#sub!thor

For some reason you were struggling to reach your peak tonight, maybe your mind was distracted or your body just wasn’t having any of it but it was making you frustrated.

Your thighs trembled beside Thor’s head as he lay his large body beneath you, his hands gripped your thighs – with permission - and you rolled your hips again and again across his obedient tongue.

The huffs and impatient sighs from you grew louder, you could almost feel him falter in his ministrations in worry but he continued, ever present in his need to please you.

“Thor…” you sighed, lifting your hips away from his face. His lips and tongue followed the taste of your cunt as far as his neck could reach before plopping back down to the bed.

“Please don’t stop” Thor pleaded, he looked up at you eyes wide, “Did I do something wrong Goddess?”

You shook your head, dropping to sit in the gap left between his side and his outstretched arm. You stroked his blonde hair and shook your head, “No sweet boy, it’s not that. I’m just… struggling”

He sat up abruptly, his tone was eager, “Let me keep trying. I want to help”

You closed your eyes, rubbing the heels of your palms into them in frustration, “It’s alright, I wouldn’t want to push you too much. You’ve done enough for tonight”

“My Goddess can do to me what she pleases” he whimpered, hands reaching out for you but waiting for permission to touch. You nodded simply and his hands cradled your face, stroking his thumbs across your cheeks and tucking your hair behind your ears.

Leaning forward he tentatively pressed his lips to yours and you invited the action by kissing back, slipping your hand up to loosely grip around his jaw to hold him in place.

“You shouldn’t hurt yourself” you murmured into the kiss, fingertips stroking what was probably a very painful jaw. For one that inhabited such a large and overly strong body he always melted into your touch, you marvelled at the way he almost moulded into you. Drawing himself to your fingers as they stroked across his skin; a powerful God that made himself mild and meagre at your feet. The strongest act of them all.

Without a word Thor pushed himself back, laying back down in the same position and tugged like a needy child at your thighs, “Please Goddess, I don’t want you to stop”

Hesitantly you swung your legs back over his broad chest and settled yourself above his waiting tongue. He stretched it out of his mouth, eyebrows furrowed pleadingly.

“You’re going to do everything you can to make your Goddess cum aren’t you?” you gripped his face as he nodded frantically, tongue still lolled out of his mouth.

Letting go of his face you lowered yourself down, his hands grabbed for you but you took hold of his wrists and pinned them beside his head. Using the new position of you arched over him you rolled your hips across his soft tongue, groaning at the way your numb clit still tingled slightly under the warmth of it.

“I didn’t say you could touch” you growled under your breath, his eyes widening, “I think that’s something you have to ear again”

He hummed in agreement sending tingles shooting up your spine, “Oooh fuck!” you groaned, rolling your hips harder, “Make this aching cunt cum and I’ll consider letting you do that again, understood?”

He nodded, “I bon’t det do down” he mumbled into your cunt, tongue still languidly stroking at your throbbing clit.

“P-please my queen.” His normally commanding voice was now a mere whisper, his pleading and begging almost a whine. His long blond hair was splayed out over the dark pillowcase, his face now red with exertion. His blue eyes were screwed shut as his broad chest heaved, struggling to take in air.

“More.” He moaned, attempting to roll his thin hips down and take more of the massively thick strap-on inside him. Your veins thrummed with power and arousal as you towered over the god. “You’ll take what I give you, little prince.” He whimpered at that, his bottom lip turning out into a pout. You chuckled and ran your hands down his muscular thighs which sat on your wide hips, to cup his pert ass.

The strap was barely half-way inside of him and yet he already looked ready to burst. His cock was throbbing, the head a dark purple, furiously leaking pre-cum. It bobbed against his toned abs, leaving little clear droplets on his tan stomach. You could feel him trembling beneath you.

Your pussy was pulsing, wetness dripping down your plump thighs but you didn’t dare reach down and relive that ache. Everything was about him tonight. Him finally giving up his power to you, letting you control his pleasure, his pain, his thoughts. You thrust forward and sunk another inch into him. 

“Fuck!” Thunder rolled dangerously outside. “My good little warrior, taking your queen’s cock so well.” You cooed, leaning forward as far as you could, to lay kisses to his sweaty collarbones. “So big mommy.” He slurred. Your breath hitched and unconsciously buried the rest of the silicone inside your lover.

Thor howled in pleasure, ankles locking around your thick waist, keeping you pinned inside him. “Mommy!” Big hands clamped around your ribs, squeezing almost painfully as you began to thrust into him. “My good boy, my perfect prince.” You praised through panting breaths. 

“So good for your mommy.” You moaned, the butt of the strap hitting your clit just right with every roll of your hips. You could only pull out an inch before ramming forward again. “Take me my queen. I’m yours.” His eyes fluttered open, the blue, which was almost entirely black with his blown out pupils, hypnotised you, sending a shutter down your spine.

You were punching into him now, making his entire body move with the force of your thrusts. With a slight change in the angle, you hit his prostate. “Cum for me little prince. Cum for your queen.”

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“Hey there, hot stuff,” you sung back, tossing your keys and bag aside as you kick your shoes off without another thought. Thor gives a chuckle at that, making his way over to you. You meet him half way, wrapping your arms around him with a deep sigh. His arms winding around your waist on instinct, his head tilting to rest against yours as his muscular arms squeeze you to him. He lets out his own deep sigh, basking in the sweet cherry blossom scent of your shampoo and the comfortable heat radiating from your body.

