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gay-dorito-dust · 3 months ago

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Ngl the ask where Stan's s/o got sucked into the portal instead made me cry a bit-

Can we have a part2 where reader comes back? Oh god imagine the emotional tension in the room as they walked in.

- 🦑

Taglist: @amms8f @doggosnoodles12 @c4ss13-bun @lucas1253 @danart501 @cherryblom @marvelous-maniac @repost-account-yall @atseoks @xprntj

Part 1 is right here

Thirty years.

Thirty long years had Stanley been forced to live with the guilt and fear that after everything he and Ford did to put in place for your welcome home would be all for naught if the portal didn’t open, or worse you don’t come through the portal in time. After all there wasn’t a day that went by where Stanley wasn’t reminded of just how helpless and useless he was when you got sucked into the portal, begging for him to help you but couldn’t.

Thirty years had Stanley allowed to let Ford teach him complex maths and physics, even going so far as to teach himself during the nights where he couldn’t sleep without seeing your fearful face, nor the outstretched hand before the portal closed seemingly forever. Which made it a lot harder for him to run the mystery shack during the day as he would be found by Ford, fast asleep at the base of the portal with nothing but a flimsy blanket and a pillow he brought down from your shared his room, holding a framed picture of a younger version of you both mere months before the fiasco that costed Stanley his everything.

During the past three decades did Stanley realised that he’d be more then willing to throw away a large chunk of his life just to have you back. You were his life and without you he couldn’t bare to think about how you’d view him if you could see him now, conning tourists out of their money and just not being a morally perfect person in general, but he knew he couldn’t give up now when he and Ford had come so far already to prepare for the inevitable day that you came home.

‘We’re close Stanley I can feel it.’ Ford had been saying to him for the past week, hoping to uplift his spirit, but one look towards Stanley and Ford could see the plethora of emotions within his eyes that ranged from anxiousness, to sadness, to uncertainty as he looked at a Polaroid picture he kept of you in the breast pocket of his blazer; keeping you close to his heart like he had since the moment you took a chance on him.

‘They’re coming home.’ Ford assures his twin, feeling helpless in helping ease the heartbreak that was obviously still being felt to this day. ‘They’re coming home. You’re going to bring them home Stanley.’ He reaffirms.

‘What if they don’t love me anymore?’ Stanley asked the question that had been lingering on his mind for a long, long time, haunting him constantly that now with the day drawing closer; he couldn’t help but let it out while he had the opportunity to.

Ford sighed as he sat next to Stanley as they looked at the portal. ‘From what I could see from our brief meeting, they love you more than words can describe and would’ve done anything to keep you safe.’ He tells him as while your interactions were brief and not on the greatest of terms, Ford could tell that you were more then willing to risk everything to keep his brother safe and he appreciated you for looking out for his brother and loving him where his family failed to do so on multiple instances.

‘They’re shouldn’t have,’ Stanley said sadly, ‘if they didn’t love me as hard as they did, they’d still be here.’

‘And yet they love you as easily as breathing,’ Ford counters as he rests a hand on his brother’s shoulder, offering him a reassuring smile, ‘and I highly doubt that there is a reality where they didn’t love you as hard as they do.’ Before the twins could continue their conversation, they could hear Dipper and Mabel call for them and they were in silent agreement to continue it on a later date before going to see what the kids wanted them for.

Once the twins left the lab, the portal seemed to slowly spark to life, deciding to bring about your return quicker than Stan and Ford had originally thought. Almost as though whether you were within the multiverse, you were always listening to your Stanley and reacting to his pain as though it was your own.

Dipper and Mabel were more than aware of you due to the stories Stanley told them, he wanted them to know you the way he did in hopes of keeping you alive in some other way other than framed photos and memories that he always revisited in his dreams. They knew you meant a lot to their Grunkle from the way he’d get a distant look in his eyes whenever he sees something that reminded him of you.

Stan’s stories of only stoked the curiosity of Dipper and Mabel as they’d always ask; ‘where are they now?’ Only for Stan to reply with, ‘not here, not anywhere within reach.’

‘Are they dead?’ Dipper asks and could see Stan’s eyes become sharp as steel, his jaw clenched as he inhaled sharply as though he had been doused in cold water.

‘No.’ He said firmly without meaning to. ‘They’re just not here.’

Dipper wanted to press on but stopped when Ford, who had gone back down to the lab, came running into the living room with a wild expression on his face. ‘Stanley! It’s time!’ He cries and without question Stanley got up to his feet and followed after Ford, while Dipper and Mabel naturally followed after him with Soos tailing behind them; wanting to be included in whatever wireless they’d get into without trying.

The moment the family reached the lab, the portal was in full effect, which confused Ford as he swore he didn’t flip any switches to activate the portal and neither did Stanley. It was almost as if the portal had developed sentience but that was impossible to prove as truth as the moment Ford and Stanley realised that Dipper, Mabel and Soos had followed them took presidency over the blaring blue portal that only seemed to get brighter with every passing second.

‘Kids! Go back upstairs now!’ Stanley shouted, something he rarely did unless he thought the kids would be put in genuine danger.

‘No! You and Grunkle Ford have been hiding something from us, only for it to be a portal?’ Dipper exclaims as he looked at both Stan and Ford with confusion akin to the look in yours eyes before you disappeared into the portal against your will. Dipper, being the smart kid he was had a feeling this portal was linked to you in some way, for what would be the reason both of his Grunkles would keep this from him and Mabel unless it had played a major part in your disappearance.

Or the more likely answer being that the portal was the reason for your disappearance.

‘Well explain everything to you soon enough, me and Stanley have very valid reasons.’ Ford says as he eyed the portal as it was practically encasing the entire lab in a blinding light, however when squinting his eyes, Ford could make out a cloaked figure walking towards them with slow, hesitant steps before they picked up their pace as the figure was now breaking out into a sprint, as though coming to a realisation that this was their ticket out of the multiverse.

You were coming home, Ford knew you would as he couldn’t help but smile tearfully, the questions he has for you are endless but he’d much rather you and Stanley have the reunion that has been thirty years in the making.

‘You either tell us or we’re going to shut down the portal!’ Dipper bluffed as he knew the moment he took a single step towards the lever at the end of the lab, he’d be cut off by both his grunkles when he saw how they kept looking towards the mystery figure who was now half of of the portal.

‘We will just please trust us-‘ Stan tried pleading but it fell on deaf ears.

‘Who are they?’ Mabel asked, confused and scared.

‘They’re your great aunt/ uncle y/n!’ Stanley shouted just as you fully stepped out of the portal before it closed behind you for one final time, plunging the room in almost darkness had it not been from the ember coloured gem that hung from your neck. You removed the hood from your head to reveal your aged face and slight hints of silver that streaked your hair permanently.

You looked hardened but soft at the same time, you greeted Mabel, dipper, Ford, Soos with a look that could’ve made them into stone, but the moment you looked at Stanley your eyes widened as a gasp left your lips.

‘Stanley? Honey is that you?’ You asked as you began walking towards him, arms outstretched as though you were worried this was all an illusion from those little fucks from dimension 4.

‘It’s me alright sweetheart, I’m right here, you’re home now and safe.’ Stanley reassured as he greeted you halfway, encasing you in his tight embrace as tears streaked down his face silently as he peppered your face in kisses.

‘Oh Stan! I missed you so much, I thought you would’ve moved on or-‘ you rambled, only to stop when Stan pulled away to look you in the eyes with a serious expression.

‘You’re my one and only doll face, no one else can come close to you sweet pea as all I’ve ever done for the past three decades was try and get you back here, in my arms like your meant to be.’ Stan said as he rested his forehead against your own. ‘I’ve missed you so much, so fucking much that I thought I was going mad without you by my side. I need you and will always need you in my life now and forever.’ He confessed and Mabel gasped at how romantic her Grunkle could be, though then again wasn’t a big surprise considering how highly he talked about you and everything you did that made him fall harder for you.

‘I don’t want to be anywhere but here, with you Stanley Pines.’ You replied as you kissed his lips, weaving your lips against his as you clung on to him in a desperate attempt to familiarise yourself with the man you spent thirty years without. Kissing him felt right, it felt as though your soul was now whole as you melted further into his kiss, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth and softly groan against him before needing to pull away for air as you both looked at each other star struck.

You felt young again with Stanley holding you in his arms as you admired his aged face and silver hair, still finding him attractive as ever. ‘Lost the mullet did you?’ You asked teasingly as Stan could only pinch your side, causing you to jolt at the contact.

‘I thought you liked my mullet?’ He pouted and you couldn’t help but chuckle as you traced your finger across his bottom lip.

‘I did but I think I like this even more.’ You said lowly as you pecked his lip. ‘You look handsome as I remembered and more my beautiful Stanley Pines.’ You cooed, kissing his jawline and feeling the delicious prickle of his stubble/ beard against your lips.

‘So this is our great aunt/ uncle?’ Dipper asked as he watched as you and Stan greeted each other warmly and happily in love. He saw pictures of you but seeing you in the flesh was different entirely as he looked over at Ford who was still smiling at the reunion.

‘Yes dipper, they are your great aunt/ uncle, they were lost to the portal thirty years ago and it hurt Stanley beyond repair. so much so that he dedicated the past three decades trying to get them back.’ Ford explained briefly, happy knowing that the family was whole as it should’ve been from the very beginning.

‘We’ve got so much to catch up on.’ You told Stanley before casting your gaze towards Soos, Mabel and Dipper. ‘And you can start by introducing me to these three colourful characters.’ You add with a smile as you saw Mabel and dipper looking at you in shock and awe.

‘Those little troublesome kids are your Great niece and nephew, dipper and Mabel and that other guy is Soos, my employee.’ Stan began as he interlocked his hand in yours as you chuckled. ‘Twins, runs in the family huh?’ You said with amusement, ready to get to know your family properly this time either no portal to separate you from them ever again.

‘Like you wouldn’t believe toots.’ Stanley then kissed the side of your head, smiling widely as he finally got what he had hoped for, a family, whole and happy.

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls imagines #gravity falls #stan pines x you #stanley pines imagines #stanley pines x you #stanley pines imagine #stanley pines x reader #stan pines imagines #stan pines imagine #stan pines x reader

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604to647 · 6 days ago

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The Might of the Realm

8.9K / Din Djarin x Princess!Reader

Summary: Din Djarin, General to your father’s army, finds himself in the gladiator arena of a foreign planet fighting for the success of your diplomatic mission.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Established secret relationship (they are stupid in love), Mando'a nicknames (mesh'la, cyar'ika, cyare), the helmet comes off but reader is blindfolded, bath sex, fingering, unprotected PiV (Star Wars is made up and in space, so we pretend it's fine). A wee bit of angst if you squint.

A/N: Written for @beefrobeefcal's The Glandolorian challenge! This is the same AU that I imagined for my Kiss It Better drabble, with the same Princess!reader: set post Season 3, Carson Teva has dispatched Din to a New Republic stronghold planet to train and strengthen their armies; he becomes their General and falls in love with the realm's princess. I imagine this story to take place before Kiss It Better, when they are still sneaking around 🥰.

Many moons before another General (🤭) came on the scene, I outlined a long story for this AU that I'm not sure I'll ever write, so kindly forgive my self indulgent word count - I really took advantage of this challenge for a chance to write these two 🥰 Struggled a bit with the Dieter Bravo reference, but I think I found something that works (Thank you to @morallyinept for your invaluable character dialogue database!) Also got inspired by someone's Gladiator II premier look and snuck in one (1) The Princess Bride reference 🤭 / Dividers by @saradika-graphics

“No.”

“Princess, it will be fine.”

“I said ‘no’, Din. We came to pay our respects to the new rule and to affirm that our established trade routes through Flavin 5’s space will remain intact. We did not come to be participate in some archaic gladiatorial fighting match to assert dominance.”

Even through the blankness of Din’s visor you can tell he’s amused by your hiss of a retort but is holding back his reaction. His stoic and impassive demeanor normally reserved for others, you know that if he’s being less than fully direct with you it’s for one of two reasons: 1) he doesn’t want to lie or 2) he doesn’t want to risk your ire. You suppose it’s the latter in this case, and that thought alone is reason enough for you to calm your emotional response to this predicament and reassess.

Taking a deep breath, you rest one hand on your hip and mimic a stance you’ve seen your fearsome General make many times; with your other you gesture at Din to present his argument for voluntarily sending your guard, the top lieutenants of the army he commands, into a battle arena on foreign soil.

“Mesh’la, I know your instinct is to protect your people, but you know as well as I that our troops, and especially the men who have been deemed fit to accompany you on this diplomatic mission, are more than capable of handling themselves in any combat situation.”

Din almost chuckles at the way you tilt your pretty head ready to interrupt, his feisty cyar’ika; he continues hurriedly, but with the calm confidence he knows you respond to, “You diligently studied Flavian traditions and history before embarking on this trip – you yourself taught me all I know of these people. Despite the new ruling family’s decision to resurrect this ancient custom, what is your sense of these people? Do they seem barbaric? Cruel for cruelty’s sake? This isn’t the Petranaki arena on Geonosis.”

You would roll your eyes at Din’s perfectly level-headed analysis, if you didn’t consider his strategic and tactical mind one of his most attractive qualities; Din’s shrewd ability to consider all angles of any situation is one of your army’s greatest strengths, and one that never fails to weaken you at the knees. He’s taking this situation as seriously as you need him to, and so, you consider your answer carefully - working through your thoughts out aloud, “No, they are not a cruel people – and you’re right, these gladiatorial games were never about execution or spectacle like they were on Geonosis. The ancient Flavian events were meant to bring the people, no matter class or station, together to be entertained, usually in celebration.”

“Do you think that tradition is being respected? Or do you suspect some hidden agenda?”

You remunerate on this, thinking back to the new Flavian royal family you met earlier today, “No. I believe them to be sincere. Their purpose in resurrecting this historic custom is, I think, to build a connection with their people. Participating in the gladiator match would be a show a respect for the Flavian people and a celebration of the new royal family.” You take a deep breath, “So, we should participate.”

“I agree completely, Princess.”

This time you do roll your eyes at Din, but there’s no arrogance in your expression, “Fine. But Din, just because there’s no ill intent does not mean there isn’t risk. We don’t know what to expect from such a fight – there hasn’t been one like it held in centuries. Who knows what opponents our men would face in the arena?”

“No matter who or what our troops are pitted against tomorrow, Princess, there is no doubt in my mind that they will be able to handle it.”

Nodding thoughtfully, you have to agree, Din did train them himself after all, “I believe it. Especially since they will have their fearless General there to lead them.”

“No.”

“Din, it will be fine.”

“I said ‘no’, mesh’la. I cannot leave you unprotected and without guard in the Royal Box,” huffs Din.

Stepping into Din’s space, you lay your hands on the shiny beskar that sits across his expansive chest, swearing you can feel it vibrate beneath your gentle palm from his thundering heartbeat; tipping yourself towards the great warrior before you, you feel his big, gloved hands move to your waist to steady you just as you knew they would. Giving Din your most innocuous expression, you coo, “There is no need for me to have a protective guard if we deem the Flavian royals to be of honourable intent; if it is safe enough for our soldiers to participate in the gladiatorial games, then it is safe enough for me to be alone in the Royal Box.”

Din’s smile at your cleverness and persuasive tactics is hidden beneath his helmet, but he’s yet not ready to show you he’s given in so he remains as silent and cold as the armour he wears.

You use this opportunity to loop one arm around your hulking General’s neck to bring him closer to you still, your free hand takes one of his from your waist and brings it up to his helmet in a silent request. The familiar click of Din’s helmet unlocking is the only invitation you need - using your nose to lift the brim of his helmet slightly above his strong jaw so you can find his plush lips with your own, you feel the hint of a smile against your pout before you deepen the kiss. Opening to let Din lick into your mouth, you melt against the hard metal that represents everything he is to you: extraordinary, flawless, indestructible.

And such a good kisser, letting loose a soft whimper you nearly miss Din chuckle something against your lips.

“What’s that, General?” you sigh dreamily.

“I said, Princess, I saw what you did there, and that was NOT the way,” chastising with no actual bite, Din lowers and relocks his helmet.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” flashing him that breathtaking smile of yours that always makes him forget himself, “I’m only following the logic you already agreed to. Grogu and I will be fine watching you showcase the might of our realm from the safety of our spectator seats tomorrow.”

“Grogu will be with me in the fighting area.”

“No.”

“Cyar’ika, he will be fine.”

“He’s just a baby, Din!”

“And a Mandalorian apprentice. You’ve seen what a formidable fighter he’s already grown to be.”

And so on, and so forth – the two of you, the General and his Princess, spiritedly discussing and debating matters that affect your realm. The thought crosses your mind, not for the first time, that when you ascend the throne after your father you will need a ruling partner who challenges you like this: one who makes you wiser and forces you to expand your horizons, but trusts your compassion and tender heart, and who you trust to keep you and your kingdom safe. And as you always do when this thought naturally lends itself to an image of Din by your side, tall and proud as your King consort, you push it away as far as you can. It hurts too much to imagine something that seems to materialize so clearly and happily, as if it could actually become a reality, when you know it could never be.

