#thor x reader

LOGAN HOWLETT

You’re mid-argument. Something about him leaving his dog tags on the nightstand again, something about the smell of cigar smoke clinging to your favorite sweater. He’s doing the thing where he just growls instead of using words, arms crossed over his broad chest, looking like a man carved from angry marble.

You are trying to be mad. You really are.

But then your eyes drift down. To the hem of his worn, grey henley. To the way it’s riding up just a fraction of an inch above the waist of his jeans.

“and you never listen, and you just—Logan, hold still.”

He stops mid-snarl. “What?”

You don’t answer. You just walk forward, grab the damp, frayed cotton, and yank it straight up to his collarbone.

Silence.

For a full three seconds, he just stares down at you. Then at your hands on his shirt. Then at your face, which is currently doing a very poor job of hiding the fact that you are openly ogling the geography of his abdomen. The map of scars. The ridges of muscle that look like they were carved by a very angry, very horny god.

“…The hell you doin’?” he finally asks, voice dropping an octave.

“Checking for injuries,” you lie, voice barely a squeak.

He catches your chin with two fingers, tilts your face up. His eyes are unreadable, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Bub. I heal.”

“Then I’m checking for… symmetry.”

He stares at you for another long, agonizing moment. Then he sighs, the kind of sigh that carries the weight of a century of suffering. He gently pulls his shirt down, but not before you catch the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his neck.

“You’re a menace,” he mutters, turning back to the argument. But now he’s holding his coffee mug a little lower. And the next time he crosses his arms, he makes sure the shirt rides up just a little more. For the sake of symmetry.

WORST WOLVERINE

You find him on the couch. It’s 2 PM. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of Wade’s hot pink sweatpants (they were the only clean ones), a stained white tank top that has seen better centuries, and an expression of profound, feral exhaustion. Dogpool is licking his own foot on the floor. Blind Al is somewhere in the kitchen, loudly trying to microwave a fork.

You are supposed to be bringing him a beer. You do bring him the beer. But as you lean over to set it on the coffee table, your gaze snags on the hem of that tank top.

It’s already barely there. But you want more.

So you do it. You just grab the thin, greasy fabric and hoist it up to his armpits.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just stares at you with those dead, tired eyes. His torso is a mess—a spectacular, horrifying, fascinating mess. Hair, scars, the memory of a thousand deaths. You could count his ribs if you wanted to, but you’re too busy looking at the way the muscles in his obliques twitch.

“…You done?” he asks, voice like gravel being dragged over broken glass.

“No,” you whisper.

He sighs. It’s the sigh of a man who has seen the multiverse crumble and found that this (his girlfriend ogling his post-apocalyptic abs) is the final indignity.

“You’re as bad as the red one.”

“I’m worse,” you admit, not letting go of the shirt.

WADE WILSON

You don’t even get to pull the shirt up. You barely reach for it.

One second your fingers are brushing the hem of his faded, chimichanga-stained t-shirt. The next, he has exploded out of it. The shirt is in tatters on the floor. He is standing in the middle of the living room, arms spread wide, wearing nothing but a pair of unicorn-print boxers and a triumphant grin.

“BABY! Why didn’t you SAY so?!” he bellows, striking a bodybuilder pose. “These bad boys have been DYING for a curtain call! Say hello to the lads! Upper management! The twins! The abdominal ambassadors!”

You blink. “I was just going to-”

“Shhhh.” He presses a finger to your lips. “No talking. Only looking. Feast your eyes, my little goblin. Feast upon the glistening, scar-riddled, perfectly-healed-from-forty-seven-stab-wounds terrain of TRUE LOVE.”

He then proceeds to do a full, unironic, unhinged strip tease to Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” on his phone speaker. He flexes. He points at each individual ab (he counts nine, there are four). He makes the muscle dance. He asks you if you want to “leave a tip in the tip jar” while gesturing vaguely below the belt.

By the end of it, you are crying with laughter, curled up on the floor. He takes this as a win, scoops you up, and carries you to the bedroom, whispering, “I knew my degenerative muscle disorder would pay off one day.”

You never did get to pull the shirt up. You didn’t need to. He pre-emptively detonated it.

ORIGINS! WADE WILSON

This Wade is smooth. Dangerously smooth. You two are sparring (lightly) when you trip him—not hard—and he lets you pin him just to see what you’ll do.

You lift his shirt.

He doesn’t flinch. He grins. “Checking for wounds, or checking for weapons?”

“weapons,” you say, eyes on the perfect V-line.

“Plot twist,” he murmurs, voice dropping an octave. “the only weapon I’m hiding is right—"

You slap your hand over his mouth. “Finish that sentence and I’m leaving.”

He shuts up and lets you look. He even does a little half-crunch so the lighting shifts. But the second your fingers drift too low, he catches your hand, kisses your knuckles, and flips you effortlessly.

Now he’s on top. His shirt is still up. “Your turn to show me something.”

“I don’t have abs like that.”

“Did I say abs?” He grins, all teeth. “I said ‘something.’”

REMY LEBEAU

You’re sitting on his lap in a booth at some dimly lit New Orleans bar. He’s in the middle of a truly insufferable poker story. You’re bored. So you lift his shirt.

He doesn’t stop talking. He just smirks.

“—and den de man, he say, ‘Gambit, you cheat,’ and I say, ‘Monsieur, I never cheat at cards. Only at love.’ Ah, chère, you likin’ what you see, non?”

You nod, transfixed. His skin is warm. There’s a fine trail of hair below his navel.

He finally looks down, still smirking, and flicks a playing card from his sleeve. He tucks it under his own shirt, right above his hip bone. “Find dat one, and you get a prize.”

You spend the next hour with your hand up his shirt, searching for a card that keeps changing positions via kinetic energy. The bar loves it. He loves it. By the end, you’ve forgotten the card entirely and are just holding his waist.

He kisses your forehead. “You cute when you focused.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Oui.” He pulls his shirt down. Then up again. Then down. Then up. “But you ain’t complainin’.”

KURT WAGNER

You are both in the X-Mansion’s library. It’s late. Rain is pattering against the windows. Kurt is reading a battered copy of The Three Musketeers in German, his tail curled contentedly around your ankle. He’s wearing a soft, black long-sleeved shirt that fits him like a second skin.

You’re not reading. You’re watching the way the fabric pulls across his shoulders. The way his biceps flex every time he turns a page. The way his tail flicks.

You lose the battle.

You lean over, grab the hem of his shirt, and yank it up to his chin.

He yelps. Actually yelps. The book goes flying. He bamfs—teleports—out of your grasp and reappears on the other side of the room, clinging to the ceiling like a startled cat, his shirt still bunched up around his neck, his golden eyes wide.

“Mein Gott!” he gasps, a flush spreading across his blue-furred cheeks. “What-why- schatz!”

You are laughing so hard you can’t breathe. He’s still on the ceiling, tail lashing, looking like a very confused, very sexy gargoyle. His abdomen is a work of art. Lean, powerful, dusted with the same velvety blue fur as the rest of him.

“I just wanted to see,” you wheeze.

He drops down from the ceiling in a puff of sulfur, landing in front of you with his shirt still askew. He looks at you, really looks at you, and his embarrassment melts into something softer. Something warmer.

“You could have asked,” he says, his accent thickening. He takes your hand and presses it to his stomach, right over his navel. The fur is incredibly soft. “You never have to steal what is already yours.”

EDDIE BROCK (& VENOM!)

You come home to find Eddie in the kitchen, hunched over a tub of tater tots, looking like a man who has made several poor life choices. He’s wearing a faded Newsies sweatshirt (don’t ask) and sweatpants.

You don’t even say hello. You just walk up, grab the hem of the sweatshirt, and hoist it up.

Eddie freezes, a tater tot halfway to his mouth. His stomach is… well. It’s not a six-pack. It’s a soft, solid, eat-a-whole-pizza-and-still-look-good kind of stomach. A little hair. A little scar from that time he got impaled by a symbiote hater. It’s perfect.

Before either of you can speak, a black tendril shoots out of Eddie’s chest and gently pushes the sweatshirt back down.

“No,” Venom’s voice growls, low and possessive. “Ours. Only WE get to look.”

“Venom, dude, they’re my girlfriend,” Eddie says, still not moving.

“Then WE will look at HER. Not at US.”

Another tendril wraps around you, and before you know it, your shirt is being torn off of you by a very insistent alien goo monster. Eddie chokes on his tater tot. You shriek.

“Better,” Venom rumbles, apparently satisfied with the view. “Now we are even. We will keep the sweatshirt down. You will keep YOUR shirt up. This is the new rule.”

Eddie buries his face in his hands. “This is not the new rule.”

“VOTE.” One tendril raises Eddie’s hand. Another raises an invisible one for Venom. “Two against one. New rule passes.”

You are now sitting on the couch on your bra, eating tater tots, while Eddie pretends to not be staring. You consider this an absolute win.

STEVE ROGERS

You’re in the kitchen of the Avengers Tower. Steve is making breakfast: pancakes from scratch, because of course he is. He’s wearing a soft, cream-colored henley and an apron that says “Kiss the Cook.” You have never wanted to kiss a cook more in your entire life.

He flips a pancake. His forearm flexes. The henley strains across his back.

You crack.

You walk up behind him, wrap your arms around his waist, and yank his shirt up.

He doesn’t react violently. He’s Steve. He just freezes, pancake flipper in hand, and looks down at your hands splayed across his bare stomach. His body is a monument. A tribute to the pinnacle of human (superhuman) achievement. Every muscle is defined, even after years of retirement. There’s a light dusting of blond hair below his navel. You could cry.

“Sweetheart,” he says, his voice that low, patient, dangerous captain’s voice. “What are you doing?”

“Admiring American history,” you whisper.

He turns off the stove. Slowly. Deliberately.

“We are in a common area. With cameras. That Tony definitely watches.”

“I wanted to see your abs.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Rubs the back of his neck. “You… you see them every day. When I change.”

“Not up close.”

He looks left. Right. Then, very quickly, he lifts his own shirt for exactly 1.7 seconds—then drops it. “There. Satisfied?”

“No. That was a crime.”

“You know,” he says, and there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his perfect lips, “in my day, a lady would simply ask to see a gentleman’s torso.”

“In my day,” you retort, “we just took what we wanted.”

“If I let you look for five seconds, will you stop doing this in transited areas of the Tower?”

“Deal.”

He lifts his shirt. You stare. He counts down from five out loud, but he goes slower on the “two.” And when he says “one,” he doesn’t let go.

You end up with your hands on his waist, him holding his own shirt up like a gentleman, for nearly a minute. Sam walks in. Sam walks back out.

Steve buries his face in your hair. “I am never going to hear the end of this.”

“Worth it.”

TONY STARK

You are in his workshop. He’s under a car (one of his classic convertibles) wearing a grease-stained band t-shirt and jeans that hang low on his hips. DUM-E is handing him wrenches. He is muttering about torque ratios.

You crouch down, slide a hand under the car to grab at the plank he's laying on and tug it out, and before he can say “Friday, what the hell,” you grab his shirt and yank it up to his neck.

Tony blinks. He’s on his back, covered in grease, and his girlfriend is now straddling his thighs, staring at his stomach like it’s the last slice of pizza on earth.

“...Okay,” he says slowly. “I’ve been in a lot of situations. Hostage situations. Space situations. That one time in Budapest with a goat. This is… new.”

“Shut up, Tony.”

“I’m not complaining!” He holds up his greasy hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, most people buy me a drink first. You went straight for the home run. I respect it. I’m a little scared, but I respect it.”

You run your fingers down the middle. He shivers. Actually shivers.

“Friday,” he whispers, “cancel my three o’clock.”

“You don’t have a three o’clock, boss.”

“Then cancel my existence. I’m busy.”

He pulls you down on top of him, shirt still up, and kisses you until you taste like motor oil and twenty-year-old guilt. When you finally come up for air, he’s grinning like the man who has everything, and just found out he gets to keep it.

PETER PARKER

He is hanging upside down from the ceiling. Because he’s Peter Parker, and he cannot just sit on a couch like a normal person. He’s wearing a ratty old t-shirt that says “I ❤️ NY” and has a small hole in the armpit.

You walk under him. He grins, upside-down, all big brown eyes and messy hair. “Hey, my lov—”

You grab his shirt. You pull it up (or is it down?).

It slides down all the way to his chin, revealing his entire torso. And oh no. Oh no. He’s lean. He’s wiry. He’s got that swimmer’s build, all long muscle and narrow hips, and a faint trail of dark hair that makes you want to do things that would make your Catholic grandmother faint.

His face, already upside-down, goes nuclear red. “Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa-!”

He tries to flip off the ceiling, but he’s so flustered he miscalculates and falls directly on top of you. You both crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs. His shirt is now down. He is now on top of you. He is very warm.

“I- you—why- my abs?!” he squeaks, his voice cracking like he’s fifteen again. “You wanted to see my- I have- they’re not even- they’re just-muscles!”

“Nice muscles,” you say, reaching up to poke one.

He makes a sound like a deflating balloon. “Oh my God. Oh my God, you’re touching them.”

“That’s generally what happens, yeah.”

He buries his face in your shoulder, ears burning red. But he doesn’t pull his shirt down. And he doesn’t get off you. And after a minute, you feel him mumble into your neck: “…do you want to see the back too?”

You have never loved anyone more.

THOR ODINSON

You are in New Asgard. Thor is on the couch, wearing a flannel shirt (sleeves rolled up, of course), eating a bowl of popcorn the size of your head. He’s in his “comfortable” era, softer around the edges, happier, more him.

You climb into his lap, because you fit there now. He grins, that big, golden, sunshine-in-human-form grin. “Hello, my love! Would you like some popcorn? I have also procured-"

You grab his flannel. You pull it open. Buttons fly everywhere. The shirt hangs off his shoulders, revealing his broad, glorious chest. He’s not as cut as he used to be. There’s a softness there now, a layer of warmth over the godly muscle. It is, objectively, the most attractive thing you have ever seen.

Thor freezes, a piece of popcorn halfway to his mouth. Then he looks down at his exposed torso, then at you, then back at his torso.

“…Did you just… de-shirt me?”

“Button-de-shirted you,” you correct. “And yes.”

He considers this for a moment. Then he puts the popcorn down, leans back slightly, and spreads his arms wide on the back on the couch. His smile turns slow, warm, and devastating.

“You know,” he says, his voice dropping to that low, register-rattling rumble, “on Asgard, it is customary to ask before one disrobes a prince.”

“On Midgard,” you reply, “we do what we want.”

He laughs a full, booming laugh that shakes the couch, and pulls you against his bare chest. He is so warm. So soft. So impossibly huge.

“Then by all means,” he murmurs against your hair, “take what you want, little mortal.”

You stay there for hours. The popcorn gets cold. Neither of you moves.

JOHNNY STORM

You are in the middle of a fight. A real one. He forgot your anniversary. You are screaming. He is deflecting. The Human Torch is currently being verbally immolated by his very angry girlfriend.

“and you said you would remember this time, Johnny, you promised!"

“Babe, I’m sorry, I was fighting a Mole Man—”

“THERE IS ALWAYS A MOLE MAN!”

You are so angry. So furious. Your blood is boiling. And then your eyes drop to his waist. He’s wearing his Fantastic Four uniform, the blue and black one, and the top is slightly untucked from his bottoms.

You grab it. You yank it up.

Johnny stops mid-sentence. His abs are obscene. A perfect, chiseled, airbrushed-by-the-gods six-pack that looks like it was designed in a lab specifically to make you forget why you were mad.

You stare.

He stares at you staring.

“…Are we still fighting?” he asks cautiously.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “I forgot.”

His cocky grin returns. Slow. Smug. Infuriating. “So my abs just… saved the day?”

“Don’t push it.”

“I’m not pushing anything. You’re the one who pulled up my shirt in the middle of a screaming match.”

You drop the shirt. It falls back down. You immediately pull it back up again.

He throws his head back and laughs, bright and loud and Johnny. “Oh, you’ve got it bad, sweetheart.”

“Shut up and take off the rest of the suit.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

PETER QUILL

You are on the Benatar. In space. There’s a nebula outside the window. It’s very romantic. Peter is trying to impress you by playing Come and Get Your Love on his Zune and doing a stupid little dance.

He’s wearing his iconic red leather jacket, a grey t-shirt underneath, and that stupid, gorgeous, annoyingly charming smirk.

You walk up to him. He thinks you’re going to dance with him. He holds out his hand.

Instead, you grab his t-shirt and yank it straight up to his chin.

The music stops. Peter looks down. There’s a faint line of hair from his navel down. He’s suddenly blushing all the way to his ears.

“…Okay,” he says slowly. “I was not expecting that.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I dunno. A slow dance? A compliment about my eyes for once? Not-not a surprise shirt-ectomy!”

You run a finger down his sternum. He shivers violently.

“Dude,” he whispers. “My nipples are out.”

“I’m aware.”

He looks at you. You look at him. The nebula glows purple outside the window. The song is still playing, forgotten.

“…You wanna see the rest?” he asks, his voice cracking slightly.

“Peter Quill, are you offering to strip?”

“I’m offering to negotiate.”

Peter Parker aka. Spider-Man

Peter has been through a lot. He’s fought villains, lost people he’s loved, and carried the weight of responsibility since he was a kid. But nothing—not Venom, not Doctor Octopus, not the Green Goblin—has ever hit him as hard as opening his phone and seeing you.

He’s perched upside-down on a fire escape, mid-stakeout with Daredevil, when his phone buzzes. He barely glances at it at first, assuming it’s an update from MJ or the Bugle. But then—his Spidey-Sense misfires. His stomach drops. And suddenly, he’s scrambling so fast that he almost falls off the fire escape.

“...Parker?” Matt’s voice is suspicious, brow furrowing beneath the red mask. Peter clutches his phone like a lifeline, heat rushing to his face, his entire body going rigid. “Uh—nope! Nothing’s wrong! Totally fine! Just, uh—gotta—go!” Before Matt can say another word, Peter web-slings away, heart pounding.

Later, in his apartment, he stares at the image, biting his lip so hard he might draw blood. Then, fumbling with his phone, he types back: You cannot just drop this on me in the middle of a mission. I almost DIED. You’re gonna make it up to me. In person. Immediately.

Tony Stark aka. Iron Man

Tony Stark is always the one making people flustered. He’s the king of inappropriate timing, the grandmaster of chaos. So when you flip the game on him? When you send him something completely indecent while he’s in the middle of a live press conference? Oh, he is in trouble.

He’s mid-sentence, standing in front of a sea of reporters, when his phone vibrates. He glances at it without thinking, because hey, it might be about stock prices or another alien invasion. But no. No, it’s you. In the filthiest pose imaginable.

He visibly freezes. Blinks. Blanches. Then—his brain blue screens. The entire room stares as Tony suddenly cuts off mid-sentence, clears his throat, and forces a smirk that’s absolutely not covering up a crisis. “Uh—ladies and gentlemen, I think that’s enough questions for today.”

The moment he’s offstage, he stumbles into the nearest private room, yanks at his tie, and pulls out his phone like it holds the meaning of life. He types back immediately: Oh, now you’ve done it, sweetheart. I hope you’re home right now, because I’m on my way, and I’m bringing consequences.

Steve Rogers aka. Captain America

Steve is not a prude. He’s been around, he’s seen things. But there’s something about you—about the way you know exactly how to knock the breath from his lungs—that makes him feel like a kid again.

He’s in the middle of a strategy meeting with Sam and Bucky, his shield leaning against the table, when his phone vibrates. He checks it without thinking, eyes flicking down—and then every muscle in his body tenses. His grip on the phone tightens. His ears burn red.

“You good, Rogers?” Bucky gives him a knowing smirk, because he immediately recognizes that look—Steve flustered beyond belief. Steve clears his throat, hard, locking his phone like it’s offended him. “Fine,” he says, voice a little too even. “Let’s, uh—let’s keep going.”

But later, when he’s alone, he exhales deeply, pressing a hand over his face before looking at the image again. Then, with slow deliberation, he types: I hope you know what you just started. Because I don’t break my promises, sweetheart. And I promise—you’re not leaving that bed when I get there.

Thor Odinson aka. God of Thunder

Thor has seen battles, has waged wars across the cosmos, has faced monsters and gods. But when his phone pings—when he sees the absolute sin that you’ve just sent him—he forgets how to breathe.

He is in the middle of the Avengers’ common room, laughing boisterously with Bruce and Natasha, when he pulls out his phone. He expects something simple—a text from his brother, perhaps, or a message from Jane. But instead? Instead, he sees you.

The entire room feels it when Thor’s laughter stops. There is a moment—just a beat of silence—before the lights flicker. The air crackles with static electricity. His fingers twitch around the phone, and then, in a low, very serious voice, he mutters, “By the Norns…”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, but Thor abruptly stands, clearing his throat. “I must depart. Urgently.” Bruce frowns. “What? Why?” Thor barely offers an explanation before storming out of the room, typing furiously: You dare tempt the God of Thunder? Very well, little one. You shall learn what it means to summon a storm.

Loki Laufeyson aka. God of Mischief

Loki is the undisputed master of control. He is calm, composed, always one step ahead of everyone else. But when you send him something so shameless, so brazen, in the middle of an important diplomatic event in Asgard—he nearly drops his goblet of wine.

He’s reclining on his throne, listening to some dull ambassador drone on about trade negotiations, when his phone vibrates. He lifts it lazily, expecting nothing of importance—until he sees you.

His entire body goes rigid. His grip tightens around the goblet, the silver denting beneath his fingers. His green eyes darken, and for the first time in centuries, he feels his pulse stutter. The ambassador keeps talking, oblivious, but Loki? Loki is seething.

Later, in his chambers, he lounges on his bed, turning the phone over in his fingers before smirking. Then, with slow, careful precision, he types: You dare tease the God of Mischief? Oh, darling, you are in such trouble. And you know how much I enjoy trouble.

Clint Barton aka. Hawkeye

Clint Barton is used to chaos. He’s fought alien invasions, taken down crime syndicates, and, most impressively, lived in a house with three dogs and somehow survived. But nothing—not the Avengers, not S.H.I.E.L.D., not even Kate Bishop’s endless sarcasm—could have prepared him for this.

He’s in the middle of a debriefing with Captain America and Black Widow when his phone vibrates. Normally, he’d ignore it, but boredom gets the better of him. He sneaks a glance, tilting the screen just slightly—and immediately chokes on his coffee.

“Barton?” Natasha’s voice is sharp, her suspicious gaze snapping to him. Steve looks concerned. Clint, on the other hand, is malfunctioning. He quickly locks his phone, pressing it to his thigh like it’s burning him. “Yep. All good. Just… wrong text thread. You know how it is.”

The second he’s alone, he whistles, rubbing a hand down his face before sending a text: You are absolutely trying to kill me, aren’t you? I’m a trained marksman, babe. You know I always hit my target. Hope you’re ready.

Natasha Romanoff aka. Black Widow

Natasha Romanoff is a professional. She’s endured psychological conditioning, trained with the deadliest assassins in the world, and can lie so well that even she forgets what’s real. But when you send her something so utterly filthy, in the middle of a high-stakes poker game with some very dangerous people—she nearly loses her composure.

She’s holding a perfect poker face, one leg crossed over the other, a cigarette between her fingers (purely for effect). Then, her phone buzzes. She never checks her phone during missions, but for some reason, she does this time.

The second she sees the image, her fingers twitch. She almost fumbles her cigarette. Almost. A single slow breath is all that betrays her before she locks the screen and smirks, adjusting her sunglasses to hide the flicker of heat in her gaze.

Later, after she’s won the game (because of course she has), she finally responds: You must be very confident, sending me something like that. I hope you know what happens when I catch my prey, моя любовь (my love). Because I always catch them.

Bucky Barnes aka. Winter Soldier

Bucky is already always on edge. He spent decades being controlled, his mind fractured, his instincts constantly telling him that danger lurks around every corner. But when his phone vibrates in the middle of a mission briefing and he makes the mistake of checking it—he nearly self-destructs.

He’s sitting next to Sam Wilson, arms crossed, trying to focus on the tactical discussion. Then, out of habit, he glances at his phone. And suddenly? His enhanced heartbeat spikes. His grip on the phone tightens, metal fingers creaking.

Sam immediately notices. “Dude. You okay?” Bucky doesn’t answer. He just exhales deeply, jaw clenching, and locks his phone like it’s personally offended him. “Fine,” he mutters, but the way his throat bobs betrays him.

Later, in the privacy of his room, he leans against the wall, pressing his flesh hand over his face before looking at the image again. Then, he types—slow, deliberate, full of promise: You are playing with fire, doll. And you know I don’t burn alone.

Matthew Murdock aka. Daredevil

Matt has learned to control himself. He has to, considering his senses pick up everything. The heartbeat of a liar, the scent of blood, the whisper of fabric against skin. But when he puts in his earpiece during a stakeout with Elektra and hears you—sultry, teasing, wicked—his composure shatters.

Your voice is a purr, warm and full of amusement, as you describe, in explicit detail, exactly what you want to do to him. Every syllable slides into his ear like a sin, and for the first time in years, Matt Murdock forgets how to breathe.

“Murdock.” Elektra’s voice is unimpressed. “Are you even listening?” Matt clenches his jaw, forcing his expression into something neutral as he slowly removes the earpiece. “Yeah,” he lies, his voice way too tight. “Loud and clear.” But his fingers twitch, betraying him.

Later, alone in his apartment, he plays the message again. And again. Until his own heartbeat is thunderous in his ears. Then, with a slow smirk, he records his reply—his voice low, gravelly, barely more than a rasp: Angel, you have no idea what you’ve just done. And I promise—you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

Frank Castle aka. The Punisher

Frank Castle does not fluster. He’s a man who’s seen the worst of the world, a soldier who has lost everything. He does not get distracted. But when he’s sitting in the middle of a grimy bar, brooding over a whiskey, and his phone vibrates—everything stops.

He checks it absently, expecting intel from Micro or maybe a warning from Daredevil. But instead, he gets you. And just like that, his grip on the glass tightens. His jaw locks. His entire body tenses, muscles coiled, because you have just sent him something so utterly indecent that he has to set his whiskey down before he crushes the glass.

The bartender notices. “You good, man?” Frank barely glances up, his fingers white-knuckled around his phone. “Fine,” he mutters, voice rough. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and downs the rest of his drink in one go.

Later, in the dead of night, he finally lets himself look at the picture again. He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face, before sending a single message: You think you’re real cute, huh? Yeah. Keep that same energy when I get home. See if you’re still smirking when I’ve got my hands on you.

Marc Spector aka. Moon Knight

Marc has lived multiple lives. A mercenary. A vigilante. A fist of vengeance. But the moment his phone vibrates in the middle of a stakeout, and he sees you—he nearly blows his own cover.

He’s perched on a rooftop, watching a weapons deal go down, his mind sharp and focused. Then, out of habit, he checks his phone. His breath hitches. His grip tightens around the device, and he has to physically restrain himself from groaning. Khonshu’s voice rumbles in his mind: "Your mortal desires are distracting, Spector." Marc grits his teeth. "Yeah, no shit."

“Something wrong?” Jake’s voice purrs from inside his head, amused. “She send you something nice, hermano?” Marc rolls his eyes, exhaling sharply before locking his phone. “Mind your damn business.” But his pulse is thundering.

Later, back at his apartment, he leans against the wall, staring at the image before typing: You have no idea what you’ve just done. Hope you’re home. Hope you’re ready.

Johnny Storm aka. Human Torch

Johnny Storm is used to attention. He thrives on it. He’s a celebrity, a hero, a walking flame. But when you send him something scandalous in the middle of a live television interview, even he isn’t ready for it.

