#rhi writes

[haledamage]

One of the kiss in the rain prompts, your choice, with Nadia/Kurt :3

a hopeful kiss in the rain a playful, happy kiss in the rain

I couldn’t pick which one I liked best, so I decided to use a couple of them! they deserve it :3 special guest appearances by Síora and Sieglinde and their exasperated support of their best friends. I’m very proud of them for not locking anyone in any closets to get them to finally admit their feelings (it was a close call)

Nadia/Kurt and how I think their romance confession actually went. Because I know my girl and there’s no way she waited until That One Romance Scene to smooch her man for the first time. ~3200 words, takes place right after Kurt's third companion quest, so spoilers for that and the conversations after it

---

Kurt kept a keen eye on Nadia as she weaved through the crowd of the Coin Tavern in San Matheus. Though tonight’s lot was perhaps more trustworthy than most, and filled with far more folks than usual who would jump to her rescue in a moment’s notice, it was still his duty to keep her safe, and that’s what he intended to do. He knew better than to let his guard down, even among friends. Especially among friends, if the last month was any indication.

And if, perhaps, he watched her with more than just her safety in mind, eyes lingering on the curve of her lips as she smiled or on the elegant movements of her hands as she spoke, well. Certainly no one in this crowd would fault him for it.

“So that’s her, then,” Sieglinde stated, drawing his attention temporarily away from Nadia to where she sat next to him. The two of them had wedged themselves in a shadowed corner with their backs to the wall, where they could see the entire tavern. Old habits. “The girl you were always talking about, your protege at the palace. Pity it took something like this for me to finally meet her.”

“Aye, that’s her.” Kurt sighed and reached for his mug, though he didn’t raise it to take a drink. “Seems like dangerous business being my ‘protege’ these days.”

“Looks to me like she’s weathered it just fine,” she teased. “Don’t think she minds a bit of danger.”

That just made his frown deepen. “Just because she can face it doesn’t mean she should have to.” Into his drink, he muttered, “Especially not on my account.”

“Come now, Kurt. She’s older than you were when you met her,” Sieglinde pointed out. There was a softness to her voice that told him she wanted to say more about everything he’d endured by the time he was Nadia’s age, but thankfully she let the words linger without voicing them. “Wiser too, I’d wager, and much more charming.” 

He gave Sieglinde a sharp look, though he didn’t deny it. It only earned him a playful smile in return. “More patient, too,” he eventually added. He couldn’t keep the fondness out of his voice, and unconsciously his gaze drifted back across the room to Nadia.

She was leaning over a table full of Nauts and former Ghost Company recruits, her eyes shining and face bright with laughter. Her tablemates stared up at her with nearly identical dazed, starry-eyed expressions. They weren’t the first to be enchanted by the force of nature that was Nadia de Sardet, and wouldn’t be the last.

“She would have to be.” Sieglinde watched Kurt watch Nadia, and saw those same stars in his eyes. “Does she know?”

“Know what?” The answer was almost automatic, the reflexive habit to hide his desires, to push aside his own feelings so they wouldn’t get in anyone else’s way. A habit Síora had been trying to break him of for months now, and Nadia had been trying to find a way to counter for far longer than that.

Sieglinde smacked him on the arm, hard enough to feel it even through the padding of his armor. “Don’t play dumb, Kurt. You can fool your nobles, but you can’t fool me. I know you too well.”

He sighed, pulled off his hat so he could drag a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter,” he said eventually, quiet enough that he could barely be heard over the din of the tavern crowd. “She deserves better than some bitter old mercenary like me.”

“Perhaps she does.” He appreciated that she didn’t try to offer any platitudes or pretend he was anything other than what he was. She had never been one to dance around the truth. “But even a blind man could see the way you look at her. And the way she looks at you.”

As if she could sense that they were talking about her, Nadia glanced in their direction, her eyes locking on Kurt’s with deadly precision.

She smiled at him like they were the only people in the room, sweet and warm and much too intimate for this place. It made him want to whisk her away from here and take her somewhere he could keep that smile all to himself.

It took longer than he liked to push that feeling away.

“Seems to me ‘bitter old mercenary’ is exactly what she wants,” Sieglinde murmured, going in for the kill while his guard was down.

Then someone came by and forced Nadia’s attention back to her table, and the moment was lost.

When she finally looked away, Kurt let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “It doesn’t matter,” he said again.

Sieglinde chuckled to herself, the sound somehow both fond and derisive. “You’re a stubborn fool, Kurt.” 

There was no bite in her words, but it still made Kurt feel strangely defensive, and he rounded on her like he expected her to draw her sword on him. “What would you have me do, then?” he snapped, both louder and sharper than he intended. “Court her? Ask her to risk everything for me? Or should I beg her uncle for permission to--”

“You think that girl cares one bit what her uncle thinks about anything she does?” Sieglinde hissed. “The only man whose opinion has ever mattered to her is you. Stop pretending you can’t see that.”

Kurt scoffed darkly and reached for his drink rather than bothering to reply. Doing so would mean admitting that she was right, and he refused to give her the satisfaction.

In the lull in conversation, his attention wandered once again, compulsively, inevitably, back to Nadia.

It wasn’t that he was afraid that she didn’t feel the same for him as he did for her. If anything, he was afraid that she did. 

He had known for a long time that she was attracted to him. She had been since she was a child, and had never been shy or subtle about it. The compliments, the cheek kisses, the fond yet teasing way she always said his name--those weren't new developments.

But they had changed since coming to Teer Fradee. Everything had. Or maybe it hadn’t; maybe the only thing that had changed was him. Maybe all the island had done was help him realize that Nadia was no longer a little girl with a crush, but a grown woman who knew exactly what kind of man he was and still smiled at him like he was the sunrise.

“Tell her how you feel, Kurt.” He had almost forgotten Sieglinde was still there, but thankfully managed not to startle when her voice interrupted his long-overdue epiphany. “If not tonight, then soon. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t.”

“I know.” The words hurt to say, and his voice came out rough and raspy even by his usual standards.

She was kind enough to ignore it beyond a companionable pat on his shoulder. “Leave your doubts in the ashes with Hermann where they belong, and stop letting ghosts hold you back.”

The shoulder pat became a firm grip as she used him to leverage herself out of her seat. “I’ll get the next round. I hope you’re not here when I get back.”

Kurt lifted what remained of his ale as Sieglinde melted into the crowd, draining the mug in one swig. He slammed it to the table, then forced himself to his feet and went to find Nadia before he could talk himself out of it.

---

Nadia could feel the weight of Kurt’s eyes on her all afternoon as she drifted through the tavern talking to friends both new and old. It took constant effort to keep herself from seeking him out over the crowd, and even then she had only succeeded half the time. She had resorted to finding a chair facing the opposite direction, to remove the temptation entirely.

Síora had yet to decide if she found the whole situation amusing or exasperating. At the moment, she leaned more towards the latter. “Will you catch fire if you look at him, carants?” she asked dryly. “Is that why you act this way?”

Nadia forced herself to stop looking over her shoulder, giving her friend a sheepish grin. “Am I that obvious?”

“You are as subtle as a charging andríg. And yet he still pretends he does not see it.” Síora rolled her eyes, but her expression softened quickly into a playful smile. “You are more patient than I am, Nadi. I would have tired of his hesitating long ago.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” She had to resist the urge to defend Kurt, to point out all the perfectly valid reasons he had for holding back. Instead, she leaned forward conspiratorially, resting her elbows on the table between them. “What would you have me do, then? Flavia suggests I should just show up naked at his door one day.”

“Knowing Kurt, he would simply offer to loan you a shirt.” Síora laughed, and Nadia joined her. They both knew he wasn’t dense enough to actually misread a situation like that, but Kurt had a habit of being intentionally obtuse where Nadia was concerned.

Síora leaned back in her chair, balancing precariously on its back legs, giving her friend a shrewd look. “You should tell him the truth. As plainly as possible, so he cannot hide from it. Whatever happens next is his choice.”

“Maybe,” Nadia responded vaguely. She gave in to the urge to glance in the direction of Kurt’s table, only to find it empty.

Síora’s chair returned to solid ground with a loud clack of wood on wood. “What are you waiting for? A sign from the spirits? Arrows drawn in the sand, encouragement written in the clouds?”

“That would be nice. Is that really so much to ask?”

Síora’s attention shifted to something in the crowd behind Nadia. “It would appear not.”

Before she could ask for clarification on that cryptic statement, a hand landed gently on Nadia’s shoulder. She had a feeling she knew who it belonged to even before she looked up into familiar gray eyes.

“Could I trouble you for a moment?” Kurt asked as soon as he had her attention, the question leaving him in a rush. “There’s… something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Of course.” Nadia caught Siora’s eye as she stood from her seat; the other woman looked positively smug. She valiantly ignored it, smiling at Kurt instead. “I think we could both use a little fresh air. Why don’t we take a walk?”

---

Outside, it was cool and quiet, the bustling city feeling almost serene after the hectic tavern. The day was verging on dusk, oranges and reds starting to paint the edges of the heavy clouds that hung overhead. A light rain fell, just enough to make its presence known, but there was much more to come, if those clouds were any indication.

Kurt jumped when Nadia took his arm. Not dramatically, barely more than a twitch really, but enough for her to notice. She gave his bicep what she hoped was a comforting squeeze as he led her away from the tavern.

They strolled at a leisurely pace, in no hurry to get anywhere and with no destination in mind. Kurt watched the road, as if the cobblestones under their boots held a particular fascination for him; Nadia watched him from the corner of her eye, trying to judge his mood from what she could see of his profile.

“Is something the matter?” she asked, when it became clear that he wasn’t going to speak first. “You seem… distracted.”

He laughed quietly, but there was no humor in it. “I suppose you could say that.” He finally lifted his gaze from the ground to meet her eyes, but only for a moment before his attention returned to the street. “It’s nothing you need to worry yourself over, Green Blood. Recent events have just dredged up a lot of history. History that was better off staying buried.”

Nadia no longer bothered to hide the way she watched him. “I’m not going to force you to talk about it, but if you want to, I’ll listen.” She slid her hand down his arm to lace their fingers together instead. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

She was surprised when Kurt started speaking, but her surprise quickly gave away to anger when she heard what he was saying. In a measured voice that did little to cover how painful the subject was for him, he told her about his life before they met. About Hermann and his ‘elite training’. About the conditioning, the torture, the abuse. About even worse atrocities that made the words catch in his throat, refusing to be given voice.

Some of it she already suspected; the rest answered a lot of questions that still lingered from the years Kurt had been her master of arms. The careful, respectful distance he kept her at when she was a child, never touching her in any way unless necessary and asking permission first when he had no other choice; the way he never raised his voice, no matter what trouble she and Constantin caused; the care he took not to injure them during training; the routine check-ins about her well-being, and that her teachers and peers weren't mistreating her; all of it suddenly, horrifically, made sense.

