#fiercefury

@fiercefury asked:  “You’re not in bed. I came looking for you.”

soft starters

  THE NIGHT IS QUIET but not silent; it never is. Asgard never TRULY sleeps even in the dead of night.

   Thor stands on the balcony to his quarters, dressed only in a loose dark robe that's cinched around the waist. Before them, the golden lights of the realm eternal stretch before them, brilliant dancing light flickering off the night-black water. It's truly beautiful, but this evening his mind is not on the wonders of the realm.

   Her words don't surprise him, but he does partly turn to look back to her —— and he smiles. It's a quiet, gentle thing, features backlit with the golden lights of the city beyond. He inclines an arm outward in offering for her to join him. He looks pensive, but perhaps it should come as little surprise; much has changed of late, and with the realms at war and his brother imprisoned, his thoughts are often troubled.

      “ you do have that asgardian face theme going on really, not that it is a bad theme, of course, it isn’t; but it was easy peasy to know it was you. “ and then, a sip of his so loved coffee, an eyebrow raised as he anticipated for something to happen.

     “You’re taller than I expected.”

THEIR LIVES HAD BEEN COMPLICATED these last few years. he had been gone, seeking out rumor of infinity stones. he had NEVER expected it to carry him so long and far, and by the time he had come back she was GONE, banished to midgard. he raged, and oh, he was FURY — but heimdall, too, had been gone, and he did not have the sight to find her.

then the world nigh ended, and it was by his own folly.

these past years have been hard. he is not the same thunderer that she grew to know for all those centuries, but nor is SHE the same sif; they have each faced their own hel.

there he stands in full battle regalia, one eye golden and the other bright blue; the scar across the discolored one is harsh and stark against previously UNMARRED features. his hair is coarse, rough, beard longer than he's ever kept it in the past; crimson cloak whips behind him, though, torn and frayed but oh, his stance is victory.

he stands, though, and he meets her eyes. in that gaze is a profound weariness, grief, RELIEF. he is STUCK there, and he sways where he stands.

altered reality

   IT'S STRANGE, IN SOME WAYS. Asgard had been mild at worst as far as the seasons went, and though they were no strangers to the bitter cold of far-flung places ( the chill of Jotunheim could be felt in his very bones for WEEKS ), living in a place where the seasons turn so dramatically is a change of pace.

    The rocky stretch of beach — honestly scarcely a beach at ALL — reaches before them, endless, as far as the eye can see. The cold is BITTER ( at least for Midgard ), for these Scandinavian winters are not for the weak of heart. He's the one that wandered out here, though, for he's fond of the cold — at least when given with the promise of a hearthfire and food to warm the belly later. The snowfall is light, soft, scarcely more than small flurries, and the roll of the sea is dark blue and hazy, fog settling low over the rolling waves.  He enjoys these early morning wanderings, and though he rarely requests company, he’s certainly not opposed to it when it’s offered. 

@fiercefury asked: ❛ you must forgive my lips… they find pleasure in the most unusual places. ❜

nsfw starters : selectively accepting.

HE’S STANDING, braced against the wall. the marble behind him is cool on heated skin, and he’s relenting to every moment of her attention. she likes to make him SQUIRM, and this fierce thunderer loves every moment of it.

he’s heavily aroused, part of him yearning to TURN THE TABLES and return these affections and part of him desperate to see where she is leading. fingers comb through her hair, chest heaving against the spot she finds that proves to be TICKLISH, and he gives a laugh that fades into a muddled, strangled sound.

@fiercefury asked: 53 listening to the other’s breathing

meme - not accepting

THE BATTLEFIELD IS QUIET. this part is the time that stretches on forever, endless and dull; waiting through the night for the barest signs. the ground is hard and the air is cold, but it’s nothing they are not USED to.

stars stretch endless and dark overhead, and he’s nearly always unable to sleep during these times. he doesn’t really need to, but even so: adrenaline and anticipation make actual rest often too hard to come by.

so they sit here. he’s come up to find her, and has lowered himself comfortably by her side, familiar and warm. that thick crimson cloak is dropped ‘round them both; oh, they’ll likely hear the bite of TEASING from the warriors three later, but he doesn’t much care. he says nothing. he doesn’t have to, not really; they’ve said all they need to throughout the day, and it’s mostly just this close comfort of presence that he desires.

he smiles, meeting her eye briefly; he sneaks a hand under the heavy cloak to find her hand and twine their fingers together, giving her hand a squeeze. from there, though, the only sound is their breathing - even, relaxed, just PRESENT. alive. vital. them.