He’s laughing, flashing his signature cocky grin at the camera, when his phone buzzes. He checks it without thinking—because hey, it might be Sue yelling at him again—but instead, it’s you. In the filthiest pose imaginable.

Johnny visibly chokes. His entire body tenses. For the first time ever, he forgets what he was saying. The interviewer blinks. “Uh… Johnny?” His brain short-circuits. His face heats—literally. The tips of his ears ignite before he clenches his fists and forces himself to not spontaneously combust on live television.

The second the interview is over, he’s sprinting to his dressing room, slamming the door shut and typing frantically: Ohhh, you are in trouble. You’re really trying to set me on fire, huh? Hope you’re home, babe, ‘cause I’m flying over. Right. Now.

Reed Richards aka. Mister Fantastic

Reed Richards is a genius. His mind is constantly working at speeds beyond human comprehension. But when he’s mid-lecture at a prestigious scientific conference and his phone vibrates—his brilliant mind suddenly goes blank.

He absently checks his phone, half-expecting an alert from the Baxter Building. But instead, it’s you. Wearing almost nothing.

For a solid ten seconds, he is frozen. His eyes slightly widen. His fingers twitch. And then, very slowly, he locks his phone and clears his throat. “Ah—excuse me, esteemed colleagues, but I must—um—attend to an urgent matter.”

Later, he adjusts his glasses, staring at the image with a fascinated, almost scientific appreciation. Then, with methodical precision, he types: You are a very distracting woman. I will be conducting an… in-depth study on you as soon as I return. Expect a thorough examination.

Felicia Hardy aka. Black Cat

Felicia Hardy is a master of seduction. She flusters men for fun. But when she’s in the middle of a high-stakes casino heist, and you send her something utterly indecent, even she loses her composure.

She’s leaning against the bar, sipping an expensive martini, eyes locked on her mark. Then, her phone buzzes. She lazily checks it, expecting an update from her crew. But instead? Instead, she sees you.

Her eyelashes flutter. Her lips part just slightly. And for the first time in years, her poker face cracks. The bartender—oblivious—raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay, miss?” Felicia exhales, smirking as she locks her phone. “Oh, it’s better than okay.”

Later, she lounges on silk sheets, staring at the picture before purring into her phone: You really think you can tease me, kitten? Oh, sweetheart… you just made a very expensive bet. And I never lose.

Stephen Strange aka. Doctor Strange

Stephen Strange is not easily shaken. He’s fought cosmic horrors, bent reality, and wielded power beyond mortal comprehension. But when he’s in the middle of a magical duel with Dormammu, and you send him a sinfully explicit picture—he almost loses.

He’s mid-incantation, floating above the Sanctum’s rooftop, when his phone vibrates. Normally, he’d ignore it—except something in the back of his mind tells him it’s you. He flicks his fingers, glancing at the screen—and immediately regrets it.

His spell stutters. His fingers twitch. The fabric of reality briefly warps. Wong, standing below, yells, “What the hell was that?!” Stephen clenches his jaw, locking his phone immediately before snapping his wrist and repairing the timeline. “Nothing,” he mutters. “Absolutely nothing.”

The moment the battle is over, he retreats into his study, loosening his Cloak, before typing: You dare distract the Sorcerer Supreme? You have no idea what you’ve just unleashed, darling. And I do hope you’re prepared for consequences beyond mortal comprehension.

Namor aka. The Sub-Mariner

Namor is a king. He does not answer to anyone. He has waged war against the surface world, stood against the mightiest heroes, and commands the loyalty of an entire empire. But when he is seated on his throne, discussing politics with his council, and his communicator vibrates—everything else becomes irrelevant.

He glances down, expecting a diplomatic missive. Instead, he is greeted by you—a vision of temptation, captured in a way that only he has the privilege to see. His grip on the communicator tightens, his lips parting slightly. The light of the display reflects in his dark, narrowed eyes.

The council drones on, but Namor hears nothing. His golden gauntlets flex, his knuckles tightening as his jaw sets. A slow, deliberate exhale is all that betrays his reaction. But those closest to him—his most trusted generals—see the flicker of something dangerous in his expression. A storm, barely contained.

Later, as he stands upon his balcony, overlooking the endless ocean, he types a single response: You seek to tempt a king, my love? Then be prepared for the wrath of a god. When next we meet, you will drown in my devotion.

Johnny Blaze aka. Ghost Rider

Johnny Blaze has seen Hell—literally. He has ridden across the desolate highways of damnation, stared into the abyss, and laughed. But when he’s sitting in a biker bar, nursing a whiskey and half-listening to some guy ramble about the Devil, his phone vibrates. And when he checks it—he nearly sets the whole place on fire.

The image of you is burned into his mind, seared into his soul. He sucks in a slow breath through his teeth, his fingers tightening around the glass. His knuckles go white. Somewhere deep inside, the Spirit of Vengeance chuckles.

“Something wrong, Blaze?” One of the other bikers eyes him warily. Johnny forces a smirk, setting his whiskey down before he crushes the glass in his grip. “Nah,” he rasps, his voice a little too rough. “Just realized I got… unfinished business to take care of.”

Later, on his Hellfire-coated bike, he sends a text: You got a real bad habit of making me wanna sin, sweetheart. And I promise—I’ll make sure you repent. Over. And over.

Eddie Brock & Venom aka. Venom

Eddie Brock has been through hell. He’s fought monsters, been one himself, lost everything, and still kept going. But nothing—not a damn thing—could prepare him for the absolute carnage of getting that picture from you in the middle of a crowded subway.

He’s scrolling through his phone absentmindedly, Venom muttering in his head about wanting tater tots, when the image loads. For a solid five seconds, he is completely still. Then—

“Eddie.” Venom’s voice rumbles, amused. “Your mate is very… bold. We approve.” Eddie, red-faced, slams his phone against his chest like that’ll somehow erase what just happened. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, eyes darting around to make sure no one saw. A teenager across from him raises an eyebrow.

Later, when he’s alone, he finally lets himself look at the picture again. A slow, predatory grin spreads across his face as he types back: Oh, you think you’re being cute, huh? Yeah. Just wait till I get my hands on you. Hell, maybe we’ll even let Venom have a little fun, too.

T’Challa aka. Black Panther

T’Challa is a king, a warrior, a legend. His mind is a fortress, his will unshakable. But when he is seated in the royal palace of Wakanda, surrounded by dignitaries, and his Kimoyo Beads alert him to a personal message—his focus wavers.

He allows himself a discreet glance. And in that moment? His heart skips a single beat. His fingers—steady even in the heat of battle—tighten just slightly around his beads. His expression does not change. But to those who know him well—Okoye, Shuri—they notice the subtlest flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.

Shuri smirks. “Brother,” she murmurs, leaning in. “You look… distracted.” T’Challa exhales deeply, locking the message with a casual flick of his fingers. “I am merely… anticipating a conversation.”

Later, when he is alone, he reviews the picture once more, fingers grazing his jaw before he types: You are testing my patience, beloved. And you know I am a man of great discipline. But for you? I am willing to break my own rules. Expect me soon.

Elektra Natchios aka. Elektra

Elektra Natchios does not fluster. She has slit the throats of kings, danced on the edge of oblivion, and played cat-and-mouse with death itself. But when she is sharpening her sai on the rooftop of a New York high-rise and her phone buzzes—her grip falters.

The blade nicks her glove. Barely. But it happens. Her lips part in a slow, dangerous smirk as she tilts the phone toward the moonlight, drinking in the absolute audacity of your message.

“Something amusing?” A voice—a rival assassin, lurking in the shadows. Elektra does not answer. She merely tucks her phone away, standing smoothly, her stance lethal. “Yes,” she purrs. “Something… very amusing.”

He didn't even look at you, his eyes fixed on the digital screen of the machine as his large hands came down to carelessly pry your fingers off his waist. Your eyes narrowed into lethal slits, the heat rising in your cheeks at the sound of the ridiculous nickname and the casual condescension dripping from his tone.

“I have been telling you for years, Thor, stop calling me that,” you snapped, pulling your hands back and crossing them over your chest in a furious, protective stance. “And what is that supposed to mean? Are you implying that I’m weak?”

Thor finally turned his head, his short, textured blonde hair catching the lights. A lazy, incredibly punchable smirk broke across his handsome face. He held his massive, heavily muscled arm out horizontally, creating an unbreakable physical barrier that completely blocked you from reaching the coffee pods.

“Why? I think it rather suits you. Feisty little—”

Before he could finish the sentence, you slapped his forearm with a loud, resounding smack, grabbing his wrist with both hands and pulling down with all your weight, trying to rip his arm away from the machine. It was like trying to move a mountain with a piece of string.

“Weaker than me, surely,” he said, his smirk widening as he easily kept his arm locked in place against your full-body strain.

Okay, fine. He was stating a cold, unyielding fact. He was a cosmic entity. He was objectively, biologically stronger than you. Your cell structure had been locked in a permanent, un-aging loop by a rogue lab experiment, giving you endless youth and an unbreakable healing factor—not the brute strength to wrestle the God of Thunder. But you would rather walk barefoot on needles than ever admit his physical superiority to his face.

“What are you two bickering about again?”

Natasha’s exhausted, monotone voice sliced through the tension. She walked into the kitchen, holding an empty mug, her green eyes fixed on the two of you with the heavy, soul-deep weariness of a woman who was entirely done with you being at each other's throats every five minutes.

That was the true tragedy of your existence. Outside the reinforced walls of this compound, Thor was a global icon. He was the golden savior, a benevolent, charming god who was nice to every single human being he encountered. If you went to the press and told them how much he absolutely loved to torment, provoke, and annoy you on a daily basis, not a single soul on Earth would believe you. To the rest of the universe, he was a god. To you, he was a giant, golden-retriever-brained nuisance.

Your left eye literally twitched with fury as you whipped your head around to face Nat. “He’s being a child again!”

“I am only in need of my morning beverage—” Thor protested smoothly.

“I got here first!” You spun back toward him, throwing your hands up in the air, your eyes wide with erratic anger.

“And I will be drinking my coffee, first,” he replied with a smug tilt of his chin.

Before you could lunge forward to block him, his large fingers immediately darted past your face and pushed the start button. The machine whirred to life, a dark stream of espresso pouring directly into the ceramic cup you had painstakingly selected and placed there a minute ago.

Thor watched the liquid fill the mug, leaning his hip against the counter as he grabbed the handle. “See? Easy as that,” he mumbled, grinning straight into the steam as he took a slow, loud, deliberate sip right in front of your face.

Your face went a furious, burning red. Your breath hitched, your vision blurring with a wave of pure, chaotic rage. You wanted to grab that hot mug straight out of his hand and throw the boiling liquid right over his clean grey t-shirt. You wanted to watch the stain spread across his chest while you laughed in his face.

Honestly? That was a damn good idea. Your muscles coiled, your fingers twitching as you prepared to lunge at him and commit a felony.

But just as your sneakers gripped the tile, Natasha let out a sharp, interrupting sigh. “The team is waiting for you in the briefing room,” she said, turning on her heel and gesturing toward the sliding glass doors of the hallway. “Let’s go, lovebirds.”

The words cut through the kitchen like a sudden frost. You and Thor both froze instantly, the childish hostility evaporating into a stunned, icy paralysis.

“What?” you said in perfect unison. The word tore from your throats at the exact same second, your voices blending together as you both whipped your heads around to look at Natasha. But she didn't stop to explain—she simply walked down the corridor toward the war room, a wicked, knowing smirk playing on the corner of her lips as she left the two of you standing in the quiet kitchen, completely blindsided by the ominous weight of her words.

“Fucking weirdos everywhere,” you grumbled under your breath.

Before he could even swallow his next stolen sip, you forcefully jammed your palms right into the center of his chest. You used every single ounce of strength your muscles could muster up, throwing your entire body weight into the strike. You needed that damn coffee, and you would get that damn coffee.

Thor actually stumbled back a step, a booming chuckle ripping from his throat at the volatility of your expression. You were completely furious. He honestly had no idea why annoying you brought him such immense satisfaction, but it did. It was an addiction at this point.

In his eyes, you were just absolutely no fun. From the very first day he met you, you had done nothing but jab at him for being too loud and obvious. You were always rolling your eyes, saying things like, “You only know how to smash things and be reckless, Thor,” and “Stealth is an actual concept, you know?”

Now, Thor didn't dislike a lot of people. He was a damn lovable person—the golden boy of the Nine Realms, and now, an absolutely attentive king. But when it came to you? He couldn't help it. You rubbed him the wrong way all the damn time, your sharp tongue grating on his nerves. He could say with unyielding certainty that he disliked you. A lot.

You were still grumbling under your breath about him stealing your favorite ceramic mug when you noticed his massive shadow was still hovering directly over you.

“Why are you still here?” you asked, your voice coming out far more irritated than it should have. You internally cursed yourself; you were giving him way too much power over your emotions.

“I simply want to watch you sip on your beverage after me,” he said, flashing you a brilliant, smug smile.

You huffed, grabbing your freshly poured cup from the machine. “Thor, just call it coffee. Calling it a beverage does not make it sound any fancier.”

You slid past his broad shoulder, taking a deliberate, aggressive sip of your drink before making your way toward the sliding glass doors of the briefing room. He immediately fell into step behind you, his massive, sweeping strides matching yours in a pure, frustrating rhythm.

“It does sound better when I call it a beverage,” he argued, his heavy leather boots thudding loudly against the floorboards as if he could make his statement more convincing by physical force.

“Sure, lord of thunder,” you murmured, a wicked, knowing smirk pulling at your lips. You knew exactly which buttons to push, and that specific title was your absolute favorite weapon.

“I am the god of thunder!” he hissed from behind you, his voice dropping into a defensive, offended rumble. “You know what? I know you are doing this on purpose—you are intentionally trying to—”

You pushed through the glass doors, entering the sleek, high-tech briefing room with the God of Thunder hot on your heels, still fiercely grumbling about the distinct theological differences between a lord and a god.

“Ah, our favorite couple, arguing again,” Tony said loudly, opening his arms wide in a dramatic, welcoming gesture from the head of the conference table. He leaned back in his chair, a classic, mischievous glint in his eyes. “Still not able to decide whether they want to kill each other or fuck—“

Before the final, crude word could even leave his mouth, your reflexes took over. Your hand blurred. You snatched a thick, heavy tactical folder from the edge of the table and launched it through the air with lethal, pinpoint precision.

Smack. The folder hit Tony squarely across the bridge of his nose, the papers scattering in a neat halo around his chair.

“Ow! Okay, there was absolutely no need for that,” Tony muttered, wincing as he gingerly adjusted his tinted glasses, though the smirk never truly left his face. He looked over at Natasha and Steve, who were already seated, completely unfazed by the morning violence.

“You talk too much, Stark,” Thor grumbled, pulling out a chair and dropping his massive frame into it with a loud thud that resonated through the room.

Your eyebrows shot up instantly as you sat down yourself. “Says you?” you retorted, gesturing toward his broad chest with your coffee mug. “You literally haven't shut up since the kitchen.”

“Let’s just focus on our objective, okay, guys?” Steve said, running a tired palm over his face, completely done with your collective energy so early in the morning. He pushed himself up from his seat next to Tony, leaning his broad shoulders over the holographic table to command the room.

Steve tapped the digital console, and the lights in the briefing room dimmed instantly, replaced by a glowing, three-dimensional blueprint of an ultra-private luxury island floating in the Mediterranean.

“Our focus is here: The Sanctuary,” Steve began, his voice dropping into his serious captain tone. “On paper, it’s an exclusive, hyper-secure resort for the world's billionaires, corrupt politicians, and elite criminals. But over the last forty-eight hours, our satellites intercepted an unencrypted dark-web signal bouncing from the island’s lower levels. A rogue faction has managed to smuggle a massive cache of volatile, leftover Dark Elf technology onto the premises. They’re hosting a private, black-market auction to sell it off to the highest bidder.”

You leaned forward, your brain instantly analyzing the island's perimeter. “So we drop in, neutralize the buyers, and secure the tech. Sounds like a standard Tuesday. Why are we all sitting here?”

“Because it’s a hostage situation waiting to happen if we go in loud,” Natasha spoke up from the corner, her fingers tapping against her tablet. “The entire island is rigged with a quantum-fission failsafe connected to the central vault. If the resort’s biometric security detects a frontal assault, a breach, or a single Quinjet on their radar, the system will instantly detonate the alien cache. It’ll vaporize the island and take half of Western Europe out with the blast wave. It requires a ghost to dismantle the failsafe from the inside.”

“A ghost?” you repeated, a slow, dark smile creeping onto your face. “Perfect. I’ll go in undercover as a maid, slip into the server room, kill the signal, and leave before anyone even finishes their champagne.”

“You’re half right,” Tony cut in, tapping his pen against his cheek. “You are going undercover. But you’re not going as a maid, Shadow. The resort has a strict, biometric-level verification system for all service staff, but their guest list is curated entirely by the billionaire owner—an eccentric, power-obsessed arms dealer named Moretti. He has a strict ‘No Media, Couples Only’ policy for his guests to protect their privacy.”

Tony smirked, leaning forward and typing a command into his console. The holographic display shifted from the island to a digital invitation, written in gold lettering, making your eyes go wide. No.

“Moretti is obsessed with power, gods, and mythology,” Tony explained, his eyes darting between you and the blonde King sitting across from you. “He doesn't just want money; he wants prestige. So, we gave him exactly what he wanted. We leaked a carefully staged, ‘top-secret’ paparazzi photo to the press this morning. The official narrative? The newly crowned King of Asgard has secretly retired from his bachelor days and eloped with a fierce, mysterious warrior woman.”

Your breath hitched violently in your throat. The coffee in your mug suddenly felt like acid.

“What?” you whispered, your heart stopping. You were an Avenger; you were known to the world, but you operated mostly in the quiet, precise darkness. To be thrust into the center of attention like this was your worst nightmare.

Thor froze, his hand stopping mid-air as he went to scratch his short blonde beard. His blue eyes went incredibly wide as he stared at the holographic invitation. “Stark—what madness are you speaking of?”

“It’s simple, lovebirds,” Natasha said, her voice laced with an infuriatingly calm amusement. “Moretti swallowed the bait hook, line, and sinker. The moment he saw the news that the King Of Asgard was on a secret honeymoon, he personally sent out an exclusive, all-access VIP invitation to the royal couple. You two are the ultimate distraction.”

Steve looked at the two of you, his expression sympathetic but unyielding. “Thor keeps all eyes on him by playing the loud, boastful, larger-than-life husband, giving you the perfect cover to move through the high-society crowds, slip into the shadows, and quietly dismantle the failsafe without triggering the biometric alarms. You need his status to get through the front door, and he needs your precision to make sure the island doesn't explode.”

“You expect me,” you said slowly, your voice dropping into a lethal, dangerous sound as you pointed a finger across the table, “to pretend to be blissfully, passionately in love with him? For how long exactly?”

“Not a soul here but you said passionately—“ Thor grumbled but was cut off by you, “Shut up, will you?”

Thor’s hands twitched, like he was holding himself from doing something irrational. He sighed a long breath, trying to compose himself, he didn’t think he could do this. Why did it have to be you, of all people?

But your skills in being a ghost were too good—too fucking perfect for your own good. So he knew the reason why it had to be you, but he protested anyway, he turned to Steve, “I do not see why she should be the one coming with me—“

You didn’t let him finish, rolling your eyes as you said “I’m not loving the idea either—“

“Depends on you, really. Could just be two days or a whole week.“ Steve said cutting both of you off as he looked at the both of you, clearly distressed at your brewing argument, again. “An entire week?” you said, your voice dripping with irritation, your jaw locking at the mere thought of it.

“Hey, it’s a tough gig, but someone’s gotta do it,” Tony chuckled, completely ignoring the murderous look you were throwing him across the table. “Congratulations, kids. Pack your bags. You’re going on a honeymoon.”

—

You were huffing and puffing as you aggressively packed your suitcases—yes, suitcases, plural.

You were practically tearing through your wardrobe, shoving in dresses, hats, sunglasses, and anything else you could get your hands on, entirely leaving the burden of actually coordinating an outfit for later. The second you had escaped the briefing room, you had fled to your quarters. The news was still pouring over you like boiling water, making your skin burn with a restless, defensive heat just thinking about it.

How the hell were you going to pretend to be his wife?

The only thing you were biologically capable of doing near that man was yelling at him, throwing files at his head, or arguing until you were blue in the face. He got on your nerves every single second of the day, provoking you with that smug arrogance of his, making you want to literally peel your own skin off your bones just to escape his proximity. And now you were supposed to look into his blue eyes and play the part of a blushing, smitten bride on a Mediterranean honeymoon. It was sick. It was a comedy of errors written by a cruel universe.

As you slammed another folded gown into the suitcase, your movements slowed. Your eyes caught sight of the faint, jagged scars marring the skin over your forearms and stomach.

A sudden, heavy wave of insecurity bubbled up inside your chest, overtaking the rage. The thought of being forced into revealing resort wear—of being paraded around an island full of hyper-critical, judgmental billionaires who you knew would dissect your every flaw—infiltrated your mind.

Usually, you were secure in your own skin. You were an Avenger, for God's sake. You were a lethal weapon, and honestly, you did wear dresses when the occasion called for it. But in this context? Under the blinding, global spotlight? You felt like a fraud. You felt like every single pair of eyes on that island would be glued to you, the judgmental, elitist sneers of high society cutting right through you simply because you were Thor’s goddamn wife. You were the woman who had supposedly tamed the King of Asgard, and they would be looking for any reason to tear you apart.

The scars were a permanent, physical gift from your torturers. The monsters who had turned you immortal years ago.

You could not die of age. You could not fall succumb to diseases. Even lethal wounds healed seamlessly within hours if properly attended to. You were stuck living like this forever, the terrifying nightmares from those months in the lab still playing in your mind night after night, making your throat go completely sore as you woke up screaming for them to stop. The experiments had broken your human limitations, locking your cellular structure in a permanent, un-aging loop.

You sharply rubbed at your eyes with the palms of your hands, trying to force the horrific memories to flee from your mind. The ghosts of your past loved to haunt you wherever you went, but you couldn't afford a breakdown today. Not with a flight to catch.

Letting out a heavy, defeated sigh, you declared yourself done with the chaotic packing. You bit your lip anxiously as you got ready for the travel day, pulling a simple, breezy white summer dress over your frame. The fabric flared gently around your knees, and you slid your feet into a pair of modest kitten heels. Finally, you pulled a soft white cardigan over your shoulders, fastening a few buttons, strictly wanting to ensure you wouldn't freeze before you reached your destination. You took one last look in the mirror, masking the assassin, masking the scars, and preparing to face your fate.

As you opened the door, struggling to maneuver your suitcases out of the room, you immediately heard his voice booming down the corridor.

“How are you going to carry those by yourself?” Thor asked, leaning against the wall with a wicked, entirely too handsome smile plastered across his face.

He was obviously going to help you. If the King of Asgard was anything, he was a gentleman down to his very bones—but he didn't just want to be helpful. He wanted to hear the words come out of your mouth. He wanted you to look him in the eye and actively admit that you needed his help. He knew you would absolutely hate doing it, which only made him crave it more.

“I can handle myself just fine,” you breathed out defensively. You leaned your weight back, using the rolling wheels of the suitcases to your advantage. Your pride was still firmly intact because you could easily drag them behind you on a flat surface, but you knew deep down that you couldn't physically lift both of these giant, overpacked cases at the same time down a flight of stairs. But he most definitely did not need to know that.

“Oh? So you don’t need any assistance at all?” he remarked smoothly. He was casually carrying his own massive tactical suitcase in one hand by the handle, his arm barely flexing. It was probably like holding a mosquito between his fingers for him.

“No. Especially not from you,” you huffed, your heels clicking sharply against the tile as you tried to wheel past him, clearly getting irritated by his mere existence.

“Hm,” he just mumbled, a deeply amused sound vibrating in his throat as he turned and watched you walk over to the elevator banks.

You aggressively pressed the down button, silently begging the universe for the doors to open as fast as humanly possible. You could feel Thor’s massive presence looming right behind you, practically radiating an eager energy, just waiting for another opportunity to prod at you.

“What are you waiting for?” you asked, your voice incredibly tight from pure annoyance.

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. “For the elevator, Little Flame. Same as you.”

You could feel his massive, broad frame standing directly behind your back. Even though there were a few inches of space separating you, he was like a literal furnace, a heavy, intoxicating heat radiating off his body and wrapping around your shoulders.

You rolled your eyes at the ceiling. “You can carry your own suitcase. I don't see why—” You abruptly cut yourself off, closing your eyes tightly, your face scrunching up in disdain.

Fuck. You had just walked right into his trap.

“Oh, so you cannot carry yours?” he prodded instantly, his tone dripping with sheer amusement. Your eyes opened back up immediately.

Where was this fucking elevator?!

Realizing the lift was taking too long, you sharply turned around to face him. Your bruised, stubborn ego completely hijacked your brain, making you snap at him before you could stop yourself. “I very much can!”

Thor looked down at you, his blue eyes sparkling with a level of amusement that was bordering on infuriating. “Oh, please, be my guest, will you?” He dramatically extended his free hand, gesturing toward the grand concrete staircase at the end of the hall. You huffed a sharp breath through your nose, your jaw locking. “Fine.”

You spun on your heels, deliberately dragging your heavy suitcases over to the very edge of the stairs, desperately delaying the exact moment you would actually have to lift them. When you finally reached the top step, you stopped and stared down at the luggage, your brain going into overdrive as you calculated the weight distribution.

Thor followed you, enjoying every single second of this entirely too much. Even his stance—weight shifted to one hip, a smirk playing on his lips—radiated absolute satisfaction.

“Struggling there?” he asked, taking a deliberate step closer to you.

“Not at all,” you lied through your teeth. Your eyes narrowed into lethal slits as you stared at him, and out of pure, stubborn stupidity, you grabbed the handles of both massive suitcases.

Bracing yourself in your goddamn kitten heels, you attempted to lift them both off the ground at the exact same time.

But the second your muscles tensed and you yanked them up, the combined, brutal weight of the luggage completely threw off your center of gravity. Your body violently swung forward toward the edge of the stairs, the momentum dragging you directly downward. A sharp, terrified yelp tore from your throat as your foot slipped on the smooth edge. You closed your eyes, waiting for the inevitable impact.

You were definitely going down. You were going to roll down a flight of concrete stairs in a white summer dress, become the laughing stock of the entire Avengers Compound, and probably severely injure yourself—meaning you'd have to hobble around the island waiting for your powers to slowly knit your bones back together. Amazing. Brilliant execution, babe, bravo.

But just as those thoughts raced through your mind, they disappeared entirely.

A massive, incredibly solid arm suddenly wrapped like an iron band around your waist. With one effortless, powerful pull, he caught your entire body weight, dragging you firmly back from the edge of the abyss and slamming your back flush against his broad, solid chest.

You opened your eyes—which you hadn't even realized you'd squeezed shut—and let out a shaky, breathless sigh of pure relief. Your heart was hammering like a drum against your ribs.

“Perhaps now, you will admit that you need me to carry them for you,” he mumbled. His voice was a gravelly rasp right against the back of your ear, his warm breath fanning across your skin and causing a shiver of goosebumps to erupt down your neck and arms.

Your breath caught. You quickly huffed, using your hands to pry his heavy arm away from your waist. The skin beneath your dress was practically burning from his touch, but you absolutely did not have the mental capacity to dwell on that right now.

You turned around to face him, your cheeks flushed, your expression a mixture of distress and absolute fury that you had just proven him entirely right.

“Fine,” you said, your voice tight and defeated.

