This is based on a dream I had, and only a small part of it is written here.
warning: cognitive distortion, rewritten reality, existence denial
word count: ~1k
second attempt at fanfiction
Thor woke up in his own bed, at first it was a very normal morning, everything around him was fine, but he felt something was wrong, because Sif was not there.
At first he thought she had just left temporarily, so he got up to look for her, when he was in the room he found that all things related to her were gone.
Her cup was gone…
Her scent was gone…
Her voice was gone…
Thor felt surprised. When he walked out of the room there was still not much unease, but the further he went the stranger it became, the palace was still the same palace, people were still there, but the moment he asked about the name “Sif,” everyone reacted with confusion, as if they had no idea what the word referred to.
That kind of confusion itself was not normal.
He could not explain it, he shouted:
“Sif, don’t do this! Hey!”
“…Sif?”
“Stop messing around, come out!”
No response… he felt for the first time a coldness that did not belong to battle.
That was not fear, but something had shifted out of place.
He gave up.
At first he still tried to explain, change wording, describe appearance, location, relationship, but no one could match anything, some even said “Are you sure you said the right person?”
This should not have happened.
Only then did he slowly realize this was not a communication problem, it was that “this person was not acknowledged at all.”
More precisely, the entire world was avoiding that existence.
Then he continued searching, looking for Thrúd,
“Thrúd! If you dare mess around—” but halfway through he himself realized:
this world did not even contain the word “Thrúd.”
He did not even realize that “absence” itself had already become normal.
He kept searching, but the more he searched the emptier it became, her room had nothing of hers, as if a part of the world was missing, but everyone assumed it had never existed.
That kind of emptiness felt as if it had been arranged.
He began to get a bit annoyed, but not fully out of control, just felt strange, felt logic did not match, then something even stranger happened—he saw Modi and Magni alive.
This was impossible.
He swallowed and walked over.
He looked at Modi and Magni in disbelief, he felt like this was a dream… he hugged them, felt happy, but also confused… in his memory those two were dead, but now they were there, speaking normally, acting normally.
At that moment he froze, because that contradiction could not be explained or suppressed.
Thor started asking very specific questions, like who their mother was, whether they had a sister, but they did not understand at all, and even thought he was saying strange things, asking if their father was sick.
At that moment Thor began to realize the problem was not “someone remembered wrongly,” but that the entire world itself felt wrong.
That wrongness was no longer a local error, but a structural displacement of reality.
He went down… to find Odin, he felt this must be the source, he stopped at the door, took a deep breath, as if preparing to be scolded, then opened it.
Odin looked up and saw Thor looking panicked.
“What are you doing again.”
After hearing everything, Odin only stayed silent for a moment.
“What are you talking about, I don’t understand, these things never happened, you are drunk, Thor.”
Thor did not immediately explode, he just paused.
Because that feeling was strange, not denial, but that the entire reality he described was not being connected.
His language itself seemed unable to be accepted by this world.
Then he turned away and left in disappointment, because continuing had no meaning.
He began trying to confirm things himself.
Then he met Heimdall.
This Heimdall was strange, at first glance it was not normal vigilance or hostility, but something closer, even slightly intrusive, as if he liked Thor.
“Hey! Thor, you today… are not right.”
Heimdall’s tone was not mocking.
Thor felt surprised.
“…Don’t bother me.”
Heimdall stepped closer:
“You are shaking.”
He tried to read Thor’s thoughts, then stopped, because what he saw did not belong to this world, war, collapse, and a continuous emotion—sadness.
That sadness was not momentary, but something always pressing underneath.
And there were concepts this world should not contain, like women, family structure. Heimdall did not feel fear, but interest, like seeing an anomaly.
“Wow! What is this? No no no I swear I have never seen this, what is this? I have never seen these two people! Thor, when you think about them, your heartbeat changes.”
But Thor only felt something invading him. Heimdall kept approaching, he backed away, the other followed.
That displacement of distance made him instinctively feel danger.
“You outsider, but you seem interesting.”
Thor did not understand.
At that moment Baldur happened to pass by, he saw Thor and ran over.
No hesitation, he hugged him directly.
“Hey! There you are! I thought you'd disappeared. Please? Say yes this time, Thor!”
The scene immediately fell into chaos.
Heimdall stopped, Thor also stopped.
Because the structure of relationships was wrong, one observing, one relying, one rejecting.
That structure itself felt like a displaced reality.
Thor only felt confusion. He did not understand, and did not want to understand, so he chose to leave.
But Heimdall and Baldur followed him.
“Hey!? What are these two doing? Today is really strange!”
He ran into the crowd, but soon found himself surrounded.
These people knew “Thor,” but not this Thor. The “Thor” in their memory would interact warmly with them.
People tried to approach him, observe him, talk about him, with admiration and curiosity.
The “Thor” in their cognition and the current Thor were not the same being.
At first he could still tolerate it, but the more it went on the more irritated he became.
Finally he smashed Mjölnir into the ground, releasing lightning to push the crowd back.
Then he turned into lightning and left.
But from that moment on, the world had already begun to treat him as an “anomaly.”
I have a hard time finding good Thor-centric fic so I thought I’d try and consolidate a list for people looking for the same things I am. This is a list of reasonably well written Thor centric fics I’ve come across. No dumb!Thor tropes, only fics where there was clear effort put into this character, and that in some way rise above the usual level of ‘pop-tarts’ and ‘golden retriever’. This is for fics that respect this character with an emphasis on cannon characterization.
If you see something say something! If you know of a Thor-centric fic that meets this description let me know and I’ll add it on after review. Bonus points if the author read the Mighty Thor comics. If you are a fan of Thor, check them out cause you are definitely missing out! And of course, if your work is listed here and you don’t want it here, let me know and I’ll remove it forthwith!
Summary: After a series of ill decisions, Thor gets himself into a dangerous and humiliating situation. One from which there seems to be no escape. [Part 3/4]
Tags/Warnings: (for this part) Thor&Loki, Thor/Amora, Amora is a Bad Person in this, nonconsensual love spell, mind control, referenced noncon, brotherly feels, Loki is the only decent person here lmao, pre Thor
Author’s Note: THIS CHAPTER ENDS ON A GOOD NOTE
Also, no noncon happens in detail. Only referenced/mentioned.
Enjoyyyyy
(For mobile users, there is a read more cut.)
Parts: [1] [2] 3 [4]
[Read on Ao3]
In the morning, sunlight streams through the bedroom painting their bare bodies in gold. Amora opened the window before they went to sleep, and it’s late enough into summer that Thor appreciates the morning breeze that stirs him awake. Birds sing to other birds, and the chirping of crickets hasn’t quite abated—peaceful and loving sounds, but they are of little interest to him. Rather, Thor spends the allotted time staring at Amora.
She washed her face of any powder or paint before bed, but even bare of embellishment, she is beautiful. Her natural eyebrows are a thin blonde, her eyelashes long but light. Freckles rest like trickled dust over her nose and cheeks, and Thor thinks that to count them would be the same as counting the stars.
He loves her.
He loves her so much he can barely stand it.
