Chapter Text
“I don’t think I’ve ever told you this story,” Thor says, looking down at you, his arm looped over your shoulders. You look up at him, a soft smile starting to cross over your lips. He probably has, but you never get tired of the way he tells stories.
“What story is this?” He smiles, then looks up at T’Challa, sitting across the table with his girlfriend Nakia.
“We’ve heard it,” Nakia says, nudging you and laughing.
“I was in the quad,” Thor starts.
Eighteen fucking credits. What the fuck made him think that taking eighteen goddamn credits in the fall semester of his last year was a good idea? He should have just tried to coast. He deserved it. He finished all of his major requirements last semester, this should be the time of the pass/fail blow off class. But here he was, six classes deep, with an insane Thursday schedule and two six pm film viewing units, one after the other, Tuesday and Wednesday. He flipped through the list of films and checked off ones he’d already seen. Thankfully he’d seen most of them, save seven or eight, and he for fucking sure wasn’t going to watch “Annie Hall,” not when he’d managed to go the past three years avoiding it.
But maybe he should? It’s on the American Cinema syllabus, and Tanner is a hardass; his questions and discussions are going to be highly and irritatingly specific. He’s gotta watch it. But goddamnit if he doesn’t want to—
He looked up then, and his breath caught in his throat.
Holy shit.
You were on the other side of the quad, underneath a tree, reading a book. Your hair, in soft pretty curls, floated in the gentle breeze. You looked up, quickly, your eyes lifting to the blue sky. He could see your stunning brown eyes from where he stood, they sparkled as they caught the li—
Thor’s cheek and and jaw collided with a light pole and he went down immediately.
“Oh my God,” you say, joining T’Challa and Nakia’s peals of laughter. “I completely forgot about that!”
“How?” T’Challa replies, once he managed to inhale without cackling.
“I dunno,” you reply, wiping the tears from your eyes. “I remember seeing him in the quad, but that’s it.”
Thor jumped up, immediately, brushing off his shirt and the leaves out of his hair. He kneeled down to pick up his bag, his eyes going back up to look at you. You were looking over at him then, your gaze curious. Thor’s heart started to race; he smiled as he frantically snatched up his things before you could see him look any more ridiculous. You smiled back, your eyes darting down. Thor flung his stuff back into his bag and walked over to sit next to the fountain, pretending to look over his schedule; he sat, his eyes darting up every so often to look at you.
You’re really pretty, that’s what struck him. Dewy looking brown skin and delicate cheekbones. You were reading…he couldn’t see what it was—
“Do you remember?” he interrupts. You squint, trying to think.
“This was fall semester of last year, right?” He nods, his eyes tracking the furrows in your brows, the soft upturn at the corner of your mouth. “So I must’ve been either trying to finish Amos Vogel or starting House of Leaves.”
“The cover was red and yellow.”
“Vogel. Films as a Subversive Art.”
“Hm. Can I borrow that?”
“Sure,” you giggle.
—but you look pretty into it. He wants to go sit and watch you, but that would be fucking creepy, and he has a class that he can’t be late for. So he rises, and after one last look at you and the way the light makes your face glow, he reluctantly starts his walk to Willoughby Hall.
He only notices when he’s standing at the light and looks back, that you’re not sitting there anymore. And a split second after that, he notices that you’ve walked straight past him, earbuds secure as you breeze across the street. Your hair moves softly in the wind; you’re a tiny bit shorter than he anticipated, but not by much. His eyes scan down from your hair. Oh…wow, you’re—
Thor trips stepping off the curb and lands in the middle of the street, hard. He looks up just in time to see you make it across and beeline toward Willoughby Hall.
“Hey,” a pale skinny girl with long blonde hair leans into his sightline. She offers her hand. “Are you okay?”
Thor hops up and picks up his bag; thankfully zipped closed this time around.
“Yeah,” he replies, only a little winded. His eyes follow you as you disappear over the threshold of the building.
“You sure? You went down pretty hard.”
Thor finally makes eye contact with her and smiles brilliantly on impulse. The girl’s eyes widen.
“I’m fine, thank you.” Thor starts to walk past her but she holds out her hand awkwardly.
“I’m Karen. Atble. Nice to meet you.”
“Thor Asagrimmr. Likewise.”
“And so began an obsession that endured for four long, arduous, overanalyzing months,” you interrupted, raising your glass to cheers. Thor clinks his glass against yours and kisses you on the forehead. Nakia follows suit.
“He filled us in on that too. That girl was wild.”
“She’s still wild. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen her hanging out at the diner more often in the past four months than I’ve ever seen her period. And it’s usually when Thor’s with me. She never talked to me this much when we sat next to each other in class.”