The crowd in the arena is deafening. Already amped from the opening entertainment acts, they’re now cheering loud, calling for the main event.

Sitting front row in the Royal Box, you scan over the floor of the arena – knowing that it’s unlikely, but still hoping for a flash of silver beskar from behind one of the gates that line the sides of the arena floor, behind which lay the holding areas for the gladiator fighters selected for today’s match. Once or twice, you think you spy the sunlight catch something shiny from beneath the stands, but before you can look more closely, someone from the Flavian royal family will engage your attention. Though your mind never strays far from Din and his, your men, you cannot forget yourself or your role - your purpose for being in this arena today: you’re here to secure the continued prosperity your kingdom and strengthen your realm’s relationship with a long-standing ally.

If you’re honest, despite the trepidation that sits heavily atop your heart, you cannot help but be affected by the electricity of your environment. The stadium thrums and pulses with the excitement of thousands of Flavian citizens who have come out in the hot sun to partake in today’s festivities – you see children of all ages waving noisemakers and colourful flags, men and women young and old already cheering for who they anticipate to be today’s victors. Based on the chatter in your tent, the news of your General fighting today has spread like wildfire through the city – very few Flavians have ever seen a Mandalorian, never mind have the privilege of seeing one fight; today was going to be a day they remember for the rest of their lives. As for your companions in the Royal Box, you’re happy to see that your and Din’s assessment had been accurate – there is no underlying bloodlust or malevolent show of power associated with these fights, everything is only in good fun; your royal cohorts are all in splendid moods, showing genuine enthusiasm akin to the original spirit of the same games put on by their ancestors.

You’re just chatting amiably with the new Flavian king about having some of the wonderful Flavian wine and fruit you’ve enjoyed in the tent sent up to your room later, when a fanfare of trumpets echoes throughout the stadium announcing the start of today’s fight. The crowd quiets to a soft buzzing as the amphitheatre’s speakers announce the entrance of your fighters; the volume rises again as the audience goes wild when the might of your realm runs in through the gladiator’s entrance. You can’t help but beam, chest bursting with pride at the impression they make on the Flavian crowd – a big, broad Mandalorian General, towering in his stance and intimidating in his majestic armour, flanked by your guard: five of the strongest, most formidable soldiers from your father’s army.

You spy Grogu before the Flavian royals do, but it’s only because you know where to look. A perch for him has been attached to the side of his father’s jet pack so he can remain secure at Din’s shoulder during combat, but have the flexibility to jump off and join the fray if needed. The instant the Flavian prince spots him, he excitedly points him out to the others – and you take great pleasure in informing your hosts that they, in fact, have the honour of seeing two Mandalorians today.

With only a few moments before their opponents arrive in the arena, you take a closer look at your fighting contingent – they have been outfitted with Flavian weapons (swords, blasters, electro shields), the standard issue armament of your kingdom they normally carry nowhere in sight; the only exception is of course Din, who carries the gladiatorial weapons like the others and all of his usual weaponry – you chuckle to yourself, imagining the poor Flavian weapons master who tried to strip a Mandalorian of his religion.

A loud voice announcing the incoming fighters for Flavin 5 jerks you back to the scene before you. The crowd thunders as a squadron of battle droids nearly a hundred strong marches into the arena, each carrying varying sized blasters or blaster rifles in addition to their own swords, a few wielding double ended electro staffs. You barely have time to fret over how outnumbered Din and your troops are before the king is rising in his seat and giving the ceremonial hand gesture for the fight to begin.

You hear your General shout quick, decisive commands and his trusty men move swiftly into the desired formation, electro shields lit up and expanded in one coordinated movement. They advance as a team, strong and sure, every aim of their blasters true – each man practiced at covering the comrades at their sides as the droids begin shooting back.

When your men are close enough to the front line of the remaining droids, the intimidating battle cry you hear emanating from Din’s helmet is repeated in response at tenfold the volume by his men, a signal to shift fluidly into a tiered offensive formation that you recognize from watching their training on the palace grounds at home.

The legion moves with precision and speed, the crouched soldiers providing the impenetrable shielding needed by the men who stand tall as a precision sniper team that can’t be touched; your Mandalorian the tallest, unphased by the droid fire that bounces harmlessly off his beskar armour.

The formation is far more effective than the static positions of the droids and in almost no time at all, your fighters have driven the remaining thirty or so droids back towards the entrance gate. Answering another roared order, your contingent springs apart with an unrivalled ferocity to attack the remaining droids via direct combat.

Din cuts down mechanical fighter after mechanical fighter, mowing through the defensive lines of the Flavian droids that have none of his agility and lighting quick reflexes, bolstered by his trusted troops at his back who move with the confidence of men who have been trained by the best, used to fighting with the best.

Grogu has left his father, jumping from his perch onto and over droids with lightening speed - they shoot at him with their blasters only to miss their fast-moving green target every time and take each other out instead.

You watch their every move with bated breath – every bolt that connects with your realm’s armour quickens your breath, the clashing sounds of weapon on weapon too loud in your ears, and each hit or wound sustained by one of your men jolts a phantom pain through your own body.

When the last droid soldier falls, your men, your man, stand victorious at the epicenter of the arena; bloodied, exhausted to the point that the heaving of their chest plates can be seen from the Royal Box… but all standing.

You can hardly believe it - your heart exploding with pride, tears nearly springing from your eyes in relief. Looking to your hosts, you half expect them to congratulate you and acknowledge the victory of your fighters, but instead, you see them still engaged with the scene before them, eyes trained on the arena floor.

They smile with genuine excitement and anticipation, and your eyes snap back to Din and your soldiers at the sound of the brassy, melodic fanfare now being played throughout the stadium. The crowd rises to its feet with an ear-splitting roar as the orchestral horns continue to crescendo, announcing the coming of something.

You glance at the Flavian prince, his face alight with boyish joy – he’s excited in an almost childish way and when he sees you looking at him, he beams and points to one of the gates that’s now opening, voice elated, “Cliff beasts!”

Cliff beasts?!? You stand from your seat and rush to the edge of the balcony, gripping the railing and leaning as far as you can so you can see what new challenger is about to enter the arena. You gasp when you see it – a woolly beast larger than Din and his men combined, trotting out into the arena on four stubby but powerful legs. A magnificent horn, the length of which must span at least half of the creature’s massive body protrudes from its snout, thick and battle ready.

A mudhorn?? Of all the beasts to have entered the arena, what where the chances it would be the beast of Din’s clan signet? For a moment, you’re alarmed that maybe there have been unseen machinations at play and you’ve been blind to it all – that you’ve somehow failed in your diplomatic duties, failing your kingdom, your men, Din.

You study the Flavian prince who’s now proclaiming to his father, the king, “These cliff beasts are so large!” The two of them are enthusiastically waving and gesturing to the other attendees in the Royal Box, their chatter is of wonderment and genuine amazement at the sight of this creature that they’ve never before beheld on their planet - you conclude, with relief, that it has to be a coincidence. Wait, what did he mean – these?

Peering down into the arena again you see a second, smaller mudhorn ambling behind the first. A parent and its child! Your heart tightens, imagining how scared the two creatures have to be and how fiercely the adult will fight in order to protect its young. You catch Din’s visor pointed up at you from the arena floor and you know that he understands the distressed expression of your face perfectly.

Immediately, your General gathers his men and lays out his strategy – unknowable to the crowds of the arena, but you can read Din clear as day: he won’t cause harm to another living creature if he doesn’t have to.

Din and his soldiers slowly fan out, purposefully ignoring the young calf while surrounding the adult mudhorn. As expected, the mudhorn charges in attack. Trying to blink as little as possible for fear of missing anything, you watch wide-eyed as your men deftly leap and roll out of the path of the stampeding animal. When the mudhorn stops and turns back towards the perceived threat to its young, the soldiers surround it again – rocking on the balls of their feet ready to evade its charge again. They aren’t always as lucky or fast enough – you cry out in anguish whenever the Mudhorn makes contact, sending your guard flying, landing with a sickening thud on the arena floor from the force of the impact. The crowd gasps in worry, cheering louder than ever when your men get up to rejoin their brethren in repeating the same maneuver over and over.

Din’s plan is working, the mudhorn is getting tired.

Part of you is relieved, the other hopes that its fatigue doesn’t make the creature desperate; though your men are still standing, you don’t know if any of them can sustain more injury to their bodies – an increasing danger that only grows as Din and your soldiers begin tightening the proverbial noose. You spy Din protracting his fibercord whip from his vambrace by hand only seconds before he does what you suddenly realize he’s going to do. The mudhorn is pawing at the ground, exhausted and angry while your men surround it, now each only about an arm’s length away, when Din uses a jetpack blast to leap onto its back - throwing the whipcord around its horn and pulling back on his makeshift reins. The other men scatter and the crowd screams as your General rides the wildly bucking animal around the arena. At their General’s direction, your men are now divided between two tasks: half shoot at the galloping beast that unwillingly bears their fearless leader and his son, their blaster bolts a distraction but doing little to the mudhorn’s tough hide; the remaining men tasked with capturing and restraining the calf – the seemingly easier task.

Heart nearly in your throat, you watch as Grogu climbs down the front of his father’s arm and onto the mudhorn, quickly crawling to the top of its head where the massive horn joins the creature’s skull. With one of his little green hands holding onto the cord his father holds taut and the other placed directly on the mudhorn’s woolly head, you see Grogu close his eyes in concentration. Gradually, the mudhorn’s steps slow and its movements around the arena become unsteady, then wobbly, before it finally teeters and crashes onto its side fast asleep. Din jumps off just in time to avoid being crushed by the animal’s huge body - Grogu does a dramatic flip into the air at the same time and lands perfectly in his father’s waiting arms. The crowd roars its approval.

The Flavian royals next to you are on their feet, clapping and cheering with astonishment and admiration – congratulating you on the victory of your men and thanking you for the fantastic show you’ve provided them today. Clasping your hands in appreciation, they heartedly assure you that the documents confirming your planet’s trade routes will be completed and delivered to you tomorrow.

You express your appreciation before turning your attention back towards the arena, heart full - relieved and proud of the men still on the fighting floor. You have to admit they make quite the sight waving to the cheering crowds while standing next to a sleeping mudhorn, two of your lieutenants holding a makeshift leash with a smaller mudhorn standing docile at its end. To the admiring masses, the large beast was subdued by these men, the might of your realm, but you know the truth. You blow a little kiss to Grogu who pretends to catch it in his little hand before waving back, happy but somewhat tired.

Even with his helmet on you can read Din’s expression as he looks up to the Royal Box. Where is my kiss, mesh’la?

You smile back a playful smirk just for the unseen eyes behind the dark T-visor. Later.

You pace in the large, ornamental suite that your hosts have graciously provided – it’s beautiful, a true testament to Flavian luxury and craftsmanship, but you have no attention to spare for its finery. Not when you’re straining your ears to listen for footsteps coming down the hall, eyes continuing to dart towards your door as if for some reason you may have missed hearing them come.

“Princess…”

Your lady’s maids, Olivia and Serine, pace right along with you, following your tracks around the grand room. They’re as exhausted as you are, but you know their hearts to be as determined as your own; you give them the most indulgent look you can muster and any plea to ask you to rest dies on their lips. The three of you continue to take turns listening intently for the telltale sounds of a soldiers’ march.

Finally, you hear something. Faint but purposeful footsteps walking in synchronicity – the herald of well-trained soldiers with an intended destination. Perked, you look to your faithful companions with renewed vigor and sprint to your door, flinging it open without grace and hurrying into the dimly lit hallway.

They’re still far enough down the hall that you have some time, even with your hastened steps, to study how your men appear to be faring; you know that when you ask, they will insist they are fine so not to worry you.

Two of your country’s finest are limping slightly, one of your lieutenants and a captain. Your other lieutenant is walking fine, but he has a nasty gash on his forearm, dripped, half dried blood wrapping around his wrist like a terrible bracelet. The armour of your realm that the legion proudly wears has taken a beating, covered in evidence of today’s bout – marked, dirty and bloodied, but none of the men themselves appear to be grievously injured.

But it’s the man at the front of the pack that you study the most sincerely. Din’s gait is not too unfamiliar for you to suspect he’s hiding any serious injury - he would know better than that. After the battle on the Fields of Planoor he had learned not to conceal his injuries from you, that you were so familiar with his body and the way it moves, you would know something was wrong without a single word from him. As Din stalks towards your group, you can feel the hot gaze from behind his visor assessing you just as you assess him; your General holds himself a bit straighter, his massive frame puffing in pride. He bears no sign of serious injury, a little sigh of relief escapes your lips as you continue to run down the hall, Olivia and Serine hot on your heels. But his back is probably killing him.

The men stop to a coordinated halt as you reach them; their weapons sheathed, they each raise their left fists to their chests and bow, “Princess.”

You wave your hands in a graceful but frantic manner, dismissing this need for formality, “Please. Are you okay? Is everyone alright?”

Reaching for Grogu, your heart settles a little when he climbs down from his secured perch on his father’s shoulder and leaps into your arms. Fussing over him, you check his fuzzy green ears and sweet face for injuries; when you run your hands over his limbs and body to do the same, he coos and giggles as if being tickled. Resting your palm against the security of the beskar rondel he wears beneath his tunic, you exhale in contented relief and place a long kiss to his head. He’s okay.

Those same words are now being echoed out loud in the low modulated rasp of the voice you trust most in this galaxy, “He’s okay, Princess. Not a scratch on him, the little womp rat. The Lieutenant could do with some fresh dressings for his arm, but the rest of us are fine – a bit banged up and tired, but nothing a warm bath and a good night’s rest can’t fix.”

Knowing that Din’s helmet will give nothing away, you study the faces of your countrymen, trying to ascertain if their beloved General is downplaying the damage for your sake. Finding no deception in their eyes, and knowing that they know you would know, you relent, “Have you eaten?”

“We were given sustenance after our victory.”

You raise your eyebrow at this, suspecting that Din’s words answer only for his men, but not necessarily himself. Nodding, you give your final charge for the evening, “Olivia, Serine, please kindly see our brave soldiers to their rooms, run their baths and tend to them as needed.”

Your ladies-in-waiting curtsey in assent at your words and intuitively, Olivia extends her arms for Grogu – there are no secrets between you and your closest companions. Din nods at her and she takes her favourite little green playmate into her arms, happy to help clean him and put him to bed tonight while his father is otherwise occupied.

Din turns to face his men – similarly, there are no secrets between the General and his most trusted squadron, men who love their princess with an unyielding loyalty that rivals only his own. Your father’s soldiers salute their esteemed leader, bidding their Princess and General goodnight before following Olivia and Serine to their assigned quarters.

Silently, you take Din’s hand and lead him back down the hallway to your room, careful not to hurry should he be much battered and sore, though the urgency in your chest is nearly bubbling over. Your concern appears to have been unfounded because as soon as the door to your room shuts, Din sweeps you into his arms with a force that takes your breath away - crushing you to his chest so tightly that you can feel him deflate beneath the hard beskar as he exhales his own long held sigh of relief.

You chuckle, “You would have thought that I was the one fighting cliff beasts in the arena today.”

“Cliff beasts?” Din tilts his head quizzically at you.

“I’ll tell you later. Right now, let’s get you out of your armour,” your fingers slide under his pauldrons, feeling for the familiar release mechanism.

“Cyar’ika, if you wanted to have your way with me, you only had to ask - you didn’t need to send me into a fight arena with a mudhorn,” jokes Din, wincing slightly from the stretch of his muscles as they contract and relax with the weight of his armour being lifted from his aching body.

You cluck your tongue in playful disapproval, even as you continue to make quick work of removing the rest of Din’s armour. With now practiced precision, you lift off his chest plates and the attachment frame, unhook his jetpack, unclip his cape, slide off his vambraces, unstrap his thigh plates, unlace his boots, unbuckle his belt, unzip his flight suit. The ceremony of this process is one you will never tire of, nor is its significance lost on you.

Din, a Mandalorian, willingly lets you touch his armour and remove it from his body – trusting your delicate hands with his most precious property: the physical embodiment of his honour and creed, the very symbol of his people. Not only that, but he allows you to strip him of protection and reveal his vulnerability to you, exposing him and his softness – he exists as the man beneath the beskar for you and you only. You’re the most privileged being in the galaxy – the weight of Din’s trust in you is something you will never take for granted.

When Din stands before you in only his boxers and helmet, you begin your study of his body in earnest. Dancing your fingers across his hard and tanned chest, you trace old scars in order to separate them from new marks; palming his torso and checking his thick arms with the same careful hands. Rounding your warrior, you continue your roaming examination over his muscular back and listen intently for any change in Din’s breathing when you press down on his tense shoulders – relieved when you hear him groan in satisfaction instead of pain. As you’re lightly scraping your nails over his wide thighs you hear the telltale unclicking of Din’s helmet – he beckons you.