And yet, she sleeps, leaving Thor without purpose, without task. He can only lie there and stare at her until she gives a command, which could be minutes or hours or fortnights from now. The helplessness is powerful enough to drive a man mad, but he resists the tug of insanity—because she is his focal point. She is the light at the end of his tunnel. It will be over just as soon as she wakes up, as soon as she wakes up.
A knock on the door breaks the static.
Amora’s eyes blink open, and her eyelashes flash rainbows as they flutter in sunlight. She looks at him, and Thor feels trapped in her gaze—this moment, this contact, is all he needs, all he wants, all that exists. He loves her. He loves her. He loves her.
“Who do you think that is?” she asks with a yawn.
Relief floods him. Answering her question becomes his sole purpose, driving the madness away. Desperate to please her, Thor thinks through all possible answers—not a servant, a servant wouldn’t knock; a guard perhaps, sent with his father’s or mother’s summons, but it would be unlikely so early in the morning; his friends don’t visit—his head silences itself when the person knocks again. This time, Thor needs to know who it is, so he listens carefully.
The familiarity strikes him immediately. “It’s Loki,” he says.
Amora groans with displeasure, and Thor’s heart is crushed. Right then, he hates his brother for giving this woman, this perfect, beautiful woman, anything less than pure joy.
“Alright, go answer it. Don’t let him know I’m here, and tell him to go away.”
Thor is up on his feet in an instant. He’s ready to cross into his guest area and answer the door in the nude, cock hanging between his legs, until Amora adds, “get dressed first.” Then Thor is thrustings on his pants and manhandling a shirt over his head. All the while, the knocking on the door repeats, more and more urgently.
Thor hurries over and swings the door open. It turns clockwise, he knows, so Amora will be hidden.
Sure enough, Loki stands on the other side, looking very much relieved to see him.
The second Thor’s eyes land upon him, he’s struck with something. An aura radiates from Loki’s presence that he has never noticed before. He only recognizes it now because Amora has one, too. But this is more powerful than Amora. It cloaks the air with a smothering cold, and standing, here, in Loki’s presence, Thor suddenly isn’t sure what to do.
He opens his mouth to tell Loki to go away , but the words won’t come. He tries again, but no. No. He doesn’t want to say it. He wants to tell Loki to come in.
(He wants to say Amora is here on his bed—)
No no no no.
“Are you alright?” Loki asks quietly.
Panicked, Thor lets the thoughts of Amora drift away. Instead, he focuses on his brother and notices Loki’s red-rimmed and tired eyes. But Thor can’t ask Loki why he’s been crying or even answer the question Loki asked. He wasn’t commanded to. He stands there silently as the conflict undoes his mind.
Loki’s head ducks and he shuffles his feet. “Never mind,” he says. A deep breath. “I came to apologize. It wasn’t my place to interfere with your business yesterday. Especially not when the last time we talked was . . .” Loki sighs raggedly, and his lips thin, as if he’s holding something in. It takes a long moment for him to continue. “You were right. I don’t have many friends, and I do miss you. I wish we could spend time together again. Like we used to.”
That’s when Thor remembers. Before Amora, before the dancing, he used his words to slice Loki’s heart into ribbons. More than anything, Thor wants to drop to his knees and say no, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean any of it . He can’t. He’s locked in place. The icy aura surrounding Loki’s presence isn’t enough to let him speak.
Loki looks up at him, and his eyes are naked with vulnerability. “So?” he asks quietly. “What do you think?”
Thor thinks he’s sorry. He thinks he is the cruelest brother, the cruelest of friends, in the entire nine realms. He thinks he deserves everything that is happening to him.
Loki’s eyebrows raise, urging Thor to speak. “Well? Will you not answer?”
Thor opens his mouth because he can’t leave his brother with this silence. He can’t. But the help me, please help me becomes an uncaring monotonous, “go away.”
Hurt flashes across Loki’s face. His fists clench, his eyes shine, and his lips tremble with a hysterical rage. “You know,” Loki says, voice wavering, “if you died tomorrow, I wouldn’t care. I’d be glad even.”
I'm sorry , Thor wants to say, but he isn't allowed.
“Rot in Hel, Thor,” Loki hisses before storming away.
Thor is left alone in his silence.
Once Loki is long out of sight, Amora joins his side. One arm loops around his waist, raising chills of both lust and fear, and her other arm nudges the door out of his grip until it’s closed. Her presence ensnares his attention, but it’s not reigning him in, not quite yet. There’s nothing to reign in. He’s too numb.
“Hey,” Amora says, “look at me.”
Her finger traces the line of Thor’s jaw and draws his chin in her direction.
Meeting her eyes, Thor loses himself in them. He loves her. Loki doesn’t matter. He loves her. Loki . . .
“What happened?” she asks. “Why did it take you so long?”
“He—he felt different than you,” Thor says without thinking. “Standing next to him, I . . . It was different.” He frowns at himself. “I don’t—I don’t understand it.”
Amora’s eyes light with comprehension. “Oh, dear. That’s just the presence of his magic trying to make a fool of you.” She pauses and lets her finger on his chin brush over his lips. He sings with a needy heat. “If you ignore it, or better, stay away from him entirely, then it won't trouble you anymore. And I’ll be so happy. You do want to make me happy, don’t you?”
Thor nods. “Of course. I love you. With all my heart.”
“Good,” she says and plants a kiss to his cheek.
Thor’s heart sours at the touch, and everything becomes clear again.
Time passes in a blur. It’s a never-ending cycle of a lust carved into his veins. The pursuit of her commands, the absolute craving to please her with his utter obedience. Then, the reward, the climax of her attention in a kiss, a smile, or even a nod. And last, the emptiness of waiting, waiting, waiting for the cycle to rinse itself of dust and repeat.
She visits him every night, but he can only make love with her once a fortnight. Those are the nights he longs for the most. She looks so beautiful with her face screwed tight in pained pleasure. Arms tangled in sheets, and limbs soaked in each other’s sweat. She’s most gentle afterward. Most happy.
Thor loves seeing her happy.
She only really asks that he live his life as normal and that he meet his father’s expectations. He does both with an eagerness unmatched by anything he’s felt before. His parents compliment him on his choice of woman—a good influence, they call her, whenever she dines with them (Loki, always notably absent). He excels in his training and his studies, and his father includes him in more of his council meetings, both public and private.
The more he thrives, the happier Amora seems with him, and Thor would do anything to give her happiness.
The only trouble is when he’s spent too long away from her.
After a day alone, he starts to have . . . thoughts. They aren’t his thoughts, he is sure, but they feel inherent and real and alarming at the time of them. They drive him to do ridiculous things. Once he dropped a glass and let it shatter on the floor just to get a passing servant to stop and sweep the pieces with barely veiled resentment. Another time, he drew an ink cross across all of his assignments (and the pages of library books). To his tutor’s great chagrin, he was unable to explain why.
Worst of all, on his way back to his room at night, he’ll often pause at Loki’s door until the drowning of his heart becomes too much to bear. (Luckily Loki never catches him.)
He mentions it to Amora, and she tells him it isn’t fault. Everyone has thoughts like that, she says. Everyone does things like that every once in a while.
But Thor can tell it upsets her, so he doesn’t mention it again.
Weeks into his newfound happiness, Thor is on the training grounds, and he has spent too long away from her.
