's piercing gaze, the crowd parted, and Sif stepped forward toward the high table.

What did she think she was doing?

Your breath stalled in your throat, the phantom image of her laughing with Thor on the training grounds flashing behind your eyelids like a blinding strike of lightning. She looked magnificent, dressed in her own ceremonial armor, her dark hair braided back with regal precision. She raised her golden chalice toward the high table, a polite, respectful smile on her face as she addressed the newly wedded couple.

“To the Crown Prince and his bride,” Sif announced, her voice carrying over the rising din of the music. “May your blades never dull, and may your union bring glory to the throne of Asgard.”

The court cheered, a thunderous uproar lifting their drinks in unison, but the sound was completely drowned out by the roaring rush of blood in your ears. Sif’s gaze shifted directly to you, her eyes searching yours, and the sheer proximity of her made it entirely impossible to breathe. The heavy feeling in your stomach returned with a vengeful, sickening intensity, twisting your insides into knots. You felt small, humiliated, and utterly desperate to escape.

This was a humiliation ritual, it had to be—a grand performance to showcase exactly what you had been forced into.

As the court drank, Thor immediately leaned closer to you, his massive frame shielding you slightly from the prying eyes of the nobility. His face was entirely pale, his jaw clenching as he saw the rigid terror lock your features into place.

“Treasure, look at me,” he begged, his deep voice cracking with a desperation that completely ignored the roaring banquet around them. He didn't care about the feast, he didn't care about Sif, he didn't care about the crown—he only cared about the wild, frantic rhythm of your breathing. “Please, don't look at her like that. Whatever you think you saw, whatever lies you think are happening—it isn't true. I swear it on my life, I swear it by the All-Father, I burn for you. Only you.”

You turned your head slowly to face him, your eyes meeting his deep blue gaze. The fire that had once warmed your veins had turned to pure, unyielding ice.

“Do not lie to me like that ever again,” you whispered, the finality in your voice cutting through his desperate pleas like an executioner's axe. You gave him one last, blindingly beautiful, completely empty smile for the benefit of the watching court before looking away. “The feast is far from over, your highness. Let us see how long we can keep up this beautiful lie.”

He closed his eyes for a fractured second, a silent, bleeding prayer echoing in his chest as he begged the elder gods to give him strength. “How can you not believe me? After everything—“

You cut him off before the words could fully leave his mouth. “Exactly. After everything, how do you expect me to believe you?”

He huffed, a sharp sound as his right hand beneath the table formed a firm, trembling fist. So much for giving me strength, he chastised his elders bitterly in his mind, his jaw locking so tight the muscle leaped against his skin.

“Do you think I would stain our marriage with her?” he asked, his whisper a vibration of pure agony. “Do you truly think so little of me? Is that it?”

“Honestly, Thor, I do not know what to think or to believe anymore,” you whispered back sharply, your eyes fixed forward on the crowd, refusing to look at the heartbreak marring his face. “Let's not do this here. Someone will hear.”

You were breaking him, breaking his heart, his soul, his very being. He could feel it, feel his heartbeat slow, feel his breathing stop, feel the light of his soul dim as he looked at you. Okay, I can deal with that, he thought, trying to soothe his raging heart, there's still hope. She's just confused in what to believe.

“Oh, treasure, you will believe me. Be certain of that,” he said, his voice dropping an octave as he looked away, his gaze sweeping across the chaotic expanse of the room until he found his brother looking at them.

Your eyebrows furrowed at what he said, a bitter, defensive scoff escaping your lips. You followed his gaze, only to find Loki staring directly back at the high table.

Loki mouthed something to him, his thin lips moving with exaggerated, frantic precision. Thor’s eyebrows furrowed, his heavy jaw dropping slightly in confusion. ‘What?’ he mouthed back, his posture stiffening.

Loki mouthed again, his movements growing hasty, almost desperate as he gestured wildly with his hands, pointing a slender finger toward you and then back to Thor. Thor's face only grew more confused as he stared at his brother, utterly failing to decode the silent question.

‘You dimwit,’ Loki mouthed clearly.

Thor caught that part. His blue eyes narrowed dangerously at his brother as he mouthed wildly in return, ‘I understood that one!’

You were watching them the entire time, your arms folded tightly in front of you as you looked at them one by one, your head moving back and forth between the two princes. The utter absurdity of the display was the only thing capable of piercing through your icy armor.

“He's asking you if you want him to talk to me,” you said, your voice remarkably flat as you looked at Thor.

His head turned toward you as fast as the wind, a sudden, panicked snap of his neck.

“I can see you guys,” you muttered, gesturing dryly as you opened your arms toward the both of them, exposing their completely unsubtle silent conversation.

Thor immediately slapped his forehead with a heavy palm, a groan of utter embarrassment escaping him, while Loki sheepishly, guiltily looked away, suddenly taking a very deep, very intense interest in the contents of his wine chalice. Uh oh.

“Brother... I'm going to kill you,” Thor muttered low, his voice a dark, rumbling promise beneath his breath.

“Why would you want him to talk to me?” you asked, your eyes searching his face, trying to pierce through the thick layer of exhaustion and hurt that clouded your mind.

“Because he heard us at the library,” he stated matter-of-factly, his blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away.

“Okay?...” you trailed off, your voice dropping into a skeptical whisper.

“He knows what I said that night.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in deep confusion, your jaw tightening. “Obviously,” you said, looking at him as if he had completely lost his mind. “He was there, Thor. We all know what you said.”

“What I truly said,” he muttered, his tone shifting into something fiercely earnest. But even as the weight of his words hung between you, his attention snapped back across the hall. He raised his hand beneath the level of the table, his eyes narrowing to slits as he made a sharp, slicing gesture across his throat, clearly threatening Loki with a violent end while still trying to talk to you.

“Would you stop that?” you asked sharply, reaching up and slapping his hand away from his neck.

“You are being childish,” you hissed, your chest heaving against the tight constraints of your gown. “Anyone with a bit of mouth-reading talent can decipher what you are saying right now. I do not need you to court another scandal on our wedding night.”

Thor turned back to you, the desperate, fractured look on his face melting into a dangerous smirk that made your breath catch.

“Oh, the real scandal was in the forest,” he murmured, leaning in so close his warm breath brushed the sensitive skin of your ear, sending a treacherous shiver down your spine. “You writhing under me... my mouth latched onto you...”

Your mouth fell agape, utterly bewildered and shocked by his brazen words in the middle of a crowded royal banquet. A furious, burning red flushed across your face, heat blooming from your neck up to your cheeks as you sharply turned away from him. Your heart stuttered violently at the vivid memory, that wicked, intoxicating feeling coiling deep in your gut all over again despite the anger vibrating in your veins.

“Shut up,” you whispered fiercely, staring straight ahead at the crowd as you tried to blink away the sudden, overwhelming rush of heat.

He saw the way your breathing got fast, the sharp rise and fall of your chest against the rigid corset of your dress. He watched as your fingers tightened around your golden goblet, your eyes darkening into a stormy, heavy gaze. He reveled in it, completely intoxicated by the undeniable power he still held over you.

At least physically, you were his.

Your body still answered his touch, even if your heart was currently barricaded behind stone walls. Yet, physical surrender wasn’t enough—he wanted you entirely, body, heart, and soul.

Emboldened by a newfound surge of courage, he slid his hand along the table toward your arm, his large fingers trailing upward over your bare skin. You closed your eyes, a shaky, defeated sigh escaping your parted lips.

“Why would I shut up? I remember it vividly,” he kept on going, his voice dropping to a gravelly, possessive purr. His other hand rose, his palm cradling the side of your face, his thumb catching the heat flushing your skin.

You opened your eyes, looking up into his face. His own breathing grew fast now, the boyish prince completely consumed by the sheer proximity of you. Your eyes were droopy, heavy with a sudden, thick tension, your chest heaving as your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps.

“I remember you screaming my name, darling,” he whispered, leaning in until the tips of your noses almost brushed, his thumb slowly brushing over your lower lip. “I remember the taste of your lips—sweetest I have ever tasted.”

His gaze locked onto your lips as if nothing else in the universe existed, and your own gaze was helplessly pinned to his. Your hand rose blindly from the table, your fingers finding his on your face, overlapping his large hand but failing to pull it away. You forgot about the grand feast hall. You forgot about the All-Father watching from above, forgot about Loki, forgot about the hundreds of prying eyes surrounding the dais. There was nothing but the heat radiating between your bodies and the suffocating gravity pulling you together.

A few nobles at the lower tables were watching you now, whispering behind their chalices, but the display of pure want passed between you was undeniable. Your hands on each other, your chests heaving in tandem—you surely were a match alright, a tempest bound together by blood and fire.

His tongue darted out a bit, wetting his lips in clear, agonizing anticipation. You let out a ragged, trembling breath, your grip loosening against his hand. Fuck, you wanted him so much. Every piece of your body was screaming for the friction of his skin against yours.

“Stop,” you breathed, the command entirely lacking any real force, your gaze still helplessly glued to his shiny, parted lips.

“Why?” he murmured, the word vibrating against your mouth.

Your eyes flicked up to his, drowning in his expression. His pupils were completely dilated, swallowed by black, his lips slightly parted as the clear, desperate want in his eyes reached out, taking you by the throat and choking out every ounce of your pride. Your mind screamed at you, a repeating chant, Kiss him. Kiss the ever-loving fuck out of him, right now.

But your bubble was violently shattered by a deafening roar of laughter and loud cheering.

The sound hit you like a bucket of ice water, and you scrambled backward, nearly knocking over your high-backed chair as you tore your face from his hand.

Fuck. You almost gave in. You almost let him win right there on the high table.

Your eyes were wide, your heart hammering against your ribs as you looked around to see what the hell they were cheering for.

You.

Thor's dumbass friends—which unfortunately happened to be your own dumbass friends—were standing on top of their benches at the lower tables, banging their tankards together and cheering you on, wildly urging you to close the distance.

“Kiss the bride!!” they yelled over the roar of the music, their voices echoing off the ceilings. “Kiss her, Thor!”

You looked at Thor, your eyes wide with absolute, horrified panic.

You gulped, your eyes locked onto his passionate blues. You couldn't back out now; you were his wife for the gods' sake. It was just a kiss, right?

“We have to, Treasure,” he mumbled, smiling at you with that signature boyish smile of his, a slicing contrast to the heavy desperation from moments before. His large hand effortlessly reclaimed its previous place on your face, causing your breathing to hitch and accelerate even faster, if such a thing were even possible.

“It's okay,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to your mouth as he closed the remaining gap between you. “It can just be a quick kiss.” his lips slanted over yours.

A soft, ragged sigh escaped him the very second his skin met yours, drinking in the taste of you like a dying man stumbling upon an oasis. When his lips found yours, the background noise of the Great Hall shifted—the chanting turning into piercing whistles and loud, boisterous cackles as your friends went absolutely over the top in their yelling.

But the roaring crowd faded into complete obscurity. The world narrowed down to the friction of his mouth moving in perfect, intoxicating tandem with yours. His unoccupied hand slid around the curve of your waist, pulling you flush against his side until everything you knew was him. All you could feel, all you could breathe, was him.

You sighed into the kiss, your walls completely collapsing under the weight of his heat. Thor took the surrender for what it was, pushing further, kissing you deeper. His tongue grazed yours, a deliberate, intoxicating spark that made you gasp, and he used the moment to make you open your lips for him, leading the claim with a gentle bite to your lower lip.

You were holding onto his massive biceps now, your hands blindly seeking purchase against the solid expanse of his arms. Your fingers dug into the leather and muscle so deeply that Thor could feel your fingernails breaking into his skin, but the slight pain only fueled the fire in his veins. Oh, how utterly consumed he was by you. He was drowning, and he never wanted to surface. His fingers shifted, trailing from your cheek down to hold your jaw, tilting your head back slightly as he kept claiming your lips with a ravenous, desperate hunger.

Wrapped in his hold, you felt so impossibly small next to him—like his massive frame could protect you from anything the universe dared to throw your way, even if you were a warrior who didn't need a single bit of protecting. He was just so warm, so big, so—

Somebody cleared their throat. A heavy, booming sound that cut through the haze.

You were immediately jolted back to your senses. Panic flaring in your chest, you pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss and tearing yourself away from him. You looked away immediately, your face burning with a lethal heat, only to see your friends at the lower tables silently cackling into their palms, completely delighted by the show.

But worst of all, at the head of the high table, Odin was looking directly at the two of you with a raised eyebrow, his golden spear resting against his throne as he clearly cleared his throat a second time.

“It can just be a quick kiss,” you hissed fiercely into Thor's ear, mimicking his low, rumbling voice with biting sarcasm as you smoothed down the front of your dress.

Thor let out a low, breathless cackle, entirely unbothered by the royal audience. He leaned his head slightly toward yours, his eyes still dark with lingering desire. “You didn't seem like you were complaining two seconds ago, darling.”

You sharply snapped your arm out, slapping his bicep to shut him up.

“Well, certainly a good match as you can see,” Odin joked from his throne, the unyielding, serious expression he had worn all day finally softening into something borderline playful.

Your eyes widened, your jaw nearly dropping at the sight of the All-Father making light of the situation.

Oh yeah, this was a humiliation ritual alright. The universe, the court, and the royal family were all in on it.

“Now your father is mocking us. Great,” you whispered sharply to Thor, staring straight ahead at the banquet as you tried to regain every single ounce of your lost dignity.

He chuckled lowly, a dark, rumbling sound that vibrated right through the arm still brushed against yours. “That's because he's aware of how deep in I am, sweetheart. He sees what you refuse to.” His gaze never left your face, his blue eyes pinning you in place.

You narrowed your eyes at him, turning your face sideways toward him, the brief softness from the kiss instantly vaporizing. “Do not start again, Thor. I do not need more of this.”

You snapped your face back around, staring rigidly at the grand hall, though you were now painfully aware of the pet names he kept scattering over you like a trap. Your face burned hot, a furious flush creeping up your neck. Unable to help yourself, you turned back to him again, a sharp finger pointing directly at his chest. “And do not call me those names.”

“Whatever you say, darling.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a scathing retort as the roaring of the crowd swelled to mask your silence.

The feast was over now, the blinding gold of the Great Hall finally dimming as exhaustion took absolute hold of your body. The crushing weight of the day’s events pressed down on your shoulders like lead. Everyone was leaving; some were stumbling drunk, some perfectly sober, and a few lingering nobles still threw hurried congratulations your way before disappearing into the grand corridors.