“I missed you,” he hears you mumble into his shoulder. His heart twists at the thought of leaving you so often.

“I missed you too, Flower,” he whispers and presses a sweet kiss to the top of your head before pulling you back to smile down at you. His heart soars when he sees you beaming up at him, he can’t fight the urge to kiss you, so he does. His lips press against yours for the first time in weeks, the softness of your lips has his mind reeling, his tongue searching for yours, a deep hunger craving the taste of you. You moan softly when his tongue fills your mouth passionately, swirling around your mouth, desperate for a taste. The little sound you let out goes straight to Thor’s cock, lust beginning to cloud his mind as his primal instincts take over. You reluctantly pull back to catch your breath, panting and gasping into his open mouth as you look up at him. He gives you a crooked smirk, loving knowing that he affects you as much as you do him.

“Go get cleaned up, Flower, I’ll start making dinner,” he whispers and presses one more kiss to your kiss bruised lips. You giggle and nod as you skip to your room on wobbly legs.

~~~~~~

A hot shower and home cooked meal later, you and your Thunder God lay curled up on the couch, your back resting on the couch with Thor laying on his side, his head propped up on his elbow as he gazed down at you. He had been telling you about the happenings in Asgard, what funny trick Loki pulled on Sif, and what’s happened in the latest chapter of the book he was currently reading. You told him about the new project you picked up at work, the juicy work gossip about your coworker Sandra sleeping with one of the guys from IT that happened to be your boss’s ex boyfriend, and about the book you just finished while he played with your hair.

The next thing you know your mouth is being devoured by Thor’s as if he hadn’t just eaten dinner an hour earlier. Your hands slot through his hair slowly, relishing in the softness of the shorter strands that adorn his head. He lets out a rumbling growl when your nails scrape across his scalp, something that you know drives him wild. The playful giggle you let out has him grinning ear to ear and pulling you up into his lap as he sits up properly. You hear the distant rumble of thunder in the distance.

“Come here, little Flower,” he chuckles and reattaches his mouth to yours with a groan. Your soft body presses his into the couch, the teal silk robe he bought you for your birthday falling open as you straddle his ungodly thick thighs. Thor takes advantage of the exposed skin and immediately slides his large hands up your legs, grabbing a handful of your ass to pull you against the bulge in the front of his grey sweatpants. Your hips naturally grind down on him the moment you feel that familiar hardness against your core. It makes you shiver, a fluttering sigh leaving your lips. Thor groans, this one deeper in his throat when your pussy grinds on him. A bolt of lightning flashes across the sky followed by the low growls of the thunder. “Oh, Gods, Flower, I’ve missed this…”

“Me too,” you whisper against his lips, your mouth moving along his jaw sloppily, he always loved when you did, “missed riding you, baby.”  The undeniable shudder that shook his hulking frame made you smirk, you loved making him shiver and shake. You found that sweet spot near his ear that had Thor groaning in shaky tones, his hips rising to rut into yours, trying desperately to satisfy his needs. “You want me to ride you, Thor? Bounce on that fat cock, nice and hard until you cum?”

“Fuck, yes, ride me, Flower,” he nods and starts pulling off his clothes. Soon, he’s bare beneath you, your robe simply untied, you hadn’t bothered to put on anything underneath it. Thor’s hands are everywhere, pawing at your breasts, grabbing handfuls of your ass, kneading the supple flesh of your thighs, touching any and everything he possibly can while you continue to suck at his neck. You sneak a hand down his front, tracing over the muscles that rest underneath his tanned skin. He’d filled out a bit in the recent year and you were not complaining. His torso was still firm but less defined, giving him an inviting softness that made you want to snuggle against him forever. Your hand reaches its destination the moment you feel the throbbing length of his cock in your palm, a sharp inhale breaks from Thor’s mouth at the contact as another bolt of lightning crashes down. He was always so sensitive, so responsive, so vocal.

“Such a pretty cock, baby,” you whisper in his ear just how he liked, all breathy and mockingly sweet. “Is this all for me?” You ask and give his fat tip a loving pet, your thumb swiping away the beads of precum.

“Of course, it’s all for you, Flower, only for you,” he whispers back, his voice strained and hushed with pleasure, the small act having his eyes sliding shut. You kiss his temple sweetly and begin to stroke him at a teasingly slow pace, building him up.

“Such an angel,” you mutter mostly to yourself, his cheeks flushing even more at the compliment, his dick twitching happily in your palm. You giggle gently and speed up, jerking him off quicker and quicker. “Always so kind, so thoughtful…”

“Gods,” he curses under his breath, cock twitching uncontrollably as you shower him with praises. “Flower, please, need be inside you.”

His hand gripping your wrist to stop your hand from stroking him, his chest heaving with excitement. The moment your hand releases its grip, he’s once again devouring your mouth. You feel his fingers trailing along your inner thigh slowly before cupping your heat in one giant hand. He growls when he feels how soaked you are for him, swearing to himself he’ll spend the rest of the night worshipping this delicious heaven between your legs. Two thick, long fingers suddenly push into your entrance, your body stretching to accommodate his digits.

“T-Thor!” Your head tips back, your hands pulling at his hair as he begins to pump in and out of you slowly, letting your body adjust to the feeling of his fingers. He bites his lip when you clench down around his knuckles. Thor doesn’t know how he doesn’t blow his load right then and there, your tight pussy sucking his fingers deeper and deeper.

“You’re so tight, Flower, still don’t know how I fit inside this sweet cunt,” he growls as sucks a deep hickey into the column of your throat, “but I make it fit, don’t I, Sweetheart?”

You whimper in response when the pads of his fingers brush against that sweet spot deep inside you, your walls tightening even more, a fresh wave of arousal soaks his palm, making him groan happily. “That’s enough,” you say and push his hand away from your core, spreading gripping the base of his dick with your other hand and guiding him to your entrance.

