#lee pace x you

[astral-imagine]

Imagine Lee Pace

You had an affair with Lee for a few months, but chose to end it due to your guilt. Imagine your surprise when you see him at your doorstep one night, begging you to reconsider and confessing his love for you, not knowing that your husband was nearby hearing everything.

[cowboybeepboop]

Fields 

"Come, let us get you into bed. You need your rest."

Pairing: Thranduil x fem! Human reader

Genre: Romantic smut 

Word count: 4.4k

Summary: You’re the King's human lover and you share a special night together. 

Warnings: Romantic sex, oral fem receiving, riding him, unprotected sex, p in v sex

a/n: Guys please bear with me, I’m working on some new lotr/th oneshots that shall also be posted soon. As per usual, please let me know if you have any requests and I hope you enjoy. 

Thranduil had a quiet moment to himself, laying in a field of flowers as the sun set behind him. He had a look of tranquility on his face as his mind wandered to many different things. He kept his eyes closed. He heard footsteps coming near him, he didn't give a reaction to this though.. he had an idea of who it was.

“You look so peaceful like this,” you hum, lowering to your knees next to his muscular body. You brush his hair from his face, touch light and delicate.

Thranduil didn't move a muscle when you knelt down in the grass beside him. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke, his eyes still shut for the time being. “I am at peace, for now..” He said before his lips curled into a small smile. 

“Until someone decides to ruin it,” he added, opening one of his eyes and looking up at you with a slight teasing tone in the last part.

You press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Shall I leave you alone then?” Thranduil's smile widened into a grin as your soft lips brushed against his. 

He chuckled softly as he took your hand, looking up at you with a playful look in his eyes. “Don’t you dare,” he said in a quiet but firm tone. 

“Come. Lay with me.” His voice turned more of a request as he tugged on your hand ever so gently, coaxing you to lay down next to him in the flowers.

You press your cheek to his chest, eyes fluttering shut as you listen to his heart. “As you wish my King.”

Thranduil wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest as his hand came up to brush through your hair gently in a soothing manner. He gently took one of your hands in his free one, intertwining his fingers with yours. 

His chest rose and fell with each deep breath as the two of you lay there in the grass, just listening to one another's heartbeats. "That's a good girl.." he murmured with a soft, affectionate smile.

You find yourself drifting off to sleep, the warmth and comfort of his body like a lullaby. Thranduil noticed your eyes growing heavy and your breathing starting to slow, it was a sure sign that you were falling asleep. 

He carefully wrapped his arms around you, gently rolling onto his side to pull you closer, holding your body flush against his. "It's okay, little one. Rest.." he spoke quietly, one of his hands gently tracing soft patterns down your back as he held you in a protective embrace, the sound of his steady heartbeat in your ear.

“Mm..” your voice is a soft murmur as you cuddle closer to him.

Thranduil smiled as you cuddled closer to him, his arms holding you in a firm yet gentle embrace as he buried his face into your hair, inhaling your scent. He gently nuzzled his head against yours, relishing in your warm and softness against him. 

"Sleep, my darling," he whispered softly, gently starting to stroke his fingers through your hair as he held you in his arms. Thranduil's chest rose and fell with each quiet breath, finding himself starting to grow just as relaxed as you.

After hours of holding you in his arms, Thranduil felt you shiver slightly as a cold breeze blew through the garden, gently stirring the grass around them. Thranduil's heart ached to see you cold, his arms instinctively holding you tighter in an attempt to keep you warm. 

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, before carefully pulling you even closer to his chest. "Are you cold, my love?" he murmured quietly, his fingers continuing to glide softly through your hair.

“It is growing cold, Thranduil..” you murmur against his chest, not willing to leave his warm side.

Thranduil gently adjusted his grip on you, pulling you closer against him, almost as if he was trying to shield you from the chill in the air. He lifted one of his hands from your hair, tracing it to your cheek, gently rubbing his thumb against your skin, before he spoke again. 

"We should head inside. You'll freeze out here.." he said in a low, gentle tone, his lips brushing against your forehead in a soft kiss.

“Could you carry me..” you bury your face into his chest, shivering against him.

Thranduil felt your body shiver against him once more, and he gently lifted his head off of yours so he could look down at you. He chuckled softly as he heard your request, gently running his hand down your back. 

"Of course, darling," he said with a hint of fond amusement. With a slightly playful smirk on his face, he shifted his body, carefully scooping you up into his arms, holding you tight against his chest.

Thranduil walked through the halls of his palace while carrying you in his arms, his long strides eating up the distance quickly. He could feel you melting against him as he walked, feeling a sense of satisfaction of being able to provide you with warmth and comfort. 

Soon enough, he reached your shared room and he pushed the doors open with one hand, stepping inside and lowering you gently onto the bed.

You cuddle into the sheets, your skirt hiked up over your hips, revealing your smooth skin to his gaze.

Thranduil's eyes roamed over your body as you settled onto the bed, his gaze lingering on your exposed skin. His eyes darkened slightly as he took in the sight of you, looking so vulnerable, so delicate, and yet so alluring at the same time. 

His own clothes were slightly disheveled, the top of his shirt unbuttoned ever so slightly, adding to the overall rugged appearance. He could feel a familiar heat rise in the pit of his stomach as he looked at you, slowly approaching the bed.

Thranduil's breath caught in his throat as you wrapped your arms around the pillow, your legs slightly parted and revealing even more of your skin to him. He could feel the tension in the air as he watched you, his eyes tracing along the curves of your body, like a predator stalking its prey. 

He approached the foot of the bed, slowly crawling onto the mattress behind you, his large form hovering over you as his hands rested on either side of your hips.

“My king..” you murmur, relishing in his touch. Thranduil leaned down, bringing his body close to yours, his chest pressing against your back as he leaned down towards your ear. His breath ghosted across your skin, making you shiver as he gently spoke in a low, deep tone. 

"Yes, darling?" he muttered, his hands on your hips, rubbing small, teasing circles against the bare flesh of your skin. He could feel your body heat against his, his own desire growing more and more as he looked down at you.

“You’re trying to seduce me..” you murmur against the plush pillow.

Thranduil chuckled softly, his hands slowly moving up and down your sides, his touch just light enough to tickle. "Is it working?" he spoke in a low, sultry tone, his breath warm against the nape of your neck. He lowered his head, gently nibbling on the exposed skin just below your ear, his tongue darting out to taste you.

You moan softly, enjoying the gentleness of his caresses. “Perhaps it is,” Thranduil's lips curled into a small grin as he heard your moan, the sound like music to his ears. 

He gently licked and kissed the sensitive skin of your exposed neck, his hands continuing to roam over your body, tracing every curve, every dip and contour of your form. 

"Perhaps?" he repeated with a hint of amusement in his voice, his mouth finding its way to your shoulder, gently nipping at the soft flesh. "Only perhaps..?" he teased softly, his thumbs pressing into your hip bones.

“My King..” You gasp, feeling the familiar warmth in the pit of your stomach as he touches you. 

Thranduil continued to shower your exposed skin with kisses and nibbling, his eyes roaming over every inch of your body as he continued to touch you intimately. At the sound of your gasp, he let out a low, approving hum against the skin of your neck, his hands slowly moving from your hips, running up along your sides, to your stomach. 

"Does it feel good, my darling..?" he murmured quietly, his fingers gently tracing patterns against your skin, leaving little jolts of pleasure in their wake.

“Very good..” you moan, shifting beneath him so you can gaze up at him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

Thranduil let out a soft, guttural sound of approval as you shifted beneath him, his hands still gently caressing your skin as his eyes met yours. He could feel the heat and desire building between the two of you, the air growing heavier as you looked up at him. 

He couldn't deny the effect you had on him; just the sight of you alone was enough to make his heart clench. Thranduil slowly lowered himself down, his body resting fully against yours as he leaned down to capture your lips in a deep, searing kiss.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging at the roots softly as your legs wrap around his hips.

Thranduil let out a low growl as you tangled your fingers in his hair, the tug on his scalp sending a wave of pleasure throughout his entire body. He pressed himself down onto you, his hips slotting perfectly in between your legs as you wrapped them around him, trapping him against you. 

He couldn't help himself from pressing himself against you, his own desire growing more and more intense as he felt your body against his. Thranduil's lips moved furiously against yours as he deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking entrance into your mouth.

Thranduil felt a shudder of pleasure as you parted your lips in submission, his tongue slipping past to explore your mouth as he claimed it for his own. He savored the taste of you, his own lust and hunger fueling his actions as he kissed you like an elf starved. 

His hands slid down your body, seeking purchase and finding purchase on your thighs as he pushed them further apart. His own hips rocked against yours, the thin barrier that remained between their bodies slowly becoming an increasing irritant.

Your muffled moans fill his mouth as he grinds against you, sending shivers of pleasure through you. Thranduil swallowed each moan you made as he continued to kiss you, his hips rolling against yours in an almost feral manner. 

The friction between you was maddening, only adding more fuel to the fire burning within him. He could feel your body's response to his movements, each shiver and shudder driving him even further to take what he wanted, to claim what was his. 

Thranduil broke the kiss, lifting his head so he could look down at you, his eyes roaming over your flushed, panting form. "You're mine..." he breathed in a low, possessive tone.

“Always, I’m forever yours my King.” You cup his face, lips parted and cheeks flushed. 

Thranduil's heart jumped in his chest at your words, the pure devotion in your voice making his own desires flare even stronger. He leaned into your touch as you cupped his face, his eyes dark and stormy as he looked down at you with a mixture of lust, love, and possessiveness in his gaze.

"You better be," he said in a low, gruff tone, his voice heavy with emotions. "Because I have no intention of letting you go, my darling. Ever."