“Cousin,” T’Challa gently touches the top of your hand. “She gon’ kill you.” Nakia snorts, lightly slapping T’Challa’s outstretched arm.
“I wish I could say you were wrong,” Nakia says; she turns to look at you, her brows set in seriousness. “But he has a point.” You wave your arm.
“Ah, I can handle her. She’s mad because she thinks she lost, that’s all.”
“Are you sure?” T’Challa’s brow is furrowed; he’s got his Serious Face™ on. “I can have some Dora keep an eye on this girl, just in—”
“No. This one,” you tweak Thor’s nose and he oinks. “is protective enough. I do not need three tall hot bald women with spears following me around. Wait, now that I think about it…” Thor curls his arm, pulling you into him and throws his other arm around you too.
“Hey,” he whispers in your ear, his voice gravelly and low.
“Nevermind,” you murmur, looking up at him adoringly. He laughs.
Later on, after T’Challa gets the art museum a town over from the university to open, and he and Nakia are looking at the sculptures, you’re wandering through the loaned Matisse paintings when Thor pulls you close, and snuggles into your neck.
“Karen thinks she lost,” he whispers into the side of your throat, then kisses his way down to the dip between your neck and shoulder. “But you never had any competition to begin with.”
“You know your way around by now,” he says; he leans forward and kisses your shoulder as you push his apartment door open and hand him his keys. He catches your hand in his and pulls you close, spins you, lifts you to meet his eyes. Kisses you, gently and lovingly. “Dessert?”
“Mhm,” you whisper, breathlessly. He grins, lowers you to your feet again. Then shoos you into the living room, the two of you kicking your shoes off in the foyer as you go.
“Cheesecake or ice cream?” You run your fingers over the smooth leather of his sofa, and sink into it, scooping up one of the dissertation drafts scattered on his coffee table. It looks like the most recent one; there’s a couple edits you suggested that he’s made. There’s a paragraph or two that definitely need to be reworked, though…you scoop up a blue pen.
“Babe?” Thor appears over your right shoulder, startling you. “Sorry,” he laughs. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” you reply, pinching his chin. “You scared me.”
“Sorry again,” you kiss his cheek, then his jaw, then the spot on his neck just by his ear.
“It’s okay,” you whisper. His hands run down your arms, then interlace across your stomach, his chin dropping to your shoulder.
“What are you doing?” You hold up his dissertation.
“A couple of these paragraphs are a little messy, I was just gonna rearrange them a bit.” Thor smiles, then kisses you on the cheek again.
“You’re a fucking goddess, you know that?”
“You say it often enough,” you whisper, your lips ghosting over his. He leans further over the back of his couch, one hand pressing into the cushion next to your thigh, the other cupping the back of your head.
“I’m gonna show you, then,” he murmurs, smirking.
Despite his outward look, (perhaps because of it, in some cases) Thor is a gentle man, sweet and loving, and after the night you spent in his dorm room before you started dating four months ago, he kisses you like you’re a Faberge egg. Like you’re made of delicate, expensive glass. But then there are moments, like now, when you pull his hair, or he breathes into your embrace, and…something happens. He groans against your mouth, you press harder against him, and he responds, biting your lip, the intensity doubling.
“Mm…fuck…okay,” he murmurs against you when he breaks away; you follow him, your lips meeting his again as you rise to your knees, as he straightens up, and he sighs again, his arms going around you, pulling you close to him. His arms tighten around you, holding you in place as he leans away.
“Thor,” you sigh. He grins.
“I know, babe. Patience. I have two things for you, okay?” You nod.
“Alright,” you huff, sitting back on your heels. He laughs as he steps backwards.
“First,” he spins dramatically and gestures to his fridge. “Cheesecake…or…fudge brownie ice cream?”
You gasp delicately. “An impossible choice! Ice cream.” Thor bows low and rises.
“As you wish.” Thor turns; your eyes immediately go to his shoulders, defined and smooth looking under his t-shirt. Fuck…your boyfriend is hot. Absurdly so. All angles, muscles under soft, coconut scented skin. He’s at least 90% of the population’s idea of what a Man™ looks like.
But then he speaks, and he blows you away with his cleverness, his kind heart, his perceptiveness. You lucked out. Hardcore. This is the perfect man, you fucking adore him, and he wants you.
You’re so busy tracing the way that his shirt clings to his torso that you don’t realize he’s looking at you, smiling.
“Like what you see?” Your head cocks to the side, and you bite your bottom lip, matching his grin.
