Warnings: non/dubcon, manipulation, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters: Thor
Summary: you're married to a man who isn't very good at hearing no.
Note: Here's our golden god.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
Your eyes nearly cross as you squint at the endless columns. Your shoulders are almost at your ears, jaw locked, forehead furrowed as you try to unravel the riddle. You need to make cuts.
You reach for your coffee and spit it back into the cup as you find it cold and stale. You groan and put it down heavily. Blech.
A knock brings your gaze up but you stay rigidly hunched behind your screen. You explicitly told everyone not to disturb you. You growl, "come in."
"Sorry, ma'am," Priya, the intern, pokes her head through, "but you have a visitor."
"Not right--"
Before you can protest, she stumbles inside, out of the ray of the bouncing blond giant lumbering into your office. You sigh and sit up as your husband sweeps in with the scent of vanilla and the crinkle of a paper bag. You signal to Priya to go but she's too enamoured by the godly figure.
"My darling wife!" Thor proclaims, "I have brought you treasures."
Priya watches with a vacant look. You clear your throat, "Priya, if you will."
She flinches and finally tears her gaze from the Asgardian intruder. "Sorry, ma'am."
She flits out and Thor chuckles. He's certain to elbow the door shut as she goes. His blue eyes sparkle as you watch him placidly.
"Ma'am?" He shakes his head, "your highness."
He strides over and sets down a cup and bag before you, "lemon square and vanilla oat, special delivery."
"You are too sweet," you say. "Thank you."
"And you are tense," he turns your chair and grabs your shoulders, kneading them. "Your jaw is about to break."
You visibly ease the clench and force a smile, "it's the end of the fiscal."
"Oh, my queen, I do love when you speak of business," he purrs and pets your chin.
"Thor," you catch his large hands, "I'm sorry but I really can't--"
"Yes, I know, you have your duties," he slips free and cradles your face. "I only thought to bring some brightness to your day."
This time, you smile. For real. You're not a curmudgeon, you just get bogged down in the details. He's more of a bigger picture sort of person. He'll clean up the little things once he's blown them to bits.
"Nothing important," you assure him. "Not saving the universe or anything."
He chortles and bends to kiss you. There's longing in his lips. He growls and it rolls like thunder. You brush his beard as he reluctantly draws away.
"Hm, yes, well, you've lots of heroes around here," he backs up to fumble with your paper weight. A crystal dove. "I feel as if I've been forgotten."
"Oh, honey," you say. "I'm sorry, but we need you. It's just... they don't need you dealing with the small-timers."
"I could use the exercise," he huffs.
You turn back to your monitor, "me too. Too many lemon squares."
"Do not besmirch my own wife," he girds. You laugh and narrow your eyes at the faded font. "What is it? You are perturbed."
"Nothing, just," you try to angle your screen "the sun is reflecting on the spreadsheet."
"Ah, damned sun," he tuts and crosses his arms.
The office dims to grey and the sudden patter of rain hits the windows behind you. You look at him and tilt your head, "Thor, I don't have my raincoat."
"When is the last time you danced in the rain? It is good for the soul."
You shake your head. It was only with him that you did such ridiculous things.
"You always like the rain," he says.
"Yes, when I am at home with a good book," you retort.
"And that is how I prefer it too. Right in my lap--"
"Thor," you warn him and shift in your chair.
He laughs again and his blue eyes flare, "I miss you, my queen. I miss the taste of you."
"It's been..." you lean back and check your watch, "six hours."
"Far too long for an Asgardian," he tisks, "we get backed up."
"Tell me about it," you roll your eyes. "I don't think you are ever satisfied."
"With you, wife, always," he grins.
"Alright, I really need to get this done," you insist.
"You should not be so tense," he reproaches.
"I will not be once I get this over with."
"Let me ease you, my queen."
"I told you--"
"Ah, you may continue your work," he shows his large palm. "Let me just... tend to you."
He gets to his knees. Your eyes round. You shake your head and lock your knees together. You know exactly what he's thinking.
"If you think you can bribe me with coffee--"
"Bribe? Wife, I am claiming my husbandly rights," he puts his hands to the floor and crawls toward you, "so do not keep my prize from me."
"Thor!" You catch your voice before it can peak.
He growls again and grabs your calves. Why the hell did you wear a dress? His strength is too much. You barely put up a fight knowing he can overpower you.
He turns you, angling himself under your desk, quite comically as his large figure curls as small as it can. You brace the desk as he pulls you in and pries apart your knees. You yelp and smother your mouth.
"Go on and do your work," he bids as he pulls your skirt over his head.
You gnash your teeth around a reproach and clutch your mouse. You keep your other hand under your chin and blink at the monitor. His hot breath grazes the front of your panties. Your thighs quiver and he turns to kiss your tender flesh. You shiver and stretch your fingers up over your mouth.
He nuzzles you through the thin satin panties and you squirm. You bend your knuckle and bite it as he soaks through the fabric, lapping at it teasingly until it sticks to your folds. Finally, he traces a finger up your thigh and pulls aside the barrier between you. He delves into you without restraint.
You jolt in your chair and hiss through your teeth. Your eyes threaten to roll back as the lines of the spreadsheet blur. Goddamn this man. Always getting in your way.
The year was 1964, Ginger Rogers was still charming. How can a woman be so loveble? She moved like a fairy and she sang like a mermaid. I think this is my favorite performance of hers.
But I wanna talk about how the scenario, the necklace, the dance steps and her foolish smile makes my delusional mind believe that she dedicated that entire performance to Fred Astaire. Maybe she was quite obvious...