You smile up at him feeling his fingers tugging at the hem of your skirt. “I shall not leave your side, love.” 

With a gentle yet firm tug, Thranduil lifts the dress from your body, the fabric slipping off your skin like silk. He pauses for a moment, drinking in the sight of you laid bare before him, your curves and contours bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. 

His eyes sparkle with hunger and admiration as they rove over your flesh, lingering on the swell of your breasts and the dip of your waist. He lets out a soft groan, his desire palpable in the air as his hands move to trace the newly exposed skin, his fingertips leaving a trail of heat wherever they go. 

You can feel his arousal pressing into you, the proof of his desire for you unmistakable. His gaze meets yours, filled with a fierce love and a burning need to possess you completely.

With eager, trembling hands, Thranduil tugged at his own clothing, each button and lace coming undone with a sense of urgency. His garments fell away, revealing the sculpted planes of his body, his muscles defined by moonlight and shadows. 

His eyes never leaving yours, he reached out to cup your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your nipples in a feather-light touch that has you arching your back with a silent plea. He smiles, a smoldering fire in his gaze, and then his hands slid down your body, his fingers hooking into the delicate fabric of your panties. 

With a firm, yet gentle pull, he slid them down your legs, baring you fully to him. His arousal grew even more prominent as he took in the sight of your naked body, your legs open and inviting, revealing your slick and swollen folds that begged for his touch. 

He leaned back down to kiss you once more, his hand moving to caress the soft, wet warmth between your thighs, his fingers slipping inside you easily, making you gasp into his mouth.

With a soft growl of desire, Thranduil settled himself between your open thighs, his eyes never leaving yours as he lowered his head to the juncture of your legs. His mouth watered at the sight of your glistening sex, your arousal like a sweet nectar to him. 

He took his time, savoring the moment as he gently parted your folds with his thumbs, exposing the delicate pearl of your clit to the cool air. His tongue darted out, tracing a line from your entrance up to the sensitive bud, tasting you with a hunger that was centuries in the making. 

His touch was feather-light, yet firm, as he licked and kissed you with an expertise that sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body. Each stroke of his tongue against your clit brought forth a new gasp, each nip of his teeth a shiver of delight. 

He held your legs wide open, keeping you open to his ministrations as he explored every part of you with his mouth, his teeth grazing against your inner thighs, his tongue delving deep inside you, and his breath fanning the flames of your passion. His hands remained on your hips, keeping you firmly in place as he devoured you, his mouth moving with a rhythm that was both torturously slow and exquisitely perfect. 

You could feel yourself growing wetter, your body responding to his every touch, your legs trembling as he brought you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Your back arches off the bed as needy moans escape your lips, your entire body quivering with the intensity of the pleasure he's giving you. Thranduil's mouth is relentless, his tongue flicking and circling your clit with a precision that speaks of centuries of experience.

His strong hands hold your hips in place as you try to buck against him, the sensations threatening to overwhelm you. His teeth graze against your sensitive skin, sending jolts of pleasure through your body that make your toes curl and your fingers clutch at the bedsheets. You can feel your orgasm building, a coil of tension tightening in your belly as his mouth works its magic. 

You're so close, so very close, and he seems to know it as he increases the tempo, his tongue dancing over your clit in a way that has you on the brink. Finally, with one last, firm flick of his tongue, you fall over the edge, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crash through you. 

You're a trembling mess under him, your body wracked with spasms as he continues to kiss and suck, drawing out every last drop of your climax before finally, mercifully, letting you collapse back onto the bed. He watches you with a smug smile, licking his lips as he takes in the sight of you, fully sated and utterly his.

With a gentle touch, Thranduil brushed your hair away from your cheeks, his eyes filled with love and concern as he studied your flushed face. "Are you tired, my love?" he asked in a voice that was a blend of tenderness and desire, his breath warm against your skin. 

His thumbs traced the outline of your jaw, his gaze lingering on the way your chest rose and fell with each ragged breath you took, your breasts pressing against his chest with each gasp. The question hung in the air, filled with the promise of more intimate moments to come if you weren't too exhausted from the passionate encounter.

As you nod softly in response to Thranduil's question, you reach down and wrap your hand around his thick, aroused length. The velvety skin is hot to the touch, pulsing with the beat of his heart, and your grip tightens slightly, feeling the veins that run along his shaft. 

"I'm not too tired to make sure you're satisfied," you murmur against his ear, a hint of mischief in your voice as you start to stroke him, your hand moving in a slow, firm rhythm. Thranduil's eyes close, his breath hitching in his throat as your touch sends waves of pleasure through him. 

His hands tighten around your hips in response, pulling you closer as he lets out a low groan of appreciation. His eyes flutter open, meeting yours, and he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection and desire. 

"Thank you," he whispers, his voice strained with pleasure, as he leans down to kiss you once more, his tongue tracing the curve of your bottom lip before delving back into your mouth.

With a soft whine of anticipation, you position yourself over Thranduil's erect length, the tip nudging against your entrance as you hover for a brief moment. Looking into his eyes, filled with a fiery passion that matches your own, you slowly start to sink down onto him. 

The initial stretch is exquisite, his warmth and hardness filling you in a way that feels so right, so perfect. His hands tighten around your waist, guiding you down as he groans into your kiss, feeling the tightness of your body enveloping him inch by inch. 

Each breath you take is shallower than the last, each movement of your hips sending shockwaves through both of you. Once you're fully seated on him, you pause, savoring the feeling of fullness before you begin to rock gently, setting a rhythm that's as ancient as the forest itself. 

Thranduil's eyes never leave yours, his hands roaming over your skin as if he's trying to memorize every line and curve by touch alone. His breath hitches in his throat with every movement you make, every gasp and whimper that escapes your lips. 

The bond between you, the connection of flesh and soul, is palpable as you move together, lost in a dance that's both fierce and tender, a symphony of love and lust that echoes through the very air of the room.

As you reached up to gently trace the pointed tips of Thranduil's ears with your fingertips, his eyes rolled back in pleasure, his hands guiding the rhythm of your hips as you moved above him. The soft touch was a heady sensation that seemed to resonate through his entire being, making him shiver and his grip on you tighten. 

His breathing grew ragged, matching the pace of your movements, as you both danced together in the throes of passion. Each brush of your fingers against his sensitive skin sent bolts of pleasure through his body, making him growl low in his throat, his hips rising to meet yours with increasing urgency. 

The room was filled with the sweet symphony of your combined sighs and moans, the rustling of the bed, and the occasional clank of his jewelry as his head moved back and forth against the pillow. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, the friction of your skin against his sending sparks of desire through both of you. 

Thranduil's eyes remained locked on you, his expression a mix of love, need, and pure animal instinct. The way you touched him was like nothing he had ever felt before you, a tender yet powerful caress that seemed to ignite every nerve ending in his body.

As you continued to ride him, his own movements grew more demanding, his hands moving from your hips to cup your breasts, his thumbs rolling over your nipples as his hips met yours in a relentless rhythm that sent shockwaves of pleasure through both of you. 

Thranduil's eyes widened in pleasure as he felt your inner muscles tighten around him, signaling your approaching climax. His own was building, the pressure inside him growing with each stroke as your bodies moved as one. 

With a final, deep thrust, he swelled inside you, filling you completely as he reached his peak. The pleasure was intense, a crescendo of sensation that seemed to consume him entirely. You gasped as your orgasm washed over you, your body clenching around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you. 

The bond between you grew stronger, your spirits intertwining as your love and desire for each other reached new heights. Thranduil's eyes squeezed shut, a roar of ecstasy tearing from his throat as he released himself within you, the warmth of his essence mixing with the heat of your passion. 

Together, you rode the crest of the wave, your bodies trembling with the force of your shared climax, until finally, you collapsed against him, both spent and utterly content.

Thranduil gently untangled himself from your embrace, placing a soft kiss on your forehead before rising from the bed. His eyes roved over your spent form, a mixture of love and adoration evident in his gaze. 

He padded across the room, stepping into the connected bathroom. He turned on the taps of the large, stone bathtub, filling the room with the sound of rushing water and steam. As the tub filled, he added some scented essential oils to the water, creating a relaxing aroma that filled the air.

Once the bath was ready, Thranduil returned to the bedside, his gaze meeting yours. You gaze at him through hooded eyes, reaching for his soft blond hair. 

Thranduil's hand found yours, and he gently helped you off the bed. "Come, my love," he murmured, his voice still husky. With steady steps, he led you into the bathroom, the steam from the warm water filling the room.

He helped you into the bathtub, his touch tender and careful as he guided you in. Once you were settled, he called for a servant to change the bedding, his voice carrying out into the hallway.

“Will you join me?” You murmur, sinking into the warmth of the water. Thranduil's eyes darkened as he watched you sink into the warm water, your body enveloped in steam and bubbles. 

"Of course," he murmurs in response, his voice rough with desire. "I could never resist joining you." He entered the tub, settling in behind you, his strong legs on either side of you.

Thranduil's hands caressed your wet skin, lovingly trailing over every dip and curve as he gently washed away the remnants of your recent encounter. With each touch and movement, his love and devotion for you shone through, his fingers tracing patterns against your skin that felt like a silent declaration of his love.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured, his mouth hovering just beside your ear. "Every inch of you is perfect."

“My King…” you murmur, relaxing into his strong chest, your eyes flutter closed.

Thranduil wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against him so that your back was flush against his chest. His chin rested on top of your head, and he inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of your hair. 

"Yes, my darling?" he asked softly, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your stomach.

“You flatter me too much.” You reply, head falling back against his shoulder as you relish in his touch.

Thranduil chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He moved his head down to place a soft kiss on your neck, his mouth skimming along your skin until it reached your ear.

