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lillianofliterature · 2 years ago

Note

If your requests are open, and you are comfortable with it, could you maybe please do a King Thranduil x reader one-shot where reader has cancer and it is like angsty?

the toll of sickness | thranduil x reader

a/n: Anon, I am sincerely sorry for the long wait, but I wanted to provide all the angsty venting and comfort I could for you in this! Thank you for your request! I wanted to do this right by you. I hope this helps soothe whatever parts of you need soothing today. I don’t know anon’s/anyone’s specific diagnosis or symptoms, so I’m doing my best to remain respectful and widely general with the topic of cancer. I took inspiration from my own experiences with the mental/emotional toll of long-term chronic illness to supply a plot to resolve, I hope that’s okay (and still relatable). <3

The reader is implied feminine in this as they are referred to as lady/queen, but otherwise, I did my best to keep it gender-neutral with descriptions.

This could also be interpreted as a reader with chronic illness.

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK. GIF EDIT IS MINE.

summary: after a long day of tiresome treatments and the heaviness of your thoughts, you retreat to your chambers to seek the comfort of your husband’s arms.

warnings: mentions of cancer (the reader has cancer), mentions of cancer treatments and symptoms (including needles), medical exhaustion, nonsexual nudity and nonsexual bathing, open discussions of symptoms, fear of death

word count: 6.1k

music: As Long As We Both Shall Live by Bear McCreary

elvish translations: melamin = my love, melda = my dear/beloved

“I think we will conclude here for today, my lady.”

The head healer’s voice drew your wayward attention back to his prim features. His thin lips spread into a smile as he gently unstrapped the tight leather band above your inner elbow, releasing the tension from your skin. The long syringe with its glass barrel was gently pulled from the blue vein that the pressure had highlighted. You rubbed your arm subconsciously as he set aside the supplies for cleaning, hoping the motion would rid your flesh of the awful sensation of being probed.

You blinked away your muddled thoughts. Briefly, you worried that perhaps he had been talking to you long before you’d heard his assessment to end the treatments for the evening. If you had, you were grateful to find no resentment in his gaze for your absentminded silence.

He softly closed his collection of books that had been displayed around a table on the wall adjacent to your cushioned cot in the infirmary. With a bottle of herbal salve, he applied a generous portion to the inner curve of your elbow, satiating any irritation from his needles. The cool gel of the aloe soothed the itchy redness, while the lavender masked the sterile scent of the medications and intensely bitter herbs.

You glanced up from the healer’s gentle efforts, trying on your best smile. “Thank you for your diligence today, Sudryl. It is very much appreciated.”

He bowed his head as he clasped your hand between his palms, “It is always a pleasure to tend to you, my queen. We will resume tomorrow morning if it suits your schedule?”

“My schedule is always free for your remedies. Thranduil has made sure to take over many of my duties so we may focus on my treatment.”

Sudryl smiled once more as he helped you stand from the cot, draping your silken robe over your bare arms as he did so. “The king is very wise, your majesty. I know you detest this period of healing you’re undergoing, but you mustn't mistake rest for idleness. Your people desire greatly for your full recovery, myself included. In order to achieve that, your rest is crucial.”

You didn’t know what to say. Rest was crucial, you knew that. As were the innumerable treatments and remedies being applied and adjusted every day.

But didn’t anyone understand that you were tired of all of this? Exhausted by more than just the cancer and its seemingly endless repercussions that it presented almost daily. Worn down by more than just needles and salves and bitter syrups that lingered in your throat.

You missed feeling well-rested when you woke up in the mornings after a long sleep—you missed having the energy to spend your days fulfilling your duties as a queen, as a servant to her people. You missed the days in which every activity was not dictated or measured by searing pain or groggy fatigue. You were tired of wrestling with your body just to exist comfortably.

But it’s your duty to get better, they keep telling you.

It’s what everyone’s hoping for, your majesty.

Do your best to rest and eat well, my lady.

Don’t give up hope, Queen (Y/n). You are blessed among our kin!

The people have been petitioning their prayers to the Valar fervently, your grace.

They were supposed to be words of encouragement spoken to invigorate your fighting spirit, to ignite that spark of determination that was starting to flicker these last few months. But these endless strains of hope and enlightenment had started to weigh heavily upon your shoulders like a milkmaid’s yoke, and with every well-intentioned word and chorus of song another stone was dropped into the buckets you carried.

The pressure to recover for the sake of others was beginning to feel like too much—the toll of the sickness itself was enough for one to worry about, was it not? Not only did you feel this fearsome desperation to recover for your own sake, for your own life, but also the need of a thousand other voices begging for a show of strength you didn’t feel tangible anymore.

The summoning of one of your servants outside the infirmary doors reminded you that the hour to retire for supper was nearing presently. You felt your posture deflate as it dawned on you that you couldn’t yet retire for the day. Although your extravagant evening meals were one of the few constants that motivated you to follow your days through until nightfall, your hunger had dispersed in the last few days. Being seated at a stiff table dressed with rich delicacies and savory wines sounded nothing short of torture at the moment, even with the promise of dessert.

The servant curtseyed in the broad doorway as Sudryl led you across the room. You couldn’t help but tense as your legs tremored from the sudden activity. A long exhale slipped through your pursed lips.

“My queen,” She rose gracefully, her hands folding together at her waist. “Your supper with the king is nearly prepared. He will be present in the dining hall shortly as soon as his meeting has concluded. I was advised to escort you there safely.”

Clutching onto Sudryl’s forearm, you hesitated to address the messenger. You couldn’t help the expression of distaste that twisted your face. The thought of food was not the only thing that churned your stomach at that moment; the prospect of being walked through your own palace as though you were an invalid, incapable of making it there of your own merit, as though every pair of eyes in this forest need offer you their due pity, bothered you even more than the risk of losing your supper to the toilet.

Knowing you couldn’t send her away under Sudryl’s watchful eye (for surely there would be further inquiries as a result of such an unnecessary dismissal), you managed to nod in thanks to her before turning to him. The head healer’s smile was brimming with empathy. You tried not to feel offended by his pitying compassion. He leaned forward and pecked your cheek reverently, bidding you a respectful farewell until the morning.

You turned from him and followed the servant into the winding halls. Gaze following the eroded pathway of the massive tree roots beneath your sore feet, you bided the seconds until you were both too far to be noticed by any superior voices that might challenge your decision-making. When your footsteps halted, she turned to face you.

Her brows raised, she asked, “My lady? Is something wrong?”

“No, no. I’m alright,” You waved her worries aside with the vague gesture of your hand. “But I can manage the walk to the dining hall from here.”

Her brows drew together in an expression of confusion. You straightened your back—had she seen through your polite fib? Was it that obvious you had no intentions of eating this evening? Or was just she not used to being given conflicting commands between two monarchs?

“—On my own. I can make it there on my own.”

Her lips parted in protest as she recalled what you assumed were very clear orders from your husband only minutes prior. Stretching your hand out to gently touch her shoulder, you reassured her it would be alright. “I will explain to the king myself that I demanded to be left alone. No trouble will come to you, I promise. You will not lose your position.”

“But my lady, I—it is my duty is to ensure your safe arrival. Are you sure you don’t—?”

The irritation that swelled within you wasn’t her fault, you hastily reminded yourself. You bit back the frustrated sigh you wanted to release, tightening your polite smile. Reasoning with another person about what you wanted to do and why you wanted to do it was the last thing you presently wanted to deal with. Desperate to detach yourself from her and anyone else lingering about, you decided to be straightforward. No beating around the bush.

“I value your persistence, young one, but I would very much like to retire early tonight. You may inform my husband that I’ll be taking my meal in our chambers if you must.”

“Understood, your majesty. I shall inform the king. Have a good evening.” She dipped into an impulsive curtsy, quickly trailing back to the chancellery to relay your decision.

You didn’t even wait for her to pass beyond the long hall ahead before you turned in the opposite direction. Your private chambers weren’t too far from the infirmary, thankfully. However, it still took some resolve on your behalf to encourage your depleted energy through corridors and foyers all the way back to your comfortable bed. The silver silk of your robe billowed around your feet with every step, giving your eyes something other than walls of stone and root to follow.

You were sure your husband wouldn’t be taking the present news about your wellbeing all that agreeably. You could see it clearly in your mind—the disheveled, anxious worry in his eyes that he masked behind a wall of solemn regality. But you could always see what he was thinking. He wouldn’t like the fact that your treatments were taking more and more of a toll on your already wearisome state. He would like it even less when he found out you would soon be dismissing supper altogether.

His concern wasn’t for himself, of course. It was for you—it was always for you.

He wanted desperately for you to be able to enjoy your meals in the glittering brilliance of the dining hall, unperturbed by fatigue and nausea. He wanted you to be able to take those strolls through the forest gardens that you adored so much without the sore discomfort in your bones. He wanted you to relish in your life and its unrivaled importance. And most of all, he wanted desperately to take this lingering sickness away; he wished he had been born with a skill for healing like some of his kin.

But all he could give you were the promises of an unsure future and the enlistment of his most skilled associates and all relevant resources that could be found about your condition. And some part of you—some sad, twisted part of you—felt a rush of guilt that so much commotion and worry was being circulated about the kingdom on your behalf. And that guilt only made the whole affair all the more frustrating and maddening. These days, everything inflamed your anger. This whole tumultuous ordeal seemed to be unraveling more than just your physical state.

You knew it was ridiculous to feel responsible in some way for what was happening to you. You hadn’t chosen this, you hadn’t brought it on yourself—you most certainly didn’t deserve it. No one with cancer ever does. But reasoning with your inner turmoil was like wrestling a wild boar in the mud; there was never any true resolve without the cost of more anxieties, more wounds, more gashes in your soul. And the more you tried to gain a grip on yourself, the less grounded you became, the more it all slipped through your fingers.

The click of the door was a chime of resolve as you leaned against the tall wooden frame from within the calm confines of your spacious bedroom. Sliding out of your supple leather flats and letting your robe slump to your elbows, you took the first deep breath you had been able to control since earlier that morning. The king-sized bed frame creaked subtly as you lowered yourself onto the fluffed silken duvet. Ever so gradually, you felt the weight of the vertical world begin to reprieve from your muscles like steam rushing upwards from a boiling pot.

Rest wasn’t a cure for what ailed you, no, but Valar above, sometimes it felt like it.

Since your diagnosis—the terrifying sickness devouring your energy and livelihood from within your own body—nearly every day had been spent in the infirmary or the healer’s sanctuary, remedies administered by the hour, conversations turning tiresome and sour. It had begun to feel like your own home was a prison, the world beyond the palace unreachable, like every action was a strenuous transaction of vitality and exhaustion. Even just walking the gardens that lead into the forest had become inexplicably draining—it left you feeling as though you’d run to Mirkwood’s southern border and back rather than taking a few turns about the courtyard.

But here, on the cloud-like comfort of your private chambers, there was some reprieve from it all. There were no endless strands of questions about your well-being and your comfort and opinions on the tedious details of your health here—only the distant rush of the waterfalls that crashed brazenly into the river moat outside the palace gates. You could hear the chirping of the early summer insects as dusk narrowed on the horizon beyond the open terrace. There was no sterile smell of concentrated alcohol or the pungent gnawing of tart herbs. Instead, there was a faint aroma of lilacs wafting in from the gardens and the scent of your husband’s musk lingering in your bed.

Closing your eyes and rolling onto your lesser-sore side, you sought out the imprint that his body might have left there that morning. But the duvet was creased flat and folded with a chill under your skin. It was curious futility to think his warmth might have lasted after so many long hours away, you knew that; the bed was always plumped and remade in the mornings by your gracious servants. A coldness ran through you, engulfing your skin in little bumps that felt like prickling needles.

Too sore from your aches to unfurl the taut covers from the mattress and too comfortable to retrieve one of your husband’s many fur throws, you recoiled your arm and folded your limbs closer together, curling into a position that would magnify your own body heat. While quietly taking in the environment of your sanctuary, this small peaceful haven that almost made you forget the turmoil your body was enduring, you hardly noticed as you faded into a light slumber. Caught between the ebbing flow of consciousness as it bobbed around the sleepy release of your strained body, wading between thoughts and dreams.

Unaware of the passage of time as you laid there in groggy consciousness, you hardly felt the urge to stir from your position until you felt the back of someone’s hand on your cheek, the brushing aside of your askew (h/c) tendrils. Then you made out the quiet husk of a voice that hovered above you in the dark.

In the dark? Sunset was still a couple of hours away! And after that, dusk would linger still until the light vanished beyond the mountains to the west. Why was it already so dark?

Hadn’t it only been a few fleeting minutes since you’d closed your eyes, listening to the cicadas and savoring the sweetness of the summer flora? Eyebrows pursed, you could hear yourself attempt to answer, but the meticulous reply you’d fabricated in your mind was delivered in heavy vowels that grouped together lazily. Your speech felt like treacle slipping off your tired tongue.

A velvet chuckle reverberated in your perking ears.

“Have I forgotten my native tongue or was that a very poor attempt at Sindarin?”

Thranduil.

Your nose scrunched up as you fought to drain the sleepiness that was working against you so fervently. Before you could stir the tired droopiness from your eyes with eager fists, two gentle hands cupped your cheeks and swept their thumbs over your closed eyes. The motion was akin to a gentle massage, spanning your sore eyelids and dusting across your cheekbones, a cradling of your vulnerable stillness that filled your chest with a fond fervor. The supple tenderness of his lips collided briefly with yours before parting all too quickly.

“Mm?” Your vocabulary hadn’t quite refreshed itself, it seemed. “When d’dju geten?”