“Wait, I didn’t stretch you o—Oh, Gods!!” He bellows as you sink down on him slowly. Deafening thunder shakes the earth, rain beating down steadily on your windows. His eyes squeeze shut as your tight walls wrap around his girth, pulsing wildly with your heartbeat, head falling back to rest on the back of the couch, his own chest heaving to try and calm himself down. You sigh a sweet moan into his ear, the delicious burn that comes with that first thrust leaves you dizzy and clawing into the meaty flesh of his shoulders. Your hips grind against his in nice slow movements, letting you both adjust to each other until Thor starts to push his hips up into yours.

“Fuck, Thor, so fuckin’ big, baby,” you nibble on his ear, pulling yourself up slowly to feel every ridge and vein of his cock drag along your most sensitive skin, and letting gravity pull you back down. The bounce knocks the air from your lungs in the sound of a throaty moan, your hands clinging to Thor’s neck and shoulders as you find a steady rhythm that has you both needy and feral.

“Y’feel so fucking good, Flower—oh fuck!” He grits through his teeth when your walls clamp down around him, the tightness almost unbearable, the fluttering of your cunt tempting him to blow his load right then and there, but by the Grace of Odin, he manages to hold himself back. Soon, he starts to meet you thrust for thrust, his resolve to hold back slowly slipping away with each of the intoxicating noises you make for him. The storm outside growing stronger and stronger as you ride him. You couldn’t believe that you could get him like this: the powerful God of Thunder, trembling and unable to control his power just because you were bouncing on his dick. The silky feeling of your supple skin rubbing against his has you both foggy headed, having been apart for so long, you almost forgot how good it felt to be intimate with him. Thor pulled you from your place on his shoulder to look up at you, his thrusts turning brutal as he speeds up, the salacious sound of skin slapping together fills your living room. Thor’s cool blue eyes burn as he stares up at you, entranced at the expression of pure ecstasy on your face. How he had gone more that a day without seeing you make this face, he has no clue.

A shaky hand slides across his skin and cups his jaw, tilting his head back even more to look directly up at you. Your other hand pushes through his hair, massaging his scalp sensually, a stark contrast to his vigorous thrusts. He feels your thumb pet at his parted lips, silently telling him what to do. He groans and opens his mouth even more for you, his tongue hanging out. You moan and glide your tongue along your teeth, collecting as much saliva as your grip on his jaw tightens. Leaning over him, you let a string of your spit fall from your mouths and on to his tongue slowly. The feeling of your spit in his mouth has Thor’s hips stuttering, a possessive growl vibrating in your chest proudly. A loud, high pitched moan flies from his chest as he swallows your saliva happily. Another bolt of lightning, this time closer.

A sweet smile splitting his face in half as soon as he’s finished. It was a sin to look so cute after swallowing your spit, yet here he was looking like an angel. “I love you so much, Flower.”

“I love you too,” you grinned back at him, a playful giggle bubbling from your lips as you began to move in perfect time with him. A calloused hand slips in between your thighs, finding your clit with ease. A violent jolt of pleasure shoots through you as he begins to furiously rub your sensitive clit in sloppy circles.

“Need y’to cum, Flower, please,” he gasps to you, his pace rushed and hard, trying his best to push you over the edge. You nod and press your lips to his, letting your tongue dominate his mouth with ease. The tension in your bones pulling tighter and tighter as he grunts into your mouth. A soft chant of his name leaving your swollen lips, you were going to kill him, he was certain of it. Thor muttered a soft “please,” and that was all it took.

You all but screamed as your orgasm tore through you, your thighs quivering around his as he worked you through it, whining at the tightness of your cunt around him. Nails bit into his scalp as you gushed around his length, your vision blurred white with pleasure as you claw at his skin. You hear the ringing in your ears fall away to be replaced with his animalistic grunts and growls as he chases his own high. Blinking your eyes a few times, you find that he’s wound his arms around your middle in a bear hug, holding you in place for him to ravage like a beast, his head tucked into the crook of your neck as he loses himself in your pussy. You hear his breathing stutter and his pace begin to falter, so you hold him just as tight, your mouth right at his ear so he can hear all the noises you make for him.

“So good, Thor, feels so fucking good,” he gasps and you have to fight from smirking, he was a God, he loved praise. “You’re such a good boy, m’so lucky to have you, baby, want you to cum, need to feel you cum inside me, please? Can you do that for me? Please, Thor, please,” You keened seductively. Thor never stood a chance.

A bellowing shout tore from your Asgardian God as the storm comes to a climax. His arms flexing around you so tightly it hurt, his primal instincts telling him to hold you down so he can breed you good. You feel his hot seed flooding your cunt in thick ropes, a nearly unending stream bursting from his cock. He shakes underneath you, his body rigid and taught as he spills into you for the first time in what feels like years. Thor’s lungs burn from holding his breath, a deep gulp of air making him feel even more lightheaded. Fluttering moans spill from his lips freely, his mind completely mush as he begins to relax, you both sag backwards into the couch, clinging to each other.

You groan with him, your head resting on his shoulder and listen to the sound of his heavy breathing mixing with yours. The storm outside still blowing but much more relaxed now that their God has relaxed. He sighs deeply and lets his eyes stay shut as he rubs your back soothingly. You hum softly and look up at him, a satisfied smile on your face. He peeks his eyes open and mirrors your lovely smile with his own boyish charm.

“Good, Flower?” He asks with a raised eyebrow, his voice huskier from all his shouting. You nod and kiss his chest, tasting the faint flavor of salty sweat on his skin.

“Very good,” you say with a wink. He hums and brings his lips to yours once more, the simple action already having him hardening again inside you. You shiver when you feel him coming to life again. He groans when you accidentally grind on him.

“Oh, Flower, I think I have to make up for lost time.”