Thor didn't move an inch out of your personal space. He looked down at you, his eyes slowly tracing over your flushed face and your white dress, a smug, triumphant look in his gaze.

“Fine, what?” he challenged softly, wanting every single syllable of his victory.

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, your pride fiercely battling against the cold reality of the situation. You darted a desperate look toward the elevator, but the glowing digital screen indicated it was still stuck on a lower floor. Frustrated and completely cornered, you aggressively slammed your right foot down against the tile floor like a spoiled child. He always brought that irritating, uncharacteristic side out of you.

“Okay,” you snapped, completely averting your gaze from his face as you mumbled, “Ineedyoutocarrymyluggageforme.”

The words tumbled out of your mouth in a single, rushed, completely unintelligible breath, your eyes locked onto the center of his chest.

“What?” Thor chuckled again, the hilarious sight of you stomping your foot and speaking at supersonic speed catching him entirely off guard. A deep, rumble of laughter shook his chest. “I did not quite get that, Little Flame. Can you say it again?” He was enjoying this far too much for his own good, the smug triumph radiating off him in waves.

“I need you to carry my luggage for me,” you enunciated sharply, every word dripping with pure annoyance.

Instead of just taking the win, Thor brought a thick finger to his chin, tapping it as if he were lost in deep thought. He scrunched up his handsome face, tilting his head. “I don’t think that was a really nice way of asking someone to carry your ginormous suitcases for you.”

“Ugh!” You let out a loud, frustrated yell, throwing your hands down to your sides as you forced yourself to look him dead in his sparkling blue eyes. “Will you please carry my luggage for me?”

He smiled triumphantly, his entire face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. He finally stepped forward and grabbed your two bags, arranging them in perfect order back-to-back so their elongated handles lined up close together. Then, with a single, massive hand, he closed his fingers over both handles at once. With his own tactical suitcase in his other hand, he effortlessly lifted all three massive bags off the floor without a single hint of strain.

The elevator suddenly dinged, the doors sliding open just as he hoisted the luggage into the air. Ordinarily, you would have completely lost your temper at timing like that. You would have cursed the universe out loud for making you beg for help only for the elevator to arrive a second later.

But the words died in your throat.

The sight of him carrying all three heavy suitcases at once made you breathe in a sharp, sudden gasp. Your pulse skipped a beat in your chest, and your eyes involuntarily roamed all over his frame. He had changed out of his grey t-shirt before coming to your door; he was now wearing a tight black t-shirt that hugged the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders, paired with tailored charcoal linen pants and black loafers.

He looked good. So fucking hot, in fact, that it sent an unexpected, electric tingle shooting straight through your core and settling deep in your stomach. The sight of his veins popping and his massive biceps bulging as he easily carried the weight of your entire life in one hand was—

What the fuck? What the hell was wrong with you?

You were fully aware that the King of Asgard possessed heart-stoppingly good looks—the entire planet was aware of it—but his infuriating behaviour toward you usually stopped you from ever enjoying the sight. You were supposed to dislike him. You were rivals. But what the fuck had just happened to your brain?

You sharply cleared your throat, forcefully tearing your eyes away from his arms as your cheeks burned a bright, furious crimson. Desperate to hide your sudden fluster, you quickly turned and marched past him, going down the staird in a fastened pace.

Thor smoothly followed behind you, his loafers making zero noise on the concrete, while your heels clicked loudly and rapidly down the steps, echoing your erratic, racing heartbeat.

Thor was watching you walk down the stairs before him, still visibly fuming that he had managed to break your stubborn streak and force a please out of your mouth. He was utterly relishing the victory, a brilliant, smug smile that practically screamed he had won etched across his handsome features while he effortlessly balanced your massive luggage in his grip.

But his smugness didn't last long.

You huffed, stopping for a brief second on the landing. With a fluid, deliberate motion, you slid your white cardigan off your shoulders, pooling the fabric into one hand. The movement exposed the sharp, elegant lines of your collarbones in the strapless white dress. You flipped your hair to one side, completely baring the smooth expanse of your neck to the air—and to him. Then, as if you couldn't quite decide what kind of sensory torture you wanted to execute on the King of Asgard, you started heading down the remaining stairs, your hips swaying with a natural, intoxicating rhythm.

Thor took a sudden, sharp breath at the sight before him. His blue eyes went wide, running over your frame, completely unable to decide where to look. His gaze got hopelessly caught on the soft curve of your shoulders, the narrow dip of your waist, the hypnotic roll of your hips.

A hot rush of blood surged to his head. His breath caught violently in his chest, and for the first time in his immortal life, the God of Thunder actually stumbled on a concrete step. His black loafer clipped the edge, his chest heaving as he quickly caught himself.

What the actual hell was happening? He was well aware that you were breathtaking; he had seen the way people’s heads turned whenever you walked into a room without you even trying. But this? This reaction was entirely uncalled for. He disliked you. He disliked your sharp tongue and the way you always had a quip ready to jab at him. He shouldn't be admiring you, yet his heart was currently hammering against his ribs like a war drum.

Hearing his stumble, you paused and turned your head back to see what was wrong. You found him standing a few steps above you, his jaw slightly slack. A wicked smile slowly bloomed across your face.

“What was that, Your Majesty? Are they too much for you to carry?” you taunted, shifting your body so your chest was fully turned toward him.

Thor’s eyes helplessly drifted downward to your now fully visible chest, his breath catching for a second time that day. The flush on his neck deepened. He aggressively cleared his throat, forcing his eyes up to meet your smirking face.

“Hah! I can move literal mountains, Little Flame. These trinkets are nothing to me,” he mumbled defensively, his voice a bit more rushed than usual. “I simply lost my balance is all.”

Desperate to escape your mocking gaze, he practically ran down the remaining stairs, his loafers squeaking slightly against the polished concrete as he hurried into the main lobby with all three suitcases clutched tightly in his hands.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you watched him go, continuing your descent. The discarded cardigan remained clutched in your hand; you felt entirely too hot, your own racing thoughts making your skin flush. You gulped, trying to aggressively shoo the bizarre tension out of your mind. You hated him. You needed to get a grip.

When you finally reached the expansive glass entrance of the compound, Thor was already standing there, deep in a heated discussion with Tony.

“Why spend hours traveling in one of your metal birds when we can get there in seconds?” Thor was arguing, his brow furrowed in genuine, godly confusion.

Tony turned toward you as you approached, a wicked, entirely too amused smirk lighting up his face. “Ah, perfect timing, Shadow. Point Break here is staging a mutiny. He says you two don't need to board a plane or take a Quinjet.”

“How come?” you asked, your blood suddenly running cold. An ominous weight dropped into your stomach because you could already guess exactly what the god of thunder had in mind.

“Stormbreaker can take us across the world in seconds,” Thor said, turning his massive frame toward you, completely serious.

“But—” you started, your mind frantically grasping for any viable excuse to avoid being that physically close to him for a cosmic teleportation ride. “But how will you carry the luggage while we traverse realms? It’s impossible.”

“You just hold onto me, and I will handle the rest,” he said easily, dismissively, as if he were explaining the most simple, mundane task in the world. You swallowed hard, your heart doing a strange flip. “But Thor, you have to hold Stormbreaker in one hand, and the luggage in the other. What about me? Where am I supposed to go?”

Thor let out a sharp, irritated huff, clearly done with you dragging out the inevitable. “I said I will handle it. Now, let us go.”

He turned away, marching through the sliding glass doors into the bright morning air. He dropped his own suitcase onto the concrete pavement and extended his right hand toward the sky. Within a split second, a loud, crackling boom echoed through the compound as the massive, heavy blade of Stormbreaker flew from his room straight into his waiting palm.

With practiced, terrifying strength, he gathered the handles of all three massive suitcases into his other hand, hoisting them up effortlessly. He turned his head, his short blonde hair catching the sunlight, and motioned sharply with his chin for you to come closer.

You narrowed your eyes at him stubbornly, crossing your arms over your chest. “What if I don’t want to—” Before you could even finish your protest, Thor’s patience snapped. In one swift, blur of a movement, his massive hand shot out and grabbed you firmly by the wrist.

You let out a sharp yelp as he effortlessly yanked you forward into his personal space, his strength completely overriding your balance. He forcefully guided your arms around his thick middle, pulling you so close that your cheek was muffled right against the hard, solid muscle of his chest.

You could feel his heavy pectoral muscles instantly tighten at the sudden contact, a wave of intense, radiating heat washing over you. Before you could even open your mouth to yell at him for handling you so roughly, his deep, rumbling voice vibrated right through his chest wall against your ear. “Hold on tight.” And with a sudden, blinding flash of blue electricity, he raised Stormbreaker high into the sky.

A blinding burst of color erupted all around you as the Bifrost engulfed you both. The roaring force of the cosmic energy threatened to rip you away, and you instinctively closed your eyes tightly, holding yourself steady by gluing your body entirely to his. Your fingers dug firmly into the fabric of his shirt, pulling yourself so close that there wasn’t a single millimeter of space left between your chest and his.

Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the rushing roar vanished.

You felt your heels solidly touch the ground, arriving at your destination in a second. For a moment, your hands remained tightly locked around his middle and your face was still pressed right against the warm, hard muscle of his chest, you could hear his heartbeat thudding against his ribs.

Slowly, you forced your eyes open and pulled your face back, blinking against the sudden, brilliant glare of the Mediterranean sun.

The Sanctuary stretched out before you, you were standing on a private, pristine white-stone terrace that overlooked a sprawling, crescent-shaped bay. The water below was a blinding, translucent turquoise, so clear that you could see the dark, shifting shadows of coral reefs deep beneath the surface. Sleek, multi-million-dollar superyachts were anchored in the distance, polished and gleaming under the midday sun.

The resort itself was built directly into the towering, sun-bleached cliffs of the island. It was a marvel of modern, minimalist design blended with ancient luxury—all clean white concrete, floor-to-ceiling glass panels, and cascading infinity pools that seemed to spill directly into the ocean below. Lavish, vibrant pink bougainvillea and lush green palms draped over stone walkways, softening the sharp lines of the villas.

Your nostrills filled with the scent of saltwater, expensive citrus perfume, and blooming jasmine. In the distance, you could hear the faint, muted clinking of crystal glasses and the smooth, ambient lounge music drifting from an exclusive beachfront pavilion. It was entirely peaceful, completely hidden from the rest of the world, and crawling with some of the most dangerous, corrupt elite on the planet.

You let out a slow breath, your eyes immediately mapping out the security cameras hidden in the palm trees and the heavily armed guards dressed in casual, matching resort linen suits.

“You can let go of me now, Little Flame,” Thor’s deep voice murmured directly above you, a distinct trace of that familiar, smug amusement vibrating right against your hands. “Unless, of course, you are already enjoying the perks of marriage.”

You blinked, sharply pushing yourself away from his broad chest. “You wish,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you aggressively smoothed down the wrinkled fabric of your white summer dress. “I’m not exactly into lords, anyway. I prefer a much stronger title.”

“Good thing I am not a lord, then,” he replied smoothly. For the first time, he didn't get defensive or angry at the jab. Instead, he just stood there, smiling down at you with a gaze so wicked that you could practically feel the blood rushing straight to your head.

You internally groaned, chastising yourself. Stupid girl. You really should have thought beforehand that he would turn your own words right back on you like that. But before your scrambled brain could piece together a proper, biting retort, the heavy footsteps of the resort's security staff cut you off.

“Are you invited, sir?”

A burly bodyguard in a pristine, light-blue linen suit approached the two of you. His voice was laced with a deep, unmistakable tone of respect; he clearly recognized the King of Asgard, but he was trying to maintain the island's strict protocol.

“Yes,” you intervened seamlessly, sliding in front of Thor. Your training kicked in instantly, and a perfected, dazzling smile etched itself onto your face. You held up your phone, displaying the exclusive, gold-rimmed digital invitation Tony had intercepted.

The bodyguard scanned the screen, nodding, but his cautious gaze quickly drifted down to the massive, terrifying axe gripped firmly in Thor's left hand. “We... do not allow weapons on the resort grounds, sir. If you could leave it with security—”

“Ah, that is easily remedied,” Thor interrupted cheerfully. With a casual flick of his wrist, the massive, razor-sharp blade of Stormbreaker melted away, shrinking down until it transformed into a simple, polished black umbrella. You whipped your head around to look at the object, completely deadpan. “An umbrella? In this weather?” you muttered, gesturing to the cloudless, blazing mediterranean sky.

Thor’s eyebrows furrowed at you, his jaw tightening in annoyance at your public critique. “Well, there is something called a summer rain, sweetheart,” he said, faking an incredibly sweet, doting smile for the sake of the watchibg guard, though his blue eyes promised absolute murder.

“I don’t think it’s going to rain anytime soon, honey,” you shot back, your voice dripping with a deep, sickeningly fake sugary sweetness as your own plastic smile widened. Before you could take another breath, Thor’s massive arm suddenly shot out, wrapping securely around your waist and forcefully dragging you flush into his side for a tight, suffocating hug.

A sharp, undignified yelp tore from your throat at the impact, but you quickly cleared your throat, masking your shock as you gripped his forearm. He was most definitely enjoying torturing you, using the doting husband act as the perfect excuse to handle you however he pleased. You were going to kill him.

“I can make it rain anytime I wish,” he murmured, his tone biting at you in a dangerous, playful whisper that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. He flashed one last dazzling smile at the bewildered bodyguard. “Now, let us go to our room, yeah?”

After that, the guard politely led you both through the sweeping glass doors toward the main lobby, where a receptionist stood behind a white marble desk, a bright, welcoming smile on her face.

“Welcome to The Sanctuary. Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Odinson,” she said smoothly, but the moment the words left her mouth, you saw her cringe a bit, her eyes darting between the digital registry and your face as she thought the names over. You noticed the hesitation instantly, Odinson did sound incredibly weird when referring to a woman.

“Is that your last name now, madam? Should I call you that?” she genuinely asked, looking a bit flustered, as if she were desperately trying to avoid making a mistake.

A massive grin broke across your face while Thor’s expression instantly soured. Oh, you liked this receptionist already.

“I genuinely have no idea. It does sound completely off when you say it like that, doesn't it?” you said, leaning against the marble desk. Then, you slowly turned your head to look up at him, your eyes wide with mock innocence. “Honey, is my last name Odinson now? Wouldn't that literally just mean I’m a son of Odin? I mea—”

He cut you off instantly, his jaw clenching as he growled under his breath, clearly pissed. “Well, we are in Midgard, darling. So your last name is now Odinson here, no? It is how things are done on this realm.” He forced out a tight, blindingly fake smile, trying his absolute best not to throw off the receptionist standing inches away.

You smiled right back, utterly loving the fact that you had managed to piss him off so quickly. You turned back to the receptionist, giving her a conspiratorial look. “Or you could just call me by my former last na—”

“No.” Thor cut you off again, his deep voice dropping an octave, completely unyielding as his blue eyes threw literal daggers down at you. “She will be referred to as Mrs. Odinson.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, your smile faltering for a split second. That was a remarkably quick, fiercely defensive reaction from him. Why the hell did he care so much about a fake human registry?

Recovering quickly, you huffed out a light, airy fake laugh for the receptionist's benefit, gesturing toward the rigid King beside you. “He gets incredibly defensive in situations like this,” you told her. Then, leaning in slightly, you whispered in a stage-whisper, “Male ego, am I right?” The receptionist let out a quiet, knowing chuckle and nodded her head in agreement, clearly understanding exactly what you meant.

“I will show you to your room then, Mrs. Odinson,” she said, stepping out from behind the marble desk and motioning toward a glass elevator that overlooked the turquoise bay, while waving over a bellboy to take the three giant suitcases from Thor's hands.

Thor let the bellboy take the suitcases, his hands finally free as he followed the two of you toward the glass lift. The receptionist held the elevator doors open, gesturing politely with an extended hand, and once you and Thor stepped inside, she followed, pressing the button for the upper residential levels.

The elevator began its smooth ascent. Thor looked around the glass enclosure, his massive arms folding tightly over his broad chest. The movement made his biceps bulge prominently against the fabric of his t-shirt, and your traitorous eyes immediately darted downward, following the sharp lines of his muscles before you could even stop yourself.

“I like this Midgardian facility,” Thor remarked, his deep voice echoing in the enclosed space as he looked out at the view. “It is quite nice.”

“Me too. Love the design, honestly.” you said smoothly, flashing a perfect, effortless hand gesture, but as your eyes finally flicked away from Thor’s arm, you caught something out of the corner of your eye. A sudden, entirely unknown feeling brewed in the pit of your stomach.

The receptionist was staring at Thor’s arms. And she wasn't just glancing; she was so goddamn focused, her eyes tracing the thick veins of his biceps, that she didn't even notice your lethal gaze cutting right through her.

You were definitely taking it back—you did not like this girl at all.

Before your brain could even process the irrational spike of possessiveness, you acted on pure instinct. You stepped right into his space, cleared your throat sharply, and forcefully reached up to uncross his arms.

“What are—” Thor started, entirely caught off guard by the unexpected intrusion.

He was completely silenced as you forcefully dragged his broad frame down into a tight side hug. Your arm slid securely over his back, anchoring him to you, and you felt his breath hitch violently at the sudden contact. He froze for a second, his chest heaving, before he cleared his throat and let his massive hand find the curve of your waist, pulling you securely against his hip.

You kept your eyes locked dead on the receptionist, claiming your territory with absolute, unyielding dominance. You flashed her a wicked, razor sharp smile. The girl's cheeks instantly flushed crimson, and she averted her eyes toward the floor, clearly mortified that she had been caught staring at a married man, beside his wife at that.

The second the threat was neutralized, your actions crashed down on you. You had absolutely no idea what had just come over you, or why the fuck you would ever do something like that over Thor. Okay, you probably—definitely did that because the thought of another woman disrespecting you by looking at your husband made you want to commit murder. Correction, supposed husband. Still he was your fucking husband for now and she was looking at him and— It’s all about you really, all good. Nothing to worry about.

Your face burned with a furious heat as you forced your gaze straight ahead, refusing to look at him, but you could feel the immense weight of his blue eyes staring down at the side of your face—burning you, fucking scorching you with an intense, questioning gaze.

Thankfully, the elevator dinged, saving you from the embarrassment.

The doors slid open, and you caught your first breathtaking sight of the upper facility. It wasn't a standard, enclosed hotel corridor. Instead, the elevator opened directly into the brilliant, open air of the cliffside. It was designed like an exclusive luxury resort enclave; the elevator connected the lower main lobby directly to an expansive, sun-drenched outdoor terrace that led to the private villa section of the property.

Stone pathways winded through lush, manicured tropical gardens, flanked by cascading water features and private infinity pools that looked like they hung off the edge of the world. The ocean breeze hit your face instantly, lifting the hem of your white dress, but the burning weight of Thor’s hand still resting firmly on your waist made it impossible to feel the cold.

You followed the receptionist, her eyes now glued strictly forward as she walked, her posture stiff with the embarrassment of the whole situation.

You tried to subtly peel yourself away from Thor’s side, but the moment you moved, the heavy grip of his hand on your waist tightened significantly. Your eyes instinctively glanced upward to him, ready to snap, but he was simply looking around at the passing scenery, appearing completely unbothered by the situation. Why wouldn't he let go? You wondered why the hell he would keep you tethered to his side like this, as if he actively wanted you there.

Then, doing something you thought you would absolutely never do, you let him. You quietly surrendered, allowing him to hold you tight against his hip as you both walked down the sun-drenched stone path.

Other elite couples passed you by, their judgmental eyes scanning you up and down as they noted the stunning, mysterious woman on the arm of the Asgardian King. This is exactly why he is keeping you glued to him, a strict, grounding voice echoed in your mind. Do not forget the objective, or the fact that you both could never, ever like each other like that. You swallowed hard, your own hand involuntarily tightening around his side for a split second. Why the fuck would you even think otherwise?

The receptionist finally approached a secluded, breathtaking cliffside villa. She opened the heavy timber door for you, stepping aside to hand you the room keycards.

The moment you stepped across the threshold, your eyes widened at the sight before you. Your blood ran completely cold. You let go of his waist immediately, and this time he actually let you.

Your hands were slightly shaking as you looked around the massive, sunlit room. Why hadn't you thought of this earlier? Ofcourse. It was painfully obvious. You were pretending to be a married couple on a honeymoon, after all.

You looked beside you only to see Thor standing entirely frozen, his lips slightly agape and his breathing turning shallow and fast as you both simultaneously realized how profoundly fucked up this mission actually was.

There was only one fucking bed.

It was a massive, ultra luxurious king sized bed, draped in crisp white linens and pushed directly against the center of the room, facing the glass walls that looked out over the ocean. Thor couldn't believe his own stupidity; how could he have thought he wouldn't have to share a bed with you on a mission where you were supposed to be blissfully in love? This mission was officially going to be the absolute death of him.

He slowly turned his head to look down at you, only to find you already staring up at him with completely bewildered, panicked eyes.

“I hope you like your room. Have a wonderful stay, Mr. and Mrs. Odinson,” the receptionist said, her voice finally breaking the tense silence that had descended upon the room.

The sound of her talking jolted you both out of your shared panic. You didn't even look at her fully, only giving a stiff side-eye and a tight nod before she quickly scrambled out of the room, shutting the heavy door behind her.

The second the click of the lock echoed through the villa, you spun on your heels to face him. Your voice was sharp, defensive, and entirely determined as you pointed a finger at him. “I will sleep in the bed.”

His eyes narrowed at you instantly. “No, I will,” he counter-attacked, and with two long, authoritative strides, he walked over to the bed and sat down heavily on the mattress, trying to claim the territory by physical force. You scoffed loudly, refusing to back down. You marched right over to the edge of the bed and sat down forcefully beside him, turning your body to face him dead-on. “I will,” you repeated stubbornly, your jaw locking.

Thor snorted, a challenge dancing in his blue eyes. “Okay, then. You will simply be sleeping next to me.”

Your eyes widened in sudden panic as you huffed out a sharp breath. “What?” you said, utterly bewildered by the casualness of his suggestion.

He rolled his eyes, gesturing broadly to the sprawling mattress behind him. “This is a massive bed, love. We both can fit, clearly.”

The moment the casual pet name slipped from his tongue, Thor internally bit down on it, desperately trying to maintain his stoic composure. What the fuck is my problem? he wondered, a silent storm raging in his mind as he stared at your flushed face. There was no one here to perform for. The door was locked. Yet his brain was completely short-circuiting.

Your breath hitched in your throat. Why the hell would he call you that when there wasn't a single soul around to witness it? You swallowed hard, trying to inject some of your usual venom back into your voice to hide your racing pulse. “You are ginormous, Thor. You would probably just roll over in the middle of the night and crush me to death or something—”

“I would never,” he said softly, cutting you off. He looked directly at you, his gaze suddenly changing into an intensity so deeply serious, that it made your heart give a treacherous flutter against your ribs.

You gulped, your mind going entirely blank. You tried to grasp for another excuse, another biting retort, but the gravity of his presence was making you forget everything else besides him.

Thor’s eyes roamed all over your face, desperately trying to dissect whatever panicked thoughts were racing through your mind. But as his gaze drifted downward, your bare arms caught his eye.

His breath hitched violently. His eyebrows furrowed into a deep, troubled line as his vision focused entirely on your skin.

How the hell had he never noticed them before?

Faint, jagged scars were littered all over your arms, disrupting your otherwise flawless skin. They were the unmistakable, ghostly remnants of... what? How could you have possibly acquired them? He knew you possessed an advanced healing factor—he had seen you bounce back from lethal battle wounds within hours—so if these marks remained, the trauma that caused them must have been unfathomable. It must have happened before you ever gained your abilities. But how did you even get your powers?

Thor realized, with a jarring pang in his chest, that he knew absolutely nothing about your history. He knew nothing of what had happened to you, where you had come from, or how you had earned those marks. A dark, protective rage began to brew in his chest, his breathing turning ragged as he stared at the faint lines.

You noticed the exact second his eyes shifted. A cold, suffocating dread pooled in your stomach.

Nobody outside of Tony, Steve, Natasha, and Bucky knew what had happened to you. Tony and Steve knew because they were the ones who had found you, breaking into that dark Hydra facility to save your life. Natasha knew because she was your absolute closest friend, the person who held you through the worst of the night terrors. Bucky knew only because you had trusted him with the truth, knowing he was the only one who truly understood the agony of being a broken, unwilling assassin.

But Thor? Thor hadn't been there when you were saved. He had been worlds away, dealing with the high-stakes matters of Asgard. And you, of course, had never told him. How could you? When he had finally returned to Earth and met you for the very first time, he had simply looked at you deadpan and muttered, “She looks gloomy.”

The comment had broken you. Before he had ever spoken to you, you had thought him absolutely extraordinary. The exact second you had caught sight of his legendary, powerful frame, an intense, quiet attraction had sparked inside you. But he had broken all of that in a single second by calling you gloomy, bruising your defensive ego and forcing you to react in the absolute worst way possible—yelling at him and starting a years-long war of petty arguments. He was the only person on the team who could ever get you to react with such unhinged irritation.

Now, your heart dropped straight to your stomach at the horrifying thought of him having another piece of leverage over you. He could never know the truth. You couldn't let him see your vulnerability.

As you watched his eyes frantically trace the lines on your skin, his massive left hand slowly ascended, his fingers instinctively reaching out to gently touch your arm.

The impending contact made you take a sharp, terrified breath. Your fight or flight response slammed into overdrive, and you abruptly stammered out a quick, “I have to pee!” Before he could even respond, you bolted off the mattress, practically running toward the privacy of the bathroom.

You rubbed your face as you gulped, staring at your reflection in the mirror.

I have to pee? Seriously? You couldn’t have found anything better to say?

The faster we are done with this, the better, you thought to yourself, anxiously pacing around the marble bathroom. Steve had said the mission could take anywhere from two days to an entire week. You were strictly determined to wrap this up in two days max—because if you didn't, so help you God, you were going to go completely insane.

You splashed ice-cold water on your face, breathing out a long, shaky exhale. You could do this. You could endure this. This was nothing compared to the horrors you had survived in your past, but for some reason, why did it feel like this was even worse?

Steeling your nerves, you finally walked out of the bathroom, only to see Thor standing outside on the terrace, his massive back turned to you. Your eyes involuntarily roamed over his broad figure, and you breathed out a long breath to calm your racing heart.

He heard you step into the room—of course he did. He turned back toward you, locking his blue eyes onto your face as he made his way back inside. “I like it here,” he mumbled, looking around the room before his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Where are our things? That servant took—”

Your eyebrows shot up instantly. “Servant?”

“Yes. The one who took our bags.”

You let out an involuntary, nervous giggle as you sat back down on the edge of the bed, rolling your eyes. “Thor, he’s not a servant. He’s a bellboy.” His brow furrowed even deeper. “Bellboy?”

“Yes. People who carry luggage to the rooms in hotels are called bellboys.”

“So... they are servants?” he repeated stubbornly. You huffed, deeply annoyed by his royal dense-headedness. “Thor, do not call anyone a servant to their face. It’s incredibly belittling and—” Right as the lecture was leaving your mouth, a sharp knock echoed from the front door.

“Ah! The servant is here,” Thor declared triumphantly, immediately striding toward the entryway to open it.

“Thor, no—” you gasped, scrambling up from the bed. You were desperately trying to intercept him, wanting to avoid a catastrophic conversation where he would inevitably embarrass the poor resort worker.

But Thor was too fast. He swung the door open and casually leaned his massive shoulder against the wall, watching the bellboy roll your three giant suitcases into the villa’s foyer. However, instead of ignoring you, Thor’s blue eyes were gleaming with pure mischief as he looked across the room at your panicked face.

Your eyes narrowed into lethal slits. You fiercely mouthed a very deliberate, aggressive 'No' to him.