You let out a quiet yawn, your eyelids drooping heavily over your eyes as the adrenaline completely drained from your veins. Making a tentative move to sit up and slide out from the high table, the world tilted slightly. You swayed in place, your knees buckling beneath the heavy layers of your wedding gown as your profound tiredness finally showed its teeth.

Thor, who was already standing, caught you immediately. His massive hands locked around your waist, steadying your frame the very instant he saw the state you were in.

“Don't,” you muttered, your voice thick with fatigue as you weakly tried to twist out of his iron grasp.

“You can't even stand. What do you mean, don't?” he asked, his boyish playfulness entirely gone, replaced by a stern, serious expression that brooked no argument.

“I don't need you touching me every five seconds—“

Before you could finish the thought, you were cut off by the sudden, dizzying sensation of the floor disappearing beneath you. With effortless, terrifying strength, Thor hooked his right arm beneath your knees and brought his left arm around to support your upper back, scooping you up against his chest before you could even register the movement.

“What are you doing? Put me down!” you yelled in a harsh whisper, a sudden spike of panic flaring through your exhaustion. Yet, even as the protests left your lips, your arms instinctively circled around his neck, locking into place like they knew their rightful home.

“I am carrying my wife, is what I'm doing.” he said matter-of-factly, his breathing even and unbothered as he started walking down the elevated dais without a single ounce of effort.

The cold stone of the palace corridors blurred past you as he walked, his grip unyielding, his chest a solid, warm wall against your shoulder. He rounded the final gilded corner of the royal wing, stepping into a hallway that made your heart skip a beat. He was getting impossibly close to his own personal quarters.

No, you thought, a cold dread washing over your chest. It can't be.

“Where do you think you're taking me?” you asked, your voice tightening as you stared up at his sharp jawline.

“To our room,” he replied simply, not even glancing down at you as he kept his stride even.

“Our room?” you asked, utterly bewildered, your fingers stiffening against the back of his neck.

Thor stopped just before the towering, carved wooden doors of his chambers. He turned his head slowly, looking down at you with a heavy, incredulous gaze. “Did you honestly, truly think you were actually going back to your own?” he asked, his tone flat, as if you had just suggested the most ridiculous, impossible thing in the entire Nine Realms.

“But—what—“

“We are married, treasure,” he murmured, his deep voice carrying a quiet, unyielding finality as he nudged the heavy doors open with his shoulder. “Get used to it.”

Thor was the happiest he could ever be, you in his arms, walking back to his—your—chambers as his wife. The weight of your body against his chest felt like the only real thing in a world made of heavy stone and shifting politics. The only problem was that he was desperately, agonizingly in love with you, and you were disgusted by him. It's fine, he thought to himself, a silent, bleeding vow to his own fracturing heart, I'll fix it. I will fix it no matter what.

But was it truly fine?

He pushed past the towering threshold, but the very sight of the familiar, grand chambers sparked a poisonous new thought in your mind. A sudden, sickening ice flooded your chest. Is this where he had taken her? Is this the very room where he had whispered sweet nothings into her ear, wrapping her in the same warmth he was now offering you? And you were sure it didn't even end with Sif—there had to be many more, an endless parade of high-born court ladies who belonged in his world far more than you ever could.

“Put me down.” you said, your voice turning to sharp, brittle ice at the mere thought of her.

“What is it again?” he asked tiredly, his massive chest heaving with a heavy sigh. Yet, beneath his exhaustion, he felt his heart break a bit more at the way your voice had tightened. You were so far away from him, rebuilding that towering, unyielding wall between you, making it completely impossible for him to reach you.

“I do not wish to speak of it. Put me down.” You began to scramble against his grip, trying to forcefully wrench yourself out of his arms. Thor instinctively tried tightening his hold on you, terrified of letting go, but he immediately decided against it. What if you fell? What if you hurt yourself trying to escape him?

He let you go, his grip tightening as he lowered you, but his hands immediately hovered, trying to grab you again—his desperate need to touch you showing involuntarily. The moment your shoes hit the stone, you turned away from him, but his fingers clamped around your arm, firmly turning you back to face him.

“What is it with you and not telling me your problems?” he demanded, frustrated. “You have communication problems—I swear to the All-Father, treasure, I cannot let another unsaid thing get in between us. There are already too many—“

“Can you stop pretending you care?” you snapped, twisting your arm fiercely in an attempt to break his grip. You simply didn't have the energy to argue with him for the... how many times had it been now? Too many to count. The exhaustion of the wedding was bleeding into your soul.

“Can you stop telling me what I feel and what I don't?”he pushed back, stepping closer, his blue eyes blazing with a fierce, wounded fire. “I do fucking care! You've been my best friend for years, if not anything else!”

“I'm not sure if that even was real—“

The words had barely left your mouth when Thor snapped. He pulled you forward with a sudden, breathless force, halting your movements entirely as he grabbed your jaw with his large hand, gently but unyieldingly forcing you to look up at him.

“How can you fucking say that to me? After all these years—“ his voice broke, the sound raw and fractured as he felt his heart completely give out. He was dying. Standing right there in his own bedroom, he felt himself on the very brink of death. You were stabbing him over and over again, nonstop, twisting the knife every single time you spoke, finding new ways to inflict a deeper, sharper pain.

“I would kill for you. I would die for you—I fucking tried dying for you,” he choked out, his throat burning, his thumb trembling against your jawline. “You're my whole fucking universe. It baffles me to my core that you refuse to see it so stubbornly.”

You averted your gaze, looking down at the collar of his armor, suddenly lacking the heart to look him directly in the eyes. The raw agony on his face was too much to bear. But the venom in your mind wouldn't quiet down.

“How many women have you brought here?” you asked softly, before snapping your eyes back up to lock onto his.

Thor froze, utterly bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

“I think I made myself very clear, Thor,” you whispered, the bitterness spilling over. “Have you brought her here? And did you decide that this would be our chambers because you thought, why not humiliate me a bit more? Right? You thought, 'Why not make my chambers, the very room where I have brought dozens and dozens of women, our marital bedroom?' Have you even considered if I wanted this? Have you even considered if I like the design of this room, or if—“

Before you could finish your desperate rambling, Thor’s hand shifted from your jaw, his palm firmly but gently covering your mouth to silence you. He stared down at you, his heavy eyebrows furrowed in deep, burning frustration.

“You're pissing me off, accusing me of such things,” he stated, his voice dropping into a dangerously steady, low rumble. “No woman has ever set foot in my chambers.”

Your eyebrows shot up in pure disbelief. “How—“ you tried to ask, the sound coming out entirely muffled against his palm as your heart suddenly started beating a wild rhythm against your ribs.

“Because I didn't want any other woman in here besides you,” he said, the honesty in his tone so heavy, so absolute, that it felt like the weight of a thousand stars were pressinh down on you in the quiet room.

Your eyes widened, your pulse entirely skipping a beat.

Was he telling the truth? Was it possible?

The look in his blue eyes made your head spin, and you quickly reached up, prying his large hand away from your mouth just to breathe.

“I would like to sleep now,” you said abruptly, sharply changing the subject. You couldn't handle it. You didn't want the bubble of his beautiful lies to pop, desperately wanting to believe—even for a fleeting second—that what he just said was the absolute truth. You wanted to leave it alone before the reality ruined it.

Thor let out a ragged, defeated sigh, looking up toward the high, vaulted ceiling. “You don't believe that either. Great,” he murmured bitterly, sliding a heavy palm over his face to rub at his eyes.

You just turned your head away, your gaze landing squarely on the massive, grand bed in the center of the room. A fresh wave of panic hit you. How the fuck were you supposed to sleep next to him like this?

Tired of arguing, tired of fighting a losing battle against the walls you had built, Thor finally let go of you entirely. He stepped back, unbuckling his heavy ceremonial armor and sliding it off his upper body with practiced ease, letting the metal hit the floor with a dull thud.

Your eyes were immediately, helplessly drawn to the broad planes of his chest—the golden skin, the heavy muscle, the intimidating power of him shifting in the dim lamplight. Fuck. What a damn good chest.

But why the hell was he changing in front of you?

“Woah, woah, woah—big guy,” you stammered quickly, holding up a flat palm as you took a sharp step backward, trying to ground yourself. “Boundaries.”

Thor paused, his hands resting on the waist of his trousers as he turned his head to look at you, a tired, knowing glimmer in his eyes.

“I don’t think we have any boundaries left,” he murmured, his deep voice cutting through the quiet room like a promise. “I've seen every part of you.”

Your face reddened. “You filthy…” you started, but your voice trailed off into nothingness as your eyes got helplessly stuck on the way his muscles rippled beneath his skin—fucking amazing. Now you had not one, but two glaring problems. One: he had hurt you too many times and was a liar. Two: he also happened to be your heartstoppingly handsome, too-hot-to-handle husband. You felt your breath catch completely in your throat, your face burning even hotter, if such a thing was even possible.

He caught you looking, slanting his head sideways to smile at the way your gaze trailed down his chest. The smug look on his face made you avert your eyes immediately, clearing your throat to break the tension.

“I will not sleep next to you,” you said, huffing out a sharp breath.

His smile faded, his blue eyes locking intensely on your face. “And where do you suggest you sleep?”

You shrugged, looking around the expansive room until your eyes locked onto the large sofa sitting near the balcony doors. “I will sleep on the sofa,” you said, decisively grabbing the heavy skirts of your wedding gown and turning away from him to face the grand wardrobe. “Are my clothes here?”

“You certainly will not,” he stated firmly. Then came the soft, rustling sound of fabric falling to the floor as he got rid of his trousers.

Your breath stuttered in your chest and you gulped, stubbornly keeping your back to him. “I will. Just tell me if my things are here.”

“I had them brought here, yes,” he murmured, his deep voice closer now, his gaze traveling heavily over your rigid figure.

You didn't say another word. You stepped forward and pulled the heavy doors of the closet open, only for your eyes to go wide at the sight welcoming you. Your jaw slackened.

“Thor, what is this?” you asked, turning back toward him in sheer disbelief—though you really shouldn't have. Because he was standing there in nothing but his boxer briefs, and he looked absolutely delicious. You cleared your throat as you tried looking at his face.

“What's wrong?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing in genuine confusion at your reaction.

You turned back to the closet, your hand gesturing to the hundreds of dresses hanging inside—dresses you most certainly did not own just hours ago. They lined the wardrobe in an endless sea of stunning fabrics, glittering under the dim lamplight.

“There are so many dresses, I—“ Your breath got completely caught in your chest, a wave of wonder washing over you as you looked at the incredible collection. “How am I supposed to decide what to wear now?” you murmured, your eyes wide as you ran a hand over the silks. He had gotten even more dresses for you, and every single one of them was made with the most expensive fabrics, probably tailored by the finest hands in the Nine Realms.

The action warmed your heart, the traitorous thing beating frantically against your ribs, trying to leap out of your chest. But why was he doing all this? When you had first returned to the palace, you found your old dresses had been entirely changed. He had remembered your dream wedding dress; he had remembered every detail of your dream wedding. Not only had he remembered, but he had leveraged the entire wealth of Asgard to make them happen. And now, he did this?

Thor stepped closer, the soft, heavy thud of his bare feet on the stone floor stopping just behind you. He looked down at you, the devotion in his blue eyes burning brighter than any star in the cosmos.

“Because that is what you truly deserve, treasure,” he whispered, his voice thick with an emotion so deep it vibrated in his massive chest, sending a low hum through the narrow space between you. “You deserve all the treasures of the Nine Realms, and I will spend my life ensuring you have them.”

You gulped, the absolute hold he had on your heart tightening painfully as you thought over his words. They were beautifully poetic, almost enough to make you forget the hollow ache in your chest. But did he mean them? He feels guilty, and now he’s trying to buy his way back into your good graces, your brain screamed at you, fighting desperately to reinforce the crumbling walls of your pride. You bit your lip hard, forcing the rising warmth down as you blindly grabbed a silk nightdress from the rack and turned sharply toward the bathroom.

“Yeah? I thought I was just a common grunt.”

Thor's breath hitched violently, the sharp, agonized intake of air echoing like a crack of thunder in the quiet room. “Don't do that,” he said, his voice dropping into a ragged plea as he took a sudden, desperate step toward you, his large hand reaching out to catch your shoulder.

You stopped at the threshold of the bathroom, turning to throw one last icy, unyielding look over your shoulder that effectively froze him in his tracks. “You're doing all of this because you feel guilty, Thor. Not because you actually think I deserve them.”

And before he could utter a single word to defend himself, before he could pull the truth from his bleeding heart, you stepped inside and shut the heavy wooden door right in his face.

The click of the latch echoed with a brutal finality. Left alone in the center of the grand chamber, Thor looked up at the ceiling, his chest heaving as if he had just fought an entire army. He fisted his hands into his hair, gripping the strands tightly as he dragged his palms down his face, just trying to force air into his lungs.

What do I have to do? he thought, his mind spinning in a frantic, desperate circle as he stared at the closed door. How do I make her see?

On the other side of the thick wood, your whispered, frustrated curses traveled straight to his sharp ears.

You were standing in the middle of the bathroom, reaching behind your back as you tried to undo the laces of your wedding corset. Your fingers slipped against the tight, intricately woven cords. You pulled, twisted, and strained, but it was to absolutely no avail. The lace was locked tight, keeping you trapped inside the heavy bridal gown.

You needed his help. There was no one else.

But you had just shut the goddamn door right in his face.

“Fuck…” you muttered under your breath, your pride waging a war against your physical exhaustion.

Defeated, you gripped the handle, turned it, and swung the door back open.

Thor hadn't moved an inch. His expectant, deeply sorrowful blue eyes found yours instantly, a flicker of desperate hope lighting up his features the moment you reappeared.

“I need help with my corset,"”you said, the confession forcing your face to flush a burning red. Unable to handle the weight of his gaze, you immediately turned around, presenting your back to him so you wouldn't have to face the overwhelming sight of him standing there in his boxer briefs.

“Anything for my wife,” he murmured. The words were a low, sacred vow, completely devoid of his usual arrogance.

You gulped, my wife. He said it so easily, like he had already gotten used to you being his wife.

Thor stepped forward, closing the distance between you until the heat radiating from his bare chest pressed against your exposed shoulder blades. The sheer size of him completely swallowed you from behind. He paused for a fraction of a second, his breath fanning hot over your neck, before he raised his large, calloused hands.