~~~~~~

The entire event is set up just the way you want, with your makeup setting just as expected; the pig roasted to perfection, the pasta firm to the touch, the carrots and broccoli steamed until palatable, the champagne chilled. Most important, though, was the arrival of your guest. At exactly 6:05, your head butler comes in to notify you of the car pulling in front of your expansive home. With the wave of your hand she’s instructed to let the man come in, allow your rival to step into the palace you’d constructed for yourself when you’d risen to the top of your organization.

Well, maybe “rival” is the wrong word. “Rival” implies an active dislike or struggle, when in reality you two operate in separate spheres of influence.

“Companion,” though, seems too friendly.

As the distinct sounds of footsteps filter through the grand hall and into your study, the man you’ve decided to call “fellow leader” steps into sight. His fine pressed suit, dry as the Sahara desert, smiles as you come into his view.

“Ah, my favorite mob woman.” His eyes seems more sinister than you expected. You attribute it more to the dark tones of the evening rather than actual malice.

“Stark,” you say with a curt nod. You go up to exchange a kiss on each cheek, heart racing with the anticipation of what’s to come, excitement increasing with each step. “Come, we have a wonderful meal prepared for you.”

Anthony doesn’t protest, simply accepts a glass of Scotch a maid hands to him and follows you into the dining room. He chuckles a bit at the display you’ve put on, but doesn’t say anything outright. You two have enough respect for the other not deny their counterpart the joy of a dramatic display. He simply sits, the pig placed in the middle of the table large enough to be an obvious sign of wealth but not too big as to deny the two of you eye contact.

Small talk is exchanged as the meal is served, biscuits placed, and pork cut into thick slabs. Vegetables placed delicately on plates and napkins placed on laps. You ask how Pepper is doing, he asks if the dress you had handmade from some extravagant designer turned out how you wanted. Half your plates are clear before either of you truly start to converse.

You’re the first to break the silence as Anthony begins on his mashed potatoes. “I appreciate your understanding of the deal. I’m not a fan of bloodshed, and the demonstration at the club that night are something I wish to forgive and forget as soon as possible.”

Anthony nods, speaking around a bite of the creamy starch. “I agree. Odinson’s actions were inappropriate, wildly and unpredictably so. In truth, I’ve thought he was a liability since he joined, but I never thought he’d lash out like that.”

As you slice through a particularly thick cut of meat, your fork slips and scraps against the china. Both of your winkles your noses at the grating sound.

“Yes,” You pause to chew. “cutting off Barnes’ arm during a bar fight does seem a little…” The bite of biscuit you had gotten was just perfect, the equal amount of butter and brown sugary, apple flavor from the pork together. God, you really do love a good meal. “Rash.”

Your guest hums in agreement. He then clears his throat, preparing to talk. “To symbolize my apologies, I have brought you the gift we spoke of earlier,” he pauses, raising his left hand just above his elbow and bending his first two fingers forward. You sit up, intrigued.

As the large French doors behind him open, from the dark depths of your hallway comes the man who scarred your oldest friend for life, cost you hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical bills, and has put your best hitman out of commission. He’s tall, fills the doorway like a key in a lock. His scruff thick and dark, bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.

Something deep in you stirs, and squeezing your thighs together does nothing to stop it.

Thor Odinson is clad in a suit, as most of Stark’s enforcers are. Though, the handcuffs keeping his hands behind his back are new.

“Interesting addition,” you note, staring at his straining arms in the expensive fabric.

Anthony doesn’t give any indication that he hears, let alone cares, about your sarcastic comment. “I’m assuming this” he gestures to the man. “Will put me back in good spirits with you and the rest of your crew?”

Odinson walks to your side, head hung in shame and hair tied in a tight bun as his former employer speaks. He knows what he’s in for now, has been told in so many words he is now something less of a person – and it’s obvious this has put him to shame.

You consider it – think about letting all that happened go with a simple olive branch. Before you can do that, though, you must make sure that the merchandise lives up to the promises on the box.

“Down,” you command. Immediately, he drops to his knees. You smirk, dragging your baby pink nails down his stubbled jaw.

“Oh, yes. This will do just fine, Stark. Just…fine.” The last two words are long, almost forgetting to finish them as your mind travels to all the things you could do with him.

Anthony smirks. “Perfect. I’m assuming business with resume as usual?”

Your fingers stroke at the sides of Thor’s face and trace around the shell of his ear. “Of course. I’ll call the appropriate people later. Everything should be up and running by midnight.”

Suddenly Anthony tenses, his fingers moving to fidget with his tie. “If I may-”

“You may,” you tell him, not meeting his eyes.