She failed to visit him the night before (leaving a message that something had come up), and now the bad thoughts are growing restless and demanding and starting to persuade him of their truth. He hacks away at the straw man in front of him, practicing a rhythm of strikes, but the thoughts are asking him to turn around and attack his instructor.
No, Thor thinks and takes his fear out on the straw.
( You don’t love her , the bad thoughts say.)
Thor strikes harder.
( She raped you. You told her no, and she raped you , they say, louder.)
Thor hurls the sword into the ground and smashes his ears with his hand, wishing he could drown out the noise.
( You need to find a way to get away from her. )
“No,” Thor chokes to himself.
Someone touches his shoulder. It’s Fandral. At the attention, the bad thoughts lessen, and Thor cautiously lowers his hands from his ears.
“You alright, friend?” Fandral asks.
“Yes,” Thor says to appease Amora’s command (even as the voice in his head whispers, say no, say no, say no). “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Fandral frowns. “You dropped your sword.”
Thor looks at the blade at his feet and is struck with an urge to stick it in Fandral’s chest. He shudders. Rips his gaze away. “I’m fine,” Thor says. “Just whacked my head with the flat edge.”
Fandral’s frown deepens, but he must be somewhat satisfied with the response, for he nods. “Alright then. Take it easy there.”
Thor picks up the sword and leaves Fandral behind in fear that he’ll do something bad. He approaches one of the unused wooden dummies, abandoned for its crooked, mangled stand. It’s one hard strike away from breaking.
Amora’s command asks that he practice his strikes as instructed while the bad thoughts scream for attention.
Thor does both at the same time. With a careful precise set of strikes, Thor carves the word help into the wooden dummy. The marks are barely legible—easy to see as mere mindless scratches on a wooden canvas—but if someone is looking hard enough, they’ll see it.
( Oh please let them see it. )
Thor whirls to return to an empty straw target when he catches Loki climbing down the stairs to the training ground. Their eyes meet.
Thor is not supposed to look at him. Or talk to him. Or be near to him.
Of all of Amora’s commands, that is the one she pressed upon him most. The command drowns the bad thoughts away, and Thor is relieved at the loss of tension. Eager to keep his mind silent, Thor obeys the command.
With Loki watching, he all but runs from the training grounds, desperate to return to his room and await Amora’s visit tonight. It’s too early a departure, but not so early to cause him trouble, he hopes.
The next day, Thor is armed with new commands. He is still to avoid Loki’s presence, but now acting as normal as possible takes precedence. If Loki is near but otherwise ignoring him, then Thor may remain where he is and continue his other tasks. If Loki speaks to him, Thor may answer, but only for as long as it takes him to courteously slip away.
By the time evening draws close and the bad thoughts begin to resurface, Thor can easily appease their urgency by practicing on the dummy closest to the broken one—the one still inscribed with the word help .
It’s going well, much better than yesterday—at least, until he is ambushed by the cold, smothering aura of his brother.
Thor stops what he’s doing and turns to find Loki staring at him. Thor doesn’t move.
“Thor?” Loki asks quietly.
“Yes?” Thor says, monotone.
Loki swallows. “Did you train with that one yesterday?” He gestures at the broken wooden dummy.
The bad thoughts screech with glee. Thor wants to cover his ears in terror. “Yes,” he says, because Amora never told him to lie.
Loki is frowning now. His eyes dart between Thor and the message, and half of Thor prays for him to give it up and the other half prays that Loki pursue the question. Please , he thinks, not knowing which part of him is begging. Please please please please please—
“Are you in trouble?” Loki asks.
And maybe Thor wants to, but he can’t answer that.
At the silence, Loki’s frown deepens. “Do you need help?”
Thor clenches his jaw shut.
“Blink if it’s yes,” Loki says.
Thor’s eyes go wide because he can’t say yes, he can’t, he’s not allowed. He stands there straining to keep them open until he has no choice but to break the normalcy and shield his eyes from view with his hand. He blinks, long and hard, letting his eyes settle with moisture again.
When he lowers his hand, Loki doesn’t look worried nor confused anymore. He’s fuming. “Where are you supposed to meet her?”
“What?” Thor says, confused.
“Amora,” Loki says. “Where are you to see her next?”
The bad thoughts are starting to win. Thor thinks he’s glad that Loki’s asking. He’s glad he’s allowed to answer this question in truth. “My chambers.”
Loki nods. “And when will she be there?”
“She should be there now.”
Without speaking, Loki takes Thor’s hand and drags him across the yard toward the stairs. Thor starts to tear away, but—but Loki’s touch is grounding. It’s the same way that Amora is his focal point, the light at the end of his tunnel, but this time, it's Loki, not her. Thor finds himself going numb in his brother's presence, and it scares him. Amora will be so angry when the anchor of Loki’s contact is gone—and Thor will want to die for displeasing her.
“It’s alright,” Loki says, and Thor realizes that he’s hyperventilating. “It’s alright, I’m just taking you to her. She’ll be fine with that, won’t she? She’ll want you to meet her?”
Yes, Thor thinks. Yes. She wants him to meet her in his room, after all. She wants him to go there. And she can be the one to tell Loki to go away.
They reach his room, and Loki lets Thor open the door and go in.
Amora is inside, toying with his belongings (his favorite quill—the bad thoughts say, encouraged by Loki’s presence—and she’s sitting in his desk).
She looks up as Thor enters. “Aren’t you a little early, love?”
“A little,” he answers.
Rising, Amora goes to embrace him ( she’s turning her back to the door , he thinks), and that’s when Loki shoots into the room and rips her away from Thor. His arm loops around her neck, and a blade in his hand presses against her throat—sharp enough for a drop of blood to spill down her collarbone.
Enraged, Thor starts forward.
“I’ll kill her,” Loki says. “If you take one step forward, I’ll do it. She’ll be dead.”
Thor stops. His lungs throb, his hands clench, and his eyes glare at Loki’s hand. If Loki loses his guard for one instant, Thor will pummel him into the ground.
“He wouldn’t kill me,” Amora says to Thor.
Thor takes half a step forward.
Loki’s knuckles whiten, and a second drop of blood spills from her neck. “I would.”
Thor pauses.
“There’s no evidence,” Amora snaps. “Love spells have been banished for centuries. Do you know how long it took me to find any whiff of this one?” She shakes her head in minute, barely noticeable jerks. “And once I learned the spell, I burned any trace of the book. It’s gone. You can’t prove it. Even if you’re his son, the All-Father will have no choice but to imprison you for murder.”
“You think I care?” Loki growls. “You think I’d sacrifice my own brother just to avoid imprisonment?” His hand not holding the knife tangles into Amora’s hair and yanks her head backward so that he can whisper in her ear. “I would rather spend a thousand centuries burning in the depths of Hel before allowing you to touch him again.”
Amora’s face is white as bone, and Thor’s heart pounds. He doesn’t know what to do. “Stop,” Thor says to Loki. “Let go. You’re hurting her”
“Shut up,” Loki says.
Thor goes quiet.
“Are you pregnant?” Loki asks Amora.
Amora scowls. “Not yet.”
“Swear it. On Yggdrasil. On your life.”
She doesn’t speak, but when Loki presses the knife harder to her throat and and a stream of blood stains her pale skin, she opens her mouth. “I swear it.”
