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talesofadragon · 11 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

Synopsis: Centuries spent at the House of Odin have transformed the eclectic balls into familial gatherings and council meetings into morning tea rituals. The gilded walls of the castle have become home, and its royals, family. Yet, when your wisdom crosses paths with folly, affection is born unexpectedly, senselessly—a trait you’ve never been known to entertain, but one that Thor Odinson wears proudly.

Pairing: Thor Odinson x Asgardian!Reader

Warnings: Allusions to sex. Jealousy. Unrequited Love. Love Triangles. LOKI. (we love him, though.)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort | Fluff | Mild Angst

Word Count: 6K (I have no regrets)

Based on this Request from my writing celebration.

All Masterlists | Sab's Wring Fest

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍’𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐊 into the queen’s revered gardens, let alone assault her precious snowdrops. But rationale had long been buried deeper than Yggdrasil’s roots, allowing impulsivity to reign over you.

The white petals screeched from the force of your tug, a harsh touch you’d never known yourself capable of administering. But your assault proved relentless, flower after flower limply falling to your side. Ironically, their innocent petals congregated on the fabric of your dress, painting a tinge of beauty over your despondency.

Even in their misery, they refused to be anything but enduring. Pitiful.

“Oh, how delightfully entertaining will it be to gauge Mother’s love for you once she sees what calamity has befallen her garden by your hands.”

“Go away,” you commanded bitterly, back turned to the unwanted presence.

The god behind you neglected to comment on your tone. You heard him shuffle, his feet carefully avoiding stepping on another virtuous plant. He plopped down next to you, elegantly brushing his hands atop the neglected flower stems by your side, reviving them.

“It would be a shame to forgo free entertainment,” Loki smirked, twirling the rejuvenated snowdrop in his fingers.

You craned your head to the right, eyes burning with fire even his Jotun genes couldn’t withstand. “Pity, so many courtesans have slipped from your fingers you now have to settle for my misery for pleasure.”

Loki laughed, his shoulders shaking. His gaze retained his familiar mirth as he answered, “Would your misery be associated with a certain courtesan and an Asgardian prince... fonduing, perhaps?”

“Fonduing?” Your face twisted in disgust. “What in the Nine does that word mean?”

“I heard the spangled American Captain utter it once," Loki recalled. "It’s a euphemism for two people partaking in the biological act of reproduction.”

“What?” you scoffed in disbelief. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Loki’s wry smirk reappeared. “Mortals rarely do,” he confessed.

Your face fell at the reminder of the race you were persistently attempting to forget. Focused on your previous discourse, you had ignored the snowdrops delicately sitting in the palm of your hands. Without a second thought, you resumed your previous ministrations, gracelessly tearing apart petals from the stem.

“You do not happen, by any chance, to be superseding this flower for Thor’s meek mortal friend. Do you?” Loki asked.

“No,” you were quick to reply. “She may be as delicate as a flower, but she’s as beautiful as a Ratatoskr. What do brown eyes remind one of besides tree trunks and repugnant mud?”

“The warmth of an autumn day as the sun embraces the woodlands and shelters its inhabitants from the seasonal tumult to come,” Loki poetically recited, hands drawing figures in the air and a gleam of mischief glowing in his irises.

“Sounds tedious,” you lamented.

It earned you a scoff from Loki, though not for a lack of frivolity. “Midgardians possess this abhorrent concoction called coffee,” he informed, gaining your attention. “It’s a muddy brew that staggeringly increases one’s anxiety threshold.”

“Why would someone create such a senseless horror?”

“Perhaps to use it as a metaphor for a mortal’s brown eyes.”

You scrunched up your nose at the image of the mortal in question. “Fitting. She has such a petite stature. As feeble and brittle as her thirty-year lifespan.”

“I regret to inform you that mortals can live up to a century.”

“Irrelevant. That is still a trifle of our lifespan. And do not get me started on her vexatious disposition. Has this mortal woman been raised in a cave of trolls?”

“Well, this would certainly explain her infatuation with Thor.”

“You are not helping!”