It turned out that burning at the stake was too kind of a fate for Hermann after all. Nadia wished she could go back in time to do it differently. She'd have dragged the bastard all the way to Tír Fradí’s volcano and personally fed him directly to en on míl frichtimen.

“Kurt…” she started, but words failed her. ‘I’m sorry’ felt trite, ‘thank you for telling me’ too unsympathetic.

He smiled at her like he heard everything she didn’t say. “You don’t need to worry about me, Green Blood,” he told her again. “It was a long time ago. He went up in flames, and my memories with him.”

That wasn’t true, and they both knew it, but Nadia let Kurt keep his lie.

Before he could change the subject entirely, though, she closed the gap between them so she could wrap her arms around him, hugging him as tight as she was able. She half expected him to pull away, but he returned the hug without hesitation.

“I know how hard it was to talk about this,” she murmured, her voice muffled slightly by his thickly padded armor. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”

“It means a lot that you’ve been with me through all of this, Nadia. I won’t forget it.” There was more emotion in his voice in those two sentences than there had been while telling her about everything he’d endured.

She shook her head, nuzzling her face deeper into his shoulder in the process. “Kurt, I care about you. I never would have made you face this alone.”

Kurt went suddenly and completely still, and it took longer than Nadia would’ve liked for it to dawn on her why.

“Would you…” he cleared his throat before continuing with less of a tremor in his voice, “can you repeat that for me?”

Oh saints and spirits, this wasn’t how she wanted to do this, but there was no way she would take it back, not ever. If her time on Tír Fradí had taught her anything, it was that one had to take their moments when they come.

She released him and leaned back enough so she could see his face. He watched her with a mix of trepidation and hope. “Kurt. My dearest Kurt…” she touched his face, tracing her fingertips over the arch of his cheek, the sharp edge of his jaw, the scar on his chin, “I care about you. So much.”

She wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised when he kissed her.

It was just a brush of lips, barely more than mingling breath, and over almost as soon as it began. Nadia barely had enough time to feel disappointed about the brevity of it before Kurt kissed her a second time, soft but no longer hesitant, sweet and warm as a summer morning.

His breath left him in a quick, astonished laugh when they eventually parted. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he confessed, barely above a whisper, studying her face like he’d never seen her before. “Forgive me my foolishness for making you wait.”

The rain started to fall around them in earnest, cold and dismal, but Nadia paid it no mind. Nothing short of divine intervention could have pulled her away from him. “You are worth waiting for, Kurt.”

Kurt lit up with a smile she’d never seen from him before, genuine and joyful. “As gracious as she is beautiful…” he cradled her face between both hands, his thumbs gently caressing her cheeks, “what have I done to deserve such a gift?”

“I can make you a list, if you’d like. Would you prefer it chronologically or alphabetically?”

His laughter was the loveliest thing she’d ever heard. She couldn’t resist kissing him again, to see if it tasted as sweet as it sounded.

They were well and truly soaked by the time they parted again, and Kurt, ever the responsible one, frowned at the icy water that dripped from the brim of Nadia’s hat. The chill had started to seep into her bones, and it was only due to Kurt’s warmth and her own sheer force of will that she wasn’t shivering yet.

“We should get out of the rain. Wouldn’t want you catching cold.”

An innocuous statement; an obvious one, even. But one that raised an interesting question: “Back to the tavern? Or the house?”

If they went back to the tavern, they could rejoin their friends and pretend nothing had changed. It would be the more proper thing to do, to return to their chaperones and allow their courtship to follow a conventional pace. Going home meant having the rest of the night to themselves… to whatever end they chose.

“I think I’ve had my fill of crowds for the day. I want you to myself a little longer.” There was a promise in his voice that made her breath catch, followed by a surprising bashfulness as he dropped his gaze, the growing puddles on the ground around them suddenly fascinating. “If that is what you want, of course… I don’t mean to presume…”

“Yes,” she said quickly, before Kurt could find a way to talk himself out of this. “I want that too.”

He relaxed, tension draining from his shoulders, replaced with a tentative, but hopeful, version of the smile from before. “You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear you say that.”

The storm picked up even more, stalling any further conversation. Nadia grabbed his hand as she took off down the street, practically running down the rapidly emptying alleys for the short distance to their home.

She pulled him back into her arms as soon as they crossed the threshold, her lips finding his again even before the door was latched. There was no telling how long it would be before they next had to brave the storm; she wanted to make the most of whatever time they had now.

#rhi writes #nadia/kurt #nadia de sardet #kurt greedfall #greedfall #sieglinde was so much fun to write she has such a dynamic and interesting voice #her and siora 100% have had brunch together to commiserate about their besties #(fun little detail that’s purely just there for me: using the colonial spelling of teer fradee for kurt and the native spelling tír fradí f #love the dichotomy of kurt being so romantic and well-spoken but also a shy tongue-tied dummy

[kis-ki]

past the windowpane ☾

lin beifong x fem!reader

synopsis: rainy nights bring out the best in everyone. including you and lin.

content: rainy nights, sleepy kisses, childhood memories, just absolute domestic fluff, slow dancing

wc: 1.1k

a/n: not the fic i said i’d be doing next, but the one i felt like writing. don’t worry, other one is coming out soon too. title is from my current favorite song ゆめうつつ by lamp. as always it’s available to read on ao3 here ! enjoy :)) 

-

The air around you is damp tonight.

Not in a cloying, sticky sort of way, but in a way that cools your skin and makes you lazy and slow. Your eyes blink slowly as you watch the rain fall through the fogged glass of Lin’s bedroom window. You have it slightly open, just enough that raindrops sometimes fall on your face, a gentle surprise. The radio plays a soft song in the background, but it’s just white noise against the pitter patter of the rain.

As a bolt of lightning flashes through the sky, covering the whole city in light for just a moment, you feel a pair of warm, firm arms wrap around your waist.

“What are you doing up so late?” Lin asks softly, dropping her head onto your shoulder and pressing a barely-there kiss against your skin.

You just hum, and look back at her for a second. Smiling, you place your hands atop her own, right where they sit at your waist.

“Just thinkin’” you say, quietly. The thunder finally comes, and even though you were waiting for it, expecting it, you still jump a little. Lin chuckles against you, and pulls you closer against you.

“You scared?” she teases, and you roll your eyes even though she can’t see it.

“Not at all,” you say, then pause. “Though I used to be, as a kid.”

“Wanna know a secret?” she says, lifting her head so that her lips brush ever so slightly against the tips of your ears. It almost tickles.

“Mhm,” you say, nodding just a bit. Your body sinks against hers, the aching tiredness overtaking you. It feels so good to just let her hold you like this. So safe.

“When I was a kid,” she starts. “I was afraid of thunder.”

You’re just a little bit shocked, but not quite as much as you would've been a few months ago.. As much as Lin likes to seem so tough and strong—and she is, for the most part—she’s human just like the rest of us. She has fears and worries and hopes and wants. You love all those parts of her, the ones that get kept away from the prying eye of the public and bared only for a select few, one of them being you. She is as much at ease right now with you as you are with her, her body soft and supple as you mold against each other, two halves of a whole.

“Were you now?” you ask, light and airy, like the breeze flowing in through the open window. You love it when Lin tells you stories about herself—about her childhood. It’s not rare, but it’s definitely not as often of an occurrence as you taking up the whole night talking without realising it.

She nods. “I was. I used to make Su sleep in my bed with me on stormy nights. That is, until I decided I was too dignified to cuddle with my little sister. She was also quite annoying, which didn’t help her case.” Lin chuckles as she says so, and you’re glad. You know that her relationship with her sister used to be very strained, so listening to her talk about Suyin in such a playful manner is calming.

“My mom wasn’t a big fan of them either,” she continues, making a rare mention of Toph. Her mother is a sore spot for her, as is yours for you. “Vibrations from the thunder and the water on the ground made everything a little fuzzy for her. She never liked not being in complete control of a situation—and that included being able to see.”

You huff, and with a small smile, tease, “That sounds like someone I know.”

She groans, dropping her head back onto your bare shoulder.

“Don’t say that,” she mutters, and you know that you haven’t accidentally gone too far by the way she gives you an exasperated laugh as she says your name.

You cannot help but giggle as you turn around to face her.

“Sorry,” you say, smiling and not sorry at all.

“You are not,” she huffs, and you reach a hand up into her hair, messy and unmade for once.

“Maybe not,” you mutter, and lean up to kiss her.

Your lips meet and you kiss her with the taste of rain in the air, with wind brushing against your back, and with thunder rumbling throughout the city. She tastes the same as she always does, but you know you’ll never get used to kissing her like this, not when it always feels just as good as the first time, so you let yourself get drawn into it, your mouth slipping open for her tongue to lightly skirt along the plush softness of your lips.

You kiss lazily, both of your bodies aching for sleep, and the humid air lulling you along towards bed. Still, the sound of the rain calls to you, so instead you just stand there, letting her kiss you stupid.

When you finally slow, you’re breathless and your bodies warm the cool room. Her arms are draped around your neck, and you easily let yourself lean against her, sleepy eyes blinking hard.

“I’m tired,” you murmur against her chest, the music of the radio echoing off the walls around you. You start to sway with it, and Lin quickly follows your lead. You’re not quite dancing, but just letting your bodies move with the music. You suppose that is, in a way, dancing, but you’re too tired to put any real effort into it.

“You should sleep,” she says, dropping her chin onto the top of your head.

You hum at her still swaying gently to the sound of thunder and the radio. “Later,” you say, letting your arms wrap around her waist. “I wanna stay here for just a little while longer,” you continue a few seconds later, but your words trail off into a yawn.

“Okay,” she says, acquiescing only because she does not have the energy to pick you up and haul you to bed. “Just for a little while longer.”

You nod against her, your eyes falling shut.

“Just a little while longer,” you repeat back, and a flash of lightning illuminates your whole room, and you can hear the rain coming down harder now.

The two of you stay there, a pool of water forming beneath her open window, your feet shuffling slowly as you move with the soft music on her radio. You don’t quite fall asleep, but you’re not quite awake either as you listen to her heart beat in her chest.

Rainy nights are officially your favourite.