"I cannot flatter you enough," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "Every word I say to you is true. You are everything to me, and I will never tire of telling you how beautiful and perfect you are."

“You are beautiful as well, my love.” He washes your body as you lean against him comforted by his warmth.

Thranduil's hands continued their gentle caresses as he washed your body, his touch strong but still impossibly tender. He savored the feeling of your body pressing against his, and he took his time, relishing the moment.

"Your words are sweet," he murmured, his voice low, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. "But it is you who brings the true beauty into my life."

Thranduil carefully pulls you out of the water, his hands gentle and strong as he wraps a soft, warm towel around you. He takes his time drying you off, his touch reverent as he caresses each inch of your skin.

Once you are dry, he helps you into your nightgown, his fingers grazing over your sensitive skin in lingering touches. "There," he murmurs, stepping back to admire you. "Perfect."

“Thranduil, my love.” You cup his cheek, kissing his lips gently.

Thranduil's eyes closed at your touch, a low growl of pleasure rumbling in his chest as you kissed him gently. His arms slid around your waist, pulling you closer against his chest. He deepened the kiss, his mouth claiming yours with a fierce but tender passion.

"My darling," he breathed against your lips. "You undo me with a single touch."

Thranduil's gaze softened as he looked down at you, taking note of the exhaustion in your eyes. "But you’re weary," he observed, lifting a hand to caress your cheek gently. 

His thumb traced over your skin in soothing circles, his touch filled with tenderness. "Come, let us get you into bed. You need your rest."

[multifandom-world8]

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 ❤️)

[madwomansapologist]

Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 1 - A way to break the ice

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.

first chapter synopsis: Thranduil traveled to a village that reported spider attacks with his army to protect those who need it, and accepted when a respected family offered their inn so his army could rest. He didn't expect to find a mage there. Or for the dam to break. [3K]

warnings: female!reader. lotr kinda of violence. pre-Smaug.

glossary: Lossëistar: Ice Mage┆Mithrandir: Grey Pilgrim┆

Gandalf is a recurring face in the inn. In some months he appears twice, mostly by the end of the year when he does not have anything else to do, but he never goes more than a month without coming back. Even if he can stay only for a day or two, he always comes back.

Gandalf has been to so many places. Met so many people. Lived so many adventures. So why does he keep coming back? It is just a normal village filled with normal people living normal lives. A good place to live, but not the kind of place people want to visit.

"I will see you next month?" Helping him saddle the sorrel, you waited for the obvious answer. Goodbyes were never your forte. Hearing more, even if it is something you have heard before, is better than being silent for the whole time. You miss him already.

You led the horse out of the inn's stable, petting it. The cool breeze made your hair fly, autumn has begun to announce itself. The sorrel tried to run away, but you held him in place.

"There is someone I need to visit, a master who needs advice", he said. You know that tone of voice. Gandalf uses it whenever you do something stupid. Something as often as his presence at the inn. Someone is about to hear a stern lecture, and you are so relieved it is not you.

"Good luck to the poor person you will pay a visit," you say as he mounts the sorrel. Part of you is still surprised that someone so old would be able to ride a horse so easily, but looks can be deceiving. Gandalf is older than he looks, as well as more skilled.

Gandalf appreciated the river that cuts through the property, focusing on the sound of water lapping against rocks. It was one of the reasons for the inn to be so popular. The water was so calm there, higher on the mountain and away from the village. So crystalline. Gandalf could see the high wooden dam, ensuring the river would not run to the waterfall miles ahead crash against the village.

A familiar fear gripped your body. He always comes back, but you are always afraid that one day he will realize this is a waste of his time. And if one day he decides not to come back, you will be alone. "You will not forget about me, will you?"

Awakened by your voice, Gandalf faced you. His voice went softer. "Continuing to ask will not change the answer."

"But why do you keep coming back?" The sorrel stirred. You had to take a step back, and you could feel that Gandalf would use that to move away without answering. "You really do not know what happened to me before my awakening? Why do you keep on visiting me? Helping me?"

"Continuing to ask will not change the answer." Gandalf led the horse away. And so he goes, without giving you a proper explanation. As always. "Farewell, persistent girl, and do not cause troubles."

"I cannot promise you anything," you waved. Gandalf sighed, knowing you were honest just as much as he was not. "Good riddance, Gandalf!"

He disappeared into the ash trees, taking some of your fear with him. You took a deep breath and remembered that you had a lot to do. Aerin is a kind landlady, but she made clear your stay would not be paid with grateful smiles and friendly words.

"Breakfast!" You served each horse a mixture of fresh grass, hay and silage. With all of them distracted, you could prepare a new bedding for them. "Good morning, beauties."

Gandalf is always traveling, you never have an address to send letters. He usually sends you a letter a week, not that you have a way to respond him. But inside the stable, surrounded by horses in needed of your attention, work managed to override your concern. Everything would be fine. Everything always turns out fine.

So why does you feel like something bad will happen?

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Elrond called the Council.

Hundred years of peace. The enemy was dead. Sauron was dead. Such a long time most could forget about the danger, but something had awakened in Rivendell. Something dark and hungry. Something that none could ignore. Evil things did not come into that valley, but maybe something was born there.

"That is not enough to think something is happening", Saruman explained. Sitting in his armchair, Saruman's pearly tunic appeared to be floating as he moved his hand. "Orcs and spiders? Not enough."

Galadriel countered the room. Her white gown gleamed at every step, almost hurting the eyes of those who dared to look direct at it. The temptation to look at her was bigger than the discomfort.

"It would not." Galadriel whispered. "But we are not talking about occasional attacks. It is strategical. They are hunting something. Something south of Rivendell."

Gandalf glared at the wizard. He grabbed his staff, holding it closer to him. That subject was not on a good path. Not a good path for them both.

The Istari came in five. Not that anyone but Elrond, Cirdan and Galadriel knew what they really are. The rest of the world sees them as inopportune pilgrims, but they are so much more than that.

Saruman the White, a Maia of Aulë, leader of the White Council. The enemy of Sauron. The one who advices great lords, who is responsible for the biggest events, present whenever a important choice needs to be made. When the War of the Ring starts, he will be the one fighting Sauron.

Gandalf the Grey, a Maia of Manwë and Varda. The one to defeat evil by the lives of commons. The wiser. When the War of the Ring starts, Gandalf will be with the soldiers and squires.

Radagast the Brow, a Maia of Yavanna. The protector of Nature and its life. The avenger of animals and plants. When the War of the Ring start, he will not interfere. Saruman does not speak to him ever since he made his decision.

And there are the two blues. The ones who only purpose is to defend humans. Different than Gandalf, they don't organize humans. Different than Saruman, they don't empower them. They are the protective layer that ensures Gandalf and Saruman will be able to do their responsabilities. It has been long since Gandalf spoke their names.

Saruman looked into his tired eyes, and Gandalf understood what he was saying: "Do not".

Elrond was bewitched by the landscape in front of him. He could see the river, the mountains, the infinity of the sky. And he felt it. A shadow that grows in the dark. Elrond is still not sure if it is that same old evil, but he knows it is powerful. "Sauron have..."

"Do not even start with this!" Saruman nodded. "Sauron is dead. He is done."

At one point while Saruman and Elrond discussed, Saruman's only argument being the death of Sauron and Elrond trying to use some logic to explain his fear, Gandalf heard a voice on his head. "What are you hiding from us, Mithrandir?"

Gandalf smiled at Galadriel. His white long beard almost covered it, but she saw it. "Nothing."

"We were not summoned to argue about the Enemy's existence," Thranduil rose from his chair. It would take a fool to not perceive how, even simple and identical to those of the other council members, it looked like a throne. Thranduil was a king, his presence lived up to his reputation. "We are here to put an end to these vermin."

"Finally someone with an agile mind", Saruman intonate.

Elrond sat down. "This horde keep reproducing. Until we find the nest, spiders will keep coming back."

"Then we already know what to do." Thranduil decided to put an end to that endless discussion. "My guar..."

The door was flung open, shaking the council room. A sweaty, breathless messenger leaned against it, shaking with exhaustion. His eyes met Elrond's, who immediately rose and approached. "We found another litter."

"Where?" Galadriel asked.

"Above the tributaries of the Bruinen River, in the gorge of the last dam."

"Wake up the intendant," Elrond ordered. "Tell him to prepare my armor."

Saruman swallowed hard. It would be too close. If Elrond ever had a chance to... He glared at Gandalf, hoping he could think of an excuse. Elrond would need a mere glance to recognize her.

"In a token of gratitude for your hospitality," Thranduil made his way near Elrond. He touched his shoulder, squeezing it gently. Kind words, but attention would show that pride lurked among them. "Let me defeat these insects for you."

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

They rode in twenty. Led by the Elvenking, the little guard entered the mangrove with their golden armor lit by the midday sun. Protected from the rear by the Elvenking, the little guard came out of the mangrove with their bloody armor lit by the sunset.

Still twenty.

"Our mounts need to rest before our return", Gildor saddle his sorrel. One of Elrond's captains, he was the one that managed to map the nest and guided Thranduil and his guard to annihilate the spiders. "Just like your elk, your grace."

Thranduil caressed his brave elk. A longtime companion, that faced bigger threats than a nest of spiders. "We went through a village, did we not?"

"Yes, your grace", Gildor pointed to a trampled tail. "An inn favored by master Elrond would gladly welcome us, with comfort and food for us and our mounts. I took the liberty to send a letter to inform of our stay while we were organizing in Rivendell."

It was a long road. The trail ran along the mountain, climbing towards the setting sun. The sound of running water showed that they were arriving, but what really made them understand that the path had ended was the sound of chitchat. Coming out from amongs the trees, the Elvenking and his men were greeted by dozens of elves.