But seeing your panic only made his smug smile widen. The exact second he opened his annoying, beautiful mouth to speak, your instincts slammed into overdrive. Your brain completely short-circuited. You scrambled over to him in a blind, chaotic rush. Before he could utter a single syllable, you threw yourself into his personal space, your arms wrapping securely around his thick neck as you hopped completely on top of him, forcefully pressing his face right into the crook of your neck to physically muffle his mouth against your skin.

Thor froze dead in his tracks. The unexpected impact of your body would have knocked any human man flat on his back, but he didn't even sway. His breath hitched sharply, and his massive hands instinctively shot down, grabbing the back of your thighs to hold you up without breaking a single sweat.

The bellboy’s eyes went completely wide at the unexpected, intensely passionate display.

Your face burned a scorching, furious red as you awkwardly tilted your head back, your arms still locked around Thor's neck. “Just... love my husband so much, you know? Can’t help myself,” you breathed out, your voice strained as you forced a bright, desperately in love smile.

The bellboy nodded quickly, his eyes still dinner-plate wide as he awkwardly parked the luggage.

Thor’s head had been pinned right against your neck, but he suddenly lifted his head up forcefully, his godlike strength easily overriding your desperate attempt to hold him still.

“Cannot keep her hands to herself, this one,” Thor told the bellboy, a deep, rumbling chuckle vibrating through his chest. He was smiling brightly, clearly enjoying every single second of this ordeal.

You literally could not believe you had just done that. You were just trying to spare the poor worker’s feelings, and—okay, fine, you absolutely did not need to jump on top of him like a koala. But in that split second of panic, your brain had completely ruled out kissing him as an option—obviously, because why were you even thinking of it in the first place?—, leaving you with no choice but to launch yourself at him to take him off guard.

The mortified bellboy practically scrambled out of the villa, quickly wishing you both a good day before slamming the door shut.

You let out a massive sigh of relief, your forehead dropping against Thor's shoulder. You hadn't even been able to give the poor guy a tip. You shook your head in deep disapproval, your gaze finally snapping back up to look at Thor.

And that’s when your brain finally caught up to the reality of your physical situation.

The room was dead silent. Thor was staring down at you with an incredibly intense, dark, and unreadable gaze. He was still holding you entirely aloft in his arms. Your legs were circled tightly around his broad waist, his heavy hands were gripping the bare skin under your thighs, and your goddamn summer dress had completely ridden up your legs. The direct, calloused touch of his palms against your skin was burning you like liquid fire.

Your breathing suddenly grew shallow and fast. Oh god. You needed to get off of him right now.

You swallowed hard, subtly shifting your weight to slide down, but his grip remained like iron bands. You couldn't move.

“You can let go now, you know?” you whispered, your voice lacking its usual bite as you stared into his intense blue eyes.

Thor aggressively cleared his throat, looking momentarily startled by how close your lips were to his. But within a fraction of a second, that goddamn smug, teasing smile started slow-burning across his face. You knew that exact expression, and it never meant anything good for your sanity.

“Why?” he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling rasp that sent a wave of heat straight to your core. “You willingly hopped into my arms, Little Flame. I might as well enjoy the embrace.”

You gasped in outrage, sharply slapping his broad chest with your palm as you desperately tried to wrench yourself out of his grip. He was being annoying, cruel, and completely, fucking insufferable.

“Just let go of me, you pervert!” you snapped, your right hand desperately attempting to peel his iron grip off your bare leg.

He finally let go of you with a low, rumbling chuckle, clearly enjoying annoying you far too much for his own good. “Pervert? I am not the one who jumped blindly into your arms, Little Flame.”

You flushed a furious crimson, sharply turning your back to him to hide the heat on your face. “Let's just fucking get ready and try to find some info on our objective,” you muttered tightly. You grabbed one of your massive suitcases, plopping it down onto the luggage rack with a heavy thud, and unzipped it. Behind you, his quiet, amused chuckles continued to bounce off the walls, making your blood boil with pure anger, but you forced your mouth shut.

You aggressively rummaged through your clothes, grabbing a white, high-cut skimpy monokini and a breezy dress to wear over it. Clucthing the fabric to your chest, you marched straight back into the bathroom to get ready.

You locked the door, taking a few ragged breaths to settle your racing pulse. You fixed your hair, and carefully slipped into the monokini and the dress. Standing in front of the mirror, you let out a long exhale, though your face was still burning with a deep, stubborn embarrassment. You could do this. It was just a mission.

You emerged from the bathroom, deliberately looking anywhere but at Thor as he smoothly stepped past you to go get changed himself. You walked over to the vanity, but a few moments later, his booming, deeply confused voice echoed from the other side of the door.

“This just looks like underwear.”

The bathroom door swung open, and Thor walked out, looking down at himself with a bewildered expression. The second your eyes landed on him, you literally choked on your own spit.

He was wearing a pair of simple navy swimming trunks—and absolutely nothing else. No shirt, no linen button-down, nothing to cover the massive expanse of his upper body.

Your eyes involuntarily danced over his frame, your mouth falling slightly agape as you took him in. The midday sun streaming through the glass walls caught every single ridge of his body. Your gaze traced the thick, prominent veins running over his forearms and bulging biceps, moving up to the broad, heavy expanse of his chest, and dropping down to his rock-hard, perfectly sculpted abs.

Oh, fuck. You felt a sharp, electric flutter ignite deep down in your stomach.

“We Asgardians just go into the waters naked to swim, you know,” he stated proudly, adjusting the waistband of the trunks. “This Earth clothing feels ridiculous.”

He was probably referring to times back home when he did exactly that—swimming freely in royal Asgardian lakes, likely with beautiful women. But the sudden, intrusive mental image of going swimming with a completely naked Thor made you gulp harshly, your eyes widening in panic.

And that was the exact moment he caught the state of your face.

Thor froze. His breath hitched in his throat as his blue eyes locked onto you. Your beautiful eyes had darkened with an intense, raw heat, your gaze completely fixed on his bare chest while your sinful lips remained slightly parted. As he watched, your tongue subtly darted out to lick your lower lip, your breathing turning shallow.

The God of Thunder felt his entire frame go completely rigid in the middle of the room.

You were not thinking what he thought you were... were you? For the first time, a heavy, pounding tension that had nothing to do with anger or bickering flooded the air around you. Thor felt his heart skip a beat against his ribs at the terrifying, intoxicating thought of you actually looking at him like that, willing him to step closer.

You closed your eyes then, and the sudden, intrusive thought of him being completely naked with other women infiltrated your mind. It filled you with a strange, unexplainable feeling—a sharp, poisonous ache that you had felt before in your life but couldn't quite put your finger on. Your stomach actively churned at the mental image, a dark wave of possessiveness and frustration twisting tight inside your core mkaing you open your eyes back.

The lung-burning silence broke when you abruptly gulped, tearing your gaze away from his abdomen as your cheeks flared a bright, defensive red.

“Put a shirt on, will you?” you muttered breathlessly.

Without waiting for a response, you spun on your heel and practically bolted out onto the sun-drenched balcony, desperately needing the breeze to help you catch your breath before you completely lost your mind.

Inside, Thor’s eyebrows furrowed deeply. He stood entirely frozen in the center of the room, his heart dropping straight to his stomach at the words you had just thrown at him.

Of course.

Why the hell would he ever think you wanted him? What was he thinking? You obviously were not attracted to him in the slightest. In fact, it was the exact opposite—you clearly disliked him so much that you couldn't even bear to see a glimpse of his bare upper body, which was why you had breathlessly demanded he cover himself up.

Thor let out a low, frustrated groan, bringing his massive hands up to aggressively palm his face. Why did he even care so much? Why did your rejection sting like needles on his skin?

Steeling his posture, he marched back over to his suitcase, snatched up a matching navy t-shirt, and harshly yanked it down over his head, hiding his chest from view. He desperately needed a fucking drink. He was entirely certain there wasn’t a single alcoholic beverage on this entire planet that could properly numb his brain right now. Not even heavy Asgardian ale could get him drunk enough at this point. He actually was fucking sure there wasn't a single drink in the entire universe that could make him drunk enough to forget about you, your angelic face, these unexplainable feelings, and the damning fact that you absolutely hated him.

“Let’s go,” his deep voice boomed behind you.

Startled out of your thoughts on the balcony, you turned around and walked back inside the air-conditioned room. You quietly followed him as he strode over to the heavy front door, swinging it open and standing firmly in the entryway as he waited for you to walk past.

You went out, your wedge sandals clicking softly on the stone path as you took a deep breath of the humid air, trying to reset your frayed nerves. As you made your way down toward the main infinity pool with Thor by your side, you suddenly felt a firm, sudden tug on your hand.

Because you had left the villa first, you had been walking a few paces ahead of him, but with one effortless pull, he brought you right back next to his side. His massive palm slid against yours, his fingers wrapping around your hand and engulfing it completely.

Your pulse gave a wild, treacherous flutter. Your eyes filled with immediate, defensive questions as you snapped your head up to look at him. Your hand felt like it was on fire, your skin practically melting under the direct heat of his touch. But before you could snap at him, Thor simply gestured with a subtle tilt of his chin toward a few couples who were walking past, watching you closely.

Right. Real couples walked hand-in-hand. You were supposed to be blissfully married, so this was completely ordinary. You forced yourself to nod, your fingers slowly sliding into his, intertwining with his firmly to sell the act.

Before heading over to the pool deck, you stopped by the wooden towel stand. You grabbed two plush beach towels, offering a polite, dazzling smile and a quiet thank you to the young worker who handed them over. As you began walking toward two vacant, prime sunbeds you had spotted near the edge of the water, Thor leaned down significantly to get right on your level.

His warm breath brushed against your ear as he whispered, “Lots of servants here.”

You immediately looked up at him, your eyes boring holes into his face. “Thor, they are resort employees. Stop it,” you hissed under your breath.

A smug, infuriating smile broke across his face. He was clearly enjoying the easy way he could piss you off. Still, his hand didn't release yours; his fingers remained tightly engulfed around your hand as you finally settled right next to the vacant sunbeds.

He finally let go of your hand, though his blue eyes remained highly alert, scanning the perimeter. He took in the entire scene—the crowded pool bar, the glittering water, and the exclusive guests. Upbeat lounge music pulsed quietly from the hidden outdoor speakers as his gaze tracked the crowd.

His eyes locked onto a specific target sitting near the bar: a man with a distinct scar slicing through his left eyebrow, short black hair, and deeply bronzed skin. The stool next to the man was vacant, and he was casually sipping on a dark amber liquor—what Thor recognized as whiskey, a Midgardian drink he had tried during his time with the Avengers.

Thor turned his head back to tell you he had spotted their mark, but the words got caught in his throat.

You had already slid your dress off, leaving it pooled on the side of the chair. You were now sitting down comfortably on the sunbed, your bare legs stretched out in front of you.

The sight of your exposed skin and the incredibly skimpy, high-cut beachwear made a sudden rush of blood boil furiously through Thor's veins. His gaze darkened instantly, his eyes helplessly mapping the smooth expanse of your collarbones, your chest, and your fucking perfect legs. Oh, fuck. He literally couldn't breathe. The air vanished from his lungs, and he averted his eyes toward the sea, his heart hammering so wildly against his ribs he thought it might actually beat its way straight out of his chest.

Desperate to cool down, he aggressively cleared his throat and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, yanking it off his body.

Your eyes remained glued strictly ahead of you, stubbornly refusing to spare him a single glance. You heard the rustle of fabric and the distinct sound of him tossing the shirt onto the table, but you refused to face him. You unfortunately felt far too many weird, dangerous things flipping in your stomach whenever you looked at his bare chest, and you weren't about to risk your sanity now. Fuck this entire operation, really, you thought bitterly.

You heard the sunbed creak as his massive weight sat down on the lounge chair right next to yours. Your positions were exactly identical, your legs laid out parallel to each other on the matching cushions. You were close—entirely too close.

Needing to ground yourself and focus on the mission, you leaned over toward him, lowering your voice to a sharp, determined whisper. “We either finish this in two days or an entire week. Let’s get this over with quickly, so that I do not have to be your wife for another—” But you had made the catastrophic mistake of turning your head to look at him while you whispered. The words died completely in your throat, and the remaining oxygen was brutally taken right out of your lungs.

Thor had laid back against the cushion, his massive, bare arms raised up next to his head to support the back of his neck. The position made his biceps and shoulders bulge spectacularly under the sunlight, the lines of his chest stretching taut.

“...second,” you trailed off breathlessly, your voice dropping to a faint whisper as you quickly snapped your head back to stare blindly at the water in front of you.

“I agree,” Thor said simply, his deep voice carrying a gravelly, tight edge as he stared straight ahead, too. “This whole ordeal is ridiculous, I’ll tell you that. There is absolutely no need to drag it out.”

You laid perfectly still on the sunbed, the intense heat baking your skin, but it was nothing compared to the suffocating tension radiating from the man lying right next to you.

What’s happening to me? you wondered frantically in your mind, trying to ground yourself as you looked around the bustling pool area. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the man with the scarred eyebrow, and a cold jolt of recognition hit you. He looked familiar because he was your target. Valentin Moretti, the spoiled, arrogant playboy of the family who handled the high-society entertainment and smuggling logistics at the resort. He was the only middleman who held the digital decryption keys to the Dark Elf tech you and Thor were trying to locate.

And right now, he was staring right at you.

The second his eyes hit you, his posture shifted. His dark eyes narrowed, deliberately burning their way down the length of your body, lingering heavily on the high-cut lines of your white monokini and your bare legs. A smooth, predatory smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. He raised his whiskey glass in a silent, incredibly bold toast directly toward you.

“I was just about to tell you I spotted our target, but it seems like he spotted you,” Thor grumbled. He glared over at Valentin, his blue eyes darkening to a stormy hue as his hands clenched into massive, white-knuckled fists behind his head. “Why the fuck is he staring at you like that?” he muttered, every single muscle in his broad frame clenching tight as he fought a losing battle to keep himself from doing something stupid. Like striking the fucker with a stray bolt of lightning.

“Thor, keep your eyes straight ahead,” you hissed back under your breath, stubbornly refusing to look at him. “Tony said he runs the security and digital access keys for the entire compound. If he’s interested, it means we have an opening.”

“An opening to what?” Thor muttered, his tone sharply biting. “He is vile. Look at how he comports himself.”

“An opening for me to get to know hi—”

“Absolutely not,” he interrupted, his voice cutting through the humid air like a sharpened blade.

Your eyebrows furrowed deeply. “What do you mean? We need him, Thor!” you whisper-shouted, sharply turning your body toward him.

He was staring literal daggers across the pool deck, his biceps bulging prominently as he breathed. He looked absolutely furious. You scoffed internally. Did the mere thought of another man being interested in you anger him this much? Did he despise you so profoundly that he couldn't even entertain the thought that a man could actually find you attractive? You breathed sharply through your nose like an enraged bull; you absolutely could not let his fragile ego fuck up this entire operation.

“I am going to the ladies room,” you announced abruptly.

You sat up, your hips shifting with a natural, subtle sway as you swung your legs off the lounge chair. The movement drew Thor’s intense gaze straight to your back, his eyes tracking you with the exact same heavy focus as a certain someone across the pool deck. Thor’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. He knew exactly what you were doing; he was not fucking stupid. You were trying to get away from him to corner the target alone. And he was absolutely not going to let you.

You marched into the restroom, deliberately waiting inside for two full minutes to give Valentin time to notice your absence. When you finally emerged back into the bright sunshine, your eyes instantly scanned the area for Thor, but you couldn't find his giant frame anywhere near the sunbeds. Your brows knitted in concern. Where the fuck is he? You shook your head, dismissing the thought.

Continuing your way, your strides remained purposeful, your hips swaying with an intoxicating rhythm as you confidently made your way over to the open-air pool bar. You stopped right next to two stols away from Valentin, placing your hands flat on the polished marble counter.

“A cosmopolitan, please,” you told the bartender, flashing a polite smile.

Beside you, Valentin smirked and got up, sliding onto the stool right next to you. “Good afternoon,” he smoothed, his voice dripping with an arrogant, upper-class accent as he looked down at your frame. His smirk widened. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I haven't seen your face at the Sanctuary before. I am Valentin.”

You immediately forced your perfected, dazzling smile onto your face, tilting your head up to look at him. “Hello,” you said, your voice smooth, breathy, and entirely welcoming as you deliberately played the part.

Valentin’s dark eyes flashed with deep approval at your response. But just as he opened his mouth to speak, a heavy, solid weight crashed into your side.

A massive, bare arm wrapped securely around your waist, his fingers gripping your skin so tightly that your breath instantly hitched in your throat.

“Here you are, darling,” Thor muttered, leaning down so close his lips practically brushed your ear, though his icy gaze remained dead-locked onto Valentin.

“Here I am,” you said through your teeth. You forced out a light, airy giggle for appearance's sake, but underneath the counter, you aggressively pinched the skin of his arm. Just what did he think he was doing?

In response, his grip only tightened, anchoring you flush against his solid hip.

Valentin looked between the two of you, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise, though his arrogant smirk remained firmly in place. “Your companion didn't seem to care you were there just minutes ago,” Valentin noted smoothly, turning his attention entirely back to you and deliberately stepping a fraction closer to your space. “If you ever find yourself bored with the company, cara, I am always hosting private tastings in the VIP lounge upstairs. A woman of your taste shouldn't be left to just bake in the sun.”

Valentin finally flicked a dismissive, incredibly brief glance toward Thor, taking in his towering height, his bare chest, and his silent, murderous expression. Valentin chuckled softly under his breath, entirely assuming Thor was just some brainless, handsome trophy husband you kept around for arm candy.

You felt your eyes briefly close in pure panic as Thor tried to keep his mouth shut. The tension radiating off him was terrifying; he pulled you even harder against his side, his thumb digging into your waist. Didn't this mortal idiot know who he was dealing with? The God of Thunder looked like he was about to rip Valentin’s head off his shoulders and toss it directly into the infinity pool.

“My husband,” you intervened quickly, emphasizing the word heavily while throwing Thor a sharp, lethal warning glare, “is just enjoying the peace. But thank you for the invitation, Valentin. We might just take you up on that.”

“I look forward to it,” Valentin murmured, his eyes giving your body one last, shameless scan down to your bare legs. He gave a polite nod and turned back toward the bar, entirely unaware of how close he had just come to an early grave.

Thor practically dragged you out of there, his heavy grip guiding you back toward the sunbeds.

The second Valentin was out of earshot, you let out a sharp breath, turning your head to hiss at him. “What do you think you're doing?!”

Thor didn't even spare you a glance, his jaw set in a rigid line as he kept on walking, dragging you right along by his side. “I am not doing anything.” You huffed, sharply slapping his bare arm. “Thor, you're going to ruin everything!” He acted completely deaf, ignoring your slap as he kept his heavy strides forward.

“Tomorrow,” you whispered fiercely, leaning in closer to his side so none of the passing guests could overhear. “I am going to have to flirt with him to get those access codes, and you will not do things like what you just did!”

Thor’s head snapped toward you so fast your breath caught harshly in your chest. His blue eyes were burning, fucking scorching into yours with an unhinged look.

“You will not,” he growled.

You scoffed loudly, throwing your head back. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said flatly. He finally let go of your waist, sitting back down heavily on his sunbed.

You remained standing over him, your hands flying up in pure frustration. “Is the concept of a man finding me attractive such a foreign concept to you?!” you whisper-shouted, your chest heaving.

He didn't respond as he kept looking at Valentin, his jaw locking into a tight, defensive line. Ofcourse he did not, and that was the exact problem. Any man who set their eyes on you would find you attractive and he could not fucking stand it.

It's because you cannot stand her, his mind echoed, but he knew something was desperately wron g with him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Valentin was still watching the two of you from the bar, clearly reveling in the fact that he had caused a little disagreement between the stunning woman and her brute of a husband. Thor’s eyes darkened even further as he tracked Valentin's amused expression.

Your gaze followed Thor's, landing right on the smug target.

“Are you serious?” you muttered to Thor. Then, turning your head toward the bar, you deliberately forced a sweet smile and gave Valentin a little, subtle wave.

You turned back to Thor, sitting down forcefully on your own sunbed. “I will do what I have to do, Thor,” you said coldly, snatching up a glossy fashion magazine from the side table—one of the resort’s complimentary services.

“We’ll see about that,” Thor muttered back, his voice dangerous.

You didn't respond, your own jaw locking in a fury so intense you wanted to wrap your hands around his thick neck and strangle him.

So yeah, your day was going exactly the same. You had wanted to strangle him in the morning, and you wanted to strangle him right now. Not a single thing had changed, other than the fact that he was now your supposed husband.

You aggressively kept on turning the glossy pages of the magazine, but your gaze followed Valentin precisely. Between the articles, your sharp eyes roamed over every single person on the pool deck, dissecting them and their behaviors, mapping out the security hierarchy of the resort. But you got bored after a while, the heat and the tension becoming too much to sit through. Deciding you needed a distraction, you stood up from your sunbed to go into the pool.

The moment you stood, Thor’s intense gaze focused directly in on your stomach. The air left his lungs. There, cutting across your midriff, were the exact same faint, jagged scars. His blood ran entirely cold. Just how many of those did you have hidden across your body? He felt his stomach churn painfully, his hands going completely cold despite the blistering sun. But just as he watched you walk down the shallow steps into the water, he fucking saw Valentin look at you again.

Just why did this guy not give up?

Thor felt something violent biting at him inside—something so utterly convincing and overwhelming that his face hardened into stone. He got up immediately, his towering frame casting a shadow over the lounge chairs as he followed you straight into the water.

You were already in the pool, the cold water instantly relieving your burning skin. You swam smoothly toward the far edge, propping your elbows up on the smooth marble so you could lay your head on your hands and finally relax.

Just as you were settling in, a calm expression finally washing over your face, the entire pool rattled with the force of someone jumping in.

You whipped your head around, your eyes wide with irritation. Thor emerged from underwater a split second later, a smug, breathless smile on his face as he broke the surface just inches away from you.

“Can I not relax in peace now?” you snapped between your teeth.

But the remaining words were brutally taken right out of your lungs. Before you could slide away, Thor wrapped his massive hands securely around the back of your bare thighs, effortlessly lifting your body up in the water. The sudden momentum left you with no choice but to instinctively circle your legs around his broad waist to keep from slipping.

“What are you doing?” you whispered into his ear, completely breathless. Despite the panic racing through your veins, you forced a bright, blinding honeymoon smile for the sake of the couples swimming near you, whose bewildered, intrigued expressions were already focused entirely on the two of you.

“I am enjoying the cold water with my wife,” he murmured back. His warm breath fanned heavily over the sensitive skin of your neck as he intentionally cornered you, crowding your front while your back was pressed against the marble edge of the pool you had been relaxing on seconds ago.

Your hands instinctively found his neck, your fingers gripping his shoulders while your thumbs lightly played with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. You looked at him, your lips dangling a mere inch away from his. You could feel his steady breath fanning over your mouth, making your lips tingle with soul-burning want.

Why the hell were your lips tingling with want? Oh, god. Your face burned with a furious, internal heat as your eyes helplessly locked onto his mouth. Both of your chests heaved, brushing against one another in the water.

“I am not your real wife, Thor,” you breathed out, trying desperately to ground yourself. “I don’t need you touching me every five seconds—”

“I don’t need anyone here thinking you are available.”

“What?” you whispered, your heart giving a massive flutter against your ribs.

“Fake or not, Little Flame,” he growled softly, his blue eyes turning incredibly dark as his grip on your thighs tightened. “I am your fucking husband, and every man on this island will know it. I will make sure of it.”

He smirked, and before you could even process his words, he leaned in and pressed a firm, lingering kiss directly to your flushed cheek. You gasped in absolute shock, your skin scorching where his lips met your face. As he pulled back just a fraction, your noses brushed. You looked directly into his eyes, feeling yourself grow hotter and hotter and hotter—

“My honorary guests! You made it!”

A booming, boisterous voice suddenly erupted from above you. You both snapped your heads up, startled out of the suffocating bubble, and saw Alejandro Moretti himself standing on the pool deck. He was smiling down at the two of you, his arms spread wide in a grand, welcoming gesture.

You aggressively cleared your throat, your training forcing you to seamlessly recover. “Hello, Mr. Moretti. It's a pleasure to meet you,” you said, forcing a dazzling smile as you introduced yourself and extended a wet hand up toward the him.

He immediately took it, bowing his head slightly. “It is my absolute pleasure,” he said warmly. “You are the wife of the mighty Thor, after all!” He chuckled loudly, before turning his glowing gaze entirely back to Thor. “Big fan, man. Big fan.”

Moretti extended his hand toward him, and Thor took it, a wide, proud smile immediately breaking across his face because he was being praised. God, he absolutely loved being praised, didn't he?

Moretti started talking rapidly, listing off Thor’s various accomplishments while keeping a firm, enthusiastic grip on his hand. Rolling your eyes privately, you used the distraction to unwrap your legs from Thor's waist, pulling yourself off his torso and slipping back into the water.

The moment you detached yourself, Thor's hand snapped out, tightening firmly around your wrist. He immediately tore his attention away from Moretti, looking down at you. “Where are you going, sweetheart?”

The casual nickname made your entire stomach flutter dangerously.

“Gonna go dry off, honey,” you said, matching his energy as you pulled yourself up slightly to plant a swift, fake peck on his cheek. “Just a bit cold.”

“I will come with you,” Thor insisted immediately, his cheek burninh as his eyes tracking your movement.

“Ah, newlyweds,” Moretti chuckled fondly at the display, shaking his head. “Always so full of love, am I right?”

You gave him a dry, polite chuckle and quickly swam toward the pool steps to get out. As you and Thor stepped onto the stone deck, grabbing your towels, Moretti walked right alongside you, refusing to leave Thor’s side for even a single second. It was like he wanted Thor all to himself.

How can someone not want him, though? the thought involuntarily slipped into your mind.

You froze dead in your tracks, your towel clutched tightly in your hands as your own mind echoed back to you.

No. You did not want him. Certainly not. You didn't, you couldn't—

You closed your eyes, letting out a long, defeated sigh.

You fucking wanted him. And he could never know.

—

You were getting ready, painting a sharp, precise wing of black eyeliner over your eyelid as you desperately tried to keep yourself intact.

Moretti had invited the both of you to the exclusive resort party taking place tonight. Well, you were going to go either way for the sake of the mission, but he had explicitly invited you as his honorary guests.

After the you realizedthat you actually wanted Thor, you had started to see him in an entirely different light. You had felt physically nauseous by the fact that you wanted him, wanting nothing more than to run back to the villa to self-reflect and figure out exactly where your life had gone wrong. But he had not left you alone for a single second. The moment you had said you were going to the room, he had immediately gotten up and followed you back to the room. He had looked so genuinely caring while doing it, which only made an unwelcome swarm of butterflies erupt in your stomach. And the fact that he looked so so good—

Ugh, you were doing it again.

“Are you ready, Little Flame?” came Thor’s deep voice from behind the bathroom door.

You took one good look at yourself in the mirror, your gaze traveling down from your flawless makeup to the white midi dress that hugged your curves perfectly, down to your elegant heeled sandals. You looked hot. Absolutely lethal.

You swung the bathroom door open, only to be hit dead-on with the sight of him waiting in the foyer.

His lips parted, falling slightly agape as his eyes traveled over you, taking you in. His towering, formidable frame was clad in tailored cream linen trousers and a crisp white linen shirt, finished with beige loafers.

Your heart stopped dead in your chest. Was he actively trying to kill you? He was already breathtakingly handsome on a regular day, but the fact that he was dressing like that was doing completely unspeakable things to your sanity.