You gathered what remained of the flowers, pelting Loki with the stem and petals. He didn’t deflect your assault, accepting your sour behavior. What you hadn’t accounted for was his retaliation. He pushed your shoulder, slightly rougher than usual, forcing you to land on a bed of flowers.

You groaned, feeling the flora entangling in your hair and their pollen dusting your dress. Loki’s dulcet amusement echoed above your head. A sharp gasp escaped him when you tugged at his emerald green robes and shoved him down. Hard.

“I did not inflict a grain of harm on you,” Loki groaned, swatting the fallen petals, which landed in his hair. “This hurts, Y/N.”

“Your pride or your head? The latter could benefit from some sense knocking into it,” you rebuked.

Loki gazed at you unimpressed. “Now is not an agreeable time to spread your wisdom, Little Goddess. You’ve clearly demonstrated your dwindling abilities when you groaned and moaned about the earthling.”

“I did no such thing! I, astutely might I add, pointed out her subpar qualities that do not mirror what Asgard is looking for in a queen—”

“Thor clearly disagrees.”

“Do not interrupt me, you venomous snake! Thor has always been a dunderhead, overthinking with his brawn and underthinking with his brains.”

“And yet, you were stupid enough to fall in love with him, Goddess of Wisdom.”

“Watch your mouth!” you spat, eyes roving the expanse of the garden to ensure no meddling ears were meandering around. “I care for your brother. But do not confuse care with admiration.”

“Devotion, Y/N. Has the human’s visit caused even your accrued lexicon to recede,” Loki taunted. Had it not been for your skirts in the way and your position on the ground, you would’ve kicked him so hard in certain nether regions that he would’ve sung to Valhalla.

“I stand by what I said.”

“Apologies, Little Goddess. Allow me, as the God of Lies, to refute your statement. Both metaphorically and in the literal sense.”

That filthy little python. You scoffed, perhaps a little more at yourself than him. He elicited the responses he desired, painting a mockery out of you and your feelings. You knew you couldn’t debate the matter with him more than you already had. As the God of Lies and your, unfortunately, best friend, he’d always have the upper hand in this matter.

So, you stood up and dusted your skirts. If you weren't winning, then participating in this debate was of no use.

“Where are you going?” Loki inquired, an underlying tone of merriment hiding beneath his words.

Your eyes squinted, regarding him with indignation. “You have effectively sullied my mood even further. Your mother’s beautiful flowers do not deserve more ill will at my hands. Therefore, I’m taking my leave.”

If Loki had said anything after your response, your mind had elected to ignore it. Huffing aloud, you marched toward the castle, uncaring for the traces of mud and the wealth of fallen petals that trailed behind. On a regular day, you would’ve been more mindful, casting a simple cleaning spell to polish your appearance and ensure the poor attendants of the Odin Household would not have to partake in more work than necessary. But your anger and heartbreak had been immeasurable enough to deny you any act besides sulking over the mortal woman Thor had ignorantly brought along to Asgard.

The Norns, much like Loki, must’ve been taking pleasure in your predicament. You had rounded the corner, one gilded hallway separating you from the castle’s entrance, when the silhouette of the Crown Prince appeared.

Unlike the ladies of the court, your admiration for Thor did not stem from his ethereal beauty. It bloomed like Freyja’s primroses, a sturdy seedling that, with time, opened its foliage to a world of wonder and ardor. He was a cosmic presence—a child of the sun, with light and fire dancing around his immaculate frame in wisps of enchantment, leaving every woman breathless. Including you.

“Lady Y/N!” Thor’s voice reverberated in the long hallway, laced with excitement. "I hadn't anticipated your presence today. No wonder the day exudes such radiance."

His comment made heat rise to your cheeks. It was almost as if he had shared his warmth with you, sending it trekking along his words to your heart. You smiled at him, demure and saccharine. But your lips downturned once another presence, one less noticeable or agreeable, appeared behind him.

You cleared your throat, attempting to restrain your unease as you greeted, “Thor, Mistress Foster.”

Norns burn you if you call her by the same title you bear. The earthling, as Loki so eloquently worded it, could not match you.