As the king descended from his elk, everyone bowed and thanked him for defeating the spiders. Leading the small crowd, a short, plump lady approached.

"Lady Aerin, the owner of the inn", Gildor whispered to Thranduil.

"I imagine it must have been a long and painful journey, your grace." Aerin used sweet words, but it was clear that she practiced it a few times. "All my employees shall respond to your orders, no matter what they are. I know my little inn is nothing compared to your castle, but I hope it brings you comfort."

It was obviously true, but it was modest to say that this was a small inn. It was an immense structure, perhaps six floors high, and the long stables were visible even from the entrance. Nothing compared to a castle, but it certainly was not small.

Aerin was kind, personally guiding the king to his chambers. While everyone bathed, supper was cooked and the horses tended. The sun had already set when they gathered.

"It's a very lovely inn", Thranduil tried to calm Aerin. Her nervousness was clear.

"Oh, your grace, that is very kind of you." The old lady smiled, now focusing on her food. The lull was marvelous, but it didn't last long. This time, Aerin was trying to whisper to her son. "Why is she taking so long? I am starting to worry."

Gildor took a sip from his wine. "You talk about the Lossëistar?"

Aerin was surprised he could hear her. After all, she was so subtle. "She was supposed to be back by now. It is a long way to the fair, but not that long."

"Lossëistar?" Thranduil was interested. "An elve mage lives here?"

Aerin and Gildor glared at one another. Gildor was one that responded. "Not exactly an elve, not exactly a mage."

"Explain yourself."

Aerin sighed. "She... Look, I do not mean to gossip.” She looked around the room, and began to whisper. "We do not really know what she is. Not sure if she is a human, but an elve... she is not tall enough to be one."

Thranduil laughed at Aerin's honesty. "What is the cause of such confusion?"

The younger boy, Aerin's son, responded before his mom could. "She is weird. Gandalf worries about her."

"Beren!" Aerin scolded him. "Keep yourself silent!"

Thranduil's interest turned into something else. Gandalf is not exactly a friend, as he often delivers bad news and forget who is the ruler, but Thranduil is wiser to not underestimate him. Elrond and Galadriel care for him, and Thranduil respect their wit. If Gandalf has someone under his wing, he has his reasons. Thranduil wonders why.

Before he could ask more, the creak of the entrance door was heard. "Lady Aerin," a female voice echoed to the hall. It was melodic, Thranduil could sense the happiness. "You will not believe what I found!"

You entered the hall holding a basket full of fabrics, herbs and pots. "Close your eyes, it's a surprise." You were looking for something inside the basket as you walked towards the hall, not even noticing that it was not empty.

Thranduil hesitated.

Your dress was wrinkled and muddy, the marks of a long, busy day of walking. Your loose hair, falling around your shoulders, framed your face with a sense of freedom. The smile on your lips, so simple and true, carried such lightness. Your crooked steps, balancing your weight with the heavy basket in order not to fall, were lit by candles. There were violets in your eyes. They glowed. You glowed.

"Lossëistar", Aerin called. "We are not alone."

Your smiled died before you rose your face. Lossëistar. It is been more than a year, but she never called you by your name. Do not matter what you say, they never hear you. What is the reason to keep trying? But then you rose your face, and you disappointment turned into shame.

"Your grace", you bowed. "Pardon for the interruption."

Thranduil took a deep breath. He could smell the salty scent, a mixture of earth and herbs, emanating from you. A shiver rose the Elvenking's spine. "Apparently you are late."

"You were supposed to be here two hours ago", said Aerin. "Are you fine, kid?"

"The horse you borrowed me were not obedient." Your eyes alternated between Thranduils's and Aerin's. You may be a fool on a few subjects, but you always know when your presence is not expected. With another bow, you walked towards the entrance. "Have a good night."

"Supper with us." Thranduil did not controlled his own tongue. There was something about you that intrigued him. He repeated to himself that he was only trying to find out what interested Gandalf, but he was too clever to be so easily deceived.

"Your grace is so kind, but she does not need to", Aerin thought it was the right thing to say. "I will bring you a plate when we are done. Thank him, Lossëistar, for his generosity."

Thranduil's voice was heard again. Less graceful, less friendly. It was the voice of a leader, and a tired one. "What makes you think that an invitation to dinner and a cold dish are equivalent?"

Aerin blinked. "I am sorry, your grace. I thought..."

"Join us, lady", the Elvenking looked into your eyes.

Unsure of how to proceed, you followed in silence to the empty armchair at the end of the table. Next to Aerin's son, who was staring at you in a way you could not identify, one of the employees served you a plate. Gildor launched into a subject that made the tension in the air dissipate, but you could feel the weight of the Elvenking's gaze.

"The last time we saw each other", Gildor smiled at you. "You still did not knew how to ride."

You smiled at him, but discomfort gripped your body. You were too dirty, too tired, to sit across from a king. You must have reeked of mud and riding horses. How was your face? And your hair? He's very kind, kinder than the stories about Mirkwood elves, but it was humiliating.

"I am still learning." You tried to sound comfortable on your own skin. "I am not the best, but also not the worst."

"Certainly a stimulant way of thinking, Lossëistar."

"I am sure you have a name, my lady." Thranduil did not bother smiling.

"I... I do." You bit your tongue. "People just do not use it."

"So it is about time we change this."

A warmth took over your cheeks. You told him your name, and only then you noticed how long it been since you last heard it. It felt nice to have the Elvenking saying it, testing how it sounded on his tongue.

But everything was forgotten after the explosion. The guards got up, not sure what was going on, but you knew that sound. It was the sound of work. The sound of letters and more letters of complaint being ignored. The sound of the dozens of times the village had to rebuild. It was the sound of water. And it was near.

You drank the rest of your wine before getting up.

You ran out of the inn. As imagined, the dam had broken. The second time this month. "That is what happens when you keep solving it," you murmured to yourself. "They know you are going to fix everything so they do not even bother doing something."

Mist dominated the river bank. You took a deep breath and ran closer to the forest, as far away as possible. You took a bow out of your pocket and tied your hair in a tight knot. The last thing you needed was something clinging to your face. You heard the screams of some of the guards, but did not allowed that to distract you.

It raced down the gorge, skipping the bank and destroying everything in its path. You could hear the trees bending, you could feel the cold, hard wind burning your face. When the trees behind you shuddered, you knew you could start. So you ran towards the river.

You ran and ran and ran. You stopped walking on leaves to step on land, then from stepping on land to run over the river. You just ran, a thin layer of ice forming with each step, towards the pouring water. And when it was so close it could crush you, knock the air out of your lungs and claim it as its own, you reached out and touched the wave. And as quickly as it started, it ended. It ended with you standing in the middle of the river, with tons of frozen water in front of you, and a speechless Elvenking.

[Second Chapter]

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

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

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[mind-travel-er]

The Sun's Course [Part 1]

the empire's slumber

— Pairing: Brother Day (13th) x Female reader

— Synopsis: A story in which a Genetic Engineer is recruited by Brother Darkness, in secrecy. At the wake of his death and the rebirth of his Dynasty, Cleon The Painter dares to ask questions. However, Brother Day (12th) won’t tolerate to bring those matters into the light, and especially by the one person capable of understanding its ramifications. You. 

— Warning/Content: Hurt/Comfort, Cleon 13th, Touch-Starved Cleons, Character Study, inspired by S01E03.

— Word Count:  2.7 k

[read me on AO3] · [PART 2]

12,086 Era Imperial | 19 years after the fall of Star Bridge | Rule of Cleon the 12th; The Ruthless “It is treason,” you say. “I know,” answers Brother Darkness, gazing at the glass separating him from his younger self.  There, in a tint of sky blue that only Surfacers had seen, was floating a little cloud. The fetus of Cleon the 14th. “That’s precisely why you are here.

You look at the rumpled traits of the third brother, in his simple linen gown made of ocean. If his younger counterparts were wrapped in royal blues, it seemed that with age, the specter of the color was sinking deeper and deeper, like his melancholy. But it’s not only age that shrivels the face of Brother Darkness. There is a glint in his eyes that only comes with the dread of one’s end. The glint falls on you. “Will you do as I ask?” Your ears have to devote themselves to truly understand his words. “Of course, Empire,” you respond before your next heartbeat. One should not refuse Empire. No one dares. And you have to close the parting of your lips and compose yourself; rewinding his request in your head. As if he were asking permission. Hands clasping the strap of your medical kit crossing your chest, you turn yourself completely towards him, making sure your eyes don’t falter when looking into his own: “I will do as you ask.” A small smile brightens his face for a moment; like a meek, flickering flame. He turns himself towards you, putting his hands behind his back, and your memories echo Brother Day and Brother Dawn with the same mannerism. Countless times, you have seen his holograms do the same ritual during public speeches. You just hadn’t pictured seeing it one day in front of you. As if we had only collectively dreamed of the Empire’s presence, never experiencing it for ourselves.  “Call me Brother Darkness, Engineer. It is my place in the shadows that allows me such folly.” And it is. Terribly so. But you can’t say that, of course.  You swallow, but no saliva comes. You respond nothing, your lips cautiously sealed.  “Surely, you have questions. No one has come here for four thousand years, except for Demerzel and some of the Genetic Dynasty. I myself was not allowed.” He turns his head again, slowly, towards the glass. And one of his hands, gnarled and speckled, comes to rest on the barrier. If only for this obstacle, death and birth would be reunited at last. You dare to look at him, and it tames the slight freeze response gripping your body. He’s not as harsh as you imagined. There’s a softness about him that you could never hope to find in his other versions. At least, that’s your hypothesis.