He immediately got to work, but there was nothing rushed about his movements. His thick fingers grazed your bare skin with agonizing slowness, dragging deliberately against the sensitive heat of your back as he began to loosen the first knot.

Your breath hitched sharply in your throat. Your eyes drifted closed, your mind spinning as the texture of his rough, warrior hands sent a treacherous, electrifying jolt down your spine. Every single touch felt like a deliberate brand, melting away the ice you had worked so hard to build.

He pulled the first loop free. The structured bodice slackened just an inch, allowing your chest to expand, but the sudden rush of air did nothing to calm your racing pulse. Thor’s knuckles brushed against the valley of your spine as he worked his way down, his movements so incredibly gentle it felt like a form of worship. He was taking his time, memorizing the feel of you, his own breathing growing thick and uneven in the quiet space. You could hear the heavy, rhythmic thud of his heart beating right behind you, matching the frantic rhythm of your own.

With every lace he undone, the dress loosened further, the heavy fabric slipping downward. Your hands flew up to your chest, gripping the front of the corset tightly against your breasts to keep it from dropping entirely. The tension in the small room was thick with unspoken words and a magnetic pull that threatened to drag you both back into the forest.

Finally, the last lace fell loose. His hands lingered for one heart-stopping moment, his palms resting just above your hips, his thumbs skimming the soft skin of your waist in a quiet, pleading caress.

The touch broke the spell. Before the heat could completely consume you, you tightened your grip on the front of your dress and scrambled forward into the dark privacy of the bathroom, your feet sliding on the stone as you rushed to escape the heavy gravity of his presence. You practically threw your weight against the door, shutting it once more so you could finally change into your nightgown, your heart hammering so loudly against your ribs you were certain he could hear it through the wood.

As you changed, your mind screamed at you, do not fall for it.

You had to get yourself together. He always had been like this. Always had women by his side, always flirting, always touching. And the women? They always giggled, thinking his affections were set only for them, little did they know, he had affections for every woman in the Nine Realms.

You closed your eyes, rubbing your forehead with a trembling hand as you tried to stop the relentless spinning of your thoughts. But the bitter truth was right there, staring back at you in the dark: you were no different. You had let him touch you. You had fucking let him taste you, and he was trying to get more because you had made it known to him exactly how much you wanted him.

You had to stay away from him. How many times did you have to say to yourself, ‘protect your heart’? He was bad news; he always has been. One time he was right next to you, kissing you like he never could get enough, and the next he was right next to another, laughing with her as if you didn't even exist.

You pulled the silk nightdress over your head, the cool fabric doing nothing to soothe the burning under your skin. You braced yourself, your jaw hardening with newfound resolve. You were sleeping on that damn sofa tonight, no matter how much he tried to convince you otherwise.

You stepped out of the bathroom, the silk of your nightdress brushing against your ankles, your posture re-armored in defensive ice.

Thor was sitting on the edge of the massive bed, his head down, his large hands resting on his knees. When the door opened, his head snapped up, his blue eyes instantly tracking you with a heavy, watchful gaze. He looked like he wanted to say a thousand things, but the iron set of your jaw silenced him before he could speak.

Without granting him a single word, you walked straight past the bed, picked up an extra linen throw from the chest, and marched over to the sofa near the balcony doors.

“What are you doing?” his voice rumbled through the quiet room, thick with a mix of disbelief and hurt.

“I told you where I am sleeping,” you said flatly, settling yourself onto the cushions and pulling the throw up to your chin, staring directly at the ceiling. “Goodnight, Your Highness.”

You heard him stand up, the mattress creaking as he did. For a second, you thought he was going to come over and pick you up again. You braced yourself, your muscles locking.

I will make her sleep next to me, he thought, desperate to be near you. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply opening them as he looked back at your form laying on your side on the sofa. But he couldn’t, could he? You would hate him if he forced you to sleep next to him—something you clearly didn’t want.

After a long silence, you heard his heavy, defeated footsteps retreat. The bed creaked again, and then the lamps were flicked out, plunging the room into darkness.

Neither of you slept.

For hours, you lay rigidly on the narrow sofa, acutely aware of the vast, empty space of the bed across the room, and the heavy, restless shifting of a prince who couldn't sleep without you.

—

You woke up because of the uncomfortableness of your now assigned bed. You sighed, sitting up on the narrow sofa as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and looked across the dim room at him.

He was sleeping soundly, looking exactly how you had always imagined he would as he slept—like a dream. His usually tense eyebrows were completely relaxed, his pink lips were parted slightly, and his massive arm rested heavily on the pillow next to him as he laid on his back, sprawled over the expanse of the massive bed.

Oh, how you wished to wake up next to him. But not the version that laid there now. You wanted the Thor from before all the heartbreak, before all the cruelness.

You gulped as you looked away, your gaze shifting toward the wardrobe. You knew you had better go before you did something stupid like cross the room and lay down next to him, because you certainly couldn't help yourself when you were near him. You got up, your back aching terribly from the cramped cushions as you stretched upward, but the movement only made you groan in quiet displeasure.

Time for breakfast, I guess, you thought. You walked quietly to the closet, picking out a light blue chiffon dress and pulling it over yourself before sliding your feet into a pair of matching blue silk ballet flats. You would go to breakfast early, eat alone, and avoid him as much as you possibly could today. Yeah, that worked. Wonderfully.

You slid out of the chambers as quietly as a ghost, your head aching from the lack of real rest. You offered a tight, practiced smile to a few guards you passed in the corridor, holding your hand to your temple for a few seconds as you mindlessly walked toward the private sunlit conservatory.

When you got inside, a maid caught sight of you, her eyes widening as she froze in place, clearly shocked by your appearance.

“Your Highness? It is too early, is something the matter?” she asked, quickly smoothing down her apron as she approached you.

You were bewildered by her reaction, glancing out the arched windows at the soft dawn sky. “I was not aware how early it is. I came here to have breakfast.”

The maid looked even more confused now, her eyes darting to the empty doorway behind you. “Without Prince Thor?”

“Yes. Is something wrong?” you asked, tilting your head to the side. It was just breakfast; what could possibly be wrong with you having it?

“Oh, no—” she said, laughing awkwardly, her cheeks flushing slightly. “It’s just that I thought you’d be together—you are on your honeymoon, no?”

Oh, fuck. You were on your honeymoon.

“Oh—” you said, the breath completely escaping you. You forced your lips to stretch into a bright, convincing smile as you desperately tried to piece together an excuse. “He was... too tired after last night. I wanted to let him sleep.”

Your eyes widened a bit the exact second the words left your mouth. Did that come out wrong?

“I see,” the maid said, her awkwardness instantly melting into a sly, knowing smile as she nodded respectfully at you. “I will have your breakfast readied immediately, Your Highness.”

Oh, it definitely came out wrong. You meant the long, exhausting wedding had tired him out, not you. You gulped, nodding frantically to hide your burning embarrassment as a male servant stepped forward and politely pulled out a chair for you at the long, empty table.

You waited for your breakfast as you looked out the arched windows, your fingers idly tracing the polished edge of the table while you tried to think of ways to pass the day avoiding him. Maybe you could go to the training grounds? No, there would be too many eyes there, too many gossiping soldiers eager to witness exactly where the new bride was spending her time. Maybe you could go see what Einar was doing; you hadn't seen him since you got back from Jotunheim. Though, a bitter thought crossed your mind—would it even be appropriate for you to be seen with another man just after the day you got married? In the eyes of the court, absolutely not.

Maybe you could just go and read a book in the royal gardens. Yeah, that worked. It wouldn’t court a scandal, the peace would quiet your racing thoughts, and most importantly, it would keep you far away from him.

You quickly ate your breakfast, barely tasting the food, before thanking the maid and setting your way toward the quietest corners of the palace gardens.

Back in the grand chambers, Thor opened his eyes and immediately looked over at the sofa.

He found it completely empty.

His heart dropped straight to his stomach, a cold, suffocating panic seizing his chest. Where were you? He scrambled out of the massive bed, quickly throwing on his armor, the heavy metal plates clicking into place as he rushed out of the room. His leather boots boomed against the marble floors of the corridor. Has something happened? Have you fled Asgard again, leaving him behind without you forever this time? No, he quickly shook the thought away, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted his cape. You wouldn't do that. Not again. Right?

He stopped a passing servant in the hallway, his fingers gripping the man's shoulder a bit too tightly. “Where is my wife?” he asked, his voice hurried, desperate, like he couldn't bear to be away from you even for a single second.

The servant bowed hurriedly before he talked. “She was just having breakfast in the conservatory, Your Highness.”

Thor let out a long, ragged breath of relief at that, his shoulders dropping. He nodded, continuing his way down the corridor toward the dining hall. It’s okay, he mumbled to himself, a silent chant to steady his racing pulse. She’s okay. She’s just eating.

When he finally reached the private conservatory, though, his heart completely gave out. You weren’t there. The long table was empty save for a cleared plate. He looked around, his blue eyes wild as his chest heaved with a fresh wave of panic. His gaze locked onto the maid who was bowing respectfully by the sideboard.

“Tell me where my wife is,” he ordered, his voice laced with clear distress.

The maid looked up, her eyes bewildered by the prince's uncharacteristic panic. “I do not know, Your Highness.”

“How do you not know?!” Thor barked, the booming resonance of his voice making the maid flinch backward.

“I—She said that you were tired, My Prince!” she stammered quickly, her cheeks flushing. “She said she wanted to let you sleep. She just had her breakfast and left immediately.”

Thor froze, a sharp pang of rejection hitting him as he realized you had deliberately woken up early just to escape him. He slid a heavy palm over his face, trying to ground himself, but the crushing weight of your avoidance was slowly driving him insane. He was in overdrive trying to fix this, and you wouldn't even let him in the same room. He dropped his hand and looked around at the gathering servants, his expression turning terrifyingly stern.

“From now on, everyone will know of her whereabouts,” he commanded, his deep voice leaving no room for argument. He looked around at every single staff member in the room. “I mean everyone.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the conservatory. The maid let out a long breath of relief, her rigid posture finally relaxing the moment the prince disappeared around the corner.

Meanwhile, you were sitting comfortably on one of the secluded, gilded benches deep within the royal gardens. A leather-bound book was resting in your hands, your mind fully invested in the pages to keep the real world at bay.

It was a romance book—a story about a grand Prince and a commoner girl who had caught his eye. You bit the inside of your cheek, a bitter, self-deprecating thought crossing your mind. You knew you were pathetic. Even the fictional stories you chose to read resembled a bit of him. Reading about a fairytale Prince while you had a real one for a husband.

But the prince in this book was kind. He bought the girl flowers just to see her smile, and he asked for her hand because he truly loved her. Your prince, however, was only married to you because his father had arranged it. He had broken you completely with his cruel words, and he argued with you every single chance he got.

The characters in your hands were a dream, while you were living a waking disaster. They were deeply in love, while you were drowning in your own unreciprocated feelings, fully aware that your husband's true affections belonged to another woman.

You snapped the book closed at that last thought, the pain in your chest becoming too heavy to ignore. You leaned your head back against the bench, looking up at the bright Asgardian sky as you tried to blink away the sudden sting in your eyes.

You heard a voice then—a smooth, silk-lined voice you could never mistake for anyone else's, because it always held so much effortless mischief.

“What is it with you two and drowning yourselves in your sorrows?”

You blinked, turning your head to see Loki stepping out from behind a rose trellis. Without asking, he gracefully sat next to you on the gilded bench, smoothing down the front of his attire.

You rolled your eyes, a heavy sigh escaping your lips as you clutched the book to your chest. “I’m the only one drowning, Loki. I am sure of that.”

“Are you serious?” He let out a dry, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “Just my brother’s luck… In love with a woman who doesn’t believe a single word he says.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, your grip tightening around the leather cover of your book. “You certainly have a terrible influence on Thor, Loki. He spoke of the exact same lie, using the exact same words. Now, it is not uncommon for you to spin tales, but him?” You gulped, your gaze dropping to your lap as the painful weight of the past week pressed down on your chest. “He never lied to me before all this. Or perhaps... perhaps I was just too in love to ever notice.”

Loki rubbed at his eyes with his fingers, a long, deeply frustrated sigh escaping his lips. “Dear, he would rather slide onto his own sword than lie to you. Do you even know the state he was in when he brought you back? When he carried you into Asgard, on the very brink of death?”

Your eyes snapped up, finding his sharp, green gaze.

A Week Ago

The Bifrost beam shattered against the observatory floor with a deafening crack of thunder. Thor landed hard, his knees nearly buckling under the weight of your unconscious, limp body cradled against his chest. His blue eyes were wide, completely dilated with a feral panic; his own heart was hammering so erratically it wasn't pumping enough blood to his veins.

“Bring me all the healers in the Nine Realms!” he roared into the vaulted space, his voice cracking with a raw agony as he hurriedly carried you forward.

Heimdall was next to him in a heartbeat, his golden eyes wide. He had seen what happened in the frozen wastes of Jotunheim. “She is going to be okay, my prince,” the Gatekeeper said, extending a hand to check your fading pulse.

But Thor was completely delirious, out of his mind with terror. “Heimdall, don't,” he rasped, flinching away, clutching your slack form closer to his chest like a starved man protecting his last scrap of warmth.

Heimdall saw the crazed, desperate light in the prince's eyes and took a cautious step back, not wanting to distress his friend further. However, he immediately followed Thor as the prince began to storm toward the golden palace, not trusting Thor's completely shattered judgment in this hysterical state.

“Calm down, my friend,” Heimdall urged softly, effortlessly keeping pace with Thor's frantic, sweeping strides.

Thor snapped his head toward him, his face pale, tears spilling over his cheeks and tracking through the dirt and blood on his skin. “Do not tell me to calm down while the woman who holds my heart is dying in my arms!” he yelled, a choked sob tearing from his throat. “I said go find me the best healers in the Nine Realms! That was not a suggestion, Heimdall, it was an order!”

Heimdall sighed, his expression turning rigid and grave as his golden gaze swept across the cosmos, immediately searching for the specialized hands his prince had demanded.

The moment they breached the palace corridors, Loki saw them. He saw how your body lay entirely slack and lifeless in his brother's arms; he saw how Thor—the golden prince who feared nothing—was crying his heart out, his broad shoulders shaking violently.