Another rumbling chuckle he didn’t bother trying to hide. You pictured his willowy frame standing primly in front of the tall gilded looking glass, unfastening his stuffier robes and tucking his powder–blonde hair behind his pointed ears, or perhaps even tying it back for the night as he often did.

Stars, it felt like there were weights on your shoulders pulling you back against the duvet as you forced yourself to sit up, like the muscles beneath your skin were unraveling at the seams. You rubbed your eyes and shooed your disheveled hair from your peripheral vision, glancing around the dark room for your husband’s silhouette. A flicker of light plumed suddenly in the sconce near the vanity, illuminating his fair features. The match in his hand extinguished with a puff of air from his lips before his pale blue eyes found yours.

“I only just came in,” he reassured you, “I’m afraid I underestimated how much wind some of our advisors have in their lungs, especially when provoked.”

Another votive flickered to life on the other side of the room, another match snuffed out under his breath. The sunlight outside had all but gone in the murky hours you had been asleep. Now that you could take in the mellow darkness of the evening without confusion, some part of you felt distressed about the sudden absence of natural light. The daylight, warm and golden, always brought you a sense of comfort. But now it was dark and grey and the light of the moon was cold, distant, and you hadn't had a chance to prepare yourself for it. Another chill ran across your skin as a more frigid breeze swept in from the open terrace.

“Did Sudryl have a chance to share the news with you before retiring this evening?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder at you. His lips pursed when he saw your unmoving figure still sitting on the edge of the bed, your back draped in silks, facing away from him. Your slumped posture told him all he needed to know about how you were feeling after your treatments—the exhaustion was palpable in how slow your palm rose to cradle your own forehead, in how shaky you were as you forced yourself up from the bed and took hold of the bedpost.

He was near you in an instant, his strong hands taking gentle hold of your bowed shoulders. There he was, combing the stray hairs on your head down with doting affection, all while the same frustrations were building up inside of you as your sleepiness dissipated.

“You needn’t rise for me, melamin, I am no guest.” He chided gently.

“I know, I just need a bath before we settle in for the night.”

“You’re in no state to manage that tonight, (Y/n)—”

“Thranduil, I haven’t rinsed off the ointments. I smell like the forest—and not in a good way.”

“You smell like an herb garden, fresh and natural, as all things should be.”

“Pungent is more like it,” You quipped, catching the accent of bitter walnuts exuding from your thin robes. It was that old, damp, dingy sort of bitterness that made you want to expel the air from your lungs with a snort when you caught a whiff of it—not the pleasant sort of musk from the gardens.

He laughed again, this time with more relief behind his eyes. Even though he knew you were spent from the day’s strenuous activities, the presence of your humor provided him with some semblance of comfort. And as for your own weary senses, his smooth strain of laughter was more than a consolation for the muted anxiousness that the infirmary always inflicted.

“Then let me help you.”

“Thranduil, I can do it mys—”

“I insist,” He offered decidedly, and you knew well enough from past experience that arguing with him on the matter would prove ineffective.

He gently looped your arm through the curve of his elbow, placing a sweet kiss to your messy hair before turning along with you toward the adjoined bathing chamber. You leaned into him for support and begrudgingly admitted to yourself that he was right—there was no way you could withstand the exertion on your own, at least not tonight. Not while you felt this lethargic, not while your stress levels were causing such tension throughout your body, making everything denser, slower, sluggish.

Once he led you into the warmly lit haven of the spacious chamber, the steam of the hot spring pool seemed to draw you in on its own accord. The walls and their rugged shapes made the flickering yellowness of the torchlight spread longer shadows among its natural angles and divots. The far right wall was connected to the run-off of one of the many springs that stretched like veins throughout the mountain palace—and it was little cavern rooms like this one that reminded you that you were living in the majesty of a low-peaking mountain, not just nestled in the forested density of the Greenwood.

You knelt at the rim of the bathing pool on the soft stone edge, dragging your hand through the clear blue water. The natural warmth of the hot spring invigorated you with a sense of eagerness as you remembered just how soothing these glowing pools always were. A gentle touch to your shoulder lured your attention back to your husband, who with a fond smile, was waiting to help you unravel your robes and underthings. Taking his hand, you were pulled to stand in front of him with the gentlest limits of his strength.

You hardly felt the pressure or the tugging of his lithe fingers as he helped you undress, his touch but a breeze across your sore skin. When you were naked and chilled from the exposure, he guided you into the blue waters and leaned over the pool’s edge to make sure you were steady on the outcropped seat of eroded stonework submerged in the water. As the bubbling warmth enveloped your flesh, your eyes fluttered shut with an involuntary sigh of relief.

There were very rarely things that proved effective for your ceaseless pains—medicines and supplements only lasted so long or relieved so little, and sleep was growing more difficult to manage. But this—the heat bubbling up from the earth, sorted through sediment and mineral—was the most relief you found these days.

When submerged in the hot spring bath, your entire body numbed to its own plague as your bones and muscles absorbed whatever benefits came from the terrain around you. You briefly wondered how you ever managed to get out the last time you soaked like this, with every inch of your flesh basking in the warmth that enveloped you.

You relaxed against the glossy stones, trying to quiet your mind of all the infernal anxieties pressing a weight against your chest. The noise of your thoughts made it difficult to focus fully on the soothing effects of the natural hot spring, tensing and loosening your muscles and posture between every harsh doubt.

With a fresh cloth he brandished from a side table, Thranduil dipped it into the warm bath and began gently scrubbing away the ground athelas mixture. He’d seated himself comfortably on the edge of the bath, submerging his calves into the pool to cradle you between them. The cloth strummed along your chest and stomach as he reached over and behind, where the herbs from Sudryl’s remedies had been infiltrating the cancerous sickness plaguing your organs. You hadn’t meant to show him how weak you felt, how tired you were, how desperately you needed this—but your head fell back to rest against his stomach despite this as the steam curled around you both, dampening your hair and foreheads.

After your rinsing from the spout of a silver pitcher, he coaxed oils and lathered soaps across your flesh, your own fingers clasping onto the pale skin of his forearm or around his leg, refusing to cease contact with him. And although he generously and willingly offered his aide while the healing minerals of that glowing pool of steam soothed you, some venomous voice in the back of your mind tried to feed you strings of doubt and loathing.

He shouldn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t have had to become my caretaker.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to get sick—neither of us was.

He deserves more than this mess I’ve given him. He deserves better than me.

You cleared your throat, trying to silence the growing guilt and shame before that stinging swell of tears could grow any more than they already were.

“What was it you were going to tell me?” You asked after the first of his own sweet-scented oils was being lathered along your arms, turning you about to face him. “Earlier, you mentioned something about Sudryl?”

“Ah, that,” he nodded in remembrance, “I gather he didn’t mention anything about Lord Elrond to you today?”

“Lord Elrond?” You inquired, lifting your questioning gaze to meet his. “No—no, he didn’t. Has something happened? Something to do with our alliances? Or with that trade treaty we adjusted with Laketown in the spring—”

“No, melamin, nothing of diplomatic proportions—all is still amiable with our kin for the time being,” he reassured. When he glanced up at you, the tranquil hope glittering in his blue eyes soothed the curious worry growing in your mind. He almost seemed excited about something. It tugged the corners of your mouth into a brief smile. “I sent word to him a little more than a month ago now, I suppose, to see what he might be able to do about your condition, to inquire about whether his skill with healing might mend what ails you.”

You swallowed hard over the sudden discomfort of anxiety that rose again like bile in your throat at the mention of more treatment, more guests, more expectations for healing. More, more, more.

“He is to arrive within a week of his latest correspondence, which came this morning. Preparations are being made for his arrival as we speak.”

Unknowingly, your grip had tightened on your husband’s forearm, your nails digging shallow crescents into his skin. The sharp sensation drew his attention downward to your hands, his dark brows furrowing in concern. His fingers winding around yours brought your attention to your vice-like grip, which you promptly loosened.

“What is it, (Y/n)? Does this news not please you?”

The earnestness in his pale eyes pierced your heart, the guilt bubbling up in your mind again. You weren’t sure what worried you most. The prospect of more prodding, more treatments, more attempts that might lead to nowhere; the fuss being made across the realm about your condition, about this peculiar, harsh sickness that was so puzzling to even the brightest minds; or perhaps, most worrisome of all, was the fact that you were no longer able to manage the upkeep of a happy facade. So many people were hoping, praying, supporting, and tending to you.

And somehow, you found that to be the most exhausting part of it all. Not only were you fighting for your own body, for comfort and life, but you were trying to uphold and appease every pair of eyes that was eagerly awaiting your miraculous recovery from something you didn’t even know how to fight. There were so many hopes to meet, so many hearts to comfort on your behalf, and your resolve was quietly crumbling.

Before you could think to soften your words in an attempt to save Thranduil’s optimism, your lips began to move, a sudden impulse of tears gathering in your eyes. “What if there is nothing even Lord Elrond can do to cure this?”

He paused, his eyes searching yours briefly before his damp fingers reached up to caress your cheek. How had he not seen the disparagement growing behind your gaze, darkening the lilt in your voice? Hidden behind humor and mischievous quips, but no less obvious.

“If—if I do not show improvement, our people will lose their resolve. Everyone’s counting on me to get better, to show some store of strength I no longer have and I–I can’t will my body to right itself,” you bore to him, panicked and spent from months of effort, “I cannot give everyone the hope they're seeking from me."

“Oh, melamin,” his chin nestled over your ear as he murmured with such rich affection, pressing your face into the musky homeliness of his neck.

“I know I should be grateful for their support, for their prayers and their offerings, but it’s becoming too much, Thranduil. I don’t have the strength for a kingdom’s worth of miracles.”

“You do not owe anyone but yourself the grace of your strength. Had I known their encouragement had put pressure on you to perform, I would have silenced the lot of them.”

Despite his sincerity, you panicked on. “What if I am never rid of it? What if this is my blight that I must war with for the rest of my life?”

He sombered then, drawing in a deep string of air into his lungs. You could see him wrestling with the reality of your honesty, with the questions you both had been too afraid to speak aloud before now. Gathering himself, he drew you nearer to him, clinging to you with a brief urgency that almost startled you.

“Then we will rise together each day to face it. There will never be a single day that you will have to endure this on your own. Do you hear me? That is my promise to you—that my vow and my diligence will never waver where you are concerned.”

Your tears burned with his words and you worked to force them at bay, his sweetness drawing every sour fear and thought of guilt from your mind and onto your tongue. “I am so sorry for this life I have given you. You didn’t ask for this—you cannot be happy with me—with this-this terrible thing I’ve brought upon us. You deserve so much more, and I can no longer give it to you.”

“You’re apologizing—?” He questioned, his voice quiet in shock.

Your eyes clamped shut, forcing the well of sorrows from your eyes to plummet. Gently, he pulled himself back, repositioning his hands on your upper arms as if to garner your absolute attention.

“(Y/n), this life you have given me has been far more than I have ever deserved and could ever strive to. From the moment we met, you have enriched my life just by your existence alone, much less the many qualities and traits about you I have come to treasure beyond all fortune or success. You have given me everything, a dozen lifetimes over, in the mere centuries we have been together.”

“You cannot have wanted this,” you breathed out, hushed by your own shame.

“No, I did not want you to suffer with something so abysmal, something so beyond my control. Of course I did not want for your pain…but if this is our future, if this is our path together, then I want every minute of it, and I will not settle for a second less. I would upheave the very crest of the world and drown mountains in flame if it meant saving you. And if that makes me selfish or ruthless, then I will be the standard at which devils compare their sins.”

His hands had gradually found their way up to your face, cradling your damp cheeks with a sincerity that made your lip quiver.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

The sight of the tearful waterline reflected in his eyes drew a noise of curt regret from your lungs. Your sob pierced his heart, filling him with a desperation to amend the shame and anxiety plaguing your mind.

“If you truly believe that you are at fault for this sickness, then in turn I must be held responsible for allowing it to happen in the first place. As your husband first, but also as your king.”

“No, no that’s not true! It’s not even reasonable of you to—”

“Then how can it be your fault? How could any of this be on your shoulders? There is no sense in blame, (Y/n). Not here, not with this.”

There was a stillness after his words, a stillness that was meant for rumination, and sealed with his lips against your skin and hair. Your hands rose to rest against his chest, nestling them over the dip of his collarbone as you felt for comfort in the blur of your tears. His silence prompted an answer.

“It’s not my fault,” you replied.

“Say it again.”

“It isn’t my fault,” you echoed, meeting his gaze once more, “just as it isn’t yours.”

And as shocking as it was for you to realize it, you truly believed the words he encouraged from you. This sickness wasn’t your fault. Neither of you could have had any sway with fate or destiny, with whatever had brought this on. And perhaps, it just simply was, with no cause or fault at all. What mattered now was how kind you could be to yourself, how to take one moment of strife and find something in it to hold onto. Moments like this were one of those morsels between the ebbing aches of pain and grief that you could relish and devour again and again.

Thranduil leaned forward, pressing his sweat-laced brow against yours. “Do not ever blame yourself, melamin. Do not let those foul words pass between your lips again.”

You nodded against him, pulling him nearer. “I promise.”

In the long minutes that followed, there was the solace of quiet intimacy as he rinsed through your hair one final time, peppering you with kisses and caresses at every opportunity. He met you with a soft fluffy towel when he led you out of the bath, never allowing a breeze to nip at your damp skin. His touch was featherlight as he patted you dry from head to toe, scrunching your drenched tendrils of (h/c) hair without complaint.