#lin beifong #tlok lin #lin beifong x reader #lin x reader #lin beifong x you #lin beifong fluff #tlok x reader #chief beifong #short n sweet #just like me /j #hope u guys like it! #rhi writes

[thunderbirdthree]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go (Cartoon 2015) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Alan Tracy & Scott Tracy, Alan Tracy & Tracy Family Characters: Alan Tracy, Scott Tracy, John Tracy, Virgil Tracy, Gordon Tracy, Grandma Tracy, Tanusha "Kayo" Kyrano Additional Tags: Time Loop, Minor Character Death, Alan Tracy Whump, Alan Tracy Needs a Hug, Mental Health Issues Summary:

This was Alan's first ever solo mission, a right of passage for a Tracy Brother trying to be a full-time member of International Rescue. When it all goes wrong however, all Alan wishes is that he can could have a second chance to put things right. Be careful what you wish for.

Chapter two! I only have a few chapter’s pre prepped, so updates will slow, but I’m trying to get to the stuff that I enjoyed writing more quickly haha

#maybe ill be fine (this time) #rhi writes #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfic #thunderfam

[kittenofdoomage]

Confronting The Past

Summary: You’ve made a home on Earth after signing the Accords as a condition of your sanctuary but there are some things you cannot leave in the past (set some time after Civil War and before Ragnarok but isn’t entirely canon compliant)

Pairing: Thor Odinson x female!short!Asgardian!reader

Word Count: 4051

Warnings: Angst, feelings perceived as unrequited, grief, fluff, childhood-friends-to-lovers, heartbreak, I’m sorry this got long, soft smut (oral sex - f receiving - and penetrative sex), bittersweet ending

Ao3 Link (most of my works can be found here)

Tumblr Masterlist (a small selection of fics posted here)

Patreon (early access and option to request fics)** this story was previously posted on Patreon in 2021.

The air crackled as you reached for the top shelf, fingers barely getting halfway. You slumped back down at the realization you couldn’t lay a hand on the last box of pop tarts but the disappointment was quickly squashed by the sense that you were not alone in the aisle. Turning slowly, your eyes widened as they landed on him, taking in the casual way he was dressed, and how different he looked since you’d last seen him. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, blond strands framing his face, slightly lighter than the thick stubble that covered his jaw. The last time you had laid eyes on him, he was in full battle-dress, a stark contrast to the faded denim and black t-shirt he was presented in this time.

“I was under the impression you would be hard to find, Lady Y/N,” Thor murmured, approaching you as if you could attack at any moment. You remained still, shocked at the sight of him, following his hand as it reached up behind you and easily scooped your prize from the top shelf. “I guess I know you a little better than Natasha does.”

“What -” Your voice came out squeaky, so you paused, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Stark informed me that you had accepted sanctuary on Earth,” he said softly, placing the pop tarts in your hand. “That you signed the Accords.”

“It was either that or return to Asgard,” you shrugged. “And we both know I’m not welcome there.”

“There are other worlds,” he pointed out.

You smirked at him, dropping the sweet treat into your cart. “None with pop tarts.” With a glance over your shoulder at him, you pushed on. “I should have known you would find me.” He began to follow as you strolled down to the next aisle. “Though I’m surprised it took so long. Losing your touch?”

Thor chuckled deeply. “You haven’t lost your sharp tongue, my lady.”

Sighing heavily, you slowed to a stop, turning to look at him. He paused only a few inches away, blue stormy eyes boring into yours. “Why did you come here, Thor?”

For a moment, he appeared confused, eyebrows drawing together in a frown. You waited, one hand on the cart, the other limp at your side.

“We did not part on good terms,” he muttered, suddenly breaking eye contact. “Not a day has passed that I have not thought about you.”

You snorted, turning abruptly to continue on, pushing the cart with a little more force than necessary. Thor stalled for a moment before following, rushing to catch up and walk beside you.

“Y/N, stop -”

“No,” you ground out, keeping your eyes ahead, fingers curled so tightly around the handle of the cart that the metal began to warp.

“Y/N -”

Your temper flared and you turned to face him, feeling the rage burning through your veins. “What do you want from me?” you yelled, attracting the attention of other late night shoppers. A few paused, one or two pulled out cameras, obviously recognizing the significantly more famous face you were shouting at.

Thor’s eyes darted around, a concerned expression developing, and the heat in your blood simmered, rationality taking over.

“This is not the appropriate place for this,” you grunted bitterly.

“Then perhaps we could discuss this somewhere more private?” he suggested hopefully.

A wry smile tugged at your lips. “We both know that would be a very stupid idea.”

“I promise, Y/N,” he said quietly but firmly. “I only wish to explain myself. To apologize.”

You stared at him, chewing the inside of your cheek as you considered his request. The possibility of a physical altercation of any kind was highly likely when you thought back over every other encounter you’d ever had with him. Thor was a flame, and you were the moth, drawn to him at every single turn, but curiosity was pushing you to accept his request.

Finally, you sighed and nodded. “Would you prefer to drive with me, or are you going to…” You finished the sentence by flinging your hand up in a flying motion, and Thor grinned.

“I will accompany you,” he chuckled.

“Great,” you replied, teeth gritted. “Good thing I’m almost done.”

It only took another thirty minutes to get through the rest of your shopping and that was with being derailed by two young ladies who had recognized and begged Thor for a selfie, which he seemed happy to indulge. You ignored the interaction, stalking off with your purchased items and leaving him to catch up in the parking lot.

“Let me,” he requested as you opened the trunk, and you happily stepped back, allowing him to load the few bags into the car as you climbed into the driver’s seat. In the rearview, you watched him return the cart with a friendly wave to the guy stacking them.

The whole car shuddered and sank under his weight when he got in beside you, his huge frame awkwardly hunched in your little compact. Unlike most Asgardians, you were small in stature, though it didn’t diminish your inhuman strength, and only increased your speed. You waited until he was buckled in, trying not to stare at the way the belt sat snug between his pecs, pulling his shirt tight across them.

“To your home, I presume?” he asked, and you nodded, unwilling to talk with such a suddenly dry mouth.

You didn’t live far from the grocery store. Part of your agreement with the American government was a small stipend each month which allowed you to live in relative solitude, though it required you make yourself available to them - a clause they had not yet called into play.

“This is it,” you muttered, pulling into the driveway. You didn’t wait for any acknowledgment, climbing out and heading to the trunk to retrieve your bags. Thor followed, and the car raised several inches as he climbed out, making you smirk in amusement. Once again, he insisted on shouldering all the burden so you simply shrugged and headed for the front door, keys in hand.

It was a modest little house, one you’d worked hard to make comfortable over the last year. The few possessions you had managed to carry with you from Asgard were scattered among other curiosities you had gathered in your new home, along with shelves upon shelves of books. Your living room resembled more of a library than a home, but you were happy with it, and it wasn’t like you had frequent visitors to entertain.

The only people you’d seen in the last year were government agents following up on your end of the deal, making sure you were remaining out of trouble.

Trouble seemed to have found you after all.

“It is… nice,” Thor announced as he loitered in the doorway, surveying your humble little home. His head was only an inch or two off of scraping the doorframe, and he looked ridiculously out of place, but you couldn’t help feeling a little proud of the life you’d built and glad that he could see that you were very capable of surviving on your own.

“Thank you,” you replied, gesturing to the kitchen. “You wanna put those on the table?”

He nodded and continued on with the bags, placing them atop the large oak table that dominated your small kitchen. “Your voice is different,” he commented quietly.

“Just trying to blend in,” you forced out, grabbing for the first bag. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’m fine.”

“I need to put all this stuff away,” you sighed. “Why don’t you go make yourself comfortable in the living room?” He glanced back the way he’d come and you smirked. “Just through there.” His sheepish smile made your grin grow unbidden, but when his back turned and he disappeared through the hall into the lounge, you dropped your elbows onto the table and covered your face with your hands. “What am I doing?” you groaned quietly, digging your fingertips into your temples.

You just had to be firm with him. Whatever explanation he had for what he did, it didn’t change things. He had chosen a human over you, and his father had banished you for your part in their plot to save the same human. Thor had only watched as Odin stripped you of your very identity and stranded you on Midgard. In the two years since that had happened, you’d put that betrayal behind you, rebuilt yourself and your life, albeit a lonely one, and you were damned if Thor was going to destroy any of that.

It didn’t take long to get the groceries away but you took an extra few moments to make yourself some tea, carrying it through to the living room with you. Thor hadn’t made himself comfortable on the couch, not that you’d expected him to; he was standing by the large ornate bookcase in the corner that stretched from floor to ceiling, thumbing through a book. You tilted your head to catch the title, smiling in amusement when you saw it was one of your Norse mythology tomes.

“Some of the things they got wrong about us are hilarious,” you commented, sliding into your favorite spot on the couch. Thor looked up with a grin, closing the book, replacing it on the shelf with the others. “And it’s remarkably easy to pretend to be a professor of mythology when you lived through most of the legends.”

“Is that what you do with your time?”

You shrugged, lifting your tea to blow across the surface. “Only a few hours a week. It’s entertaining.”

Thor’s grin didn’t fade and he moved to the big armchair opposite you, dropped one meaty hand to the top, assessing it quickly to make sure it would hold his weight. He sat slowly, keeping his eyes on you. “My father was wrong to banish you,” he said softly. “And I am sorry that I did not speak up for you.”

Keeping your composure, you leaned forward, placing your tea on the low table between you. “I made my peace with that,” you replied coolly. “I knew it was a possibility when I helped you and Jane escape.”

His eyebrows drew together again in confusion. “I must admit, I’m confused,” he confessed. “Why are you so displeased to see me if you have forgiven my betrayal?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “It amazes me that you have lived over a thousand years and you are still so clueless.”

“Enlighten me,” he requested gently, leaning his arms on his knees.

“I’m not sure that would be wise,” you chuckled dryly. “If you do not know by now how I feel, then I fear there is little hope.”

He looked surprised at your choice of words. “How you… feel?”

Sighing again, you leaned heavily on the couch arm, propping your chin on your knuckles. “Do you remember when we first met?”

“Of course,” he laughed. “Your mother was handmaiden to mine. We used to play together in the gardens.”

“We grew up together,” you mused quietly. “Trained together. We became adults together, fought together… we…” Your throat dried a little at the recollection of the more intimate times you’d shared, young stolen moments in the back halls and chambers of the palace. “All that time, and you believed we were only friends? Was that all it was for you?”

Clarity descended on his face, astonishment widening his eyes.

“It’s funny,” you continued, “I always imagined it would be the Lady Sif I lost your heart to. But I suppose… if I never had your heart at all, then how could I lose it?” Your chest felt tight as you shifted to pick up your tea again, sipping it delicately, avoiding his gaze. “When you chose Jane, when you left me to your father’s mercy, I accepted my fate. And I have tried to move on.”

“Did you succeed?”

The question threw you and you looked at him sharply.

“I thought I did.”