Loki quickly walked over to them, his usual composed demeanor entirely shattering. “What happened?!” he demanded hurriedly, his voice sharp with a panicked pitch that was utterly unnatural to him.

Thor wouldn't even look up. He didn't even acknowledge his brother's presence. His entire universe had narrowed down to your pale face. He kept pressing his trembling lips to your forehead, murmuring desperate things against your cold skin as he walked.

“Please, my love... Don’t leave me... You have to wake up,” he sobbed, his voice echoing off the high stone walls as he shouted over his shoulder, “Healers!! Now!!”

“Brother, stop and speak to me,” Loki tried again, reaching out, but Thor wouldn't budge. He kept pressing forward, his tears dripping onto your cheeks.

“I love you,” Thor whispered into your hair, his voice breaking into a thousand pieces. “I love you so much. Please, just open your eyes and let me say these words to your face. I need you to hear them. I beg of you, you cannot leave me without you.”

He held your limp hand against his chest, feeling the agonizingly slow beat of your heart as his own tears kept running nonstop. He carried you straight into your chambers, laying you down on the mattress with a gentleness that contrasted the violent storm raging inside him.

A dozen royal healers finally rushed into the room, Heimdall following close behind them. “I did what you asked, my prince,” the Gatekeeper said quietly.

Thor looked up at the healers, his hands still tightly anchoring your cold fingers. The fierce, terrifying prince looked completely reduced, a broken boy begging for mercy. “Bring her back to me,” he choked out.

As the healers swarmed the bed, the only thing Loki could do was wrap his arms around his brother's torso, forcefully holding him back from interfering, trying to soothe him as Thor collapsed against his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.

Present

Your heart was thudding loudly, slamming against your ribs like a trapped bird. The vivid image of Thor—broken, weeping, and confessing his love while you lay dying—sent a dizzying rush of heat through your veins. But the wall of defense in your mind quickly scrambled to patch the crack.

“He was just scared to lose his childhood friend,” you murmured, your voice trembling as you stared blankly at the page of your book. “We grew up together. Anyone would be distressed.”

Loki shook his head, throwing his arms up slightly before rolling his eyes in absolute exasperation.

“You are giving me a migraine with your stubbornness, dear,” he snapped, leaning back against the gilded bench and looking at you as if you were the most difficult puzzle in the cosmos. “I swear, I do not know how my brother deals with it.”

Thor looked everywhere in the palace for you, his breathing fast and shallow as he hurriedly walked over to his last resort: the gardens. He marched through the towering hedges and blooming flowers, his blue eyes frantically searching every shadowed path, every hidden alcove. The longer he went without finding you, the more his heart sank heavily into his stomach, a suffocating dread taking hold. Were you alright? Had something happened to you?

Then, he heard the faint, muffled sound of voices coming from his right. He immediately changed his trajectory, his heavy steps cutting through the greenery.

“You are giving me a migraine with your stubbornness, dear,” came Loki’s distinct, smooth voice. Thor’s eyebrows furrowed, his jaw tightening as his brother continued, “I swear, I do not know how my brother deals with it.”

Thor immediately knew exactly who Loki was talking to. Breaking through the thick rose trellis, he emerged into the clearing.

“I deal with her just fine, brother.”

Your head snapped up, your heart thudding violently against your ribs at the sound of that deep, rumbling voice. How the hell did they keep finding you? First Loki, now Thor? And you had honestly thought you’d have a peaceful, quiet day to yourself—how foolish you had been. You rolled your eyes, letting out a heavy, exhausted sigh.

Thor stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as his gaze darted between the two of you. “What are you two doing here?”

Loki smiled wickedly, entirely unbothered by his brother's radiating jealousy. “Don’t worry, brother, we were just talking,” he said smoothly. Then, before Thor could close the distance, Loki leaned down closer to you, his voice dropping to a low, urgent whisper right in your ear. “He really didn’t say anything bad about you that night at the library. He only talked about how you deserved everything. Try to give him a chance, please.”

You kept your eyes fixed rigidly on your book, whispering back through a tight jaw, “I would, Loki. But not after the cruel words he said to me when I came back—and certainly not with Sif in the picture.” You pointedly turned the page of your book.

Loki froze completely, his green eyes widening. “What?”

You stiffened as Thor finally reached the bench. His patience entirely snapped, he reached down and forcefully yanked his brother upward by the collar. “What are you whispering about, brother?” he demanded, his voice a low growl as he glared at Loki, before his eyes dropped down to your completely rigid figure.

Loki didn't fight the grip. He merely looked into Thor's crazed, desperate eyes and said quietly, “You have a lot of fixing to do.”

The words hit Thor like a blow, making him immediately let go of his brother's collar, his hands dropping to his sides. Loki took a step back, casting one last heavy look at the two of you before walking away from the current wreckage of his brother's marriage. Loki knew the truth; he knew Thor would never look sideways at another woman when it came to you, that you were the absolute center of his universe. But you didn't know that. And Loki couldn't force you to believe it either—that was a bridge only Thor could build. Walking down the stone path, Loki closed his eyes, silently praying for his brother to finally find a way to make things right with you.

Back at the bench, you refused to look up from the leather-bound book in your lap, terrified that if you met his eyes, you would completely lose your composure near him.

“Will you look at me?” he asked. The pain vibrating in his voice was almost unbearable.

“What is it, Thor?” you asked, finally letting your gaze find his. Your fingers gripped the edges of the book with all the force in your body, the knuckles turning white just to keep your hands from visibly trembling.

“Why would you leave without letting me know?” he breathed, taking a slow, cautious step toward you. He looked completely undone, his chest heaving as he reached out. His large, warm hand rose, his fingers gently grazing the soft skin of your cheek. You gulped at the sudden, electrifying feeling of his touch, but the memory of Sif flashed in your mind, and you sharply turned your face away, breaking the contact.

Thor’s breath hitched violently at the sudden loss of touch. He felt a physical blade slice straight through his heart at your sharp recoil, leaving him completely breathless, as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the gardens.

“You are hurting me,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his own desperation. “I said I was worried. I am your husband.”

You looked up at the vast Asgardian sky, stubbornly refusing to meet his fracturing blue gaze as you tried to swallow the burning lump in your throat.

“I am well aware you are my husband,” you said, your voice a hollow, quiet whisper that cut deeper than any blade. “That’s exactly why I’m out here hiding from you.”

Your heart gave a hopeful leap at him being worried about you, the tiny, desperate part of your soul whispering that maybe, just maybe, his feelings were real.

“Are you aware we are on our honeymoon, then?” he asked, his tone shifting.

In an instant, any fleeting hopes you had about him genuinely worrying over you completely vanished into thin air. He wasn't worried about your safety; he was only worried about his pristine royal reputation and how it looked for his new bride to vanish at sunrise. You closed your eyes in a brief, agonizing wave of pain, opening them back up as you rigidly locked your gaze back onto the pages of your book.

“I was not, but thank you for letting me know,” you said, your voice dripping with bitter sarcasm.

“Then why court another scandal?” he asked, his voice tightening with a mix of frustration and exhaustion.

“Because I simply do not want to see you,” you said flatly.

Thor’s lungs felt as though they completely collapsed in on him, knocking the wind right out of his massive chest. Your words sliced through his remaining defenses. You detested being near him so much that you would actively prefer causing a royal scandal over spending a single morning in his presence?

“Now, I would like for you to leave, please,” you added, your voice turning to absolute ice.

“I will not go,” he said stubbornly. Doing the exact opposite of leaving, he simply took his place right next to you on the narrow, gilded bench, sitting there with an unyielding posture as if he owned the entire garden. He did own the garden, technically, though that was entirely beside the point.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you asked, immediately shimmying away from him until your hip pressed against the very edge of the armrest.

“If you want to read, you can. Just not without me by your side.”

“Excuse me?” you gasped, turning to glare at him.

“I am not leaving, darling. Read your book,” he murmured, his blue eyes locked onto yours, unblinking and fiercely determined.

Your eye twitched in pure, unadulterated anger. Who the hell did he think he was, dictating where you could sit? “Thor, do not make me slap you out in the open—”

“No eye can see us here. That is why I couldn't find you for hours, treasure,” he murmured, a dangerous, breathless little smirk pulling at his lips as he leaned an inch closer. “Go on, slap me. I am sure I would love it. It is your hand after all.”

Your face reddened instantly, a furious, hot flush traveling up your neck. You sharply snapped your eyes back down to your book, gripping the edges so hard the leather groaned, trying to force your brain to focus on the words.

You tried to read, but the text blurred together. You let out a shaky, frustrated sigh as you reached a passage where the fictional prince finally leaned down and kissed his lover.

Against your own traitorous will, your gaze drifted sideways, landing squarely on a certain real prince’s lips. Thor’s pink lips were slightly parted. He was trying to relax against the rigid back of the bench, his head tilted upward toward the blue sky, his eyes closed as he deliberately took deep, slow breaths to calm himself down. His steady, heavy breathing soothed you in a way you hated to admit, making your own tense shoulders relax just a fraction. But how the fuck were you supposed to focus on a romance novel with his massive, radiating, heart-stoppingly handsome body sitting mere inches away from you?

You huffed loudly, snapping the book shut, and stood up without saying a single word, determined to find another hidden corner of the palace.

But the moment your feet hit the path, he immediately sat up, matching your movement and following right at your heels.

“Where are we going?” he asked from behind you, his deep voice entirely too close for comfort.

You huffed again, your steps quickening on your silk flats. “We are not going anywhere,” you said, spinning around on your heel to face him, your chiffon skirts swirling around your ankles. “Are you mental? Leave me be, Thor!”

You turned back around and continued marching down the gravel path toward the golden arches of the palace, but his heavy, steady footsteps kept right up with you, never falling behind.

You let out a sharp, frustrated breath, throwing your hands up. “Do you not have something better to do than bother me?!”

“I honestly don’t,” he replied smoothly, a stubborn, unyielding glint in his eyes.

Completely exasperated, you stamped your foot against the gravel at him like a furious child, throwing him a lethal glare before continuing back onto your path and hurriedly walking away from him, your heart hammering against your ribs as he kept trailing right behind you like a ghost.

Every eye in the palace watched as their prince trailed behind his wife, the corridors falling into a stunned, breathless silence as you marched past. The servants and guards watched with genuine curiosity, completely captivated by the sight before them. The God of Thunder, the fiercest warrior in Asgard, practically begging for a single drop of attention from a woman? It was entirely new to their eyes, a jarring shift from the arrogant prince they all knew.

You kept on going, your jaw locked, until you reached the threshold of the glass-domed palace library—a beautiful, sun-drenched sanctuary lined with towering mahogany shelves. You glanced back over your shoulder, quickly assessing the distance between you. If you moved fast enough, could you make your way over and lock the heavy double doors before he could get in?

Though, how would that even work? The man could literally tear down mountains with his bare hands; a mere wooden door wouldn't hold him back for a second.

But the sheer desperation to escape his suffocating presence didn't stop you from trying. You immediately started running, the soles of your silk ballet flats threatening to slip against the polished marble as you dashed across the threshold. You reached the door and quickly tried to slam it shut, a triumphant smile breaking onto your face for a fraction of a second.

Thor only let out a heavy sigh and quickened his pace. Before the latch could click, his massive hand casually caught the edge of the wood, easily stopping the door in its tracks and pushing it open.

You stopped trying, letting your hands drop to your sides in utter defeat. You pinched the bridge of your nose, your breaths quickening as the exhaustion caught up to you. “I need some space,” you begged him, your voice cracking. “Please.”

“This is me giving you space,” he mumbled smoothly, stepping right past you into the library and comfortably sitting down on a plush velvet armchair, looking completely at home.

“Thor, please, just leave,” you begged again, your voice tight, threatening to spill over into actual tears out of sheer, boiling anger.

Thor looked up at you, his intense blue eyes roaming all over your flushed face and your trembling frame. He took in the sight of you, and then, a sudden, bright smile broke across his handsome features, as if he had just hit upon the best idea in the entire world.

“Okay,” he said softly.

“Okay?” you asked, blinking in disbelief, a cautious breath of relief escaping your chest.

He nodded, pushing himself up from the armchair. “Okay. I am leaving.”

True to his word, he walked past you and stepped out of the library, closing the heavy doors firmly behind him. Your eyes narrowed suspiciously at the wood, your thoughts screaming at you that the stubborn Prince of Asgard would never give up just like that. But you were too tired to care, just incredibly grateful that he had finally left you alone.

Trying to shake off the lingering warmth of his presence, you sat down on a window bench, opened your book, and forced yourself back into the pages, completely oblivious to what was to come.

After half an hour of peaceful reading, the heavy library doors suddenly opened abruptly, hitting the wall with a loud bang that made you yelp in pure shock. You snapped your head up to glare at the culprit, only for your eyes to widen to the size of saucers at the sight welcoming you.

Thor was standing in the doorway, a massive, towering bouquet of vibrant, rare Asgardian flowers clutched in his hands. But he wasn't alone. A literal army of palace servants was marching in right behind him, moving in a synchronized line. They brought in bouquet after bouquet, vase after vase, pouring into the grand room and filling every empty inch of space with an explosion of colorful blossoms.

“What is this?” you asked, your breathing instantly fastening as you stood up from the bench, dropping your book.

Thor didn't say a word, a triumphant, hopeful glint in his eyes as he directed the staff. Within minutes, the sweet, heavy scent of perfume overwhelmed your senses fully. Flowers overflowed from the tables, stacked against the mahogany bookshelves, and lined the floors until there was literally no room left to move. The library was fucking full of flowers, a sprawling, chaotic jungle of petals, and Thor was standing right in the center of the wreckage, holding his own bouquet out to you like a lifeline.

You reluctantly took the massive bouquet from his hands, your deeply questioning gaze fixed entirely on him.

“I laid all the species of flowers in Asgard at your feet,” he mumbled, his deep voice thick with an intensity that made the air between you feel heavy. “And yet, you deserve so much more, treasure.”

You gulped, your eyes darting away from him to look around at the overwhelming sea of blossoms filling the room. Your eyes scanned the common garden flowers and the incredibly rare, glowing blossoms fetched from the highest peaks. He hadn't been exaggerating; he had truly brought you every single kind of flower Asgard had to offer.