“I’m still so afraid,” you managed the courage to speak aloud, “What if–...what if this sickness claims my life?”

“You will not part this world without me, melda. Not a single breath will leave your lungs without my sharing it, not a single heartbeat will we not share,” he vowed, the absolute belief in his voice making the promise all the richer, “there isn’t a corner in this world or any other that you could wander to that I would not accompany you.”

Your silk nightgown slipped over your outstretched arms swiftly, sliding down your body and into place comfortably. He did up the lace of the collar with efficiency, not missing the chance to playfully tug you closer with the slightest bit of his strength. You planted yourself against his chest, the smile on your lips effortless with his own. The firm warmth of his arms wrapping around you had the same sort of pain-numbing effect as the hot spring, lulling every fretful thought to a close. His somber laugh reverberated again, this time through your bones, bringing an ethereal kind of peace with it.

The pillows of your large four-poster bed were positioned, fluffed, and repositioned. You waited patiently, upon his insistence, as he untucked and pulled the puffy duvet back for you to crawl under. Once comfortably tucked beneath layers of silk and cotton, he assumed his place beside you, careful not to jostle the mattress as he settled, mindful that every movement enticed your discomfort.

His body heat made you sleepy as you sank further into the covers, fogging your thoughts with a drowsy anticipation for the release of slumber. You’d waited for this moment all day—it had been the image that had pushed you through the hours of treatment and questions—the moment you could finally burrow against his warmth and drunken yourself with his scent. There was a slight stirring as he reached off to the side to retrieve something on the bedside table.

The fluttering of pages caught your fading attention, pulling your heavy-eyed gaze toward the book in his grasp. “Would you like to continue where we left off?”

You smiled tiredly against his chest, not recalling the events of the book he’d been reading to you for the last few nights. Oftentimes, the first few pages would strike vividly in your imagination, but as his lustrous tone carried on through paragraphs and chapters, the sleepy security that his presence enticed made it impossible to recall anything beyond the thrilling hum of his voice. In all actuality, you were quite sure he didn’t mind if you knew anything at all about the story he was reading aloud. It was enough to hold you and be held.

TAGS: @tessaem @izbelross @bloodblossoms73 @sunnysidesidra

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lee-pace-yourself · 1 year ago

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Imagine going trick or treating and this opens the door. 😄

Happy Halloween 🎃 👻☠

#lee pace #leeepfrog #halloween #ai art #fantasy art #lee pace art #captain jack sparrow #pirates of the caribbean #pirates #trick or treat #lee pace imagines

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inthiskingdomwewillendure · 1 year ago

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Lee Pace in Foundation 2x09 Long ago not far away

#lee pace #foundation #brother day #foundation apple tv #emperor cleon #foundation spoilers #foundationedit #foundation season 2 #this crop top is so over the top #i did not expect him to bomb the whole planet tbh #he is a so sadistic #but lee pace plays him sooo good #cant imagine someone else playing him

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shelbgrey · 2 years ago

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Prompt 1.7 the hearing aid one with Garrett from Twilight if you can! I'd love to see him with a mate that was born deaf and perhaps has a cochlear implant. Perhaps post what happens when she becomes a vampire and hears for the first time without the use of her implant. Please and thank you!

Voice of an Angel(Garrett)

Parring: Human!Cullen!Reader X Garrett

Summary: Garrett loves everything about you even if your deaf, he's always been fascinated about your cochlear implant and even learned sign language for you. But then he has no choice to turn you into a vampire after an accident, but on the bright side you hear for the first time.

Prompt: 1.7)“I'm not ignoring you. My hearing aid just doesn't like you”

A/n: for plot reasons we're just gonna say Garrett was invited to Edward's wedding and that's how you met then you'd be in astablish relationship by BD2

Twilight Master list

“It's really good to hear your voice saying my name, It sounds so sweet. Coming from the lips of an angel Hearing those words, it makes me weak” - lips of an Angel, Hinder

-------(3rd pov)-------

Bella and Edward's wedding ceremony went off without a hitch and now they're husband and wife. Y/n clapped for her little brother dispite the lonly and aching pain she felt, she wanted what Edward had.

During the reception y/n turned off her hearing aid, getting tired of all the noise that surrounded her. She was leaning against the wall away from everyone when her best friend Eleazar came up to her.

“you okay?” he asked, she didn't respond too stuck in her day dream. Eleazar nudged her, making her look his direction. She turned her hearing aid back on a smiled.

“you turned your hearing aid off again?” he asked. She shrugged. “I hate how loud it was getting”

“try listening to all this with vampire hearing” Eleazar joked.

As the friends talked something or someone cought her eyes. She looked over and saw a scruffy vampire joking with Emmett and Rosalie. She pointed towards the vampire. “hey El, who's that?”

His gold eyes shot to the direction she was pointing. “I don't know... Friend of Edward's maybe”

Garrett looked around as he was joking with Emmett, he tried to ignore the smell of humans everywhere as he had promised not kill anyone, but then one smell cought his attention, it wasn't an appetizing smell... It was a smell he was attracted to. He looked over and saw a woman, the prettiest one he's ever seen.

He couldn't explain the emotions he was feeling, but he knew one of them was jealously as she laughed with a guy he didn't know. He nudged Rosalie not taking his eyes off the girl.

“who's that over there...” he pointed at y/n. Rosalie smiled. “that's y/n.. She's the newest member of the family, she's kinda like our big sister”

“she's gorgeous” he mumbled and for a second he forgot about the advanced hearing him and Emmett possessed. Emmett smacked him upside of the head. “that's my sister... My human sister”

Garrett, not phased by the smak walked towrds y/n, completely ignoring Emmett's threats. As he silently walked towrds her he felt relieved as another woman whisked the guy she was talking to way.

“Hey, I'm Garrett” he said flashing his devishly handsome smirk. “you looked lonely”

“y-you mean board” I she chuckled. He smiled then looked at all the couples dancing. “would you care to dance?” he held out his hand, y/n didn't know why but she took the strangers hand.

“I'm y/n by the way”

“Garrett” he replied as he pulled her to the dance floor and flawlessly swayed around the room among the other couples his ruby eyes stared into her's like a love sick puppy. “can I ask you something?” he asked.

“Sure” part of her thought he'd ask about the hearing-aid, it's always the first thing people notice about her. But not him, the first thing he noticed was her eyes. But then he asked somthing cought her off guard.

“Do you believe in love at first sight -or should I walk by again?” he grined. She let out a chuckle and looked away as she unexpectedly blushed at the cheesey pick-up line.

“really? You've been spending too much time with Emmett it sounds like” she joked. Before he could awnser Jasper came up with smile but his eyes held fire.

“can I cut in?” He asked. Y/n gave her brother a weird look as Garrett released his hands from her.

“Sure”

“what was that about?” she asked putting her hands on his shoulders. Jasper just shrugged. “What, I can't dance with my sister?”

“you can but, Emmett and you both have been acting weird, so has Eleazar” I said as we danced to a more up-beat song.

She looked passed Jasper's shoulder and saw Garrett talking to Rosalie. He looked up and their eyes met. She immediately looked down when he flashed her a smirk.

The smiles, the pick up lines, it didn't go no where the rest of the night. It's not like he had the chance, her brothers and best friend wouldn't leave her side. It didn't go anywhere passed a dance, or so she thought.

After Bella and Edward left for their honeymoon people dispersed throughout the next two days. But one didn't leave, Garrett hit on her every chance he got and she didn't know why. She was sure it was just in his nature to do so, but it was annoying.

She always felt a little insecure about her hearing aid, she never thought a guy would find it attractive. She got over it thought and she wasn't ashamed of who she was, but then Garrett shows up and she starts to question everything.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

It was night three and Garrett still. Hadn't left, he used the excuse that he wanted to catch up with Emmett. He wasn't catching up with Emmett.

That night she sat on the roof of the house trying to get some peace and quiet, but she wouldn't be alone for long.

“Any chance you have an extra heart? Mine’s been stolen” Garrett smirked as he jumped on the roof and sat next to her.

“Garrett” she said simply.

“Yes?” he smiled.

“shut up” she smiled softly and shook her head.

He chuckled, she looked at him and she couldn't held but laugh with him. They talked into the night, important and useless stuff on both ends.

“can I ask you something?” he asked”

She nodded. “how did you get thing on your ear?”

She recoiled and moved her hair over it without relizing it. He grabed her hand gently stopping her. “I'm sorry I didn't mean to upset you”

She shrugged. “I've had it as long as I could remember... I was one of Carlisle's patience before he took me in”

“I know thst look” he started as he read her body language. He could be all jokes but over the centuries he learned how to read people.

“I didn't realize it when we first met ya know? I noticed your eyes” he said. She looked into his red ones and saw nothing but the truth. Being around Edward for some long she learned how to read people too, just the human way.

“I think your beautiful” he admitted. She looked at him shocked at his boldness, but then she couldn't deny the connection between them. Without out thinking he leaned down and connected her lips to his could ones. He froze for a second, not expecting it but his brain quickly rewired and he pulled her closer.

~~~~~~~~(1st pov, present time)~~~~~~~~

The whole family was in shock when Renesmee was born, the little miracle quickly terned into a curse when Irina outed us to the vulturi.

We gathered many witness, even some of Garrett's old war buddies. The house was full of red eyes and being human thst wasn't so great. Garrett knew that too which is why he wouldn't leave my side for too long, and if he did Eleazar or carlisle would be with me, watching me like a couple of body guards. As much as he loved being around my brothers I think those two are the only ones he really trusted.

He especially didn't trust Vladimir, not because he thought he would drink me, but beacuse he saw the way Vladimir would look at me and flirt with me. He was nice and I was too head over heals about Garrett to realize the flirting.

After Garrett told me his concerns I started to notice Vladimir's flirting... Then it started to get annoying. Tody was one of those days.

Vladimir smirked and continued to flirt, you could tell it was getting on Garrett's last nerve. Vladimir then tunred to carlisle. “carlisle, do those little hand movements you and Garrett always do, she can't hear me”

I snorted “I'm not ignoring you, my hearing aid just doesn't like you” I said not taking my eyes off my book. “and it's sign language you Dracula want to be”

Garrett smirked as I snapped my book closed and left the living room. “that's my girl” he smirked and followed after me.

We got threw the week though and the kid was safe and so was the family. The witness said their good byes thought out the week and left for home. The Denalis were the last to stay, which was nice to just morn the death of Irina.

Sigh...

I don't know how it happened really, one second I was saying goodbye to my knew friend Benjamin and then the next I'm lying in the woods covered in my own blood... I couldn't hear a thing either.

~~~~~~~~(Garrett's pov)~~~~~~~~

I looked around the house feeling uneasy. Y/n hadn't been back yet and that was unsal for her.

“have you guys seen y/n?” I asked coming into the living room. The family looked up confused.

“somethings wrong” I mumbled. Some of them shrugged and said she usually disappears after a 'family emergency'

“maybe she got tired of you and left for Egypt with Benjamin” Emmett joked. I knew it was a joke but I was to nervous to think of a usual comeback.

Everyone chuckled but Eleazar looked at me just as worried. “your right... Somthings not right”

Alice dropped something and gasped. She looked panicked, I feared the worst. “it's y/n”

I didn't think twice and was out of the house in seconds with Carlisle and Eleazar behind me. We raced around the woods frantically. The deeper we got the stronger the smell of her blood was, I gasped feeling sick at how strong it was.

I stoped and saw her hearing aid. “over here!” I shouted. Eleazar was at the scene first. I jumped back aginst a tree at the sight of her... Blood never looked so sickening.

“Garrett she needs you right now” Eleazar said as his hands socked up the blood as he checked her womds

“I can't do it” I gasped. “changer her! Please before she dies”