Without a greeting nor a poised lexicon, the Midgardian inquired, “Why are your clothes dirty?”

Her question intrigued Thor enough for his eyes to rove your body. The warmth that had settled in your veins morphed into the embers of Helheim. You felt small and brittle under the scrutiny of his penetrating gaze.

“I beg your pardon?” you fired back promptly, indignation concealing the shame you felt at your soiled image.

Your words caused the mortal to pale, head swiveling to Thor’s side in anxiousness and trepidation. “I apologize, my lady,” she rectified her earlier statement. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Well, you certainly were, you internally chastised.

Thor took another look at your attire, meticulously examining the fabric. You endeavored to compose yourself, resisting the urge to shift your weight from one foot to another. His hand reached for your arm, his thumb sweeping across your elbow. “Are you well, Lady Y/N? You look… disheveled.”

You immediately retracted your arm, fearing his senses might pick up on your galloping heart. “I am quite alright. I was with Loki in the gardens,” you supplied.

“Loki?” The mortal regarded you with an air of cynicism. Your blood boiled at her brashness. “What were you and Loki doing in the gardens?”

“Have you no tact, you imprudent minger? Although your kind lacks sensibility and decorum, you ought to address those of elevated stature with respect while in their dominion! Neither Prince Loki nor I are your comrades to tolerate such crass mannerisms.”

“I’m… my sincerest apologies, I didn’t think—”

“Thinking is not as sparse on Asgard as it is on Earth. If you find yourself incapable of harnessing a modicum of wisdom when addressing me, then you are in the presence of the wrong Goddess.”

"Y/N," Thor interjected, his omission of your title not slipping past your notice. Nor did you miss the hand that reached out for the mortal girl.

His actions only served to fan the flames of your jealousy and hurt. Almost a millennium of knowing that male, and he had chosen a measly mortal's side over yours.

“Do not patronize me!” you ordered, jamming a finger in his broad, muscular chest. “I am not the right audience for your feigned, princely performance.”

Thor squeezed the mortal’s hand in reassurance, tugging her further to his side—as if to shield her from you. He craned his face lower to meet your gaze. Endearing as you'd always found it, it made you uneasy at this moment.

"You seem overly emotional today,” he inquired, voice low and delicate, juxtaposing his chosen words. “Has Loki said something to upset you?"

You cracked. How dare he?

“Loki may perhaps be the only male in all of Asgard who possesses an ounce of empathy and understanding when it comes to my feelings and disposition,” you snapped back, ignoring how your words seemed to slap Thor in the face. “He has been my best friend for close to a millennium and is one of the princes of this realm. So if I, as a lady of the court, find that your little mortal is besmirching his name, the least I could do is call her out on it!”

Your outburst held more weight than you had anticipated, managing to leave Thor speechless. He regarded you with an air of perplexion, his mouth open—seemingly unsure of what response was fair in this situation.

You didn’t want to waste any further time in his or the mortal’s company. You grunted, walking away. The sound of your footfall ringing louder than deemed honorable for a lady.

“Y/N, wait!” Thor called out after you, his hand shooting up to grab your arm. Though he was massively built, with the strength and mass of Asgard lying on his shoulders, his shy grasp fluttered against your skin. Featherlike, it tickled your nerves, sending a chorus of tenderness through your pulse.

You turned around, a mask of stoicism hiding your feelings. “Yes?”

“I appreciate your inclination to defend my brother, but, I, and Jane, were merely concerned over your well-being—”

“Accusing Loki of maltreatment!” you reminded Thor, swiftly retracting your arm from his grasp.

He sighed, placing both hands on his hips. You loathed how small he made you feel before the mortal. “You are exaggerating.”

“And you are heedless! Whatever Loki and I were doing in the gardens is none of your or the mortal’s concern! What’s it to you both? Maybe we decided to fondue. We do not get in your business, so do not meddle in ours!”

No sooner had the words left your mouth than your legs commanded you to retreat to another room. You didn’t understand why you had said that. Your wisdom melted into a puddle whenever Thor and his little pet were involved.

When had you become so insensitive?