Thor felt the air brutally ripped from his lungs the exact second you emerged. His blue eyes aggressively roamed over your face, your sharp eyeliner, and the way the white dress accentuated your flawless form. Now, why the hell did you have to look like this and still have the absolute audacity to hate him?

His breathing became distinctly ragged, his eyes darkening to a stormy, dangerous hue as the possessive thought of other men witnessing your beauty tonight overtook his mind. But he forced his muscles to relax as he reminded himself that this hotel was strictly full of wealthy couples. It was fine. You were anchored to him. Right?

“Let’s go, big guy,” you said, averting your gaze in absolute panic as you brushed past his broad shoulder and made your way out of the villa.

Thor’s eyebrows shot up in utter bewilderment. He stood frozen for a second before turning to follow you out onto the stone path closing the door behind him, his voice clearly dripping with a deep, rumbling amusement. “Big guy?”

Your face burned a scorching, furious hot at your own slip of the tongue. You usually never called him anything other than petty names specifically engineered to irritate him, so what the fuck was that now?

“You... are massive. And a man?” you stammered out, desperately trying to make light of the situation as you walked ahead of him, your heels clicking sharply.

“Hm,” Thor just grunted behind you. You couldn't see his face, but you could hear the triumphant smile in his voice as the two of you made your way down toward dinner.

The revelation that you were actually attracted to him was making you go completely crazy, and you were already fucking it all up. Your brain was entirely short-circuiting over how mind-numbingly handsome he looked in that white linen shirt, and calling him big guy of all things was proof that you were losing your edge. All through dinner, you were on high alert, desperately trying to hide your lingering glimpses toward his muscular arms and his stupidly handsome face, praying he wouldn't notice the sudden shift in your behavior.

Dinner itself had been an exercise in damage control. Thor had absolutely loved the food, boisterously shouting “Another!” to the waitstaff every time he finished a plate, leaving you to look at the waiters with highly apologetic eyes. You had quickly smoothed it over, telling them with a charming laugh how incredibly enthusiastic your husband was about their exquisite cuisine. Far from being offended, the staff had been completely fascinated by Thor, even asking for his signature—though the poor guys couldn't take any pictures due to the resort's strict high-society privacy policy.

Once dinner was finally over, you made your way to the actual party.

The bass from the music blasted your ears off the second you walked through the entrance. Thor’s heavy hand was firmly circled around your waist, gluing you to his side as you looked around the crowded open-air venue. You bit your lip, doing everything in your power to mask your fastened heartbeat and the slight panic tracing your expression. To maintain the doting newlyweds facade, your own arm was stretched across Thor’s broad back.

And god, how magnificent that back was. Through the thin linen of his shirt, you could feel the solid, dangerous planes of his muscles right beneath your palm. It made you wonder, in a rogue, intrusive thought, if you could paint that flawless skin red with your nails, leaving little scratches down his—

oh my god, shut up, girl, you fiercely scolded yourself in your mind, your face flashing a blistering hot.

As you walked deeper into the VIP section toward Alejandro Moretti’s table, you spotted Valentin right next to him.

The exact millisecond Valentin came into view, you could feel every single muscle in Thor’s body tense up beneath your hand. Pure instinct took over, you gave the small of his back a soft, deliberate little squeeze, a silent warning to stay grounded.

The touch made Thor instantly look down at you, his blue eyes full of an intense, sweeping emotion you couldn't quite name. Your mind raced. Why the fuck were you trying to calm him down? And why the hell was he getting so intensely tense in the first place?

“Don’t make a scene,” you whispered fiercely up to him, looking at him through your lashes as you kept your voice strictly beneath the thumping bass.

“Do not make me make a scene,” he grumbled back, his deep voice heavily unpleased as his grip on your waist tightened.

Alejandro Moretti immediately got up from his leather booth the moment he saw you approach. “Ah! Here they are!” he announced loudly, his arms thrown wide open in a grand greeting.

Thor smiled brightly, his deep, booming laugh filling your ears as he stepped forward to enthusiastically embrace the billionaire, playing the part of the larger-than-life husband a little too well. You let out a bright, airy laugh right on cue, looking up at them as you seamlessly executed the role of the loving, supportive wife.

From across the table, Valentin was staring directly at you, a confident, knowing smirk pulling at his lips.

Alejandro turned proudly to his younger brother, gesturing toward the two of you. “My guests of honor, Valentin! This is Thor, and his lovely wife.”

Valentin’s dark eyebrows furrowed in immediate confusion. “Thor?”

“Yes! The God of Thunder!” Alejandro chuckled heartily, totally oblivious to the shift in the air as he gestured for everyone to sit down.

The arrogant smirk was instantly wiped entirely off Valentin’s face. He stood frozen, likely wondering how the hell he hadn't recognized the literal Avenger at the pool bar earlier.

“Ah,” Valentin cleared his throat, cautiously extending his hand across the table, even as Thor threw absolute, unyielding daggers at him with his icy gaze. “My pleasure.”

Thor’s lips pulled into a wide, bright smile as he reached out and took Valentin’s hand. But you knew that exact smile entirely too well—it was the predatory, sharp-edged smile he regularly threw at you whenever you managed to annoy him to death in public. It was the smile of a Thor who was profoundly angry, masking his rage with a lethally graceful diplomacy.

His godlike grip must have tightened a fraction too much around Valentin’s fingers, because the smug playboy’s face instantly grimaced in pain, his knuckles turning white under the force of the god’s hand.

You tapped lightly on Thor’s elbow, giving him a subtle, pointed signal to let go before he completely pulverized the man's hand. He finally released his grip, though his blue eyes continued to burn right through Valentin, his other arm instantly wrapping tight around your waist again to pull you back into his orbit.

You went to sit down in the plush leather booth, but Thor deliberately shuffled his massive frame, placing himself directly between you and Valentin to completely block the playboy's line of sight. You rolled your eyes privately. He was obviously being this intensely possessive because the entire resort had to believe you were blissfully married, but he was playing the part a little too well for your sanity.

Alejandro, ever the fanboy, was visibly disappointed by the seating arrangement—he was now sitting on your other side instead of right next to the God of Thunder—but he stopped himself from saying anything to avoid offending his royal guest.

So began the endless praises for Thor.

“I must say, King Thor, having you here at the Sanctuary is a historic honor!” Alejandro beamed, gesturing for a waiter to pour more whiskey. “The stories of your victories on Earth, the Battle of New York, the triumph over Malekith... truly spectacular! A god walking among mortals!”

Thor smiled brightly, his booming laugh easily cutting through the lounge music as his arm remained locked securely around your waist, his thumb lazily stroking your side through the fabric of your dress. “Ah, you are too kind, Alejandro! But a King must protect the realms. The battle against the Dark Elves was indeed a fierce one, requiring absolute precision and power.”

As he spoke the word precision, Thor casually leaned back, his icy gaze flicking past you to check if Valentin was looking at you. Finding Valentin’s eyes darting toward your bare shoulders, Thor’s grip on your waist tightened possessively, his jaw clenching as he seamlessly continued his story. “We had to secure ancient, dangerous technologies to ensure they never fell into the wrong hands. It takes a truly formidable force to handle such secrets.”

“Incredible,” Alejandro said, hanging on his every word. “And to manage such cosmic feats while keeping a beautiful wife by your side!”

“She is my greatest anchor,” Thor murmured, his deep voice dropping into a low tone as he turned his head to look down at you. His eyes searched your face with a burning, unreadable intensity that made your heart skip a violent beat. “No matter how chaotic the universe becomes, she is the only one who can truly command my attention.”

You gulped, your eyes helplessly searching his face, desperately trying to read the heavy gravity in his expression. But before you could decipher it, a question cut through the air—one you should have anticipated much sooner.

“So, how did you two meet?” Valentin asked, his voice smooth as he leaned forward. His dark eyes actively tried to find your frame past Thor's broad shoulders, but Thor was absolutely wiping you from his sight, shifting his weight to keep you entirely hidden.

Your blood ran cold. A sudden wave of panic rushed through you, and as you snapped your eyes to Thor, you saw the exact same flash of panic mirrored in his blue eyes. You had never rehearsed a backstory.

“I saw him—” you began hastily, just as Thor started, “We saw each other—”

Your voices mixed awkwardly over the thumping bass of the music. Alejandro looked between the two of you expectantly, his eyebrows raised.

You quickly forced a light, melodic laugh, covering the slip-up as you spoke over each other. Tilting your head up, you offered Thor a brilliant, adoring smile. “My husband should tell you about this one. He’s a real good storyteller, aren't you, darling?” You squeezed his shoulder, your fingers digging into his shirt.

Thor’s hold tightened around your waist, his thumb pressing firmly into your side. “I must let you take over this one, my dear. Your perspective is far more enchanting.”

“I insist,” you said, your voice dripping sweet as honey, though you locked eyes with him in a silent, lethal challenge. You knew pushing the spotlight onto him annoyed him to his absolute core.

“Very well,” he grumbled under his breath, leaning back into the booth. He cleared his throat, his posture shifting into something commanding. Valentin had slid over a bit to the side of the table, desperate to finally see you both, his sharp eyes intensely dissecting the two of you for any cracks in the facade.

“We met years ago, when she was first recruited to the team,” Thor began, his deep baritone rumbling through his chest. He paused, his blue eyes dropping down to look at you, the heavy lounge music suddenly fading into absolute background noise. “I saw her walk into the room. A beautiful woman. Truly, the most breathtaking creature I had ever laid my eyes upon.”

You looked up at him, fully expecting to see a detached, calculated look in his eyes—the face of a soldier executing a calculated lie. But your heart slammed against your ribs. You were shaken to your core at the raw, truthful look in his gaze. Your breath hitched, turning ragged in your chest.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and intimate, as if he had completely forgotten Alejandro and Valentin were even sitting across from them. “But she looked like she had dark, stormy clouds swarming all over her. She was so heavily guarded. So, my brain short-circuited, and I called her gloomy.”

Alejandro’s eyes widened, a grin breaking across his face. “No way!”

Your jaw clenched as the vivid memory made your blood boil all over again. Why the fuck was he telling them what actually happened?

“I know, I shouldn't have,” Thor murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. His gaze was burning into you, scorching you with a look that made your skin prickle. “But seeing her face... my mind simply stopped working. That was the only thing I could utter. And do you know what she did?” He looked over at Alejandro, a genuine, fond smile pulling at his lips. “She didn't cower. She didn't stay silent. She yelled at me. She marched right up to my face and screamed about what a massive, insufferable asshole I was.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in deep, defensive confusion. Wht was he chuckling about that? He had hated you for it.

“She was the first woman to ever yell at me like that, without a single shred of fear, without holding back an ounce of her fire,” Thor said, his voice a raspy register, thick with a devotion that felt terrifyingly real. He reached down, his large hand gently cupping the side of your face, his thumb softly tracing your cheekbone. The tender touch sent a violent jolt of electricity straight down your spine. “That’s when I realized... right there, in the middle of her fury. That’s when I realized she was the love of my life.”

You gulped, your hands clenching into tight fists against your lap. The air was brutally ripped from your lungs. You literally couldn't breathe under the sheer weight of his stare. He was looking down at you as if you were the most precious, sacred thing he had ever been allowed to hold.

“Then, I chased her for years,” Thor continued smoothly, finally tearing his gaze away from your frozen face to smile at Alejandro. “Trying to get her to agree to a single date. I brought flowers to her quarters every single day, trying to melt the ice. She finally caved in after a while... and here we are.”

Thor cleared his throat letting go of your face and adjusting his shirt as Alejandro let out a captivated sigh.

Your gaze remained completely stuck on the line of Thor's neck, your mind spinning in absolute confusion. He had sounded so entirely sincere when he described your beauty. The way he explained falling in love with your fire, it sounded like poetry.

He isn't in love with you, a harsh, grounding voice violently intervened in your mind. He is lying through his teeth to save the mission. He made it all up. You desperately tried to pull yourself together, reciting the mantra over and over: He hates you. He has hated you for years.

But as you sat there, enveloped in the heat of his massive body, a sharp ache bloomed deep in your chest at the reminder of his hatred.

Why did your chest ache at his hatred towards you? And why did it hurt so bad?

“That is just beautiful,” Alejandro breathed, raising his glass in a toast. “A match made in the heavens, truly.”

You swallowed the thick lump in your throat, forcefully shaking the daze out of your head. Forcing your muscles to relax, you put on a flawless, dazzling smile for show, leaning deeper into your fake husband's side while your heart shattered quietly into a million pieces.

The subject changed then, Alejandro and Thor talking about other things while Thor gave you occasional little pecks on your cheek, his lips lingering just enough to keep your heart beating frantically in your mouth.

“Why haven't you two kissed?” Valentin asked suddenly, his voice sharply cutting through the conversation of the two men. His dark eyes roamed all over your face, calculating and deeply skeptical.

What?

Thor turned toward him immediately, his posture shifting into something lethal. “What do you mean, mortal? I’ve been doing nothing but kiss her since we sat down.” His blue eyes narrowed into dangerous slits at Valentin.

“You keep kissing her on her cheeks. Why not on the lips?” Valentin pushed, his gaze sharp and dissecting.

Thor’s gaze darkened to absolute midnight. “It is not your place to ask such questions.”

The playboy had been watching you far too closely; you should’ve seen this one coming. Valentin leaned back, a smug, accusatory grin slowly returning to his face. “You’re acting like you’re pretending—”

Your heart stopped dead in your chest.

“Do not speak one more word, mortal,” Thor spoke, his deep voice dropping an octave as he raised a single, threatening finger.

Alejandro’s expression changed instantly. He looked at his brother with sudden seriousness, his tone sharp. “Leave our guests alone, Val.” But then, Alejandro’s eyes dropped down to the floor for a split second, as if he were mentally calculating something. He turned back toward you, his brow furrowing. “But... he is right. Why haven't you kissed her?”

Your heart started beating faster and faster, a wave of ice-cold panic rushing to your fingertips. Your cover was about to be completely blown right here in the VIP section. Thor’s gaze darkened even further, clearly unpleased and deeply tense at being questioned. This was not good. You had to do something, and you had to do it right now.

“She is my wife—” Thor started angrily, but you smoothly interfered.

With an effortless, confident laugh, you dismissed the two brothers with a casual wave of your hand, acting as if they were nothing more than little, annoying flies. Your left hand found Thor’s massive bicep as you elegantly crossed your legs, slanting them directly over his thick thighs.

Responding to the sudden contact, Thor's arm instinctively wrapped around your back, his eyes snapping down to look at you immediately. What were you doing?

“My husband and I are very passionate,” you said, your voice dripping with a sultry, unbothered confidence as your hand trailed seductively over the broad expanse of his chest. “We try to keep the PDA to a minimum so we don't make people uncomfortable. Should we show them, honey?”

You looked completely unshakable, but inside, your heart was threatening to leap straight out of your chest. The skin of your legs burned where your thighs were glued to his.

Thor’s chest heaved tightly beneath your fingers as you looked up at him through your lashes. His heart missed a beat at the breathtaking sight of you in his lap. Fuck. You both knew exactly what had to be done right now, or the entire mission was over.

Thor’s large hand found the back of your neck, his fingers tightening securely. “Music to my fucking ears, darling,” he growled.

And then, he claimed your lips in an instant. The force of the impact took the remaining breath right out of your lungs. Your left hand instinctively grabbed the back of his neck, your fingers anchoring into his skin, while your other hand remained flat against his heaving chest. Your mouths moved in tandem, a low, helpless sigh of contentment pouring from your throat straight into the kiss. Your head tilted to the side, completely surrendering to the heat.

His right hand on your back slid downward to your waist, grabbing you with an iron, desperate tightness, as if he never intended to let you go for the rest of his immortal life. His other hand moved from the back of your neck up to your head, his thick fingers tangling aggressively through your hair, tilting your face up by giving a firm, sudden tug on your hair. You gasped into his mouth, your teeth sharply biting his lower lip in response. Thor let out a low grunt, his kisses instantly becoming more fervent, deeper, and completely unhinged. You were drowning in him.

Next to you, Alejandro and Valentin looked at each other, their faces flushing as they clearly regretted ever opening their mouths. They were visibly uncomfortable—good. They deserved to be, so they would never question a single thing about the two of you again.

He was entirely consuming you, and gods, was he liking it. He felt the soft circle of your thumb over the nape of his neck, sending a violent wave of chills straight down his spine. You tasted sweet—sweeter than any other lips he had ever tasted in his thousand years of life. Thor licked at the seam of your lips once, a non-verbal command motioning for you to open up for him. You tried to fight it for a split second, a last shred of self-preservation, but he forcefully made you part them by giving your lower lip another sharp bite and executing a firm tug on your hair.

You gasped, your chest heaving against his as he glided his tongue over yours. He was so good at this. So fucking good that you completely forgot where you were, forgot the mission, forgot anyone else existed besides him. He tugged tightly on your waist, trying to pull your body even closer into his mass, but you were already entirely glued to him, his radiating heat burning straight through your side.

Alejandro loudly cleared his throat, but you both kept on going like there was no tomorrow, still kissing him with a desperate, hidden hunger, as if you knew you would never get the chance to hold him like this ever again.

“Okay. We get it,” Valentin muttered, his voice clearly irritated and completely full of deep regret.

Thor let out a heavy grunt, finally parting his lips from yours. A thin, glistening string of saliva formed between your lips before breaking in the dim light. You looked up at him, your eyes completely dazed over, your hair beautifully messed up from his heavy hand, and your lips visibly swollen and red. He stared down at you, his own lips flushed and his pupils blown incredibly wide as his chest rose and fell in ragged breaths.

Taking a shallow breath, you slowly turned your head toward the other two men, a wicked, victorious smile pulling at your lips. “See?” you said.

You tried not to give away how much his kiss had affected you, but you knew you were a fucking mess. Your heart was threatening to leap out of your chest, your lungs heaving fast as you gulped, desperately trying to calm yourself down. How the hell did he affect you this much?

And he was still holding you, his arm wrapped incredibly tight around your waist as he kept looking down at you. His own broad chest was heaving hard as he fought a losing battle to get himself back under control.

It was just a damn kiss for the mission. He shouldn't be this completely unhinged by it. But he felt his pulse fasten more and more the longer he sat there. You had kissed him. You—the bane of his very existence, the woman who had spent years yelling at him and riling him up—had kissed him, and he had liked it. He had liked it so much that a dark, primitive part of his mind wanted nothing more than to drag you right back to his lips, to kiss you heavily until you were breathless, and to roam his hands all over your bare skin, thats all—nothing big really.

He fucking wanted you, and it was nothing big—who was he kidding? It was probably the biggest newsflash in his entire thousand-year lifetime. He wanted you so much that he felt it shaking the very foundations of his immortal soul.

I want her, his mind echoed fiercely. I want her, I want to consume her, I want to be completely consumed by her.

Thor averted his eyes toward the table, his jaw locking. Fuck. How the hell did this happen?

“Yes, we get it, damn,” Alejandro said, breaking the heavy silence with a loud laugh, holding his hands up in surrender.

Valentin, however, was a completely different story. His dark, calculating gaze was still locked dead on your face, intensely trying to decipher the lingering daze in your eyes, trying to see if there was still a crack in the armor—if he could keep on pursuing you.

You noticed his stare immediately, your eyes locking onto his. A sharp jolt of reality hit you. You were sitting in Thor's lap, your thighs crossed over his, kissed by him so thoroughly that your mind had gone entirely blank. You had completely forgotten about your objective.

The codes. You needed the damn digital decryption keys.

You had told Thor earlier that you would handle Valentin tomorrow, but after the possessive display he had just put on, he would clearly find a way to interfere if you tried to flirt with the man tomorrow. It had to be tonight. It had to happen right now under the cover of this party.

Your mind rapidly formulated a plan: you had to first find a way to get away from Thor, corner Valentin alone at the bar, seduce him, and slip a few drops of truth serum into his whiskey glass to extract the server access codes.

It was a perfect, textbook assassin execution. But as you sat there, feeling the heavy, protective weight of Thor's hand on your hip, you realized something. You didn't want to leave the comfort of Thor's embrace.

Oh, how thoroughly, hopelessly fucked you were.

You had to get it together. Bracing yourself, you tried lifting your legs off Thor’s lap, but the exact second you shifted, his iron hold on your waist tightened. His eyebrows furrowed into a hard line, and his questioning, blazing blue gaze snapped up to lock onto yours. He didn’t say a word, but the look in his eyes was loudly demanding to know exactly where the hell you thought you were going.

Why was he acting like this? Why was he looking at you as if that kiss had completely unhinged him just as much as it had affected you?

You helplessly looked into his eyes, your gaze involuntarily dropping down to his swollen lips before snapping back up to his stare. “I’m just going to the bar,” you murmured.

“I’ll come with you,” he said immediately. His deep voice carried a rough, unyielding edge, his instincts focusing entirely on one single objective: keep that vile mortal fucker as far away from you as humanly possible.

“No!—” you scrambled out, a little too desperately, before quickly forcing a soft, reassuring smile to maintain the act. “I’ll be back in a second, honey. It’s okay.”

This felt devastatingly real. He looked genuinely jealous, his possessive aura radiating off him in suffocating waves.

“She can go alone, my friend. I own this entire establishment; nothing could possibly happen to her here,” Alejandro intervened with a booming laugh, reassuring the tense god.

Taking the opening, you carefully slipped out of Thor’s tight grip and stood up. The sudden lack of his heavy hands and burning heat against your skin left you feeling instantly cold, a sudden pang of withdrawal hitting you in the chest. You stubbornly ignored it. Catching Valentin’s eye across the table, you held his gaze for a few seconds longer than any happily married woman ever should, throwing him a subtle, inviting tilt of your head before turning on your heel and making your way toward the crowded bar—finally out of Thor’s direct line of sight.

You knew Valentin would make up a pathetic excuse to follow you within minutes. Arriving at the bar, you caught the bartender’s attention. “A virgin mojito, please,” you ordered smoothly. You were a professional; you were absolutely not going to consume a single drop of alcohol while on an active extraction mission.

You waited for a few minutes, slowly sipping on your refreshing mocktail while keeping your perimeter scan active. Right on cue, a smooth, arrogant voice slithered in next to your ear.

“I take it you didn’t look at me like that back there just to have a drink all by yourself?”

Valentin slid onto the barstool right next to you, his eyes brimming with a smug, predatory confidence.

A slow, practiced smirk pulled at your lips as you gracefully turned your upper body toward him, leaning one elbow against the counter. “I don’t think I get what you mean, Valentin.”

“Don’t play innocent. It’s not a good look on you,” he murmured, his eyes boldly dropping down to the neckline of your dress before rising back to your face. “Though, I must admit... I really like this whole going-around-his-back thing. A dangerous woman gets me thrilled.”

“Hm,” you mumbled, your smile becoming as beautiful and lethal as a viper's. You leaned in a fraction closer into his personal space, letting your voice drop into a sultry, confidential whisper. “Are you just going to stand there talking, or are you gonna have a drink with me?”

Valentin’s smirk widened, completely intoxicated by the sudden green light. “I could never say no to a woman like you.” He immediately raised a hand to the bartender. “Get me a double Macallan, neat.”

As the bartender turned around to pour the amber liquor, you covertly slid your right hand into the small, hidden pocket built into the lining of your white midi dress. Your fingertips brushed against the tiny, cold glass vial containing S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued truth serum—colorless, odorless, and fast-acting.

The bartender placed the heavy crystal whiskey glass right in front of Valentin.

“You know,” you purred, deliberately reaching across Valentin's chest to grab a small bowl of nuts from the opposite side of his stool. The intentional movement forced your bare shoulder to brush heavily against his chest, completely breaking his concentration as his eyes locked onto your neck.

With a fluid, invisible grace, your thumb flicked the cap off the vial. As your arm crossed over his open whiskey glass, you seamlessly dropped three drops of the serum directly into the amber liquid.

You pulled back, placing the bowl between you with an innocent, dazzling smile. “A toast. To private tastings.”

“To private tastings,” Valentin echoed darkly, completely oblivious. He picked up the crystal glass and took a massive, confident gulp of the whiskey, swallowing the serum down in one smooth motion.

You counted the seconds in your head. Three. Two. One.

Almost instantly, Valentin’s posture relaxed a fraction too much. The sharp, predatory spark in his eyes suddenly dulled into a slight, hazy glaze, his blinking slowing down as the neural inhibitors rapidly flooded his system, forcing his vocal cords to lose all capacity for deception.

Your smirk turned razor-sharp. It was time to get to work.

“Valentin,” you whispered, leaning in so close your breath brushed his ear, masking your interrogation beneath the thumping bass of the party. “Let’s talk about your brother’s collection. Where are the digital decryption keys for the Dark Elf technology stored?”

Valentin’s jaw loosened, his voice coming out completely flat, devoid of its previous arrogant inflection. “The main encryption drive stays locked in the master server vault... sub-level two of the main villa compound. Hold on why are you asking me th—”

“And how do I bypass the biometric firewall?” you cut him off before he could think.

“The security bypass code changes every twelve hours,” Valentin droned automatically, his hand resting limply against the counter.

“Mhm, and what is it lets say... tomorrow night?” you pushed seamlessly, your eyes locked onto his dazed face.

“Tomorrow night's terminal override sequence for the vault is... Alpha-Niner-Seven-X-Ray-Delta.”

Bingo.

Your brain instantly memorized the alphanumeric sequence, a cold, triumphant rush of adrenaline flooding your veins. You had the codes for tomorrow. The entire mission could be wrapped up in less than three days, just like you wanted. You could finally leave this godforsaken resort, get away from this cover, and most importantly—get away from the dangerous, addictive pull of the God of Thunder.

Valentin pouted as he looked at you, his eyes glassy and confused under the weight of the serum. "But why are you asking me all th—"

“I have to go, dear,” you cut him off quickly, placing a hand on his bicep and giving it a soothing squeeze to keep him compliant.

But his hand snapped up, gripping your arm to keep you from pulling away. “No, you can't leave. I had plans for us tonight...”

“No plans for us today,” you cooed, lowering your voice to a soft, hypnotic purr as you playfully booped his nose. He pouted even more at the gesture. You mentally rolled your eyes, already looking back toward the crowded VIP booth to check on Thor.

“But I wanted to fuck you—“

You whipped your head back toward Valentin so fast you thought you were going to get whiplash. But before you could even react to his crude words, he was brutally cut off.

A massive hand descended from the shadows like a falling meteor, wrapping entirely around the back of Valentin’s head and fiercely slamming his face straight down onto the marble counter.

Crack.

You gasped, your eyes blowing wide. Nearby guests screamed and immediately scrambled away, completely shocked by the sudden, violent ordeal. Valentin let out a pathetic, muffled groan as a dark stream of red instantly started dripping down his nostrils, pooling on the counter.

Thor held him pinned there, his massive hand basically covering most of Valentin's skull. You were so damn sure that if he applied just a fraction more pressure, he would crush the man's head like a ripe grape.

“You do not talk to my wife like that,” Thor growled, his voice a vibrating rumble that shook the very foundation of the bar.

“Thor, stop it!” you panicked, your hands desperately finding his rigid bicep, trying to pull his arm back.

Muffled against the stone, Valentin let out a wet, dizzy chuckle, the serum making him completely reckless. “Well, god-man... your wife lured me here—“

Slam.

Thor violently cracked his head against the counter a second time.

“I told you not to make a scene, didn't I?!”you yelled at the top of your lungs over the blasting music, frantically pulling at his arm to stop him from committing murder.

Thor slowly turned his head to look down at you. His blue eyes were completely blown with an unhinged, primitive rage. “I told you not to make me make one, did I not?!” he yelled back, his booming voice completely overriding the bass of the blasting lounge music.