Thor was quiet for a moment, watching you as you gripped the porcelain cup in your hands tightly, hoping the shaking in your fingers wasn’t too obvious. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, watching the blue storm in his gaze, remembering other times when he looked at you with such intensity.

“I was a fool,” he said suddenly.

You broke eye contact, putting your cup down again. “Maybe,” you whispered. “Maybe we both were.”

“You were never a fool, Y/N,” he murmured softly. “You were always my dearest friend.”

The comment stung and you looked away, trying to ignore the tears gathering in your eyes as you waited for the ultimate rebuttal, waited for him to tell you that he had never felt the same need for you as you had for him.

He moved then, taking to his knee in front of you, reaching for your hands as you met his gaze with watery eyes. “But I… I was such a fool. To believe that I belonged anywhere but with you.” You sniffed, choking back a sob as he smiled and lifted one hand to wipe away an escaped tear.

“You belong on Asgard,” you stuttered. “I no longer do.”

“What if I could change that?”

You paused, staring at him in shock before shaking your head. “No. I do not wish to return to a people that shunned me. There is no one left there that I care about.” Tugging your hands free, your expression turned to stone as you looked at him. “And I know you would not stay. You have a purpose, Thor. We both know your journey does not end with me.”

“Then come with me,” he urged. “Fight with me.”

Shaking your head again, you pushed him away, getting to your feet. “It would break the agreement I have with the people of this planet.”

“You wish to stay here?” he asked, standing and watching as you crossed the room to the fireplace, putting distance between you. “Why?”

“I have fought in a thousand battles,” you exhaled, leaning one arm on the wooden mantelpiece. “I have lost family, friends, my home… this place, this existence, it may seem small to you, but it’s mine, and I am not subject to the grief and gravity of any position. I built this… this is my home now, Thor.” You met his gaze again, trying not to let your trembling become apparent, nor to let your resolve crumble. “Would you really wish for me to give that up?”

He was silent, and you nodded, requiring nothing more as an answer. Pushing away from the fireplace, you approached him slowly, lifting one hand to take hold of his.

“I will always love you, Thor Odinson,” you whispered, lacing your fingers through his. “But our paths meet in fleeting circumstance and you know you cannot stay.”

You went to pull away but he suddenly tightened his hand, holding you in place. When you looked up at him with a puzzled expression, he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a soft and gentle kiss that stole your breath away. For a moment, you indulged the buried need for him, letting it blossom as he continued to deepen the caress. When he pulled away, you were panting, clinging to his hand like it was your very last hope.

“I cannot stay,” he admitted quietly. “And you are right there are things I have yet to do. Something is coming and our people are in danger, and I would not be able to rest knowing I have done nothing. But I cannot leave until…”

“Until?” you prompted, when seconds ticked by without a resolution to his words.

His lips twitched into a smile, his free hand cupping your jaw. “Until I know I can come back.”

You almost sagged against him, clinging to his shirt with one hand, the other still contained in his larger fingers. “Thor…”

“My Lady Y/N,” he purred back, coaxing you into another kiss that you willingly accepted. The need you’d allowed to surface was becoming all-consuming, mixing with the need to have him return to you, to ease your loneliness in the life you’d chosen. A hope you’d carried for over a millennium burned brighter with each stroke of his tongue over yours, and your fingers twisted in his shirt as you tried to get closer to him.

“Would you stay tonight?” you asked nervously, pulling away only a fraction.

He smiled, nodding lightly. “I will stay a while,” he murmured, dropping a chaste kiss to your lips in between words.

“Then let me show you the bedroom,” you whispered with a slightly shy look, tugging on his hand to lead him to the stairs at the back of the house. He looked almost comical in the small hallways, his large breadth meaning his shoulders nearly brushed each wall as you guided him up to the second floor of your small house. The bedroom took up most of the space up there, with a bathroom occupying the last few square feet.

He didn’t waste time once you were inside the open area, pulling you into another eager embrace, kissing away each nerve and reservation until your resolve was utterly obliterated. You found yourself half-naked before him, rectifying that by almost tearing his shirt in your hurry to even the score.

“I can get you more clothes,” you giggled, dissolving into moans when his hand found its way under the waistband of your pants and underwear, thick fingers caressing you intimately. “Oh…”

Thor grinned, pushing his hand deeper until he had a single digit buried in your tight channel, stroking in exactly the right spot. You clung to his shoulders, panting as he fucked his finger into you, his eyes locked on your face as your expression dissolved with pleasure. “Do you want more?” he asked quietly.

You could only manage a nod with your bottom lip captured between your teeth but instead of increasing the stimulation, he withdrew, pulling you towards the bed. His shirt hit the floor before he turned his attention to your pants, disrobing you until you were entirely nude.

“Lie down,” he murmured, kissing you again, trailing one hand down to tease a puckered nipple. You shuddered and obeyed, sitting on the edge of the bed without taking your eyes off of him. He dropped to his knees in front of you, slipping one hand over your bare thigh, and you realized he’d asked you to lay, not sit. Leaning back, you swallowed a whimper as he pressed your legs apart, returning his fingers to your sex. It had been so long since anyone had touched you like this - human males seemed too fragile for the sort of enthusiasm you usually displayed and most of your attempts had failed miserably. The only man who had ever pleased you without concern for injury was the one touching you now, further proof, you felt, that he was the only one for you.

He was quick to penetrate you again, leaning in as his fingers filled you, dragging his tongue over the swollen pearl of nerves that made a shaky breath pass your lips. You fisted the sheets underneath you in one hand, letting the other dance over his golden locks as he began to feast on your cunt. He grunted as he devoured you, his free hand pinning your thigh to the bed as his other fingers fucked into you with a steady stroke.

“Thor,” you whined, pushing yourself further up the bed as if you could escape the unbearable pleasure building in your core. He only tightened his hold on you, and you heard the bed creak under his weight. “Thor, please -”

Pulling his mouth away abruptly, he grinned at you, withdrawing his fingers with a little more leisure and sliding them into his mouth, sucking your essence from them. “You’re still just as impatient as always.”

You smirked, pushing up onto your elbows as you watched him stand and discard his pants before he crawled up the bed, his larger frame covering yours. His knees parted your thighs, the thick heft of his cock resting heavily against your drenched sex as he drove in for another kiss.

“I missed you,” you murmured, brushing your nose against his when he broke away once more. His blue eyes seemed to shuffle through darker hues as he looked down at you, careful to hold the majority of his weight off of your body.

“And I you,” he replied. “But I will always endeavor to return to you, Y/N. I swear by all of Asgard and the Nine Realms; I belong with you.”

You wanted to say more, though it felt superfluous, but then Thor was pushing into you, filling you so completely that all you could do was cling to him. Each kiss was met with enthusiasm, and you quickly wrapped your legs around him to pull him in deeper, letting him settle in your belly with a comfortable and familiar weight. One of his hands rested on your ass, the other underneath your shoulder, and when he began to move, every cell in your body sang.

His thrusts were measured and slow but hard enough that you felt the first stirrings of climax within only minutes, digging your fingernails into his shoulders as he drove into you. You whimpered into each kiss, responding to every touch with just as much passion as he gave, desperate and unwilling to break contact with him for so much as a second. Thor seemed to share that sentiment, moving the hand under your shoulder to cradle your head, allowing him to plunder your mouth with his tongue until you were aching to breathe. Your head swam with bliss, and you could barely find the strength to cry out as the wave of pleasure dragged you under.

Thor slowed, lifting to watch you as you fell apart, keeping his strokes hard and purposeful, glancing down to witness your body accepting every inch of him. “My Queen,” he hummed, dropping his mouth to suck one hard nipple between his lips.

You smiled lazily at the quiet comment. “I’m not a Queen,” you corrected softly.

His eyes met yours, and he released your breast with a wet pop. “To me, you are.” He didn’t give you a chance to argue, sweeping you away on another round of intense kisses, rocking into you with a steady rhythm. You felt the pressure in your belly build once more, only this time, you want to feel him, all of him.

“Thor -”

“I know,” he shushed, breathless with exertion. “Kiss me.”

It wasn’t a crescendo like you’d experienced before. This time felt different, more concrete, more mature - he was promising to always return to you, even if he couldn’t stay. His oath was more binding than even the bond you’d shared as children, and you knew it would be a vow he would never break.

“Let me feel you,” he whispered, and you crashed, clinging to him as he spilled into you, eagerly accepting a last hard kiss before the both of you collapsed atop the sheets. Thor was quick to move you into a more comfortable position, holding your body firm against his as he sought out lazy, gentle kisses and caresses.

You laid still in his arms for a while, enjoying the warmth of his body, listening to his heart pound in his chest, mirroring your own heartbeat. There was a stickiness you’d have to deal with eventually, though that threw up an entirely new problem.

“You know,” you whispered, looking up at him as he gazed down at you, “I’m not sure you’re going to fit in the shower.”

He laughed, a throaty and loud noise that made you smile anew. “We’ll figure it out,” he chuckled when his mirth died down a little.

For a second, you simply stared at him, unable to voice the dozens of questions clogging your head and your heart. “And everything else?”

Thor smiled, cupping your cheek and leaning in to kiss you softly. “There is nothing we cannot conquer,” he murmured, “together.”

If you enjoyed reading this, please let me know your thoughts by either reblogging or sending an ask! Feedback is like gold to creators, we love hearing from you!

#thor odinson x reader #thor x reader #asgardian!reader #smut #fluff #angst #the three main food groups of fanfiction #mcu fanfic #marvel fanfiction #kitten writes #rhi writes

[mapleicedlatte]

three mugs

Ours

Hers, yours & mine

Hers, decaf & extra honey

Yours, one bag & one sugar

Mine, double strength & sweeter

I pour the kettle

A little gray cat paws my shoulder

Tea & honey & sugar & ours

Ours & us

Our mugs

Our little gray cat

Three mugs

#rhi writes #poem #free form poetry #family poems

[the-great-kraken]

if you see a male character kiss a male character, you assume they are gay.

if you see a female character kiss a female character, you assume they are a lesbian.

if you hear a character say they don't feel like their gender, you assume they are trans.

so why do a-spec characters have to jump through so many loops?

a character saying they've never had a crush or don't want a relationship or that they don't understand romantic love is so often ignored or used as fodder for other queer or autistic headcanons (reinforcing stereotypes that aroace people are secretly gay or always autistic)

why is it that our stories are always "up to interpretation"? why do we have to wait for the words aromantic or asexual to be said to be taken seriously? why is it that even when characters say they don't want relationships, fans will scream and cry about sex/romance favourable aspecs and qprs?

when it comes to gay and trans characters, even the likes of bisexual lighting is often treated as though it canonises their sexuality. for aroace characters, even the most explicit coding possible is swept under the rug in favour of other "interpretations"

i'm so tired of fighting for representation just to have it ignored and minimised by fans. let characters be aroace. please.