Mistress Foster left. Her visit didn’t amass more than a fortnight's worth of frustrations before King Odin had deemed her visit long. If an immortal God such as Odin Allfather perceived these days as anything but transient, then Jane Foster was truly a nuisance in her own right.

The knowledge of her absence, particularly on this day, overjoyed you. The Vernal Equinox served as a portent of hope for Asgard—embracing prominent figures from neighboring realms in celebration of Asgard’s princes and in anticipation of the future.

In loose terms, it presented the Asgardian royalty with a wealth of eligible females to choose from as the next princess and queen of the realm. In broader terms, it was another opportunity to observe Loki and Thor merrily charm the ladies to appease Odin and Frigga—while satiating particular desires on the side.

You dismissed your ladies in waiting, taking a deep breath as you pulled open the door. Your feigned smile fell, and the familiar trepidation rose when you saw who stood by the door.

“Fondue?” Loki snickered, mischief practically waltzing in his bejeweled eyes. “Darling Y/N, had I known you were inclined to roll in my sheets, I would’ve bedded you centuries sooner.”

You grabbed him by the fabric of his tailored robes, pulling him harshly toward your rooms. “I panicked!” you grumbled. It was barely heard over the deafening sound of his amusement.

“Well, you certainly rectified your error by pulling me into your chambers.”

“Shut up!”

“Ah, my Little Goddess. How exquisitely appetizing do you look,” he joked, purposely raising his voice.

You jumped on him, a screech tearing through your vocal cords. Loki laughed louder, trying to grasp your hands as you assaulted him with your fists. You hadn’t expected him to bite your finger.

“You bastard!” you seethed, cradling your hand.

“What was that, Y/N? You want it faster?”

“Loki!!”

“Ah, tell me how good it feels,” he mused.

You were not impressed. “You are an idiot,” you retorted.

Your argument, if you could call it that, receded rather swiftly. You refused to look at Loki, rolling your eyes and settling them on your vanity. You weren’t frustrated, per se. Loki always had a knack for playing with your feelings like they were puppets on a string. Not in a malevolent way. The matter was, if your gaze caught him, you knew the little impish snake would expose the laughter he had succeeded in digging out of you.

Loki’s voice caught you before your thoughts meandered further. “You’re wearing the wrong colors.”

You looked down at yourself, your silver shoes peeking from the fabric of your long blue dress. It was light azure. Quaint and placid. An exterior representation of the feelings you were chasing. The fabric was tulle, whimsical and, airy like Spring’s birds merrily dancing across cloudless Asgardian sky. Its off-shoulder design, adorned with gleaming silver gems and bishop sleeves, accentuated your elegance and grace. A Goddess. A member of the House of Odin, even if you didn’t have a crown.

“If you’re insinuating I ought to have worn your brother’s colors, then I regret to inform you, that you were mistaken.”

Loki shook his head as a mischievous shadow passed over his face. “You’d appear desperate. And you, Y/N, are anything but.”

“Then what colors were you referencing?” you asked, brows creasing in thought. “Surely not your own.”

“Mine, no. But the witless oaf doesn’t have to know that.”

You didn’t comprehend whatever it was he was insinuating. Wordlessly, Loki twirled his fingers, a thread of emerald green seidr tantalizing your sight. He flicked his wrist. The magical trail shot from his fingertips to your dress, deftly pirouetting along the light azure tulle.

The colors changed from blue to green and silver to gold. The boldness of your outfit contrasted with the muted portrait you tried to paint earlier. You studied your dress, eyes roving the fabric before examining Loki’s attire. You almost scolded him for putting you in his colors when you did not intend for your farce to go further than it did. But then you noticed these colors, chosen by Loki, were darker than his.

It was a subtle contrast, discerned when in closer proximity to the God of Mischief. The royal family could immediately catch the difference. The ladies, though, wouldn’t be able to. Neither would Thor.

“Is this a wise choice?” you asked, playing with the sleeves of your dress.

Loki took your hand in his, kissing the back of it. “The answer lies with you, Little Goddess.”