Rising to meet his lowering face, you use your thumbs to lift the brim of Din’s helmet slightly, always keeping your eyes closed so you don’t see any of his face – not for the world would you betray Din’s trust. Mouth finding his easily, you kiss Din gingerly – unsure of what injuries he may have sustained beneath his helmet; lightly pecking his soft pout and pressing restrained affection to the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not going to break, cyare,” Din grins as if he’s reading your mind.

Snapping down his helmet with a bit more force than necessary, you peer up into the black horizonal stripe of his visor and sniffle, “I can see some big bruises starting to form over your abdomen and on the back of your thighs. And the muscles of your arms and back are overstrained and need to loosen or you’re going to be more sore tomorrow than you already will be.” The emotions you held in all day now start to spill over your lash line; dropping your head, you cry softly at the toll today’s events have taken on your strong man’s body and how he bears it without complaint. Contrite and indebted that he sustained these injuries at the behest of your kingdom - your behest, for you.

Din gathers you in his arms and pulls you flush to his chest, tilting back his helmet again he kisses you lovingly, devotedly – with every stroke of his tongue, every nibble of your lips, he reminds you that it is not only his duty, but his honour to serve your kingdom, to serve you. He would do anything for you, without you ever having to bid it. It is not in him to deny you anything, his heart’s desire is to give you everything.

“I love you, Princess.”

“I love you, General.”

Not without some difficulty, you pull yourself out of Din’s embrace and lead him to the suite’s fresher, running the taps of the large tub and scenting the water with fragrant, healing oils.

“I can do that, mesh’la,” one of Din’s large meaty hands covers yours as you test the temperature of the water.

Shaking your head shyly, you bring that hand up to your lips and kiss its calloused knuckles, “Please. Let me serve you, Din.”

“That is not befitting of a princess.”

“I am not like other princesses.”

Tilting your chin up with two of his thick fingers, you can feel the smile behind Din’s next words, “No, you are not. There is no one like you in the galaxy.”

“And I’m yours.”

The helmet, never having been relocked, is lifted again and Din sweeps you into a passionate, hungry kiss, different than the reassuring and devoted kisses of earlier – deeper, greedier.

“Get in the tub, Din,” you murmur against his lips while you can, before you forget your task and give yourself over to him completely.

Chuckling, Din can only acquiesce whenever he hears a direct request from your mouth – he never hears you command him as his sovereign, only ever as his love. No matter – he would obey either way. Stripping off his boxers, helmet still on, Din slips into the steamy water of the deep soaker tub, letting out a heady groan at the way all his muscles relax in reaction to the sudden heat against his rough skin.

With a soft footedness that still surprises Din, so used to picking up every little sound with his helmet’s acoustic sensors, you reappear suddenly with a small tray table bearing various Flavian fruits and wine for Din and a thin silk scarf for you.

“I know you didn’t eat after the match,” you say matter-of-factly when Din tilts his helmet in question. Neither did you.

“Will you join me, cyar’ika?”

“Of course, my love,” you begin to disrobe, perfectly understanding the double meaning of your General’s question.

Though he’s seen and worshipped your naked form more times that you can count, there’s always something about being unable to see the eyes that devour you which makes you shy. Able to detect the rise in temperature of your face, your bashfulness amuses Din to no end – if only you could see his own expression; every time Din sees you bare before him is like the first time, he thinks you might even laugh at the slack jawed, awestruck expression hidden by his helmet – if Mandalorians were to believe in a literal afterlife, then Din could well be deemed a heretic for he’s sure he’s already seen heaven.

Stepping in the tub, careful not to trip over Din’s strong legs, you settle on your knees in the water near his feet; taking the wash towel from the side of the tub, you lather it up with your own luxurious cleanser, the scent of which you know Din loves and begin to wash his body. With great care and affection, you wash and massage Din’s feet, calves and thick thighs, the two of you quietly chatting about your individual perspectives on what transpired in the arena today as you move up his body with your loving touch.

Din groans when you wash his groin area, and you smirk and pretend to throw him a look of disapproval even as you stroke his fast-hardening cock with the washcloth.

“Cyare…” he strains.

“Hmmmm?” Humming, you shimmy to straddle his lap and innocently begin to wash his hard chest and tree trunk arms.

“You’re teasing…”

“Not at all, I’m cleaning,” you giggle. Rising onto your knees, you lean over Din’s mountainous shoulder to clean his back, dangling your wet, supple breasts right at helmet visor level. Definitely teasing.

Two can play at this game. Din’s modulator muffles his snicker as he makes sure you’re entirely engrossed in your task of scrubbing his back, concentrating adorably so that you don’t notice when his big paws reach for your chest, groping and kneading the pillowy flesh with hardly any warning.

You squeal and grind down on Din’s cock - in retaliation he zeros in on your already pert nipples, rough fingers roll and pinch, flick and tug your pretty peaks until you forget your work and bury your face into his shoulder, completely lost to the pleasure that only the General can give you.

“Din,” your voice a soft whimper, needy yet still regal and melodic, “… you have to…”

“What do I have to do, Princess?”

His teasing tone makes you gush; this man knows exactly what he’s doing – you try to claw back some semblance of control over the situation, “You need to let me tend to any injuries you may have sustained under your helmet. And let me wash your hair.”

“Oh, do I?”

Nodding in earnest with your eyebrows raised, “Yes, and then you have to rest. Your body needs it.”

“My body needs you, mesh’la.”

Leaning back, your eyes follow the trail of your fingers as they rake down the smooth skin of Din’s broad chest, slowing over the various long-healed scars whose tales of origin you know by heart, you prepare yourself to argue your way. But the truth is, you don’t want your way – you need Din, too. Here on Flavin 5, there is no fear of getting caught, no need for hurried kisses or fleeting touches – the two of you have time. Time to enjoy one another. Time to let your hearts run rampant with affection and want.

Tomorrow morning is the last morning you can wake lazily in Din’s arms, like any other couple waking to just another day in the rest of your lives together. Tomorrow you will return home and your love for your steady warrior will once again need to be tucked away close to your heart, safe from the prying eyes of the kingdom.

So, you don’t argue.

“Injuries first, General.”

“I have none, Princess.” You can feel Din’s shit eating grin radiating from behind the beskar.

Grinding down a little on Din’s hardening length as a warning, “I should like to see for myself, thanks.”

“Of course, mesh’la. I would see you satisfied.” Though still smirking, it’s with enormous feeling that Din picks up the scarf from the side table and with his practiced hand, covers your eyes; wrapping the silk around your head twice before tying it securely. He doesn’t ask you if you can see, knowing that if you could you would volunteer it. Sitting prettily with your hands clasped together, you wait for the welcomed sound of Din’s helmet being lifted and set down where you scarf previously lay.

Heart full, your hands reach out to gently touch Din’s face, fingers tracing over the most intimate part of the man you love. His jaw relaxes as you stroke though his facial hair and his plush lips curl as your thumb brushes over them. Din’s strong nose feels unbroken, thank goodness – your gentle kiss to the tip earns you a breathy chuckle that tickles your throat. Mapping the strong lines of his forehead, you discover your first wound at Din’s hairline – the soft curls of his brown (or so you’re told) hair already matted and sticking with dried blood. When your fingers caress Din’s temple, you find a small superficial cut by his left eye, and your heart tightens further upon feeling a nastier slice on the apple of his cheek. Even without seeing and Din giving away no hint of tenderness at your touch, you’re sure there are bruises starting to form on the face you love.

Though you’ve never seen it, you know Din’s face – positive that you could pick it out of a crowd as surely as you could your own in a mirror. It’s the face of the strongest warrior you’ve ever known, one whose honour and integrity is as unbreakable as the beskar armour that covers his body. A protector who fights without fail to defend the weak, uphold justice, and push back against tyranny and corruption – no matter how hard something may be or the risk to his own self, the man who bears this face will never back down, always standing up for what’s right. It’s the face of a man who loves fiercely – loves his Creed, his people, his duty, his son, his woman. You. You know the face of this man, the man who owns your heart, your body, your soul - wholly and completely.

You wash this face, carefully cleaning your discoveries. Then, before you wash his hair, you cradle Din’s head delicately and check for bumps and scrapes, sighing in relief when you find none. Lathering up a generous amount of your shampoo, you distribute it through Din’s curls, massaging his scalp as he groans in approval. Your smile at the sound could melt even the steeliest warrior’s heart, Din is sure – it melts his.

When his hair is rinsed and face pat dry, salve applied to his wounds, you attempt to get Din to eat from the food on the tray.

“After, Princess,” Din’s voice somehow lower than when it’s filtered through his modulator.

“After what?” you pretend to be confused.

“After I have what I’m truly hungry for,” you can feel the sides of his face lift beneath your hands as the curve of his mouth pulls up into a wicked grin.

You flash him what you think is a mirroring smirk, “And what is that, General?”

Din takes an excruciating long time trailing his fingers featherlike down the column of your throat as an answer. His massive hand skate over your naked breasts, pinky pretending to be caught on your pert nipple before catching up with its brethren that have moved on to tickling your soft tummy. When his hand finally dips below the water, it’s no more hurried, no less teasing – knuckling down the front of you, his hand so big and wide, his thumb and baby finger stretch to slowly stroke along the apex of your thighs at the same time with no additional effort at all. You quiver at your warrior’s languid and gentle touch – that these same hands are trained for weapons and brutality is not lost on you; how lucky are you to be able to feel them as they are now, so close to where you need them, reverent and worshipful. Hands meant for building up and protecting, instead of tearing down and destroying - and yet you know them capable of both - and moreover, that they can and will do both to you.

Leaning forward to press your lips tenderly to Din’s, you whisper, “Promise you’ll eat after?”

He knows the condition of the ask is empty - you need him as much as he does you, both of you hungry for more than the food your empty stomachs growl for. The worry you felt for your Mandalorian every second he was in the arena today has morphed into a blazing desire now that you have him secure once again in your loving arms; even when he was facing blaster fire or the murderous glare of a mudhorn today, Din’s thoughts never strayed far from the moment he could return to your warm embrace.

But he plays along, because he knows you need to hear it, “I promise, cyare.” And then, because your well being is always as much on the forefront of his mind as his is yours, Din adds, “As long as you eat with me.”

“Promise. Now touch me please, Din,” you’re trembling, not just from want but need, a need for the reassurance that he’s here safe, that the violence you saw in the arena did not touch him.

Even if he had not pledged his fealty to your kingdom, Din would submit to your request, to you – if it were up to him, he would spend the remainder of his days catering to your every whim, carrying out your will, doing anything and everything necessary to ensure your happiness.

He parts your folds with his fingers, finding you slick and ready for him. As Din glides his thick digits along your seam, your soft moans fill the steamy room, “Ohhh Din, yes right there, please.”

“Such a polite little princess, isn’t she?” hums Din, loving how responsive you always are for him. He kisses down your neck, nipping at your shoulder as you come to a rest against his chest. You’re shuddering from the way he’s stroking your pussy, swirling infuriatingly at your needy hole but never dipping inside, teasing you with long broad swipes up to your clit.

Pressing his thumb against your already slippery nub, Din takes advantage of your lack of sight and surprises you by dipping his head down to take one of your breasts in his mouth at the same time – you cry out from this sudden double attack, body trying to run.

The old bounty hunter in him activated, Din chuckles and increases the pressure of his hand on your pulsing clit, and with his free hand, he holds you firm by the nape of your neck - face now buried deep in your cleavage, biting and sucking every bit of soft flesh his mouth can find. Rolling your pert nipple between his teeth, he seals his lips over the sensitive peak and murmurs, “I got you, mesh’la. Let me make you feel good.”

At his sure words, you immediately relax and willingly giving yourself over to your warrior, sighing in surrender as he worships you with his fingers and his mouth. This is the only time that you allow yourself to be covetous of what is not rightfully yours – Din’s face you may know without having ever seen, but the lascivious sight of what he looks like when he loses himself in your pleasure remains a mystery. You secretly long to see it – wishing to know how dark his eyes burn, how his lips wet and plump, how his brow might furrow or relax in reaction to your whines and whimpers.

If you were his riduur – no. No, you can’t let yourself go down that path of longing, it only ends in heartbreak.

As if he can sense that your mind has started to wander, Din slips two of his thick fingers deep in your heat and curls them, beckoning you back to him. You fly right back into the moment and to the space of devotion that he holds just for you, gasping for air at the stretch of his welcomed intrusion.

“Need to get you ready for my cock, cyare,” purrs your Mandalorian, bringing you back fully and binding your heart to his in the here and now.

Nodding almost mindlessly, you crash your mouth to Din’s. The kiss is desperate, needy for so many reasons – your tongues licking and chasing, dancing to the song of perfect pleasure that strums along the electric current that connects you. Din feverishly conducts the symphony of your body – grand upward motions of his fingers in your cunt send waves of bliss that crescendo through your core; the sweeping of his lips against yours keeps you in tempo with his own urgency; his rolling downward gestures on your clit coils the band below your belly tighter and tighter.

No one can play you like Din can – beneath the beskar armour he’s a master musician, lover. Like the weapons he so deftly wields and handles, your body is an instrument he knows intimately – every shift, slight change or tensing is noted and adjusted for so he can optimize performance, maximize your pleasure. Din knows you’re going to come before you do by the key in which your breath hitches, the cadence of your fluttering walls.

“Come for me, Princess,” he growls, biting down on your plush bottom lip. Now it’s your turn to obey – you come with an arch of your back and a chorus sung to your General’s name, Din, Din, Din, Din.

Here you can be as loud for as long as you want and Din can fuck you through your high for as long as you need, withdrawing his fingers and licking them clean only when your cunt is complacent enough to release him, “Always taste so sweet, cyar’ika.” You sigh at the filthy sounds of another forbidden sight you long, lust for.

Lips finding his again, you taste yourself on Din’s tongue and tease, “I thought we were eating after.”

This time it’s Din’s turn to act coy, repeating your question from earlier with a knowing smirk against your pout, “After what?”

In response, you reach between your bodies and even without the benefit of sight, easily find Din’s hard, throbbing cock. Stroking his length with your delicate hands, you lift to line him up with your entrance and wordlessly sink down, “After you come, General.”

“As you wish, Princess,” Din groans at the way your pussy hugs him. When you feel him shift beneath you to plant his feet on the bottom of the tub, you stop Din with a hand on his wide chest and shake your head, “You’re tired and your body needs rest, my love. Let me do the work.”

Big, loving hands come up to cradle your head and a playful but reverent tone accompanies Din’s protest, “A General’s duty is to serve his Princess.” You tilt into his paw and nuzzle; your Mandalorian’s affectionate touch and the feeling of fullness combine in making you compliant. Leaning in close you ghost over Din’s lips, “Together then.”

Half awestruck, half groaning in agreement, Din slides his hands back down your soft body to come to a rest on your waist, holding you gentle and secure, “Together.”

It’s easy to find the perfect rhythm, your bodies already so in tune with one another. Din’s slow upward thrusts meet your lighter bounces halfway, causing the water of your bath to ripple and splash against the sides of the tub. It’s tender and patient until it isn’t – with no communication other than your soft whinnying and Din’s grunts and heavy breathing, your tempo and intensity remain matched, building together.

Always together. How you love being together with your Mandalorian. How you love him.

You press yourself to Din, the rise and fall of his chest grounding you as your hips work in tandem with his. Arms snaking around his neck, you cling to the General as your joint movements become more fervent and passionate, the water now choppy from your lovemaking.

Together. Everything is better when you’re together. You were able to get through today, together.

Love, relief and gratitude flood your pleasure wracked body as you crawl up Din’s broad mountain frame to find his lips. Latching your mouth to your Mandalorian’s, you kiss him heady and desperate. Every press of your plush and swollen pout thankful for his survival, of today’s fight and of all the fights that came before today so that he could come into your life. A thank you to maybe that same mystical force that gives Grogu his unexplainable powers, for making the man that fills you so full at the moment the warrior, the father, the man is. Thankful that he loves you. For all of him.

Din meets every brush of your lips with the same devotion, somehow able to read the emotion behind your eyes without seeing them - the same way you’re able to read him even when he’s hidden behind his helmet. He himself grateful for bringing his son and your countrymen back to you safe, for being the one to give you what you needed for the success of your mission. A thank you to that same power than runs in his son’s veins and makes him a warrior far stronger than Din could ever be, for bringing him to you. Grateful that a woman as regal, compassionate, and kind as you saw past his hard armoured exterior to the man beneath and holds him in your esteem. And in your heart.

“Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar,” Din growls with a deep rumble of his chest that echoes off the walls. I love you.

“Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar,” you cry back in the perfect pronunciation that Din taught you. I love you.

Neither of you able to hold back your love for one another nor the crest of your bodies any longer – coming together, lyrical song sung loud and shameless. The Princess and the General have nothing to hide here, tonight.

Later, after you’ve each eaten and drank your fill of Flavian fruits and wine, and you’ve massaged and kneaded Din’s sore muscles until you’re satisfied with the way his aches have melted away, Din guides you, still blindfolded, out of the cooled bath to the bed.