“Yeah. A lot.” His eyebrow quirks up; he walks around to face you in front of the couch.
“How much do you like it?” He teases, cocking his hips forward. You slip your fingers into his belt loops and pull him down into your lap, his knees framing your hips. You smile up at him, your eyes flickering down as you start to undo his belt.
“I can show you,” you reply, smiling. Thor catches your wrist in his free hand, then leans down, kissing you gently.
“I like that plan,” he murmurs, then nips at your bottom lip. He leans back, then brings his right hand forward, holding a bowl of chocolate ice cream with two spoons stuck in it. “But first…number one.” You accept the bowl and he rolls himself off your lap and onto the couch; he begins shuffling through the pages on his coffee table as you begin to eat.
“What are you doing over there?” You say around a spoonful of fudge. Thor spares you a mischievous look before he turns back to his task.
“You’ll see in a…ah,” he brandishes a page. “Yes, this. The second thing.” He hands it to you. You set the bowl of ice cream down on the coffee table.
“Thor,” you murmur, “what is this?” He grins.
“Look at it.” You do; it’s a cover page, for his dissertation: Toxic Masculinity and Racial Politics in Classical Hollywood, and then, in smaller text underneath by Thor Asagrimmr &
Oh.
Wow.
You look up at him. He’s smiling, even wider, his chin sitting in his palm, clearly pleased at your look of wonder.
“Thor,” you say, holding out the page. “Why is my name on your dissertation?”
“Because you’re my editor. Because you’re the reason I added two massive sections on blaxploitation films and yellowface. Because you’re, right now, reorganizing two paragraphs on The Maltese Falcon and frankly it would be disrespectful to the work you’ve already contributed to not put your name on it.”
“It’s your dissertation, Thor, I just want it to be good.”
“And it wouldn’t be without you.” He reaches forward and pulls you close to him; you let the cover page slip from your fingers and fall back on the table; your arms wrap around his neck. “You’re just as responsible for the shape of it now as I am. Your ideas are in it too, and I want you to be recognized for it.”
“Thor—”
“You’re not gonna change my mind, sweetie. You’re a film theorist now. Congratulations.” You laugh, then lean into him and kiss him, sweetly.
“I was only going to say thank you,” you murmur. He smiles, and kisses you back, harder.
“Thank you,” he exhales. You smile; his breath catches in his throat, you feel his sharp inhale. He leans into you, then, and kisses you, again; his hands snake down to your waist, and he leans back against the armrest, pulling you to lie on top of him. You spread your legs, to straddle him. Thor shifts underneath you, his hands dropping to your thighs, his pelvis pressing against yours, briefly. You whimper, softly, rolling your hips forward. He grips your thighs even tighter, and deliberately presses against you this time; you both sigh at the contact.
“Thor,” you say; you meet his eyes, and smile. A flush begins to rise on his neck.
“Do you want—”
“I’ve been fucking waiting for it,” you reply, rolling your eyes.
“Really now?” Thor’s eyebrows shoot up, and he smirks. “Been dying to get all up on this, huh?”
“Oh my God,” you sigh. “Please never say that again.”
“Trying to let me get up in those guts? Trying to…get smashed? Get your walls torn down? You want me to break your back? Trying to get rawed—”
“Alright,” you say; you start to rise, “it’s been nice, but I’m terminating this relationship, have a blessed life, goodbye—”
“Sorry we had to part like this,” he says, but doesn’t let you go; if anything, the more you fight, the more he holds on.
“Me too,” you laugh, squirming in his embrace. His hands drop to your thighs again, and he sits up, and rises, turning over until you’re under him.
“How about a parting gift?” He murmurs. You nod as he leans down, lips pressing against yours; your fingernails gently raking across the nape of his neck.
“Mm…a little hate sex, perhaps. For closure on this horrible relationship?” Thor groans at the sensation, and nods into another kiss.
“Yeah…really vigorous, almost violent fucking…like this is the only way short of an actual fight that we’ll be able to end this agonizing emotional entanglement.”
“Great idea…” you pant, “I’ll pull your hair, scratch up your back, slap you maybe, you’ll spank me…hold me down and fuck me until I start screaming…it’ll be great.” Thor lets out a sound that’s closer to a whimper than a groan, and you laugh against his lips.
“Something funny?” Thor murmurs, brushing his lips against yours. The bristly hairs of his beard rub your chin and you smile, meeting his eyes.
“You,” you reply. His head tilts to the side, assessing you, his blue eyes going over your face. He’s just so beautiful, you think, gently stroking his cheekbone, smiling as you meet his gaze.
“What?” His eyebrows are furrowed now. You stroke his forehead, smiling.