Wise, maybe not. Fun? It certainly would be. You couldn’t remember the last time you went to these festivities without constantly having to clutch your heart at the thought of Thor.

“It’s a mutual agreement,” you answered diligently. “This keeps the ladies and Thor away.”

Loki tutted. “This keeps the witless oaf’s mind working. He has stashed his wits so far beneath the surface, the cobwebs have devoured them whole.”

“And you think this alliance between wisdom and mischief will decontaminate his head from thoughts of the impertinent mortal?”

“I believe my brother is a hopeless case. If it works, then by all means, enjoy the fruits of our labor. If it doesn’t, then enjoy the privilege of my company.”

“Your company?” you chortled, wrapping your arm around his elbow. “Lokes, I’ll be gracing you with mine.”

He mimicked your chortle, beginning to lead you out of the room. "I must admit, your presence has staggeringly illuminated my days in Asgard. Father is covertly hoping that I ask for your hand in marriage."

"And Frigga?" you asked, aware of Loki's deep affection for his mother and her opinion.

He covered your hand, which rested on his arm, with his free one, leaning closer to your ear. "She much prefers you with Thor." You blushed, a crimson hue spreading across your cheeks. Loki took delight in your sheepishness. "You could spare me the hassle of sifting through noble ladies by accepting a marriage proposal, Y/N. I immensely enjoy roleplay in the bedroom. And though I do not wish to lay eyes on certain biological regions of my brother, I can indulge you if that is what you fancy."

"I fancy your silence, you brute!" you chastised, stomping on his foot.

Loki barely flinched, but he placed some distance between you both. He opened the door, and before you could venture beyond your bedroom, he positioned himself in your line of sight. "You forgot something, darling." The nickname felt foreign, especially when unaccompanied by your first name. Before you could inquire about it, you felt a shimmer of magic raking through your hair.

"What did you do?"

Loki smiled fondly, passing his fingers through your loose hair. "Turned you from a goddess to a princess."

Your gaze locked with his as you lifted your fingers to your head. There was a weight there, not something unbearable but undeniably foreign. Your fingers traced the contours of what you assumed was a diadem.

"What was that for?"

Loki stepped closer to you, his taller frame engulfing yours, cocooning you with his body heat. His lips settled on your forehead, his fingers intertwining with yours. You blinked, mind racing to figure out the parameters of his new trick. “You’re precious, Y/N,” he confessed breathlessly, his voice almost vulnerable. “More valuable than the troves of Asgard and the magic of Yggdrasil. And by the Norns, whoever forsakes your treasured company deserves to be bereft of your radiance, ensnared by the unforgiving grasp of Helheim for their sacrilege, Little Queen.”

For the first time in your 800 years of life, you found yourself at a loss for words in response to Loki's. His words were carefully chosen, poignant, and endearing, befitting his poetic prowess. Yet, something about the declaration felt amiss; a subtle discordance that unsettled you. It was then, out of the corner of your eye, that you caught sight of Thor.

His cerulean eyes, usually bright with warmth, were now veiled in darkness, glinting with a silver sheen you had never seen before. Thor's demeanor betrayed a mix of emotions, his features clouded with anger and a hint of betrayal. Before you could utter a word, he turned and left, his bloody red ceremonial attire fading from view.

Loki's intentions became clearer then. He sought to deceive Thor. But why would such words incite his brother's ire? And why had Loki chosen to describe you as such?

This Vernal Equinox proved to be different. You couldn’t categorize it as either good or bad as you had yet to comprehend your perplexing emotions about the celebration. The familiar joviality and folly were missing given that Loki and Thor seemed to have reversed their roles.

Content with you on his arm, Loki’s charade persisted well into the late hours of the evening. He kept you to his side, not that you minded, twirling, discoursing, and occasionally, joking about the whole ordeal. The nobles, courtiers, and ladies had all presumed you debuting, your green dress a declaration of your choice in contenders. If not for that, then the golden diadem on your head

Frigga and Odin seemed to know better. The Allfather offered you and his youngest no more than a feeble smile, pleased to see you and Loki together, even though he knew this was all but a farce. The Allmother, while graceful as ever, did not attempt to mask her errant gaze, her bright eyes dimming as she looked at Thor.