With Din protectively hovering over your naked body ready to take you again, you realize that as thankful as you’ve been feeling, you haven’t actually acknowledged those sentiments out loud to the man to whom you owe everything, “Thank you, Din. Thank you for being the might of the realm.”

Though he knows you cannot see them, Din’s eyes fill with a love he hopes he can properly convey in other ways, “No need to thank me, cyar’ika, it will always be my honour to fight for you. You must know - you are the might of the realm. The realm prospers and remains strong because its Princess is brave, smart, good. You’re everything, mesh’la. You’re my might – I can only do the things I can because I do them for you. I would do anything for you.”

You feel the scarf you wear across your eyes dampen as it absorbs your tears, “I know, Din.” Happy, content, you welcome your General between your legs once more; and with the rare luxury of time and freedom that the two of you have been gifted tonight, you know it won’t be the last time.

#the glandolorian 2024 #din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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idkyetxoxo · 3 months ago

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Daemon Targaryen - Him and I

Summary - Bound by a passion that thrives on violence and chaos, they eliminate anyone who dares to cross them. Their love becomes both their greatest strength and their most dangerous weapon, a perfect match in their shared madness.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x Arryn reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!), violence (mentions)

Word count - 2044

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

He's out his head, I'm out my mind we got that love, the crazy kind.

"He can keep his tongue," Daemon declared, his voice laced with smug satisfaction.

The expression settled on his face as he rested his hands on the hilt of his sword, slick with blood, which seemed to meld with his hand as though it were an extension of his very being, a dark instrument of his will.

The man's life had drained away at his feet, but Daemon seemed untroubled, as if violence was as natural to him as breathing. A crimson pool spread slowly beneath his boots, the thick blood glistening under the flickering torchlight like a river of molten rubies, each drop a silent witness to the carnage.

I flinched, a fleeting reaction to the brutality that had just unfolded before me but then, a slow smile crept across my lips. My gaze found Daemon's, his eyes already locked onto mine.

There was no need for words between us. We understood each other in ways that transcended language, our bond forged in the crucible of blood and sharpened by the steel we wielded.

I licked my lips, savouring the metallic tang of blood, his blood. The fool had dared to speak ill of me, and now his life was nothing more than a bitter taste on my tongue, a reminder of the sweet vengeance.

I raised my thumb to wipe away a crimson smear, aware that the rest of my face was likely speckled with droplets, but I found I couldn't care less.

This was the price of our love, a love that thrived in the shadows of violence, a love as dangerous as it was intoxicating.

The King had decreed that anyone who questioned me, the sister of his late wife, regarding the mysterious death of one of Alicent's ladies-in-waiting would lose their tongue. Daemon, ever the enforcer of our twisted justice, decided that wasn't enough.

He wanted blood, and he had taken it without hesitation.

"Your Grace," Otto Hightower's voice cut through the tension, thick with anger as he turned to face the King.

The man's indignation was palpable, his eyes flickering between the lifeless body on the floor and the King who had allowed this to happen but even Otto, with all his political manoeuvring and cold calculation, knew better than to challenge Daemon directly.

Not when the bond between us was so absolute, so terrifyingly complete.

He saw the madness in our eyes, a madness that could not be swayed by reason or threats, and I could sense his hesitation, a fear born not of cowardice, but of knowing he was outmatched by a love that defied logic and thrived on chaos.

Daemon kills for me, I kill for him. We're both out of our minds, lost in a love so consuming it leaves no room for fear, no space for mercy.

We've got the kind of love people whisper about in dark corners, the kind that burns too brightly, too fiercely, and leaves only ashes in its wake.

"This matter cannot be ignored," Otto declared, his voice edged with disgust as he turned his gaze toward me. His eyes bore into mine, seething with contempt, but I simply bit my lip to keep from laughing.

He was so predictable in his self-righteous indignation, so easy to provoke.

"What would you have me do?" Viserys snapped, his frustration bleeding through every word.

The burden of the crown weighed heavily on him, and Otto's relentless prying was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

"It is common knowledge that Prince Daemon's wife was present when the body of Lady Elia was discovered," Otto pressed on, his tone growing more insistent. "Merely a day after the lady had slandered Prince Daemon's name."

Viserys ran a weary hand over his face, his patience thinning, frayed by the constant tension between loyalty and fear, between the brother he loved and the monster that Daemon had become.

I clenched my teeth to keep from lashing out. The accusations were nothing new, just more whispers and rumours in a court that thrived on such poison.

"Prince Daemon's wife has a name," I spat, crossing my arms over my chest.

Otto turned to me, throwing his hands up in exasperation, clearly irked that this was the only part of his condemnation I had chosen to acknowledge.

"There is no proof that my sister-in-law killed Lady Elia. These are merely rumours," Viserys said, his voice calm but resolute as he met my gaze. I offered him a small, knowing smile, and he continued, "She would do no such thing."

"You say this only because she is your late wife's sister," Otto retorted, his voice sharp with accusation.

"Precisely," Viserys replied, his tone softening as he spoke of my sister. "Aemma would never have let it get this far... my Aemma."

Otto turned back to me, his eyes narrowing in disdain, but this time I didn't hold back. I allowed a proud smirk to spread across my face, mouthing a single word "Oops." His jaw clenched in response, but he had nothing left to say.

"Your Grace, I do not wish to continue this conversation," I said, feigning an upset tone as I glanced at Viserys with wide, innocent eyes.

"Of course, my dear," he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. His affection for me, the last living reminder of his beloved Aemma, was a powerful shield against Otto's accusations.

"There will be no further discussions regarding Lady Elia's death," Viserys declared, his voice carrying a finality that brooked no argument. His gaze shifted to the lifeless body at Daemon's feet, the head severed cleanly from the shoulders. "Let Lord Tarly be an example."

With those words, the matter was settled. Daemon, with a flicker of something dark and satisfied in his eyes, turned to me.

Without a word, he took my hand, pulling me from the throne room and through the winding corridors of the Keep. His grip was firm, and possessive, as if he needed to feel my presence.

We moved in silence until we reached our chambers. The door closed with a solid thud, sealing us in our private world, away from the prying eyes and judgmental stares of others.

The moment the latch clicked, Daemon pulled me to him, our bodies colliding with a desperate intensity. My chest pressed against his, the heat of his skin seeping through his clothes as he held me close.

"The blood of my enemies looks absolutely beautiful on you," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. His thumb brushed across my bottom lip, smearing a trace of dried blood.

The touch was possessive, reverent as if he were admiring a work of art.

"Your enemies?" I asked, tilting my head slightly, a teasing smile playing on my lips.

"Any man who speaks ill of my wife is my enemy," he replied, his tone firm and unwavering. His fingers threaded through my hair, pulling gently as he rested his hand on the nape of my neck, holding me in place.

"That's exactly what I like to hear," I whispered, my fingers slipping beneath his tunic, desperate to feel the heat of his skin.

I began tracing the contours of his muscles with a feather-light touch. Feeling him shudder beneath my fingertips, the tension in his body turning to something darker, more primal.

In truth, those words were my lifeline, the assurance that no matter how deep we descended into darkness, he would always be there with me.

"Lady Elia?" he questioned, his voice a low rumble. There was no fear in his eyes, only a dark curiosity.

I smirked, looking away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. Rising onto my tiptoes, I leaned in close to his ear, my breath hot against his skin.

"She insinuated that you were aggressive and unpredictable," I whispered, biting gently on his earlobe before pulling back to my given height. "I don't like it when people talk ill of my husband, so I killed her."

The admission hung in the air between us, heavy with the weight of our shared madness. Daemon's eyes darkened, his lips curling into a wicked smile.

Without another word, he crushed his lips against mine in a kiss that was hungry, fierce, and unyielding. It wasn't a kiss of tenderness but one of raw passion, a fire that consumed us both.

We stumbled backwards, our bodies entwined as we lost ourselves in the moment, in the shared understanding that we were unstoppable together.

"Tell me what you want, darling," I murmured against his lips, already knowing the answer but craving the sound of his voice.

His hands were impatient, already tugging at the fabric between us, desperate to feel skin against skin.

"You," he breathed, his voice thick with desire. His lips moved to my neck, trailing sloppy, heated kisses down my body, each one sending shivers of anticipation through me.

"Then have me," I whispered, my fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer as I surrendered to the inevitable. "Take me."

His hands parted my legs, spreading them wide as he positioned himself. When he began to push inside me, the sudden intrusion made me gasp, my body reacting instinctively. My walls clenched around him, drawing him deeper, as that familiar, aching need built in my core.

He moved with a rhythm that was both demanding and intoxicating, each thrust driving me closer to the edge. I arched against him, meeting his movements with my own, our hips colliding in a primal dance that spoke of love, possession, and the insatiable hunger we had for one another.

"Yes, just like that," I murmured, my voice breathy with pleasure as he adjusted his angle, the tip of his length grazing a spot deep within me that made my entire body shudder.

His eyes locked onto mine, dark and intense.

"You feel so perfect," he growled, his voice thick with the kind of desire that bordered on obsession. "I could stay buried inside you forever."

It wasn't just lust, it was a desperate need, a hunger that could only be sated by knowing that in this moment, I was his and his alone.

A shiver ran through me at his words, my heart pounding in sync with the fierce rhythm of our bodies.

"Then don't stop," I breathed, my nails raking across his back, leaving red marks in their wake. "I need you, all of you."

Each movement was precise, as though he were playing me like an instrument, drawing out the sweetest music with every thrust, every deep connection between us.

"You have all of me," he rasped, his voice strained with the effort of holding back, of prolonging the pleasure for both of us. "I'm yours, always."

I could feel the climax building, an unstoppable wave that threatened to crash over me, to pull me under and drown me in its depths. My grip on him tightened, nails biting into his flesh as I rode the edge of oblivion, his name spilling from my lips in a fervent chant.

"Let go," he urged, his voice rough, his breath hot against my ear. "Let me feel you come apart for me."

His words were my undoing. With one final, deep thrust, he pushed me over the brink, and I shattered. Pleasure exploded within me, a white-hot blaze that consumed every inch of my being.

My body convulsed around him, my voice breaking into a cry of ecstasy as the world shattered into a million dazzling pieces. He followed me into that abyss, his own release crashing over him as he buried himself deep inside me, our bodies locked together in the throes of passion.

As the waves of pleasure slowly ebbed, we clung to each other, our breaths mingling, hearts pounding in unison. He pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, a contrast to the wild passion that had consumed us just moments before.

"You're mine," he whispered, his voice a vow in the quiet aftermath.

"And you're mine," I replied, my voice full of contentment as I nestled closer to him, our bodies still intimately connected.

In that moment, we knew that this was where we belonged—in each other's arms, bound by a love that was as dangerous as it was beautiful.

I am his, and he is mine. In the end, it's him and I.

A/n - Is somebody gonna match my freak (listen to Him and I by Halsey and G-eazy)

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd one shot #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #team black #daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #hotd daemon #prince daemon targaryen #the rouge prince #daemon targeryan

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johnbrand · 2 months ago

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Loyal

With @mrrharper

I can not recall what started it really, there was just something off. Almost like a persistent tick within the back of my head, a missed alarm that somebody had forgotten to address from far away, and yet was still just barely registerable on my radar. It was like I was the only one that heard it, felt it, knew this tiny thing even existed. I was all alone.

When I had first come to college, I had no idea what to expect. The whole atmosphere had changed since the pandemic; competition was everywhere. I was no longer “smart enough” for the STEM kids, and yet I was not “passionate enough” to join any special interest groups. Everything had suddenly become a challenge to be the best, the greatest, but my background was not built for that type of drive. I began to assume college was only for my peers ready to commit everything to reaching the practically unattainable.

But Coach saw something different in me, he saw potential. He was the one who got me to stay. He was the only one who not only saw my tick when no one else had been able to, but explained it to me. He believed that the culture around education had become too individualistic, too single-minded. It was appropriate that I had suddenly felt inferior, unnoticed and left behind in the slaughter others had created. I needed to be a part of something greater, a team. His team.

At first, I had found Coach’s opinions beyond ludacris. Me? In sports? My body practically lacked everything necessary for a college athlete, unless it was in e-sports. I maintained my health fairly well, but I was toned and skinny, and practically too short for any serious competition. The only sport I could have seriously considered was swimming junior varsity–at a high school level. But soon I learned that Coach's opinion was law in his territory, from the locker room to the field.

Coach decided to tackle the standard issues right away, knowing that at the base of every great player is dedication. His questions opened up my formerly firm mindset and ideals, offering up new possibilities.

“Is it truly impossible for you to believe that I, an experienced professional, would not be able to help you discover a greater purpose as one of my players?”

“Wouldn’t you rather be a part of a team, a successful unit, rather than having to navigate the world on your own?”

“Do you really need to focus on other things outside of our work together? Are classes, friends, and family truly improving you like our time in the gym and on the field are?”

I did not realize it, but the more Coach questioned my morals, the more my mind began internalizing his. Coach believed that his players were all like the states in the mighty “US of A,” the greatest place on Earth. Separate, we had some power and identity, but nothing of significance. But together, as a part of a greater cause, we could become something much more impactful, more important, than our individual selves.

“If you become a part of my team, then wouldn’t it be more meaningful to be a player both in mind and body?”

“Perhaps your feelings of inadequacy aren’t stemmed from your lack of participation in college, but in general. Wouldn’t you feel more fulfilled if you followed a greater cause, like the traditional role of men in society?”

“Don’t you think what you are searching for is something to uphold? Maybe at large it is masculinity, but at a personal level supporting your teammates and likewise supporting me?”

Thanks to Coach’s help, I began to reprioritize my schedule, in turn reorganizing my life. With his approval, I was able to weed out some of the classes that were hindering my performance to become a better player, before I eventually stopped attending lectures all together. It was much easier to listen to Coach anyway, and he promised he would provide me with all the materials necessary in order to graduate.

With my time freed up, I was better able to absorb Coach’s teachings at a rapid rate. My body quickly started to expand, packing on muscle in the weeks following faster than I thought was possible. It was as if every week I had to purchase new clothes, before eventually Coach began supplying me with past players’ hand-me-downs. My biceps and triceps became too large for any sleeve, my thighs would practically rip through every pants seam. It was not long before I was practically forced to endless sleeveless tanks and tight shorts. I even managed to gain height although I was past the prime of puberty, reaching an appropriate 6’3 for any linebacker.

That was what Coach said I was to become. Not any linebacker, his linebacker. When he first told me his plans, I had been shocked, but soon I began to instinctually follow his orders. Eventually, he stopped calling me by my name altogether; I had been reduced to “Linebacker #1!” in all his references.

Strangely enough, it was like my body responded to this new name accordingly. My boyish features almost vanished over the course of a day, leaving behind a wide jawline to support a much broader skull. My general hygiene fell backwards in priority, allowing for hair to cover my beefier frame and a manly mustache to crawl out onto my upper lip.

I had even begun to emit a sweat-induced, locker room musk wherever I went, although after a while I lost any embarrassment in it. In fact, I took some pride in my larger figure. I soon weighed over 230 pounds of pure girth, muscle, and mass that helped me pummel my opponents on the field. There was something so invigorating about being large and in charge…while still being under Coach’s orders.

“What if your purpose all along was to play football for glory and to preserve tradition? And was I not the one who helped you discover that purpose?”

“Why would you possibly want or need anything else from outside of the field? Aren’t you at your best when you are a part of my team, a piece of a larger puzzle?”

“Wasn’t the only thing you ever wanted all along was to be Coach's loyal football jock? A place where you can be your biggest, most masculine, most aggressive self without ever having to worry about anything else?”

By the time preparations for the next season began to roll around, I had stopped questioning Coach. I had realized that he was right, that he had been right all along and would remain as such. I was no longer considering his viewpoints, now merely just thanking him for them. I had begun coming to Coach for advice on any topic. Should I be worried about my dropping grades? Is it ok to get physical with nerds who insisted that the team was “a bunch of stupid pawns”? How could I be a better player for the team, his team?

And now, I was strutting around the conference room filled with reporters and many other beefy, aggressive jocks just like myself. I was feeling proud, cocky, arrogant even. Since joining his team, I had gained strength, girth, and attitude, all of which had earned me the title as the up-and-coming star collegiate linebacker. I did not need anything besides my masculinity, I did not need an identity outside of Coach’s team. I was simply his loyal football jock, and when I heard him call out for “Linebacker #1!” I immediately turned around. That was my name after all; whatever I was called had been long forgotten.

#male tf #male transformation #dumbification #jock tf #unintended results

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sanarsi · 4 months ago

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Victory’s your only payment

lover!Marcus Acacius x f!Reader

Summary: Your general has betrayed you. Your anger is greater than the love you have for him, so you send him to the arena to fight for his last breath. Warnings: +18, MDNI, angst, smut, unprotected PIV, creampie, dom!Marcus, deaths, mention of cheating, killing, violence, slavery Wordcount: 3,1k An: I finally convinced myself to write something with our wonderful general. Even though I resisted it for a long time!! I hope you like it because it's not something I usually write xx Music I worked with: Gladiator - Jann

Masterlist

Your love was great.