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

But even as the question left your lips, a bitter, agonizing realization suddenly dawned on you. This was guilt. This was the frantic action of a man feeling guilty because he had previously told you that you were not worthy of simple court flowers. Worse, it was a grand performance. He was putting on a massive show for the eyes of the palace servants, orchestrating a public display of affection so that no one would whisper about a scandal after you had pointedly abandoned him at breakfast this morning.

Thor watched you closely, waiting for a smile, but he froze as he saw your eyes shift. The fleeting look of soft adoration in your eyes turned sharply into a flash of burning anger, before settling into a deep, hollow disappointment.

His eyebrows furrowed in sudden confusion and hurt as you abruptly let go of the bouquet in your hands, letting the expensive blossoms drop carelessly to the floor. Your chest began to heave violently as you tried to force air into your lungs. You quickly looked away from him, the anxiety that had been brewing in your chest since the confrontation in the library alcove finally creeping in on you—completely overwhelming you as you reached out and gripped the edge of a mahogany bookshelf just to stay upright.

Thor’s heart dropped straight to his stomach. In a second, his large hands found your waist, steadying your trembling frame as you struggled to breathe.

“Treasure? Are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with a raw, sudden panic. But the moment the words left his mouth, he already knew the heartbreaking answer. You were fucking panicking, suffocating in a room he had filled with beauty, all because he had brought you flowers. He felt the crushing weight of his own heartbreak consume him. Fuck.

You shook your head weakly, your trembling hands coming up to press against his broad chest, trying to push his heavy weight away from you. But Thor only tightened his grip on your waist, refusing to let you fall.

“Breathe, darling,” he urged softly, his right hand coming up to gently cup your burning cheek, trying to force you to ground yourself. With a sharp, commanding flick of his head, he silently ordered the shocked servants to leave the room immediately. They scrambled out, shutting the doors and leaving you both in the crowded floral jungle.

“Come on, pretty girl, focus on me,” he pleaded, his blue eyes searching yours desperately as your widened, panicked gaze tried to lock onto him.

To an overlooking eye, a panic attack over a room full of beautiful flowers would look entirely unnecessary, almost foolish. But they didn't know the truth. They didn't know that he had completely overwhelmed your senses today, refusing to leave you alone, invading your only sanctuaries. And they didn't know the history—that he had broken your heart so badly in the past that you now viewed this entire beautiful gesture as nothing more than a hollow, guilty performance, a realization that had pushed your fragile mind over the edge into a full-blown panic.

You tried to focus, forcing your ragged breathing to slowly get back in line, though the raging storm inside your chest could never truly be quieted. It was only magnifying tenfold, burning you from the inside out with a lethal mix of longing and resentment.

The moment your breathing steadied and you were clearly feeling better, you used all the strength you had to forcefully push his hands off your waist. You looked away, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I do not need your pity flowers, Thor,” you spat out, the words icy and sharp.

Thor's heart thudded violently against his ribs, a sickening wave of horror washing over his face. Is this what you truly thought this was? Pity? A performance?

“It is not—“ he started, his voice cracking as he reached out for you again.

But you didn't give him the chance to finish. You turned on your heel and scrambled out of the library, your right hand pressing tightly over your racing heart as if you could physically keep it from breaking out of your chest. You burst through the double doors and slammed them shut behind you with a loud, echoing bang, cutting him off before he could speak another word of what you were certain were beautiful lies.

Left entirely alone in the sweet-smelling room, Thor slowly closed his eyes, his head dropping as he felt more broken, defeated, and entirely helpless than a man could ever feel.

Thor got out of the library after a while, his chest aching uncontrollably as you kept tearing a new wound at his heart, blow after blow. But even as he felt entirely helpless, he was not giving up. He couldn't.

You tried calming yourself as you walked away, your steps faltering sometimes at the sudden, sharp flashes of his face coming into view in your mind—his pained eyes, his hands on your waist. You clearly were going crazy. So you hid in the only place you knew you could find a moment of peace: your old chambers, now hollow and echoey without your personal belongings in it. You sat on the edge of the bare bed as you shook uncontrollably. How dare he? How dare he humiliate you like this, giving you hope as he played the role of the perfect husband for the court?

Exhausted, you laid back on the bed, your eyes closing as your traitorous mind played another cruel game on your heart, making you feel the phantom sensation of his lips pressed desperately against yours. Finally, you succumbed to a well-deserved nap, your soft, even breathing filling the quiet room.

When you woke up, your head and eyes were aching terribly from the heavy nap. It had clearly taken hours; the bright Asgardian sky had completely darkened into a deep violet, the brilliant stars now visible from the balcony. You sighed, rolling over. Was it dinnertime already? You got up from the bed to take a good look around, ensuring your privacy. Surely nobody had seen you sneak in here.

But when you opened the door slowly to slip out, you froze. Your path was completely blocked. Hundreds of large, velvet-lined jewelry boxes were laid neatly on top of each other, stacking up like a glittering wall right outside your threshold.

Your breath caught. You picked up the top box, opening it with trembling fingers to find a flawless diamond necklace sparkling under the torchlight. What the fuck? Your eyebrows furrowed as you snatched another one, popping it open to find an exquisite pearl necklace set. Another one, and another, and another… They were indisputably the finest, most priceless jewels in the Nine Realms, laid at your door while you slept, completely oblivious to the world.

Your heart squeezed tightly in your chest. Your eyes frantically scanned the empty corridor for the culprit, but he was nowhere to be found. Of course. Why would he even bother to be here after the scene you had made in the library? He clearly didn't want to deal with your shit while he was busy putting on a show for the court. But despite your raging anger, you couldn't help the gentle, treacherous flip your stomach did at the sheer scale of the gesture.

You bit your lip hard, spotting a servant walking down the hallway toward you.

“Do you need help, Your Highness?” the servant asked, bowing low.

You nodded quickly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yes, please. Have all of these brought to our main chambers.”

Leaving the mountain of gold behind, you made your way toward the Great Hall to have dinner. It was a strict tradition for the royal family to dine with the nobility at least once a week, but since your wedding had just occurred, the tradition dictated a grueling full week of public dinners to feed the prying eyes of the court. At least the nobility left the wedded royal couples alone during the day, waiting eagerly to get a glimpse of their marital bliss only at dinnertime.

The heavy doors opened, and you walked into the roaring hall, all eyes instantly turning toward you. Your gaze caught sight of Thor sitting at the high table, and you smoothly walked over to him. His blue eyes immediately found you, his heart pumping a sudden rush of blood to his veins as you took your seat right next to him. He sat rigidly, his body tense as he waited for you to say something—anything—about the mountain of jewelry.

But nothing came out of your mouth. You sat next to him in stony silence. Have you not received them? his frantic gaze seemed to ask.

“Pass the salt, would you, darling?” you spat out, your face twisting into a bright, flawless smile for the watching lords, though your icy tone said something entirely different to him.

Thor cleared his throat, his chest shifting beneath his tunic. “Of course, honey,” he murmured smoothly, passing the small crystal cellar to you. As he did, his thick fingers deliberately grazed yours, his skin tingling violently at the brief touch.

You gulped, sharply snatching the salt from his grip and turning to face the nobility.

The moment dinner was over—and your mandatory performance of a loving wife was finished with it—you stood up from the high table, unable to tolerate being in his magnetic radius for another second.

“Excuse me,” you said, offering a tight, polite smile to the surrounding guests. “I am rather tired. I will go to bed now.”

You walked away with your head held high, completely unaware of how Thor immediately excused himself right after you, his long, heavy strides quietly following you all the way back into your chambers.

Your bones ached, and your mind was completely frayed from the endless acting. All you wanted was the quiet, absolute safety of your narrow sofa. You pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the chambers, ready to slip straight into your makeshift sanctuary and shut the entire world out.

You froze at the threshold. Your eyes scanned the corner by the balcony. The space was completely bare. The elegant, carved wooden sofa, the silk cushions, the linen throw—everything was entirely gone. There was nothing left but the empty, cold stone flooring.

Before you could even process the sight, the heavy doors clicked shut behind you. “Looking for something, Treasure?”

You spun around sharply. Thor was standing right there, having followed you directly into the room. He braced one hand against the closed door, effectively trapping you inside with him. There was a stubborn, unyielding glint in his blue eyes, a shadow of his old, commanding arrogance masking the desperation underneath.

You snapped your head from the empty corner back to him, your hands instantly curling into tight fists at your sides as your face burned with rage. “Where is the sofa, Thor?”

“It was structurally unsound,” he replied smoothly, his tone infuriatingly matter-of-fact as he took a slow, deliberate step toward you. “I had the servants remove it first thing this morning. For your safety, of course.”

“You did not.” you hissed, stepping fully into the room, your chest heaving. “Put it back. Right now.”

“No,” he said, the single word dropping between you with absolute, unbending finality. He stopped just a few paces away, his massive frame towering over your smaller one, casting a long, imposing shadow in the dim lamplight. “I let you have your distance last night. I laid awake for hours watching you freeze on a piece of furniture meant for sitting. I will not do it a second night.”

“I am not sleeping in that bed with you!”

“Then you will sleep standing up,” Thor countered, his jaw locking tight as he gestured to the massive, grand mattress, his voice dropping into a ragged, fierce whisper. “Because there is only one bed in these chambers, and it belongs to both of us. You are my wife. You sleep here.”

“I do not wish to!” you yelled, stomping your foot against the stone floor like a spoiled child for the second time that day.

The sight of your fiery, unyielding defiance made a soft, involuntary chuckle break from Thor's throat.

“Is this funny to you?” you snapped, your index finger pointing accusingly up at his face. “I will kick your ass, Thor. I swear to the All-Father, I will.”

He chuckled even more at that, the rumbling sound vibrating warm and deep in the quiet room. “You won’t,” he said, his blue eyes softening with an infuriatingly tender amusement. “Instead, you will be sleeping right next to me... in my warm embrace.” He opened his massive arms wide on the words warm embrace, a hopeful, teasing invitation written all over his face.

Your eye twitched in pure anger again. “Fine,” you hissed, a dangerous plan forming in your mind as you marched past him. “But you know what?”

You walked straight over to the massive grand bed, aggressively grabbing every single pillow in sight. With furious precision, you began slamming them down into a perfectly straight line right down the center of the mattress, dividing the vast expanse of silk sheets into two completely separate territories. You built it high and thick, creating a literal barrier between his side and yours.

Thor watched you, his wide arms slowly dropping back to his sides, his eyebrows furrowing in deep confusion. “What is that supposed to be?”

“If you breach this wall—”

“That is not a wall, treasure, those are down pillows—”

“It is a wall,” you interrupted, glaring at him with absolute, unyielding sternness. “Now listen to me. If you breach this wall, I actually will punch your face. I am not joking, Thor.”

Leaving him with the threat hanging in the air, you turned on your heel and made your way toward the wardrobe to grab your silk nightdress, your chin held high.

“Feisty,” he chuckled softly from behind you, his deep voice dripping with a smug confidence that practically screamed he knew your supposed barrier wouldn't be able to hold him off for long.

The arrogance of his laugh pushed you entirely over the edge. You turned back, furious, your vision practically going red. You stormed right back over to the bed, snatched one of the heavy pillows from the top of your carefully constructed wall, and threw it with all the force in your body straight at his chest.

Thud. It bounced harmlessly off his broad chest, but Thor caught it effortlessly in one hand, his lips twitching into a wide, breathless grin.

“You broke the wall yourself, darling,” he chuckled again, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched you huff out an angry, defeated breath.

Grounded in your fury, you didn't grant him the satisfaction of another word. You snatched your silk nightgown from the rack and marched straight into the privacy of the bathroom to change, slamming the door shut as the sound of his low, rich laughter echoed in your ears, promising a terribly long, tense night ahead.

When you were done, you stepped out of the bathroom and found him already comfortably laid over the bed, his massive figure sprawling out and taking up most of the space despite your row of pillows. You quietly walked to your side of the mattress and slid under the sheets, laying there perfectly rigid. Your hands were folded tightly over your stomach as you stared blankly up at the vaulted ceiling.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, until his deep voice broke it. “Have you not seen your gifts?” he asked softly.

“I did,” you replied simply, not breaking your gaze from the stone ceiling.

“You don’t like them?” he whispered. The raw vulnerability in his tone made him sound entirely un-princelike, genuinely afraid to know the answer.

“I did,” you said again, your voice level, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Anyone with an eye for beauty would love them; he must have spent a literal fortune to amass that much priceless jewelry.

“Why did you ignore them then? Why did you not say anything?” Thor pushed himself up on one elbow, turning his body toward your territory as he faced you, desperately chasing any sign of engagement from you.

You finally turned your head, letting your gaze meet his intense blue eyes. “Because I cannot believe they are actually for me. Nor can I believe that you truly think I am worthy of all these gifts.”

“But you are,” he replied instantly, his voice cracking slightly, his eyes practically begging you to understand. “You are the only woman worthy of them. The only woman who deserves the universe.”

“I cannot do this, Thor.” You shut your eyes tightly, a sharp wave of exhaustion washing over you. “I cannot listen to you speak of my worthiness—of what I deserve—when all I ever heard for this past year was you saying how I am not worthy.”

He started talking quickly, taking immediate advantage of the fact that you were actually listening to him for the first time since the library alcove.

“I already told you what I said that night a year ago with Loki. I told you the truth. And—and the words I said when you came back?” His voice cracked, a ragged, painful sound. “It was because I was hurt that you left me. I was hurt that you didn’t want me. I was so completely heartbroken that the whole year felt like I was a dead man walking. But if I were dead, I’d be in Valhalla, happy to be waiting for you, not heartbroken over it. So I knew I was alive, but I was barely holding on. I am truly sorry for my words, honey. I never meant for any of this to happen. Believe me, I beg of you.”

Your heart was beating so fast it felt deafening in the quiet room. Your throat burned, dry and tight, and you subconsciously licked your drying lips as his confession poured over you. Intoxicated by the sheer gravity of his words, you mirrored his position. You rolled onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow, bringing yourself face to face with him across your barrier of pillows.

“What about her?” you asked quietly.

Thor blinked, looking entirely thrown off by the sudden shift. “Who is her?”

“Sif,” you said, the name burning your tongue the exact second you spoke it to him.

His eyebrows furrowed in pure confusion. “Why would you think I have something going on with Sif?”

“Because you dated her,” you said, your eyes rigidly locked onto his, searching for any sign of a lie.

“I haven't even kissed her,” he confessed softly. Before you could even process the words, his large hand slid over the top of the pillow wall, his warm fingers finding yours and wrapping around them.