The older son, heir to the throne of Asgard, had forgone merriment in favor of appeasing the ladies. Given that Loki had monopolized your time, all of the wayward bachelorettes traveled toward Thor. No lady was cast aside, each receiving a handful of minutes with the prince. And though that should’ve hurt you, the ache in your heart could only be attributed to the misery Thor wore.

You and Loki drifted toward Sif and the Warriors Three since Thor had abandoned his usual idle chatter and reckless drinking. Hours later, Fandral was on the verge of passing out, Hogun was inebriated yet still standing, while Volstagg recounted one of the ancient battles on Alfheim to Loki and Sif.

When it was an hour past midnight, you excused yourself from the festivities, claiming you were too tired to continue.

In truth, sleep evaded you. Your mind inundated with thoughts. But you didn’t allow yourself to entertain one more question or idea, letting your feet guide you wherever they preferred.

You reached one of the castle’s balconies, a small one on the right side of the ballroom. You could still hear the music from the festivities, although it was a gentle hum. Euphonious and dulcet, serving as the perfect ballad in the backdrop. The sky lit up, gleaming stars strewn across the darkness. You wondered if they were the Norns’ portents. If you could wish upon them and the world would hum in answer.

The sound of retreating footsteps pulled your attention away from the sky. You knew that silhouette anywhere.

“Thor?” the word tumbled from your lips before you could fully register what the night had brought.

Thor’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t respond, almost as if contemplating whether to provide you with an answer or ignore your presence. He sighed, broad shoulders deflating, before he turned around.

“I apologize, Lady Y/N. I was not aware the area was preoccupied.”

“You need not to apologize, Thor,” you stated, unsure where his usual boldness had gone. “The area is large enough to accommodate both of us.”

It almost looked as though Thor would decline your offer. His blue eyes wandered, from you to the horizon then back. He regarded you in an unfamiliar way, taking in your appearance. You didn’t want him to catch sight of your fluster, so you turned your back to him, getting lost in the sight of Asgard at night.

When you thought Thor would leave, you heard him make his way to your side.

“I wish to apologize to you, Y/N,” he whispered, uncertainly. Not because he did not mean it, no. You knew Thor well enough to tell when he was lying about something. Your friendship with Loki illuminating his brother’s traits further. Thor leaned on his side, the banister supporting his weight. His demeanor was brittle, a far cry from what you had known. Your breath was lost in your throat, unsure whether you should gasp or sob. A step forward and there would be no distance between the both of you. You never wanted to hug him more. “Had I known you and my brother were…” He paused, taking in a shaky breath. “...Courting. Had I known, neither I nor Jane would have adopted such an insensitive tone before.”

You shook your head, fingers tingling to reach out for him. “We’re…Loki and I we’re…” But you couldn’t complete your sentence. A part of you imploring to deny Thor’s claim. Another fearing Thor’s distance if you admitted the truth.

“An odd combination,” Thor smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Mischief and Counsel. Wisdom and Lies.”

“They’re opposite sides of the same coin. Perhaps, that’s why they work better than expected,” you defended, unsure why.

Thor nodded, the same meek smile unerased. He looked down at his feet, strands of his blond hair covering his face. It had grown taller from the last time he had cut it on Midgard. Now resting upon his shoulders. As if he needed more weight to bear.

“I must admit that he might be the luckiest one between us both. And he does not even know it?”

Your hand shot up involuntarily, clutching at the golden jewels across the bodice of your dress. “How so?” you asked, your thumb circling the fabric in a futile attempt at soothing your heartache at Thor’s tone.

One of Thor’s hands glided across the banister, landing where yours had laid. While his gaze held your face, your eyes couldn’t help but land on his larger hand. “Loki presumes I cannot tell his ire at the court ladies galivanting to my side. He has always been too forlorn to understand that numbers have mattered not to me.” His hand dared to reach for yours then, a featherlike caress that made your heart gallop faster than Sleipnir. “Those who choose me over Loki desire nothing more than the throne. I have nothing else to offer. No wit, no literary aptitude, or poetic charm. I am nothing but brutish and capricious. It takes a no great amount of ardor to love my brother. It takes a kingdom to love someone like me.”