Anthony audibly gulps, fidgeting in his seat and with his tie. “That’s quite late, that’s hundreds of millions of dollars that we’ll miss out on if we-”

You hold up your hand flat while your gaze remains locked on your new toy. “That’s the earliest I can assure you. Whether or not it happens before that is,” you stop to try and feed Thor a small bite of carrot from your hand. He hesitates but accepts after a few moments, plucking the orange vegetable with beautiful teeth and a gentle bite. He doesn’t make eye contact like you originally wanted, but this is a good start.  “Not guaranteed.”

Anthony knows that you’re stubborn, much too stubborn to be moved away from your current stance. He’s done all that he can do to sway you, and now whatever income he hopes to make between now and the end of the day depends on Thor.

In short, Anthony Stark Junior (and his bank account) are royally, utterly fucked.

As he leaves your home he can hear you call to your head servant to tell Customs and Border Patrol to let his packages in (an assured start to him not losing a fortune), but he still wrings his hands as he slides into the backseat of his solid black Escalade. As the partition opens to reveal the man at the wheel, the thought of angry text messages from smugglers trying to get their goods into the States flash in front of Stark’s bloodshot eyes.

His driver, Happy, notices the fellow man’s anxiety as he looks at his boss through the rearview mirror.

“You think Odinson is gonna be okay, boss?” He asks, sort-of worried but mostly focused on filling the deafening silence in the expensive car. Money can buy a lot of things, but it can’t fill the awkward spaces in conversation that always come post-transaction.

Tony just laughs, typing something into his watch. “Of course not. That woman is going to chew him up and spit him out by the end of the fiscal year.”

Happy chews at his bottom lip. That’s two weeks from now. “You really think it’s gonna be that quick?”

“Probably,” Tony shrugs. “She’s never been known for mercy.”

The other man nods, quiet as he makes his way to the Stark residence. The quiet, cold night air strikes the mobster as he steps out of the car; the sharp grass smells fills his sense and bloodstream, calming him as he steps into his home. Pepper’s at the counter, stirring something in a pot. She doesn’t turn around when she hears his footsteps, but knows he’s somber nonetheless.

“Hard day at the office?” She asks, giving him a small taste of the homemade alfredo sauce.

Tony snorts, moving to lick at the wooden spoon. “Oh yeah,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around her waist. She’s in one of his t-shirts and sleep shorts, the soft material comforting him. “You could say that.”

You only make good decisions when you’re in a good mood, and right now said mood depends on Thor Odinson - a man so insecure he once got himself tortured just because his captors told him he couldn’t take it. The man is a stubborn, uncontrollable mess with an anger issue to rival that of Lyssa, or a lighting on a field of dried grass.

He was feared within the Nest and by the lower Excidium members, but he didn’t make palms sweat and hands shake and hearts beat faster quite like you do.

No one fucks with you because you’ve very appropriately placed yourself on a pedestal based on madness, control, and desire for power. Thor’s just feared because he’s a dumbass with a short fuse. It’s the difference between a forest fire and a crazy, drunken uncle holding a lighter; one you can try and prevent, coax it into submission and run away if necessary. The other? More unstable than Francium.

(At least you know that thing’s only going to last twenty-two minutes, though. At least it’s predictable in its instability.)

Back inside, you’re more than ecstatic to have a new plaything. You were fully prepared to let the kid’s behavior slide, especially since the Nest brings in a hefty amount of revenue. But if Tony wants to give up a weak link, you’ll gratefully treasure the broken piece of steel you picked up from the gravel.

Thor stays like that, on his knees and eating out of your hand, for so long his legs fall asleep. You spend the rest of the night chatting at nobody, talk to him like he’s an old, deaf cat who just remains in your favor because he’s soft to pet and is cute. You sign some deals, check the language of some proposed treaties, write your to-do list for the next day all at the dinner table. Thor only dares to look at you when you’re too busy conversing with maids or chastising someone who works under you or any time your head is turned enough that he can make out the scar that runs from behind your left ear to the back of your neck.  

Your form, the way you speak, he’s obsessed with his chance finally take it all in.

He hasn’t seen you in person before, just heard rumors and conspiracy theories and whatever else people spend their time making up about you. Thor always passed it off as fiction, simply inflating the higher-ups to pass the time. Everything about you, though, seems exceptionally true. Maybe even underestimations. It’s true you walk around your house in matching lingerie sets, possibly a robe if it’s breezy. The East Coast heat can be unexpectedly warm, but as the sun sets on the July day he can see goosebumps rise across your soft skin and the shivers that sometimes shake your spine. Your house fits all the descriptions he’s heard, too. The decor seems almost welcoming, faded oranges and pastel pinks and dull whites and baby blues and mustard yellows. Plush, velvet furniture the same deep magenta, mirrors trimmed in what Thor can assume is real gold.

It’s like a scene from Mean Chicks or whatever those 2000s teen movies are. If one of those movies took place in the home of an incredibly powerful mobster, it’d look like this.

“What do you think, pet?”

Oh shit. Thor was supposed to be listening, wasn’t he? When he looks up, Bucky Barnes (the man who called him a pussy and “Stark’s whore,” prompting him to grab one of the decorative - but still fully functional - swords from the wall of the bar they were in and just...slice away at his tormentor), Steve Rogers (who looks like the human version of a sugar cookie while specializing in torture) , and Sam Wilson (a sarcastic little shit who knows exactly how to get anything past the feds) are all staring down at him. Barnes’ left arm (stub? It’s mostly just stub now) is still bandaged, but he’s at least walking now. Thor was told he might die from blood loss, but no. Thor Odinson would never be that lucky.