You involuntarily flinched at the volume and raw power of his voice. You let out a sharp, furious huff, tore your hands off his arm, and turned around to bolt.

“Where do you think you're going?!” he demanded loudly.

He finally let go of Valentin, leaving theman to groan and slump heavily against the bar as you made your way out of the party. Every single eye of the high-society couples was locked onto you, whispering in terror as you stormed past.

“Stop!” Thor yelled after you, his heavy footsteps echoing right behind you, but your steps only fastened into a dead sprint.

You practically flew down the dark, stone paths of the resort, making your way back to the secluded villa. There wasn't a single soul around out here.

“I told you to stop!” he yelled again, his massive strides easily closing the distance as he caught up to you just as you reached the front door.

“And I told you to behave!” you screamed back, throwing the door open and slamming it behind you, desperately trying to force the heavy wood to lock on his face.

But you failed miserably.

“And I told you to stay away from him!” Thor yelled, forcing the door open without a single shred of effort—it was probably like flicking away a fly for him—before he aggressively slammed it shut behind him, sealing the two of you inside the tense silence of the villa.

“Why do you care?!” you yelled, throwing your arms up in the air as you spun around to face him, your face burning hot from rage.

“Why did you defy what I told you?” he pushed, stepping heavily into your personal space, his towering chest heaving.

“Because you are my mission partner, not my superior!”you shrieked, the built-up frustration of the last few hours completely boiling over. “God! You and your insufferable superiority complex!” You yelled again, aggressively turning your back to him to get away from his presence, making a beeline toward the balcony doors.

“Do not walk away from me!” Thor roared.

In two quick strides, he crossed the room. His hand locked firmly around your wrist, his grip unyielding but careful not to break you, as he yanked you back and turned you around to face him dead-on.

You opened your mouth to say something, but all words completely left you as you noticed how your noses were inches away, your breathing fastening to a panicked, ragged rhythm as you looked up at him. His chest was heaving just like yours, the sheer mass of him completely crowding you into the balcony's door. You just gulped, your eyes helplessly finding his lips again before you forced your gaze up to meet his intense stare.

“Why are you acting like you actually care?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly, your eyes filled with deep questioning. His eyes, which were locked onto your lips, finally flicked up to look directly into your eyes. He gulped, a muscle tightening in his jaw as he flatly lied, “I don’t.” He averted his eyes immediately after.

He cared. He fucking cared so much, but he could not let you know.

You scoffed loudly at his terrible deflection. “What’s all this then? You’ve been acting so strange since we got here—” His eyes snapped right back to yours, flashing with a sudden heat. “Oh, like you haven’t!” he said, his iron grip on your wrist tightening just a bit.

“What?” you gaped, your mouth forming a perfect 'O' shape at his audacity. “The nerve of you! I have been acting completely normal!” You aggressively tried to push against his heavy chest to create some distance, but it was like trying to shove a solid brick wall; it was not working.

“Have you, though?” he challenged. His head tilted slightly to the side as he looked down at you, his towering frame completely casting you in shadow. “You’ve been trying to avoid me ever since we arrived. Mind you, we are supposed to be husband and wife here, and instead of me, you kept throwing yourself into the arms of that bastard—”

“Excuse me for acting exactly like I should while we are on a high-stakes mission—”

“Is this how you act while you are on a mission?” he fiercely cut you off. He took a heavy, deliberate step forward, crowding you so completely that you were forced to push your back straight into the balcony door, the glass cool against your skin. His expression morphed into one of deep distaste—like the mere thought of you acting exactly like this on other operations disturbed him to his very bone.

“Not at all, Thor,” you muttered, finally averting your eyes as a wave of genuine discomfort washed over your face. “But I occasionally do have to seduce men here and there. It’s not a big deal—”

His thick eyebrows furrowed deeply. Before you could turn your face away completely, his large hand came up, his fingers gently but firmly catching your chin to force you to look at him. “Not a big deal? Is someone making you seduce them? There are other ways to extract information—” he started, his deep tone initially angry but quickly softening with a rare, unexpected touch of sympathy.

You swallowed hard against the lump in your throat. “Thor, I have been trained this way. And your ways are always too loud—”

“Who the fuck trained you like this?” he growled, the symapthy instantly vanishing into a dark, protective fury. “How many times have you done this, huh?”

Your own eyebrows furrowed in a defensive shield. His entire ftame was looming over you, completely clouding your thoughts and making it hard to think straight. You reached up, removing his hand from your face. “That is absolutely none of your business—”

His entire posture changed as the anger morphed into a heavy gravity. His eyes dropped to your arms first then followed to your midriff before snapping back to your face. “Who gave you those scars?”

“What?” Your eyes widened in pure horror, the air instantly taken right out of your lungs. This cannot be happening, your voice echoed inside your mind. He could not know. You could not let him see that vulnerable, broken piece of your past. “Thor, this is ridiculous. Let me go—”

You tried pushing him away again, your chest heaving in absolute desperation to break free from his hold. But he only used his mass to pin you into the door even more, his gaze intensely determined as his hand found your jaw once again, holding you still.

He was going to find out who those fuckers were, and he was going to make them pay. He didn't fully understand why he had this overwhelming, primitive urge to protect you, but he did, and he was going to deliver on it.

“Please, Little Flame,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a desperate plea. “Are they the same people who trained you?—”

“Why do you even want to know?!” you cried out, your voice finally cracking with deep pain. Tears instantly began brewing in your eyes, blurring his handsome face. He couldn't know. If he found out, he was going to use that knowledge against you. He was going to taunt you with it during your next argument, break you with your own nightmare of a history. He was going to make sure he hurt you, just like he did every single time he managed to get a glimpse of something personal about you. He was going to break your heart completely in half and toss it away.

He was going to, because he was the only person in the universe who actually had the power to do it.

“So you can torture me more?” you whispered, your voice shaking as a single tear escaped down your cheek.

Thor’s breath got caught in his throat. A sudden, physical pain pierced his chest, wrapping around his heart so tightly that he let out a sharp huff of air. It was a pain so great, so profoundly agonizing, that it started burning through his lungs before radiating all the way out to his fingertips.

Is this truly what you thought of him?

He knew he taunted you. He knew he did everything in his being to annoy you on a daily basis. He knew he wasn't your friend, and that you both claimed to dislike each other. But he had never, in his wildest dreams, thought you could actually think him capable of causing you real, deep-rooted pain.

A fierce, protective fire burned brightly behind his blue eyes as he leaned down, his lips practically brushing your temple as he spoke.

“So that I can torture them first as they did you,” he vowed, his voice low, terrifyingly dark promise that vibrated against your skin. “And then permanently remove them from existence.”

Your angelic face twisted into a look of deep, utter confusion. What the hell was he talking about? Why on Earth would he want to do something like that for you?

Thor’s hand softened on your jaw, his thumb gently wiping away the tear on your cheek with a heartbreaking amount of tenderness. He looked down at you, his pupils blown wide with an unyielding devotion. “No... I have a better idea. I am going to tear down whatever sanctuary they think they have, drag them to the deepest pits of Hel myself, and hand-deliver a punishment that will last for eternity. No one touches you, Little Flame. Never again.”

Your heart stuttered at his words, newfound tears completely blocking your vision now at being on the receiving end of them. He sounded so profoundly sincere, so entirely full of devotion that it made your stomach flutter wildly and your heart sing with a bittersweet ecstasy.

Why was he being this protective over you? Was it just because of your mission? Has he started to actually believe the lie, to believe you were truly his wife? And why did you believe every single word he said without an ounce of your usual skepticism?

How was he making your heart soar like this? Why did he have so much power over you, over your poor, guarded heart? Why did he have to be this perfect?

Why did you love him so much?

You gasped aloud as the intrusive thought took the remaining breath away from your lungs. You loved him. You were completely, undeniably in love with him. You were in love with the man who mocked you, annoyed you, tortured you with his words. You were in love with the man you claimed to dislike for all these years.

And that realization only made you cry harder, the tears spilling over your lashes because you were entirely convinced he was never going to love you back.

“I—” you started, trying to find your voice, but a heavy, broken sob ripped through your chest instead.

Thor's face immediately fell into an expression of deep, agonizing concern. His blue eyes searched your face frantically as he wrapped his massive arms around you, pulling you securely against his broad chest.

“Please do not cry, honey,” he murmured, his deep baritone cracking in pain.

He called you honey. He called you honey in private, in the quiet safety of your shared room, while holding you as if you were made of glass. It was so sweet, so tender, so full of an unprompted meaning. What on earth had happened to the two of you? Just hours ago, you were bitterly bickering about your morning coffee, but now you were collapsed in his arms, crying simply because he wanted to protect you.

Nobody did that for you. Nobody had ever said they would protect you, because they always expected you to handle it yourself. They knew what you were capable of; they knew you were lethal.

Nobody ever thought you would need someone else to do your bidding for you.

His large hand moved to the back of your head, his thick fingers gently stroking through your hair as he spoke, his voice dropping into a raspy whisper. “Darling, are you crying because of me?” He swallowed hard, his voice cracking again. “Do you truly think I mean to harm you? Do you think so little of me?”

You sobbed, your fingers clutching desperately onto the fabric of his shirt, burying your face into his chest.

“I’m begging you, do not cry,” he gulped, his own chest heaving as he held you tighter. “It... it hurts me.”

“I had been nothing but a laboratory experiment to them,” you finally choked out, the confession tearing out of your throat.

Thor froze instantly, his entire muscular body stiffening beneath your touch.

Slowly, you tilted your head up, your chin resting against his chest. Your lashes were damp with heavy tears that still kept falling silently down your cheeks. Thor’s hand gently cupped your face, his thumb catching the moisture, his eyes entirely locked onto yours as he listened with a quiet focus.

“They didn’t see a young woman,” you whispered, your throat tightening painfully as your grip on his shirt tightened. “They only saw a lab rat. A nameless object to be broken, tested, and rebuilt. I remember the cold steel of the table. I remember begging and begging... crying until my eyes bled, but they just kept on going.”

Thor’s blue eyes darkened into a midnight so black it looked like a brewing storm. A terrifying rage formed deep within him—a rage so massive and destructive that he felt he could destroy all of humanity just to see the lingering pain disappear from your eyes.

“Who are they?” He demanded, and your eyes closed in despair.

Should you tell him? Should you let him be a part of the darkest corners of your past?

Should you trust him?

“Darling, please tell me,” he begged, his voice trembling with a restrained fury as he looked down at you. “Who did this to you?”

Your throat tightened, your pulse fluttering at his gentle words and protective tone. You sighed opening your eyes, “They were a faction I later discovered to be the vile, lingering remnants of Hydra.”

Thor saw pure red. His throat tightened to the point of suffocation at the horrific image of you at the mercy of those monsters—being tortured, crying, entirely helpless.

“I need names,” he growled softly, the air in the room turning heavy with static.

“I don’t have names—”

“I will find names.”

“I don't know if you can, Thor, it was years—”

“I will,” he cut you off, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. He brought his other hand to your cheek, tilting your face up just a fraction. “Keep going, honey.” His voice was incredibly gentle for you, even as the undercurrent of his rage thrummed through his veins. He could barely bear to listen to the atrocities you had survived, but he had to. You were finally opening up to him, and he would listen to you until the end of time.

You gulped, trying to steady your breathing. “At the time, they were desperate, trying to replicate the lost Super Soldier serum using volatile cosmic energy signatures they barely understood.” You let out another shaky sob, and Thor immediately rubbed your back in slow, soothing circles, offering you every ounce of comfort his massive frame could provide. “More needles inserted into my skin... more radiation pumped into my veins, all for the sake of a twisted immortality.”

You held him tighter, closing your eyes against the memories. “And once they realized what they had created, they turned me into a ghost. An assassin. They forced me—forced me to do horrific, bloody things, Thor. I hurt so many people.” You opened your eyes, looking up at him with an unbearable vulnerability. “I did horrible, horrible things.”

The tears came faster now, the weight of your past crushing you as you sobbed uncontrollably against him. “I never wanted to do any of those things... they made me, I swear they made me, and they hurt me to make me do it—”

“Shh, sweetheart,” Thor interrupted softly, his voice thick with emotion as he clutched you even tighter against his heart, burying his face into your hair, his nose nudging your scalp as he did so. “None of this is your fault. Look at me.” He pulled back just enough to cup your face with both of his massive hands, gently forcing you to look up into his striking blue eyes. “None of it is your fault.”

“I am the one who did all of it—” Your voice cut off as another wave of tears streamed down your cheeks. It was like a dam had permanently broken in your chest, and there was absolutely no stopping it now. You were crying for the stolen years, crying for the innocent lives your hands had been forced to take, crying because you felt completely stripped bare and vulnerable—but most of all, you were crying because you loved him.

“I told you it is not your fault, sweetheart,” he said, his tone turning fiercely stern, leaving no room for you to argue with him. “You were kidnapped. Tortured.” He gulped like it was a great pain to say these words, “Your whole life was altered by monsters. You were made to do all of it.” His own voice grew heavy with sadness as he looked at your tears. “You did nothing wrong. You were just trying to survive, honey.”

“I’m so glad Steve and Tony saved me,” you whispered, your throat burning. “I... I don’t know what I’d do if it wasn't for them.”

At the mention of their names, Thor felt his chest tighten with a sharp, unexpected pang. Who else on the team knew the full extent of this? Steve and Tony, definitely. Natasha? You two were close; you would have told her. Bucky? Bruce? Clint? Was he truly the only person who had been left completely in the dark?

And to think he had called you gloomy.

A heavy cloak of regret settled over his shoulders. It was all true—everything he had confessed to Alejandro and Valentin at the table. He had thought you were the most breathtakingly beautiful woman he had ever seen the moment you walked into the compound years ago. But he had fucked it all up by opening his mouth and saying you looked gloomy. Would the two of you be any different right now if he hadn't used that stupid word?

“I am sorry,” he mumbled, the unexpected words catching your attention through the haze of your crying. He looked down at you, his eyes pained. “So fucking sorry I called you gloomy. Truly sorry. Can you—” He gulped hard, his chest heaving. “Can you forgive me?”

“I...” You trailed off, staring up at him in utter disbelief. Where the hell was this coming from? The walls around your heart instantly tried to slam back up. “Do you pity me now? Is that it?” you asked, your tone shifting into something sharp and defensive.

Thor’s eyes widened in immediate panic. “No—not pity. Towards you at least, never. I pity myself.”

“What does that even mean—”

“I meant every single word I said back there at the table,” he said softly, his thumbs tenderly grazing your cheeks to wipe away the fresh tears.

Your heart gave a violent flutter against your ribs, but it felt entirely too good to be true. You couldn't let yourself fall for a beautiful lie. “Do not mock me, Thor—”

“I would never.”

Your eyebrows went straight up, your expression clearly stating the obvious. He loved mocking you. He made it his absolute daily mission to get under your skin and irritate you to death.

Thor scrunched his face up at your look, a soft, self-deprecating sigh escaping his lips. “On this matter, I mean. I would never, ever mock you on a matter such as this, Little Flame.”

You scoffed, quickly averting your eyes from the intensity of his gaze. “Now you're just being cruel, big guy—“you tried to pry yourself off him, but one of his hands holding your face descended to your waist and circled it tightly.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met in my thousands of years alive.”

Your eyes widened with shock as they snapped back to meet his. Your heart dropped straight to your stomach with a violent jolt of excitement—of pure happiness.

“I am?” you whispered, the words coming out small and fragile, like a secret you were almost too afraid to speak aloud. It felt entirely unbelievable.

“You are,” he said, nodding firmly as he looked down at you.

There was something profoundly pure swirling in his deep blue eyes. It was a look you dared not name, because if you did, the only thing you could possibly call it would be adoration. He looked at you as if he completely and utterly adored you.

As you stared up at him, it hit you: that look was familiar.

He had always looked at you this way. Back at the compound, during your worst arguments, across the briefing table—his pupils would blow wide, a hidden mirth would dance behind his eyes, mixed with this exact same heavy, unyielding intensity. All these years, you had defensively rewritten that look as dislike, as a god looking down on an annoying mortal. Has he always looked at you with adoration in his eyes? Or were you just desperately lying to yourself now because your own walls were crumbling?

Either way, your breath was completely knocked out of you. Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your veins. You had to get away from him. You had to protect your heart, your soul, whatever was left of your sanity. You had already bared your darkest, most painful secret to him—the one thing you had specifically kept hidden from him out of fear—and you were terrified of what else you might reveal the longer you spent wrapped up in his arms.

“I—“You panicked even more as his gaze softened with that heartbreakingly tender look. You planted your palms against his chest and pushed. “I think it would be better if you let go of me now.” Thor’s expression changed, the vulnerability vanished, his eyes darkening to a stormy, dangerous hue. He had just laid his soul bare, admitting he found you more beautiful than anything in the cosmos, and now you were demanding he let you go?

“No,” he rumbled, his grip on your waist tightening rather than loosening. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I want you to—I need you to—“

“Why would you need me to do that?” he demanded, his voice dropping dangerously. “Are you that disgusted by me?”

Before you could even process the question, his expression shifted again. The anger twisted into something entirely unhinged as the green-eyed monster clawed ruthlessly at his insides, blinding him with an irrational fury.

“So you will gladly get close to that bastard at the bar, let his filthy hands touch your skin, but you cannot bear to have me hold you?”

Your mouth parted as you looked at him with pure, unyielding disbelief. “What on earth are you on about? Why do you keep talking about him like I'm actually into him—“

“Are you?” he fiercely cut you off.

He leaned down further, his eyes agressively scanning every inch of your face, his hot breath fanning across your lips. It made your breath hitch painfully in your throat. His completely irrational, wild behavior was forcing you to consider a reality you shouldn't. Something you would have never dared to think of just moments ago. Was he jealous?

Was he actually fucking jealous?

A dangerous spark of defiance flared up inside your chest. “What if I am?” you pushed, tilting your chin up to challenge him. “You cannot be,” he said, a flash of pure, territorial anger burning hot behind his eyes. “I will not let you. You are—you—“ He stammered, his usual booming eloquence completely deserting him as his gaze furiously swept over your face, desperately trying to decipher if you actually harbored any feelings for that fucker.

You smiled daringly up at him. You knew you probably looked absolutely wicked right now, with your smudged mascara, your flushed cheeks, and that fierce, determined look in your eyes.

“Are you jealous, big guy?” you whispered.

Your hands, which had been resting on his chest, began trailing upwards to his neck seductively. You didn't even have control over your own body anymore; it was like some primal instinct had taken over and you had to do this. You had to break him. You had to get him to confess. You felt entirely insane—just seconds ago, you were panicking and trying to push him away, and now you were mindlessly feeling him up, loving the power you had over him. Fuck.

Thor felt his heartbeat fasten against his ribs. His arm around your waist constricted, pulling you so close that there wasn't a single shred of air left between your bodies, his jaw locking hard in place. He knew exactly what you were doing. You were playing with fire on purpose. He made a ‘pfft’ sound, “I am not—“ he tried, desperately attempting to lie straight to your face.

“I think you are, honey,” you purred, leaning in until your breath fanned directly over his lips, your thumb lazily circling the heated skin at the nape of his neck. Even his neck was hot, for god's sake. It was thick and masculine. He was so masculine. His eyes immediately drifted down to your lips again, his resolve crumbling. “I am not. I simply... I wish to protect you because you are my teammate—“

“Oh, so I should just go back down to the bar and find him, then?” you pushed ruthlessly. You tilted your head, feigning complete innocence with your wide, tear-bright eyes.

He huffed, utterly furious at the mere suggestion. “Absolutely not. You are not leaving this damn room without me by your side.”

Your wicked smile widened. “Why not?” you purred, your face moving a fraction closer until your lips almost brushed his jaw. “I could touch him like this...” Your hands drifted down from his neck, sliding over the heavy planes of his chest down to his massive biceps, making his muscles instantly twitch under your fingertips. “I could kiss him like I did you, just minutes ago—“

Thor couldn't take it a single second longer.

His lips slanted over yours, ruthlessly cutting your sentence and your breath off. He pulled you even closer toward him, holding you like you were his absolute lifeline, pressing you so tight against his broad, muscular frame that it felt like your bodies were becoming one. You kissed him back passionately, completely losing yourself in the intoxicating heat of it. Your hands flew up to find his rough cheeks, and you pushed yourself up on your tiptoes, pressing your lips hungrily onto his.

He bit your lower lip with a sudden, needy sharpness, then stopped. He reluctantly moved his head away just a few inches, his breathing heavy and ragged as he whispered against your mouth, “You are not to kiss anyone but me.” His thumb came up, grazing over your throbbing lower lip. “Stop it, alright?” he whispered, then pecked your lips.

“Why—“

He pecked your lips again, roughly cutting you off, and then growled the confession right into your mouth: “Because I am fucking jealous, okay honey?”

He kissed you again, and you actually smirked straight into the kiss. The absolute victory of making a literal god admit defeat made your heart soar into the stratosphere. You pulled back though your lips were still grazing his, whispering wickedly against his mouth, “What was that?”

He pecked your lips again, desperate, heavy, and completely surrendered to you. “I have been burning with jealousy since I saw him lay his filthy eyes on you. I do not know what is wrong with me, but I—” He gulped hard, his large thumb slowly gliding over your flushed cheek. “I am consumed by it.”

A breathless, giddy giggle escaped your lips then. “Okay, big guy.”

He was jealous. The King of Asgard was completely, undeniably jealous, and he had just admitted it to you in the dark of your room. Oh god, you were losing your mind—and you never wanted to find it again.

But one question prodded at your mind before he made it all disappear with a fierce kiss, why was he jealous in the first place?

But you were not in your right mind. Because Thor wasn’t kissing you like a normal kiss. He was inhaling you, and it was already lighting you on fire.

The height difference was clearly bothering him as much as it was bothering you. Feeling the strain, Thor lowered himself just a bit before sliding his hands under your thighs, effortlessly lifting you completely off the floor, making your dress ride up. Your arms immediately circled around his thick neck—the very same neck you had been dying to strangle just hours ago—and you let out a soft moan directly into his mouth as his hands slipped up from your thighs to find your ass, squeezing your cheeks tightly as he pinned you securely against his massive frame. You moaned into his mouth, not being able to help it.

A hand left your ass and wrapped around your neck, while the other moved back to your waist to securely hold you, angling your face to kiss you as deeply as he wanted. His tongue pressed over yours as he walked himself backward into the bedroom. The kiss was heated, so full of passion you felt your insides burn with it. His kisses descended to your jaw, then to your neck as he hummed in deep appreciation. What were you doing kissing Thor, of all people? What were you doing letting Thor take you to bed, of all people?

But the thought couldn't even fully form as he bit down on your neck, making you whine in pain.

“Thor—” you begged, without knowing what it was you were begging for.

— “Yes?” he rumbled against your skin as he licked the sensitive spot on your neck, then he laid you over the mattress, settling his heavy body over you. He massaged your hips as he settled himself deeply between your legs. You spread them wide to accommodate him, and felt it poking hard against your thigh.

His cock, thick and hard, was somehow bigger than you had imagined—and you hadn’t been thinking small.

“Guess we don't have to fight over who gets the bed anymore,” you quipped, your voice breathless, trying to find a defense in your usual wit.

It made him chuckle, a low vibration against your chest. “I guess not,” he whispered, then took your lips again. This kiss was softer than before, slowly dismantling you as his lips glided over yours. Then he pressed his hips heavily against your core, making you whine out loud.

“Do you feel that?” He pulled your upper lip between his teeth, smiling slightly into the heat of your face. “It’s what you do to me. Ever since we landed here, I’ve be walking around so hard I was worried you’d see it. But no.” He kissed one corner of your mouth, then the other. “You’re oblivious, aren’t you, honey?”

He found you that attractive?

You hummed, tipping your head back in complete surrender. Thor groaned, dragging his lips over a throbbing pulse point, letting his tongue flick against the sensitive skin of your throat. “You like that too,” he grunted, his breath hot in your ear. “You like being the one person that gets me going, that makes me lose it. No one else, my Little Flame.”

He held your hips again and pushed your ass forward, locking you in place so your clit was pushed tightly against the thick hardness of him through the fabric. A long moan escaped your lips, and you dropped your face into his shoulder, completely undone.

Thor grunted, rutting forward, and it was so fucking hot you couldn't think past it. The deep drawl of his voice in your ear, the impossible strength of him around you—it was intoxicating. The clothing added a desperate, heavy extra friction, his fingers digging into your hips.

“Just you,” he thrusted forward against your core, squeezing your ass tightly with his other hand. “Only you, sweetheart. So beautiful and sassy, driving me insane—“

You whimpered as Thor made a low, ragged sound, taking a deep, shaky breath against your hair. His hand then slipped into your panties, his deft fingers dragging down to tease right against the already damp drip of your pussy. His fingers started circling your clit, a thick dampness forming immediately down there under his torturously perfect touch. “Please—” you cried out, your hips bucking up instinctively against his hand, begging for him to end this perfect torture.

“Please what, honey?i Thor rasped, his touch growing heavier, more demanding as he felt your walls slick and trembling for him. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you”

“I want you,” you gasped out as he inserted his middle finger inside you—and fuck, even his finger was incredibly large.

“Not enough, sweetheart,” he grumbled, pressing his thumb firmly down onto your clit, making you squirm and twitch helplessly in place beneath his weight.

“What do I have to say—“

“I said tell me exactly what you want, did I not?” he rumbled, suddenly moving his finger deep inside you, rhythmically fucking you with it. You whined loudly at the overwhelming friction, your hands locking onto his massive biceps and squeezing hard enough to leave marks. “I want you to—“ you gasped, your vision blurring. “I want you to fuck me... no, I need you to fuck me. Please.”

You were completely reduced to begging him. In response, his fingers slicked deeper as he added his ring finger into your heat, stretching you beautifully, but then he stopped abruptly.

There was simply too much extra fabric from your midi dress crumpled up in his way.

Your eyebrows furrowed, the sudden loss of momentum leaving you aching and confused. “What is it?”

He didn't respond with words. Instead, his large hands slid down to your lower back, his knuckles brushing your bare skin as his fingers found the zipper of your dress.

Your blood ran completely cold in an instant. Your whole body stiffened up beneath him, every single muscle locking tight.

Your scars.

Other people, other agents, had seen them on the battlefield or during training, and you had never felt bad about it. But this was Thor. You knew he had caught a fleeting glimpse of them at the pool earlier, but he hadn't truly seen all of them. He hadn't seen the worst of them. And this was not a public pool, was it? This was intimate. This was completely private. Which meant he would have all the time in the world to analyze them with his eyes, more time to realize how broken your body really was, more time to get disgusted by them—

The heavy weight of his hand cupped your jaw, covering it completely and instantly grounding you, cutting your spiraling thoughts short. “What is it?” he asked softly, his blue eyes searching yours in the dim light. “What's wrong, Little Flame?”

You gulped hard, helplessly averting your eyes from his intense stare. “I—I don't know about this...”

“Do you want to stop?” he asked immediately, completely freezing, his hand instantly lifting away from the zipper of your dress without hesitation.

“No!” you scrambled out desperately. Your eyes snapped back to find his, and you saw deep confusion in them.

How could he not be confused? You probably looked completely insane to him right now. First you were kissing him like there was no tomorrow, then you were begging him to take you, then you were voicing a doubt, but you were still fiercely refusing to stop. You were goddamn confusing.

You closed your eyes, a wave of shame washing over you. “It's just that I...” You swallowed hard. “I don't think I should remove my dress.”

His eyebrows furrowed deeply. “But I want to feel you. I do not understand,” he said, getting more perplexed by the second.