Your eyes went wide at the sudden contact, your breath stuttering. “You haven’t—then why did you make me believe otherwise for a whole year? Why play along with the rumors?”

“I haven't made you believe anything, Treasure. You did all that configuring on your own—”

“Good night, Thor,” you cut him off sharply, the sudden rush of overwhelming emotions becoming too much to handle. You pulled your hand cleanly from his grip and plopped back down onto the bed, burying your face in your pillow as you tightly closed your eyes, stubbornly trying to force yourself to sleep.

But beneath your defensive wall, a wild, dangerous hope was flaring brightly in your chest. He hasn't even kissed her. Maybe... maybe he really was telling the truth?

“Good night, my love,” he muttered into the dark room, the words spilling out before he could help himself.

The words made your heart go absolutely crazy, hammering violently against your ribs as the echo of his deep voice lingered in the space between you. You kept your eyes squeezed shut in the pitch black, your mind spinning, completely unable to quiet the racing of your pulse as his final words echoed over and over again in your chest.

My love. He had never called you that before.

—

Thor was smiling as he drifted to sleep, his heart soaring with hope that maybe you could believe him—that maybe you could finally give him a chance.

“Wake up, pretty girl,” you heard, the sound hazy and distant in your ears. What a beautiful, rich voice, you thought, a soft, involuntary smile forming on your face without your knowledge as you drifted back into consciousness.

Then, your senses fully returned, and your eyes flew open.

Your right cheek was pressed flush against warm, solid skin. Your left leg was hooked completely over a heavy, muscular torso. Not just any torso. His torso. His hand was resting gently on your arm, his thumb tracing a tiny, cautious circle over your bare skin as he tried to wake you.

Your smiling face fell instantly, your eyes widening in sheer shock at your scandalous position. Sometime during the night, the carefully constructed pillow wall had been completely demolished. You were laid right over the ruins of the barrier, Thor’s massive arm wrapped securely around you, holding you flush against his side. Your silk nightgown had ridden up to your thigh, your bare leg slanted over his waist, and his other hand was resting casually over your calf.

You panicked, scrambling to get up. “How—” you stammered, lifting your cheek from his chest as you looked down at your tangled limbs. “I told you not to breach the wall!”

“Well, maybe it was you,” Thor mumbled sleepily, a lazy, smug grin spreading across his face as he looked up at you. “I am not the one currently sleeping on top of our so-called wall.”

“You definitely pulled me over here!” you yelled, your face burning red as you struggled against his weight. “It’s not impossible with your monstrous strength!”

He started chuckling, the deep vibration rumbling right against your chest. “I just might have done that,” he admitted, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

You squeaked, finally breaking free of his limbs and tumbling backward onto your side of the bed. Your heart was beating heavily in your throat as you gulped, desperately smoothing down your nightgown. The exact moment his intense warmth left your skin, an involuntary shiver ran down your spine.

Thor watched you go, but the hope that had flared in his chest last night hadn't faded. He pushed himself up, his blue eyes locked onto you with an overwhelming earnestness as he walked behind you toward the edge of the bed.

“Will you spend your day with me?” he asked softly.

Please say yes, he begged silently in his mind, his soul fracturing at the thought of another day of cold silence. Please free me from this torment.

His desperate words from last night echoed loudly in your mind, twisting together with Loki’s fierce declaration that Thor was entirely in love with you. You gulped, looking at his vulnerable expression, and made a sudden, terrifying decision. You would give it a chance. Just for today, you wouldn't be so stubborn. You would give your heart what it wanted for once.

“What do you have in mind?” you asked. Your voice rose slightly as a sudden, suffocating panic hit your chest. You could not be alone with him all day for gods’ sake. You’d lose your mind. You’d die out of your own treacherous, consuming want for him if there were no distractions. But the words were already out; you had just agreed to it.

“I have a few suggestions, darling,” he murmured, his deep voice dropping to a low caress. His gaze dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second, making your breath hitch violently.

Terrified of the heat rising in your cheeks, you scrambled away to find a dress, rushing over to the grand wardrobe. The moment you pulled the heavy wooden doors open, a sly, involuntary smile tugged at your lips. The vast sea of breathtaking silk, velvet, and lace welcomed you back. You definitely loved these dresses. No matter how angry you were at him, your eye for beauty couldn't deny the perfection of the collection.

You spent the next half hour getting ready, deliberately choosing an ethereal-looking blue chiffon dress. The light fabric draped beautifully over your curves, flowing around your ankles like moving water, making you look like a goddess stepped out of an old myth. You slid your feet into matching blue silk ballet flats, taking a deep breath before stepping out of the alcove.

When you finally stepped out, Thor’s jaw instantly slackened. His breath caught violently in his throat, his chest freezing as his heart began to beat a frantic, deafening rhythm against his ribs. He stared at you, utterly paralyzed. You shouldn't be walking around like this. You looked too magnificent, too captivating. Every single eye in the palace would turn to you the moment you stepped into the corridors, a thought that immediately made his blood boil with a toxic, possessive jealousy. It made him want to punch a hole straight through the side of a mountain just to hide you away from the world.

Unable to handle the sheer, intoxicating sight of you, Thor gulped hard and sharply closed his eyes, turning his head slightly away to regain his composure.

But you didn't see the jealousy. You didn't see the possessive hunger roaring in his veins.

The sight of him closing his eyes and turning away nauseated you, a heavy, freezing weight dropping your heart straight into your stomach. He doesn't like it, you thought, a sharp, agonizing pang of rejection slicing through your chest. He doesn't like the way I look. He regrets buying the dresses. You quickly turned toward the mirror, your hands trembling slightly as you fixed a stray strand of your hair, desperately trying to swallow the burning lump in your throat. You looked away from his reflection, your mind screaming at you in a furious, protective panic: I shouldn't think like this. I shouldn't care if he likes the way I look or not. He is nothing to me. But you couldn't help the way your heart ached as you closed your eyes.

“Let's go—“ he said, his deep voice slicing through the tense silence just as you spoke up, unable to stop yourself from asking the one question tearing at your mind.

“You don't like—“

“What?” he asked, turning his head back toward you.

You gulped, finally forcing yourself to face him. “You don't like the way I look?” you whispered, your eyes darting nervously anywhere but at his face.

“What makes you think that?” he asked, his tone fracturing into soft disbelief as he took a slow, heavy step toward you.

“You closed your eyes in disdain—“

“I closed my eyes in adoration,” he corrected gently. He reached out, his massive hands coming up to cradle your face, his broad palms completely framing your cheeks with a warmth that made your breath catch. “Sometimes you are too breathtaking to look at, my beautiful, beautiful wife,” he murmured, his blue eyes searching yours with anundeniable intensity.

You bit your bottom lip, your defenses trembling at his words.

“I cannot stand the thought of other men witnessing you,” he gulped, slowly letting go of your face, though his gaze never left yours. He stepped back, gesturing toward the entrance of the chambers. “Now, please, let us leave before I change my mind and do not let you out of here.”

Your eyes widened even more, your head turning away in deep embarrassment as your face burned hot from the sheer heat of his gaze. You nodded quickly, your steps hurried as you walked over to the grand wooden door of the chambers, eager to put some distance between your out-of-control heart and his burning presence.

But before your fingers could even brush the gilded handle, you were abruptly stopped. His large hand found your wrist, his grip firm but careful as he yanked you back a step.

Your eyebrows furrowed in deep confusion and you turned to look at him, your mouth parting to snap at him, but the words died in your throat. He simply stepped past your rigid frame, reached out, and opened the heavy door for you himself.

“Have I ever let you open doors by yourself?” he asked, shaking his head slightly, a faint shadow of a gentle smile playing on his lips as he waited for you to move.

Okay, he’s a gentleman, at least. You bit your bottom lip as you finally moved past him, your steps hurried, your heart faltering slightly at the familiar gesture. He had always been one. No matter how much he angered you, his old-world courtesy was woven into his very bones.

He quickly followed you out into the corridor, his massive, sweeping strides effortlessly matching yours. You didn't say a single word, the silence between you heavy and thick, but you could feel his intense gaze burning into the side of your face, making your cheeks flush with an uncontrollable heat.

As you turned the gilded corner leading to the private sunlit conservatory where the royal family usually ate breakfast, though, you stopped dead in your tracks. Something was really, really wrong.

Your breath got caught completely in your throat, your lungs freezing as you looked at the floor, the walls, the ceilings—fucking everywhere. “What?..” you trailed off, your voice a breathless whisper as you did a slow, bewildered 360-degree turn.

Everywhere—literally everywhere—sat flowers. They climbed the golden walls like living tapestries, cascaded down from the vaulted ceilings in breathtaking wreaths, and lined the marble floors in thick, fragrant borders. Even the massive arched doorway was entirely framed in exploding blossoms. He had done it again, but this time, it was absolutely everywhere. “Not this again,” you said, turning your wide, stunned eyes to him.

Thor merely smiled down at you, a soft, helpless expression as his chest visibly swelled with pure love and pride at your sheer bewilderment. “Go on. Go inside.”

You gulped, your silk ballet flats sinking into a literal carpet of loose petals as you slowly walked into the conservatory, only to be met with a sight that looked like a dream pulled straight from the heavens. This was not merely the flowers in all of Asgard combined. He had gathered probably all the flowers in the Nine Realms and brought them into this single room. Millions of petals were strewn across the floor like colorful snow; exquisite bouquets erupted from every corner, climbed every column, and completely overflowed from the grand breakfast table at the center. It was a breathtaking, overwhelming spectacle—as if he had literally paved your path with the beauty of the universe. Even the royal servants standing along the perimeter held massive, delicate arrangements, watching the two of you with quiet, reverent smiles.

The very same man who had said you were unworthy of simple court flowers was the exact same man who had orchestrated this grand, impossible tribute. Your throat burned with emotion, your heart flipping in your chest as you looked around the floral paradise. Your hand rose trembling, your fingers grazing a cluster of delicate, dew-kissed blossoms. You gently took them in your hands, leaning down to breathe in the overwhelming sweetness.

“They smell so good,” you sighed, your voice cracking as your eyes involuntarily teared up, the sheer, crushing beauty of the gesture piercing right through your armor.

Thor took a few slow, heavy steps toward you, his massive frame blocking out the rest of the room, reducing your world down to just him and the scent of a million flowers.

“Not as good as you, little bird,” he mumbled, his voice a deep, gravelly caress. He reached out, his thick fingers incredibly gentle as he lifted a single, perfect blossom from the table and slowly tucked it behind your ear, his knuckles brushing against your burning cheek. You gulped, a shiver running down your spine as you looked up into his passionate blue eyes.

“I—” You took in a sharp breath, your hands trembling against your chiffon dress. And then, you did something you had promised yourself you wouldn't do. You stopped his large hand near your face, your heart beating wildly against your ribs. Gently, you tilted your head and planted a brief, lingering kiss on the inside of his wrist, before whispering your gratitude against his warm skin.

“Thank you, big guy,” you mumbled softly.

Thor took a sharp, ragged breath at the sensation of your lips against the inside of his wrist. He froze entirely, his heart threatening to leap right out of his chest at the sound of you calling him that again. Not Your Highness, not my prince, not just Thor—but big guy. Your big guy.

A radiant, deeply relieved smile broke across his handsome face, his heart suddenly full now that your icy walls were finally beginning to melt.

“You do not need to thank me, darling. It is far less than you deserve,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

He gently caught your hand, his large palm grazing your waist as he pulled you toward the breakfast table. With a sharp, authoritative raise of his other hand, he stopped a servant who tried to approach you two, wanting the moment entirely to themselves. He stepped behind your chair, carefully pulling it out for you, his eyes never leaving your face as he waited for you to sit.

You sat down, smoothing your blue chiffon skirts over your knees. Thor immediately took his place next to you, completely ignoring the chair across the table. His formal royal manners seemed to vanish the very second you allowed him a shred of proximity; he was absolutely going to take advantage of that, wanting to be close enough to feel the radiating warmth of your body.

“Should we train today?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically shy as he reached for a golden pitcher of juice. He glanced at you through his eyelashes. “Together?”

Your mind screamed at you to stop, warning you not to let your guard down so quickly. But your heart? Your heart was completely deaf to caution, hearing nothing but him. The deep, gravelly way he called you treasure. The gut-wrenching memory of him sobbing over your unconscious body, confessing his love. The sheer, relentless effort he had poured into the last twenty-four hours—giving you your dream dress, your dream wedding, filling your senses with the flowers of the Nine Realms not once but twice, and burying your old room in a mountain of priceless jewels. He was trying. He was trying so hard, and you were absolutely beginning to believe him. Your soul was practically screaming how helplessly in love you still were with this man.

So, unable to deny him a single thing anymore, you looked at his hopeful face and offered a soft nod. “I suppose I could show you a thing or two on the fields, big guy.”

A brilliant, breathtaking smile lit up Thor’s face, so bright it rivaled the Asgardian sun streaming through the windows.

"You?" he teased, his chest swelling as he immediately piled a plate with fresh fruits, pastries, and honeyed nuts, sliding it directly in front of you. “The Crown Prince of Asgard, bested by a little bird in a dress?”

“Do not underestimate me, my prince, I am a warrior.” you retorted, a playful spark returning to your eyes as you picked up a fork. “Also, I remember a time when I tripped you into the mud during our youth, and you cried to your mother.”

“I did not cry,” Thor protested loudly, a deep rumble of laughter cutting through his defense. “I was merely... strategizing from the ground. And the mud was slick.”

“Right. Strategizing with tears in your eyes,” you bantered back, leaning your chin on your hand, your heart hammering a joyous rhythm against your ribs. It felt so incredibly good to talk to him like this again, without the heavy wall of resentment between you.

Thor chuckled, his eyes fixed entirely on your mouth. He picked up a plump, dark grape from the plate, his fingers brushing against the silver tongs before he decided to just use his hand. He held it out to your lips, his blue eyes turning dark and intensely focused. “Prove your strength then, Treasure. Eat. You need your energy if you plan on throwing me into the dirt today.”

You gulped, your breath catching at the intense look in his eyes, but you didn't pull away. You leaned forward slightly, parting your lips and taking the grape from his fingers. His thumb accidentally-on-purpose brushed against your bottom lip, sending a fierce, electrifying shiver straight down your spine.