Then you look around. Even for an artificial womb, with water coming up to the ground, it feels methodical and emotionless. The artificial tranquility of the sound of the fountain mixes with the harsh lines of the brutalist concrete. Even at the heart of the Dynasty, you find no warmth. You wonder if it’s perhaps one of the reasons that led to the destiny of Thespis and Anacreon. The day the only heat to be felt was fire raining down on two planets. You have to remind yourself that this Brother too has the potential to make those same decisions. No one likes doubts, and it could be argued that the foundation of all nations is stability. And stability requires certainty, not questions we do not dare ask. You think of your teachers and colleagues. Friends. Almost family for some. Streeling University suddenly seems like another planet altogether at this very moment. So, you hope this Brother can stomach uncertainty. And you ask:  “Why weren’t you allowed here?” “We had rules,” he responds, perhaps not to you specifically. “Apparently, witnessing one’s own origin can lead to madness.” His head bows, and his thin, white hair acts like a blinding shield.  “Perhaps…” He lifts himself again and scrutinizes the cords floating from the little body, attached to no mother and no belly. “Perhaps the same fate awaits me. Perhaps I’ve seen too much already.” You don’t comment on that last confession either. But you still have questions.  “What do you hope to find, once all the samples are collected?” The white shield goes away, and a mix of blues and greens observes you. Do his younger versions have the same nuances in their eyes? “Two things, Engineer,” he says now, truly focused on you. “First, if we are indeed all the same, just as Cleon the First dreamed. I fear time and experiences change us all, despite our … common bases.” He smiles, but there are no crinkles around his eyes.  “An egotistical search, no doubt. To answer if I’ll be remembered for my particularities… and if they even exist on a genetic level.”

Brother Darkness makes a few small steps towards you. Palms behind his rounded back now coming before him, opened.  “Second, I want to know. Will this one be different?” You can see how wide his eyes are and how the rim of white around his iris tends to take up more space than it should. The last time you saw such a display was from a sub-level worker at the weekly market. An orange in his stained hand, crossing eyes with the Imperial Guards. You look briefly at the fetus of Cleon the 14th, brows frowning.  “How so? I thought the replication was flawless. Aren’t such tests conducted again and again?” “No anymore,” he answers. “Do Luminists open the Script every time they apply their beliefs? The raw genetical code has remained untouched for centuries.” “You fear that corruption of the original material might be an issue?” You articulate. Again, his feet valiantly pace forward despite the smallness of their steps. His hands, slow and gentle, take yours. They can only feel the cold of the Aura separating the two of you. How could such a little thing prevent the most basic human interaction?  “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”  “Brother Darkness?“ “Like the Sun behind the horizon just before it rises. I cannot see it. But, it’s here. Do you understand? You must conduct the tests.“ Maybe someone else wouldn’t notice the faint tremors of his fingers while he let them slip from yours. But you’re a researcher, and paying attention to details is the core of your practice. All speaks of Cleon the Painter and how he recorded history, producing the most exquisite murals ever made in Trantor. Masterful techniques that you had studied at school; moving patterns embedded in your digital manual. The cold is gone, but something much warmer stays with you. He rolls one of his navy sleeves with application, just as a child might have done during a medical exam. And suddenly, the knot in the pit of your stomach relaxes. The realization blooms in you as this version of Empire folds his linen tunic to offer the veins of his arm. Decades had reduced him to a frail figure that could barely walk without the help of a simple stick. If the man before you was responsible for an entire Galaxy, he was a man nonetheless.  You examine how his bent and rigid fingers fail to grasp the unyielding fabric. How the sides of his index and major, the same ones used to sign peace, are still covered with nano-pigments that swirl and curl on themselves. Your heart tightens. And memories flow from your grandfather, usually tucked away for rainy days. Perhaps you could join and help? But the Aura is there, hanging on his wrist, guarding him jealously. You don’t want to feel the cold again. Instead, you say:

“There’s no need for blood. A simple lock of hair will do.”  He stops. And his brows arch themselves. “Or… saliva, if you prefer. But I doubt that spitting in a tube would be dignified.”  You feel yourself lightly chuckling. He notices your hands; coiled and away. And he’s letting out a small scoff as his eyes wrinkle. The tips of his fingers come to press on the silver bracelet, and in response, a low hum raises the hair on your forearms as it does when a summer thunderstorm is ready to burst with lightning.  “You’re quite right. We can’t let that be my last contribution to this world, can we?” Empire has a sense of humor. It seems that not only color but the kindness of Brother Day would someday deepen as well. Or was it always there? Lingering just under the surface and waiting to take a breath? While searching for a more comfortable place to rest your equipment, only the sound of rippling water comes to you. The room is barren. There’s nothing to sit on. A far cry from the nursery of your little brothers, all in pale shades of apricot. Twins and twice as many teddy bears to fill the space. But here, nothing is soft or comforting. There are only three grey steps at the feet of the tanks. This will have to do. When the heat of Trantor was settling down, long walks at the end of the day were your favorite moments with your grandfather. Habits die hard and survive many, so without a second thought, your arm treads around the old man next to you, offering to slowly sit down. For a brief moment, he looks at you with something holds you in his green and blue eyes. Something you cannot quite pinpoint as you’re focused on opening your medical kit. There, amongst scalpels and test tubes, was hidden a reminder of your mother’s love. A wooden comb carved into the shape of a Ghillie raptor.  “Wood,” he comments with a whisper, now looking attentively at the relic between your hands. “I thought only the Palace had that privilege.”  All objects made of organic matter were indeed banned on Trantor. Those kinds of primary resources were too scarce to be transformed into commodities. The comb was a paradox: priceless because of its essence, and unsellable because no one was wealthy enough to buy it. It was just meant to exist.   “My mother was a horticulturist here. She was in charge of the wild woods before her retirement.”  “I know.”  A smile blooms on your lips. Of course he knows.  “Even wild woods on this planet are painstakingly crafted and engineered, aren’t they?” he says with a low tone. “Nature and Human-made don't have to be opposites. My mother guided life, and so am I. Tweak it and make it better. Not with trees and branches, but with threads of DNA.”  Holding the warm woods between your palms, your eyes are called by the creature deep asleep. Naked and unprotected by any womb. Devoid of touch. And as you follow the invisible link between the dormant unborn baby and Brother Darkness, you observe the carefully crafted bracelet. A protection that had continued the tradition born in this tank.  “Shall we?” At your question, Brother Darkness releases the gentle hold in his gaze and turns himself to offer his spine.   While the carved comb brushes his hair, strings of snow intertwine briefly with your fingers, weaving unintentional caresses. A sniffle is all you hear in response; the sound that someone makes when tears are at the brim, ready to tumble. If they do, you cannot see. But a life without true touch must be a lonely one. Some scars are invisible.  Time stretches itself. 

True, you could have gotten the scalpel out of your kit some time ago. Instead, you comb strings after strings until there’s nothing else to do but take the surgical blade into the palm of your hand. Your fingers select a lock of hair at the base of his neck, one where the disappearance is susceptible to going unnoticed. An unsettling thought grows in your mind, whispering that you could take advantage of the inactive Aura. Make the blue linen red. Nothing to stop your surgical tool, and, no doubt, countless people had dreamed of such an opportunity. Thespis, Anacreon… And how many worlds have been wounded in 400 years? How many mothers crying out after their sons and daughters? How many deaths at the hand of his three fingers signing peace?  However, in front of you, stooped and patient, there’s only an old painter. And he’s a dead man walking anyway, isn’t he? So you tuck away the intrusive thought. The blade glints, and the lock falls.  “You’ll soon ascend.” You speak softly, with a simple observation at the tip of your tongue that you don’t dare quite make.  Your hand clasps the genetic material into darkness. “Ah,” he rasps, “yes.” And he sighs shortly, like filling his lungs might be difficult. “Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful…  It's the transition that's troublesome, you see.” “Aren’t you afraid that the end of the week will come too soon?” “That is just the thing, Engineer. Despite your best efforts and those of your kind, it will always come too soon. Even for those like me.” You wanted to ask if he could promise that your own time, and the life span of your family and friends, wouldn’t be shortened. That he would make sure, even guarantee, their safety and well-being; only for you to focus on the research. Your underfunded Faculty could receive a substantial donation for the risks you were taking. All of this was possible… if unsanctioned studies on the Genetic Dynasty was not considered treason. More so, you fear that betrayal amongst Brothers will steepen the price of your involvement in it. You don’t dare speak because answers will give you neither assurance nor security.

Instead, you place the milky lock in one of your sterile containers. From tank to test tube. Who would have thought that the time in between those two moments would be so defining for the whole galaxy? “I’ll always leave. But I fear one day I might not return.” Science is supposed to be the heart of your work; devoid of political influences or subjectivity. There’s no loyalty toward Streeling University. But it would be foolish to assume you can afford a lack of allegiance towards Empire or its lesser versions. So, you respond: “That’s why I’m here, Brother Darkness. Rest your worries on me.” Saying there’s only the obligation to help him would even be a lie, you realize gradually as your eyes fall on the wooden comb back in your pouch. There’s something more: you want to.  “In the meantime, maybe you should hold on to this …” A faint blush warms the surface of your cheek. You hadn't planned on this. Yet, between your hands lies the little Ghillie raptor, waiting to be gifted. “I know it has no monetary value. Especially to the only person on Trantor that has access to timber.” He turns himself as far as his old bones might allow, wincing at the twist. You can immediately tell the waves are back in the ocean of his eyes as soon as he sees what you hold.  “That’s perhaps the most precious thing someone has ever offered.” “It’s worthless wood,” you comment with a slight smile to lighten the exchange.  His voice stifles, and it breaks.  “It’s priceless comfort, Engineer.”  Silence lingers for a few minutes as he grazes his thumb over the ridges of the wings. Then, it disappears into the abyss of his linen wear. The procedure is done, yet he doesn’t get back up. As if he was maybe waiting for the ghost of the comb to come back in his white hair. Instead, with shivering fingers still stained by swirling pigments, he touches the bracelet, and a warm light embraces him. How many times had he put this armor back on? Had he ever had the liberty to truly take it off? “I have one final question concerning your endeavor.” He only inclines his head slightly towards you, but you know he listens attentively. This is the one question you didn’t dare ask all along, until now.  “Brother Darkness… What will Empire do when he finds out?” 