I closed my eyes as Eleazar bit into her. I would be sobbing like a baby if I was human.

~~~~~~~~(1st pov)~~~~~~~~

When I opened my eyes everything seemed so clear. I could see the tiniest cracks in the wall and every single dust partical.

I heared birds chirping. I was so loud it was like the bird was on my shoulder yelling in my ear.

Wait..

I reached up and I didn't feel my hearing aid. I immediately sat up and looked around. My eyes stopped on Garrett. He looked so relived.

“are you okay?” he asked frantically. My eyes widened at how clear his voice sound, I could always sort of hear him but to hear him clear as day made me want to cry.

“say something eles” I said ignoring the question. He looked at me with a questioning look. “What?”

“say something! I can hear!” Garrett shot up immediately with suprise. “oh shit!”

He looked around with the biggest smile. “oh my god! I love you! This is great” he picked me up and spung me around.

“I love the sound of your voice” I chuckled. He pressed his lips to mine in a passionate kiss. “I love you” he said.

“love you too”

#Garrett x reader #Garrett imagines #Breaking dawn Garrett #lee pace #Cullen family x reader #garrett denali #Twilight Imagines #Vampires #Twilight x reader

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fanfictionismyaddiction · 4 months ago

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Hey, my requests are open

I decided I would also like to write for other fandoms outside of f1.

I’m thinking about:

Criminal minds

Aaron Hotchner

David Rossi

Emily prentiss

Game of thrones

Little finger

Tywin Lannister

Tyrion Lannister

Sansa stark

John snow

Star trek

Leonard McCoy

Spock

Christopher pike

Harry potter

Severus Snape

Sirius Black

Remus Lupin

Lord of the rings

King Thranduil

NCIS

Leroy Jethro Gibbs

Sherlock

Mycroft homes

The walking dead

Negan

Celebrities

Alan Rickman

Lee Pace

Pedro pascal

Zak Bagans

Let me know if you want other fandom or characters I’m open for everything.

Drop a request.

I would be happy to write it

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darkst4lker · 3 months ago

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¡ MASTERLIST GUIDE !

♡ — fluff ; 𖤐 — smut ; ☾ — angst

. ˙ ∘ ˙ ⊹ ❛ LOTR/THE HOBBIT ❜ . ˙ ∘ ˙ ⊹

thranduil ;

— taste (♡/☾/𖤐)

— lying is the most fun a girl can do without taking her clothes off. (on progress...)

. ˙ ∘ ˙ ⊹ ❛ HARRY POTTER ❜ . ˙ ∘ ˙ ⊹

harry james potter ;

— a bed full of snakes is a warfield. (♡/☾)

remus lupin ;

— detention. (♡)

sirius black ;

— one for the road (on progress...)

. ˙ ∘ ˙ ⊹ ❛ FOUNDATION ❜ . ˙ ∘ ˙ ⊹

. ˙ ∘ ˙ ⊹ ❛ BALDURS GATE 3 ❜ . ˙ ∘ ˙ ⊹

astarion ancunin ;

— intuition (on progress...)

. ˙ ∘ ˙ ⊹ ❛ THE WALKING DEAD ❜ . ˙ ∘ ˙ ⊹

. ˙ ∘ ˙ ⊹ ❛ MARVEL ❜ . ˙ ∘ ˙ ⊹

. ˙ ∘ ˙ ⊹ ❛ DEATH NOTE ❜ . ˙ ∘ ˙ ⊹

#❛ 𖤐 ❜ ˙∘˙⊹ navigation #sirius black x reader #harry james potter x reader #harry potter x reader #foundation #lee pace #thranduil x reader #lotr #the hobbit #remus lupin x reader #marauders #marauders imagine #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion

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multifandom-world8 · 10 months ago

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IMAGINE-

Being thranduil’s date to the annual ball at Mirkwood.

(Ps- it’s Lee pace’s birthday!! So this post is honor of that ❤️)

#thranduil imagine #thranduil x reader #thranduil #thranduil x you #thranduil x y/n #the hobbit imagine #lee pace x reader #lee pace

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madwomansapologist · 1 year ago

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Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 7 - And then you know, you just know

Navigation | Series Masterlist | AO3

series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attencion. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

seventh chapter synopsis: Tomorrow came and became yesterday. In Woodland, you found more than just a roof over your head: you discovered a different way of living. And Thranduil also discovered something, a secret hidden by his own heart. [4K]

warnings: female!reader. lotr kinda of violence. pre-Smaug. padme you will never be forgotten! if you watched pushing daisies i have something to tell you: 😉. another thing and i promise it is the last: anyone interest on hearing the playlist i made for this series?

glossary: Maenwë: Clever girl┆Losto vae: Sleep well┆Melön: Friend┆Vendë: Maiden┆Lossëistar: Ice Mage┆Aithor: Warrior┆Alassëa rá: Good morning┆

“You are as intimidating as a butterfly, maenwë.”

A dry laugh escaped your throat as you rolled your eyes. Most people would not do that to a king, but that was a limit already crossed. And the alcohol did not helped. It was all Thranduil’s fault, and he would admit it too. Woodland’s wine is stronger than what you thought, and the sindars party for way longer than you are used to.

You held yourself against the door of your chambers, your fingertips brushing the wood carved elk. It was your best attempt of standing still while also being serious. “You are testing my pati…”, a hiccup stopped you from finishing your sentence.

Thranduil laughed. He guffaw. After a moment of silence, so did you. Everything felt so bright and lighly. “Losto vae”, said Thranduil. It sounded so far away, even thought you knew he was right there in front of you.

How long has it been since you both left the dining room and were there, standing in the corridor of your chambers, talking the night away? Thirty minutes, maybe an hour. You lost track of time. All you knew is that your feet hurt, and your eyes were heavy.

You started to open the door, finally doing what you meant to do since you got up from your seat beside the Elvenking. “You too, dear.” Entering your room, you felt sleep joining forces with the strong wine to get you down. “You too.”

The door had already been closed for a few moments before Thranduil could move. He just stared at it, unable to do anything else. Thranduil gave a step back, his gravity trembling even though he was far away from being as wasted as you, and walked towards his chambers trying not to look back.

For the last week you spent at the inn, you could not keep your eyes closed out of rage. During your small journey, boredom made you sleep for the most part of it. Sleeping have once again become an unachievable task.

Not out of rage, or disinterest, nor sickness. But because of something else. Something better. Little by little it overcome your body. Strange, but not unsettling. For a moment it felt just like happiness, then it was something else entirely. You never wanted so bad for tomorrow to start. For something else to happen.

Longing. The problem is that you knew exactly what you were longing for. You knew exactly what your mind could not stop itself from thinking about. Who haunts your sleep, accompanied by the full moon. And the more it haunts you, the more you understand what it truly is. Or what it is not.

Gandalf has a gentleness that hides in the brutality of his words and actions. He cares, deeply. Aerin was present, forever concerned about you. Respectful until she was not. Luthien helped you with your shoulder, letters and secrets. Gildor surprised you with his lightness. Even Lorie, whom you know for a few days, already means something for you.

Thranduil is a friend, one that so quickly found a way into your soul, but he is not just that. What you feel for them is something completely different. To call him a friend is to diminish what he really is. To diminish what you feel for him. Thranduil is…

He is not a friend.

Thranduil is your favorite person in the whole world.

Those days you spend at his Halls, all those moments you shared with him, just made you more sure of that. At every meal, Thranduil saves a seat for you by his side. After every training session with Tuor, he has that concerned gaze that makes impossible for you to not share what happened. And Thranduil, a king, somehow has time to hear all your dirty jokes.

It felt like you had just closed your eyes when Lorie opened the curtains, complaining about how cold it was there. You blamed the wine for not being able to get out of bed, and Lorie for not being kind enough to let you stay in there for a few more hours.

Sat on your bed, you agreed when Lorie showed you a dress. You did not even glanced at it. She spoke a few more things, not that you payed attention. You would have agreed with anything if it meant you could close your eyes and pretend you were sleeping. Your body felt just like static, and your brain was far away from functioning.

Lorie helped you change from your nightgown, mostly because your body would not stand for itself. The dress was so comfortable. So soft. The fine silk made you feel like you were wearing a cloud. It was of a blue that remind you of clear waterfalls. Chains of pearls held it against you.

Glaring at yourself through the mirror, you were mesmerized. You never thought a dress could make you feel like the fairest girl alive, but there you are. You touched the fabric, and it seemed to glow with the contact. It was unlike anything you had ever seen.

Yesterday you wore a beautiful dress. Today you wore the sea itself.

“The Elvenking will love this one”, murmured Lorie, running her fingers through your hair. She decorated it with flowers, leaving the length loose. “Maybe even more than you do.”

You let go of the dress, turning your head to face her. “You think so?”

Suddenly, shame hits you without mercy. Lorie should not have realized that Thranduil’s opinion matter so much. Nor should you hope of her being right. “He will not even notice.”

Lorie returned her attention to your hair, weaving the pearly flowers into your strands. Her fingers felt so great against your skin, so delicately tooking care of you. “I thought this was your goal”, she hummed. “To become more.”

You looked at her by the mirror. “To become what?”

“To become our queen.”

You coughed. Hysterically. “What? No, I… I never said that I was trying to do… this. That. Whatever you thought I was doing. I am here to learn.”

And all she did was to smirk. “Alright”, Lorie raised her arms, surrendering. “I judged you poorly. I apologize, melön.”

“It is fine,” you whispered, without looking at Lorie again. Your whole being was aching. Burning. Thranduil and you. That is… impossible. A king, a immortal graceful being, and you. He would laugh at the thought.

"And still, I must admit that I am definitely right about the king”, Lorie touched your shoulders, squeezing them gently. “I never saw Thranduil look at anyone the way he looks at you. And I was born only a few years after him.”

Lorie is old in a way impossible to understand or explain. And when you have the chance of hear a being that saw lands form, seas dry, stone fortresses rise and fall, you do it. You do it, despise fear or embarrassment.

You held her hand, feeling Lorie’s warmth emanate into your skin. “What do you… mean by that?”

Lorie leaned down, her face fit against yours. She felt so warm. So caring. “One day, maybe sooner than i can predict, you will become more”, she whispered against your ear. “And when that happens, I will say ‘I told you so’.”

It felt like a promise. Maybe because it was.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

When Tuor threw you a sword, you credited luck for catching it before it sliced you in half. It certainly was not for a previous experience. Or any further warning.

“That is… new”, you hesitated. “Did you confuse me with someone else?”

There is something so young about Tuor. Perhaps because of his comforting smile, somehow always half present on his face, or for the way Tuor seems so in peace with his own silence. But looks can be deceiving. Tuor appears to be young, but he is eons older than you. Maybe his memory is just as flawed and untrustworthy as one of an elderly human.

Because there is no other sane, logic explanation for Tuor to throw you a fucking sword.

"I know exactly who you are, vendë", Tuor's sword was in its sheath, and you could see it was much larger than yours. You have gone through Gandalf's things a few times, and got used with him hitting you in the head with his staff for using his sword as a toy. You recognize a two-handed sword when you see one. "Now we need to understand who you will become."

You looked around you, hoping someone would enter the hall and give you a reason to avoid whatever this conversation was supposed to be. Only then you questioned yourself about why you both were in a different room than the usual. No furnitures, tapestries, not even paintings or sculptures of any kind. It was just you, four wooden walls, and Tuor.

A perfect room for people to bleed in.

"You will not try to murder me, will you? I know our past lessons did not ended up as we wished, but is this really necessary?”

Tuor lead you throught ancient knowledge in an attempt of getting you in tune with your powers. He showed you Woodland, told stories about gifted people, gave lessons about self control. And no matter how much Tuor tried, nothing ever evolved.

Tuor seemed to lose the thread of his thoughts. "Why would you ever say that, vendë?"

"You have a menacing sword."

"So do you."

With a sword in your hands, the only person in real danger was you. “It would be very unfair if you try to murder me now."

"I will not murder you. I will train you", Tuor could not stop the smirk from growing on his face. "Just in a different way.”

"And how will it help me?"

"I heard so much about you", Tuor walked slowly around you, resting his forearm on the scabbard of his sword. "About how you did not waste a second to act when it was needed. That requires a lot of courage. To face a river."

"Anyone would have done the same on my place. And if I did nothing I..."

"Would have felt bad", murmured Tuor. Was he quotating you? "It all lead me to a obvious conclusion: you work better under pressure."

You sighed. When Thranduil offered you to be trained, you thought he meant read ancient tomes and talk to people older than the sun itself. And for a time it was. But now you will be trained. Trained trained. What have you done with your life?

"You do not have control over your gift", Tuor glanced at you, and in his eyes you saw something beyond confidence. Something similar to competence. "So we should redirect it to something you do.”

The sword you held seemed heavier. “And what should I do with that?”

"Hit me."

You waited for Tuor to say something. Then you waited longer. And longer.

You tried to remember the way Gandalf wielded his sword. How he seemed to use it as an extension of his own body. You also thought about the gleam of Thranduil's longsword.

You looked at the one in your hands. It was so thin, the metal was forged into an almost cylindrical shape. The handle was not long, and it had the right thickness for you to be able to hold it firmly. Paying attention, you saw how beautiful it was.

Your first blow was quick, but Tuor only had to turn his face for you to miss it. He laughed, and so did you. After a long, deep breath you attacked again. This time Tuor took a step back, and you stumbled as if the world was pulling you down.

“Now that you are warmed up,” hissed Tuor. “You can go all out.”

You swallowed the excess saliva, trying to keep yourself from feeling irritated. You aimed harder this time. The sword came down, and if you had hit Tuor he would been split in two.

At every attempt of yours, Tuor just backed away. Unaffected. It did not matter how hard you tried, if you did something different, how you held the sword. It just never hit him.

And of course it would not. Tuor is a general. Way more experienced than you. A warrior. Respected because of his abilities. And you know that. It is obvious for you. But how could you not get mad when he kept on smirking everytime you fail? Even his eyes mocked you.

With your wrists burning, you decided to stop for a second. Tuor noticed it, and made sure to not keep his mouth closed. “Are you even trying, melön?”

“Right now I do not feel like your friend”, you sighed.

Your response got him off guard, making Tuor chuckle. He quickly returned to his serious face, reminding himself about his goal. Tuor need to get a reaction out of you. To make you feel something deeply, something other than that warm tranquility that is somehow always present in you.

“So what should I call you? Vendë? Or maenwë?”

Tuor waited for you to say something, then it clicked. He remembered a thing he heard. At the moment it did not meant anything, but now it could be useful. Thranduil was so upset about it — he mentioned it once and never again talked about it, which could only mean he thinks constantly about it. Tuor hopes it will get an reaction out of you too.

“I know exactly what to call you.” Tuor gave a step towards you, smirking like a poisonous snake. “From now on, I will only address you as Lossëistar.”