“The whole thing,” Loki says. “Say it back to me.”
Amora rolls her eyes. “I swear it on Yggdrasil and my life.”
“Good. Now release the spell.” With the blade, Loki gestures to Thor. “Do it now.”
Amora’s eyes are lit with wrath, but her hands twist at her side and illuminate with a brilliant green.
Thor shudders. The layers of his thoughts crack open like masks, over and over, until he can hear the truth within. Bad thoughts, he thinks by habit, and then blinks, horrified at himself. Reality evaporates. The beautiful, perfect, loving woman in front of him becomes something repulsive and terrifying—a sight of nightmares. Likewise, his brother becomes something to cherish, something to love, and Thor is disgusted with himself. A mere moment ago, he wanted to choke Loki to death.
He drops to his knees and stares at his hands. They’re shaking. His vision is going white.
There’s the sound of a scuffle—someone stumbling to across the floor.
“Get out,” Loki hisses.
A moment later, the door slams shut.
“What,” Thor gasps at the floor. “What is happening.”
“It’s okay, Thor.” Loki is kneeling beside him, and his arm settles over Thor’s shoulders. “You’re alright now. You’re alright.”
Thor shakes his head. His eyes are wide as he remembers everything. The night Amora raped him, and the nights they made love. They’ve fucked each other seven times now. Seven. Times.
Thor chokes on a sob.
“Shhh,” Loki says, “shhh, it’s okay.”
His brother pulls Thor into his arms, and Thor lets his face smash against Loki’s chest. He wails and wails and wails, and Loki holds him through all of it. Whispered words fall like rain over Thor’s head, cleansing him of fear—she won’t touch you anymore. I’ll make sure of it, I promise. I promise. You’re safe now. You’re safe. You’re alright. I have you .
The last one is murmured when Thor’s sobs are dying into whimpered breaths.
“I’m sorry, Thor.” Loki’s voice is clogged with tears. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”
Why are you sorry? Thor wants to ask. No one in all of Asgard noticed that anything was wrong. No one except you. You saved me. You freed me.
But he’s too drained to say it. Too numb. Too broken.
Instead, he circles his arms around his brother’s waist and clings with all his might to thank him.
Well… I didn’t succeed in getting this out before midnight. But it’s Day 24, peeps!
This definitely contains spoilers for Thor Ragnarok, so before you read anymore: SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS!
That being said, this prompt came to me from an anon over on my tumblr. Nonny, I totally agree with you, and I hope this fills what you wanted <3
Huge shoutout to everyone that has liked, reblogged, read, commented, and left kudos on any of the stories in this challenge. You seriously keep me hanging on even though my schedule’s been crazy recently. I love you all and you are amazing <3
Please come say hi over on my tumblr! I will do my best to fill your prompts if you give them, and if you just want to talk ai’d love that too!
Summary: After a series of ill decisions, Thor gets himself into a dangerous and humiliating situation. One from which there seems to be no escape. [Part 2/4]
Tags/Warnings: (for this part) super duper fucked-up noncon, Amora is perpetrator, Thor is victim, thor whump, love spell, referenced noncon drug use, very violent GoT-level threat is made, victim-blaming, subtle sexism, bc somehow Thor still manages to be an ass :')
Author’s Note: Wow, so like, this is absolutely disgusting. I'm not even joking lol. :/ I had to pause in the middle of writing and think 'really? am i really going to post this'? And even now I'm just... idk guys... :/ Shakes head at myself. Read at your own risk. That said, I feel like I've done worse to Loki... Something about it being Thor exponentially increases the level of my shame, I guess. :P
(For mobile users, there is a read more cut.)
Parts: [1] 2 [3] [4]
[Read on Ao3]
In a half-sleep, something is dragging Thor to the bottom of an ocean. Chains rattle at his ankles and arms, and they tug on his weight, draining the strength from his muscles. His bones feel liquefied, rendering his limbs useless as they flap formlessly. He aches for breathe. The dream is drowning him slowly, and though helpless, Thor fights with all his might. He struggles to swim to the surface and escape this torment—because something is wrong, something is wrong, and he’s in danger.
Adrenaline throbs in his skull, and the aching reverberates through his sinuses and jaw. Thor unclenches his teeth, and that’s when he wakes from the dream. His body weighs heavy on the mattress beneath him, and every muscle feels shredded to scraps. His eyes are shut, and he can’t open them, he can’t—
And he’s drowning again. Fighting for consciousness. His head pounds.
After an age, his eyes blink open, and the haze of grey light morphs into shapes and shadows. Ears ringing, Thor blinks again. The muscles of his eyelids have to fight for it, but Thor can finally distinguish the chandelier above his head and the window across from him. It’s—it’s his chandelier. His window. His bedroom.
For a moment, Thor thinks he is safe. Then he tries to move his arms.
They’re locked into place. His ankles, too.
Thor blinks frantically now. His breath comes in short, choked gasps, and he struggles against whatever bindings hold him down. They don’t budge, they don’t even make a sound, and when Thor uses all of his might to lift his head to look, he sees that they’re made of magic. Green glowing patterns of a spell snaking around his limbs.
More alarming—he’s naked.
“It’s about time you woke,” Amora says. “I’ve been waiting for more than an hour.”
Thor jerks his head towards the sound and finds her sitting to the side of the bed. His vision swims before he can catch her expression, but he recognizes the shape of her arm—elbow resting on the armrest and hand supporting her chin. Her legs are crossed at the knee, rather than the ankle, and Thor thinks, ridiculously, that it’s not the proper way of a lady.
“Wh—” Thor’s throat convulses on the word, and it takes a moment to cough and clear his throat of the too dry phlegm. “Rel—ease me,” he croaks, “th—is instant.”
“Hmm,” she says. “You sound rather thirsty.”
Thor snarls, but she has already leaned forward and pressed the edge of a prepared glass to his lips. He seals his mouth shut to the water (and whatever drug it may contain) and breathes frantically through his nose—waiting for it to be over.
“It’s just water, dear,” Amora encourages him. With her other hand, she strokes loose hair out of his face. “I already have you where I want you. Why would I poison you twice?”
Thor hesitates for a moment longer—but he’s thirsty, so thirsty, and he’ll need his voice if he has any hope of calling for the guards. So Thor parts his lips and allows the cool liquid to trickle down his throat. He drains all of the water at her urging, and when he is done, he feels worn. Exhausted. His head lulls onto the pillow, and he waits to regain his strength. He’ll need it.
Besides. She hasn’t done anything to him. Yet.
“Nothing to say?” An amused smile coats her tone. “No questions whatsoever?”
Thor clenches his jaw.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I waited,” Amora says, and her hand moves from his hair to stroke along his bare chest. Thor shudders. “I would’ve liked to be done with it while you were sleeping. It’s rather unflattering to watch a man shiver and squirm with fear. I much prefer a consensual arrangement.”
Her hand dips to his abdomen, and Thor’s heart hammers so hard that his chest feels too full—like he’ll explode. He opens his mouth and breathes shallow lungfuls of air.
“Yes,” Amora says with a sigh. “That’s exactly the reaction I dislike.”
Her hand lifts from his body, and Thor calms, even if only slightly.