[thethreeeyed-raven]

You're one of the few people I've seen who is willing to write Garret! May I request this sweet man finding his mate unexpectedly? Could be after a natural disaster or she gets lost in the forest after her car breaks down and he happens to find her, or even just bumping into her when she's on her way home from work. Wherever you find inspiration~! Please and thank you for your time. <3

lost?

navigation | warnings : ngl he’s a bit creepy? | a/n : i kind of changed it a bit i think, also there isn’t much romance or mention of a mate but i hope u enjoy! | tags : @fangsp1der-2099 , @knight-of-flowerss , @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom

"For fuck's sake-" You whispered multiple profanities as you slammed down the bonnet of your car.

Watching as the smoke drifted into the atmosphere, you dragged a hand down your face, sighing.

"I'll try and walk my way there I guess."

It must've been at least an hour, and here you were, still walking.

Suddenly, a twig snapped from behind you, making you quickly turn around to investigate.

"You lost?"

Garret had decided he would stroll through the forest of Forks, deciding to stay for a bit when a sudden strong scent filled his senses.

He followed the trail of the smell and came upon a woman.

She clearly looked lost, but she smelt too good...

Garret stepped closer, not noticing the twig in front of him.

The woman swiftly turned round looking him dead in the eye.

"You lost?" Really? What are you thinking?

He could hear her gulp from where he was standing, he could hear the blood pumping through her veins.

Human...

He could see the sweat drip from her temple, hear the cracks in her knuckles as she fidgeted with her hands.

Why can he hear everything?

"Y-yes...I'm headed to Forks." You replied nervously. Sure the guy in front of you was attractive, but he sure seemed creepy.

"Oh! I have some friends there, I could take you."

Maybe he won't eat her today...

[coopsgirl]

Modern AU Thranduil One Shot - Studying Abroad

Safe for work, 995 words

The study abroad program you were participating in felt like a dream come true. The University of Kent located in Canterbury had proved to be the right school as the campus was lovely and it was a short train trip to London which made it easy to travel around the rest of England from there. You had been invited to a bonfire by some of your classmates and you happily accepted. The crowd grew fairly large by the time the sun had begun to set which during the Summer, was quite late. One man in particular caught your eye. He was very tall, you guessed around 6’5”, and had shaggy, light blonde hair. You were afraid he was going to notice you staring but it was hard to stop as he was so handsome. “You fancy him, don’t you?” your friend Ruby asked as she sat down on the ground beside you. “He’s really cute” you confessed. “He’s rich too. His father is the Earl of Guilford. He’s the eldest so he’ll inherit the title one day.” “Really?! I’ve never met anybody with a title.” “Come on, I’ll introduce you.” “No! I couldn’t. I’m a nobody” you said in protest. Ruby stood up and then took your hands to pull you to your feet as well. “He’s a real sweetheart. Come on!”

You followed behind her nervously as you walked towards him. “Hello! I’m Ruby and I wanted to introduce you to my friend Y/N. She’s studying abroad from America and has never met any of the nobility.” “Oh well, it’s very nice to meet you both. I’m Thranduil” he said with a big smile as he took turns shaking each woman’s hand. “I’ll see you later” Ruby said and then she walked away leaving them alone. “I hope we didn’t bother you” you said apologetically now feeling quite embarrassed as Ruby hadn’t known him any more than you did. “No bother at all. Are you studying at the university here?” “Yes. It’s just for the Summer but so far, I’m having a wonderful time. I’ve always wanted to come to England.” “I’m glad you’re enjoying your visit and I’m glad you were able to come to my party as well.” “This is your party?” you asked as you realized you hadn’t been given much information about the event. “Yes. I graduated from the University of Kent and every Summer I like to hold a party open to all current students, particularly the ones dedicated enough to continue classes through the Summer term” “That’s really nice of you. Is this your property?” “Yes, the manor house is just on the other side of that rise” he said as he pointed to a small green hill behind him. “Thanks again for the party and for not minding talking with me. I should get back to my friends.” “Do you have to?” he asked with a half-smile. You felt the butterflies in your stomach going crazy as you replied, “No, I guess I don’t have to.”

“Would you like to see the house? There’s a beautiful view from just over there” he said looking to the hill. “I’d love to see it.” You could hardly believe your eyes when the large house came into view. “Wow! I can’t imagine living somewhere like that.” “It was built in the 1700s. It takes a lot of work to maintain but it’s a privilege to be responsible for it and make sure it stands for centuries to come.” Thranduil was so proud as he spoke of the home he had been raised in and that he loved dearly. There was a gazebo not far from them and he took her hand in his as they walked towards it. You sat down beside each other and looked out onto the sky where the first stars were beginning to twinkle in the twilight. “I went to Leeds Castle last weekend and that was really fun. It’s beautiful there too.” You really wanted to tell him that he was the most handsome man you’d ever seen with a voice smoother than silk but instead you rambled about the places you’d been. “It is very lovely there…as are you.” You looked up at him with surprise and he quickly spoke again. “I am sorry. That was much too forward.” You felt courage well up inside you as you said, “I don’t mind. I think you’re really cute too.” You could feel your whole face turn red as you thought you sounded silly but the smile he gave you quickly put you at ease.

“I hope this doesn’t sound rude but I’ve never heard the name Thranduil before, is it a traditional English name.” He chuckled and then answered. “The name was my father’s idea. It is very old and I don’t believe that anyone has used it in centuries. I usually go by Thran.” “It’s a nice name and definitely is unique. Should I ask about your middle name?” you said with a joking tone. “Oh, it’s even worse! It’s Oropherion” he explained and you both laughed. “You’ll have to explain that one to me sometime” you said hinting that you wanted to see him again. “I certainly will” he said and he reached over to hold your hand.   

Thran then smiled as he moved a little closer to you and then took both of your hands in his. He leaned forward and tenderly kissed your forehead. When you did not pull away, he looked into your eyes and then his soft lips kissed yours. He let go of your hands to caress your face and neck and you put your arms around his chest and pulled him closer to you. His kisses were gentle and sweet and you could feel yourself becoming a bit lightheaded. A shooting star streaked across the sky above but you were both oblivious to anything going on around you as you were completely lost in each other’s arms.

[htchnr]

♰ 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.

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!

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!

[mimilind]

Sent to Middle-earth - Part 2

♡ ♡ ♡  

Pairing: Legolas x Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 2800

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

♡ ♡ ♡  

2. The Elvenking’s Palace

As you already knew, King Thranduil’s palace was delved underground, but it was a lot larger than you had thought. You went over a bridge and through tall, ornate gates, coming into a vast hall. Smooth pillars held up the ceiling far above, and the floor consisted of pinkish stone tiles. The air smelled fresh; not at all cellar-like as one might think.

A grand staircase took you down deeper into the hill, and in all directions extended corridors with many doors. The central corridor was wide and almost resembled a street. Wax candles in niches along the wall spread a cozy light.

The corridor ended in front of another set of double doors, which were finer than those that had taken you into the hill. They looked to be made of copper, perhaps even gold – in this light it was hard to tell – and were decorated with a pattern of ivy leaves. Two guards bowed for Legolas and politely opened the doors. 

You realized he had taken you directly to the throne room, and felt both honored and nervous. The Elvenking seemed like a scary elf!

The spacious hall inside was full of elvish courtiers, speaking to one another in subdued voices. In the center of the room, a high throne with a pair of enormous antlers drew your attention, and even more so the elf seated there. He looked majestic and proud – and exceedingly handsome, with silver blonde hair reaching well below his shoulders and a crown of autumn leaves and berries on his head. His ageless face had a somewhat bored expression, but when Legolas and you entered, his dark eyebrows shot up in surprise.

You hobbled forward on your crude crutches, feeling very conscious about your simple garb and messy hair, still with some remaining tendrils of spider silk attached. When you stopped below the throne, you bowed awkwardly, the best you could do with your damaged hip.

“Greetings, my lord.” Legolas bowed a lot more eloquently. It surprised you that he would speak and act so formally in front of his own father, but perhaps this was the norm for royalty. 

“Legolas.” The king acknowledged him with a nod. “Your mission was successful?”

“It was. We destroyed three nearby nests, and killed all spiders in the area. However, the southern outskirts are a lost case – they are too infested by now.”

The king sighed. “I fear you are right.”

“Anything new happened in my absence? How is the prisoner?”

He frowned. “Still complaining and wailing incessantly, to the extent where his guards had to take him outside. At least up in a tree they only have to listen to him at a distance. How typical of that meddlesome wizard to place him in our care.” 

The Elvenking still had not even looked at you, and you were beginning to feel like the third wheel.

“My company and I can relieve them,” said Legolas. “If you have time later, may I have a private word?”

“I have time now.” 

Thranduil rose. You had to stretch your neck to look at his face, and not only because of the height of the throne – he was absurdly tall. Gracefully descending the stairs, he left through a smaller door on the other side of the throne with Legolas and you in tow. You noticed the king wore a silver coat sparkling with a scatter of tiny diamonds, and an assortment of expensive looking rings gleamed on his long fingers in the candlelight. His appearance very much contrasted with his son’s unadorned tunic and hose in forest green colors.