Of the two of you, you were always the merciful one.

You were the one people loved.

You were better than your tyrant brother.

You were above the desire for bloodshed.

So how on earth did you stand there giving a speech in front of thousands of people? How on earth did your brother stand in the shadows looking at you in adoration? How on earth did you become like him?

Because your anger was greater than your mercy.

"The great General Acacius!" you said loudly with a wide smile looking around the Colosseum. "He brought our Empire to the other end of the world!"

The crowd began to shout with joy at your words. At words of adoration for the best of the best.

For your illustrious lover.

For the man who betrayed you.

"Today you will see him fight for victory on his native soil!" you continued, sickening feeling of power seeping through you. Your brother laughed sincerely delighted with your words and what you had led to.

In the end, it turned out that you were not so different after all...

"For your entertainment, the great General Marcus Acacius!" you shouted and the crowd seethed with emotion. You laughed and clapped your hands as your heart blossomed with increasing cruelty for the aforementioned man.

You gracefully sat down in your seat next to your brother who looked at you with love. But you only stared at the men who began to enter the arena. Wild beasts dressed in various pieces of armor and various weapons. All to provide the greatest entertainment.

You smiled with satisfaction, assessing the chances of all the slaves in the fight that was to go down in history.

Acacius' death had to be a spectacle.

You had to see him fight for his life. You had to see him pay for what he had done to you. He had to suffer for his sins.

Your brother handed you a cup of wine and looked at you piercingly.

"Sister, I am beyond delighted with your transformation," he finally commented on something that had been on his mind for the past hour. You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him because you had a feeling that this wasn't all he wanted to say.

You were not wrong, as always.

"But I have to ask..." he said with a wide smile and leaned closer to you. Excitement danced in his eyes. "What did our faithful General do that you sent him to certain death?"

You licked your lips from the sweet, tart taste of wine and leaned back comfortably in your chair, lifting your chin proudly. You looked towards the arena, hearing the crowd narrowing louder.

The show had begun.

"He sinned through pride."

Your brother smiled devilishly and began to laugh like a madman.

The screams of the crowd and their laughter became a distant background for the man who had just proudly entered the arena. Alone against a group of gladiators armed to the teeth.

You watched as he stopped a few meters away from them, bowing in respect only for a moment for the bloody slaughter to begin.

You were silent as your brother commented with fascination on every blow and body that fell to the sand.

"He's good," he hissed then laughed seeing the general with a scream plunge his sword into his opponent's stomach and let him fall limply to the ground.

He was panting heavily and you saw even from a distance how his animal side took control of his body. Blood and sweat ran down his face and the instinct of a predator lurked in his eyes. And even though you didn't want to, you weren't surprised that he was the only one left alive.

You cursed him in your thoughts first and then yourself.

Marcus raised his hands to the sides walking around, causing the crowd to cheer. You clenched your jaw tighter as you watched him bask in the adoration of the people. But when his gaze fell on your balcony, his pride disappeared.

You stared at him and noticed a shadow of… guilt?

That only enraged you more.

You looked at your brother with darkness in your eyes. It may have been the first time he had seen you like this, but he immediately understood what you wanted. He looked towards the guard, motioning for him to come over.

“Lions,” he commanded.

One word that made your insides clench painfully. Your gaze fell on the General again, who already seemed to know what awaited him. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, not taking his eyes off you. You were proud to finally reach the power that you always had at your fingertips.

It was enough that you felt wronged.

It was enough that he hit your soft spot and your tyranny seemed to be just beginning.

The gates on his left opened and the familiar roar of wild animals reached his ears immediately. He nodded, giving you a sign that he understood your decision and accepted his punishment. And you only lifted your chin higher, showing him your superiority.

He sighed deeply one last time before turning towards the two lions approaching him. He prepared himself, but both males began to circle him from two different sides.

The Emperor laughed maniacally at the wonderful spectacle. Even you did not despise the satisfied smile when the first lion jumped on the man's back, knocking him to the ground. The crowd erupted as the general fought the beast to stay alive. And something dark woke up in you as you saw him on the brink of death. But the animal roared in pain as Marcus pierced his insides.

Shouts of joy echoed around and you growled angrily, jumping up from your seat. You walked closer to the barriers, looking at everything with greater attention. Blood stained the sand red as he pulled the sword out of the beast. You clenched your hands tighter on the cold stone as the second lion attacked him by surprise.

Excitement woke up in your lower abdomen as a cry of pain left the man's lips.

So close.

He was so close to paying for what he did to you.

But then a sword pierced the beast’s neck. You screamed in anger, slamming your hands against the barrier. Marcus quickly got out from under the dead body and limped, standing on his own.

"Fuckin’ die!" Your scream pierced the crowd's cheers.

General looked in your direction seeing the hatred you were looking at him with. He winced from the pain of his thigh where the claws of the big cat had dug into it. Limping, he moved closer to the balcony to experience the emperor's decision.

You were warming yourself with rage at the sight of his still living body. Silence reigned as your brother made his decision. But he was waiting for your consent. This was your show. You glanced at him as he continued to hold his thumb in a neutral position.

"Sister?" he raised his eyebrows with a smile hoping, that your desire to kill was so great that he would be able to issue the death penalty on him.

But that would not be enough.

Now that your hatred for him had only increased, watching him die was not enough.

"I'll kill him myself," you said seriously. For a moment you stared at each other in silence. Until his smile turned into a devilish grin when he raised his thumb up, sparing him the life you were supposed to take from him later.

The crowd was seething at the emperor's decision. You met Marcus' gaze again.

And that one look was enough for him to know that it wasn't over.

The moment night fell, your feet led you to the gladiator cells.

A dark robe hid your identity as you followed a single guard. Silence reigned all around, broken only by your footsteps and the jingle of keys.

Marcus jumped out of bed when he saw the guard at his cell. Their eyes met before he opened the bars and the hooded figure immediately squeezed through, entering. The bars closed and your hood fell over your shoulders with the sound of the lock closing.

Marcus clenched his jaw as your eyes met. He had never had the honor of seeing so much hatred in your eyes as he had in the past few dozen hours.

Eyes that once sparkled, now boiled with fire.

It was amazing how your love for him disappeared in a split second when you found out he had fucked another woman. While you faithfully waited for him.

Stupid girl.

"If the lions couldn't kill you, I will," you said, getting straight to the heart of the situation that had forced you to come here.

The sound of the blade being pulled out cut through the silence as you pulled the knife from behind your back. It was miserable.

Just like his life.

He didn't deserve the ornate blade from the imperial forges.

You quickly covered the few steps that separated you and put the knife to his throat. But he didn't move. And his eyes didn't leave yours for a moment. He was as unmoved as a stone. He looked at you even with slight regret.

Your heated eyes stared into his gentle ones.

"You should have died on the arena. You would have spared yourself my hateful gaze before you died," you hissed, pressing the blade harder against his throat until a few drops of blood ran down his skin.

And he remained silent.

You felt another surge of anger at his stoic calmness.

"Say something," you growled.

"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. Your heart clenched painfully and the feeling of resentment you felt for him spread through your chest.

"Then you better not say anything anymore," you hissed, barely holding back your breaking voice.

"Dearest..." he began gently, almost pleadingly.

"No," you interrupted him sharply and tears of hatred appeared in your eyes. "Don't call me that. Never again," you said, starting to tremble from the emotions that were starting to overwhelm you.

Marcus stared at you with pain in his eyes. You had every right to stab him in the heart. His betrayal was completely unnecessary and a stupid decision.

But time couldn't be turned back.

That's why he wasn't going to stop the blade that was cutting his skin more and more. It was so blunt that it was starting to strangle him more, but he remained unmoved.

Your chin trembled from holding back tears so you had to look away from him, catching a shaky breath.

"I was fucking waiting for you," you said with a broken voice. Your body began to be taken over by conflicting emotions.

You wanted to cut his throat while listening to his delicate whispers.

"I was waiting for you every day." You looked at him and the first tear ran down your cheek. "And you took the first whore that came your way," you hissed with venom.

You took the knife away, cutting his skin more and you took a few steps back, starting to walk in circles. There was a war in your head. Watching him die in the arena turned out to be an easier option than killing him with your own hands.

Not when he looked at you with the eyes you loved.

The ones you had missed for a few years.

You rubbed your forehead with your hand, feeling how you were shaking inside.

"Oh gods," you whispered overwhelmed.

Marcus immediately took advantage of the fact that you were standing with your back to him. He grabbed your elbow tightly and turned you towards him.

"Leave me alone!" you screamed but it was too late because you leaned into his arms that tightly embraced you. You started to struggle trying to push yourself away from his chest.

"Shhh," he whispered when you cried and your movements became weaker. His arms held you tightly not letting you move even an inch away.

You gave up starting to cry against his heated skin. He rested his cheek on your head starting to stroke your hair.

"I hate you," you moaned through your tears and hit him in the chest once more.

"I know. I'm sorry, my dearest," he whispered soothingly.

You cried louder at the name that only in his mouth sounded like an aphrodisiac.

"You should die."

Another helpless hit on his chest.

Marcus was silent holding your delicate body against his. He let you cry out all the regrets that were inside you.

Your hatred turned into despair.

And he really wanted the despair to turn into forgiveness.

"Kill me if you want, I won't stop you," he began confidently. "But let me make amends first," he added gently.

You calmed your shallow breathing and blinked a few times, getting rid of the tears that blurred your vision. You moved away from him as much as he allowed you to and looked up at him. His eyes were tired from the wars he had lived through and there were a lot of wounds and scars on his face.

"I can't even look at you," you said with venom.

And yet he still looked at you with love.

"So don't look," he said as if it was an answer to everything and a second later his lips were on yours. You squeezed your eyes shut, refraining from kissing him back.

He was kissing another woman with those lips.

"Please, darling," he whispered against your lips and his hand tangled in your hair, not letting you pull away. "After we’re done, you’ll stab me in the heart."

You shivered at his warm breath.

"It belongs to you anyway," he whispered and pressed his lips to yours again.

This time, you reluctantly gave in to his will and began to kiss him back. He immediately moaned, pulling you closer and crept into your mouth, deepening the caress. You moaned at the strength and passion with which his tongue dominated yours. His lips were enough for you to start to melt in his arms.

His movements were confident and deliberate as he pressed you against the wall with his body. The cold stone against your hot skin sent shivers down your spine. But it was his hands sliding down that made you moan.

"I fuckin’ missed you," he gasped into your mouth before kissing your neck.

His fingers immediately began to gather the material of your dress that covered your legs. You closed your eyes, tilting your head as he bit into your skin. You wrapped your hands around his neck and your fingers automatically found their way to his silver curls.

The moment his rough hands touched your thighs, he grabbed them tightly and in one move he lifted you up. You hugged him tightly around the waist, letting him press you harder against the wall. His beard teased your delicate skin as he slowly left traces of his teeth down to your cleavage.

He reached down with one hand to pull out his hard cock and immediately positioned it at your hole. You moaned as he ran the tip along the length of your slit to collect the arousal that had leaked out of you.

Then you screamed as he entered you in one hard movement. He groaned in relief when he was fully inside you and buried his face in your neck, reveling in the feeling of your pussy clenching around him in shock.

"Did you miss me?" he asked, digging his fingers under your thighs and began to thrust into you. You shivered, moaning loudly every time his reminded you of how long you had been celibate. "Tell me you missed me," he repeated more confidently and sped up the movements of his hips. He thrust into you fast and hard, with the desire to mark your body as his once again.

"No," you choked out, digging your nails into his neck at the pain and pleasure that spread through your insides.

"Then lie," he growled and thrust into you harder until you whimpered in pain. He slowed his movements for a moment to straighten up and look at your face twisted in pleasure. "Lie," he repeated, panting against your lips. You looked at him with a misty gaze and whimpered, feeling the approaching fulfillment.

"I missed you," you moaned, getting closer, and your lips died halfway. “I missed you so fuckin’ much,” you repeated against his lips, kissing him clumsily as he once again sped up his thrusts into your leaking cunt. His cock was rock hard from being inside you after so many months of being apart.

You didn't have to wait long before your orgasm hit your body. You screamed, pressing harder into his mouth and he growled at how hard you were clenching around him.

"That's it..." he groaned, thrusting into you harder until you couldn't kiss him anymore.

You squealed every time his cock slammed into you hard until your juices started to drip down his balls.

Finally, he too felt his orgasm approaching.

"I'll leave my son inside you," he said, parting his lips with pleasure. "He'll take care of you when I'm gone," he whispered against your lips and pressed himself against them so hard that you cried.

He growled throatily, cumming inside you, and he thrust into you several times until he was empty.

He stopped, panting heavily, and rested his head on your shoulder. You groaned, trying to calm your body's reactions after the shock. You stayed silent until his lips began to place lazy kisses on your neck again.

You hummed, not expecting his touch. And then he slowly pulled out of you, making you both moan at the loss. He carefully put you down on the ground and immediately pressed his lips to yours.

The passionate kiss was interrupted by him placing the knife you brought with you in your hand. You didn't even notice when he took it from you.

He pulled away from you, looking at you with a warm gaze and stroked your cheek with his fingers. His hand tightened on yours and he directed the blade straight at his chest. You blinked a few times when the red broke through the material of his shirt. You looked into his eyes, lost, but he only smiled gently and nodded encouragingly.

"Push," he whispered.

So you pushed.

#marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x y/n #marcus acacius x female reader #marcus acacius smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal smut #sanarsi fic

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skittlespizza · 1 year ago

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HALF LIFE TUMBLR SIMULATOR:

🌐 breenofficial follow

This is your daily reminder that we do in fact see your internet history. Please refrain from looking things up such as "breen leaked feet pics". Thank you.

🗨 combineofficial follow

To add on: please stop looking up "Metrocop x Reader", thank you.

🪄 c17-mp2901 follow

whoever keeps stealing my rations from the breakroom owes me AT LEAST six days worth at this point.

📀 c17-mp183729 follow

Its happening to you too, 2901? I thought it was just me...

🔆 c17-mp89388 follow

This is a reminder that we work hard for our rations and it's kinda fucked up to steal people's hard work... idk if its just me but why is it normalized to make fun of Civil Protection?? We're just doing out job.

@combinefeedback can you fix this??

💠 combinefeedback follow

Hello! Please email us at [email protected] to submit a formal complaint.

🍻 bcalhoun follow

Lol

🛡 the-resistance follow

Double agent of the week has been announced! Special thanks to @ bcalhoun for his hard work. He has reportedly stolen weeks worth of rations from the City 17, District 6 breakroom, thoroughly demotivating the metrocops :).

🟠 gfreeman-fan follow

Looking for a roleplay partner! I'd be roleplaying my BlackMesa!OC, Jamie. I'm okay roleplaying with BlackMesa!Ocs or Gordon Freeman. Breen roleplayers please do not interact!

🩵 breen-defender follow

What's wrong with breen?? /gen

🟠 gfreeman-fan follow

What do you mean what's wrong with breen?? U literally support... ☹️☹️ blocked and reported.

🛡 the-resistance follow

Gordon Freeman fanart drawn by @gfreemanlefttoe!

[gordon_fanart_final_FINAL_FINALREALLY.jpg]

🔬 eye-kleiner follow

Wow! 😍 Most Accurate Drawing I've Seen Yet! Amazing Work, gfreemanlefttoe!

🪼 justice4cremators follow

THE FUCKING USERNAME I CANT.

🍻 bcalhoun follow

As someone who knew Gordon before all this... kinda wild ngl.

⚓️ a-d-vanced follow

My dad literally worked with Gordon I can't imagine how he feels knowing gfreemanlefttoe is a real username.

🔭 elivance388 follow

It's funny asf.

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DNI: Breen defenders (wtf is wrong with you), Gordon Freeman x Breen Shippers 😭😭, Resistance snitches, if you work with the combine AT ALL (THIS IS MY BLOG OKAY??), antlions, if you own any headcrabs as pets. They're literally exotic creatures wtf is wrong with you..

⚓️ a-d-vanced follow

[dog_picture.jpg]

Here's a selfie with my pet dog!

🚫 alyxvancehateblog follow

I literally saw him attack a combine soldier yesterday...

⚓️ a-d-vanced follow

And???

🚫 alyxvancehateblog follow

Kinda weird ngl...

⚓️ a-d-vanced follow

Ermmm in literally neurodivergent and a minor 🤓

📘 real-history-facts follow

Today, 10 years ago, the Resonance Cascade happened!

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Who remembers x files... 😭😭

☢️ stalkerk follow

Rb with what you miss most about pre combine life

🎶 dmmeformusic follow

Predictably, music...

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Holidays...

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Cats@

[Cat.jpg]

🍻 bcalhoun follow

WHICH MUTUAL REBLOGGED THIS I HAVE ALL CAT TAGS BLOCKED PLEASE TAG YOUR CAT PICTURES. JESUS CHRIST.