Amora leans back, out of his line of sight. “But, you see, certain spells require certain requirements to be met. Your brother is a sorcerer, so you must have at least the most basic understanding of such things.” She waits, but doesn’t seem particularly disappointed when Thor doesn’t answer (or move). “The spell I’d like to use requires your awareness. You must be conscious for it. You must know what is happening. A safeguard, perhaps—to allow the subject to defend himself.” She shrugs. “Easy to work around.”
It’s then that Thor starts to comprehend what she means to do to him. The sense of danger evolves into something primal—raw, undiluted fear—and he starts to shake, as if the room’s temperature has dropped to freezing.
It gives him the urging he would need to shout, but—but she still hasn’t done anything yet. She isn’t touching him.
Thor fears to test it.
Keep her talking , he thinks. Keep her talking until dawn if you have to. Until a servant steps in, or—or someone.
He looks at her, and his vision is clearer now. She still wears her green dress embedded with diamond-like jewels and golden trim. Her hair, flawless as ever, has been released from its bounds and flows freely down her shoulders. Golden hooped earrings hide behind her the locks of blonde, artfully matching the amulet tucked between her breasts.
Thor quickly averts his eyes to her face. He won't fantasize of her anymore.
“Yes?” she says, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Are you finally going to speak?”
Swallowing, Thor clenches his hands into trembling fists. “Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?”
Amora blinks, as if stunned. Honeyed laughter pours from her lips, girlish and quiet. “Why, isn’t it obvious? I mean for us to court,” she says, eyes lit with desire. “I mean for you to be so besotted with me that you ask for my hand in marriage. I mean for us to marry and for you to endow me with children, so that I might mother your heirs.” She leans forward, and cruelty slants across her eyebrows and hardens her lips. In that moment, she looks utterly repulsive. “And when you are King, I mean to whisper in your ear for every law, every command, every decision—and I mean for you to listen without question.”
Thor thinks of the euphoria he felt in the great hall. He thinks of his father’s approving nod and his mother’s pleased smile. He thinks of the way he felt with Amora’s hand cupped in his as he led her through the steps of a dance—he was so entranced with her, so hypnotized. And his feelings had been real.
A lump clogs up his throat, and his eyes start to sting. “You didn’t need to do it like this,” he says, quiet and still very scared.
“I beg your pardon?”
Thor steels himself. “It didn’t have to be like this,” he repeats. “Tonight—when we were dancing. You had me. I was enamored with you. I was wrapped around your finger before the first song even finished.”
Amora stares at him with faint bitterness, but she does not speak.
“I would have courted you. After a while, I’m sure I would have married you too. Eventually given you children freely. And you know it. I know you do.” Thor swallows the lump in his throat and wills tears away. “We might have been happy together. Why would you—why do it like this?”
Amora’s chin lifts. The corners of her mouth tilt down, and her jaw clenches in a way that ages her. “You think I didn’t try it your way?”
Thor frowns. “What do you mean?”
“It figures you wouldn't remember.”
Without warning, Amora rises to her feet. Thor braces himself, but she merely strides across his room and stands at his window, overlooking the city below. Her hand plays with the silky curtains, and moonlight glints over jeweled bracelets encircling her wrists. Thor wonders if she’ll take them off, before—before—
“It was years ago,” Amora says. “We were much younger, and I fancied you. I was friends with your brother at the time, too—a superficial friendship, of course. I only hoped to get closer to you.”
While she’s not looking, Thor inspects the bonds at his wrists, but it’s hopeless. He knows nothing of magic. Instead, he searches for something, anything within reach that he could use as a weapon.
“You paid me no attention, of course,” she goes on. “I was young and ill-mannered and it turns out your brother was more of a pest to you than a brother. My friendship with him wasn’t doing me any favors. Still—I tried once.” She looks at him over her shoulder, and Thor pauses his search. “I asked if you would take a walk with me through the gardens. It was late spring. I hoped you would find it beautiful—the same as I did whenever passing through.”
Thor blinks at her. He doesn’t remember any such interaction. There are faint images of her, younger and less refined, yes. Images of her running around the palace at Loki’s side, as well. But he can’t think of a time that they had ever spoken—before yesterday, at least.
“You laughed at me,” Amora says and smiles at him.
Once he sees it, Thor is struck with the realization that all of her other smiles have been insincere.
“You were too busy for girls like me, you said. With my talent for magic, you thought I’d make a better match for your brother.” She turns her head back to the window. “I was so enraged. I wanted to make you pay for it. I wanted to make you love me. I searched through countless books and scrolls, searching for the perfect spell to ensnare you.”
Thor finds one of his daggers on the nightstand to his right, but—with the bindings on his wrists, he can’t reach it. Not even with his teeth.
Unaware of his struggle, Amora laughs to herself. “Revenge is a petty, petty thing. It never lasts.”
Thor manages to stretch himself far enough for his nose to brush against the corner of the nightstand. The dagger is mere inches away.
“I’m older now. I don’t take chances anymore. I don’t allow for risk.”
She turns, and Thor is forced to give up his struggling.
“And,” she finishes, “I find that the promise of power is a far better motivator than revenge.”
Amora takes a step forward and stops at the foot of the bed. Thor’s body freezes. Her face is silhouetted—he can’t read her expression—and no matter how he angles his head, he can’t look at her without seeing his disrobed cock at the bottom of his vision. He can't tell if she’s looking at it, too.
“So, My Prince? Do you understand why it has to be this way?”
Thor clenches his teeth together so hard that it reverberates through his skull.
Amora waves the silence away. “Oh well, it doesn’t matter, I suppose. It's going to happen either way.”
Her figure descends upon him. The folds of her dress collapse over his legs, and the mattress dips as her knees plant on either side of his hips. She leans forward, and her glinting green eyes and button-shaped nose come into stark focus, highlighted by the glow of the moon. One of her hands plants on his pillow to hold her weight, while the other caresses his cheek.
“You’ll be good, won’t you? You won’t cry or shake too much? I wasn’t lying before. It truly spoils the mood.”
Thor opens his mouth to shout for help.
As if expecting it, Amora’s hand drives into his jaw, and her other hand snatches the dagger he’d been trying to reach before. Thor shakes with tension—his wrists and ankles are still bound and now he can’t speak, he can’t breathe —and he watches as Amora tips the edge of the blade against his cock.
Instantly Thor falls still.
He tries to reason with himself: if she followed through with it, then she would be executed. Castrating him ( castrating him, Thor thinks again in horror) won’t stop him from calling for help, and it won’t stop the guards from bursting inside. He would suffer irreparably, but she had already said his suffering would bring her little satisfaction. It wouldn't be worth her life.
She’s bluffing , he wants to believe. Just do it. Just call for help.
Patiently he waits for her to lift her hand.
“Oh, you’re adorable. I can see you’re thinking so very hard,” Amora says, mockingly sweet. “But you're not being clever enough. See, dear, you know that everyone saw us spend an entire evening together. You know they saw us holding hands and dancing and slipping out to the balcony. You know that, don’t you?”
Thor squints, trying to understand where she’s going with this.
“And everyone saw us sneak away to your room. In fact,” and Amora waves her hand at their surroundings, “we’re in your room right now. So, dear. What do you think everyone would assume? If the guards burst in and found me sobbing at the base of your bed having lashed out at you in self-defense—what would they see? What would they think?”