Your face flushed a furious pink, and to hide your embarrassment, you snatched a small, honey-glazed pastry from the center tower. “My turn,” you murmured, holding it out to him with a challenging tilt of your chin. “Open up, since you're clearly too busy staring to feed yourself.”

Thor didn't hesitate for a single second. He leaned in, his large hand coming up to gently anchor your wrist to steady your trembling fingers, and bit the pastry right out of your hand. His warm lips brushed against your fingertips, a slow, deliberate contact that made your entire body feel like it was melting into the chair. He chewed slowly, never breaking eye contact, a smug, completely besotted look on his face.

“Delicious,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he gently released your wrist, though his thumb lingered on your pulse point, feeling it race out of control. “Though I think the company makes it taste sweeter.”

“Oh, shut up and eat your breakfast,” you huffed, your voice cracking slightly as you turned back to your own plate, though a bright, uncontrollable smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

You finished the rest of the meal in a blissful haze of shared laughter, playful thefts from each other's plates, and soft, lingering touches that made the world outside the flower-filled conservatory completely fade away. You were happily doing it, letting yourself drown in his attention, completely intoxicated by the version of him you had always dreamed of having.

When the plates were finally cleared, Thor stood up, extending his hand to you with a dramatic, old-world bow.

“Come, my darling” he murmured, his eyes crinkling with pure adoration. “Let us change into something more suited for combat. I shall meet you back in our chambers in ten minutes.”

You placed your smaller hand in his massive palm, letting him pull you up from the chair, your heart singing with a dangerous, consuming hope as you both hurried back to get ready for a day that promised to change everything.

Though Thor did not come back to your chambers after ten minutes, you didn't mind. You simply figured he had been delayed by some royal matter, so you decided to head down to the training grounds ahead of him to warm up before he arrived. You got ready, pulling on your leather armor and fastening your heavy boots, before making your way down the winding corridors.

You were softly humming a melody as you entered the training grounds, casually prepping your weapons. A few passing soldiers stopped and bowed respectfully to you, causing you to clear your throat. You still weren't used to this. Not long ago, you were their comrade, fighting alongside them; now, you were their superior. You were the Crown Princess.

Just as you began your stretching, a smooth, familiar voice spoke up from behind you. “Well, I couldn't get a hold of you while you were single, and now he has gone and made you his wife. I am deeply sorry... for myself.”

Commander Valerius smiled at you, his tone light and joking. You laughed a bit, unable to help yourself. It was funny, you had to admit, and it felt nice to have a moment of normal camaraderie after days of suffocating royal drama.

“What is the meaning of this?!”

The booming roar of Thor's voice shattered the lighthearted moment, his heavy leather boots thudding loudly against the stone floor as he stormed into the arena. His blue eyes were practically burning with a dark, toxic jealousy. He had fully intended to meet you in your chambers in ten minutes, but his father had abruptly intercepted him in the corridor, dragging him into an unexpected discussion about realm strategies. He had hurried down here the second he was free, only to find you laughing with another man.

Oblivious to the true depth of his explosive anger, you whipped your head around and offered him a bright smile. You stepped toward him, reaching out to hold his hand. He caught your fingers, but he squeezed your hand so incredibly tight that your face instantly scrunched up in pain.

“Thor? What is happening?” you whispered.

“Just saying my congratulations to your wife, Your Highness,” Valerius spoke up slyly, though his posture stiffened under the prince's murderous glare.

“Were you, now?” Thor spat, his voice dropping into a dangerous rumble as he forcefully yanked you by the waist, pulling your back flush against his chest.

“Thor, it's okay—“ you tried to intervene, placing a hand on his arm.

“Is it?!” he cut you off sharply, his fierce gaze burning right through you. The way you immediately tried to protect Valerius from his wrath only made the fire in his veins burn hotter. Was this him? Thor's mind raced, a sickening realization taking hold. Was this the man you had given yourself to? The one you had protected by stubbornly refusing to give Thor his name?

“What has gotten into you?” you asked, twisting around, trying to pry his crushing grip off your waist.

But he held you completely captive. “Is this him?” he demanded, looking at the commander, gesturing sharply with his head before looking back down at your wide, panicked eyes. “The one you protected in the forest? The one you refused to name?”

Your eyes widened in horror. Your past lies were finally catching up to you, utterly ruining the blissful, perfect day you had just started to build. You could see how angry he was—his jaw was locked, his chest heaving as he tried to keep himself from physically attacking the man standing before him.

“He is not! Thor, listen to me—“

“I will not listen! You haven't listened to me for days, so why would I listen to you now?!” he yelled.

Valerius let out a nervous, highly uncomfortable chuckle at the royal display, which instantly drew Thor's eyes back to him. “One more sound out of you, and you are dead,” Thor warned, his voice deathly quiet. Valerius clearly didn't believe the prince would actually strike a high-ranking commander in the open training grounds. He cleared his throat. “My Prince—“

He was cut off by a sharp, brutal fist cracking right against his jaw.

Thor let go of you entirely, stepping forward and grabbing Valerius by the collar of his armor before he could hit the ground. He began beating him with a raw, primal fury, the sheer violence of the attack leaving Valerius in utter shock. When the commander tried to put his arms up to fight back, Thor only went harder on him, his heavy fists dealing blow after blow.

Panicking, you rushed forward, wrapping your arms around Thor's broad shoulders, trying to yank him back with all your might. But you were failing miserably; your usual warrior strength was doing absolutely nothing to move his massive frame.

“Thor, baby, stop! Please!” you begged, using the intimate nickname in a desperate attempt to break through his blind rage. “Stop it!”

“I will not strike you with lightning—I will kill you with my bare hands!” Thor roared at the commander, completely deaf to your pleas. You had to do something to stop this before he actually committed murder. Thinking fast, you let out a sharp cry. “Ah!” You deliberately threw yourself backward onto the stone ground, faking a heavy fall and cringing in feigned pain, hating the manipulative position his actions had forced you into.

The sound of your cry pierced right through his delirium. Thor stopped instantly. He let go of the bloody, gasping commander, letting him slump to the floor, and spun around with wild, frantic eyes. He dropped heavily to his knees right in front of you, his hands hovering over your body, trembling. “Was this my doing?” he gasped, his voice cracking with horror. “Have I pushed you? Did I hurt you, Treasure?”

“No,” you sighed, rolling your eyes in frustration as you grabbed onto his massive bicep to steady yourself, quickly standing back up on your feet.

Thor stayed on his knees for a beat, looking up at you as the realization suddenly dawned on him. His expression hardened into something cold and deeply broken. “You are protecting him. Again.” Before you could defend yourself, he surged to his feet, grabbed your arm in a firm, unyielding grip, and began dragging you forcefully out of the training grounds and inside the palace walls.

“I am not protecting anyone but you, Thor!” you hissed, struggling against his grip as he pulled you into a secluded corridor. “What would people say if the Crown Prince killed a commander out of nowhere?!”

He spun around to face you, trapping you against the stone wall. His voice was incredibly angry, but dropped to a harsh, lethal whisper so no passing servants could hear. “Are you in love with him?”

“What?!” you gasped, your heart stopping.

“He is surely the one you gave yourself to, the one you are protecting so fiercely—are you in love with him? Have you been seeing him behind my back?!”

The staggering weight of his accusation hit you taking the breath away from your lungs. The way your own former, painful accusations of him seeing Sif were now being twisted and hurled back at your face made you take a sharp step back against the wall. “I am not—I haven't—“ you stammered, your mind spinning.

“Don't lie to me!” he barked, his voice echoing fiercely in the narrow space as your breath hitched in pure terror at the roaring storm in his eyes.

“Why were you laughing with him, huh? Did you go to him while I still had the taste of you on my mouth?!” he pushed further, the crude, desperate accusation making your heart squeeze violently in your chest.

“Thor, if you do not stop talking right now, you will regret every single word that is coming out of your mouth,” you said, your eyes burning with a lethal combination of tears and rage. You were having a good day. A perfect, beautiful day. And the spell just had to be broken, didn't it? The universe just had to repeatedly remind you how the two of you didn't work—how all you ever did was tear each other apart and argue.

“Why? Will you threaten to punch me again?” he choked out, letting out a dry, hollow chuckle. He looked completely distressed, entirely undone by the dismantling thought of another man having touched you.

“I'm not the only one with communication issues, clearly,” you said, your voice shaking. You took a sharp breath, looking at his wild, pained eyes, and closed your eyes tightly as the truth finally broke through your pride. “I lied to you.”

Thor froze, his chest heaving as his eyes locked onto yours. “What?”

“I have never let another man touch me, Thor. I lied to you,” you confessed, the words dropping like lead between you.

In an instant, the storm in his face vanished. His entire expression softened, collapsing into an immediate, crushing regret as your words sunk in. “I—I am so sorry, baby—I just thought—but why? Why would you lie about that?” he asked, his voice cracking in deep pain.

“Because I have been waiting for you, Thor!” you cried out, a sob finally breaking through your tight throat. “I spent years waiting for you to make me yours. But the first time you actually do? It is while I am desperately trying to get you out of my system after you broke my heart! So what could I have possibly done but lie when you pinned me down and asked me if there was anyone else? I wanted to hurt you the way you hurt me!”

You used all the force in your body and pushed him off you. Thor, entirely paralyzed by the shock of your confession, stumbled backward a few steps. The harsh reality of his fuck-up hit him, he was the first. He was the only one. He was the only man to ever touch you, to ever taste you—and he had just dragged you through the dirt and accused you of betrayal because of his own monstrous insecurity. He had fucked up again.

“We clearly do not work, big guy,” you said, your voice dropping into a hollow, defeated whisper.

“Darling, please—“

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head as tears finally spilled over your cheeks. “We have too many issues to work out, and we cannot even talk them out like two normal people. All we do is argue, yell, and refuse to listen. I clearly am not fit to be your wife.”

“Don't say that!” Thor begged, taking a step forward, his hands reaching out into the empty air. “Do not say that, I am so sorry—“

“I cannot do this,” you whispered, turning your back on him.

You walked away down the corridor, your chiffon skirts heavy around your ankles. Thor stayed completely rooted to the spot, his hands trembling at his sides as he watched your retreating figure disappear around the corner. The silence of the hallway burned him. He had driven the woman he loved to the absolute brink, and as he stood there in the quiet wreckage of his own anger, he knew one thing with absolute, unyielding certainty. He had to fix this. No matter what it took, he had to fix this.

—

You gnawed on your lips as you sat on the edge of the grand bed, your mind spinning as you thought of all the things that had led you to this exact moment. He broke you, put you back together with beautiful words and an avalanche of flowers, and then he broke you, again. This was a toxic loop, one you couldn't seem to get out of no matter how hard you tried. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to regulate your breathing, but the air in the chamber felt completely frozen, nowhere to be found. You gasped and gasped and gasped, your chest lifting in shallow, panicked fractions, neither letting go of your anger nor truly living either as you fought for air. He was your love, your big guy, your absolute everything. But he was also your downfall, your ending, your beautiful death.

He hadn't tried to get into the room since your explosive argument in the corridor, and for that small mercy, you were immensely thankful. But the looming threat of the night terrified you; you had absolutely no idea how you were supposed to share the same mattress with him after the vile things he had accused you of. And now, to make matters worse, you had to get ready to attend another grueling royal dinner. A dinner full of curious, hungry eyes tearing at your posture, because the nobility was just too invested in the dramatic reality of your marriage with Thor.

You rolled your eyes through a wave of exhaustion, pulling yourself up to walk toward the wardrobe. You settled on a dark navy shimmering dress, the deep, cool fabric catching the dim light of the candles like a starless night sky. As you pulled it over your shoulders, a sudden wave of dizziness hit you, and you leaned heavily against the mahogany wood, feeling yourself on the very brink of fainting.

You forced yourself to finish getting ready, doing everything in your power to stop your hands from trembling so hard. Finally, you walked out of the chambers, dreading the moment you would have to face him after your clear, painful disagreement.

You stopped right at the massive, gilded doors of the Great Hall, taking in a deep, stabilizing breath of support to mask your anxiety behind a flawless royal mask. Then, you stepped inside.

The hall was already roaring with the sound of clinking chalices and elite chatter, but the moment your eyes swept over the high table, your breath hitched. Thor was nowhere to be found. His grand carved chair sat entirely empty. Where the fuck was he? You rigidly walked over and settled into your usual spot, your eyes subtly scanning the crowded room, looking for any sign of his massive frame.

Loki, ever the noticer, watched your frantic gaze from a few seats down. A knowing, wicked smirk pulled at his lips as he leaned slightly forward. “Looking for your beloved?” You shrugged your shoulders at him, your expression tightening as you made it clear you didn't want to deal with his games tonight. “I am,” you muttered back, your tone sharp. “What about it?”

Before Loki could respond, though, your gaze fixated on the entrance of the Great Hall.

Thor had finally stepped inside, and your breath instantly caught in your throat. He was in a completely disheveled state—his hair was unkempt, his armor was entirely gone, and he wore only a simple, dark tunic that looked like it had been thrown on in a rush. But it was his eyes that terrified you. They were intensely, terrifyingly determined, locked squarely onto you. His posture was completely rigid, moving with the heavy, unyielding stride of a man who knew exactly what he was about to do, and he was not the least bit ashamed of it.

He walked directly to the high table, straight toward you. Your eyebrows furrowed deeply as your breathing went shallow and panicked. He stood right next to you, towering over your chair in his designated spot, but he didn't sit down.

“You can't leave me,” he said, his deep voice carrying across the immediate radius of the table, stated so matter-of-factly it was as if it were the most obvious truth in the cosmos.

“Thor, sit down,” you hissed under your breath, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Do not make a scene here—“

“Will you leave me?” he demanded instead, his massive chest tightening visibly at the mere thought of you walking out of his life again.

Unable to handle the heavy weight of his gaze while sitting, you got up from your seat, desperately trying to reason with him before the entire court noticed. But Thor didn't listen. In one swift, fluid motion, he reached down, grabbed a sharp, heavy meat knife from the silver table settings, and forcefully pressed the hilt into your hand.

Before you could even process the weight of the blade, the crown prince dropped heavily to his knees right before you.

You let out a sharp, horrified gasp at the display, the sound echoing in the sudden, dead silence of the room. You looked around frantically, the dread washing over you in a suffocating wave. Every single eye in the Great Hall was fixed entirely on the two of you—Odin included, his piercing gaze tracking his son’s breakdown.