#obviously there are a ton of circumstances where the qpr and sex/romance favourable is completely fine #but when characters explicity say they dont have sex or dont want relationships it feels so hollow #fandom is fandom and there is nothing i can do to stop you shipping or writing smut or headcanoning or whatever #but please just think it through. the characters aren't real but there are so many geniunely harmful ideas doing stuff like this reinforces #rhi rambles #aroace #aromantic #asexual #a-spec #a spec #aspec #aro #ace #aspec representation #asexual representation #aromantic representation #lgbtq+ #queer

[ghostbsuter]

"You're not supposed to be here." Peching on the roof edge is batman, staring down at the child crouched.

The child, blue-eyed and black haired, looks up at him with wide eyes. There is this weird but familiar feeling to the boy, like he'd know him, of his existence and his face– those eyes.

They remind him too much of Dick and Jason, have a hint of Tim as well, Damian's greens shining through the blue.

His hair has some blond spots, Stephanie his mind connects, and Batman shakes his head, denying these similarities.

The child is still watching him, head tilted and listening.

"Brother," Lady Gotham's voice echoes by his side, Bruce gives her an acknowledged nod.

"This one," she appears around the child, something Bruce has never seen his sister do before. Closer than any civilian she'd ever protected.

Batman re analyses the moment, finally taking the similarities to his former partners/children and tensing.

"Is mine." Her hands, borderline claws, hold the child gently, Lady Gotham is careful in her handling, crooning.

Bruce nods slow, accepting. "What's his name?"

"He prefers Danny." The shadows flicker around Batman's feet, unbothered.

"Is there a reason he shares the features of every Robin?"

Lady Gotham smiles knowingly, picking up her boy with bright eyes.

"Just as I am created by people's beliefs and wishes," she pets the unruly black hair. "So is he when you first got Robin."

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #fic prompt #writing prompt #dc x dp prompt #Danny is the manifestation of the Robin rumor #he the classic Waynw scowl #Lady Gotham is Bruce Wayne's sister #BRUCE GOT HIS FIRST NEPHEW!!! #and hes literlaly made out of every robin #hows he gonna tell jason abt rhis #another prince of gotham is born

[saintmurd0ck]

footsteps

masterlist

pairing: matt murdock x f!reader

summary: your undeniable chemistry, the perfect night. it's been a long time coming, and finally, matthew murdock is in your apartment.

warnings: NO SHE HULK SPOILERS but def inspired, matt murdock's filthy mouth, matt murdock's cocky personality, smut, p in v (unprotected), oral (f receiving), someone say size kink???

a/n: credits to @buckypascal for making gifs of the scene. also, new post format?! lastly, tagging @mattmurdockspainkink and @chronicoverachiever for being there on that night and screaming about this entire episode with me 💀🙈 love you two LOTS 💗💗

You don’t waste any time getting into the apartment. Not even to fumble for your keys. They go straight in to turn the lock, and then they're yanked out. Thrown somewhere. Anywhere.

Nothing else matters now but him. All this time; every path, every decision, every bit of banter exchanged between the two of you has come down to this moment. You’ve known Matt for a very long time, but tonight… tonight feels more than familiar. Even if you’re in brand new territory. 

The thick material of his suit grabs at your fingertips, tactile panels and armour-infused fabric gliding underneath your palms, clinging to the sweat that’s started to form. But you can’t think about that. You can’t think about being nervous, not when his mouth is on yours and his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, begging for entry. Right now, you shouldn’t be thinking of anything else. And rightfully so, you can’t.

Matt leans into the kiss, deepening it as a gloved hand comes up to cup your jaw, allowing for the tiniest of whimpers to slip past your lips. He stumbles, taken aback slightly at the way you’re kissing him, with a tenacity… a ferociousness he hasn’t yet experienced with you. You’re insistent, and it shows. It shows as you anchor your hand to the small of his back, nevermind that it’s all Kevlar you’re feeling and not his skin.

Oh God, his skin. The urge to see it, to touch it, to savour it, is staggering. Even though the night's only beginning, you’re impatient, and he knows it. 

It’s a good thing he’s impatient too.

“You’ve got too many clothes… uh– too much suit–” you mumble, breaking away but still maintaining your distance. Or lack thereof.

Matt chuckles against your cheek, and it sounds like a promise. “There’s a zip at the back, sweetheart.”

He pulls you forward again to nip at the column of your throat, and then to leave a mark at the base of your neck, soothing the spot only with a flicker of his tongue. You can feel him straining against you now, and he’s shifting his hips, trying to get his bulge to settle where it wants to between your legs. 

He’s antsy, and you get it. You understand. It’s not as if the two of you have been tiptoeing around each other for months, juggling a delicate balance of flirting and friendship and whatever the fuck else you’d describe your dynamic as.

But here you are.

Here you are.

You will yourself to pull it together as you kick your shoes off, Matt doing the same. He sets himself back upright promptly to remove his gloves, and then his helmet. You’re a little surprised at how haphazardly he tosses it onto the couch – a perfect throw, of course – considering that the suit is new and his helmet… well, his helmet cements his moniker, right? And–

Oh, enough about the helmet already. 

His hair is ruffled, chesnut brown going a little orange when it catches in the yellow apartment light. He throws a billy club at the switch on your wall, muttering something about, ‘who needs a light, anyway?’ 

He’s handsome, and all he’s doing is standing there, his stance a little wide, and the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You don’t need to tell him how he makes you feel; he knows it so acutely it’s as if he’s cracked open a window to your innermost desires. You suck your cheeks in, feeling heat rise to your face as you approach him. Your expression goes dark and you think you have to stop in your tracks, if only to squeeze your legs together, but your body overrides that sensation. It tells you to keep going, to disregard the second heartbeat that's manifested, so you do, fingers fumbling for the strap on the back of Matt’s neck that conceals the zip.

It’s an almost wordless exchange except for what’s whispered under your breaths; the ‘is this okay?’s and ‘yes’es that flow so easily. He reassures you as you struggle with his suit, telling you ‘it’s– the zip’s right there’ and ‘c’mon sweetheart, you got it’. And you do, in fact, got it, because now you’re tugging it down his back, exposing every inch of his delicious self to the ether and beyond.  

The zip goes down to his tailbone, and the second it has no more give, you’re pushing the suit off his shoulders, coaxing the material down and off. Down and off. You’ll admire him later. There’s something else in the way first.

When you get to his waist, you repeat your newfound mantra. Down and off. Down and off. You don’t care that his abs look carved from marble, like a statue handcrafted by Michelangelo himself, or that his cock – holy fuck, his cock – is almost staring you in the face – the suit goes over his ass, down his thighs, and he kicks it off, stepping on the pant legs to get the last of the fabric off his ankles. 

Now, you can look at him. And look you do.

“You know I can tell that you’re eye-fucking me, right?” he grins, lifting his arms away from his body slightly, palms turned to face you. He’s caught in an almost-shrug. 

You wave his words off to run your gaze up and down his frame, starting with his broad shoulders, the scars flecking his torso, and the tiniest trail of hair from his navel to beyond his boxers. His abs contract a little with every intake of breath, flexing and rippling as if they have a mind of their own. Your eyes continue to glaze over his body, working methodically from head to toe, focusing on a different part of him each time. You can barely recognise the quiver in your own breathing when you’re done.

“Bedroom,” you command, taking one of his hands in yours, squeezing it tightly as you lead him away.

He answers with a smile.

Then, as you approach the threshold of your door, of the very place you’ve thought about having him over and over and over again, his hand slides up to tighten at your wrist. He spins you towards him, backing you up until you’re against the wall. He pins you in place, and then his lips meet yours. This time it’s intimate, and not just because of what’s about to happen. It’s intimate for all the right reasons, for all the times he’s made you laugh, or listened to you grumble about the stressors of the world. It’s for every time he’s come to you, battered and bruised, close to broken, and every time you’ve nursed him back to sanity. To health. Matthew Murdock was — is — your one-in-a-million. 

Your one-in-a-million groans as he nips at your pulse, using his knee to knock your legs apart. You’re lost now with both hands tangled in his hair, while his begin to roam over your breasts before settling on your hips. Matt moves his thigh in between your legs, and presses it upwards where he hears you throb. You bear down on the hard muscle, a steady stream of moans accompanying the arching of your back. That’s the gratification you’ve been seeking, the pleasure he knows you deserve. And that he can give. 

“There you go,” he purrs, waiting for your arms to go slack so he can slip the straps of your dress off your shoulders. That moment comes easily as he grinds his thigh into your pussy harder. You wonder if he can feel the growing, damp spot in your panties — his sharp exhale tells you everything you need to hear. 

He reaches behind you to unhook your bra with an ease that surprises you, and then everything else follows: your dress, your panties, his boxer briefs — they’re nothing more than meaningless clothes, troublesome barriers, as they fall to the floor into one clumsy pile. 

And, for a moment, as the two of you step inside the bedroom, you linger there, arms wrapped around his waist as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He’s inhaling your scent, committing you to memory, as if nothing else – nothing – will ever come close to this. To you. He’s warm under your touch, and although his muscles are rock solid, he’s soft. He’s always had a gentle quality about him, and it’s become more apparent with every subsequent layer removed, physical and mental.

Matt braces his hands on your hips, squeezing ever-so-lightly to hold you there. Right now, he towers over you, still emanating that faint devil energy that always becomes more prominent with the suit, but you know you’re safe. It’s safe with him, and it always has been. He tilts his chin downwards, feeling your breath fan across his face.

He chuckles softly, and the sound makes your body erupt into goosebumps. It doesn’t help your case, but he drags his fingertips up your arms, touch featherlight and leaving you wanting more. He says your name, and it rolls off his tongue.

When he says it, it sounds like it was made for him.

He whispers your name again as he kicks the bedroom door shut, scooping you up to lay you out on the bed.

. . .

Moments later, there he is, forearms bracketing your face, mouth on your body, mapping every contour and curve you have to offer. He’s hungry for you, leaving wet kisses on your collarbones, moving further down to play with your breasts. He latches himself onto your nipple, sucking and circling with his tongue, grinding himself into your mattress in rhythm to your moans. You’re positive the dampness pooling between your thighs is trickling down them now. And that’s all thanks to him. Matthew. 

Your Matthew. 

He continues down your stomach, marking you as he pleases. You’re looking at him through your eyelashes, one hand curled tightly in his hair, trying to control your breathing, but it’s difficult. That coil in your stomach, the one that’s been loaded since the first time you laid eyes on Matthew Murdock… it’s reaching breaking point. And you need to let go. 