Thor’s blood turns to ice. He wants to let loose a roar loud enough to summon everyone in the entire realm. He wants to sob into his hands.
“So? Are you going to be good for me?”
There’s nothing he can do. Nothing he can do but nod.
“I’m glad,” she says, “that we could reach an understanding.”
After releasing his mouth, Amora carefully sets down the knife out of his reach.
The worst is in how his body betrays him.
Amora casts no spell. She does not drug him. She merely unzips her dress and lets it fall to the floor—showing Thor the freckle over her left breast and her nipples, pink as her soft, glistening lips. She merely runs a finger over the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs, around his cock, but never touching. She merely kisses his chest. And his abdomen. And the bones of his hips.
That’s all it takes for heat to shudder down his spine, for blood to race down, down, down from his head, for his cock to rise, hard and needy and burning.
At last her fingertip draws the line of his length and lingers at the head. Thor’s hips jerk. He lusts.
“Don’t do this,” Thor breathes as she removes the rest of her undergarments. “You don’t have to go through with it. You can still—you can still stop.”
Amora gives him an amused look. “And you would not tell a soul, I presume?”
“I swear it.” Thor’s blood sparks as her entire hand palms between his legs. As a second hand curls around his cock and teases him harder. His back arches. He writhes with desire. “Please,” he gasps. “Please, I swear I won’t tell anyone. It will be like nothing happened. Please, please, just—just don’t—”
“I told you, Your Highness. I would like to believe this is consensual.” She gives him a hard look. “Don’t sour the mood.”
That’s all the warning he has before she sinks onto him. It’s utter horror. It's utter bliss. Thor feels her thrust, and his hips meet in tandem. His body betrays him hundreds of times with needy, rupturing moans, and Thor squeezes his eyes shut and lets himself enjoy it. He wants it to stop—but it won’t stop, she’ll won't stop, and he’s fighting a losing battle trying to pretend that he’s not hard and that she’s not beautiful.
Moans of her own fill his ears. She thrusts harder now, letting him penetrate deeper and deeper, and each thrust shoots a cry through her lips. Hair tickles his chest, and Thor opens his eyes to find her lips inches from his. The muscles of her face are clenched into tight lines of ecstasy, and her entire body is caving into each arc of pleasure.
Thor thinks he could strike her now, with the bone of his forehead. But it would do nothing. Nothing but delay the inevitable.
He just wants it over.
Her breasts press into his chest, and her nails dig into his arms. The contact sears through him, and he chokes— good, good, good —and he feels something sparking within him. Something fierce and electric and uncontainable.
Amora’s cries become soft, irregular gasps. She almost sounds like she’s in pain. Her breath beats into his chest at the pace of his heart, hot and damp and on his bare skin, and—
Thor comes.
His spend shoots inside her, and his ears roar with pleasure. Vaguely he notes, Amora’s hands fly towards his face, and light with a green aura that pierces his field of vision. The spell, he thinks, as his mind devours the static of his senses.
“There,” she says, as if to herself, and the bindings from his wrists and ankles disappear.
Thor lies, stunned, for exactly one second.
In the next, he lunges for the dagger she discarded on the mattress. Just as his fingers curl around the hilt, just as he whirls towards her, sick with a longing to plant the dagger in her chest, Thor feels the thought evaporate. He sees her face, a smile, gentle eyes, her arm draped over his shoulder, fingers stretching to caress his hair—and he wonders why he would ever want to hurt someone so beautiful, someone so perfect.
Part of him rebels—no, no, she held you down and raped you, she r aped you—but it fades under the bewilderment that he had ever wanted to say no.
“Now, my dear,” Amora says, and she sounds like an angel, “will you put that down please?”
Immediately Thor lets the dagger slip from his hand. He would slice his own veins if he thought it would please her.
“Thank you, dear. I really appreciate it.”
She leans down to kiss him, and this time, it's his mind, not his body, that betrays him.
Is there any Thor ship you don’t like? Also, what are your thoughts on shipping Thor love triangles? ❤️
in all honesty? no. thor is really the ultimate fandom bicycle for me; it’s the slutty good-natured energy that (to me) makes him very shippable. as for love triangles, it depends. if we’re talking poly ships then i am DOWN TO CLOWN any day of the week, cos i love an ot3. if we’re talking love triangles as in popular media love triangles....hmm, as a general rule i’m not a fan but that rule is amendable if it’s done well and if it compliments the character journey. like for example i think thor and heimdall and valkyrie would have good potential for that. thor loves them both a great deal, they’re both great side characters with a lot of potential for growth (which this set up would offer) and they also kinda symbolise (or could symbolise....cos if it’s a triangle there better be symbolism!!) two aspects of thor’s nature (valkyrie is the wild card, the hot head, while heimdall could represent the duty and the love for his people etc).
Sometime it was like Loki couldn’t wait to get away from Thor.
Thor understood. Whatever they did, they did for the sake of the ancient magic that bound them together. Loki had explained it to him, and Frigga before him. Not the fucking, that was new, but the ways in which Asgard needed its rulers to be bound to each other. What they did protected his home, and that was enough for Thor.
It must have been enough for Loki too, because he didn’t complain when Thor took him every night, (or almost every night—some days he was away on Thor’s bidding or of his own inclination) even when Thor was rough with him. And Thor was rough, sometimes, because he could be. Because Loki would let him, and because there was a certain sharp pleasure in using his brother’s body for selfish reasons.
Loki tripped out of his bed almost the second Thor was done with him, nearly every time. The only exception had been one night early on, when Loki had returned from a mission dazed and terrified. Thor had demanded he come to bed anyway, feeling vindictive and restless. Loki had complied, but he’d fallen asleep almost immediately after, and Thor hadn’t had the heart to wake him up and send him away. Not when he looked like the old Loki, the one that Thor had loved, face soft and vulnerable in sleep.
Loki had been gone the next morning, the bed next to Thor cold. It had never happened again, no matter how tired Loki was.
The Loki Thor had loved would have taken every chance to be closer to Thor, to share his bed. He remembered that child, his brother. He remembered Loki crawling into his bed late at night when his magic plagued him with nightmares, and he remembered how Loki snuggled in close to him. But this Loki did none of that—they didn’t even seem to be the same person. Thor hated it. He hated it so much. He just wanted his brother back.
Summary: After a series of ill decisions, Thor gets himself into a dangerous and humiliating situation. One from which there seems to be no escape. [Part 1/4]
Tags/Warnings: pre-Thor, Thorloki, Thor/Amora, peer pressure, a bit of sexism on Thor's part (it's pre-Thor after all), nonconsensual drug use (drug is not named, but you probably can recognize it from RL), strong implication of future dubcon/noncon (done by Amora, but nothing happens in this chapter)
Author’s Note: Here’s some more pre-Thor bullshit. Of course, being pre-Thor, this fic features Thor being a total dick, not gonna lie. Please don’t hate him too much lol. He will be very sorry shortly. I wrote them all as older adolescents here, but their ages are never specified, so read it however u want. (I only mention it because I feel like their behavior is that of people very young.)
Anyway, this is gonna be a 3 or 4 parter, using other days’ prompts :D Enjoy!! ^_^
(For mobile users, there is a read more cut.)