“Thor, stop it right now—get up!” you whispered frantically.

“Carve my heart out,” he said, his voice a raw, echoing rumble. He reached up, his large, trembling hand capturing your wrist and physically forcing the point of the knife directly against his chest, right over his beating heart.

Your eyes went wide to the size of saucers as your own heart completely stopped. “WHAT?!” you yelled, all your royal composure shattering as you violently tried to yank your hand and the knife as far away from his chest as humanly possible. What the fuck was he doing?! “Have you gone mad?!”

“If you are going to leave me, take my heart with you,” he commanded, looking up at you from the floor, his blue eyes entirely wild, bloodshot, and desperate for you to hear this crazy idea out. “Kill me so that I may be freed of this torment! I cannot live a life without you. I cannot breathe without you! I hate it when we argue, and I hate it when you leave, so kill me—“

“Get up! Are you crazy?!” you screamed softly, tears of pure frustration and panic stinging your eyes as you struggled against his monstrous grip on your wrist.

“I am offering my heart to you—“

Everyone in the hall was staring in stunned, breathless silence, witnessing the completely desperate, broken state the God of Thunder was in. Realizing he would never stand up, and unable to take another second of the court analyzing his vulnerability, you did the only thing you could possibly do to make him stop.

“I am not going to kill you, you absolute idiot! I love you!” you yelled, the confession tearing from your throat with a fierce passion as you used every ounce of your strength to yank his massive frame back up to his feet, desperate to spare him any more of this public embarrassment.

Thor's heart practically gave out at the words you muttered. He froze entirely, the heavy grip on your wrist vanishing as he suddenly surged up from his knees, his face completely transformed by a look of sheer, breathless wonder.

“You love me?” he whispered, his voice cracking like a boy's.

You didn't grant him an answer in front of the prying eyes of the nobility. Instead, your face burning a furious crimson, you aggressively grabbed onto his massive, solid bicep and practically dragged him out of the Great Hall, leading him hurriedly toward your private chambers.

Behind you, the entire hall was left in complete distress, the lords and ladies whispering and looking at each other in utter disbelief at the royal spectacle. Loki and Odin merely looked across the table at each other, letting out a synchronized, heavy sigh, before quietly picking up their chalices and continuing their dinner as if nothing had happened.

As you walked over to your chambers, Thor’s booming, joyous laugh suddenly echoed through the long, gilded corridor. Before you could even react, he caught you by the arm that was gripping his bicep and effortlessly spun you around.

With a sharp yelp of surprise, you found yourself instantly trapped. He cradled your face in both of his massive hands and crashed his lips onto yours, the sheer momentum slamming your back flush against the stone wall as a breathless gasp left you.

“You love me?” he whispered frantically against your lips, his white teeth catching your bottom lip and biting it with a desperate, passionate hunger.

You gasped, your head spinning as you nodded against his mouth. “I love you—”

“I’m sure I love you more,” he growled softly, sealing his mouth over yours again, making your heart flutter violently in your chest. And this time, you believed him. How the fuck could you not? The Crown Prince of Asgard had just dropped to his knees in front of the entire court, handed you a blade, and begged you to carve his heart out.

As his lips aggressively attacked yours, his hands went completely wild, roaming everywhere—grabbing at your waist, squeezing your hips, pulling you flush against his solid frame. The sudden, quiet gasps of passing maids and the sound of their hurried, embarrassed footsteps echoed down the hall.

“We can’t do this here—” you gasped out, your voice breaking as his lips traveled down your jaw, finding the sensitive skin of your neck and sucking deliberately, marking you as his. “Let’s go to our room, baby,” you pleaded, your hands gripping his broad shoulders.

“Hm,” he groaned deep in his throat, completely intoxicated by the nickname. His large palms slid down your hips, gripping your thighs securely and lifting you off the floor in one smooth motion, causing your legs to instinctively circle tightly over his waist.

He never stopped kissing you, his tongue tangling with yours as he carried you the rest of the way down the corridor toward your bridal chambers. Your hands clutched frantically at his thick hair, his broad chest, grabbing onto every inch of him.

“You’re so handsome,” you whined against his mouth, completely overwhelmed by the raw, dominant pull of him as he kicked the heavy wooden doors open and slammed them shut behind you. Your back immediately found the private walls of your room, the heavy click of the lock sealing the rest of Asgard out.

“Yeah?” he breathed, his eyes dark with a roaring, unfiltered desire. “You should see yourself. Walking in front of me like the goddess you are, making me want to do things to you that I cannot even put into words.”

You bit his lower lip playfully, a sudden surge of confidence rushing through your veins. “Put them into action then,” you whispered heatedly, shifting your weight and grinding down against him in his secure hold.

Thor let out a sharp gasp, his muscles locking instantly as he felt you grind over his length. The sheer sensation pushed him over the edge. He turned on his heel, taking a few long, heavy strides toward the grand bed, and tossed you down. Your back hit the soft mattress with a gentle plop.

Before you could even draw air into your lungs, his hands were clawing at the navy blue shimmering fabric of your dress. With a single, powerful yank, the delicate chiffon tore completely down the center, exposing your skin to the cool room. A sharp gasp escaped your lips at the raw display of power. “Oh gods, that was so hot.”

He smirked at you and rapidly tore his own top off, his broad, scarred chest gleaming in the dim firelight as he settled himself heavily over you. He reached down, his strong hands gripping your knees and spreading your legs wide for him, sliding his massive body directly between your thighs.

He pinned your hands above your head, his hips locking into yours as he began grinding down firmly over your panty-clad pussy.

“Oh—” you moaned, your head instantly swimming in pure, unadulterated pleasure as the rough fabric of his trousers rubbed directly over your swelling clit, the heavy, deliberate friction driving you absolutely crazy.

He kissed you passionately again as he kept up the heavy, torturous grinding over your clit. “You want this, my heart?” he asked, his voice a gravelly, breathy whisper. His right hand came down to palm your bare breasts, his thick fingers squeezing your soft skin, while his left hand held both of your wrists pinned securely above your head.

“More than anything, my love,” you cried out, your hips bucking upward to grind desperately back against him.

The intimate nickname made his pupils dilate so violently his eyes looked completely black in the dim light. “Say that again,” he commanded, his chest heaving against yours.

“My love,” you said, looking straight into his eyes and smiling through your haze of pleasure.

He claimed your lips again with an explosive hunger, his thumb flicking sharply over your sensitive, peaking nipple. A ragged gasp tore from your throat straight into his mouth. The combined friction against your clit and the sharp pull at your breast sent a violent jolt of electricity straight to your core. You felt your orgasm rushing in like a tidal wave. “I’m going to come—” you whined, your hips bucking uncontrollably beneath him as your walls began to twitch.

“Let go for me, sweetheart, come on,” he urged against your mouth, his grinding slowing into a heavy, agonizingly deep pressure. That was all it took to push you over the edge. Your entire body went rigid with pure pleasure as a devastating orgasm washed over you, your internal muscles clenching violently around the friction of his thighs.

Thor didn’t waste a single second. He gave you a quick, bruising kiss, finally letting go of your wrists to slide his hands down your legs. He hooked his fingers into the waist of your damp panties and peeled them down your thighs, tossing them carelessly off the bed. The sight of your glistening, wet folds welcomed him, and a low, carnal groan ripped from his chest.

“A sight I could never get over,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe. He bent his head low, pressing a warm, lingering kiss directly onto your throbbing clit, making you whine and arch off the mattress.

“Thor—” you gasped, your fingers immediately tangling in his blonde hair as his thumb began to circle over your slick peak, completely overstimulating your sensitive skin. He slid his thumb down through your wet folds, coating his skin in your juices, and bit his lip hard as he looked up at your flushed, breathless face. “I don’t think I can wait, honey. Can I—”

“Get inside me, now,” you begged, your hands leaving his hair to claw frantically at his broad, bare shoulders.

He mumbled a low, ragged “fuck” under his breath. He shifted back just enough to aggressively rid himself of his trousers, kicking them off the bed. When he kneeled over you again, he was completely bare, his thick, heavy length glistening with pre-cum. He was so incredibly hard that you could practically feel the radiating heat of him from your spot on the bed.

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered, his voice cracking with a sudden, overwhelming emotion as he settled himself back between your thighs. He leaned down to press a quick, tender peck to your lips. “The love of my life is my wife, and she’s currently below me, begging me to fuck her.”

He reached down, using his fingers to coat his cock in your juices before aligning his tip with your glistening pussy. He slid slowly against you, testing your wetness, the friction causing you to let out a loud, breathless moan. “Don’t go too hard—” you whispered, your hands gripping his biceps as the sheer size of him began to stretch you open.

“You know I wouldn’t hurt you,” he shut you up, leaning down to press a soft, comforting kiss to your lips to distract you from the ache. He pushed an inch inside, his jaw locking as your tight walls gripped him. “Just tell me if it’s too much, Treasure, and I’ll stop. I promise.”

You nodded, completely unable to form actual words, your breath stuck in your throat as you held onto his broad shoulders for dear life. He kept pushing and pushing, slowly and deliberately, until there was absolutely no space left between you—nothing but him inside you, making you go completely delirious at the agonizing, beautiful fullness. “I’m so full…” you whined, your lips parted as you took short, shallow breaths, your head rolling back against the pillows.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice thick and strained as he held himself perfectly still, waiting for you to adjust to his size. “Move,” you said, your fingers digging into his back. “Move, now. I want to see how it feels—”

You gasped at the sudden, sharp sting when he finally moved, slowly rocking his heavy hips into yours. You felt so incredibly stretched that it hurt at first, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes from the intense friction. But Thor kept on going, his pace agonizingly slow and steady, until all you could feel was the intoxicating warmth of him. The pain vanished, replaced by a sudden, building heat that made you lose your mind. You were begging him now, all your pride completely forgotten. “Please, please, please—oh—” you moaned loudly as his pace quickened, his own deep, guttural groans filling your ears.

Your legs widened more, wrapping tightly around his hips as you felt the pleasure build up to a fever pitch.

“Tell me you love me,” he commanded, his chest heaving as he kept on rocking ruthlessly into you.

“I love you,” you said, your voice cracking.

“Again.” He kept going, slamming his hips against yours.

“I love you—love you, baby, please—”

“Say it one more time.”

“I love you, love you, Thor, love you so much—” You gasped as his thumb reached down and circled your clit mid-thrust. “I love you too, honey,” he growled, though he suddenly stopped his movements, leaving you stranded on the very edge of a climax. He looked down at you, his eyes dark. “Do you trust me?”

You whined in frustration. Even though you trusted him completely, a wicked part of you wanted to anger him just so he would keep going, desperate to break his control. “Not exact—”

Before you could even finish the word, Thor's jaw locked. He gripped your hips and effortlessly turned you over onto your stomach, pushing your face down onto the mattress. He lifted your ass up high, spreading your legs wide, and immediately re-entered your wet pussy from behind. Your tight walls made a loud, swuelching sound over his thick cock as he buried himself to the hilt.

“Fuck,” you whined, burying your face in the sheets as Thor began to grind ruthlessly against your g-spot. Every single time he hit it, he let his thick length press and drag over the highly sensitive, gooey spot until you were moaning and writhing helplessly around him. Your hips began moving on their own, arching back into him as you moaned uncontrollably.

His massive arm was planted right next to your head, supporting his heavy frame as he fiercely fucked you from behind. Spying his violently flexed bicep near your face, a hot rush of desire made drool pool in your mouth. Your head tilted as the thick muscle bulged with every thrust, all inhibitions completely lost as you followed the line of his arm to stare hazily at his veiny forearm.

Unable to control yourself, you leaned towards his bicep, your teeth sinking sharply into the thick, warm muscle with a muffled moan.

Thor's breath hitched violently. His hips stuttered for a fraction of a second when he realized you had actually bit him, a dark, primal growl ripping from his throat before his powerful thrusts started up again. His hot, heavy cock began pounding right back into your needy pussy with a newfound ferocity.

You licked the bite mark on his bicep, your tongue laving over his warm, sweaty skin. Your eyes rolled back when his arm suddenly moved, wrapping securely around your throat, his thick bicep pressed firmly against the side of your neck, pulling your upper body back against his chest.

“You keep—fuck—staring at my arms, sweetheart,” Thor rasped, a dark, breathless grin pressing against your flushed cheek when you let out a choked moan. His breath was cut off by a low moan of his own as his hips crashed against your ass. “Is this what you need? A strong arm wrapped around your throat, fat cock pounding into your needy cunt, and sweet, little kisses?” He punctuated his dirty question by pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your temple, the contrast of his gentleness and his brutal pace driving you entirely over the edge.

You didn't expect to be this fiercely turned on, nor did you expect the sudden, violent force of your climax. Your orgasm washed over you in a devastating wave, your internal muscles squeezing his cock so tight it made him groan out loud. You turned completely rigid in his arms, screaming his name into the quiet room.

“Thor!”

As you came, his own control shattered completely. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned behind you, his massive hips stuttering as he buried himself as deep as he could go. “I’m going to paint your insides white, darling—you will have my kids.”

Completely delirious from the pleasure, you whined and backed your hips up onto his cock, begging for the weight of him. “Oh, you like that?” he growled, his voice completely raw.

“Yes, I do, big guy... put your baby in me.”

He was absolutely done for. With a loud, echoing roar, his own explosive orgasm crashed over him, his hips locking flush against your ass as he came violently inside you, filling you to the brim with his warmth. He held you tightly against his chest, his heavy breathing matching yours as the storm inside the bridal chambers finally settled into a peaceful, breathless silence.

He pulled his arm gently from around your throat and collapsed heavily beside you, immediately pulling your bare, slick body flush against his chest. He leaned down and kissed your temple tenderly, moving to press his lips against yours as he murmured, “You are definitely having my babies.”

You smiled up at him in the dim firelight, looping your arms around his neck and kissing him back without a shred of hesitation. “Who wouldn’t want giant-sized babies in them? I definitely am.”

Thor frowned a bit at the giant-sized comment, his eyebrows knotting in that adorable, protective way of his, but you just giggled and pulled him down by his hair to kiss him again. The mock glare vanished instantly, and he smiled straight into the kiss, wrapping his massive arms securely around your waist to hold you like the precious treasure you were.

Against your lips, he muttered another soft, breathless, “I love you, my Treasure.”

And this time, wrapped in his warmth, you knew he meant it.

—

Masterlist

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