You retracted your hand, the action so unexpected and harsh, Thor jumped back in surprise. He opened his mouth, perhaps to apologize, but he closed it when he saw the expression you wore. Silver misted your irises, decayed and morose, mirroring the disheartenment that haunted you.

“How can you say that?” you questioned—shrieked, even. Tears cascaded down your cheeks, your hands clawing at your dress because of the pain you felt. “Who…who made you feel as such?”

“Y/N—”

“No, Thor! You cannot utter such insidious words in my presence! You are kind, tender, and caring. A summer’s breath, warm and ecstatic. In your fierceness, you wield passion, and in your tempest resides the strength to protect. You are worthy of many things, Thor Odinson. And love is atop that wealth. I would forgo the world’s realms and riches to bask in the light of your affection.”

The words that traversed the distance between were not measured nor were they second-guessed. You had not the time to question your affections, wondering if it was worth bringing them to light or not. But you needed Thor to understand that what he felt, the dejectedness and loneliness, were unwarranted.

You need to touch him, embrace him—assure his heart that he was worthy, and if you couldn’t do it physically, then your words had to suffice.

Thor stood there, his expression a mix of shock, confusion, and something akin to hope. He reached out tentatively, brushing away the tears from your cheek with his thumb. “Y/N…”

You allowed his thumb to trace the skin beneath your eyes before wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace, burying your face in his chest. Once, you thought to yourself. Even if this was a lie, I’ll gladly entertain it, just this once.

“Those ladies who crave your affections for the crown are not worthy of you. Even if you were the second son, even if the Norns had created you a mortal, you would still be worthy, Thor. You would still be loved.”

Thor’s hands traveled from your back. One moved up to cradle your head while the other rested on your lower back, cradling you closer to his chest. You could hear his heartbeats frantically drumming against his rib cage. Almost as if they were loud enough to create their own melody.

You felt Thor plant a kiss atop of your head, close to where the diadem lay. He swayed with you in his arms, hold on you tightening and unwilling to let go. “You’re precious, Y/N,” he recited the words with complete reverence. Their familiarity registered, but you didn’t have time to question him before he continued, “More valuable than the troves of Asgard and the magic of Yggdrasil. And by the Norns, whoever forsakes your treasured company deserves to be bereft of your radiance, ensnared by the unforgiving grasp of Helheim for their sacrilege, Little Queen.”

A sharp gasp escaped your lips. “What did you just say?” you questioned, still nestled in his protective embrace.

“Loki did not compose this prose,” Thor confessed, his eyes dark with hesitation. “I wrote it. Two hundred years ago. For you.”

“What?” you breathed, the word splintering with emotion.

“I…I have always felt a connection to you. A sense of calm. Your wisdom and grace, but above all, your charm and wit captured my heart before I even knew it.”

“You never said anything,” you reminded, blinking harshly against the realization.

“How could I?” Thor’s thumb brushed the side of your mouth, drawing a choked whimper from you. “You are elegant while I am rough. A prince by title, but not by manner—”

“Do not belittle yourself in my presence.”

Thor chuckled softly, his gaze just as gentle.

“You are the Goddess of Wisdom, Little Queen.” That nickname—the Norns damn it—stirred emotions in you that you had never felt before. “What wisdom would there be in associating with the God of Thunder?”

“Is that why you distanced yourself?” The question was thick with unspoken feelings. “Is that why…why you chose Jane?” Over me. Your thought was left unspoken.

Thor’s expression darkened with remorse, his features shadowed by regret. “Have you never noticed the similarities between you two?”

“What similarities?”

“She is a smart woman. Accomplished, fastidious, attentive, and resilient despite her delicate appearance. Just as you are.”

“She is a mortal,” you countered.

Thor nodded solemnly. “She cannot be made a queen. Not in the eyes of the Asgardians.”