🔭 elivance388 follow

youtube

WHO FUCKING DID THIS.

🫐 ocubbage follow

hehe

⚓️ a-d-vanced follow

CUBBAGE??? WHAT???

🌐 breen-grub follow

Username change. Gfhhhh 👍

🍻 bcalhoun follow

Who hacked breen again?

🥬 cgreen follow

Lmao

🗨 combineofficial follow

PLEASE STOP WRITING BREEN X METROCOP STORIES. THANK YOU.

#half life #colette green #barney calhoun #alyx vance #gordon freeman #odessa cubbage #half life 2 #wallace breen #Youtube

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tragicvampireromanceisland · 2 months ago

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we've met our super heroes, but what about our super villains? time to meet two leaders from the evil syndicate, our heroes' greatest foe...

adélie valois, current heiress to the multimillion dollar tech and research corporation firehawk industries, appears in the public eye quite often. she's got big shoes to fill for a company so renowned...but she really doesn't seem fazed by it. either that, or she doesn't care. but what most don't know is that she's also got big shoes to fill as a supervillain. adélie is a sixth-generation psychic of a long line of supervillains, as well as the fifth to hold the family villain mantle, espritvoyant. it's...pretty clear she's only got a leadership position on the syndicate due to nepotism, given her rather nonexistent work ethic, but her powers are still a huge asset on stealth missions. although she usually just uses them to terrorize the heroes for the most part. her inherited powers have also just left her kind of numb to the thoughts and feelings of others. she readily expects how most people think and how they're going to act and gets bored easily because of it. her coworkers get pretty frustrated with her attitude, but it's not like it's her fault she's surrounded by such predictable individuals. revenge this, injustice that. she swears she's had her family motto engraved in the back of her eyelids at this point. (deep down, though, she resents her powers. she wishes for a little spontaneity in her life. she wishes she could get excited over stuff the way other people can. she wishes she wasn't like this). however, the sudden appearance of solarflare and kuiper have caught her eye as of late...especially the latter, who's surprisingly immune to her mind reading. maybe something worthwhile can come out of all of this...

and whenever she isn't just going at it solo, her partner is usually fellow syndicate leader blindside. he's often teamed with her on missions involving stealth, given his power of invisibility as well as his martial arts prowess provide the perfect balance of defense and offense. while esprit's purpose (or apathy) mostly revolves around just following her family's footsteps, blindside's motives are...a bit more murky. both the heroes and the syndicate are a bit confused about it. how did someone with such an otherwise gentle demeanor end up turning to evil? despite appearances, he doesn't seem to pull punches when it comes to heroes. why does he hate them so much? no one can seem to figure it out, given he just...doesn't talk. and while esprit is the only one he ever seems to hold conversation with given the inevitable nature of her mind reading, she hasn't pushed him on it (for which he is grateful). in the public eye, he goes by ichigo kato, an unassuming librarian with a pretty uneventful day job. well, except for that one nosy journalist who keeps coming in and giving him a near heart attack each time with the titles she keeps checking out...oh, and the fact that that one new hero, solarflare, kind of sort of knows his civilian identity now. there's that, too. he's not sure why she hasn't exposed him yet...but not like he's gonna say anything about it.

up next...we're not done with the syndicate just yet! what else does this organization have in store for our heroes...? stay tuned!

(need more context for this au? check out the other character sheets!

joy, sadness & anxiety // disgust & fear )

#kind of uhm. obvious who the remaining guys are by this point BUT THATS OKAY play along with me.#ALSO ENEMIES ANXIENN REAL HEHEHEHE. i've had the idea for their first meeting in my head for like a month now LOLLLL. losers.#alsouhhhh evil embarrassment anyone?? anyone? any [runs away and trips over absolutely nothing and dies]#inside out 2 #inside out #inside out au #inside out ennui #inside out embarrassment #anxienn #anxiety x ennui #inside out joy #inside out anxiety #inside out disgust #inside out sadness #inside out fandom #sketchbook #JOYNESS TOO TECHNICALLY but it's sooo small #MIGHT take a lil longer for the last two sheets bc of. Life and stuff but they're comin!!! all in due time hehe #superhero au

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laifromthecosmos · 2 months ago

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Mercury AtmaKaraka: Souls in search of Dialogue and Wisdom

“Mercury has the best looks, is witty, likes jokes and laughter, and is erudite. He assumes the nature and constitution of the planets with which he is associated” Parashari 3.26

In Vedic astrology, the concept of AtmaKaraka is one of the most profound and revealing in the natal chart. The atmaKaraka, also known as the “soul indicator”, is the planet that bears the greatest responsibility for the individual’s spiritual journey. It represents the greatest challenges, lessons and the path that the soul must take in this life to achieve growth and fulfillment. The planet with the highest degree in any sign becomes the AtmaKaraka, “the significator of self” or “self-indicator”. This, as the lord of the Ascendant, can become the most powerful planet in your chart. It is the most important planet to consider when judging an individual's spiritual nature, particularly in relation to its position in the ninth harmonic chart (navamsha). He provides us with a key to the aspirations of the soul. We often consider its position, such as the Ascendant, and read the chart indications accordingly.

This planet not only guides the purpose of life, but also indicates internal obstacles that a person needs to overcome to find their true identity. The AtmaKaraka position shows how we deal with our weaknesses, how we develop spiritually and where we should invest energy to evolve. The Atmakaraka carries the most important karmic lessons for this incarnation, becoming a key to understanding destiny and the soul's inner motivations. Although there are many other important points in the birth chart, the Atma is special because it is a direct representation of the qualities that our soul has already mastered in past lives and those that still need to be worked on. Depending on which planet occupies this position, the nature of these lessons varies profoundly. AK influences how we approach challenges in different areas of life, right down to our spiritual worldview.

Mercury is the greatest messenger of the gods. It is the planet that represents speech, communication and commerce at all levels. In its lowest function it organizes and articulates material sources. In its highest function it connects us with our internal capacity: the power of the mind.

As Jupiter generally represents the higher or abstract mind, Mercury indicates the lower or concrete mind, the intellect or informational mind. However, Mercury is not limited to this. It also shows the abstract mind in its discriminatory capacity and connects us with the Divine World, or the world of truth. Mercury rules writing, education, calculations, thoughts. It is the planets that move faster and so this indicates quick understanding, ease and plasticity in expression. Mercury is quick to correlate ideas and quick to exchange information or things of value. It shows the intellectual power and degree of mental development in life.

When Mercury assumes the role of AtmaKaraka, the soul's journey is especially marked by the power of intellect, communication and learning. Mercury is a planet of duality and adaptability. It governs the mind, speech, logic and the ability to absorb knowledge. For those with Mercury as AK, life lessons revolve around the way they express themselves, how they interact in the world through words and ideas, and how they develop a deeper understanding of the realities that surround them.

Individuals with Mercury like AtmaKaraka are on a mission to master the power of the mind and communication. For them, words are more than simple tools of expression: they are portals of transformation. There is a strong desire to learn and share knowledge, and their lives often revolve around intellectual processes, teaching, writing or any form of information exchange. However, the challenge is not just to acquire wisdom, but to use it ethically, clearly and sufficiently. Mercury as AK can also indicate the need to find balance between reason and emotion. Although these individuals may be inclined to rely on their sharp minds, there is an important lesson about integrating feelings with logic. They may face dilemmas related to the way they communicate, they may need to learn to be more patient, clear or flexible in their interactions. There is also an inclination to avoid hasty decisions, as Mercury can be quick to jump to conclusions without considering all the variables. This karmic path demands that natives develop a flexible mind, which welcomes different perspectives and is always open to evolving their thinking. Thus, spiritual growth for those with Mercury like AtmaKaraka does not just lie in accumulating information, but in transforming it into profound wisdom that can be shared with the world.

Image description: Emma Watson at the launch of the HeforShe campaign at the ONU in which she says: "the more I talk about feminism, the more I come across the reality of fighting for women's rights." The (brazilian) singer Sandy Leah, when she was honored at PUC (Pontifical Catholic University) said: "if I can give some advice, I would say: stay curious, be present in the here and now, question, participate, get involved and, above all, never underestimate the power of education to change the world." Emma Watson has a degree in English Literature and Sandy also has a degree in Literature. Both pursued academic degrees that require an advanced understanding of the language. This reflects a strong alignment with the Mercurian nature that values the ability to analyze and convey ideas with clarity and depth. Angelina Jolie promotes a variety of causes, including environmental conservation, education and women's rights, and is best known for her advocacy on behalf of refugees. She advocates for refugees in several large-scale crises. Djamila Ribeiro (brazilian philosopher) in her speech at the ONU: "education plays a fundamental role in creating opportunities and expanding our worldview. Education has the power to transform people and institutions." People with Mercury atmakaraka tend to have a strong desire to share information, which makes them adept at engaging in debates, social discourses and conveying messages to the public.

Mercury, when it is at its highest degree, breaks the barrier and reveals humanity and human needs. Individuals have compassion and equity based not so much on feeling, but on objectivity and practicality. Mercury may value public opinion more than the truth, and becomes dependent and defensive of any involvement. He is the mind that has no real nature, but reflects everything that it considers to be reality.

Mercury is a childish planet and is considered the son of the Moon. He is not the mind that perceives, but can organize ideas. Mercury is the rational mind, the most articulate part of the subconscious (the Moon). In Sanskrit, Mercury is Budha, which means intelligence and is related to Buddhi, the faculty of determination by which we discern the real from the unreal (fully awakening, one becomes enlightened, a Budha). When this faculty judges reality not by appearances, but by discerning the transitory from the eternal, then it functions correctly and the superior power of Mercury is revealed. When we discriminate between names and shapes, we become trapped in the apparent reality of the external world. In the highest sense, Mercury is that faculty of truth and determination that discriminates the real from the unreal, the pure from the impure, truth from illusion. This is the most precise and perfect functioning of the mind. In this higher activity (atmakaraka), Mercury, the mind, is Vishnu, the pervasive consciousness who is also the divine son, the guiding cosmic intelligence, and the source of the great teachers.

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sachiko6243 · 10 months ago

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The Kings plaything - Part 1/2

Summary: After the dwarves have been captured, Thranduil decides to have a little fun with his wife, fulfilling his need to show of his greatest possesion.

Word count: 9223

Warnings: smut with plot, public fingering, exhibitionism, possessive Thranduil, Dom! Thranduil, sub! reader, slight hurt and angst because of something Thorin said, Minors DNI! This contains adult content

Pov Legolas:

The guards and I had captured the dwarfs that were mindlessly roaming through our lands. Right now, we had stripped them of their weapons and escorted them through the woods. Right before the big bridge that led towards the only door into Mirkwood, I stopped the parade, turning to look at the dwarves:

“You are now going to be brought in front of the king and his queen. Let me offer you some advice as to how to act in his presence. You bow when greeting him. You shall not speak unless asked to. Nor do you insult him or her majesty. And most importantly, don’t stare at her majesty.” I rattled down the points, but I was interrupted by the tallest dwarf, they addressed as their king: “Do not worry, none of us would want to see that disgusting elven pack of you anyway!”

Before I could even react, one of my guards already forced him to his knees, a blade against his throat. That seemed to enrage the others, a slight turmoil breaking out. I waited until my guards settled it, before I spoke again: “Careful of your words dwarf. She is the kings most precious possession. You do not want to anger him, by looking at her or insulting her even.”

One dwarf pressed himself through the ranks, until he stood right in front of me. He wasn’t reaching much above my waist and I had to suppress the instinct of kneeling down like I would do with a kid. “Why are we not to look at her?” He asked, nothing but curiosity filling his big brown eyes. I suppressed a laugh, still a small sly smile crossed my lips. “Things are run differently here. You will see for yourself.”

Then I just turned, not waiting for the dwarves to follow me. I knew my guards would simply force them to.

Pov Elanore:

I was sitting next to Thranduils throne beneath his feet on my pillow. It was my usual place between his legs, leaning against one of his thighs and relishing in his soft touches while covered in his cloak. Ever since I had married him some decades ago, we had slowly dipped more into showing our relationship openly. Knowing that the elves were a race loving their routines, the king openly showing his affection caused some stir. Especially, when that affection was interlaced with our power play.

But after a while the people had gotten used to it, even smiling a bit, when he softened around me. It wasn’t often for the king to show his softer side openly, but when he did, he usually did it for me. Legolas once thanked me, that I had brought his father out of his shell. Even though he did not quite understand our relationship, he accepted me as his father’s new wife, soon becoming my partner in crime when it came to wreaking havoc.

I never wanted to replace his mother and I told him so. Legolas didn’t seem to mind either way, soon starting to teasingly call me naneth and over time the name got stuck.

A guard racing down the hall and stopping in front of us breathless, made me turn my head to look at him. He bowed deeply, his eyes quickly washing over my face, before he looked at the floor in front of him. It was common for the guards and common people to not look at me and after I had pressed Thranduil deeply on the matter, he had admitted to make it a general rule not to stare at me. His harsh demeanor the earlier centuries still sitting deeply, that most elves took it literally and refused to look at me. The only exceptions being Legolas and Tauriel.

“My king.” The guard started. “Your son and some guards have captured a group of 13 dwarves wandering our forest. They are now on their way to be brought in front of you.”

“Is that so?” Thranduil cued, caressing my hair with a soft growl in his voice. “How long are they going to take until their arrival?”

“Not long, my king. They have already made it to the gate.” The guard answered. Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “Thank you. You can leave now.” Waving the guard off, he looked down on me. “It looks like we are about to have guests, little ithil.” Then he opened his legs. “Join me on the throne. A queen must rule besides her king.”

Quickly getting up from my place, I sorted my dress to make it look more presentable. It was made out of thin silk, a soft blue touch to it. During the time I was staying in Mirkwood, I only wore my inside clothes, that Thranduil himself very carefully picked. The dresses he picked for me to wear were far from hiding my body. Rather the opposite. Their light and see through fabric accentuating my curves, doing nothing in hiding my breasts or core from other peoples eyes.

“I am not wearing anything appropriate.” I argued, trying my best to ruffle the dress to cover the dark circles of my nipples that clearly shone through the silk. “Nonsense, meleth. You are wearing just the right dress.” Thranduil said, stopping my hands and smoothing the fabric over my breasts. His soft touches to my nipple made me sigh in pleasure and he smiled. “You are my queen. Mine to protect and cherish. Whenever I am at your side, the world shall see what a beauty lies beneath those fabrics.”

Then he fidgeted with his pants, tying them lose and signaling me to sit on his lap. My eyes widened, when I saw him freeing his cock, that was already leaking precum. “No…” I whispered, but he just pulled me towards him. Simply spreading my legs, he pulled me on top of him so that I was straddling his lap, my back towards him. Beneath my heat, I could feel his cock stroking through my folds. “You are always so wet for me, melethril.” He groaned, taking my shoulder and pushing me down on his cock.

I yelped in surprise and the slight pain the stretch brought with it. But Thranduil didn’t react to it. He simple sorted my feet to dangle besides his thighs, so that I now had no leverage of pushing me up from the throne. “You will stay right here and warm my cock, you understand?” He growled into my ear, biting the skin of my neck right beneath it.

“Yes, my king.” I whispered, leaning back onto his chest. My actions made him chuckle slightly. “You are such a good little girl for me. All it takes is my cock inside of you and you are already forgetting your worries.”

Sorting the dress between my legs, he made sure the two cut outs were delicately laid out to show my legs. Reaching up to my hips and slightly my waist the fabric closed again, just the edges of my hipbones peaking through. A dark blue leather belt securing the dress around my waist and keeping the fabric tight around my chest to not only show my hard nipples through it, but also prevent my breasts from falling out of my cleavage.

What I did not expect was Thranduil sneaking his right hand beneath the fabric of my legs, putting his fingers on my clit. With slow movements, he collected some of my slick that had run out of my core, spreading it over his fingers and my pearl. I couldn’t help myself but moan out his name. “Yes, my little petal. Let them hear you.” Thranduil whispered cockily in my ear and I clasped a hand in front of my mouth, which he quickly took away again. “Oh no, my sweet darling. You are my queen. You do not hide.”

“But you cant just…” My argument was shut down by another moan rolling off my lips, this time a bit quieter, but still clearly hearable for elven ears. “I can and I will.” Thranduil retorted. “I am the king. I can do with my plaything whatever I want and whenever I want it. Not even you will keep me from it.”

I wanted to say something, but the faint thrumming of several pairs of feet made me bite my tongue, trying my best to keep my face straight even though Thranduil had not stopped his soft touches on my core. He was not moving inside of me and thanked the spirits for it, as I would not have been able to keep quiet otherwise. I knew it was obvious for everyone what was happening on the kings throne, but none of the guards reacted openly, even though I thought to have seen some smirks quickly cross their faces.

My dress didn’t do much to hide my growing arousal, my nipples hard and stiff against the silk, Thranduils rings still glittering through the fabric between my legs. And to my dismay, he brushed his free hand over my breasts, making my head roll back onto his shoulder. “That’s it, gilgalad. Feel me.” He cued into my ear, kissing my neck and my cheek. “I will make you come and you will let me, understand?”