“I just like you,” you reply. You kiss him softly and run your thumb across his cheekbone again. “I really like you.”
Thor’s smile is un-fucking-matched. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he leans forward to kiss you again.
“I like you too,” he murmurs against your lips. Your hand goes around the back of his neck, and you pull his mouth down to yours.
Thor breaks away from you, smiling as he brushes a finger across your cheek.
“I didn’t actually get to finish part of the story,” he murmurs. His eyes trace over your face. “I had to go to Willoughby Hall for class, which is why I didn’t stay in the quad to flirt with you. But I did see you in the class next door to my Genres class when I gave up looking for you. So I did the only sensible thing and dropped Lewisham’s class to take Adaptations with you instead.” Your eyebrows shot up. Thor smiled even wider. “So when I tell you that you had no competition, I meant it.” Goddamnit; goddamnit. A part of you hates this; because it’s so fucking wonderful, you’re afraid it might disappear somewhere in the next few minutes.
Thor’s eyebrows furrow; his finger goes across your jaw, briefly.
“I’m sorry, did I—”
You’re at a loss for words; you don’t know what to say.
So you lean forward and kiss him. Urgently. You pull up the skirt of your dress and wrap your legs around him, sigh against his lips when his arms go around you and pull you closer to him. You reach for the hem of his shirt and pull it upward. He groans into your mouth, stomach muscles contracting against your hands, flexing as he stretches to pull his shirt off and his lips are back at your neck, your collarbone, your chest, your lips.
“Babe,” he groans, growling, his chest vibrating against yours. You hold his chin in your hands, and tilt it upward, your eyes meet before you grin wickedly, pressing a long, meandering chain of kisses against his throat.
“Yeah?” You whisper, lightly scratching at the nape of his neck. His hands tighten on your thighs. Your left grasps the back of the couch, you pull, and he follows you, leaning away until you’re straddling him, his hands pushing your skirt up to touch your skin. He raises his hand to cup your chin, runs it down your throat, across your collar bone, brushes it across the neckline of your dress.
“I’m gonna take this off,” he murmurs. You raise your arms; Thor laughs softly, gathers your dress in his hands, and lifts it, exhaling as he takes you in. He bites his bottom lip as his eyes meet yours. You smile.
“You look surprised,” you murmur, leaning forward to kiss him. He sighs wistfully against your lips, his hands finding your waist.
“Not surprised,” he looks you over again, his eyes shyly meeting yours, his thumbs gently brushing across your skin, taking in the stark blackness of the lacy fabric against your soft brown skin. “I just…I was…I’m grateful. Just thinking about how grateful I am, is all.”
Your fingers slip down the front of his chest, between your legs, to his belt; Thor pulls in a sharp gasp as you pull it open, a soft smile curling your lips, your fingers wrapping around him. Your eyes go wide, as you feel the length of him. Thor grins, even wider.
“Oh.”
“You seem surprised.”
“Not as surprised as you think I am,” you reply, breathlessly. You reach up, into his boxers and slip your fingers around his length again, your lips curling upward as he lets out a low, rumbling sigh. His head lolls forward, forehead gently pressing against yours.
You feel hot, almost feverish, your body pressing hard against his, his lips warm and pillowy on yours. His hands find your neck and pulls you tight to his mouth. Your eyes lock as you pull away; his gaze is hot and wanting, his hands curling, pulling you closer. You smile softly, then nod. That’s all he needs.
His hands slip down your back, grip your waist, flips you both over, and his lips are on your neck, his fingers around your wrists.
“Be easy, babe,” he whispers against your collarbone. Your hands find his hair. “Just relax.”
A shiver rattles down your spine as he sighs against your sternum, kissing and softly licking the skin above your belly button, gripping your thighs, pulling and pressing and biting.
“Thor,” you sigh, gently; you’re soft and pliant in his hands, your nails shakily clawing against the back of his neck. He hums against the skin above your underwear band.
“Honey,” he groans against your stomach; he drags his hands down your thighs and absentmindedly drapes your panties over the back of the couch. “Let me work.”
You don’t realize how much your legs are wiggling until his forearms press against your inner thighs, spreading you open, making your hips rock back.
“Wow, you’re pretty all over,” you feel a finger trail down your slit, then two, then you’re opening for him, warm, wet, and soft.
You let out a low groan, rocking against his hand, the heel of his palm brushing against your clit. His other hand presses down against the skin below your belly button, and just as you adjust to the warm pressure of it, his mouth drops to your clit and you lose your fucking mind.
He groans against you, the sound rumbling in his chest, against your clit.