And he did get an reaction out of you. A dumb one. A stupid, idiotic one. You made a decision no one remotely intelligent would have done. You did not even actively thought about it, it was instinctive.

You slipped your foot on the ground and closed your hand over the base of the sword. For a second the thing on your hand was a spear. One that you threw right at Tuor.

It missed his cheek by an inch.

The sword chased into the ground and broke into a hundred little pieces. But what reached your feet was not forged metal or the base jewels. What broke, floating in that empty hall like a shallow fog, was ice.

Tuor kneeled down, took what once was a piece of your sword, and watched it melting on his palm.

“Melön. From now on, melön.” Tuor’s smiled was infectious. “And we need to get you a spear.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It has been so long since Thranduil had seen his advisors so dedicated. In a matter of days since the translator gave them all documents found, every change was planned. New lookout routes mapped, expenses for new guard posts stipulated, blacksmiths chosen to forge new weapons, evaluations scheduled for soldiers’ skill.

“Which generals will lead the evaluations?” Thranduil inquired, glaring at the dagger in his hands.

It was perhaps the ugliest he had ever seen in his long life. A blackneded dagger, with its tip bent, the edge lost and wrong angles. Even if Thranduil had not know the stench of blood, there would be no need to cling to that sense. The dried blood was begging to be seen, daring anyone to ignore it.

The bag that revealed the betrayal of free people had it hidden in one of its secret pockets. To imagine how many people died at the hands of that disgusting being, and to never be able to discover if any of them were from his realm.

It interested Thranduil almost as much as the loom shaped pendant with snow inside the crystal. Thranduil cannot help but feel offended by it, the same way he felt lured by the jewel.

So much had been done in Greenwood, and yet not enough. They can change everything, make only the best choices, and it will still not matter if they do not know who the spy is. There is no way of stopping the Enemy without that answer.

Thranduil knows that it is not a advisor responsibility to find a culprit. He do not blame any of them for not having a name for him to blame. Thranduil has his suspictions. A traveling wizard with long white beard and a pointy blue hat tops his list.

“I will begin with the evaluation of the king’s guard”, said Tuor. “The officers are-”

“There is already a training under your responsibility, aithor”, Thranduil stopped him. “With your focus divided between so many tasks, the chance of one of them being done mediocrely is higher.”

“I disagree, your grace. I am the leader of the king’s guard, I know their limits and abilities. Furthermore, it is not as if your guest’s training is not progressing.”

After a few seconds of silent planning, he nodded. “Then I shall trust your discernment,” Thranduil begun with the subject he was supposed to. After acting as a king, he said what he wanted to. “Her training is progressing.”

It makes no difference Tuor calling him your grace if when given the chance his devilishly smirk will appear for anyone to see. “If there is something I can guarantee, your grace, is that she knows how to use a sword”, rejoiced Tuor. “Or a spear, to be more specific.”

A brief moment of silence came, but it was louder than any scream.

“Out”, said the king.

Tuor was the only one that remained sit.

As the door was carefully closed, Thranduil stood up. Leaning on the table, he bent over look into Tuor’s eyes. “What have you done to her?”

“I trained her. And it worked. Better than I expected.”

“With a spear?” Thranduil growled.

“A sword”, corrected Tuor. He could feel Thranduil getting angrier, but he did not saw what Tuor did. “Next time it will be with a spear.”

“I thought I ordered you to guide her with her gift”, hissed Thranduil. “Not to make her fight. Not to maim her.”

“I did not…”

“I have no interest in hearing your empty excuses”, Thranduil interrupted. “If she is hurt, if by Varda her shoulder suffered because of your stupid delusions, you will not evaluate the guards. You will be one of them.”

Thranduil stormed out of the room, and Tuor felt as if his breath had followed his king. He shook his head, the echo of the doors slamming against the wall still in his mind, and stood up. “So over the top”, he whispered.

The Elvenking marched towards your chambers. Thranduil knew it would inconvenient to enter a maiden’s room unannounced, but he could not just wait. To think he trusted Tuor. That he believed in his ability. And that is what he get in return.

Thranduil remained determined in his path, until he heard a distant laugh. An all too familiar laugh.

He followed the sound, and was startled to realize it was coming from one of the kitchens. A servant came out, bowed as she passed the king and forgot the door open behind her. Thranduil did not even noticed that. He just continued walking, this time without rush, until he was right in front of the open door.

“And just when I turned around, prepared to walk away and never look at his face again”, your voice lured him. He could not see you, surrounded by elves that were supposed to be working, but to hear you was enough. To know you were there, laughing while sharing a story he did not heard the beginning, was enough to make the Elvenking just stop in time. “The horse decided to run away from me.”

The laughter returned, but his heart remained the same. It was not yours, so it did not affected him.

One of the cooks saw him, and she bowed with an awkward, startled movement. This caught the attention of others around her. With a gesture from their king’s hand, they left the room pulling their distracted colleagues with them.

You already had a smile on your face, but it just got bigger when you saw Thranduil. “Alassëa rá!”

Thranduil steped closer to you, admiring the way you radiated calm. You were fine. Not hurt, and using the dress he personally commissioned Lorie to sew when he saw the sketches. You looked divine.

“What you do here, maenwë?” A small, almost imperceptible smile appeared on his face.

“I craved something sweet”, you gestured towards the half-made pie in front of you. You were stretching the dough to cover the filling when you got distracted by conversations.

His smile disappeared. “You should have warned me then. It is Lorie’s responsibility to guarantee you will not lack anything here”, Thranduil scolded. “As my guest, you will never have to work. I will find the best pie-maker and make him do everything you crave.”

“Sometimes it is just not that deep”, you answered. The basket of raspberries was turned over by flour-stained hands, and you turned to him with the prettiest one you could find. “Try it,” you offered him the fruit.

Thranduil stared at the fruit in your hands. “It is a offense that you think you need to deal with hardwork under my home, maenwë.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbed his hand and pulled the Elvenking closer. Chocked, Thranduil did not pull away when you opened his hand and placed the raspberry on his cold palm.

“Again: not that deep”, you smiled as you stared into his ocean blue eyes. “It is just a pie.”

Thranduil did carried you all the way since the meadow until Luthien’s cabin. He did helped you get up from the bed after your long unconscious time. His fingers brushed against yours when you gifted him a precious book.

And still, this was the first time you held him. And by doing that, Thranduil never before felt so complete.

Thranduil could not hear anymore. He could not breath anymore. He did not saw the flour stuck to the bench, or noticed the heat, nor smelled the scent of sweet raspberries. The world could have burned and he would not see the ashes.

His world was reduced to only you. Like a mantra is his head, your name echoed throught the halls and hidden passages of his mind. Time moved, but you remained still. His world was expanded to only you.

Spring flourished in your hair, summer sparkle on your body. Smelling like pomegranates and lilies, you enchanted the earth. Water surrendered too, with rivers running down your curves. And meanwhile the sun shone above, Thranduil finally saw you for what you are.

Like the moon, you empermeated into his darkest nights. And just like the moon, you shone on him.

The sun is warm, but the tight embrace of the darkest nights and its brighiest stars are unstoppable. The sun burns, but the moon heals. Nothing would ever compare to the sweet returning home, or a dream filled with hope, nor the yearn for a sleep that never come. The sun shine on some, but the moon watches them all.

“Will you eat with me?” You asked, fingers still holding his hand. You were looking at the pie, trying to calculate how long it would take, but Thranduil continued glaring at your eyes. Thranduil dived into them, and he would gladly drown. “I think it will take about a hour.”

As discreetly as the lady who arrived late for dinner revealed herself to be able to stop a river, Thranduil discovered that this ache on his heart was what people call love.

You are his moon. Thranduil’s moon and stars. His treasures and riches. His sweet, toothaching sweet, friend. How stupid was him to not see it before. How deaf, dumb and blind.

“I can wait.”

[Eigth Chapter]

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish @whore-of-many-hot-men @h0ly-fire

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

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htchnr · 10 months ago

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♰ high and dry ༻ J. MACMILLAN.*ೃ˚

➻ masterlist. ➻ buy me a coffee!

CW ➻ alcohol ⋆ licking/sucking spilled wine off of skin ⋆ slight drunk sex ⋆ unprotected sex ⋆ piv ⋆ rough sex ⋆ creampie ⋆ slight overstimulation ⋆ swearing ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

SUMMARY ➻ the tension had been high between the two of you since the day he waltzed into the office. weeks passed and nothing but fighting had happened, will a few spilled drops of wine finally make you two snap? WC ➻ 2,1K.

the night was lively, wine flowed constantly almost like a fountain and the company was even better. you were both a little drunk, Joe holding his just a smidge better than you. you were sat beside each other on his couch, knees touching as you sat facing each other.

the air grew more tense by the minute — between your glances to his jawline as he tipped his glass back and his wanting eyes on your lips as you'd lick a little drop of red wine from them — you felt on fire.

"so, Joseph," you grinned, looking at him through your lashes. "where do you see this, 'internet', in the future?" you leaned in a little closer, not missing his brow twitching at the sound of his full name and his eyes flicking to your scandalously low cut dress, eyeing your cleavage for a second before dragging his eyes back up.

his eyes are intense as he watches you, "well," he starts, pausing his sentence to focus on you tipping the last contents of your glass back. though you jump a little as you notice a little spilling from your lips, the deep red liquid dribbling down your throat and dripping onto your chest. Joe's eyes are intently watching the liquid roll lower, and lower, and lower — finding himself unable to tear his eyes from it.

"shit, do you have a papertowel or?" you ask, cheeks flushed in slight embarrassment. you watch Joe pull his eyes away from the liquid now pooling atop your breasts, and you're mentally thanking yourself for putting on this bra tonight, else the liquid would've probably cascaded down between them with ease.

he leans in and your breath catches as one of his large hands snakes its way around your waist, his deep brown eyes couldn't be described as anything less than absolutely intense as he looked at you. "may i?" he muttered, and your chest rises with the realisation of what he's about to do.

he watches your brows twitch up in anticipation, your head nodding. "please," comes the word he's dying to hear from you, in a desperate whisper.

and that's all it takes for him to lean down and latch his lips onto your slightly red stained chest, firm lips moving down to lap up the wine that had pooled between your breasts. you let out an involuntary moan at the feeling of his tongue dragging against your skin as it gathers the liquid.

you free hand shot up to gently hold the back of his neck as he lapped up the wine, trailing a few firm open mouthed kisses further down.

your head is dropped back in pleasure as his lips dragging around, his hand on your waist sliding down to grip your hip desperately. you let out a pleasured gasp as he experimentally nips at the soft flesh, your fingers tangling into his hair.

his lips drag upwards, trailing up the base of your neck in a flurry of pure pleasure. once he reaches your jaw your hand slides to pull him up by his jaw and smash your lips to his in a painful mash of teeth and tongue, your other hand desperately trying to pull his body closer to yours.

a low moan of surprise is pulled from his throat, only to be swallowed by your lips as he shifts at your hands demand. his large hands and slender fingers take ahold of your hips and roughly manoeuvre them so he can drape your legs over the tops of his thighs on either side of his hips from his kneeling position on the couch.

you let out a surprised yet pleasured sound at the sudden movements, your dress hiking up your thighs as he leans over you, his throbbing hard on now pressed deliciously against your core through his slacks.

oh fuck, this was going to be good.

you were practically chanting your pleas at this point, your fingers along with his slender ones were fumbling to get his belt undone, yours trembling in anticipation and desperation.

you nearly let out a moan as his hips press forward into yours as he pulls his belt loose and drops it beside the couch. your hands shoot forward to unbutton and unzip his slacks, desperate pants leaving your lips once you're pulling his slacks down his hips and shoving them below your thighs that rest over his.

Joe reaches for your underwear, long fingers searching for the fabric at the side of your hips, only to find nothing. his eyes flick down to yours, "cheeky thing, expected something tonight? hm?" he spoke in an almost mocking tone.

you only let out a breath that nearly turned into a moan, fingers yanking him down by his tie. "just fuck me already Joseph," you moan against his lips, your free hand palming him over his boxers. he groaned loudly against your lips, eyes closing as he achingly rocked his hips against your palm, which in turn rocked against your sopping core causing you to moan.

his hands shoved down his boxers and your hand immediately wrapped around his impressive length, moaning at the feeling of him. Joe in turn moaned, hips stuttering as you slowly pumped him.

he grunted against your lips, hands roughly throwing your legs over his shoulders as he pressed impossibly close. you both moaned as his hard cock slid through your soaked folds, the sound of it filling his apartment. "you want this?" he pants against your lips.

you frantically nod, "fucking fuck me Joseph, fuck me like you want to every time we fight at the office," you moan against his ear, and he loses it.

he slides through your folds one last time, fully coating his generous length before shoving it in, bottoming out immediately. a loud erotic gasp leaves your lips at the feeling, yelling out, "oh shit-!" while your eyes roll back.

he stills for a second, no more, before pulling out and slamming right back in. "shit!" you cry out, your nails digging into his exposed forearms.

he sets a relentless pace, his hips knocking against you in a deliciously bruising way. "yeah?" he punctuates with a particularly hard thrust that makes you cry out louder. "do you know how fucking infuriating you are?" he grunts against your throat, his teeth dragging across the skin.

his eyes close as he focuses on the feeling of your warm wet walls constricting around him. "no one but relatives call me Joseph," he groans a hard thrust punctuating his name, "everyone in the damn office calls me Joe," another hard thrust, "everyone, except, you," a cry is violently yanked from between your lips with every hard thrust after every word.

your head lols back against the arms of the couch as he fucks you hard. "oh yeah?-!" you moan out, "do i get on your nerves that much?" your brows furrowed and eyes rolled back.

he groans loudly as you tighten around him, the thought of him having to jack off in the mens bathroom after one of your fights turned you on beyond anything. "do you- ah!- fuck your fist out of frustration, wishing it was me bent over your desk instead when i walk out?" you pant.

without warning he pulls out, strong hands flipping you over on your stomach as he moves back a little on the couch, before shoving your face down against the seat. a ridiculously lewd, almost pornographic moan leaves your lips as he slams himself back in, continuing the earth-shattering pace.