For a moment Matt’s expression is pained, but it shifts back to focus as he nears your pussy, licking his lips to affirm the scent of your arousal sitting heavy in the air. You realise his expression is one of discomfort, but only because he wants you. He doesn’t know how much control he has over his own body. He wants to drag this out, to have you until the night gives way to the morning sun, but he needs you, more than he’s needed anything else in his life. So, there isn’t much pretense as he slides his palms under your ass and lifts your pussy to his face. 

God, his tongue feels like heaven. 

He licks a broad stripe up your centre, tasting you for all you are, before moving to your clit, drawing tight circles with the tip of his tongue. Still, Matt needs more. Somehow, this isn’t enough. It feels as if he’s waited his entire goddamn life for this, and if that’s how long eternity feels like, then he’s going to take advantage of every moment, of every chance to study your body and burn your pleasure into the fabric of his brain. Tasting you like this isn’t enough, so he flexes his arms, and he tightens his core, and rolls you with him until he’s lying on his back.

Matt Murdock eating your pussy is one thing, but Matt Murdock eating your pussy as you’re sitting on his face?

“Fuck– fuck, Matt, just like that,” you gasp, one hand outstretched towards your headboard, the other wound in his hair. 

He says something, but it’s muffled against your cunt, and it only makes you clench harder. With the way he’s lapping at you, and then the way his tongue begins to stretch you out, you realise you’re going to implode very, very soon. 

He lifts you off his mouth, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards. “Now, angel, would you like to cum for me now? Or do you want my cock?”

Maybe it's the way your banter works, but the retort flies from your lips faster than intended. “Do you really have to ask?”

His mood switches in an instant, and it should scare you — but it stirs up something wicked inside. It’s as if Matt can read your mind, or pick at this new unravelling thread, because he flattens his tongue against you again, as if something’s changed in your arousal.

“I was being nice,” he growls, and something like taunting flashes across his face. He’s testing the waters a little. Maybe he’s trying to figure out exactly how you like to take it.

“Yeah?” you respond, smugness lining your tone. You shuffle downwards to where he’s holding up his cock, having stroked it once… twice, just to show off his impressive size. 

There it is again, that taunting.

Well, lucky for him, he’s not the only hellraiser this side of town.

You have him buried to the hilt in one agonisingly smooth motion, squeezing your thighs at his sides as his cock nudges against the spot that edges your vision in white.

He hisses as string after string of curses tumble from his lips, as suddenly he's enveloped in your warmth and your wetness, unable to think and almost unable to move. He has his hands on your waist, gripping so tightly you think it'll bruise, arms and abs flexing as he fights every urge within himself to cum inside you without giving you what you deserve.

He's pretty when he moans, and it's not just the blissed out expression on his face as you begin to move. His sounds are rich, and a little husky, laced with the kind of desperation you didn't think he could possess. You start to roll your hips, planting your palms on his broad chest as he lets you guide him into oblivion. Every drag of his cock along your walls sets your nerves alight, and he makes you feel so full you think you might burst.

He pleads your name. He begs you to go faster.

"What do you want, Matthew?" you drawl, lifting your hips up to bounce on his length, to writhe on top of him the way you realise he loves.

He's desperate, yet the authority in his voice remains. "Want you to cum for me, angel."

Your nose scrunches as you fuck yourself on him, breathing coming out in heavy pants as he hits that spot over and over and over again. His mouth curves into a devilish chuckle as you explode on his cock, fingernails digging into his skin as you pulsate and flood around him.

He takes this opportunity to reclaim his dominance, to flip you onto your back, pushing you into the sheets as he drives himself into you. His hips snap against yours ruthlessly as his forearms cradle your head and his mouth meets yours. The intimacy prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, and clearly you still have a couple good thoughts left in you, because Matt's got a weakness for this.

He breaks away from the kiss to tip his head back and groan, allowing you to pull him in deeper. Sweat blooms across his hairline as he lowers his weight on your body, nuzzling his face into your neck, breathing you in and holding you so damn close. His rhythm never falters, but his strokes change, especially as he uses his hands to push your legs back as far as they'll go.

And, as if what he's doing isn't good enough, he wrestles one hand free to rub your clit.

Oh, holy shit. If this is how you die, so be it. So fucking be it.

"Matty," you whimper, interlacing your fingers behind his neck, pulling him in to kiss you again.

"Yeah, angel," he rasps, and his lips are back on yours. They're soft, and yielding, and flawlessly moulded to you.

"Matty," you whisper, and you take him over the edge with you.

. . .

In the afterglow, with the ghost of a kiss lingering faintly on your lips, you turn to him. He punctuates your question with a sentence of his own.

"When am I going to see you again?"

"Come to New York with me."

You think of the invisible footsteps right outside your bedroom door; the ones an eternity in the making. You think of how it'd be to leave your own in his apartment, to leave him with what he's given you.

It scares you a little, because your life is here. Away from New York.

It scares you because your answer is overwhelmingly easy.

From the tentative smile on Matt's face, and the blush spreading across his cheeks, you know it's the right one.

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil smut #matt murdock fanfiction #rhi writes 💻 #x reader

[joelsflower]

a little thought i had let’s say i can’t sleep too and this would *definitely* cure me.

tw mature content 18+!!! a bit of anxiety (brief description of a panic attack nothing graphic), straight up porn (sos), no y/n, reader has hair but it’s only mentioned cause joel is addicted to its smell, otherwise not described, unprotected piv, veeeery lovey dovey deep sex tbh, soft soft soft dom!joel, mentions of subspace, one or two “daddy”, creampie, BRIEF breeding, overuse of petnames, reader cries a bit, thumb sucking, a bit of somno? joel fucks reader to sleep. that’s it. zero proofread first time writing smut ops

And it happened, again.

Without your control or consent, you eyes snap open and your heart jumps at an exasperated pace — just like it has been every other night. The weight of your day-to-day activities (added to your need to always give 101% of yourself to your work and lead your body and mind to exhaustion) has definitely and finally caught you.

Your thoughts start to tangle and suddenly your whole body is freezing and on fire at the same time, spiralling on a wave of anxiety; coming back to sleep is just not an option anymore. Attempting to at least hide from the cold breeze sneaking through the window and maybe calm your heart down a little, you reach your hand down to the covers, or you would have reached, if it wasn’t for the warm — and considerably larger than yours — grip around it, holding you in place.

And that’s when you feel it.

Him, bringing you back to peace. Inch by inch, moment by moment.

He’s sleeping peacefully, and it’s contagious — slowly, the sensation of him starts to guide your thoughts down, with his broad body spooning you and serving as your own personal bonfire. From head to toe, you feel safe again.

The hands that cage yours press firmly against each other, keeping you there through a hook made by his thumb invading the space of your much smaller fingers and finding its home there, reminding you that he’s not completely awake yet, but he’s with you.

It comes as a spark to the bicep that embraces your torso and pulls you closer, making your soft breasts almost spill from his hold. Suddenly, your body, mind and heart are all aware of him and nothing more — because right now, nothing matters if it’s not him; he has this power to keep you afloat in your most safe and vulnerable mindspace, and you follow him like a little bird laying on its nest.

You can feel the skin on your back almost melt as it presses against his broad chest and soft belly, warming and protecting your delicate body. One muscly leg comes to rest in between yours, molding your body into his and making the back of your thighs tingle from the hairs that adorn his. The ins and outs of his hot breath in your neck are also not helping

All you want is to let him take care of you. And at this point, he knows it too.

“Joel?” you whisper, fingers playing with his calloused kuckles. You feel the tip of his nose nudging your hair while a deep groan leaves his throat, sending colourful and shiny explosions of light down you spine and directly to your already throbbing core.

What can you do? It’s Joel. And what would your mind do if not go Joel Joel Joel Joel? When feeling the weight of his pinning you down, his beard scratching the soft skin of your neck and his rough fingers gripping your waist? After all the hard work he gives his life to accomplish just to give you comfort? For all the barriers he fought within himself just to be a better man for you? He loves you. Adores you. And you let him.

“I’m here, sweetheart” he assures, voice deep and drunk on the green apple scent of your hair. It’s his favorite. You’re his favorite. “Are you having one of those bad moments again?”

Your eyes water and you don’t answer him verbally (shit, you really didn’t want to cry), but let him know that you’re aware of his question by trying to pull your legs together, being interrupted by his own that sits perfectly in between yours — pressing forward and forcing yours open just a little more — just a little more so he can feel you, and you can trust him. He already knows how to make your pain go away, and the soppy pussy smudged against the flesh of his thigh only confirms the answer that he knows is floating in your pretty little head.

“Oh, angel,” he coos, matching his plea with a shift of his leg, taking a soft moan from you that lands directly on his heart “I’m gonna take care of you, okay? Know what y’want. Gonna give it to you” he does. He always knows what you want.

“Please?” you beg, something between a moan and a whisper, as you feel his hands unclasp your own and each follow a path: the left one comes up to press against your forehead, freeing your mind from the unmerciful thoughts and nesting your skull against the curve of his neck, warm and safe and followed by soft kisses to your temple. the right one snakes up your chest and holds onde of your breasts tenderly, soothing your heart from the fear and thumbing at your nipple just to leave your head a little more fuzzy.

It does not stay there too long, tho. He brings it down to fist at his now hard cock, lining it with your needy, weeping hole. The contact of the thick tip with your lips makes you squirm under his hold, and for what seems an eternity, he keeps at that; starts down and collects your wetness with his head, letting it pool and mix with the precum bubbling there just to slowly drag it up and down your folds, up and down. Caressing your lips open and nudging at your clit, circling at a torturing pace that has your ears ringing.

After a little while, he brings it down and forces at your opening, unhurriedly stretching your tight pussy. The sensation of stretch and fullness is almost enough to send you over the edge; when you finally welcome him, mouth falling open, nails digging into his wrist and pussy ready to be fucked, that’s it — just the tip. In and out, in and out.

Which is good. But wait, is he taking care of you or teasing you? If Joel wasn’t holding his orgasm back for dear life and could answer now, he’d say he has greater purposes;

“Shhhhh” he sucks at the sweet little spot under you ear, keeping a steady pace inside of you. “Gotta do it, baby. Know you—“

“Joel, please—” you cry.

“No, hey,” he coos, using the hand on your head to twist it and hook his eyes with yours. His blow brown irises find you, and for a second you would even take just the tip the whole night if he told you to. “Didn’t prep you, did I, baby? Know you get just so tight when you’re feeling like this, hm?” you nod mutely, tears pooling at your waterlines at a unexpectedly deeper thrust, giving you a bit more of this cock. He’s so good to you.