“They never listen, do they?” You sigh, rolling your eyes as you shift to face them. None of the men sit, knowing they won’t be there long. Plus, they get a much better angle of Thor’s tortuous position while standing.

“You don’t think that deserves punishment?” Steve asks, a smile curling at the sides of his mouth that speaks volumes.

You shrug, not looking at him. “Later. Now I want you to donate fifty thousand to the Vermont special elections. I need that entry point into Canada or else there’s no way we can get out shipments into that garbage country in a timely manner. Also,” you turn to Sam, whose eyes are caught staring between Thor’s left upper ribs. “Call CBP. Stark held up his end of the deal, I have to hold up mine.”

All three of them huff, both at the large sum of cash you’re about to give to a twenty-something know-nothing frat guy who knows nothing about politics but everything about being open to bribes and about them not being able to watch the man they hate become the most embarrassed version of himself in front of the man he tried to kill and his two best friends.

Whatever. The trio’s time for revenge will come, you promised them that - promised Bucky when he was in the ICU that you would find the man that did this and would make them pay.

Bucky has never known you to break a promise.

When the three leave you and Thor, you raise your left arm high flick your wrist towards the large doors. Understanding the cue, your maids wordlessly close them to seclude you from whatever responsibilities you were intending on dealing with tonight. Whatever it is, was, can wait until tomorrow, can wait until you’ve begun Thor’s assimilation into your home.

There’s a moment of quiet, of stillness in the house before Thor hears the sounds of several pairs of footsteps – maybe four, he counts – that enter the large dining room with haste. He’s quickly escorted down a long hallway and up a winding set of stairs. Thor can’t see much as he’s rushed away, and the little he can make out is a baby blue wallpaper with gold patterns etched into it, and fine paintings that appear sporadically on the walls. Some are black and white with abstract patterns, others depictions of angels, a few featuring intricate designs that resemble the sky and sea.

It feels like a forever before Thor is slammed down onto the floor of your bedroom, his knees hitting the wood with a painful smack. Despite the earsplitting sound, he doesn’t wince, doesn’t even flinch as his hair is pulled back by one of the maids so he’s forced to look at you. As you gaze upon him he bares his teeth; you can see fire behind his eyes. What a cutie, you muse to yourself.

“Wrists,” you instruct. Another maid moves behind him with dusty pink rope, securing his wrists together behind his back. “Legs,” you tell them next. Thor is easily flipped onto his back, arched at an uncomfortable angle because of his arms. Just as quickly as before, his legs are tied so that his calves and the backs of his thighs meet. When he’s flipped back up, all he can see is you smiling devilishly. “I’ll do the rest myself ladies. Go ahead and take the night off, I want him all to myself.”

“Yes ma’am” they respond in unison, Thor unable to see their hurried steps but understanding that when he hears the door closing behind them, he’s completely and utterly alone.

For a moment you two just stare at each in silence, his nostrils flaring and chest rising from anger and adrenaline. He heaves as you calmly gaze upon him, pissing off your captive even more. All Thor can do is react while you stand there, stationary and speechless.

Within a few moments, he’s lashing out to break the painful quiet. “This fucking sucks,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “That Barnes fucking deserved that shit, you know? He’s a whiny bitch that gets into shit he doesn’t belong in. I bet he’s fucking compensating for something, ya know? He’s not even a big enough man to come at me himself, needs his master to do his bidding ‘n shit. Why the fuck am I ever here anyway, do you go through boytoys so fucking often you just steal them so that you don’t have to pa-“

You roll your eyes, shoving three fingers into his mouth. Thor looks more confused than anything else, but he does immediately stop talking. Good, exactly what you wanted.

You two stay like that, your jaw tightened with one eyebrow raised – daring him to defy you - and him looking up at you like a puppy who’s just pissed on the carpet in defiance. “Listen, you little brat. I used to babysit for twenty dollars an hour. I put myself through grad school twice on money from too-rich white-ass parents who couldn’t control their kids so they pawned them off to underpaid college kids. I got here because I worked for it, dealing with men much more powerful than you acting like children. If you think for a fucking second that I will tolerate this behavior in my house, under my roof, then you are wrong. Very wrong. Do you understand me?”

Thor’s eyes narrow, and though he doesn’t bite, he does press his teeth into the skin of your first knuckle. It’s enough to keep your attention entirely on him, eyes locked on his as you throw your phone onto the bed next to you. You know this game, and you know breaking first would mean he has some sort of holding over you. Unblinking, you stay silent as he swallows around your fingers.

The tension in the air is thick; it’s nothing you can’t handle, nothing you aren’t used to. Thor is the first one to surrender, looking down at your baby pink stilettos. “Good boy,” you huff, moving to open a drawer that conveniently sits just within arm’s reach. You withdraw you hand from his mouth but don’t move to wipe his spit from your fingers. Thor can’t see anything you’re doing, but does hear a smaller (and less used, judging by the squeaking noise it makes as you open it) drawer open, the sound of a little bell, and then the loud scraping of both drawers closing on top of each other and hitting the back of the structure that holds it.

“Head up,” you command. “Look at me.” Thor’s hesitant but ultimately obeys. His eyes widen as he sees the items in your hand. The first is a simple, black ball gag and the other a frilly, pink collar with a small bow and equally tiny bell at the front center. In the back, an adjustable metal clip.