"does that get you off? huh?" he grunts, long fingers digging bruisingly into the plush flesh of your hips. your eyes roll back as the head of his cock bullies against your cervix. "don't think i haven't noticed what you're doing at the office," he pants, head hung low as he watches himself disappear inside you over, and over, and over.

your fingers dig into the soft couch, knuckles turning white. "wearing those damn short skirt and tight blouses, dropping things every time you're around-! me, just to bend over and pick that shit up." he groans, hips slamming into you. you let out a long string of moans, the familiar feeling rising below your stomach as his merciless thrust continue.

he notices you clenching sporadically around him, his hips stuttering with each clench. "but of course you know that i know it," he grunts, one of his hands sliding down the front of your hips, a loud cry spilling from you as two of his slender fingers press rough circles into your clit. your thighs shake, your hips jolting with pleasure.

"you-" he pants as neither the pace of his hips nor fingers falter, "you were just waiting for this weren't you? waiting for the- moment when i'd snap and just bend you over my desk, huh?" you could barely focus on his words as he fucked you, your hips starting to spasm as you're nearly thrown over the edge, white hot pleasure flooding your senses as you finally come with a high pitched cry.

he groans loudly as you spasm around him, his own release not far behind. his hips falter as his hand leaves your overstimulated clit, dragging it's way up your clothed chest until his long slender fingers wrapping themselves around your throat and pulling you upright. "shit-!" you cry out, a few tears dripping down your face like the wine had dripped down your chest.

his shirt-covered toned chest is pressed flat up against your back as he fucks up into you from this new position. god lord, could this man fuck. "where do you want it?" he grunts against your ear, teeth nipping at the flesh.

you drop your head against his shoulder, "inside-!" you moan, "i need your cum in me Joe!" you whine, your thighs spasming as he fucks up into you relentlessly.

he lets out a strangled moan against your ear at the sound of your words. "was that all it took- for you to say my damn name?" he panted, his hips faltering as he got closer and closer to his release. "a good fucking is all you needed?" he grunts as his pace picks up, he's so damn close. "should've done this sooner then,"

one of your hands comes up to wrap around his hand holding your throat, fingers tightening around his. your other hand reaches around you and him, finding purchase tangling in his hair. he groans, slender fingers tightening around your throat, relishing the moan that's pulled out from between your lips as he does so. "please come for me," you choke out, voice raw from the crying and constricted by his fingers.

Joe groans again, tilting your head towards his on his shoulder. "beg for it then, sweetheart,"

your eyes clench shut and your brows furrow — never in a million years did you think you'd beg for MacMillan, but with the way his cock is relentlessly bullying your walls and cervix you'd do almost anything. "please-!" you whine, "please give me your cum!"

his hips stutter at your words, "you'll get it," he groans, his pace quickening before slamming to a halt. you both moan as you feel him violently twitch inside you, thick ropes of cum painting your walls as he roughly fucks his cum up into you. with a final stutter his hips still, pressed firmly up against you as you both pant heavily.

after a minute he loosens his hold on your throat, his fingers trailing down the front of your dress. his hand comes to a stop just beneath your breasts, holding you firmly as he leans down, his hand stopping you from fully dropping forward against the seat of the couch. you sag, hips remaining in place as you fully relax forward onto the seat.

it takes the both of you a little bit to calm down. you whimper reluctantly as he pulls out, watching his cum follow as it slowly drips out if you and onto the front of his slacks. he remains there for a second more, unable to tear his eyes away from your leaking hole.

he moves your legs off of his, getting up off the couch with a slight tremble in his legs. he walks over to the bathroom, grabbing and wetting a wash cloth as he scrubs at the front of his slacks to get the worst off. he saunters back over to the couch, leaning down behind you as he cleans the remainder of his spent off you before chucking the washcloth on the coffee table.

he lets out a yawn as he settles down behind you, leaning forward to pull your tired form by your hips and position you so you're laying between his long legs while resting against his chest. you slump against him, a hand coming to rest against his clothed chest beside your face. you could feel his heartbeat below your fingertips.

you let out a long sigh, slowly drifting to sleep from pure exhaustion. Joe following not too far behind.

i hope this was good!! i had such fun writing it 🤭 just started watching Halt and Catch Fire (just finished s1 so no spoilers pls!) and i'm determined to single handedly revive this fandom cause FOUR total fics EVER of this man is a CRIME.

anyways, my requests are open for this man!! 😁 please, any and all ideas (within my guidelines though.) are welcome!

#⋆୨🩷©2024 htchnr #⋆୨⭐️joe macmillan #joe macmillan smut #joe macmillan #joe macmillan x reader #joe macmillan x you #joe macmillan imagine #joe macmillan oneshot #halt and catch fire #halt and catch fire season one #lee pace halt and catch fire #joseph macmillan #joseph macmillan x reader #joseph macmillan x you #joseph macmillan smut #joseph macmillan imagine #joseph macmillan oneshot

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anundyingfidelity · 1 year ago

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NO SECOND CHANCES — Brother Day/Cleon XVII

Summary: A lonely space traveler happens to save from a certain death the most annoying person of the entire galaxy, the Emperor.

Pairing: Cleon XVII x female reader.

Word count: 8.1k. (oooops).

Warnings: well, spoilers for whole season 2. Language, angst (the reader wants to die, really). Talks about suicide, talks about suicide attempts, reader having nightmares, PTSD, reader is suffering too. Some hurt/comfort, some fluff? Filthy smut (included but not limited to hand jobs, unprotected sex, oral from both parts, dirty language, etc. etc.), and end of the world sex (to Beki's arsehole bitches yay🥂). Also Cleon refers to the reader as "woman" a couple of times lol. Reader has pierced ears? (wait for it). Bittersweet ending tbh.

Notes: just trying to make slow burn in a one shot because I'm a lazy fucker who doesn't like to write stories with chapters, otherwise I don't finish shit. Uh probably OOC Cleon??? I don't know. Fully inspired by my favorite trope ever: saving the bad guy and making him humble. I don't care we're four people watching Foundation, I need to write about this little piece of shit I love him so much. Cleon XVII is a himbo I said it. Not beta, we die like bitches of the Gossamer court.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

Tagging: @curiouswildi hope you like it 🥺💘

GEN MASTERLIST!

I. BEYOND

The last thing wandering his mind was Bel Riose. Fucking Bel Riose. That idiot. They had won over him; over him, who was Empire and still meant to be for years ahead. Next, the cold feeling of space was embracing him. But he felt he was not floating around anymore.

Cleon was tied to a surface. It felt like harsh, uncomfortable metal under his back. He slowly forced his eyes open, moving his limbs and trying to escape whatever it was restraining him to do so. His wrists and ankles, as his waist, were tied by a light blue particle field preventing the patient to move at all. He was met with the roof of a ship and equipment, but it wasn't any Imperial one. In panic, he moved until he was able to shake the surface he was on, panting and grunting, feeling some pain and sting resurging all over him. The headache was becoming unbearable and the sounds coming from his dry mouth finally transformed into screams. The room doors opened and a strange voice catched his attention.

"Finally, you're awake."

Cleon obliged to follow the shadow moving around, his eyes focusing to try and see who was talking. He heard steps and the sounds of metal and glass clinking around, probably looking for medication and tools as he was know fully concius. The figure finally came to view by his side.

"I will inject this, so don't move," you said, grabbing his bicep. Cleon was about to protest, but the needle was faster and the medicine was welcomed on his vurnerable system, easing the pain and calming down the headache. "Welcome back, Eminence," you smirked to him.

"And just so, who are you?" he asked chuckling to himself, licking his lips. "What have you done to me?"

"First, I saved your life and cleaned all your bloody wounds. You should say thanks at least," you sat down dangerously close by his side, on the same surface he was on.

"I did not ask you for mercy."

"Oh, but I did," you replied, a smirk on your lips. "Perhaps I shouldn't have, right?" you took a small pencil-like device in your hand from the pocket of your pants and used it to scan his vital signs. You touched his face carefully with your fingers, examining his eyes, his heartbeat, and any anomaly that might be on his system from head to toe, but the scanner found none. Cleon watched you doing so until he asked again, his voice softer this time.

"Who are you?"

"Just no one as important as you are," you said, saving the scanner back.

"Where are we?" Cleon asked, looking around. He observed he was placed in a small medical bay.

"In space, in the middle of nowhere I suppose," you shrugged, getting on your feet again. "It seems you're recovering quite well and fast. At least that's what my scanner says. So first, I think you should want some water, which I am leaving right here," you put a flask on the small table next to him. "And before I give you this to drink, I want to make sure you will not restrain or fight back at me."

He laughed, that narcissistic smile on his face. You wanted to punch him.

"You're no match for me, woman."

"Really? Then I could just throw you out there again, you know, it's not difficult. I'm spending resources on you, surely I won't oppose to that idea," you snapped back.

His smile faded slowly, thinking. If it wasn't for you, he would be dead by now, it was true. But he was so used to be immortal and undefeteable that the situation was kind of new. He only had been vulnerable and exposed to his doctors in the palace, and you were a complete stranger. And still, you had the heart to take him in your ship and save his life. He sighed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

"Fuck, fine. What do you want me to do?"

So this was his way of cooperating, you thought.

"After I turn off the restraints, you will have to sit down on the stretcher. I will help you. Do not try to get up yet, you might feel dizzy."

With a nod he said to you the orders were clear. Next, the restraints disappeared in the air with a push on a button and Cleon felt a small relief. As you promised, you helped him to sit and he realized that the clothes he had before were replaced with a set of new pale grey robes that allowed him to move freely. You offered the flask to his lips, but he watched you with a questioning look on his face.

"Is only water, I swear. See?" you had a small sip from the bottle and he looked more at ease after you swallowed the liquid.

You offered the bottle again and helped him to slowly drink. Once he was done, you placed a small tray with fruits and dry seeds on top of the same table beside the stretcher.

"You might want to eat something," you said, breaking the silence under his fixed gaze. Even when he was sitting down and you on your feet it felt rather intimidating. "I'm still collecting supplies and food. You were certainly not part of the plan these days."

"So you travel alone," Cleon said, taking a small red fruit between his fingers and began to eat it.

"I do," you nodded. "Sorry if the taste of the fruit is not pleasant."

"You're doing your best," he said while eating, studying the room around him. You were not sure if he was mocking you or not. "What was your name again?"

You chuckled. "You're very interesting, Empire. Why don't you finish eating and rest before taking a bath?"

The next few hours, you left him to rest and escorted him to your quaters, the only place with a comfortable bed, so he could get proper sleep. Since there were no further questions from him, you got to your business and requested more provisions to the merchants. Traveling alone had made you some contacts and traders, from time to time you would request for food giving in exchange money or rare knick knacks, and within a day you had a small capsule with supplements heading to your coordinates with everything you needed. You just had to wait for now.

After checking the estate of your ship and confirming everything was working correctly, you went back to your quaters to see how the Emperor was doing. You were startled to see him sitting on your bed with a book between his hands. He looked like he just had a bath because his shirt was gone and his hair was wet, some droplets running down his skin. Quickly, you studied him. He was handsome, muscular, his skin had a beautiful tan, and he was tall and heavy as hell, something you noticed when cleaning his wounds and taking him inside your ship. The earring on his left ear was also interesting, you thought, for a member of the most important dinasty of the galaxy. Very rebellious for the emperor.

You also knew he heard you steping in but never looked up from the book because he was the first one to talk.

"Never I could imagine you would have books in here," he said, clearly interested on the pages.

"Yeah, not all of us are barbarians as you work so hard to convice yourself we are."

He chuckled to himself, looking at you for the first time since you entered the room.

"Are you from Korell?"

"The book gave it away, didn't it."

"This is very old," he said, closing the book. "You are for sure not allowed to have this in Korell."

"That is one of the reasons I left," you replied, looking around the place. It was obvious to you that he was pearing within your personal stuff because the old myth book was secured down your mattress. At least he didn't leave a mess and everything seemed in the right place. "I was a threat in my planet so Argo kept looking for me for some conspiracy shit and terrorism when all I did was oppose myself to his repression and freakshow," you continued, his eyes drew back to you. "They wanted me dead in Korell, but I am the only one to decide that, even when and where will it happen."

Cleon shifted on his seat, wondering why you were sharing a piece of your life to him when he didn't even know your name yet. Words and thoughts wandered his head on how would he answer to your words, compassion or empathy sometimes were difficult things to feel. But before he was able to speak, you interrupted his thoughts.

"I will leave you alone to rest for a while and will come back when it's around supper. I follow Kornell cycle of time, so you know... Just don't poke around my underwear, Empire," you dragged his title mockingly.

He laughed softly, going back to his reading.

"Thank you for the idea."

That was the first time you would hear him expressing gratitude.

II. GHOSTS FROM THE PAST

Around more than a week passed, and Cleon was healing and his wounds were not so visible now. You made sure to inject him every day and gave your quaters and bed for him to sleep and recover. He had took a pad you had in the room so he could count the cycle of days in Trantor. Hardly to admit, he found himself missing home rather than hatred. Sometimes the rage mixed with sorrow, but he forced himself to try and understand that it was a normal feeling due to the sudden lose of everything he once had.

Cleon had been up from some time now as he counted the end of the eighth day on the pad, and wondered why your daily visit was taking so long. It was a habit you had, to come in and wake him up with the medicine, and after it was done, you would tell him to eat some of the fruits and food on the tray you brought for him. He got on his feet and put a shirt on before leaving the room to search for you. On the pilot cabin, you had an improvised, small stickable mattress on the wall that had saved your life before, so you used it to sleep and rest the past few days while he cured. Cleon observed your figure lying down on the mattress, walking slowly and sensing something was not right. He found you shaking and trembling, eyes still closed and chest heavily breathing as your hand held onto dear life what he realised it was a gun.