You huffed, unable to meet his eyes. “My scars... they are not pleasant to look at, Thor.”

“You do not know what is pleasant to my eyes or not,” he countered instantly, his deep voice carrying an unyielding certainty that took you completely aback.

“But—“

“I find you attractive. I find your scars attractive. I find every single part of you breathtakingly attractive,” he said, his tone dropping into a fierce vow as his hand found the track of your zipper once again. He didn't pull it, he just waited, asking for your trust. “Please let me see you, darling,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours, his warm breath intoxicating. “So that I can witness your beauty. So that I can show you exactly how much I love your scars, how much I love every part of you.”

Your eyes were wide, your heart beating so fast and hard against your ribs it felt painful. Should you actually let him?

This was Thor, for god's sake. He was never the nicest person to you—

But was he not?

A sudden rush of memories flooded your brain, completely reframing the last few years. He always looked out for you on dangerous missions, shielding your blind spots. Even though he irritated you daily, he always helped you carry heavy equipment crates—though not before he smugly made you cave in and admit you couldn't do it yourself, just like he did with your suitcases. He had caught you by the waist every single time you tripped. His eyes had always, always been tracked onto you in every room. And tonight, he had called you the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his thousands of years of life, before literally threatening to crush a man's skull for disrespecting you.

So no. He had never been rude to you. He had always been good to you. He annoyed you, sure, but he was so goddamn protective and sweet to you in his own annoying and loud way, and you had somehow just noticed it. How the hell did you just notice it?

Your chest was heaving heavily as you made your final decision, the remaining walls around your heart completely collapsing.

“Okay,” you whispered, nodding your head against the pillow.

Thor smiled then—a soft, blindingly beautiful smile that made him look younger, happier. His lips easily found yours again in a deep, reassuring kiss as his hand slowly, smoothly slid the zipper all the way down, gently removing the white dress from your body and leaving nothing between you but the heat of his skin.

You were now left in your white bra and panties, his gaze burning your skin as he looked all over you. His heart soared at the sight of you, but he felt a sharp pang of pain in his chest at the scars littering your skin. They were a lot more than he thought, but gods, they only made you more attractive to him. A strong woman, with the face of an angel and the body of a goddess—you were always meant to be his undoing.

His fingers grazed a thin line along your ribs as his mind echoed fiercely, She is beautiful, and I am going to make them pay for hurting her, all of them.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you squirmed, a faint trace of your old discomfort resurfacing. Instead of drawing back, he leaned over your body, his face level with your stomach as his large hands gently grabbed your sides, anchoring you. And then, he lowered his head and kissed one of the most visible, ragged scars you had near your hip.

“You are beautiful. Truly a goddess... one fit for me,” he muttered against your skin, before kissing the mark again.

Your breath hitched, your head spinning into a daze. That specific scar was from the most lethal trauma you had ever endured. You had almost died that day; in fact, you had hoped to die that day just to escape. But your captives had found a way to keep you alive, using brutal, advanced procedures to permanently bind your altered biology together. Tears welled up in your eyes, your vision blurring for the second time that night. To see him kiss it like that—so tenderly, with so much reverence—made something warm and heavy fill your chest. It was like a fractured part of you was finally feeling whole again.

I love him, your mind screamed at you for the second time that day. Your right hand instinctively found his rough cheek, your fingers tangling in his beard as he kept kissing your scars. One left from needles being inserted into the exact same place dozens of times; one left from a failed escape attempt on a mission they sent you on, a punishment for not obeying... He was kissing every single one of them.

And while his lips hovered over the worst one near your hip again, you finally whispered, “I almost died when I got that one.”

His head immediately whipped up, his heart tightening painfully in his chest at your words. “What?” he asked, his throat closing in, his blue eyes blazing with an intense, dark focus.

“They used a plasma blade to slice me open during a combat stress-test,” you whispered, the memory making your voice shake. “They wanted to see how fast the cosmic energy in my blood would knit the flesh back together while I was conscious. I begged them to just let me bleed out.”

Thor’s hold on your sides violently tightened, his knuckles turning white and his jaw locking so hard a muscle strove in his cheek. “I am going to make them pay, Little Flame." he said his voice determined, "I am going to avenge you. They are going to feel the wrath of the God of Thunder, be sure of that. No one, and I mean no one, gets away with hurting you.”

He turned his head toward the hand holding his cheek, shifting slightly to press a deep, lingering kiss against the inside of your wrist, right over your pulsing vein, like he wanted to be sure you were alive. Like he needed reassurance of your well being after your confession. He could not bear the thought of you in pain, but death? You on the brink of death? His poor heart could not take it. “I do not know what you did to me, sweetheart, but you—” he gulped, his eyes locked on yours, “you have a hold on me that no one else ever did. That no one else ever could.”

He leaned up, his chest heaving against yours. “I cannot help it. I cannot help but be jealous, I cannot help but be protective, possessive... I just can't help it. You have completely bewitched me.”

Your breathing fastened as your heart fluttered wildly in your chest at his words. What did he mean? How was he talking like this? He couldn't love you, you knew that—you were just deeply flawed partners on a mission—but a part of your soul soared at the fact that he harbored these intense, desperate urges for you. Even if it wasn't love, he felt for you with a terrifying depth.

When his large hands moved down to remove your white bra, you reached up and caught his wrists, tsking him with a breathless smirk. “Don't you think you're being a bit unfair, big guy? It's your turn.”

Your hands found his collar, pulling his heavy frame down to your lips. You kissed him deeply, pouring all your hidden, aching feelings into it, while your shaky fingers began working on the unbuttoning of his shirt. Your hands were trembling with excitement and the weight of your feelings for him. When you finally removed your lips from his, you let out a frustrated huff, looking down at the fabric because your frantic fingers couldn't unbutton them fast enough.

Thor just chuckled, a rumbling sound against your chest. He took matters into his own hands, gripping the shirt and casually pulling it over his head with one smooth motion, tossing it blindly across the room.

“Oh fuck... you honestly are a god,” you whispered, taking him in fully. His biceps were literally the size of your head, his pecs perfectly sculpted, his abs defined and casting shadows in the dim light—he was going to be the absolute death of you.

He chuckled again, clearly enjoying your completely awestruck expression, and immediately took it to his advantage. His large hand slid behind your back, and with a single, practiced flick of his fingers, he unclasped your bra in a second.

You gasped in bewilderment, snapping your eyes up to meet his. “You sly fox,” you said, a wicked smirk returning to your lips.

He just held your bra up for a brief second like a captured banner of war, a triumphant smile lighting up his handsome face, before he tossed it away. Turning all of his massive, heavy attention back to you, his mouth immediately latched onto your right breast, his tongue swirling hot against your skin while his large hand slid down past your stomach to find your crotch.

“Ohmygod,” you gasped out in one breath.

His fingers hooked into the edge of your panties, sliding them down your hips before giving a firm, playful slap against your inner thigh. “Get your legs up for me, honey, so I can get these off,” he grunted against your skin. You quickly complied, lifting your hips and helping him slide the remaining lace down your legs until you were completely bared for him.

He let go of your nipple for a second, his large hands sliding down to grip your thighs with an iron hold, settling himself deeply between them again. He spread them wide open, his gaze dropping down to your glistening center. His tongue darted out in anticipation, his eyes dark with an intense, heavy hunger.

“You look so sweet, honey. Bet you taste as sweet as you look, don't you?” he murmured to himself, his deep baritone sending a thrill straight down your spine as he kept his gaze locked between your legs.

You whined in agonizing anticipation, your hips twitching on the mattress. “Do something—oh!”

You were cut off as his thumb pressed hard against your clit, slowly dragging all the way down your slick slit, catching your juices on his skin. He lifted his hand, looking down at his wet thumb before putting it directly between his lips, sucking the moisture off as he closed his eyes.

“Oh, yes you do taste sweet. Better than I ever imagined,” he rumbled, his voice rough. He leaned down and gave your pussy a light, playful slap, the stinging heat making you whine out loud.

“Thooor—”

He hovered back over your body, his mouth immediately returning to suckle hungrily on your right nipple. At the same time, his hand slid back between your thighs, inserting his middle finger deep inside you, quickly followed by his ring finger. His thumb began circling your clit in rhythmic patterns. Your mouth fell agape, your head tossing from side to side as you moaned and moaned, your body beautifully stretched by his incredibly large fingers.

Your hands locked onto his broad shoulders, squeezing tight, the slick friction of his touch rapidly driving you toward the edge, pulling you closer to that blissful, impending high.

“'M close,” you murmured, your eyes completely dazed. You pulled his head closer, biting down on the thick skin of his neck and suckling fiercely, making the god let out a deep, gravelly groan of pleasure.

“You’re driving me insane,” he growled against your skin, his fingers moving faster, driving deep inside your tight heat. “Come on, pretty girl, make a mess on my fingers.”

The pressure kept building and building in your lower stomach until it was entirely unbearable. “I—” you gasped, your toes curling into the sheets. “I’m gonna—”

“Come on, let it go, baby,” he commanded darkly.

And then you snapped. You came hard, whining and moaning loudly as wave after wave of intense pleasure rippled through your core, your walls clamping down violently around his fingers. Thor grunted, keeping his fingers moving through your contractions, forcing every last drop of pleasure out of you until you were breathlessly begging him to stop.

Before you could even catch your breath, Thor shifted. He reached down to his waist, lowering his trousers and boxers in a single, aggressive movement. Because he was already on his knees, the fabric simply bunched up around his knees, freeing his lower half.

Your eyes widened in absolute awe at the sight. He was big. Just as you had thought, but seeing him fully bare made him look even bigger. “Oh god,” you whispered.

Thor gave his length a slow, heavy pump of his hand, precum glistening at the tip as he smeared the moisture down his thick shaft. He looked down at you, his chest heaving.

“Do we need protection? Because I don't have any—” he asked, his voice thick with restraint. “No, we don't,” you said eagerly, you were on the pill.

Pushing yourself up onto your elbows, you looked his naked torso and heavy length over with a predatory hunger. “You’re so fucking handsome it’s annoying, do you know that?” you said, biting your lower lip.

He chuckled, a smug, low sound as he settled his weight back in between your open legs. “Why, thank you, Little Flame—”

Your hand shot out, planting firmly against his massive shoulder. “Can I ride you?” Thor stopped dead in his tracks, his chest heaving, his pupils blown wide. “What?”

“Can I ride you?” you asked again, your voice completely determined.

Taking full advantage of his momentary shock, you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, using your core to pull him down as you deftly flipped your positions. Within a second, you were sitting squarely on top of his hard stomach. His defined abs twitched beneath you, the movement grazing directly against your freshly sensitive clit, making you take a sharp breath.

“You wanna do all the work, honey?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing as a lazy, amused smirk tugged at his lips.

“Mhm,” you hummed, your eyes dazed and hooded as you looked down at his towering chest. He chuckled, his large hands rising to rest loosely on your hips. “Are you sure? You are well aware I possess the stamina of a god.”

You rolled your eyes at his typical Asgardian arrogance. “I am aware. Can you just stop talking and—”

“Are you getting on, or not?” he interrupted, his smirk widening as he tilted his hips up just a fraction, the warm tip of his cock brushing against your entrance.

For a split second, the temptation to be difficult returned. “I am definitely reconsidering it now,” you pouted, crossing your arms over your bare chest and throwing him a defiant look.

But Thor just snorted, rolling his eyes at your stubbornness. Before you could even blink, his hands gripped your hips with terrifying strength and he lifted you up. You didn't even get a second to think before he downwardly forced your hips straight onto his thick dick, burying himself inside you all the way to the hilt.

The air was knocked completely from your lungs. Thor was so deep in you it was pushing all the thoughts out of your brain. You gaped down at him, making weak, breathless noises as your pussy pulsed and stretched beautifully around his thickness. His fingers dug deeply into your hips, the only sign that he was struggling to hold himself back from taking over completely.

“Much as I enjoy you trying to take control,” he muttered, his large hands sliding down to massage your ass with a heavy, grounding pressure, “I'd rather keep you full of me so you stop thinking.”

He reached up slowly, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You bit your bottom lip, whining at the unbearable fullness, and he chuckled, settling his upper body fully into the pillows. Your hands found his chest, your fingers grabbing firmly onto his broad pectorals for balance. “Ride it, baby,” he ordered, his voice a low, gravelly command.

And god help you, you tried. You caught your breath after a long moment that felt like an eternity and started to roll your hips. Thor groaned, his heavy eyelids fluttering as your tight heat dragged over his length, but he deliberately didn't help you yet. His hands remained firm on your body, forcing you to use every ounce of your strength to grind down onto his dick.

Your movements accidentally pushed him right against that sensitive, gooey spot inside of you, and you faltered with a long, broken moan. You shifted, forcing his thick head right against it again, and he let out a sharp breath, though he still didn't take the reins. “Uhh—” you whined, your head spinning.

“Feels good, does it not?” he cooed, his cock throbbing heavily inside you. “Nice and big, filling up your pussy so good.”

You moaned, your hips bucking instinctively. Thor grunted, thrusting up just slightly to meet you, and you tipped your head back as a shiver ran down your spine. The friction was incredible. For a second, back arched and thighs aching, you actually managed to find a rhythm. It started slow, rolling and pushing Thor’s cock right where you wanted it.

You looked down at him, sweaty and utterly adoring beneath you. His hands wandered over your skin, his breathing ragged and his lips parted as he watched you take him.

“That's a good girl,” he muttered, his blue eyes blown wide. “There you go, My Star.” He continued, “My beautiful fucking Star, so good for me are you not?”

You keened at the praise, your pace moving faster. Your knees were growing weak from the exertion, but the desperate need inside you was so much stronger. You bounced on Thor’s dick, grabbing at his chest and gasping for air as his sheer size split you open over and over again.

Looking down at his bare chest, his defined pecs looked absolutely delicious in the dim light. You had to take a bite, didn't you? Lowering your upper body flat against his chest, you leaned down and bit down on his left breast, hard. Thor groaned loudly, his abs flexing hard beneath you. “What are you—” he gasped.

You didn't answer, simply licking over the damp mark you had just left before kissing over it mindlessly. Pushing yourself back up, your hands found their place on his heaving chest again, meeting his eyes which were burning with an unhinged desire.

But it wasn't enough. You didn't possess the extra stamina or strength of a god, and he was just too big. You were so overwhelmed by pleasure that your body was starting to forget how to move properly. Every wet, obscene sound echoing in the room made you glance down at where he was disappearing inside of you—the way your slick was heavily coating his cock when you pulled up, and the heavy weight of his balls slapping against your ass every time you dropped back down.

You only got hornier, wanting nothing more than to just let go and allow your eyes to cross and toes to curl, but you couldn't find the pace to get over the edge. You couldn't cum. The frustration built up until pathetic, fat tears started streaming down your cheeks.

”Aw, baby, why are you crying?” Thor murmured, his voice laced with a gentle mockery. Fully aware of the fact that you couldn't reach the finish line by yourself, he reached up, brushing your tears away with his thumb while a tiny, knowing smirk played on his lips.

You let out a frustrated sob, shaking violently above him as your legs finally grew too weak to sustain the weight. You collapsed forward, just squirming uselessly against his lap now, blinking through wet lashes at his teasing, lazy smile. “You can't get there all alone, can you?” he purred, gripping your waist tightly and slamming his hips up into you.

You made a choked, high-pitched sound as the sudden force rattled your entire frame. “That's right, pretty girl. Just a total mess on my cock."

“Ple—please—“ you blubbered, completely spent, your upper body collapsing weakly over Thor’s broad chest. “God, Thor—please—“

“Aw. Begging so pretty.” He leaned up and pressed a tender, lingering kiss to your wet forehead. “How could I ever say no to you, huh?”

Without another word, Thor gripped your hips and effortlessly lifted you off his cock, twisting you onto your back as he sat up. You were shoved down into the mattress, your head pressed deeply into the cushions. His massive hands locked onto your hips, dragging you down the bed toward him, completely manhandling you. His right hand moved to the inside of your left thigh, pushing it wide open to expose your dripping core to the cool air of the room.

“Such a mess,” Thor rumbled, his eyes dark as he ran the thick head of his cock between the lips of your pussy, letting it press heavily against your swollen clit before lining it right back up at your entrance.

He slid in slowly, filling you back up until your eyes rolled back in your head. Bringing his upper body over yours, his left hand found your right leg, pushing it all the way up to your chest. He was impossibly deeper at this angle, stretching you to your absolute limits.

You tried to press your hand over your mouth to muffle your pathetic, undone sounds, but Thor tutted softly. With his left hand, he firmly wrapped his fingers around your wrist and pulled your hand away, pinning it to the mattress. He bottomed out completely, a deep groan ripping from his chest as he bit your earlobe.

His hand found its way to your thigh and kept your legs pinned high next to your breasts as he began to move, his brutal, unyielding pace making you instantly see stars. Every heavy thrust sent a shockwave through your body, your hips bouncing uncontrollably against the mattress.

Thor moved his head back just a little, looking down at where your bodies joined, and grunted in deep, possessive approval. He caught your jaw in his hand, his fingers anchoring you as he fucked you hard. “Want to see how good we fit, pretty girl?”

You couldn't even catch a goddamn breath, but you nodded frantically. He let go of your jaw, sliding his hand to the back of your head and gently forcing you to look down at your own lap.

It was sinful. So fucking sinful. A white, creamy ring was forming around his shaft as he ruthlessly fucked into you, and he was so goddamn right—you fit together like perfect puzzle pieces. With every single downward stroke, his heavy pelvis hit directly against your engorged, sensitive clit.

You moaned loudly, your eyebrows knitting together in pure pleasure as the visual pushed you right over the edge unexpectedly. You screamed his name as he let go of your head, his thumb brushing over your trembling lips. He didn't stop, keeping up the relentless, pounding pace, grunting your name over and over against your neck.

“Came after just a few seconds of me fucking you?” he mocked breathlessly, but he was in no better shape than you were. He looked completely disheveled, his hair wild, his jaw locked in a tight line of restraint.

He pushed his damp thumb directly into your mouth, and you blindly suckled on it, wrapping your tongue around his skin.

“Fuck,” he grunted, his blue eyes blowing wide as he finally lost his grip on his godly stamina. His hips gave one last, deep, trembling shove, pinning you flat to the bed as he came, throwing thick, hot ropes of cum deep inside you, filling you to the absolute brim. —

“Are you okay?” he whispered, his lips brushing tenderly against your knuckles.

You were having a near-impossible time keeping your eyes open, the aftershocks of the last hour leaving your limbs feeling like heavy lead, but you managed to nod lazily and offer him a soft, sleepy smile.

Thor took your hand, bringing it up to rest against his bare chest. You frowned, your brow furrowing in confusion. “What’re you doin’?” you mumbled, your exhaustion making your words barely intelligible, slurring together into a sleepy hum.

“Have to take care of you, baby,” he said, his voice so gentle it made your heart ache. He didn't wait for an answer, simply scooping you up into his arms, bridal style. Your arms instinctively circled around his thick neck, and you rested your heavy head against his shoulder as he carried you into the bathroom.

After he helped you clean up with a patience that was entirely uncharacteristic of the man you’d known for years, he carried you back to the bed. He kissed your forehead with lingering reverence as he laid you down, then slid under the covers next to you, pulling you into his embrace until your head was pillowed firmly against his chest.

His heart was beating like a war drum against your ear, his large fingers trembling slightly as he pulled the thin, cool sheets up to tuck you in. He stared at the ceiling, lost in the terrifying shift in his own reality.

Why was he feeling like this? What had happened to the cold, arrogant dynamic you two had shared for so long? The question burned in his mind, sharp and insistent: Did you feel the same?

Unable to hold the mounting anxiety back, he mumbled, “Do you hate me?”

The question came out before he could stop it, brittle and desperate. You stiffened slightly against him, your eyes fluttering open for a brief moment. “I never hated you.”

He hummed, a low vibration in his chest. “Hm.” He shifted, his hand moving to smooth a lock of hair away from your face. “Let me phrase it like this then... do you dislike me still?”

You smiled a little bit, your face scrunching up as you looked up at him hazily, your consciousness drifting further away. You were too exhausted to put up your usual defenses, and you told him half the truth.

“Not so much.”

You leaned forward and kissed his chest without thinking, the action small and intimate, before laying your head back down. His fastened heartbeat drummed in your ears, a frantic, steady rhythm that matched your own.

Thor felt his heart give out as he finally understood what he was feeling.

He was in love with you.

He had been for years, and he was absolutely, completely doomed.

—

You woke up, breathing in deeply as you opened your eyes and stretched your arms. Your eyes widened instantly as the vivid rush of last night’s endeavors hit you.

You slept with Thor.

You quickly looked next to you, your heart ready to leap with hopeful excitement, only to see a completely empty bed. Your heart dropped straight to your stomach. A cold, suffocating weight pressed down on your chest.

Where was he? Did he regret it that much? Did he wake up, realized what he had done with someone as broken as you, and left you all alone the first thing in the morning?

Your hands and feet went completely ice-cold. Your eyes tore up, your nose burning and your throat tightening painfully with incoming tears. Regret. It was the only word screaming in your mind.

You scrambled to your feet, desperately trying to swallow down the sob threatening to break out. Moving on pure autopilot, you quickly started getting ready for breakfast, needing a mask to hide behind. Your hands shook violently as you removed the mascara stains from your cheeks and quickly applied your sunscreen. You pulled on a black strapless summer dress with vibrant pink flowers—it hugged your torso tightly before flaring out beautifully from the waist down. You placed a long-brimmed black summer hat over your hair and slid into black kitten heels. Taking a shaky, shallow breath, you made your way down to the resort’s breakfast area.

The moment you stepped into the restaurant, your blood ran cold. You did not like what you were witnessing. At all.

Thor was there, standing by the open buffet, but he wasn’t alone. There she was—the receptionist girl who had been entirely too into your so-called husband since you arrived. Her hand was resting boldly on his right bicep while he looked down at her, his head turned toward her as he smiled lightly. She was actively flirting with him, and he wasn’t pulling back. Not even after everything he had whispered to you last night. What the hell was a receptionist doing there in the first place?

A dangerous rage built inside you, jealousy brewing hot and toxic, completely melting your insides. You couldn’t help it. Even if Thor didn't want you anymore, even if last night meant nothing to him, nobody was allowed to touch him like that as long as he was playing your husband.

You made your way toward them in fast, sharp strides, the click of your kitten heels masked by the ambient chatter. You stopped directly behind the girl, your index finger tapping her shoulder with an icy firmness.

She quickly turned around, a bright, rehearsed smile on her face, but that smile instantly died the second she registered who was standing there. She was much shorter than you; from beneath the brim of your hat, you were looking down at her with pure, unyielding disdain. A wicked, lethal smile played on your lips—a look that silently screamed, 'You are going to die in ten seconds, and not even the God of Thunder can save you from your demise.'

“My love, you’re awake!” Thor boomed, his face lit up with an instant, radiant brightness the very millisecond his eyes landed on you. You flicked your gaze to him, your chest tight. What a spectacular actor, you thought bitterly.

You looked straight back at the girl. Thor’s eyebrows quickly knitted together as he registered the tension radiating from your posture. “I was just on my way to bring you breakfast—”

“Were you now?” you cut him off, your voice dangerously low, though your eyes never left the receptionist. She was already squirming and trembling under your icy glare.

“I was just—” she stammered, backing up half a step. “You were just leaving,” you cut her off ruthlessly. Then, completely unable to hold yourself back through the blinding haze of your jealousy, you coldly added, “My husband does not have a taste for servants, you know?”

Thor’s eyes widened in sheer shock. You had done the exact one thing you had warned him not to do—you had ignored manners and called her a servant.

The girl nodded frantically, her eyes wide with fear, and immediately scrambled away from Thor, nearly tripping over her own feet to escape you.

The moment she was gone, you turned away from him without giving him a second look. “Baby—” Thor started, his hand reaching out.

“Do not baby me,” you snapped, turning your head back sharply, your eyes flashing with a profound, unyielding coldness that made him freeze.

Thor’s heart dropped straight to his stomach. The sudden, icy wall you had thrown up slapper him in the face so hard he felt your finger prints on his cheek. Did you regret it? Was that what this was? Did you wake up wishing last night had never happened?

“What is going on?” he asked, his voice losing its booming confidence, an edge of panic bleeding through.

You scoffed loudly, completely ignoring his question as you moved toward the stack of plates to grab your own food. You weren't going to stand there and look pathetic. Thor quickly followed on your heels, his massive frame completely blocking out the rest of the crowded restaurant as you aggressively snatched a ceramic plate from the stack. The weight of it felt solid in your shaking fingers—a grounding contrast to the chaos roaring inside your head. He didn't care that there were other guests around; his focus was entirely locked onto you.

“Talk to me, please,” he begged again, his deep voice dropping into a whispered, desperate pitch that only you could hear. “What did I do? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You moved down the line of the open buffet, your eyes fixed forward, your jaw locked tight under the long brim of your black summer hat. You didn't even see the food.

“I look at you exactly how I should look at a partner who fails to maintain the perimeter of our cover,” you whispered coldly, your tone clipped and professional—the ultimate shield to protect your bleeding heart. “We are supposed to be happily married, Thor. Yet I walk into the dining room and find you letting the resort staff treat your bicep like a resting post. It’s sloppy. It risks the mission.”

“The mission?” Thor repeated, and you heard the sharp, pained intake of his breath. He stepped in front of you, completely cutting off your path to the pastry section, forcing you to stop. When you tried to look past him, he leaned down into your line of sight, his blue eyes wide and panicked. “You think I care about the cover right now? Honey, look at me.”

The nickname was a mocking echo of the tenderness from last night. Your eyes snapped up to his, flashing with a dangerous, icy heat. “Do not call me that.”

He felt entirely hopeless, his blue eyes burning with a raw, suffocating pain the more you talked. “Last night—“

“Let's not bring up last night. Ever,” you said, sharply turning your head away from him. You were desperate to protect your heart, to pull the shields up before he could break you completely by saying how much he regretted it.

“What?” he asked, his voice entirely breathless. His lungs felt as though they were constricting in on themselves, a pain burning him from the inside out.

But you didn't answer., you just kept walking, your hands trembling so hard that the ceramic plate in your hands shaked in your grasp. You tried to swallow the thick lump of emotion stuck in your throat, but it wouldn't budge. You loved him, and he regretted you. That was the only reality your brain could process.

You had effectively carved his heart out of his chest and stepped on it with the sharp heel of your shoes, leaving his poor heart to bleed out on the cold floor while you kept thumping it with your foot over and over again. Thor’s head was thumping, his chest feeling completely hollow as he stood frozen, looking at your retreating back. To him, the message was loud and clear: you regretted everything you had given him, while he was deeply, hopelessly in love with you.

The rest of the breakfast passed by in a torturously. You didn't speak a single word to him, and he didn't dare speak to you, far too heartbroken to even think of where to begin mending the fracture. You both just sat there at the table in a heavy, complete silence. Thor spent the entire time staring down at his large, empty hands, while you kept your eyes rigidly fixed on your plate.

After breakfast, you returned to the villa to change for the pool, pulling on a black bikini and a sheer black beach dress. You kept the long-brimmed hat firmly on your head, using it as a barrier to keep yourself from looking at him, and to keep him from looking at you to see your pained expression.

Once down at the resort pool, you settled onto your sunbed for a second before immediately scrambling away to the water, needing to escape his suffocating proximity. Your body tensed up at the first splash, but slowly relaxed as your skin got used to the cold.

It's okay, your mind echoed in a desperate chant, trying to soothe your aching heart. You already got the codes. You can get this entire mission over with tonight, and then you won't ever have to sleep in the same room with him again.