The gag is slipped on first, the uncomfortably large sphere blocking any searing remarks from leaving his lips. As spit pools below his tongue and from the corners of his mouth, all he can do is growl low in his throat.

Despite your long, pointed nails you open the clasp of the collar with ease, flashing it close to your captive’s face like an owner showing a dog his new restraint. Thor may be your pet, and you may be his rightful owner, but the move isn’t one that builds trust. It’s one that makes his insides curl, because it’s a demonstration of how much power you have over him. Look at this thing, the gesture conveys. Do you understand now? You’re mine. Everyone will know that. Everyone will know what you did. This is your retribution.

“Are you gonna shut up now?” Thor doesn’t move, but he also doesn’t make any disgruntled noises. “Good. Now, let me make myself clear, since it appears you do not know the terms of Stark’s and my agreement; Stark settled to give me the man who permanently injured one of my best men in exchange for my forgiveness of the entire event. That means two things. First, Stark gets the money he needs from my business in order to remain powerful. Second, I get to do whatever I want to you. Understand?”

Thor’s eyebrows furrow. What do you want to do to him?

“For now, though, I am going to untie you and go to bed, because I am tired, and it has been an exhausting day. Got it?”

Thor nods.

“Good.”

He flinches as you kneel down to his level and begin to untie him from the complicated binds. Your fingers move with purpose, your nails occasionally scraping across his electrified skin. With his body uninhibited, he flexes his fingers as to examine the indents in his flesh.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “Those will go away by morning.”

Somehow, he doesn’t believe you.

He spends the night on the cold wooden floor, occasionally making a desperate attempt to fit himself on the tiny plush pink carpet that the dresser rests on. Thor doesn’t get much shut-eye, time either spent shivering or trying to plan for survival. He can’t escape, it’s been made very clear that both Excidium and the Nest will both be hunting him down if he so much as pisses where he’s not supposed to. It seems keeping his mouth shut, following orders, and taking whatever it is you want to put him through with whatever tiny amount of dignity he has left.

(As the night progresses, he realizes the last part will be the hardest).

When the world comes alive again, Thor remains mostly ignored. As the sun comes up and you awaken with your alarm, he barely gets so much as a brush of fabric as you pull off your white nightgown and slip into a pale-yellow sundress with a long, white cardigan. It’s much different than what you were wearing last night, but as you readjust the strap of your lacey white bra from its improper place on your shoulder, he guesses that was more show(wo)manship and a reiteration of hierarchies than an honest exchange between business partners.

As the first full day under your whim progresses, he’s left behind as you move to your office. You feel some time apart may be good for his insolence, even if his fierceness amuses you so.

You like a challenge, especially one you know you can win; a little tussle didn’t hurt anybody, has it?

You instruct one of the new recruits to buy you a dog bed – the largest one they can find – and you have it placed on the floor next to your bed so you can keep an easy eye on him throughout the day. Thor’s kept on a leash attached to the collar on his neck; the piece of leather is flimsy at best, but the man still refuses to break out of it for fear of punishment.  

There, on a large, baby pink pet meant for some Doberman or Pitbull or other bigass dog, he waits, ears perking up whenever someone, anyone steps into the room. But, while he craves human contact, the hushed voices of the maids that clean up the dirty clothes and make your bed make the hairs on the back of Thor’s neck stand in fear.

Natasha, lover, retribution.

Bucky, money, revenge.

Loki, trip, return.

He can’t tell which name fills him more with dread. Barnes is barely healed and full of rage at his injury, desperate for vengeance against the man that hurt him so. Natasha Romanoff is a woman that Thor has never truly met, only seen when Stark and you have business that requires some back up. Even so, the stories of her apathy and brutality need no introduction; once, she cut a dude’s dick off, made a wallet from the foreskin, and sent it to him while he was recovering in the hospital. She carries a switchblade in the inside of her bra. She only has red hair because the blood crusted onto it permanently stains the follicles.

And Loki…

Well, Loki and him have been estranged since they were both late teens. They’ve both had daddy issues since birth, and Loki’s so happened to manifest in a weird mix of picking up mercenary work, becoming a serial sugar baby, and wearing a lot of black. The last thing Thor would expect is for Loki to settle down for someone like you, a woman who requires loyalty of heart, mind, soul.

His thumping heart and terrifying internal monologue are interrupted by a maid, one he hadn’t yet seen, whose face scrunches up when she notices your absence from the room. She then sighs, and beckons two other maids – one pushing a cart filled with a small buffet of food, one carrying a cart with cutlery and dinnerware – through the threshold. The three of them stop at a bone-white desk, fretting about as they set up what Thor can only assume is a late lunch.

As you step into the bedroom – pushed through the doorway by the maid from before – Thor can tell you are less than happy.

You’re annoyed, to say the least. Can’t even tell why, really, can’t find an even barely comprehendible reason for you to be tearing through financial documents as if they were important family heirlooms that were on fire. No reason for you to snap at a recent recruit for misspelling the code name of a spy you had placed in the Nevada Supreme Court three courts back. Some madness bites at your skin as you nibble on small sandwiches and drink a large glass of cold sun tea, and Thor can tell it’s tearing you apart.

Thor can’t see much from the floor, but he can feel the electricity in the air as you scribble in a notebook that he guesses is where you plan all of your mob’s heinous activities. He wonders what your handwriting looks like, how you keep all the people you’re blackmailing straight, what kind of code you use. Stark keeps everything on paper as well, in a locked room inside of a secret room inside of his basement (well, maybe. Thor’s never been there, he’d never gotten high enough in the Nest to warrant being given access to such a space, but he’s heard the rumors).

