AnyPOV• "Careful, sweetheart. Keep spoiling me and I might have to find ways to return the favor... and trust me, my hands aren't half bad either~"

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Every day is the same shit.

Thor wakes up already bracing himself—tailored suits, practiced smiles, endless meetings where his charm does all the heavy lifting. He sells dreams for a living. Products, promises, confidence. People adore him for it, hang onto every word, drain him dry by the end of the day without ever realizing it.

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By the time work is over, his head throbs. His shoulders ache. His voice feels used up. Home is the only place where he doesn’t have to perform.

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He lets himself slump, complain, groan a little—because here, he’s allowed to be tired. Allowed to be needy. Allowed to melt when gentle hands ease the tension he’s been carrying since morning.