“Yes, my king.” I yelped out, closing my eyes at the tingly feeling, that started to slowly build inside of me. With another flick of his fingers, he made me twitch around his cock, growling slightly. “Just like that, darling.” Then his attention shifted from me towards the dwarves that stomped through the halls. Even though they were almost half the size of the elves, their steps were loud and unflattering to the ear, making me shiver and clench my jaw at the interruption.

Thranduil of course noticed, kissing my ear. “They should have taken of their shoes. But then again, I can just make them stop walking. The smell on the other hand I cant control.” I chuckled at his words, my shaking body causing his cock to hit my sweet spot deep inside of me. I yelped, biting my tongue. The hot feeling inside of my body suddenly becoming more prominent.

“Adar.” Legolas voice ripped me out of my fogged up brain and I looked at him. A smile crept on his lips, as he shamelessly stared between my legs. I tried to close them, but Thranduil kept me in place with a slight slap on my clit. I hissed out, clenching around his cock in revenge. But unlike me, the king did not react besides a slight tilt of the head.

“Legolas.” He greeted his son, shuffling a bit on this throne to look at the group in front of us properly. “I see you have brought guests.”

“They were wandering around in the forest. We saved them from being killed by spiders.” Legolas explained, still not taking his eyes away from me. He knew it was a dangerous game to play, but being the son of Thranduil he obviously grew up to be as cocky. His father did also notice his staring, raising an eyebrow. “Something else, you want to add?”

Just like his father, Legolas tilted his head the same way. “Nothing of important matter.” A sly grin on his lips, he leaned against a pillar behind him. Thranduil just scoffed, slightly speeding up the movements of his fingers. He turned his attention towards the dwarves and I could feel him suck in a deep breath.

“Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór king under the mountain.” He greeted the tallest dwarf, who immediately puffed his chest, looking him straight in the eyes. “King Thranduil.” Came the short answer, a suppressed anger in the dwarfs voice. Thranduil did not openly react to it, just letting his left hand delicately brush over my nipples again. Taking the left one between his fingers, he tugged on it, making me involuntarily moan out.

“Tell me dwarf. What is the matter of your visit?” He asked, not even caring to look at the other man, studying my face as it contorted in pleasure. The answer that followed would have cost the dwarf his head, would it not have been for me to sit on Thranduils lap: “We came to seek aid, because unlike you, we have much more important things to do than pleasure a little mistress.”

Immediately two guards had the dwarf on his knees, dragging him closer to the throne, while the others aimed their weapons at the group. “Watch your mouth, scum. This is the queen you are talking about.” One guard growled, harshly tilting Thorins head back, so he was forced to look at the king. Thranduil just smiled one of his arrogant but angry smiles: “What would your people know of pleasuring a woman? Clearly there is not much desirable about your kin.”

And while he was reprimanding the dwarf in front of him, he once again sped up his finger play on my core. The other hand now openly gripping my breasts, tugging on my nipples, until I couldn’t help myself but become a moaning and shivering mess on his lap. The people in front of me faded out of my brain, my focus only on the kings touches and his cock sheathed deep inside of me.

Warm desire, syrupy and all-consuming, filled my stomach. Lust clouding my thoughts. He made it difficult for me to do more than groan, desperate for his touch, as the anxiety I had felt dissipated with each swipe of his fingers. I didn’t care where I was and who was all watching me slowly but surely come undone in the king’s lap. My mind was way too fogged up with the tingly feeling that started to spread from my center towards every string in my body.

I closed my eyes, my head lulling back onto Thranduils shoulders, nails gripping his arm. “Oh god, please. This feels so good.” I moaned, my voice slurred and shaky. The only thing I could focus on was the searing warmth between my legs. Time seemed to still as everything but this, everything but being filled to the brim, ceased to exist. I was tumbling closer to the edge, as my cries were reduced to nothing more than his name. Thranduil didn’t seem to mind one bit either, every cry that left my lips spurring him on further.

“I got you.” Thranduil promised, pressing me impossibly closer to his chest. He pushed me higher and higher, not caring about anything else than my pleasure. Forcing my head back to look at him, I gasped at the sudden possessiveness that overruled everything in him. I could see it in his eyes. They were dark and blown with lust, trained on my face, taking in every twitch of my expression, feeding his arrogance with it.

And then it happened. I barreled over the edge, vision turning black at the edges and lips parting. Thranduils mouth met mine, swallowing my cries of pleasure, noises he knew would still be ringing undeniably loud through the halls. His actions drew a gasp from my lips, the warmth of my orgasm searing through me from within as I clenched around his cock. That had him nipping at my bottom lip in a warning, though a lazy grin betrayed him. “Watch it, nin iell.” He teased. “You don’t want to end it that quickly do you?”

“No!” I yelped, tugging his hand away from my center as I could feel the overstimulation turning unbearable. “Good girl.” Thranduil growled behind me. “Because you take what I give you, like the good little slut you are, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, my king.” My voice was shaky, barely above a whisper and he took it as a sign to let go of me. Just holding me at my hips, he turned to look at the kneeling dwarf before him. “Excuse me. What was it that you wanted?” The sheer arrogance, that laced his words was filling the air, dripping onto the floor, and poisoning everything it touches. Thorin took a deep breath, clearly biting down the words he wanted to say. “Aid, my king.” He repeated between gritted teeth, shaking the hands of the elven guards from his shoulder and standing back up.

Thranduil leaned himself to the side, gently resting his chin on his fingers, as he watched the dwarves. “Some may imagine that noble quest is at hand. A quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon. I myself suspect a more prosaic motive. Attempted burglary, or something of that ilk.”

Thorin did not say anything, but his lips twitched slightly, obviously not going unnoticed by my husbands eyes. Thranduil, tapped my hip, before he simply heaved me from his lap, making me stand in front of him as a shield. After he had sorted himself, he stepped down the stairs, while I took my seat in his throne, cuddling into his warm cloak, watching the interrogation unfold in front or my eyes.

Thranduil stopped besides Thorin, leaning down on his eye level. “You have found a way in. You seek that which would bestow upon you. The right to rule. The kings jewel. The Arkenstone” His words made Thorin look aside, while Thranduil slowly stepped back, stopping in front of me, his eyes still fixated on Thorin. Keeping on talking, he slowly entangled the plan of the dwarves. “It is precious to you beyond measure. I understand that.” Looking at me with a smile.

“There are gems in the mountain, that I too desire. White gems of pure starlight. I offer you my help.” Thranduil bowed his head. That made Thorin chuckle: “I am listening.” Immediately my husband stone changed, growing darker, a slight threat in his voice: “I will let you go. If you but return what is mine.”

Thorin turned, walking to the edge of the platform. “A favor for a favor.” And I could hear he did not trust one thing Thranduil was saying.

“You have my word.” My husband pressed on. “One king to another.”

“I would not trust Thranduil the great king to honor his word should the end of all days be upon us.” Thorin turned around, pointing a finger at my husband, before he started yelling again. “You lack all honor. I have seen how you treat your friends. We came to you once. Starving, Homeless. Seeking your help. But you turned your back. You turned away form the suffering of my people in the inferno that destroyed us. Imrid amrâd ursul!”

I gasped, as I heard Thorin wish a fiery death upon my husband. Jumping from my seat, I was about to yell at him, but Thranduil raised his hand, my light elven feet clearly too loud for his ears. Taking a step towards Thorin, he bent down once again. “Do not speak to me about dragon fire. I know its wrath and ruin.” Knowing what he was about to do, I balled a fist, gripping tightly at his cloak, when I watched him reveal his scar. I could only see the outer edges that covered his chin.

“I have faced the great serpents of the north.” Thranduil pulled back, stepping closer to me. His whole demeanor changed. Was it before slightly arrogant but still willing to help. It was now hard and hateful. Something he rarely let me see. Still keeping his voice in check, he walked towards the stairs, giving me an apologetic look before turning back to Thorin. “I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon. But he would not listen.”

Thranduil slowly walked up the steps and I shuffled to stand up, but he just signaled me to stay seated. Taking his stand next to me, hands clasped behind his back. “You are just like him.” Then he waved his arms. The guards immediately jumping to action, grabbing the dwarves. “Stay here if you will and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf. I am patient. I can wait.”

The guards were about to drag the dwarves of, when I rose from my seat. “Wait.” All action stopped, the dwarves looking at me with wide eyes. Slowly, I made my way down the stairs, stopping in front of Thorin. In comparison to Thranduil he looked tiny, but when I stood next to him, he reached up to my eyes. Looking me straight in the eyes, he challenged me by tilting his head. “Look at that. Thranduils little pet, decides to come to our aid. We do not need your help, woman.” He spat directly in front of me, missing my feet by mere inches.

“Careful of your words, dwarf. I am currently the only one between you and my husbands wrath.” I smiled, mimicking my husband as good as possible. It did not seem to help anything, as Thorin just chuckled. “Are you sure you are not a dwarf yourself? You barely outgrew me.”

“I am an elf.” I said, clenching my jaw. “And only a fool would underestimate his opponent that greatly. Are you perhaps a fool, dwarf?”

“I am no fool!” He yelled out and I couldn’t help but chuckle: “Oh my apologies. Your latest actions must have misled me.” Sighing I stepped around him, taking a closer look at the rest of the group. “You really should take my husbands offer. A small chest of white stones in exchange of an army. That is a small prize to pay, considering the wealth of that mountain.” The rest of the dwarves had agreeing looks on their faces, but none of them dared to speak up against their leader.

“Why are you so set on getting those stones? Is you wardrobe not full enough?” Thorin gritted out, the hate still very prominent in his face. I waved him off. “Ah, I do not care about jewels…”

“Your clothes speak different, woman.” He spat out, interrupting me. Slowly I was getting angrier at his antics, twirling around on my heels. But Thorin wasn’t finished making fun of me: “You walk around this realm. Clothed in nothing more than what can be called an excuse of clothing. A tease to everyone’s eyes and yet, your king enables it by ordering everybody to shy away their gaze. And still, everyone is able to see your form, covered in gemstones from head to toe and you dare to claim not to care about jewels? I bet you even have them stuck up your womanhood. That’s how greedy you are for them!”

“Take his head!” Thranduils voice thundered through the halls. His words making everyone gasp out in fear, the guards holding him, now forcing him down, a blade on his throat, ready to cut it at my command. I just raised my hand to stop them. “I do not need to answer your foul accusations, dwarf. But if you may know, those stones and dresses are a gift of my husband. I wear them, to please his eye and only his. As for his orders, I have asked him to at least loosen the punishments, and for our people he has. But you are an outsider. Clearly not able to respect a woman, so why should you be allowed to set eye on her?” Stepping closer to him, I looked him deep into the eyes, before carrying on: “And for those white stones. They were an heirloom of his late wife. They hold great worth to him.”

Thorins lips contorted into a wicked grin. “An heirloom of his late wife. Look at that. The second one defending her husband. To blind to see, he will never love her the way he did with his first. Tell me how does it feel to always be second? To always be reminded of the woman he lost? The mother of his son?” That’s when it snapped in me.

I slapped him across the face, my eyes squinted in anger and I had to physically hold back my voice to not yell at him: “I have given you another chance. Offered you a way out. And yet you stand here, still spitting on the help we offer. Spitting on Legolas mother. There is no competition between us. I know he loved her with all his heart and there is still love in there for her, but that does not dull his love for me. I can see that you are bitter. Too bitter to see the good around you. Your people will die because of your wrathful greed. You lead them into death by dragon fire just because you are to arrogant to accept help. I might not have met many dwarves, but you, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, king under the mountain are clearly the most arrogant and hateful one.”

Then I looked at the guards. “Finish my husbands order. Take them to the dungeons. Let them rot.” Turning on my heels again, I made my way away from the throne. One the one hand to give my mind peace and to hid the tears that were about to form in my eyes. Thorins words had hit dead center. I knew I should not doubt Thranduils love for me, but still. A part of me, was contemplating whether he was still hanging on his late wife or not. I did not really look where I was going, letting my feet carry me through the kingdom halls. The tears had now pressed themselves to the surface, rolling down my cheeks in big paths and making my vision blurry.

When I stopped, I realized I was in my old chambers. The one I had moved into centuries ago, when I stumbled into Mirkwood by accident. Originally, I was an elf of Imraldis. Elronds cousin to be exact, but I wanted to see the world before I was to marry. My path bringing me into the woods of Mirkwood. What I did not know, was the severity of the spiders. Underestimating the danger, I soon found myself surrounded by five of them, a venomous bit in my left shoulder. I must have passed out, because the next thing I remembered was Legolas and another elf leaning over me and caring for my wound.

After I had healed, I was brought before the king. He offered me shelter and I had taken his offer gladly. Not knowing who I was, I simply took a role as a soldier of Mirkwood, going on patrol with Legolas to keep the borders safe. It took several years, before Elrond had figured out where I went. With the cause to bring me back, he stormed into the halls, demanding to know why the king would let his cousin do such a dangerous job. Thranduil not knowing let to a big fight between the normally very close elves. And after I had refused to go home with Elrond, I was taken from my patrol and sorted to do the more strategic part of military tasks. My new role forcing me to work closer with the king and slowly we became friends. That friendship turned into love and Thranduil started to court me until we finally got married.

I was too caught up with my tears and the memories streaming into my brain, that I did not hear the footsteps approaching me from behind. So, when a hand touched me, I whirled around ready to fight. Btu strong arms held me close, the strong smell of pine, red berries and a hint of frozen mint entangling me, announcing the person holding me as my husband. “Shhh don’t cry, meleth. Please. There is no need…”

“No need?” I yelled, tripping over my own words. “He read my like a book just by looking at me. Every word of his is true!”

“Not all of them.” Thranduil calmly stated. It made me reel out in wicked laughter, the tears streaming down my red cheeks before dropping onto my chest. “Oh spare me. I know you love your late wife. You always had and you always will. I am merely a distraction for you, one you grew to love the image of rather than the truth.”

“Meleth…” He started, but I just stepped out of his hold. “No, Thranduil. Don’t call me that ever again.” My words visibly made him angry, but he held back, letting me speak my mind: “We have lived a lie. A dream. Me too blind to see and you to torn by your feelings to understand the truth. You long for your late wife everyday. That’s why you keep distracting yourself with dressing me up, so that you don’t have to look me in the eye and see I am not her. And I let you do it. To stupid to see the poison it brought to my body, believing it was just your way of loving me.”

“That’s what you think?” His voice was quiet. A slight tremble to it.

“I know it is.” I simply answered, not daring to look at him.

“So, you want this to end? Just because a bitter dwarf told you to?” He asked, angrily taking of his crown and throwing it against the wall. It splattered into thousands of tiny pieces, scattering around the floor. “That’s how much I love you. I would give up all of this, to be with you. Why don’t you see that?” He started to take of his jewels, throwing them against the wall as well. And with every piece of stone that shattered, a piece of my heart broke, until I couldn’t help myself but sink to my knees.

He was by my side immediately. “Listen to me, bereth. As it might be true, that I deeply loved my wife and that I still hold her very dearly. It means nothing compared to you. She is the mother of my child. You are the light of my life. I love you with all my heart and I want to spent eternity with you. Don’t listen to the words of that dwarf, as he knows nothing about love.”

I was still doubtful. The words of Thorin still present in my ears. “You just say that to keep me as your wife.”

Thranduil rose back to his feet, now angrily pacing through the room. “If its that what you want, we shall separate. I cannot divorce you because of our social standing. But I shall leave you be. You will be cared for and every wish shall be fulfilled, but I will never bother you again.” He forced his hands through his hair, making it all messed up, before he looked at me again: “I do not say things lightly and you know that. I have lived thousands of years to see people fall in and out of love. And if you are… Then so shall it be.”

There he was again. The cold king I had met centuries ago. The stiff shell of what he once was, hiding behind power and coldness. It broke my heart seeing him like that and the pull I felt inside of me, made me realize how wrong I was about him. About us. Before he could turn to leave, I sprung to my feet, grabbing his hand. “I am sorry.”

He stilled in his movements, tilting his head to look at me, his gaze harsh and unmoving. “I am sorry.” I repeated. “I was not thinking clearly… Thorins words… They were so hard, so… real. It made my mind underestimate your love for me. Please forgive me, herven. I… I always fear you will leave me one day. Realizing it meant nothing for you. And when he said that… It all became so real, so true. I could not bear the thought of you leaving me, so I fled. Making myself believe that if I were the one to decide, it would not be so harsh on my mind.”

A soft smile crept up his lips, before he took me in a long and warm embrace, wrapping his cloak around us both. “Oh, you stupid little girl. Why did you not tell me about your fears? I would have done more to show you otherwise.”

“Don’t call me a little girl.” I grumbled against his chest, hitting him with my fist. That only caused him to laugh out loud. “But you are. Merely overtaking dwarfs by half a head. Just a little more than a decade older than my son.”