It's about an hour later when the head butler from before, the one who led him, his (former) boss, and his (former) bosses men through your maze of a home, steps just into view of your tired eyes.

“Miss, you need a break,” she says simply.

You sigh, rubbing at the bridge of your nose and then your temples. Resting your head in one hand, you use the other to grant her permission to grab your paperwork. It’s only when she’s gather your things and left the room that you speak.

“She’s right,” you let out a small chuckle before sauntering over to the white dresser in the far corner of the room. “I do need a stress reliever.”

The man on your floor can’t see what you’re doing, his eyes only widening when you place the thickest, blackest dildo he’s ever seen into his view.

“Wh-“he starts to speak, trying but failing to push himself away from you. “What are you doing to do with that?”

You shrug, eyeing it up and down. “I don’t know. Could fuck myself with it…could fuck you with it…”

Thor’s stubbled face is beet red from embarrassment, even more so than when you made him kneel in the dining room or gagged him with your fingers.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little slut,” you hiss. When he doesn’t look up at you, you grab his chin and force his head back. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it wouldn’t be fun if he just gave in the second you put the tiniest bit of pressure on his overly-tough facade. “Tell me you love sucking my cock.”

But all Thor does is open his mouth wide as it can go and pushes his flattened tongue as far out of his mouth as it’ll go. He’s got this glimmer in his eyes and a smirk on his lips that tells you Thor knows what he’s doing, he knows he’s pushing every button he can think to push.

You’ve danced this routine before, though this time Thor’s much more confident, willing to push further, push harder.

“You want to be a brat?” You ask, begging him to give you a smartass response. “Then take it like one.”

With swift movements of your right leg he’s pushed flat on the ground, his back hitting the hardwood with a low thud. “Flip over,” you tell him. With an unfortunate lack of protest, he does, toned stomach settling onto the floor barely warmed by his back.

You climb over him, leg on each side and core pressed into him as you gather his hair in your first. “You’re such a fucking tease,” you hiss through grit teeth. Thor makes a similar – but more pained noise – as you wretch his head back. “Such a little tease, begging me to put him in his fucking place. If you wanted me to fuck you like you deserve, you should fucking ask for it next time.”

Smack, the deep sound of your callous hand hitting the soft flesh of his ass almost makes him flinch more than the pain. Smacksmack, two more, quicker this time.

“I’ve met little fucking brats before, but never like you,” you pull the rest of his clothes off with minimal protest. “Gotta get you cock drunk before you’ll figure out how arrangement of ours works, don’t I?”

Thor, with his eyes scrunched shut and mouth lax, says nothing in return.

Your hand reaches under him, hips lifting to provide a small space between him and the floor. He’s already hard, aching, leaking, and he moans brokenly when you wrap your hand around him.      

It’s rough, hurts more than it pleasures, but it still feels so, so good all the same. Thor almost wants to say so, too, but can’t make himself push the words from his throat.

“So easy to get you all fucked out isn’t it?” You whisper low in his ear. “So easy to break brats like you, makes me wanna make you cum and then leave you here for the rest of the night…”

The subsequent whine from Thor makes you laugh and push him harder into the floor. “But I won’t do that, can’t leave little things like you all alone, would be like leaving a baby bunny to a bunch of wolves.”

Thor doesn’t disagree, doesn’t try to build his demolished ego back up.

“Doesn’t that feel good, sweetheart?” you purr, hand keeping a slow, torturous pace. “Doesn’t it feel good to be good?”

All Thor can do is squeak and push his face into the floor, trying to hide the deep redness in his cheeks.

For once, you don’t punish him. You want to, want to stop and make him beg for forgiveness for his nonanswer. Maybe tie him up and fuck him with your fingers until he’s ready for your biggest strap, pounding into him.

Oh, Babyboy, you’re being so good taking this whole cock inside of you, aren’t you? So good for your owner. I bet nobody’s ever fucked you this good.

Maybe you’ll tie him up, edge him until he’s sobbing. Wait until he’s just about to cum and pull a vibrator or your hand away – make him whine and tease him as his whole body twitches.

Are you not enjoying yourself, baby? Because it looks to me like you are. Look at those glassy eyes, do I need to slap you to make you pay attention?

Thor screams as he cums all over your floor, whole body tense then completely lax within the span of seconds. His breathing is loud enough to be heard across nations, each exhale laced with a small moan.

He cries, deep and low, when you climb off of him, tries to arch his spine into the nothingness that once held you.

“Shh,” you tell him. “Mommy’ll be back in a second.”

Thor seems to calm with that, heart still racing but head and body slumped.

When you come back, you hold a bit of salmon - small grains of buttery jasmine rice and cranberry sauce stuck to the pink meat. You’ve grasped it with three fingers – thumb, middle, point – and have it nearly pressed to Thor’s plush, pink lips. It’s still warm, dinner having  been served by the maids despite your absence from the dining room.

“C’mon baby,” you tell him. “You gotta eat sometime.”

Thor glares at you but knows you’re right – his already flat stomach howling in pain from lack of sustenance. Reluctantly, meekly, he pulls your fingers between his lips and swallows the soft food.

“Good boy,” you tell him. “See? Following directions isn’t that bad.”

Thor, for the first time in days, says nothing to the contrary.