“Then why—”

“It would be easier to gauge her choice.” Thor shifted his weight from one foot to the other. You realized too late that he was pulling away, keeping you at arm’s length. “As I said.” His gaze traveled the expanse of your body, regret permeating the air suddenly. “Those who choose me do it for Asgard’s throne. Those who choose my brother do it for love,” he reiterated, brokenly. He added in a more fractured tone, “You look stupendous in emerald green, my lady.”

“Viridian,” you corrected, evoking his bafflement. “It’s viridian green, a darker shade than emerald. Truthfully, I had opted for my own colors. But Loki approached my chambers before I could leave, and he all but decided to trick the court to his own advantage.”

“You’re not… you’re not courting Loki?”

You shook your head. “No. He and I have long been friends.”

“Friends,” Thor repeated, but there was a shift in the air when he said the word—as if Valhalla’s gates had opened and the angels descended to Asgard, humming their dulcet ballads.

“Tell me that’s not what we were,” you ventured, figuring that courage ought to accompany wisdom. “Tell me after all that was said and done that we weren’t just friends.”

You expected Thor to flounder, to grapple with an answer to your demand. “It wouldn’t make sense,” he attested. “It wouldn’t make sense if that were all we were, Little Queen.”

The angels of Valhalla must have roared, not sung, because as soon as Thor had breathed those words, tentative and full of fealty, his lips captured your own. You understood then, the complexity that arose from his role as God of Thunder. Your lips were in a fray, lapping at each other, wet and thunderous as you were conquered by his veneration. His large hands grabbed at your bottom, hoisting you up in the air. Your dress didn’t allow you the pleasure of wrapping your legs around his waist, but that didn’t stop you from clutching at his clothes, his hair, his soul.

Thor’s lips caressed your own. There was no set direction to their motion, almost as if he couldn’t decide whether to take it slow or devour you whole. The noises you made, the noises he made, small and mellow, reverberated in the empty space, adding to the symphony of your love and desire.

You didn’t want to pull away. Latching to the thunder and lightning invading your senses, getting lost in the storm.

A shiver ran down your entire body, accentuated by Thor’s teeth nipping at your lower lip. “Y/N,” he whispered breathlessly.

Your eyes opened, your image framed by his irises—protectively and vehemently.

He settled you on the ground, lips widening at your sight. “My colors suit you best.”

You didn’t understand what he had meant until you looked down. Your clothes had changed color. Again. The accent of your attire shifted to a bold red and silver.

“You best not attempt to produce an heir tonight, brother,” Loki sounded from behind Thor. He wore a smug smirk, leaning against one of the balcony pillars. Of course that bastard followed you. “Our chambers are nearby, and I do not need to hear my brother and best friend fondue.”

You blushed, cheeks turning crimson. Thor didn’t even spare Loki a glance, focusing his attention on you. “Little Queen, you look magnificent in my colors strewn across every inch of your body.”

And before you could help yourself, you boldly claimed, “I would look even more magnificent with your love marks strewn across every inch of my body.”

Thor’s eyes darkened, a primal yearning painting his irises with desire. He tugged at your hands then, pulling you to his chest. “Let me mark you with centuries worth of love, Little Queen. Allow me to show you what lesser beings cannot do.”

“Show me, my God.”

You drowned in his ardent storm, uncaring for the waves, noise, or the chaos. It was senseless. Everything you never were. Everything Thor was. Everything you, deep down, longed to feel with him.

Thank you @crazyunsexycool for this request! It was so fun to write for Thor, you can tell since this turned out to be 6K words🥹 I couldn't stop! Seriously, this might've been my favorite fic ever! Thank you for participating in my celebration. ♥️

I might extend my writing celebration if more requests come in. For all those interested, please feel free to follow the link!

I hope you like this one, witchlings. Okay, byeeee.

#thor odinson #thor odinson x reader #thor odinson x you #thor x reader #thor x you #thor x y/n #thor odinson x y/n #loki odinson #loki x reader #loki x you #loki odinson x you #loki odinson x reader #loki and reader are friends #jealous thor #thor odinson fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #thor and reader fondue #sab's writing celebration

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