Parts: 1 [2] [3] [4]
[Read on Ao3]
“I’m telling you, Thor, you need to stay away from her.”
“Yes. As you’ve said already,” Thor shoots back. “So tell me why.”
Loki’s lips purse as he glances over Thor’s shoulder, as if watching for any listeners to their conversation.
Thor takes the spare moment to shoot an impatient look at the rest of the great hall. The feasting hasn’t officially finished, but it’s drawing to an end. Guests have begun to trickle away from the wide and narrow tables to adorn themselves in clusters near the grand, arching walls. The groups of men and women do not mingle (yet), but their eyes stir with want at one another, buds about to bloom. Even the musicians have arrived, waiting with held instruments for Odin to command.
His study of the hall only spans for a moment, but Thor is still disappointed not to find Amora’s golden head of curls or her jeweled green dress. She’s there somewhere. Earlier today, she promised him her first dance, and Thor intends to make good on her promise.
Before Thor can look for longer, Loki draws him near and whispers urgently. “Because she is not as innocent as she appears. Whatever our differences, you need to listen to me. I am only trying to warn you—”
Thor tears out of Loki’s grip. “Warn me of what? It’s simply a dance.”
“She’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” Thor says. A laugh spills from his lips, derisive and cruel. “You sought me out to warn me of a woman’s supposed dangerousness?”
Loki glares at him. “Keep your voice down.”
Thor gives Loki a mocking smile to express exactly what he thinks about the request, but he does go silent nonetheless.
It’s been weeks since Loki and he have spoken amicably. Long enough that Thor cannot remember the last kind words they exchanged. He only remembers their last fights. Loki’s lashing against Thor’s attempts to teach him proper technique on the training grounds. Loki’s insistence that magic is a fair form of combat.
He’s not surprised that the moment Thor starts to turn his attention elsewhere (to more dutiful and honorable pursuits) would be the same moment that Loki sees fit to steer him back into their never-ending lock of rage.
Unsurprising and immature. Thor won’t fall for it this time.
Loki’s glare darkens, as if he is reading Thor’s thoughts. “She and I were friends once,” he tells Thor, quiet. “I know what she’s like, and I know how she used to speak of you. Whatever her intention in requesting a dance of you tonight—it’s not a good one.”
Thor’s smile spreads and he nods along—letting his utter insincerity show in his face.
“I mean it, Thor.” Loki pauses, and that’s when his glower breaks. He runs one hand through his oiled black hair and and presses the thumb of his other into the bridge of his nose. A sigh falls from his lips, and when he looks at Thor, he just looks tired. “I know we haven’t had the best . . . talks as of late. I wish I had gladder subjects to bring to you after such a long and bitter silence. But I swear that I am in good faith. What can I do to convince you?”
Thor folds his arms. “You can start by keeping your meddling hands out of things that are none of your concern.”
Loki’s expression shutters closed. “Thor . . . I am trying to be reasonable.” He sighs. “Alright, maybe it’s too soon to let everything else go, but I think you can at least hear me out.”
“Interesting. You want to know what I think?”
Whether at Thor’s tone or simply at knowing him so well, Loki doesn’t answer.
“I think,” Thor says, low and hateful, “that you’re jealous. No one ever asks you to dance. No one ever so much as looks at you. You called Amora your friend, but I haven’t seen her spend time with you in years. She lost interest in you and gained interest in me. Just like everyone always does.” He leans forward, his voice lowering into a hissed whisper. “What I think is that you’re desperate for attention. So desperate that you come to me, tail between your legs, and beg for my forgiveness—and, when I won’t give it to you, you hope to undermine me instead.”
Loki’s expression remains perfectly still. The only sign that Thor’s words have cut their mark is in how his neck bobs with a heavy swallow and how he turns his rigid head to the side—no longer meeting Thor’s gaze.
“Well?” Thor goes on. “Got anything to say?”
He waits a moment for Loki to respond. When he doesn’t (as expected), Thor smiles and pats his brother’s shoulder. “I thought not,” he says and walks away.
And just in time—he catches a flash of blonde and green on the other side of the hall as Amora stands from a distant table and joins other ladies near to her. She touches something at her collarbone—a necklace perhaps—and her head turns towards his. It’s too far away to tell, but Thor can swear that she has met his eyes.
At the front on the royal family’s dais, Odin rises from his chair and plants Gungnir against the floor.
It would be rude to cross the hall while his father is giving a speech, so Thor waits awkwardly, conscious of Loki’s presence behind him. A twinge of guilt hollows his stomach at the things he said. Whatever Loki’s intentions, Thor knows his brother struggles with feelings of inadequacy quite regularly, even without his help. Perhaps, Thor was wrong to take it so far.
Slowly, Thor turns to look, but Loki is gone. He scans the area for any sign of where Loki went—and just as his eyes pass over one of the doors to the hallway, there is the end of his brother’s tunic unfurling as he storms out.
Thor frowns. Apologizing to Loki would require leaving the hall and forsaking his chance to court Amora.
Instead, he returns his attention to his father and waits for the dancing to begin. What he said to Loki isn’t the worst he’s ever said, after all—and it isn’t as though Loki has never sharpened his own words to hurt Thor in return.
An apology can wait. Or else, they can forget it tomorrow and pretend nothing was said.
Odin sets Gungnir down on the dais a second time, announcing the beginning to the celebrations, and eagerly Thor turns to approach Amora.
The burst of his excitement when she waves him over drowns any regrets or thoughts for Loki at all.
Amora promised him one dance, but she stays by his side for the entirety of the evening, despite the longing looks she receives from other potential suitors. Every time she slips a hand on Thor’s arm as another man approaches, Thor swells with pride.
Even when he glances over to the dais where his parents hover together, watching, Odin gives him a subtle nod of approval.
Because she is poised and elegant and ladylike. She is the top of her social circles with the looks to match. Thor finds himself spying at the length of her neck, where the golden chain of her necklace spills down her collarbone, and the attached amulet dips between her breasts. Her eyelashes are thick and dark, her nose small as a button, and her lips so soft and pink that Thor longs to touch—even if only with the pad of his finger.
Her posture is regal—regal like his mother’s. Like a queen’s. And her touch, delicate and precise. She says all the right things and pauses at all the right times—and best of all, she seems to enjoy his company. At least for the evening.
It’s refreshing. He feels as though he is in the company of mature adults, and it moves him to want to change—to want to meet her expectations. He feels euphoric.
“I believe I’m in need of a breath of fresh air,” Amora says to the couples surrounding them. She turns to Thor, one delicate eyebrow raised. “Would you like to join me, Your Highness?”
“It would be my honor,” Thor says with his best charm.
Their hands lace together, and she leads him across the hall, stopping only briefly to acquire two glasses of wine. Then they approach one of the unused balconies.
Outside the night sky of Asgard shines with an array of constellations. Silver starlight graces the stone floor with a sea of silver, and a gentle breeze rustles through the leaves and caresses their hair and their clothes and their skin. Amora’s hand is still fastened in his as she leads him over to the table and sets her glass down upon one side.
Thor releases her to pull out a chair.
“Thank you,” she says as she dips into the seat.
“You’re welcome,” Thor returns.