He felt somehow frightened and confused. If you wanted to kill him, you would already have done it. You had made yourself clear on that. The tremor of your body seemed it was increasing and Cleon, with a gentless he did not know he possesed, tried to soothe you with his voice, removing the gun from your embrace.

"Shh... everything is fine," he mumbled, not sure of his words, his other hand touching your shoulder in soft circles. He was able to withdraw the gun from your hands and placed it on the floating shelf near by.

Your eyes squeezed and some tears flowed down your face as you sobbed still in your sleep. Cleon hesitated on what to do next to wake you up. He leaned again, his hand slowly tracing the skin of your arm, like he did when his brother Dawn was a child.

"Woman? Wake up," he whispered, shaking you a little bit and pating your arm softly, and when he talked again, his voice was a little bit louder. "You're having a nightmare, wake up."

And as he repeated his words over and over, your eyes opened wide, feeling your lungs able to breath again. But your senses still were coming to awareness, and automatically you slapped the face of whoever it was touching your arm. You heard him groan in pain and you rolled over the mattres, until you hit the floor, taking out a small blade from below the makeshift pillow of fabrics you used. The blade pointing at him as you looked around the cabin to find out it was only both of you.

"What- are you okay?!" Cleon questioned with a frown, rubbing his hurting cheek as he remained on the other side of your bed, the only thing separating you from him was the mattress.

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine!"

He rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Of course you are not."

"Then why the fuck would you ask that?! It's obvious I'm not fine!" you yelled. Your body was tense and ready to attack. You felt a knot on your throat, like if you were to cry again. Silence envolved you, trying to calm down. That inner voice in your head began saying it was just a dream, and you wanted to believe it. It was all in your head. It was not real...

"Do you want to kill me?" Cleon's gloomy voice echoed.

"What? No! I would never-"

"Then why are you sleeping with a damn blaster shot and a blade on your bed?!" he confronted, screaming at you, but not daring to move as you also remained standing in the same place.

"Because I wanted to kill myself!" you yelled back, pointing the sharp of the knife to you instead. His face became stern and you realised what you had said, and what was happening. Ashamed, you threw the blade back under the pillow. "Sorry, I don't want you to know that. Forget it."

You wiped the tears on your face under his piercing and concerning eyes. You forced your head to compose and burry your nightmares and memories deep inside before talking.

"I have to inject you," you said and walked back to the room, sure he would follow behind. Once you crossed the doors, you prepared the needle but Cleon remained standing near the exit of your room the whole time, arms crossed over his chest, observing you with utter worry on his face. Why? He really did not know. Probably because you were the only human and intelligent contact he had for days now, and you had the decency to keep him alive. Though he was not going to let that in his head - yet.

"Why don't you seat?" you most likely ordered. Cleon slowly made his way to you and remained standing, tall and kind of threatening. He was Emperor, after all.

"What is wrong with you?" he asked with a careful tone.

"Nothing, Empire. Just sit," you said, coldly, waiting for him to do as you requested.

"No, I need to know," he demanded, coming closer to you, jaw clenching. Anger started taking over your being and held his gaze as you replied.

"I have the right to decide whether or not speak about my personal life, I am not one of your subjects, so sit the fuck down so I can give you the last dosis of this shit."

"I need to know if I can fucking trust you after what I just heard coming from your mouth," his voice boomed around the place.

"You really want to know?! Fine, back in Korell I lost my family, my brother, my parents, my home - everything I had they took it from me! I was the last one alive and I escaped after they killed my brother in front of me and that day is still haunting me," you muttered and felt the tears forming on your eyes, but this time, of rage. "So if it concerns your own well being, like it always has been, no, I will not kill you. But you are no Emperor here, so stop that game. Some of us never gave a fuck about you or the Empire, or the Foundation and Hari Seldon, or the Church of the Galactic Spirit -I don't care! I'm tired, I just want to be free and live peacefully!"

You had not noticed you stepped closer to him, feeling the heat radiating from his body. His face was blank, as if he had been slapped again, but this time to reality. A reality he was not familiar with on his own bubble.

Quickly you grabbed his bicep and injected the dosis with him standing up. He whined in surprise. It was fast. So fast that you just removed the needle from his flesh and left the room.

III. WHAT YOU REALLY KNOW

According to the Trantor cycle, evening should be now. When you left him alone in the room, Cleon spent the next hours by himself, and since he watched you looking up for garments and food around the ship before, he made sure to get those without speaking to you. Not that you wanted to talk either. He noticed you sitting on the main pilot seat, looking at the stars and the void through the glass the whole day. He got concerned for a moment, but decided to let you be as he, also, understood that some time alone was necessary.

However, Cleon thought to talk to you finally and say something. Anything to get you back to reality and forget your bad dreams. So he found himself making his way to sit on the other chair of the ship. He prepared the words to say inside his head, but it was more difficult to speak out loud.

"I think I owe you an apology," he finally said, taking in the view of space. You nodded slowly your head. Nobody turned to see each other.

"It's nothing. But apology accepted I guess."

"It's not nothing. I rarely thought about what other citizens and planets are going through... I'm so sorry it happened to you."

"I would like to say that was not your fault, but since the Empire withdrawal from Korell, living there definitely became so much worse," you confessed, very aware of the genetic dinasty and some of the things previous emperors did, which did not change much. They were the same man after all. Cloning again and again...

"Probably should apologise for that as well," he said.

"Yeah, it's too late, but thank you."

Cleon could still sense a feeling of resentment in your voice. He thought you were right to feel that way, but he was also going to try and make you understand him.

"I never had a mother, or a father, and my brothers are the same man as me, so it's hard to understand that some people lose their family and loved ones. I was born with that loss already... That's why I wanted to end the genetic dinasty."

"You are the eighteenth?" you asked, not knowing exactly why he was opening to you.

"The seventeenth."

"That's a lot of you though. Do you remember anything from the past?"

"I do not. But our memories are always saved. Everything that happens in Trantor is recorded and kept as data. If I want to know something about a previous Cleon, I would just request it."

You turned your gaze to finally see him, he looked in awe with space as he spoke.

"So what was your motive to destroy a planet?"

He turned his eyes to you. "I believe you didn't care about Empire or the Foundation."

"That doesn't mean I want to see a genocide, your Eminence."

Cleon stirred on his seat, with a strange feeling of guilt, sadness and regret. For some reason, the title falling off your lips made everything worse.

"You saw it," he said. "How? You're no part of the Foundation, at least you're lying to me."

"No, I am not! I did a stupid space jump without course and I ended here, unfortunately." You were growing tired of the conversation. "I don't know why we keep talking. We're both shitty people anyway."

Cleon chuckled, not to mock you, but because of the whole situation you were in together.

"I know you are. Brave enough to kill yourself, taking another life is nothing compared to your own."

You locked your gaze with his, thinking if he was he judging you or flattering you.

"And have you, like, tried to end with your life at some point? You must feel lonely, under the shadow of a clone, not allowing you to be, well, you."

He let out a deep breath, avoiding your eyes.

"I have not, but my genes are already compromised and adultered. No surprise if any of us dared to commit suicide before," he replied, looking to the void. "In any case, if something out of the ordinary is to happen to my brothers or myself, we have another clone with our same memories, same age, everything; prepared to be woken up and take our place. Like if we never existed."

"That's fucked up," you scoffed. "We are never trully free, are we."

You got on your feet to look up for something to eat and forget your small talk. You knew he had searched for fruits and dry food because you heard him moving around and then leaving a couple of times, but you had nothing through the whole day. Cleon followed your steps, leaving enough space between you both as you took a couple of apples, giving one to him.

"The jump, how did you do that?" he asked, taking a bite of the fruit. "You don't have spacers."

"The rebels are smart people. A lot of members of the Foundation replicated your technology."

"I thought you were not involved with them," he insisted.

"I am not, but I would never deny any help. That my support doesn't rely on them doesn't mean I will let a chance slide."

"You're not answering my question."

You pulled the sleeve of your shirt up to show your bare wrist to him. There was the same device Hober Mallow and the Clerics had, inserted on your skin.

"I use this.”

"This is a whisper ship," he mumbled.

"Smart. Yes, sort of."

Cleon scoffed. "So that means we can land somewhere."

"About that, uh, we can't."

He moved to throw the remainings of his fruit with a confused look. "Why?"

He heard your sigh as you covered your wrist again, looking away from his deep eyes.

"I- I threw myself to space because I wanted to kill myself," you started, avoiding his gaze. "I didn't care how long would take me, I just wanted to blow up my ship. Just end everything. But then I saw you, floating, dying... and for some reason I couldn't let you die. I didn't know who you were but I saved you. There's no energy or fuel to make another jump. I don't have that. We are far from what Terminus was now. From any planet, form of life or civilization... plus you are unarmed. You still are weak and anyone could kill you," you finished, and waiting for some reason that he could forgive you for giving him any sort of hope. "I'm sorry, Empire."

Beyond madness, Cleon felt you were worried for him. Not the kind of sentiment his brothers or palace workers would do, but a real one. Because you knew saving him was condemn him to death anyway. But this felt much better than dying alone. He had sins, past despiteful decisions and ghosts hunting him, as so were you. You just addressed your feelings and your life together in less than a day. And you were right, none of you were never trully free, but as crazy as it might be, being lost in space with you felt like freedom to him. Finally, he was far away from everything that was keeping chained to a life and responsibilities he never asked for, living under the shadow of an egotistical emperor.

There was a strong impulse growing inside him and before his rational voice began to scream it was a bad idea to continue, he had cupped your cheeks between his hands and his lips pressing hungrily against yours. You whined, surprised of the warm feeling of his mouth, his tongue hurriedly asking for permission to taste you. When oxygen was not enough you pulled away, shocked and panting. You barely noticed your hand around his forearm, recovering yourself from the best kiss you had in some time.

"Cleon," he whispered, kissing your lips one more time.

"What?"

"Just call me Cleon. I'm not Empire anymore."

You kissed him in response with the same eagerness he had before, heart beating strongly in your chest. His hands caressed every inch of your body, from your neck, breasts, your hips, your soft thighs, your ass... he touched you with desperate fire while you moaned against his mouth, liking where was this leading you, more than you wanted to admit.

That was the first time you gave in to him completely.

IV. TO LOVE AND TO BE LOVED

You moaned against his lips, those that forcefuly broke the heated kiss you shared as he ruts into you desperately to reach his own climax. His flesh hitting against yours made an obscene harmony that echoed the confines the ship, far from civil and coherent noises fell from his lips as he sucked into the skin of your neck.

"Fuck, yes, right there," a broken whimper escaped your throat, your nails scratching his back, your walls clenching around his cock. "Cleon..."

The sound of his name being moaned by your sweet, raspy voice, caused him to slow down his thrusts just a bit.

"I still don't know your name," he whispered, bitting your bottom lip only to kiss you wet again.

"And yet you're fucking me, isn't that enough?" you teased, rolling your hips to meet his own.

He gave you a smirk, that fucking handsome smirk you hated so much. He took you with his strong arms, flipping you around so he was now on his back and you got control on top of him. You sinked down his dick setting a reckless rhythm, his thrusts matching yours every time you went down, his grip hard on your waist, marking and bruising your skin. One of his hands massaged your bouncing breasts, one after the other, pinching and then, you felt his mouth biting your nipples and chest, as he leaned your body to him for easy access, with slow grunts and groans that didn't sound human anymore.

His cock repeatedly hit that sweet spot from the position you were taking him, increasing the tension inside you. The sensation of his hands coming back to your sides and making its way to your ass cheeks to guide your bouncing hips became too much so soon. You cried as you felt drunk and high, muscles tense as you finally came. Cleon held you tight, fucking into you as you reached sweet release. His tongue traveled down your collarbone and breasts.

"Cleon," you moaned, your hands on his chest to support your body better. You felt him twitch inside you, knowing he was dangerously close too. Quickly, you slid off him, taking his girth, slick with your own wetness, between your hand you pumped him hard, easing his own release. His seed coated your palm, sprinkling on his abdomen.

"Shit, you're great," he praised, voice dark from lust. His fingers tangled into your hair, his forehead against yours as you recovered from the intense sex session you had for the second time that day. He kissed you sweetly, like a sweetness he only had discovered in the short time with you. "I wish I could know your name."

"You can call me your savior," you gave him a playful smile.

After a shared lazy kiss, you got on your feet, legs still shaking, and left the bed to clean yourself in the small place you called bathroom right next to the only room of the ship. Once finished, you threw the cloth away, and looked directly the mirror, or poor attempt of it. In the damp glass, you watched Cleon appear to embrace your body against his, your back touching his chest muscles and his hands roamed your abdomen while he left butterfly kisses on your shoulder. His big arms around you, pressing your figure to his own, huge in comparison entrusting protection.

The nineteenth day it was, and you spent it exploring your pleassures, talking nonsense and overall for Cleon, thinking he might love you. The confinement had flourished different kinds of feelings and sentiments inside his heart. He finally learned to feel something else besides hatred, power, or selfishness. The more you spoke to him, the more he grew to like you. You were far from perfect and so was he, and the way you opened your heart to him - the man who was to wed a powerful queen, govern thrillions of people around the galaxy and kill a few others - caused him to feel unworthy of anything coming from you. The man he grew up to be slowly disappeared as long as you had him under your light and spirit; his old self was fading away. And it scared him, but excited him at the same time. Even when he was very aware you were near the end together, he had nothing to ask for but to perish with you.

"What's in your head?" you whispered.