“Fuck,” you whisper; his fingers work slow and easy in you, picking up speed the more you wiggle, the arm on your stomach pressing down harder and harder.
And then he just sighs, a soft plaintive whine; his fingers slip out of you, and his face is buried between your legs, licking and sucking and tasting, his arms wrapped around your thighs, pulling you tight to him.
Your hands sink into his hair, what else can you do?; and he groans louder, the harder you pull, the more you manhandle him, push him where you want him, whine, sigh, react to him taking and tasting.
“Thor,” you beg; and he knows you’re about to come, you know it. You feel it in the way he keeps his pace, buries his mouth against you, licking and tasting the warm, soft heart of you, pressing the pad of his thumb along your clit and working it in slow circles.
And then you’re gone, arching up against his arm, fingers sunk deep in his hair, mouth open in a wordless cry; you’re flying, then crashing. Thor won’t let up, won’t stop groaning and clinging and tasting until you’re weeping under him, shaking, begging him to stop, fuck, I can’t take any more.
But then he’s kissing your thighs, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you up, and then you’re straddling him and sliding down onto him, sighing into his mouth as you take the full length of him, your thighs pressing along his, your torso sliding along his. He’s a deliciously tight fit, even with the soft pliant wetness of your orgasms; you can feel him in the back of your throat, in your spine. His hands find your waist, your ass, and then you’re rolling your hips, slow and easy, your eyes locked on his half-lidded blues, on the soft curl of his lips.
“You’re so beautiful,” he sighs, his palm stretching across the base of your spine, pulling you closer to him. He cranes his head further back to meet your gaze, to kiss you. “Love getting to see you like this, all pretty and shaky and desperate.”
You wrap your arms around his neck and sigh against his lips. Thor licks across your mouth, groans when you bite his bottom lip, shivers and grips your ass harder when you give him a hot little squeeze. His eyes lock on yours; you clench around him again, smirking at the flinty brightness of his eyes.
And then he’s flipping you both over, and you’re bracing your forearm against the armrest, digging your nails into the top of it, and he’s spreading your legs wide with his thighs, wrapping his strong massive hands around your hips, and he smirks down at you.
“God,” he sighed, sharp and hissing. “you’re so fucking gorgeous like this. Never could have fucking imagined…”
He drives his hips into yours, sharp, tight, quick, and you let out a loud grunt, your grip tightening even more on the edge of the armrest. You clench around him, almost unaware, and he groans, withdraws slowly, then presses into you again, panting against your open, soft lips, letting out a sharp, soft sigh every time you bite down on his bottom lip and suck.
“Goddamnit woman,” he growls; he pulls your legs up, resting your calves on his shoulders, and rolls his hips, hard and sharp. Oh fuck.
“There, fuck, right there,” you gasp, tossing your head back. You can feel his scruffy chin scrubbing along the column of your throat; he’s anchoring you down with his weight, keeping you still, throwing his weight into his hips like his life depends on it. You’re almost thankful; you can’t do a single fucking thing but take it, ride that wave, squirm under his heavy, iron weight, try not to scream at the way he’s taking you apart, at how, even with the hot slickness between your legs, he still feels like he’s splitting you all the way the fuck open.
You’re tensing underneath him, you can’t help it, curling under, into yourself between him and the couch, you’re hovering on the fucking edge, too overwhelmed for words, hoping he can hear it in the wordless groan he’s hammering out of you at every thrust.
“Fuck…so fucking tight…” his thumb finds your clit and you’re not entirely sure what happens. The first wave of pleasure just…completely fucking demolishes you. You know you’re absolutely incoherent, shaking underneath the overwhelming press and fill of Thor’s dick.
“That’s it,” he groans, folding over you, folding you in half, clutching your thighs and riding you hard. Your orgasm spikes, rolls high into a blinding wave, and his grip tightens even more. “You’re…fuck…so fuckin’ pretty when you come.”
“Thor…” you groan, softly, pressing your palms weakly against his chest. He slows, stops, sits up.
“Hey,” he whispers. “Hey. You okay?” You nod, slowly. You’re shaky, clawing weakly at the armrest above you. Thor pulls out of you and you hiss, softly, still quivering in the aftermath of your orgasm. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you whisper; you twist, flipping over, and drag yourself up to lean over the armrest. You toss your hair, and look at him over your shoulder, smiling as you arch your back invitingly. “New position.”
Thor lets out a sharp exhale, and you’re gasping as he slides so fucking easily into you, presses his middle finger to your clit.
“God,” he sighs into your ear; you roll your hips back against him and you feel him shiver along your back. “You’re amazing.”