“Shhh, none of that” he wipes one tear that runs down your cheek, “feel that? Too big to give it to you in one go. Gotta— fuck. Gotta stretch your little hole open a bit. Don’t wanna hurt you, not now. But you can’t do it, right, little one? Can take my cock just right?” The question becomes rhetorical when he slowly sinks his whole cock into you with an animalistic groan leaving his throat, “Fuck- yeah, baby you can. My best girl, aren’t you? My sweet, sweet girl with an even sweeter pussy”.

His words and girth stretching your tight walls open and making home for itself inside your hot, pulsing pussy have your head spinning. Being filled by Joel is the kind of experience that’s easily on top of any other you have in your life. Being filled, held and comforted by Joel has no price. His cock rests heavy and pulsing while occupying himself inside you, giving you time to adjust. His tip caressing sweet sweet spot deep in your core.

Still staring down into your eyes, he starts to move with very, very deep thrusts, “that’s it, baby. Took it all like the good girl you are. And all mine, aren’t you?” You attempt a nod but the thumb that circled your nipple now stuffs your mouth quiet, so the best you can do is blink the tears down your cheeks for Joel to kiss them. “I know, angel. That’s what you needed, ain’t it? For daddy to fuck those bad thoughts away? To fill you and fuck full you the way you like? Always gonna, baby, fuck—“ a particular clench of you pussy strangling his cock and he has to hold himself back again, “always gonna take care of you. Grippin’ my cock real tight, little one. Wanna cum already?”

Another nod. “Shit, cock so good got your head all empty, hm?” he murmured, more to himself, but continued his praise since it’s something you crave during those moments, “you can come, baby, whenever you want. Can’t wait to have your little pussy gushing ‘round me” he confirms his saying by accelerating his thrust just a bit, making your eyes roll and your body flirt with your orgasm. “Come on, babygirl, let go for me, hm? Cum all over my cock, angel, that’s it”

You feel your pussy spasming and gripping his length and what feels like your soul leaving your body. Your mind is floaty and your lips are hung open by his thumb while you feel your juices coat the outside of your lips and down your thighs, making a mess of your conjoined bodies. You look up at him with big round eyes and babble a “thank you,” receiving in exchange a kiss to your forehead and a shower of “I love you”’s and “you did so good to me, baby” and “who’s my girl, hm?”

Even tho, that’s not enough to distract you from the fact that besides still, Joel is very much hard inside of you. And panting on your back. And gripping your body for dear life. And as much as he knows you, you know him too. So in a matter of seconds, you know what’s about to happen, and you welcome it as a more elaborated thank you.

“Shhhhh,” he soothes one more time before starting to thrust into you again, this time more carefully hence how sensitive he knows you must be, “go to sleep now, little one. You’re okay.” He kisses you again and caresses your scalp with his fingers, the thickness of his cum-covered cock pulsing and comforting your insides and weighting your eyelids.

You’re drifted from your dreams a few minutes later though, when thick, hot spurts of his cum breed your used hole, claiming you as his, reminding you you’re safe and filled by his affection. He pants and moans at a lower volume, doing his best to not wake you up, as if the more “I love you”’s he’s spent on your ear wouldn’t dance their way to your dreams. He knows you’re feeling better now, and you know he’s going to get up in a bit to clean you up. But for now, you both know you want to stay like this for just a little more.

#WHAT IS RHIS 🆘 #I DID NOT WRITE THIS LOOK AWAY!!! #idk what is happening bye #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #dom!joel miller

[haledamage]

Bonus! Inhale for Qora/Arcann :3

[ INHALE ]: while standing in very close quarters to the receiver, the sender shakily inhales with desire/anticipation as they realize how intimately close they are to one another.

Today is a lovely day for some Arcann angst! And also Arcann fluff, because he deserves it. This ties directly into For What It’s Worth (for those who haven’t read it or want a refresh and want to skip ahead to the scene it pertains to, it starts with the line “He isn’t surprised to find her in his dreams that night.”) 

sometime shortly after KotET and Unmasked Regret! that’s right, we’ve got actual in-relationship Qora/Arcann this time :3 vague mentions of past abuse

---

The tension was palpable as Qora and Arcann waited for the elevator to make its way all the way to the base of the tower where they stood. It pressed in around them, heavy and oppressive, and made even Qora hesitate to break the silence.

It lingered after they stepped onto the platform and it started its ascent, until finally she couldn’t take it anymore. “Are you sure about this, Arcann? We don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Yes, we do.” He sounded almost serene, and she might’ve bought it if she couldn’t feel the twisting storm of emotions underneath the calm surface. “I do.”

The rest of her argument died before she could give it voice. They both knew she wouldn't make him do this alone.

“There’s no telling what Vaylin did while you were gone,” she warned anyway, as gently as possible.

“I know. But I need to see it for myself,” he insisted. He glanced in her direction, a small smile lifting one corner of his lips. “Besides… you’re the Empress now. Don’t you want to see your palace?”

“‘Empress’ me again and see where it gets you,” Qora said sourly, with an equally sour grimace.

The low, warm chuckle Arcann gave her in response was almost worth putting up with the title. If only for a little while.

The elevator doors opened unceremoniously into a long, empty hallway. The walls were white and bare of any adornment except for three identical doors, one on each wall and one at the end.

Part of her remembered this hall, even if she’d never been there before. She’d dreamed about it, children sneaking from one room to another, the thrill of staying up past curfew and testing the bounds of what they could get away with. Happier times.

The room at the far end was Vaylin’s. A room to keep her always a bit removed from her brothers, disguised as a place of honor. To the east was Thexan’s room, with windows that faced Zakuul’s sunrise. It had long sat dormant, untouched since his death, exactly as he’d left it. And to the right…

Arcann had gone ahead while she lingered by the elevator, but he waited for her outside the door that she knew led to his room. The turmoil she felt from him downstairs was even worse now, strong enough that she could barely tell her emotions from his anymore. Pain, fear, regret, guilt.

Which would be worse to find on the other side of the door? Destruction left by his sister’s petulant wrath, or an untouched memorial like his brother’s room?

I shouldn’t be here. I should never have come back.

Wordlessly, Qora stepped up to his side. When she slipped her hand into his, his doubts went abruptly silent.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Arcann opened the door and pulled her into the room with him.

The feeling of deja vu was even stronger here than it had been in the hall. This was a room Qora was intensely, intimately familiar with. 

She had spent dozens of nights here, in Force-given lucid dreams she shared with Arcann. Pacing the living space, judging his taste in decor, deliberately pushing his buttons in an effort to understand him.

When she looked back at the last few years, it wasn't the war that came to mind first. It was this. This place. Years of the two of them drawing lines in the sand and taunting the other to cross them until they found themselves unexpectedly meeting in the middle.

It looked exactly as she remembered it. White, silver, and black, not a speck of color or luxury to be found. Stark, utilitarian, impersonal. Cold. More of a prison cell than a bedroom, belonging to a man who had been raised to believe sentimentality and comfort were punishable offenses.

Barely conscious of what she was doing, Qora crossed the room to the table by the bed, and picked up Thexan's lightsaber.

A few seconds later, Arcann joined her. He carefully took the hilt when she held it out to him, turning it slowly in his hand. "This doesn't feel real," he murmured, echoing her own thoughts.

"It was always real." She stepped away, restless energy pulling her back toward the center of the room. Looking for something, but she didn't know what yet. "I tried to pretend it wasn't, but I was lying."

Arcann hummed an agreement, which melted into a dry, humorless laugh as understanding curled through their bond. "If it wasn't real, then nothing that happened there mattered. Anything we said or… did, didn't have to change anything when we woke up."

That little pause before did got Qora's attention, but she didn't comment. She would have, once upon a time, but she didn't feel the need to anymore. She trusted that he'd tell her in his own time.

So much had changed since then.

"Do you remember the last time we were here together?" The gentle rumble of Arcann's voice came from right behind her, likely following the same impulse she was.

When she spun around to face him, he wasn't looking at her. His gaze was locked on the wall behind her. It was obvious where his mind was.

Qora’s thoughts were drawn to the same place, the same memory. The night after the battle on--and destruction of--Asylum. He’d come very close to killing her that day, closer than she’d ever admitted. But afterwards, in the dreamspace they sometimes shared, the lines between “friend” and “enemy” could get blurred and become… something else entirely.

She remembered Arcann, unmasked for the first time since they'd met. The anger simmering in his golden eyes, not quite strong enough to hide the fragile uncertainty underneath. The way that rage had cooled, just for a moment, when she touched him. The warmth of his skin as she traced the ridges of scars he’d never let anyone else see.

A moment of understanding, of connection, of vulnerability. She'd thought she was finally getting through to him.

Arcann, take your mask off. I’m tired of talking to it. I want to talk to you.

I do not want your pity, Qora.

Is that what you feel from me? Pity?

And then everything had gone wrong. In a blink, they were enemies again. It had taken the better part of the next year just to claw her way back to where they’d started.

Qora wasn’t aware she was moving until her hand settled against Arcann’s cheek, the durasteel of her prosthetic cool against his skin. Synthetic nerves let her feel the ridges of his scars just as she had that night--though she was quite a bit more familiar with them now.

He leaned into her touch, finally turning away from the wall. His eyes were pale blue instead of the golden orange of her memory; less fragile, less uncertain, no longer angry and full of something almost approaching contentment.

“Sometimes I wonder…” he spoke so quietly that Qora had to step closer to hear him properly, “how things might have been different, if I’d made another choice that night.”

“What other choice?” She'd asked herself that question so many times, and still hadn't found a satisfying answer.

Arcann looked behind her at the wall again, unwilling to meet her eyes anymore--though he didn’t otherwise pull away from her. “I’m… not sure.” His brow furrowed as he got lost in thought, and Qora automatically brushed her thumb over it to soothe it away. “Everything I felt about you then was… tangled up. Hatred, jealousy, desire… I couldn’t tell where one ended and the next began.”

Saying ‘I know’ felt trite, even if it was the truth. She knew it all too well, the fear that had been beaten into both of them under the guise of "training", the suspicion that every kindness hid a new cruelty, that an offered hand held the sharpest knife. Spend enough time in darkness and you’ll become afraid of the light.

What she said instead was, “I understand.” It didn’t feel like enough either.

“What I do know…” his breath hitched with a sharp, shaky inhale, as her other hand settled on his unscarred cheek, cradling his face between her hands, “is that no one had ever touched me like you did. Like I was something special. Something worthy. Part of me would have done anything you wanted if it meant you would keep doing so.”

“It wouldn’t have taken much. I’ve never been any good at keeping my hands to myself, where you’re concerned.” Qora’s voice fell short of her attempt at levity, coming out too quiet and too sincere.