The king led you to what you assumed were his private quarters, an elegant apartment which reminded you of an old-fashioned living room. The furniture was stylish, and on the wall hung tapestries and oil paintings with various forest-related motives; flowers and trees, mostly.

When the door closed behind him, part of the stateliness left the king’s wide shoulders. After removing his crown and coat, he poured himself a goblet of ruby wine from a decanter on a side table and sunk down in a comfortable looking chair. Legolas and you remained standing.

“What is this then,” Thranduil asked, indicating you with a glance.

“Someone I saved from a spider.” Legolas told him your name, and explained how you had fallen down from the web and broken your hip. He asked his father to allow you to stay here until you were fully healed. “Since it was my fault, I feel responsible.” For some reason, he did not mention that you had come from the future. Perhaps he too found that unnecessarily complicated.

Thranduil shook his head tiredly. “You never change, do you? First it was that sick hare, and then the abandoned elk calf, and now a human with a broken leg. What will it be next, Legolas? A dwarf?” He sipped his wine.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t associate with dwarves.”

You kept your mouth shut about a certain Gimli, son of Glóin, whom Legolas apparently had still not met. What time were you in? Before or after The Hobbit? 

“That’s a relief, at least.” The king’s gaze moved to you for the first time, and you wondered what he thought of what he saw. “Alright then,” he said at last. “You can stay. But only until your leg is better.”

After that, Legolas and you rather hurriedly left. “As you can probably tell, my father and I are very different. We don’t get along very well,” he explained. 

You agreed; apart from an attractive physical appearance, they did not have much in common.

Legolas took you to a guest room, after showing you the way to the healer’s quarters where you would go each morning to be examined. Your room was small but cozy, with a comfortable looking bed, and a wooden tub behind a panel. 

“I assume you want a bath? I shall summon the maids.”

“Yes please. Thank you.” You greatly looked forward to finally getting rid of the remaining web.

Bathing in a time where plumbing was not invented involved much work. A score of elf maids carried steaming hot buckets into your room until your tub was full, and afterwards they emptied it in the same time-consuming way. 

One of the maids took your undershirt to be washed and mended where the spider stinger had pierced it. When she tried to take the tunic, you stopped her. “Not that. It’s clean.” You did not want Legolas’ scent to be washed off from the garment.

After you had bathed, and brushed your hair and put on clean clothes (Legolas tunic again, of course), you felt a lot better. Your stomach wound was almost completely gone, and your hip felt stronger too. 

There was a silver mirror in your room, and for the first time since you came to Middle-earth, you could see yourself in detail. The family you had stayed with the past year had been simple folk; the parents hunters, and their adult daughter a weaver. They had had a copper mirror, which only had shown you in a vague, discolored form.

Scrutinizing your appearance now, you discovered slight changes from your old self – nothing extraordinary, it was still the familiar you – but everywhere you looked, you found minor improvements. Small flaws which had annoyed you had been corrected. 

Chuckling, you proudly turned this way and that before the mirror. Perhaps coming here had not been so bad after all!

A knock took you out of your self-admiration, and you hobbled over to open. It was Legolas, inviting you out. He had still not tired of hearing about the future, and since his company would do some prison guard duty outside the palace, he thought your presence would make the tedious job more bearable.

Glad he enjoyed your company, you followed him and the other guards into the forest.

A group of elves sat under a large, solitary beech tree, clad in the same forest green garb as the newcomers. Upon your arrival, they happily gave up their seats, stretching their legs and arms as after a long vigil.

“Where is he?” Legolas asked, peering through the greenery.

“Somewhere far up. We are tired of chasing after him, so we just let him stay there.” The elf shrugged. “We will be leaving now then. See you tomorrow.” 

You stretched your neck, but could not see the prisoner either; he had climbed into the uppermost branches and the foliage covered him well, but his voice drifted down to you. He was grumbling and mumbling to himself, and every once in a while letting out a series of nasty coughs. It made you think of an old man with asthma, and you wondered what he had done to make the elves imprison him.

Legolas and his company had brought cold supper and a wine skin. Resting your backs against the smooth trunk, you passed the food and drink between you, while talking amiably about nothing in particular. 

From the movies, you had thought elves arrogant and disdainful towards other races, but this was not true of these people. They were fun and cheerful, and included you in their conversation like you had known each other for a long time. 

Thus the evening passed very pleasantly, and you remained there well into the night. It was early in the autumn and mild, even after the stars came out, and the wine had made you not a little tipsy. The elves seemed affected as well, and their light laughter filled the air.

Two of the guards began to sing, and you decided to move closer to Legolas while they weren’t watching. Just a bit. And perhaps try some innocent flirting? Yes. Great idea. It could be no harm in that – drunk people were often flirty, so it was a good excuse if he would prove not interested.

“Do those mean anything?” you asked, reaching out to lightly touch the thin braids which held his hair back from his temples. “You all have a similar style.”

“It’s to show our Silvan ancestry. I am Silvan on my mother’s side, and Sinda on my father’s.”

“Interesting. The people I live with plait their hair in another pattern – that must mean they are Sindarin then.” You had not removed your hand, and he seemed not to mind that your fingers felt his soft strands. You wanted to continue to his face, but that was probably too much, and too soon. Reluctantly you let your hand drop into your lap.

“Probably,” he agreed, meeting your gaze. His eyes were large and blue, shaded by long, dark lashes, and you felt drawn into them, mesmerized – like a hare before car lights. You wanted him to run over you. Crash into you.

“Can you make one on me?” you murmured. Your hair was longer than it had been. Since coming here, you had not cut it, because in Mirkwood nobody did.

“You are not Silvan.” His lip turned up slightly. You loved his smile.

“Make a human pattern then,” you suggested.

He glanced at his companions, as if making sure they were still busy singing, and edged closer to you. “Turn around.”

You happily obeyed. When you felt his fingers on your temples, a pleasant shiver ran down your spine. He worked fast with the braids, but when he had finished, his fingertips lingered. He traced the round shape of your ear. “Curious,” he mumbled. He was so close behind you that his breath tickled against your cheek.

“What’s curious?” Your heart pounded in your chest. You wanted him to keep touching you. Everywhere.

“You heal like an elf… but have round ears.” His finger had reached your sensitive earlobe, creating a tingling sensation which spread throughout your body. “I like round ears,” he added, barely audibly. “Exotic.”

You turned around, and found his face very close to yours. His cheeks were flushed, which was easy to spot on such pale skin as his. You did not think it was because of the alcohol.

Tentatively you touched the pointy tip of his ear. “Hm. I’m quite the opposite…” you murmured.

Nobody could say where you would have gone from there, had you not been interrupted just then by the cracking of a branch in the nearby underbrush. Swiftly Legolas turned towards the sound, and around you, the other guards stood to attention. Something was approaching. 

With a loud growl, a gang of dirty, rough creatures broke through the thicket, with their curved swords raised and sharp fangs bared. Orcs!

The guards and Legolas did not waste any time, and the wine they had consumed apparently had no effect on their archery skill. The charging orcs were met with a score of arrows, instantly felling the first line. Unfortunately new ones came after them, quickly taking their fallen comrades’ places. There were too many, and it did not take long until some were too close for bows. The elves then drew long daggers, and switched to close combat. 

The metallic clash of weapons rang in the air, mingling with the angry growls and shouts from the orcs. You had been so shocked by their coming that you had remained frozen where you sat, but now you tried to crawl out of the way on all fours.

An orc caught your boot, and you desperately kicked up with your other foot, ignoring the piercing ache in your hip. His lip broke in a flood of blood and he backed away. Then Legolas jumped between you, and embedded his white dagger deep into the orcs chest. The creature sunk down in a heap, blood oozing out in a pool beneath him.

As quickly as the melee had begun, it was over. The last of the orcs fell, and the night became calm and still again, with only the occasional owl hooting nearby.

“Well done, comrades,” said one of the guards, wiping his dagger clean on the soft grass.

“Anyone hurt?” asked Legolas.

Nobody was, except for lesser nicks and cuts, and all the orcs were dead. Their corpses lay scattered in the grass, filling the area with their hideous stench. 

You covered your mouth, desperately trying to hold down your supper.

“How are you?” Legolas gave you a worried look.

“A bit queasy. And I may have kicked a little too hard with my bad leg.” You gingerly prodded your hip. A spear of pain shot up and you whimpered. “Yes. I probably did…”

Legolas said a word you had not heard before.

“Was that a curse? And if so, can you teach it to me? Right now I feel like swearing.”

He obediently said it again, and you repeated after him. “It does feel better now. Teach me more of those, will you?”

One of the guards jumped down from the beach. “The prisoner’s gone.”. 

Legolas said the ugly word again. “It must have been planned. The orc attack and his escape… too convenient.”

“It seems so, aye,” the guard agreed. 

“You and the others try tracking him down. I have to tell my father.” He winced slightly when he said the last part, clearly not looking forward to that.

The guard bowed, and soon all of them were gone on silent feet. 

It felt strange that only a moment ago the guards had been singing and drinking wine, enjoying the night, and you had flirted with Legolas. How unfortunate the prisoner would choose this night for his escape!

Another thought struck you, and you suddenly felt incredibly stupid. “It was Sméagol.”

“The prisoner? Aye.”

“I should have known this,” you mused. “The guards won’t catch him. Instead your father will send you to Imladris where you tell it in Elrond’s council, and from there you leave with the Fellowship…” 

You felt Legolas' surprised gaze at you, and realized you had said that loud.

“You knew?” Then his eyes widened. “It’s written. Of course. You’re from the future, this is your history. Am I right?”

You nodded. It was a simpler explanation than trying to explain about Tolkien and his books. “I didn’t know I was in this time, or I would have told you sooner.”