They sit and look out upon the city’s intermittent stragglers returning home from the celebration, illuminated by the occasional bluish street light. Crickets sing to the wind, and the smell of pine trees blankets the space between them—a refreshing scent compared to the odor of sweaty limbs and stuffy air inside.
Amora takes a sip of her drink, and looks at him from beneath her lashes. “Will you not drink with me?” she asks.
Her index finger runs along the edge of the rim, and Thor unbearably has a sudden image of her stroking his cock with such gentility. Before the image can burn desire between his legs, Thor looks away.
“I shouldn’t,” Thor says, sighing.
She leans forward. A coy smile spreads along her soft, pink lips. “Oh? And why not?”
Thor smiles back at her, but does not answer.
“I never thought a son of the All-Father would shy away from such a delight,” she says, her voice infected with an adoring laugh. “Especially not one such as yourself. If it’s not too bold of me to say, the reputation of your feats has spread for miles, my Prince. Surely you celebrate them every once in a while with a good drink?”
“I do,” Thor says because he doesn’t want her to think him strange. “Quite often. And happily. But tonight—tonight is a different story. I wouldn’t like to sour the mood.”
She reaches across the table and slips her hand over his. “You can tell me if you’d like. I wouldn’t be bothered. In fact, I’d be glad to listen.”
“It’s because of my brother.” Thor sighs and looks away (though he lets his hand remain ensnared in hers). “He and I—well, we don’t always agree on certain things, and I may have said things to him that I didn’t mean.” He pauses, imagining Loki alone and distressed in his room—and he may pretend otherwise, but he’s seen Loki’s casual disregard for his well-being at times. It’s enough to trouble him, even now. “Later tonight, I’d like to check on him and apologize. Preferably sober.”
Amora nods, seeming satisfied with his explanation. “That’s kind of you,” she says. “Kinder than I would be.”
“Oh?” Thor says, perking. “I can't imagine you to be cruel.”
“Your brother and I were friends once, long ago,” she admits with a shrug, “but he grew jealous. I was better at magic than he was, no matter how long he studied or practiced. Eventually—I had no choice but to stray from his troubled path. We haven’t spoken since.”
She pauses to take her handkerchief and dab it across her lips, even though she spilled not a single drop of wine whilst she drank.
“I’m sorry to speak ill of him,” she continues after a while. “I still hold fondness for how he used to be. Even if he’s different now.”
Thor waves her apology away. “It’s fine. I know how he can be.”
She tucks a strand of her golden hair back into place (a shy gesture, Thor thinks) and turns her head to look out upon the city.
But speaking of Loki has set Thor on edge and he can no longer settle into the pleasantness of the evening air or the attention of a lovely woman. Thor glances towards the doorway inside, but—it’s in vain. Loki hasn’t re-appeared since his departure. Of course, it would be unlike Loki to storm away and return in the same night. Still, Thor worries for him.
“Actually,” Thor says, feeling confident in her esteem, “speaking of Loki, I was wondering—would you be irked if I were to leave now to go to check on him?”
Amora glances at him, eyebrows lifted. “Surely, it can’t be so urgent.”
“Not exactly,” Thor says, even though his heart beats urgently, “but—I feel that I cannot relax with you without worrying for him. Wouldn’t you prefer to enjoy my full attention?” He winks at her, even though his ears burn with the courage it takes to do so.
Amora smirks. “I could help with that, you know,” she says. “I’m rather good at earning a man’s . . . full attention.” With that, her eyes dip down. Her line of sight is blocked by the table, but it seems as though she’s looking straight through the mahogany wood at his crotch underneath. At the same time, the toe of her shoe brushes against his ankle.
Chilla erupt along Thor’s arms. It takes all of his willpower to remain seated and not jump. Lust fills his veins, drowning the urgency—surely Loki is fine, surely he can wait until morning. Thor imagines Amora bare beneath him, with his one hand in her blonde curls, and the other fondling her breasts. They wouldn’t make love—it would endanger a courtship—but they could do other things.
Thor wonders what her expression would look like in the heat of climax. (Thoughts of Loki drift away.)
“I do have one condition though,” she says, her smirk spreading with a sly glee.
Thor’s lungs hold his breath captive. “Yes?”
“Drink,” she says and gestures to his glass. “Relax. Enjoy yourself.”
Thor hesitates. He starts to voice a soft and respectful no , but a sharp glint crosses Amora’s eyes. For a startling, heart-crushing moment, she looks bored of him. Her eyes flicker to the doorway, and Thor remembers all the other men who would hope to court her—men just as strong and as handsome as he.
Smothering what he was about to say, Thor reaches for the glass. “Alright,” he says, “you’ve won me over.”
He pours the sweet liquid down his throat.
Thor only had the one glass of wine, but it must have been more potent than he thought. The room spins and swirls. Amora is leading him across the hall, but his legs won’t cooperate with him. He stumbles over his own feet as the ground tilts above his head. He wants to vomit—but he resists the urge because he doesn’t want to risk Amora’s disgust.
“Stay awake, Your Highness,” Amora whispers into his ear, “at least until you get to your room and can enjoy what I offered.”
Thor nods—which is a mistake. His vision goes grey, and he nearly topples over. Her weight cushions his fall, and he blinks in surprise—because, frail and thin as she is, he didn’t think she’d be strong enough to support him.
“What have we here?” says someone—it’s Fandral. Fandral’s chuckling grows louder and louder, and Thor vaguely realizes that it’s because he’s walking toward them.
“As you can see,” Amora says with a tone of mischief, “Our Highness has had far too much to drink. I’m taking him to his room.”
A hand plants itself on Thor’s shoulder. “Looks like you’re about to pass out, my friend,” Fandral says, as the yellow blur of his face fills Thor’s vision.
Thor tries to speak. Something is wrong , he wants to say, but he can’t. The words slur incomprehensibly as they leave his mouth. He tries again, but this time, he doesn’t think he even makes a sound.
“Do you need help with him, My Lady? He appears quite out of it, after all, and he is very heavy.”
“I’m alright, but thank you.” Her voice lowers. “I promised him something special, after all.”
Thor can’t make out much beyond the fog of his senses, but Fandral doesn’t speak again and suddenly Amora is dragging him across the hall. With more speed than before. Thor isn’t surprised—he think he might pass out before they make it to his room.
“A—morr—” Thor croaks as they approach the doorway. “I ca—an’t—I’uh’ll—”
“Shh,” Amora says. “Just a little further.”
“No—oo,” he says and tries to tear away.
But Amora is stronger than him in this weakened state. She hurls him through the doorway and into the empty hall. Darkness greets him. They are alone.
For a moment, Thor’s vision clears enough to see her face. Her soft, pink lips are not smiling. Her eyes no longer hold the glint of easy seduction. She looks wicked—eying him like he is a piece of meat to butcher. An obstacle to overcome. For the first time, Thor remembers Loki’s words with vivid precision.
She’s dangerous , he’d said.
Thor wants to call for help, but he can’t make his jaw move. His vision fogs over a second time, and without her support, he collapses to her knees.
There's the faint sound of her laughter and a brush of her fingertips over his neck.
Then everything goes black.
Author’s Note: ...................so, uh,
don't judge me
Next part, hopefully tomorrow ^_^