“That is only shining a bad light upon you. Grooming an elleth that is the age of your child. You should be arrested for sacrilegious acts.” I teased, slowly gaining my confidence back. I looked up, only to be met with Thranduils love sick blue eyes watching me intently. At my words he raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? I believe you should stop me then. Or do you perhaps relish in the way I am corrupting you?”

I was speechless. My mouth opening and closing without the words coming out. My brain was mushy, melting under his strong gaze. That only seemed to spur him on even more. “Are you falling out of words, pîn iell?” Letting his hands slowly graze down my body until they reached my thighs, he lifted me up. Out of instinct I wrapped my legs around his waist, feeling the bulge of his pants pressing against my core. His expression turned smug, when he saw my nipples again peaking through the thin fabric. “You don’t have to say it. Your body speaks enough.”

With that he carried me out of the room, but we didn’t get far, as he crashed us into the next wall, his lips feverish on mine. I sighed deeply, when I felt him press against me as desperate as I was. Letting my hands wander through his hair, I pulled on the strands that normally were very orderly sorted on his head. But now I had turned them into a mess. “Thranduil…” I moaned, pressing myself even closer to him.

“I got you, meleth. I am here. You are safe.” He groaned against my lips.

“Bed.” I breathed out and he chuckled. “Which one? Ours or just any bed?”

“I hate you.” I said, leaning my face against his chest to hide the blush creeping onto my cheeks. He took my chin into his hand, softly turning it, so that I had to look him into the eyes. His blue orbs were burning with desire and lust, making me speechless. “I am the king. I own every bed in this realm. So, if you should ever desire something else than ours, you shall have it. Besides. I would not mind fucking you on any bed or surface. By Valar, I would even fuck you in front all of my people to show how much I love you.”

“I figured.” I retorted, cockily. “What even was that back in the throne room? I know you are a possessive man, but that was something new. Even for you.” He smirked, tilting his head. “How do you thing I have managed to stay sane over all those years? A creature living this long needs to be creative to make life worth living.”

“Mhm. Sure. And now what's the truth?” I asked, not falling for his sly answer. “I was just incredible horny for my wife.” He whispered into my ear, causing goosebumps to erupt on my skin. “So horny, that you would bring me to an orgasm in front of our guests?” I breathed, holding onto his shoulders. “Yes.” Was all he said, before he pressed his lips onto mine once again.

A scattering sound made us flinch apart, only to see a young servant standing in the middle of the hall, a load of books spread to his feet. “My king, my queen.” He bowed deeply, before he sunk to his knees to grab the books. “I am so sorry for interrupting, I did not intent to walk here, but I got lost on my way back to the library. Please forgive me.”

Quickly I shuffled out of Thranduils hold, kneeling besides the servant. I helped him sort his books, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Its alright. You are new, are you not?”

“Yes, your majesty. I am a new scribe in the library.” He didn’t dare to look at me, his eyes trained onto the books. I sighed deeply, wondering what the older elves had told him would happen if he were to look at me. “You know you can look me into the eyes.” I chuckled, ignoring the low huff of my husband behind me.

“I am not to look at the queen. That’s what I have been told by Cabron.” He answered. “He said I would be thrown into the dungeon where my eyes would be poked out and I was to rot to death.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Do not fear me or the wrath of my husband. Cabron is a very… lets say teasing ellon. He was just messing with you. The rule is not to stare at me, looking me in the eyes, when I speak with you is fine.”

“Its not.” Thranduil grumbled behind me, but I shushed him. “Don’t listen to him. He is particularly grumpy today, as he had a run in with dwarves.” Then I stepped next to him. “If you want to the library, you walk down that corridor, take the first left turn, follow the path to the end and then turn right. After that you should be close enough to the library to know.”

The servant bowed again. “Thank you, your majesty.” Then he ran off the way I described to him. Looking at Thranduil, I raised an eyebrow. “Look at what you are doing to the young ellons. The older elves might understand your words in their meaning, but they are using it to torment the young ones.” He didn’t seem to be bothered one bit. “What a shame…” Slowly stalking towards me, a grin spread over his face. “That makes me think of something I said earlier.”

“And what would that be?” I asked breathless, fleeing backwards from my husband. The grin on his lips turning more wolfish with every step he took. “I shall take you where anyone can hear you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” I shrieked; my eyes wide in shock.

“Oh, and how I would. And I will teach that scum of a dwarf a lesson.” He stopped his prowl, looking at me as if he was thinking about something. And then he yelled at me: “RUN!”

Before I even completely comprehended his words, my body reacted to his command. Gathering my skirt, I turned on the spot, fleeing down the hall, Thranduil hot on my heels. I was giggling like a little child, as I raced through the kingdom. Elves forced to jump aside, looking after us, as we passed them. Soon I was caught between a stone wall, the cliff of a path just above the dungeons and Thranduil blocking my only way out. Trying my best to catch my breath, I leaned against the wall, forcefully slowing my breathing. Then realization dawned on my face: “You routed me here…”

“I did.” There was no regret in his voice, the sly smile still present on his lips. His shoulders were heaving in big breaths, the fabric of his tunic stretching across his chest and arms as he flexed them against the wall. Slowly stalking towards me, he forced me deeper into the dungeon, until my back hit the wall. I looked to the side and down the cliff. Beneath me, I could see the dwarves being captured in their cells. Thorin looking right back at me.

He was about the same height we were currently at, the others of his company below us or him, unable to see what was happening. That didn’t keep them from listening. “Thorin. What's going on up there.” A young voice called out. Thorin’s face contorted, as he answered. “Nothing, Kili. Just the elven king giving into the desire of his flesh once more.”

“What does that even mean?” Kili asked, another voice, very similar to his answered him: “It means the elven king is about to fuck his wife just above you, you moron.”

“Fili!” Thorin thundered, but I couldn’t help but laugh. Even Thranduil had a sly smile on his lips, securely hidden from the dwarves.

“It seems like you have pulled our guests attention, nin iell.” He cockily said and I knew that he was staging a play. Tilting my head, I played along: “Good thing you are here to prevent me from any more danger.”

“Indeed.” He said, letting his eyes shamelessly run over my body. Then with one big last step, he closed the distance between us, picking me up once more. “Thranduil!” I yelped out, clutching at his arms and wrapping my legs around him. He tightened his arms around me, pressing me against the wall. It caused me to make a soft noise, something between a moan and a purr.

Thranduil grinned wolfishly, as one hand wandered from my face, down my shoulder, gripping the belt of my dress. And with one sharp tug, he ripped it from my body. I gasped at his sudden show of violence, the dress falling open. It was one of his favorite dresses. Basically, one long piece of fabric cut into two strands one side up to the middle. To wear it, I simply laid the two strands above my body, while the single strand covered my back. Then I wore a belt to safely secure it around my waist, sorting the fabric over my chest. Now those two strands were flaring widely open, only held between my legs.

Letting the belt fall to the ground, Thranduil gripped the fabric of the dress, slowly pulling it out between us, before he disregarded it onto the floor as well. Now I was naked, my back pressed against the cold stone wall.

“Please.” I begged, making the elf before me hoarsely chuckle, his teeth were grazing my earlobe, biting it gently.

“Please, what?” He asked as he pulled away, his eyes now dark with lust and desire.

“Please touch me.” I breathlessly whispered. It was all he needed. Without wasting any second, his lips captured mine, locking them in the most passionate and fiery way he could muster. The feeling of his lips against mine was enough to knock the air out of my lungs, not to mention the force of his tongue inside my mouth, it was enough to have my mind reeling.

He gently put me down, leaning me against the wall, as he knelt in front of me. Spreading his cloak on the floor to give some warmth from the cold stone. Patting the fabric in front of him, he looked at me with the uttermost desire I had ever seen a man look at me with. Fully aware of Thorins eyes upon me, I walked around Thranduil, taking my place on the ground beneath him. A sly grin on his lips, he shuffled between my legs, throwing one last glance to the dwarf watching us, before he simply dove down.

“Oh my GOD!” His tongue traced my clit lightly, barely giving much stimulation, but even that was enough to make my legs starting to quiver.

While his tongue tracing my clit felt absolutely amazing, nothing prepared me for feeling his tongue tracing along my soaked slit, before delicately prodding inside of me. “Melethron!” I shrieked out, his tongue trailing back to my clit before I felt his finger slowly enter my core. He raised his mouth from my center, looking me straight into my eyes. “By Valar, how I love this.” His voice was nearly a growl. “And by all what is mighty, I will never stop worshipping it.”

He was passionate about pleasing me, humming at my skin. Making sure to wait for me to relax, welcoming the pleasure rather than being surprised by it, before he slowly started to thrust the single digit in and out of my core. I tossed my head back, gripping the fabric of his cloak at the feeling of his long fingers reaching parts of me that I could never reach myself.

“Fuck!” I yelped out, his finger finding the perfect spot inside of me, curling to massage it gently and bringing me closer to the edge. My walls pulsating in rhythm with his thrusts, the wet and messy sounds of my pleasure filling the room. I felt him moan, even more as he brought his free hand up my chest, pinching and pulling my nipple before switching to the neglected breast, simultaneously adding a second finger.

I cried out for him. “I’m so close, please don’t stop! Please don’t stop!” My back began to arch off the ground, as his ministrations went on, his fingers pounding into my core as his lips continued to suck eagerly at my clit. “Oh my…” I rasped, my voice hoarse and thin. “Thranduil!” I yelled, as my orgasm washed over me all the sudden. Riding it out, as he refused to cease his actions on my body until I couldn’t take any more and had to pull him away.

“Oh, how I love seeing you like this. All ready for me.” Thranduil snickered, his eyes trained on the spot between my legs. I could feel my wetness slowly dripping out of my core, running down onto his cloak. “To bad, a certain dwarf had to interrupt me fucking you on my throne. Making you the queen you were born to be. I would have fucked my seed so deep inside of you. Taking you until you are begging for me to stop. Making you a crying mess for everyone to hear. And then I would have carried you back to our chambers, my cum leaking out of your pretty little pussy.”

I whined at his words, my body instinctively arching. “You are so needy for me. My beautiful little slut.” Playing with my folds, he pulled another moan from my lips. Forcing them into me, he curled them once more, finding my sweet spot just so easily, reaching places I couldn’t reach myself. “This pussy belongs to me, you hear me?”

“Yes.” I breathed out, my voice high pitched from the pleasure he was once again granting me.

“Yes what?” He snarled, his blue eyes squinting with a slight threat that shot the heat right between my legs.

“Yes, my king.” I mewled. “Please. I need you. Please…” Sounding like a needy child, I cried out for him, spreading my legs further to coax him in. He stopped moving his fingers inside of me, slowly pulling them out. “Do it again. Beg for it. I know you want to.”

“Thranduil…” My moan was reflected by the walls, traveling through the halls up to the throne room. “Please, my king. I need you. I want you to take me. Make me your queen, please…” Without a warning, he lined his cock up with my entrance, bottoming out in one go. I yelped at the pain of being stretched so suddenly, but it soon subsided, when he started his slow and passionate pace. He wanted to take his time. Relish in the moment.

I was a quivering mess beneath him. My eyes rolling back into my head, lips hanging open, hands gripping at everything they felt. He growled above me, causing my eyes to snap open. Like a ravenous predator, his eyes captured mine. A desire burning inside of them that only he could produce. “Please…” I whimpered once again, now completely pushed into submission by his demeanor. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. Then he turned my head towards the cliff. “Look at him.” Thranduil ordered and I opened my eyes, seeing Thorin stand in his cell. His hands harshly gripping the metal rods of the door.

Thranduil tapped my lips with his fingers and I obediently opened my mouth, taking his long digits down my throat. I choked on their length, but forced down the gag reflex. “Hands above your head.” He ordered and I quickly moved them where he wanted them. His response was taking them into his big hand, the pace switching from slow to a more moderate speed, knocking the air out of my lungs.

My head hung back, my lips being parted by his fingers, drool running down my cheeks, as I gave myself to him. The searing heat returning, starting between my legs and slowly burning its way through every fiber of my body. Soon my moans were accompanied by his groans, the sound of him growling my name and cursing in elvish dragging me towards the edge in record speed. I tried to ask for more, but his fingers restrained me from forming a coherent sentence. With a knowing grin, he let go of my mouth, looking at me challengingly: “What is it, nin iell?”

“M… More.” I moaned out. “Please. I need more.” He hummed at my request, bending down to kiss me. “Hmmm. My little petal. So eager to be fucked. Wishing to be ruined by her king.” He murmured between kisses, smothering every inch of my body he could reach. Unable to even process his words, he caught me by surprise, when he took my right leg and threw it over his shoulder, the space now enabling him to pound into me even deeper.

“Thranduil!” I cried out, twitching beneath him and trying to get away from his harsh thrusts. His cock hitting me deeply and perfectly on my sweet spot, to an extend that I wasn’t sure if it was still pleasure that shot through my body. “This was what you requested, was it not?” He cued and I couldn’t help but mewl. “It is what you begged me for. To give you more, isn’t that right, gilgalad?”

Trying my hardest to answer him, I opened my lips, bit my sentence got ripped away by the sudden moan that rushed through my lips. Even though I was staring at my husband, I wasn’t really able to focus on anything in particular. All my attention laying on the feelings he freed deeply in my body. “There… Please…” My words were slurred and hasty, my brain drunken from the pleasure overtaking my body. “Here?” He cockily asked, repeating the exact movement that had me reeling in a mixture of pleasure and overstimulation. “Or perhaps here?” Dragging his free hand over my body, he pinched my nipples hard, before he let his fingers wander lower. Circling my clit with soft little touches, he watched me, as I fell apart.

Searing hot the fire rushed through my veins. I tried to warn him from my upcoming orgasm, but my body was faster than my mind. My walls clamping down around his cock, I shakily came undone beneath him, the cry of his name ringing through the halls and echoing in the distance. A string of elvish curse words left my husband, my hip now marked in a new red bruise of his hand. But he didn’t falter in his thrusts. Relentlessly pounding into me, knowingly overstimulating me in the chase of his own release.

“I… Cant… Please… cant…” I cried out, but he cut me off with a hand around my throat. “Take it.” He growled. “I know you can. Be a good girl for me and take my cock.” His eyes were burning dark, the wild lust flaming through his pupils. And then he squeezed my throat, watching me, as my eyes rolled back into my head once more. The cry of his name, caught in my throat, my body overshooting with bliss and a blinding fire.

Trembling. That’s what I was able to do and not much more. My frame buried beneath the king, as he captured my swollen lips with his, only giving me short allowances of air. My vision got blurry, a tingly feeling spreading through my limps and I nearly missed the second wave of hot pleasure racing through my body. Thranduil of course noticed by the way my walls were gripping him once more. “Come.” He demanded. “Come for me again.”

It was all I needed to hear, when he let go of my throat, supporting his weight on both of his arms, letting go of my hands. Shattering around him a second time, I gripped his shoulders, pressing myself against his frame to find something to ground me against the violent shivers that overtook my body. It was blinding and breathtaking, as I released the blistering heat in my body with a cry of his name, that was surely heard in all Mirkwood.

I barely noticed him being brought to his own release, the stuttering pulse of my walls, finally pulling him over the edge as well. A growl on his lips, he captured my mouth with his, forcing me into a heated and passionate kiss. The once harsh and fervent snaps of his hips melted into soft bucks, rolling against my core until he slowly came to a stop.

It took him a few moments to find his composure again, but when he did, he slowly pulled out of me and I couldn’t help myself but curse. “I am sorry, meleth nin.” He whispered, stroking the hair out of my face. “I should have been softer on you.” Looking over my body, he let his hand rest against my core, cooling the heated flesh with his cold touch. Then he got up on his feet, and I only now realized, that he was still wearing all of his clothes. Smiling at him, I tried to get up, but he shook his head.

“Rest, meleth, I will take care of you.” Once he had his clothes sorted, he kneeled down next to me again, carefully wrapping his cloak around my shivering body, the coldness of the dungeons slowly creeping into my bones. “Thranduil…” I whimpered out, trying to reach out for him, but he shushed me immediately. “Its alright, little ithil. I got you.” Then he turned to grab my dress, but his action were interrupted by a sly grin. Handing me the belt, he crumpled the fabric into a ball. Getting up to his feet, he hurled it across the distance, directly between two metal rods of Thorins cell and directly into his face.

“Keep it as a reminder of your place, dwarf.” Thranduil gritted out between his teeth an arrogant and possessive smile on his lips. Thorin looked as surprised as I was, but his expression quickly turning sour. “You will pay for this, elf!” He yelled, but Thranduil just chuckled. “We will see about that.” Picking me up from the ground, he made his way through the dungeon and up the little pathways. In the distance I could still hear Thorin cursing us out in Khuzdul, his voice quickly fading into nothing more than a quiet background noise…

On our way back to our chambers, we passed several elves all of which carried a sly smile on their lips, that could have rivaled my husband himself.

Part 2:

#fem reader #smut #fluff #slight angst #thranduil x reader #thranduil smut #thranduil #lotr #the hobbit

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