It was still enough to draw a smile from Arcann. “I don’t mind. I never have.”

His arms curled slowly around her waist, drawing her in and closing what little space still remained between them. His smile grew wider and just a little playful; she was too distracted by the lovely sight of it to recognize it as the warning it was.

“Besides,” if his smile was playful, his voice was downright teasing, “what else could I possibly offer you? I’ve already given you my Empire.”

All Qora managed was an indignant squawk before Arcann interrupted her with a kiss, his laughter warm and sweet against her lips.

#rhi writes #qora rhiannon #qora/arcann #I was tempted to add a bit with her complaining about his uncomfortable bed for Old Times Sake #but I wanted it to stay sweet and if they went anywhere near that bed this was gonna get spicy real fast XD #I wrote a thing! I’m so happy to finish something I feel like it’s been ages

[iwaasfairy]

Step-mom reader secretly getting taken advatge of by her step son every monday-riday night when her husband is away

I feel like you’d really like my oc Atsuko haHAHAHHSJFKF Check him out when you have the chance!!

as for step family, this bloggie is an incest!! fanblog!! (/j) no but like I prefer writing full cest now bc if I’m gonna write it I might as well do it well yk? ♡♡ and yea yea when it comes to it atsu is all of this and more

#not me promoting Atsuko at every turn #bUT ITS TRUE THIS IS LITERALLY HIM WITHOUT THE STEP #I do promise that after Rhi bday fic and a niichan fic #I will write a full fledged Atsuko fic #it’s been so long #honey mail #tw.incest

[porto-rosso]

hm ok tim (imo) is very easy to read as subconsciously believing hes going to die young bcos his mother died young. which could be an interesting thing to explore esp contrasted with the actual likely reason hed die young (vigilate) but unfortunately people are really busy portraying janet as a) alive and b) cartoonishly abusive in their works so potentially meaningful looks at her impact on him generally get shoved to the wayside in lieu of generic baseless angst

#^ does rhis make sense. i can bring up panel evidence #tim drake #one day ill write the fic for this. maybe when school isnt killing me #just. more discussion of what janet means to tim pls #janet drake #.log

[itsdefinitely]

richie really wanted to be max's friend. he really wanted to be max's friend. he. he wanted to be max's friend. nobody talk to me i'm having a moment

#not even michie im just. woag. i. #man. #definite's ted talks #richie lipschitz #max jagerman #nerdy prudes must die #hatchetfield #im supposed to be drawing or writing right now but i cant get rhis out of my head. richie really wanted to bw max's friend #do you think he transferred from another school and - not knowing about jagerman - introduced himsekf to max #and max pushed him into a locker and called him a nerd #do you think they were best friends before fourth grade and richie really wants that back :( #do you think that richie was the only person that could see the good in max before the waylon incident #do you think. because im thinking #also sidenote: ship names in this fandom are really funny #jagertitty? jagerschitz? what next. spankman? #okay sidenote over #do you think richie was the only person to actually earnestly want to be max's friend

[the-great-kraken]

[id: the text "girls when horror sapphics" surrounded by cartoon drawings of people being violent]

#if anyone can think of a better id let me know im not very good at writing them #theyre fantastic every time #fear street #haunting of hill house #haunting of bly manor #mike flanagan #robin buckley #wednesday #first kill #sapphic #lesbian #lgbtq+ #wlw #rhi rambles

[seijorhi]

head empty thinking of oikawa cornering you in a changing room and fucking you <33

#one hand around your mouth to keep you quiet #:)) #rhi rambles #hhhhh #i miss writing for my boy

[saintmurd0ck]

lakeside dreamin'

masterlist

pairing: jedi general anakin skywalker x f!reader

summary: anakin reminisces about your lives together while he's away fighting in the clone wars

warnings: heavy angst, mentions of canon events in TCW, canon typical mentions of warfare, some smut/spice, mentions of sex, minors DNI 18+ only

a/n: to the one anon who requested this maybe a year ago? i saw clone wars anakin and it was over for my brain 🫠 anyway love you guys and leave a comment or reblog if you liked this! 🥺

song pairing: love on the brain (rihanna)

The war was taking its toll.

Day after day, planet after planet, all Anakin knew now was his place on the battlefield. And his role in leading the victory for the Jedi and the Republic, even though their dogma preached peace, not violence. Every skirmish brought a new kind of horror to his once uncomplicated life, whether it was watching Separatist droids and clone troopers alike, cut down as easily as marsh reeds, or the simple fact that his relationship with the Force was dwindling towards something impure. Something he couldn’t make sense of, and would surely raise more questions than answers if he were to confide in his Masters. It wasn’t that he contemplated reaching towards the Dark side, or thought of the kind of evil only the Sith could endure; it was more like an isolating numbness that spread from within, and before long, Anakin felt the cloud settle over his mind.

He was tired of seeing smoke — the kind that billowed in every direction, stinking of despair and lost hope on his front, despite the war turning to the Republic’s favour. It was the sound of unending blaster fire and the repetitive ignition of his lightsaber that haunted his nightmares, and with only the company of his clone legion, his Padawan Ahsoka and the occasional appearance from Obi-Wan, he felt himself starting to slip.

He was overwhelmed, and encumbered with burden. 

Never before had he experienced such guilt, anger and suffering — towards his army, towards the civilians caught in the crossfire, and towards his relationship with you. 

The secret life the two of you led, away from the Order, felt like something out of another galaxy, another lifetime. It was as if eons had passed since he’d last seen you, and yet the world was constantly evolving — not towards freedom, but into a more destructive version of its past. Even for a Jedi General (and, one could argue, because he was a Jedi General), Anakin had little comfort, and much less sway in which systems he visited and what he took part in. Seeing you was absolutely out of the question, but it wasn’t like he bothered to even ask, out of fear of inviting a lecture from Obi-Wan, or Maker-forbid, an audience with Master Yoda. 

At least things like facilitating training for the Onderon rebels allowed him to feel more of himself, and to an extent, a sort of unity with the Council, but all of that was quickly replaced by the more sinister side of the Separatist Alliance, such as the trainwreck on Zygerria. Liberation didn’t exist there. Not until Anakin showed up.

It was these events that really compelled him to look inwards, to not just seek the Force’s guidance, but to use it in tandem with a coping mechanism that would get him through the war. 

And so the vignettes began. Slowly, at first. 

It started off as little glimpses of your life together, slices of euphoric nostalgia that weaved their way into Anakin’s being. He didn’t realise just how much he yearned for you; not simply the way your skin felt on his, but the pureness of your energy, the reminder that good truly did exist in this world. As much as these images were a solace to his sanity, they brought about a sense of malaise. Contrition, actually, if he sought the Force for the purpose of clarity. Even though it all existed in his head, allowing himself these indulgences felt like once again, he was breaking Code. 

But could it really have been that bad, if it honed his focus? If it drew him back to the bigger picture, of the why? Reminding himself of who it was he fought for didn’t erase the atrocities, but it gave him that flicker of hope, knowing that the sum of his actions equalled a better world for you. 

And some selfish, miniscule part of him figured that if he could lead the victory, he’d be pardoned when the Order inevitably found out about the life the two of you shared. It isn’t as if no-one already knew. He was sure Ahsoka was aware. Rex, too. He doubted when it came to Obi-Wan, but then again very little got past his Master. 

While the memories of you lay fresh before his eyes, they seemed to sharpen at specific points throughout the day; often in the thick of battle, or when he woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in a cold sweat, nothing but thin shafts of moonlight illuminating his body. It’s like they were stitched perfectly amongst the real action, scattered at perfect intervals that jerked his body into manoeuvre.

The sweetest images had always featured the lake. 

Armed with nothing more but his wits, his back pressed against the cold, wet stone in a cave on Vanqor, he reminisced about that first night with you by the lakeside. The sweet smell of wildflowers carried in the breeze, heightened by his affinity for the Force. He recalled the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore, and how the two moons cast their milky glow upon the shimmering surface of the water. And you — radiant, almost ethereal in the soft light, and the way your lips brushed against his neck, filling him with the kind of heat that flooded all at once. Not even the screech of the pursuing gundark could have interrupted this moment in time. He felt his breathing go ragged, because he remembered what happened next. He gritted his teeth, thinking about the way he moved inside you, and how you tangled your fingers in his hair, pressing chaste kisses to his mouth, his chest, whispering his name in sinful bliss. The gundark didn’t stand a chance. Not when Anakin’s motivation for getting out alive laid in sweet promise, embedded in these visions.

His name felt the most natural rolling off your tongue, nevermind that that was truly the last real thing he possessed, unmarred by time and the influence of the Jedi. In that moment, when you’d taken him over the edge with you, crying his name so loud he swore someone had heard, he knew he’d give it over to you if you’d asked.

He thought of the lake again when he was in Felucia, crouched low amongst the sillum. His lightsaber grew heavy in his hand, the ridges suddenly awkward in his palm, but the grip he’d started to lose on his lifeline gave rise to something he couldn’t ignore. 

It was another temperate day and the sun had created the most brilliant reflections on the surface of the lake. With the grasses and trees swaying in the wind, Anakin closed his eyes, reaching out with the Force. He didn’t prod or poke, but rather he cast a wide net, a delicate caress, to connect with the life that teemed. It sang to him in a multi-layered harmony, acting as a prominent reminder that the Force flowed in all living things. And when his eyes fluttered open, he watched you carefully as you walked towards the water, your feet crunching on the smooth pebbles that made up the beach. You turned around to give him a dazzling smile, moving with deliberation to slip off your clothes. Your laughter echoed in the crisp air as you dived into the lake, disappearing under a swathe of emerald green, only to resurface in the middle with a large grin plastered to your face. He didn’t hesitate to jump in, to shed his clothing on the spot. A shudder ran down his spine at the thought of what happened shortly after. 

Sometimes it was hard to return to the present, to remember that he’d sleep alone that night while you were only just waking up, systems away, most likely after another fitful slumber.  There were times where he thought these visions would serve no other purpose than to derail him, when the temptation of your touch shadowed his desire for victory. These moments guided him to channel the Force within, so as to remind himself of why he was doing this in the first place. Because it was more than just a coping mechanism. It was an anchor. A thrumming pulse point. A gentle acknowledgement of the life he wanted to come back to.

It’s then that he wondered when enough would be enough, when the war would come to a stalemate, as it so often did in their history. The tide was turning, and he knew it.

And there it was again, that kernel of hope, that ember of light that shone in the depths of his soul. Even reduced to a ghost in his memory, you were tangible, so tangible now. He wouldn’t let the Separatists win. He couldn’t, because there was too much at stake. And so if thinking of you, in these ways, helped him remember that, he wasn’t going to stop. 

Not for anyone. 

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