From his sunbed, Thor was watching you like a hawk. He lay there with his massive arms crossed behind his head, his jaw locked so tight the muscles in his cheek flexed repeatedly. His hands were formed into rigid fists, the static electricity in his veins making the air around his chair turn faintly heavy.

Then, the tense silence was abruptly interrupted by a woman's voice coming from next to him. “Hello there, handsome.” She was sitting on a sunbed just one row away, looking to be in her late forties with short, styled blonde hair and a sly, predatory smirk on her face.

Thor didn't even turn his torso. He just spared a brief, icy sideway glance at her before immediately snapping his eyes back to the water, tracking your swimming. “Why are you all alone?” she purred, leaning forward to get his attention. “Your spouse left you to fend for yourself like mine did?” Thor finally turned his head fully away from the pool for a brief second. “I am completely fine. Thank you for your concerns, lady,” he grumbled clearly irritated, his baritone rough and entirely uninviting.

He dismissed her instantly, turning back to look toward the deep end of the pool—only to find you staring straight back at him with a lethal, blinding fire burning hot in your eyes.

He gulped, his breath taken away.

—

After your day in the pool ended and you were back in your villa, the silence between you had grown so heavier. You finally broke it, “I am going to secure the tech tonight.” Thor's back visibly stiffened at the sound of your voice. He turned to face you slowly, his blue eyes guarded. “What do you need me to do?” he asked, his voice rough and gravelly.

You gulped, forcing your professional mask back into place. “Distract Alejandro in the VIP section while I slip away. I'll pretend to go to the bathroom, access the private vault down the hall, and once I have the drive, I'll signal you through the comms so we can leave.” He nodded briefly, his jaw flexing. “Okay,” he whispered.

The process of getting ready was done in a tense, rhythmic quiet. Thor threw on a black linen shirt and charcoal linen pants, looking effortlessly devastating. You opted for a flowy, lightweight black dress that gave you maximum mobility, pairing it with flat, elegant leather sandals—you needed to be comfortable and silent on your feet tonight.

You headed down to dinner, the atmosphere of the resort's high-end restaurant buzzing around you while you sat like ghosts. You tried to eat whatever your stomach would allow, but you had absolutely no appetite after the events of the day. Every time your eyes accidentally met his, you both looked away, shielding your wounds. Once dinner was cleared, it was time. You made your way toward the exclusive VIP lounge, immediately spotting Alejandro lounging in a velvet booth surrounded by bodyguards. You and Thor exchanged a quick, imperceptible glance, checked the small clicks of your earpieces, and nodded.

Alejandro boomed with laughter the moment he saw you approach. “My friends! Welcome, welcome!” he cried, throwing his arms wide open in his usual boisterous display.

You both forced tight, practiced smiles onto your faces. Thor stepped forward, giving the man a brief, friendly hug before turning toward the booth to sit down. Before you could even slide onto the leather cushion next to him, Thor’s large hand securely gripped your waist. Your heart instantly went completely haywire as he effortlessly lifted you and pulled you right down onto his lap.

You two had been distant all day. He had to hold you. He needed to make amends, to feel the heat of your skin against his, even if it was just under the guise of the mission. At least, that was the only excuse his desperate mind could construct if you angrly yelled at him about it later.

You smiled tightly for Alejandro's benefit, but your fingers dug with an icy, warning firmness into the back of Thor's thick neck—a silent, furious message for him to let go. But Thor didn't care. He didn't care about the silent threat as long as he got to hold you in his arms for just a second longer before this mission ended and you went back to the compound to avoid him forever. He simply tightened his grip, pulling you flush against his chest, and smiled widely at Alejandro.

Alejandro chuckled deeply at the display of affection. “Always passionate, I see.”

You turned a sickly sweet smile toward the arms dealer, leaning into the cover. “Always,” you cooed, before casually looking around the lounge. “Where is Valentin tonight?” You instantly felt Thor's fingers dig sharply into your waist, his grip turning possessive at the mention of the man he had been burning with jealousy over. Alejandro made a dismissive, ‘don't care’ gesture with his hand. “Ah, he claims he is sick. Staying in his villa tonight.”

“Oh, poor guy,” you purred, feigning deep sympathy. “I hope he gets better soon.” Thor’s fingers dug even deeper into your hip bone, a silent, growling protest that you had to actively ignore.

You endured another twenty minutes of Alejandro’s endless boasting, monitoring the guard rotation out of the corner of your eye. Finally, the hallway leading to the back offices cleared. You lightly tapped Thor’s broad shoulder, signaling him that it was time. "I need to go to the restroom, honey," you said loudly enough for the table to hear, sliding off his lap.

He didn't protest, maintaining his role, but his blue eyes burned holes straight through your frame as you walked away. The moment you turned the corner out of the lounge's line of sight, the sweet smile vanished from your face. Your heart rate spiked, breathing sharpening as you slipped into the dim, restricted corridor. Using the digital master key you had covertly cloned from the resort's mainframe, you bypassed the electronic lock on Alejandro's private office in three seconds flat. The door clicked open with a faint hiss. You slipped inside, closing it silently behind you.

The room was dark, illuminated only by the ambient glow of the resort's outdoor lights filtering through the blinds. You moved like a shadow across the plush carpet, heading straight for the ornate bookshelf on the far wall. Pressing the hidden release mechanism behind a heavy brass statue, the wall ground open to reveal a reinforced titanium safe. Your fingers flew across the keypad, inputting the encryption codes you had painfully secured earlier in the week. BEEP. The safe's heavy bolts retracted. You quickly dismanntled the failsafe and looked inside the safe.

There, resting on a velvet cushion, was a glowing, intricately carved container pulsing with a faint, dark energy—the stolen Dark Elf convergence technology. Beside it lay the encrypted flash drive containing the buyers' manifests. Your breath hitched. This was it. The culmination of hours of putting up with Thor, hours of hiding your heart, hours of surviving. You carefully wrapped the artifact in a specialized containment cloth to mask its energy signature, slipping it and the drive into the secure inner pocket of your dress.

You locked the safe, closed the hidden door, and stepped back out into the hallway, your heart hammering against your ribs. Pressing your finger to your earpiece, “Package secured. Perimeter clear. Let's mo—“ you were cut off as a heavy, sweating hand clamped brutally over your mouth from behind, and the cold steel of a gun barrel pressed hard into the side of your head. Fuck.

Back in the VIP lounge, Thor’s earpiece crackled with your voice. The sound instantly soothed his aching heart, but the relief didn't last long. You were cut off mid-word, your voice muffled into a sharp static gasp. His heart dropped straight to his stomach, cold dread instantly replacing his focus. What the fuck?

He smoothly stood up, cutting Alejandro off mid-sentence with a firm, booming laugh as he patted the man's shoulder, masking the terror roaring in his veins. "It has been an absolute pleasure, Alejandro, but my wife has been feeling quite fatigued from our travels. I must take her back to our quarters," Thor said, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. Before Alejandro could even protest, Thor was already walking away, his long strides carrying him down the corridor. “Little Flame? What is happening?” he whispered franticallyy into his comms, his hands trembling with a mix of fear and rising fury.

You didn't respond. The silence on the other end drove him to the edge. The second he stepped into the shadow of the back hallway, out of sight of the guests, he raised his hand. With a crackle, Stormbreaker materialized into his grip, the blue sparks already dancing along the heavy blade.

“So you were here to get to this, all along?” came Valentin's sharp, bitter voice from behind you. Thor's voice crackled instantly in your ear, low and lethal. “Is it him?” Bound by the hand over your mouth, you could only press a tight, affirmative hum into the microphone.

Valentin spoke again, his grip tightening. "The only reason why you were interested in me?" He sounded entirely wrecked, like he couldn't believe his own ego had been brokenby a spy. You gulped, trying to calculate your leverage. Sensing your shift, he cautiously removed his hand from your mouth to let you speak, keeping the gun digging into your temple. “Valentin, calm dow—“ CRACK. He ruthlessly smacked the heavy side of the gun against the side of your head. The force made your head snap to the side, a low, painful grunt ripping from your throat as your vision blurred for a split second. This motherfucker.

“Did he just fucking hit you?” came Thor's roaring voice through the comms, the nger in his tone vibrating so hard it rattled your earpiece. You quickly let out another hum, trying to mask it as a groan of lingering pain so that Valentin wouldn't realize you were on an active channel. “Are you still in the same spot?” Thor demanded, his footsteps shaking the building as he sprinted toward your coordinates. This fucker had absolutely no chance. He was dying tonight.

You hummed again in confirmation, which only served to irritate Valentin further. He grabbed your chin, turning your face toward him, forcing you to look into his wild, unhinged eyes. A crazy, desperate smile spread across his face. “I think you should give me a kiss before you go,” he whispered darkly. He closed his eyes, leaning his face directly into yours. Big mistake.

The second his eyes shut, your training took over. You threw your head back, violently slamming the crown of your skull against his nose. He staggered back with a curse, and you used the momentum to drive a sharp elbow directly into his ribs, successfully hitting the gun away from your head. You spun, sweeping your leg out to take his ankles, but Valentin was fueled by pure adrenaline; he managed to catch his balance, his face twisting in fury as he lunged forward. He slammed you back against the wall, his hand locking tightly around your neck, and pointed the gun straight at your head from the front, yelling directly into your face.

But before he could even pull the trigger—before he could do anything at all—the gun in his hand was struck by a massive, flying axe. Stormbreaker sheared the weapon completely in half, embedding itself deep into the wall with a deafening thud. “I told you to stay away from her, did I not?”

And then came hell. Thor burst through the doorway, a literal storm rolling in behind him. He didn't even use his weapon. He descended on Valentin like an enraged deity, reaching out and grabbing the man by the collar of his expensive suit. “No—“ Valentin scrambled, his face draining of all color as he looked up into the face of a god.

“You hit her, and you tried to kiss her?” Thor rumbled, his voice shaking the light fixtures above. “You are in big trouble, boy.”

With a display of raw strength, Thor hoisted him completely off the floor and slammed him ruthlessly against the concrete wall. Thor's eyes completely turned into a blinding, static blue, the white-hot electricity arcing across his shoulders and down his arms. Valentin desperately pleaded for his life, gasping for air, but Thor was entirely deaf to it.

You slid down to the floor, clutching your throbbing head, watching the entire scene unfold in awe. Thor grabbed Valentin by the neck, lifting him higher, and delivered two brutal, bone-crushing punches straight to his jaw. Then, with a dark, final grunt of fury, he let the lightning loose. A massive burst of pure electricity fried Valentin instantly, dropping his lifeless body to the floor in a smoking heap. Oops.

The room went quiet, save for the faint hum of residual static. Thor immediately spun around, the terrifying god of war instantly vanishing the moment his eyes landed on you. He rushed to his knees at your side, his large hand gently but firmly holding your jaw, tilting your head up to assess the dark bruising swelling near your temple.

You tried to pull away slightly, the intensity of his focus making your chest tighten. “I'm fine,” you muttered. But your heart was beating erratically in your chest, completely overwhelmed by the unhinged protectiveness he had just shown. He had literally killed a man for putting a hand on you. He was fussing over you like you were the most precious thing in the universe. Was he really the same guy you thought regretted everything this morning?

Seeing the deep, pained expression of guilt and fear swirling in his blue eyes, you let out a soft sigh, your voice softening. “I heal fast, remember?” Thor cleared his throat, his thumb lingering against your jaw for one more second before he reluctantly nodded and let you go.

He helped you up and you both quickly slipped out of the room, heading out into the humid night air. You sprinted back to the villa, throwing your clothes into your luggage in a silent rush, before moving stealthily toward the designated extraction point in the cliffs. Once outside in the dark, Thor held Stormbreaker high into the sky, the Bifrost roaring down in a blinding beam of rainbow light, swallowing you both whole.

—

It has been two days since you came back, and you and Thor were completely ignoring each other. It was obvious to everyone else in the compound; it was the exact polar opposite of what you guys were always like. Normally, you kept riling each other up because you secretly loved it. You yelled at each other, threatened each other daily, but you were always together, attached at the hip like some dysfunctional shadow.

Now? He let you have your morning coffee without a single fuss. You let him be whenever he talked like the booming Asgardian he is, not even bothering to roll your eyes. You weren't even in the same room unless it was absolutely necessary to begin with; either you or Thor would leave the second the other walked in. It was an undeniable fact that youwere both desperately staying away from each other.

And you missed him. You missed the way he riled you up, missed the way he smiled down at you with that smug but inexplicably sweet expression on his face... you missed him so much it hurt your very soul. Natasha had quietly asked about it, Tony made a few mocking jokes, Steve only silently analyzed you two with a furrowed brow, and Scott? Well, Scott wasn't really aware of anything going on. But Rocket had literally yelled, “Why the hell are you two not fighting?!” at the both of you in the kitchen yesterday. You had only turned and left the room without a word, while Thor merely grunted, staring miserably into his mug as he sipped his coffee.

You had mandatory team training today. Eager to avoid any confrontation, you woke up at 5:00 AM just to have your coffee and breakfast completely away from him and everyone else, before retreating straight back to your room to get ready into your tight, black gear.

Thor woke up a few hours later and had his coffee as usual, but it felt entirely tasteless without the usual, fiery fight he had with you over who got to pour the first cup. Fuck, he missed you. He missed you so much he felt it aching deep in his bones, his heart, his lungs—everywhere. He hated this distance. He hated the silence.

He quickly made his way down to the training area, his intense blue eyes scanning the perimeter the second he stepped foot on the grass, instantly searching for you. And there you were near the equipment mats, talking to Steve with a quiet familiarity, just like you had been doing for the last two days. The sight of you leaning in slightly to hear what the captain was saying made rage build inside Thor's chest. The static in his veins flared, his jaw locking hard as his fists clenched at his sides.

It cannot be, his mind echoed fiercely, a desperate attempt to talk himself down. You are getting jealous over nothing. He is merely her teammate. But as he watched Steve laugh at something you said, Thor's chest hollowed out with that same burning, possessive fire that had consumed him before. He turned his head away, staring out across the vast, sun-drenched gardens of the compound, trying to force his breathing to steady. He was clearly out of his mind. He was a god, for kingdoms' sake, yet he was ready to throw down with the Captain over a simple conversation.

Meanwhile, out on the grass near the training mats, you and Steve were actually talking about the exact elephant in the room. “Tell me, doll, what happened with you two?” Steve asked, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze shifting between you and the brooding god standing fifty yards away by the glass doors. “Nothing” you said immediately, adjusting the tracking straps on your wrists, trying to deflect. “It's obvious, you know? Don't bother lying.” Steve’s voice was gentle, but persistent.

You looked down at your combat boots, the weight of the secret pressing too heavily on your chest. Looking around to ensure no one else was in earshot, you finally whispered, “We slept together, Steve.” Steve's eyebrows furrowed in deep, pure confusion. “Okay... I know you don't exactly like the guy, but sleeping in the same bed couldn't have caused this much of a disaster—“ You snapped your head up and rolled your eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. Idiots. The whole lot of them were pure idiots. “Steve. Not like that,” you said, slapping your hand against your forehead. He had completely dismissed the actual option because his straight-laced brain simply couldn't believe it.

“What do you mean?” he asked again, completely lost.

You huffed, crossing your arms tightly. “We had sex.”

Steve’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, his arms instantly uncrossing as his brain short-circuited. “You—“ he pointed a finger at you, then pointed vaguely in Thor's direction. “Thor—“ he stammered, blubbering out in total confusion, it was very uncharacteristic of him you admit.

“Yes,” you cut him off, wanting to get the bandage ripped off. “And he regrets it, but me? I'm completely in love with him. Yay!” you said sarcastically, clapping your hands together in a mocking, bitter celebration.

Steve stood there in pure shock. You had never seen the Captain America look so entirely stunned, but then, something passed through his eyes. It was like a veil had been lifted, an entire timeline of events rewriting itself in his mind. “That's why you guys were always together,” he said, realization dawning on him. “You two are completely in love—“

“Whoa! Hold your horses,” you interrupted, your face heating up under the morning sun. “I am the one who's in love. Not him. He couldn't wait to escape the bed the next morning—“

“He is definitely in love with you—“ Steve started to counter, his voice laced with the certainty of a man who had been watching Thor pine from the sidelines for years. But whatever wisdom he was about to drop was loudly cut off by Tony’s voice echoing across the lawn through a megaphone. “We're all here, folks, let's get started! Cap, stop flirting with Shadow, goldilocks looks like he's about to blast you with lightning!” Tony yelled, gesturing toward the center of the field.

You stiffened, your eyes instinctively darting over to Thor, who was already marching onto the grass, his expression promising devastation for whoever had to spar with him today.

Your heart fastened at the sight of him, your eyes darting over his heavy frame, completely unable to control the sudden spike in your pulse. Steve grumbled something under his breath about Tony being incredibly annoying as he stood up and offered you a hand. You took his hand and got up, brushing the grass off your tight athletic pants.

Suddenly, a faint rumble of thunder vibrated through the ground. You paused, your eyebrows furrowing as you looked up at the sky, only to see bright, uninterrupted sunshine. Your eyebrows furrowed deeper. Okay... were you actually going insane?

“Did you hear that?” Steve asked quietly, looking over at you. You nodded, relieved that you weren't the only one losing your mind. But then Steve’s lips twitched into a knowing, subtle smirk. “Not in love with you, you said?” he murmured, giving you a pointed look before he turned and walked toward the center of the lawn.

You stood frozen in place for two more seconds, processing his words, before forcing your feet to move toward the rest of the team. Thor, Steve, Tony, Bruce, Scott, Nat, Clint, and even Rocket—everyone was gathered on the grass.

“Alright, listen up, children,” Tony announced, clapping his hands together. “Today we're doing partner drills. Mixed combat.” Rocket immediately hopped forward, pointing a tiny, clawed finger at you. “Pair me with Shadow! I wanna be her badass partner!”

“Why does this bunny keep yelling?” Tony muttered, rubbing his temples before looking down at the raccoon and pointing a dramatic finger across the yard. “No! Look at pointbreak over there!” He gestured toward Thor, who was standing like a dark, towering statue of menace, the grass practically singeing beneath his boots. “He's going to be her partner or we're all getting barbecued today!”

Your expression soured instantly. Okay, what the hell? Did everyone switch sides? Tony knew Thor despised you so why would he try to pair you up with him? Rocket turned his head to look at Thor, blinked at the glare the god was throwing his way, and made a startled, defensive expression. “Okay, yeah, you're right.” But then Rocket snapped his head back to Tony, baring his teeth. “I'm not a fucking bunny!”

Steve immediately interrupted, his captain instincts kicking in. “Rocket, language!” You rolled your eyes heavily. “Really, Steve?”

“Grandpa,” Tony muttered in agreement, rolling his eyes. “Alright, let's start.”

Your partner was Thor, as Tony had so graciously assigned, and standing across from you on the mats was Steve paired up with Bruce. The strategy was obvious—Bruce was meant to keep Thor occupied. The second the starting signal was given, Hulk lunged straight at Thor.

While Thor was engaged, his massive fists trading heavy blows with the green giant, he kept looking sideways at you. He was completely distracted by how easily you and Steve had slid into perfect synchronization. His blood burned hot in his veins. Focus, his mind echoed fiercely, but every time he saw Steve catch your arm to fling you into a high kick, his vision swam with red. With a roar of frustration, Thor drove a massive punch straight into the Hulk's jaw, sending the massive beast stumbling back a few heavy steps.

Meanwhile, you and Steve were moving seamlessly. You ducked low under Steve's arm, using his shoulder as leverage to drive a brutal spin-kick directly into his abdomen but he caught your foot smiling at you. You retreated yoou foot, vaulted off the ground, twisting mid-air to deliver a kick. But something that shouldn't have happened, happened. As you came down, Steve extended a hand, catching you firmly by the waist to stabilize your landing.

The moment Steve’s hands locked onto your waist, the sky changed. Thick, dark storm clouds suddenly swirled over the compound out of nowhere, completely blocking the sun in a matter of seconds. A massive, deafening rumble of thunder crashed directly overhead, accompanied by a simple, gravelly growl, “No.”

You blinked, looking over just in time to see Thor completely abandon his fight with the Hulk, turning his back on the training exercise entirely as he marched straight toward you.

“No,” he simply repeated, his face a mask of pure fury. Before you or Steve could even register what was happening, Thor reached out, his hands wrapping around your upper arms, and yanked you away from Steve, pulling you flush against his chest.

Your eyes narrowed into lethal slits, the physical contact setting your nerves on fire. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“I am removing you from Steve's arms,” he stated matter-of-factly, his chest heaving heavily against your back, his deep voice carrying a possessive finality.

Every single eye on the field was instantly focused on the two of you. The entire team stood frozen in pure shock—except for Steve. Steve would have been shocked too, if he hadn't just heard your confession three minutes prior.

“Thor, calm down,” Steve said evenly, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

But Thor snapped his head up, his blue eyes blazing with static electricity. “Do not talk, Steve,” he threatened, a rumble vibrating from his throat. Absolute displeasure and violence radiated off his massive frame.

“Don't,” you hissed, struggling fiercely against his iron grip, trying to wrench your arms free. “Don't you dare try to act all possessive now, when you are the one who regrets everything—“

“Regret?” Thor asked, the word cutting through his anger as he stopped, staring down at you. “Me?”

Then, to your utter fury, he let out a dark, breathless chuckle. “You are a hypocrite, Little Flame.”

Natasha took one look at the amount of tension and immediately turned to the rest of the team. “I think we should give them space.” Tony didn't even glance away, his eyes wide as he actively enjoyed the spectacle. It was like he was watching his absolute favorite primetime drama play out live. “Why? We're all outdoors. Shouldn't they be the ones to go inside for privac—“

“Tony,” Natasha said warning him.

“Okay, alright,” Tony caved, raising his hands.

He and the rest of the team quickly retreated toward the compound, but even Natasha couldn't help herself; the second they got inside, the entire lineup of Avengers pressed themselves against the glass doors, watching the drama unfold through the windows.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You countered fiercely, turning fully in his grip to face him, your chest heaving.

“You are the one who regrets everything! Flirting with Steve the second you came back—“

“Excuse me? We were not flirting!” you yelled back, chuckling in pure, broken frustration as you looked away for a split second before snapping your eyes back to his burning gaze. “We were talking, like friends do! Hold on—you don't get to question me on that, seeing as you were clearly comfortable flirting with her!”

Thor huffed, his eyebrows furrowing in genuine confusion. “Who have I flirted with?!”

“Don't play dumb now, Thor! THE RECEPTIONIST!” you screamed, the weight of the last forty-eight hours finally breaking through your defenses. Tears of hot, angry frustration built up rapidly in your eyes, blurring your vision as your voice cracked. “You left me the second the sun rose! You left the bed completely empty! And then you proceeded to go and flirt with her!”

“I was not flirting with her!” he bellowed, the desperation in his voice cracking through the thunder rolling above. “I woke up early because I wanted to surprise you,” he insisted, completely ignoring the venom dripping from your words. “You were sleeping so deeply... you looked so peaceful, and I did not want to wake you. I went down there specifically to get your favorite fruits and coffee to bring back to our quarters. That girl—she just approached me. I did not even hear a word she said, I swear it to you by the All-Father! I was only thinking of you.”

You scoffed, a broken, trembling sound. “And the smiling?” you challenged, your voice shaking despite your best efforts to keep your shields up. “You looked down at her and smiled, Thor. I saw you.”

He shook his head frantically, “I was smiling because I was happy!” he burst out, his massive chest heaving under his athletic shirt. “I was thinking about how you looked in my arms. I was thinking about what you told me before you slept. I was happy because of you, Little Flame. Not her. Never her.”

You stared up at him, your breath hitching sharply in your throat. He sounded so painfully sincere, so desperately eager to clear his name, but the cold dread of your own insecurities was still screaming in the back of your mind.

“You left the bed empty,” you whispered, your professional facade completely shattering as your voice cracked, exposing the raw, bleeding core of your heart. “You weren't there when I woke up.”

Thor froze. His eyebrows knitted together tightly as the realization of what you had been torturing yourself with finally dawned on his mind. His heart dropped straight to his stomach, a weight crushing him as he realized the terror and abandonment he had accidentally put you through.

“Oh, gods,” he breathed, his fierce, possessive expression melting into pure heartbreak. His voice cracked with emotion. “You thought I regretted it? You thought I left you?”

You looked away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. “You—“ You tried to speak, but a small, pathetic sniffle escaped you instead. The sound made Thor take a sharp, painful intake of breath. Moving instantly, his large hand came up, his fingers gently but firmly holding your chin to force your face back up so you had to look at him.

“I do not regret it. I could never regret it,” he said, his blue eyes swimming with a matching pain as he looked down at your tear-stained face.

You sniffled again, looking up at him through wet lashes. Your heart was beating frantically against your ribs, a spark of dangerous, beautiful hope flaring to life in your chest. Taking a breath, you asked something you never, in a million years, thought you would ever ask the arrogant god.

“Do you like me?” you whispered, your small hand coming up to hold the thick wrist of the arm holding your chin.

Thor's face immediately scrunched up into a deeply offended, dismissive expression. “Not so much.”

Your heart instantly dropped straight to your stomach, the rejection freezing your blood. “But you—“

Before you could finish the sentence, Thor reached out and grabbed your cheeks with both of his massive hands, tilting your head up as he brought his mouth down on yours. He kissed you deeply, passionately, a bruising, breathless possession that completely wiped all thoughts from your brain. When he finally pulled back just a fraction, his thumbs wiping the fresh tears from your cheeks, he continued his sentence.

“I do not like you. I am completely and utterly in love with you,” he confessed, the words hitting you right in the center of your chest.

A startled, watery laugh bubbled out of your throat. “You dumbass,” you chuckled, your hands moving to grip his forearms as a massive, radiant smile finally broke across your face. “Why would you word it like that?” Thor didn't care about his poor phrasing; his eyes were boring into yours with an intense, desperate seriousness. “Do you?” he asked, looking down at you with adoration.

“Do I what?”

“Regret it,”

“I don't,” you said, shaking your head without a single second of hesitation. “Why would I, when you are the man I am completely in love with?” you whispered, finally letting the confession pass your lips.

Thor’s blue eyes lit up like a blinding flash of lightning. A breathtaking smile split his handsome face, and without waiting another syllable, he slammed his lips back onto yours, kissing you with a ferocious, joyful hunger.

“I do not know what is wrong with me, Little Flame,” he mumbled against your lips between deep, bruising kisses. “I do not know how I did not realize sooner how pathetically in love I am with you.” His large hands slid down from your face, wrapping firmly around your waist and lifting you slightly off the grass to deepen the kiss, completely forgetting they were standing in the middle of a compound training field.

Inside the building, behind the massive glass doors, the entire lineup of Avengers was pressed flat against the window. Tony was rooted completely in place, his mouth agape, his hands raised in bewilderment. “Are you guys seeing what I am seeing, or am I hallucinating? Is Point break currently kissing Shadow?” Natasha stood next to him, a triumphant, knowing smirk spreading across her lips as she crossed her arms. “About damn time.”

Outside, Thor kept kissing you thoroughly, but suddenly, he pulled his face away by a mere inch. Your eyebrows knitted together in immediate irritation at the loss of contact. “What is it?” You asked. Thor hesitated, his jaw flexing as he muttered just one word, the lingering jealousy still clear in his tone: “Steve?”

You rolled your eyes, letting out a breathless laugh as you locked your hands behind his neck and pulled his head right back down to your lips. “Don't piss me off while I'm kissing you,” you murmured against his mouth.

Thor let out a low, vibrating hum of pure compliance against your lips. “You are right, I’m sorry, I love you,” he mumbled onto your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening as he buried his face back into yours.

—

Masterlist

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