Cleon had no longer been tasting the skin of your neck, his chin pressed on your shoulder instead with his mind running a million thoughts by now. He took a glance at the damp and dirty mirror of how perfect you looked, bare and exposed in body and soul, only for his eyes to witness the true beauty of being alive. Of being human.

"You."

A loving smile curled up on your lips, looking directly into his enamoured gaze through the mirror. He decided he wanted to remember you like this in the afterlife.

You finished marking the last spot with an 'x', a wide grin over your face.

"I won."

"Yet again," Cleon chuckled. His laugh had grew sincere with you as he settled on the floor on the cold floor of the pilot cabin, just giving enough space for the board between you and him. "And what is your question, person-I-not-know-the-name-of?"

You just had finished playing another round of a silly game. It was an old Terran game, and you were surprised it made it this far across the galaxy. It was good to pass the time though. It kept you and Cleon thinking about other things besides dying. The fuel and energy, along with the water, were lowering on their levels. Food on the other hand was not a worry, you knew you could request to the traders as long as energy was functioning to make communication with them. However, the energy of your ship had to be loaded in land, just like fuel. And you had no place to go now to do that.

Being together as long as you had the resources was the main goal now. So many things crossed your mind as you talked about everything and nothing at the same time the past days.

"Have you ever been in love?" you asked after some time thinking.

You thought maybe it was the first time in Cleon's life that he was finally able to think and behave on his own, with no burdens about a dinasty to protect or pleasing his council.

He was taken by surprise as you spoke. He immediately remembered Demerzel, his loyal advisor. His relationship was merely sexual, but there were no feelings that would assimilate to what love is in reality. For sure, his own clone should have been woken up by now with no further consequences. For Cleon, it felt like he was actually erased from existence forever. He was disposable, just like his brothers. But thinking about your question, his answer was no. He never knew what love was. Not from Demerzel, certainly not from Dusk, Dawn was slightly different though, he did love Dawn but not the way you were referring to. He never knew the love from a mother or a father, nor family. Sareth hated him, so even if they got to marry he knew there would be no space for such sentiment. His own future children with the Queen of Cloud Dominion would have grown up without an essential part of being human.

"No," Cleon finally gave an answer, his gaze went soft as he realised what you just became to him in a matter of days. "However I sense something different when I am with you. And I don't recall to know what that is."

You smiled. "Isolation tends to create adjustments in those who suffer it."

"And have you?" Cleon asked back. "Have you ever felt it before?"

"I did... With my parents, my brother, my best friends, and a couple of assholes who broke my heart."

He chuckled, admiring the charm you had to brush off the hardships in your life. You smiled back at him. Gods you loved seeing him like this, like if he was happy and nothing had happened.

"And how is it?" he said.

"It's affection, it's addictive, not everyone can escape from it. You feel like you belong somewhere, that your life is strangely complete," you mumbled, locking your gaze with his own. "And it hurts a lot. But as you go through that path, you get to know the most beautiful kind of pain."

"Does it hurt now?"

You swallowed hard, that familiar knot on your throat. You were not expecting to feel this way. Not for the Emperor, not for the clone, not for Cleon. Yet one does not control love. You don't decide to love someone without a reason. And what else could two lost souls do in the middle of the galaxy with no purpose but to wait and die? You had opened your deepest fears and secrets to him, not expecting Cleon doing exactly the same. He trusted you and you trusted him. You slept in the same bed, ate the same food and fruits, fucked like animals everyday and yet there was an emotional connection in between you thought would never know again after so many years. How could you not fall for him when everything was crumbling? Finally, you nodded your head, feeling the tears burning in your eyes.

"I always have been alone, Cleon, but my soul seems to have a little love to give. In the end, love is what makes us human."

Cleon put the board of the game away and leaned closer to you, his hand caressed your cheek, cleaning the tears falling down your face as he pressed his forehead with yours. He kissed you softly, swallowing your pain, as a way to say he was hurting too.

V. VOYAGE

It was the thirtieth day on the ship.

Your last try to get and land in any planet failed. As much as Cleon told you to stop, that everything was fine, you felt you had to keep trying until your last day. But the ship was basically to zero fuel and soon energy will follow. You used the control panel of the ship, hopefuly to find a near by land, but luck was not on your side. There was nothing. You don't know exactly how many miles you traveled with no course for a month. It was getting beyond bearing.

Frustrated, you pulled away the holo of the map and the calculations you did in the air, throwing a lose screw of your seat directly to the glass. It did nothing, but you were starting to hate the view of the stars and nothingness sorrounding.

"I told you to stop that," you listened to Cleon, who seemed just arrived to the pilot cabin.

"I had to try," you stood up, walking towards him. Your arms embraced his waist and he took you in with the same warmth.

"You're worried."

"I am not," you whined. "I should have sent for help with the merchants."

Cleon broke your hug and cupped your face between his hands, leaning closer to you.

"No, we should end this now," he whispered, his brows furrowed.

"No!"

"Why not? You wanted to do it even before you found me."

"Because now ending me is ending you too!"

Cleon felt your pain, but there was no other option to make than to blow up the ship anyway. Even if you were to land somewhere, what was for him? You were not able to go back home, and Cleon was discarded at this point. The throne could not have two of the same in the middle. Hiding and running away sounded like a good choice, but still, where? There was nothing left, but he found comfort with you.

"I am okay with this," he said. "I told you. You have to do it."

"Cleon-" you plea was cut by his voice.

"How much time do we have?"

"I don't know, a couple of days at last."

"Then do it. You said you were to decide when and how you would die, this is the time," he remembered with a stern voice. "Take it."

You let out a shaky breath and pushed him to press your lips to his own, like saying goodbye. But you still would not accept this fate. Not like this. You kissed him with hunger and need, your tongues tangled up as your mouths danced together.

"I just have- I can't yet," you mumbled once the kiss was over, leaving you both seeking for air. "Can we just fuck each others brains again and pretend none of this happened for a moment?" you asked against his lips, your hand now on his cheek, caressing the stubble on his face. You always remembered to help him shave and that was one of the most normal things you had to do since you found yourself confined with him. The most casual and mundane things to do became

He nodded. "Yes, my love.”

Cleon kissed your lips with the same hunger and desire, his hands caressing every inch of you until he lifted you up, your legs quickly went around his waist. With eyes closed, you let him guide you to the bar fixed against the wall of your ship.

He made sure to throw everything that was on the surface to the ground to place you in there. Once you were sitting, he pulled your legs apart to stand in the middle of them, and full with lust, his lips and teeth marked your neck and collarbone. You moaned sweetly, palming his groin still covered with the fabric of his pants. He traveled down your breasts, kissing over your shirt until he took it off. He was lucky you decided not to wear bra anymore. He sucked on your tits and nipples, grinding his hips against your hand.

You tried to pull his pants away, but he finished the job first, pulling away from your chest. After his pants were discarded, his shirt followed. He also got used to no underwear so he stood exposed all for you. A true god he was, looking perfect and like if every inch of his body was created for you to worship completely.

Cleon hurried in getting you out of your clothes, and in minutes you were naked and feeling his tongue dancing on your belly. His fingers and massive hands teasing your thighs, avoiding the place where you needed them the most. You moaned when he finally used a single digit to rub your slit, collecting your wetness. He rubbed your clit, mouth going slow and dangerously close to your pussy.

You laid your back on the bar and Cleon grabbed your thighs to have you exactly at the edge of the surface, ready to eat from your heat.

"Cleon," you cried out his name, your fingers tangled on his hair as his tongue licked your most sensitive parts.

He kept your hips in place, fucking you with his tongue and licking your folds, going to your clit. You couldn't help but whimper and moan, removing his hair to see just how much he yearned your cunt.

You tried to roll your hips but his grip was too strong. He looked up to lock his dark gaze with you, his humming creating strong vibrations down your core. He played some more, using a finger to tease your entrance. You were about to cum just by watching him.

"Cleon, please-" you gasped when he inserted a finger inside you, thrusting slowly. "Please, I want to taste you too."

He stopped, looking your flushed face for a moment. Your eyes were begging to suck him right now. He released your pussy with an obscene sound, pulling his tongue and hand away, but your wetness still shined on him. You got on the ground with his help and started to kneel down, kissing his skin, from his chest and then abdomen, licking and biting to leave your marks on his sculptured muscles. You made sure to adore and suck the skin of his navel, knowing he was insecure with not having a belly button. Still without it, he was more human than he could ever get to accept because you have seen that on him.

Cleon grunted once your hand wrapped around him, his hand on your scalp. You gave him a far from innocent look from your position before licking the head, rolling your tongue around it, lubing it with your saliva. His desperate groans led you to wrap your lips around him, pumping with your hand what you couldn't reach with your throat yet. You had to learn he was big for you, so a little of warm up for your mouth was a good start.

He cursed under his breath, thrusting his hips a little to go further, slowly, and you welcomed his cock with a small gag once he reached the back of your throat. He moaned darkly, your rubbed your thighs together when he started to fuck your mouth. Both his hands taking the sides of your head as you choked and gagged around his lenght. You felt him throbbing but he quickly pulled out, and left you empty and with drool falling from your lips, your pussy now aching and clenching around nothing.

"So beautiful," he purred, the touch on your scalp soft now. "But I want to finish inside you."

You nodded, obedient. Cleon helped you to sit down on the bar again, he stayed between your legs, spreading them wide, you held onto him, arms around his neck. He entered slowly, the warmth of your walls swallowing his cock, inch by inch, until it disappeared completely inside your dripping cunt.

You shivered, broken moans falling from your lips. Cleon muffled your low cries with kisses, waiting for you to get used to him.

"Fuck me, Cleon," you mumbled against his swollen lips.

He complied happily, thrusting and pounding into your heat, with a frenetic and brutal pace you had learn to love. You hid your face in the crook of his neck, yor nails scratching his arms and back. His cock touched all the right places inside you and he whispered sweet nothings into your skin, fucking you right under the light of the stars and the void of space.

He moaned along with you, wishing heaven or whatever it was after felt exactly like this. Like you, with your arms around him, your sweet voice calling his name lovingly and whimpering for more, giving your soul to him and only him. Your walls started to clench and his hips stuttered, aproaching a craving release. But in between, he heard a word against his ear you never mumbled before, turning his lustful eyes to you and slowing down his thrusts.

You repeated it again, he was visibly confused but kept ruting into you.

"My name," you said, fingers now caressing his hair.

He smiled. He knew it now. The stranger who saved him had a name after all. Cleon kissed you fiercely, repeating your name again and again between wet kisses. You were close to release, feeling one of his digits rubbing your clit as you moaned together. The wave of electricity took your body first, clenching your pussy around his cock. Cleon followed soon after, rhythm slow and tense muscles, until he spilled inside you, coating your sensitive cunt with his seed.

Catching your breath, you remained together. He sucked on your neck softly, your name was the only thought inside his mind. And as much as you loved his touch on you, you remembered there was something to do still.

"Cleon," you called, getting his attention and feeling he was pulling out of you with a low groan. He looked at you with loving eyes and you smiled. You brushed his hair with your fingers pulling him to yet another smooth kiss. "It's time."

He knew it was. In silence his fingers found his earring, twitsting it and pulling it apart. He took it from his ear and placed it on yours carefully. You were always amazed at his touch, how rough and yet soft and gentle he could be.

"So you can remember me," he smiled when he was over. You let out a laugh and curved your llps in a grin. "It suits you."

"Thanks, Cleon."

Cleon leaned down to kiss you one more time before cleaning both of you. You dressed together as if you were not about to meet finally death. For some reason, you saved everything that was not on their cabinets or initial positions, packing all you could, like if you could take those belongings with you, most of which were from your family. One day Cleon asked why you had clothes that could meet his height, being taller than a lot of people around. You told him it was from your best friend. You thought every piece of clothes or souvenirs would help someday, but it never crossed your mind that it was going to be this way.

When everything was was done, you and Cleon settled in front of the control panel, however, before you could start the holo, a loud explosion could be heard. You frowned, turning to Cleon.

"Did you-? Ah!"

The ship almost overturned as something heavy hit the side, making you trip and fall over with Cleon on the ground. Again, an explosion was heard, far from the ship but clear enough to say it was getting closer, and seconds later, the ship got hit but this time on the glass, almost breaking it over. Quickly, you both stood up and saw what was happening.

"A black hole..."

"Look, there are debris around," you pointed a huge piece that looked the size of your ship, but that definitely was part of a much bigger one. You saw the debris and metal being swallowed and destroyed by the black hole. It wasn't pacing fast, but wasn't slow either. It looked like it was talking its time for much bigger things to eat, such as your ship. Cleon called you, taking your hands and pressing his forehead to yours. You could feel he was shaking, and your skin grew cold. You realised it was really happening now.

"Do it," he said. "Destroy the ship."

After a moment of hesitation, you gave a nod. He kissed you deeply again. You turned the holo to activate the ship and program its own destruction.

"Self-destruction mechanism activated," the computer confirmed.

"We have sixty seconds," you mumbled, tears already forming in your eyes. He cut you off with a kiss. You would miss those warm lips on yours.

"That's enough for me," he said. You smiled and he did the same.

"I love you, Cleon," you embraced his body with a hug. "I am happy I met this kind of pain with you."

He cupped your cheeks, pecking your lips, smiling down at you, saying I love you too. You, the one who saved him and gave him a second chance. Or at least a moment of relief. A place and a person who allowed him to be himself and find things he never knew would have.

"We have more in common now," he whispered. "We are both alone and hurting somewhere in the galaxy.”

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