“And my father will send me to Imladris? It sounds unlike him, though. He does not particularly like Elrond.”

“Yet, he will.”

“Let us test this.” He took your hand. “Come with me.”

“Wait. My crutches.” You picked them up from where you had dropped them in the excitement, and could not hold back a low moan when you bent your leg.

“Oh, your hip. Sorry. I forgot…” He looked worried. “Let me check it.”

You rolled down your hose and exposed the area. It was swelling again, but less than before. 

“Damn orc.” He frowned, gently touching your sore skin. His concern was heart-warming, and you felt a glow in your chest at his tender expression.

“It will get better. I heal quickly nowadays,” you assured him, pulling your hose back up. “Let’s go to your father now.”

His face fell. “Aye. He will not be happy.”

♡ ♡ ♡

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

[romangoldendreams]

Alexandria, Roy & Nurse Evelyn ♥ The Fall (2007) by Tarsem

[moonjxsung]

Kinktober Day 22: Hate Sex

[kinktober masterlist.]

🔞 warning: smut below! mdni.

pairing: Lee Minho x reader

•

“This hotel room is a fucking joke,” Minho groans from the doorway of your shared room. “I thought they said this was a suite.”

“Technically it is one,” you counter, grasping a plastic toothbrush in one hand as you begin to brush your teeth. “It’s just the best suite you can get for the middle of nowhere.”

Minho paces the room as he eyes the single bed in the middle of it, the off-white duvet still pulled taut over every corner, completely untouched. He observes the flattened pillows, which appear to be a little too yellow to be considered sanitary, and he glances out the window at the view of an empty parking lot and a brick wall.

He sighs as he assumes a spot at the foot of the bed, his feet grazing the spotty carpet, as he hears the faucet run.

When you reappear from the bathroom, shutting off the light behind you, you gesture to the bed awkwardly, not meeting his gaze.

“Pick your side,” you tell him, eyeing the nightstand at your shared belongings. The majority of it is yours- your jewelry, a phone charger, your makeup bag, a book from your bag. Minho glances over his shoulder at the nightstand, shrugging, and then his gaze meets the floor in front of him again.

“You can have the nightstand,” he says. “I’ll take the side facing the mysterious stain on the wall.”

You want to laugh, biting back a smile, as you nod in understanding. Minho may be funny at times, but you’ll be damned if he ever gets a proper laugh out of you.

You’re the first to pull back the duvet, crawling under the covers as you watch Minho maintain his spot at the foot of the bed. He lets out another exaggerated sigh, and then he finally lets himself climb in beside you, lying on top of the duvet, his arms folded over his stomach.

“Turn out the light,” Minho commands. He shuts his eyes before he can see you scowl at him, unimpressed by his brashness.

Though you don’t argue with him, simply reaching over to turn off the lamp and shut your own eyes.

For several minutes, there’s not a word spoken between the two of you. There’s simply the low hum of the air conditioning, which turns on and off at seemingly random intervals. Every time it’s off again, you can make out the sound of Minho’s breathing, as his eyes remain fixed on the ceiling above him.

“I can’t sleep,” Minho says after a while, sitting up in bed and glancing around the room.

“Just try,” is all you tell him, not opening your eyes.

He attempts to fluff his pillow, to no avail, finally pulling the duvet over his body. And then in one swift motion, he’s pulling his shirt off over his head, tossing it onto the floor below.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s too hot in here,” Minho protests. “I’m sweating.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to sleep next to you if you’re naked.”

“Then sleep on the floor,” Minho retorts, lying back once more and folding his hands over his bare chest.

You don’t argue it again, knowing it’s a moot point when it comes to Minho. He may be your assigned plus-one for your best friend’s wedding, but despite her insistence that you’d get along with him, all you seem to do is bicker. Coordinating outfits together, attending wedding rehearsals, now rooming together for another insignificant event- he’s insufferable, the way he doesn’t miss an opportunity to argue.

“Don’t snore,” Minho says, breaking the silence once more. “If you do, I’ll wake you up.”

“Would you lighten up?” You say finally, sitting up to meet his gaze. “I don’t really want to be here, either. But you’re getting on my last fucking nerve. Just go to sleep, and shut up, will you?”

Minho scoffs when you lie down again, and then he shuts his eyes, chuckling amidst the silence.

“God, you want me so badly,” Minho remarks, rolling over to face the wall now.

“What did you say?”

He says nothing, maintaining an amused smile on his face.

“Say it again,” you command, sitting up to glare at him.

“You heard me.”

“No, I didn’t. Say it again, seriously.”

“I said you want me so badly,” he says finally, turning around to face you.

“You’re a fucking jerk.”

“Tell me I’m lying then,” Minho smirks. “You can’t, because it’s true.”

“I have never liked you, and I never will like you. I’ve hated you since the second we were assigned to each as plus ones for this stupid wedding.”

He shrugs devilishly, lying flat against the mattress once more, as he folds his arms behind his head now.

“Okay,” is all that Minho says. Even in the darkness, you can make out the curves of his pectorals as he flexes his arms behind his head, his chest rising and falling with every breath. His jawline clenches as he feels you continue to stare at him, and then he sits up again to meet your angered gaze.

“Glaring at me relentlessly still doesn’t dispute the fact,” he remarks. “You might as well just admit that’s why you’re so weird around me.”

His gaze seems to flicker over your lips, and then back to your narrowed eyes, as the same cocky smirk is plastered upon his handsome face. You can’t verbalize the annoyance from the back of your throat, simply muttering some string of curse words at him. But your words are contradicted by your actions, when you lean forward to get a little closer to him, his breath hitching in the back of his throat at the proximity.

It’s Minho who’s a little confused now, his expression turning completely serious, as he observes you tilt your head to meet his gaze.

“You’re the weird one,” you challenge, doing your best not to let your gaze accidentally fall to his bare torso. “You stare at me every opportunity you get- you turn all cold when I talk to other men.”

Minho’s lips part, as if he’ll say something in defense of himself, yet he remains quiet.

“Say it,” you finish, cocking your head in his direction. “Say that it’s you who wants this.”

Minho doesn’t give himself an appropriate amount of time to think over your words, before he’s leaning in to kiss you, his hands instinctively shifting to your waist to pull you in closer. He can’t tell if you’re surprised, or angry, or maybe you even seem to enjoy the events that unfold between the two of you. But it’s hard to decipher when you’re kissing him back with such passion, little gasps escaping into his parted lips as he slips his tongue between your lips.

Minho kisses as though he’s wanted this all along- and yet you do, too. And amidst the shared desperation of hands reaching for each other, and breathless gasps for air, you’re certain the matter of who’s wanted this more simply doesn’t matter anymore.

Minho’s muscular arms push you down against the mattress, where he resumes his kisses, as his hands caress the sides of your waist.

“Say it,” he beckons, in between repeated kisses. “You wanted this all along.”

“Fuck you,” is all you say back to him, tangling your fingers in his silky brown hair, as he tugs the elastic of his gray sweatpants down.

“You’d love that, huh?”

There’s nothing else spoken when he finally tugs his boxers down over his erect cock, and then he loops his fingers into the waistband of your pants, tugging them down along with your panties.

Minho’s hand navigates to your inner thigh now, where he assists in hoisting your leg up for better access, and then he guides himself in with complete ease, quickly reattaching his lips to yours. It’s dizzying when he’s finally inside of you, his cock throbbing against your walls as he begins to move. There’s an overwhelming sensation that maybe you have wanted this all along, constantly intrigued by the glances he steals at you, the way he’s protective when you’re in the presence of other men. Even the method in which converses, always finding a way to frustrate you, to keep you on your toes as you try to make sense of him.

“You like that?” Minho queries through gritted teeth. He grunts each time he thrusts into you, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead and finding purchase along his chiseled jawline.

“Yeah,” you attempt to say back, though your voice is almost muffled by every harsh thrust, his cock kissing your cervix with every push of his hips. When your hands graze over his bare back, he quickens his pace, causing your nails to dig into his flesh, and Minho lets out a fervent moan at the satisfying, yet deliciously painful sensation.

“Say it,” Minho commands, coaxing an entirely different confession out of you. And by the way that he moves your hands down to your sides and pins them against the mattress, not permitting you to touch him until you’ve uttered the words, you can’t do anything but indulge him.

“I wanted this so bad,” you whine, moaning when he hits a particularly harsh angle. “I was always hoping you’d give up the ‘cool guy’ act and just fuck me already.”

He exhales sharply through gritted teeth, his grasp around your wrists tightening a little, as he comes down to suck a generously-sized bruise into the crook of your neck.

“Was it so obvious I wanted this, too?” He queries, slowing his rhythm a little. “Fuck, I can’t stand when you talk to the other groomsmen. You just love teasing me, don’t you?”

You can feel your cunt pulsate with every word that escapes his lips, your own heartbeat ringing in your ears as he taunts you. He fucks you so well, filling you in ways you can only fantasize, and yet his taunting is still somehow irritating to you, like he thinks he’ll have you wrapped around his finger with a quick fuck and some sweet talk.

“Nothing I do is for your attention,” you retort with a scoff, a breathy gasp succeeding your words. “You’re just insecure I’d fuck any of them before you.”

Minho pauses his thrusts for a moment, furrowing his brows in confusion. A statement he knows to be false, considering you’re right here under him, letting him fuck you like he’s going to breed you. And then he wonders if he really is the first- have you indulged any of the other groomsmen before him? Is this some little game you’re playing? Was there some other “grand suite” booked for an event, with one bed, and several months of similarly suffocating sexual frustration between the two of you?

“Turn around,” Minho orders as he pulls out of you.

His expression has grown completely serious, no sign of mercy as he assists in flipping you over, pinning your hips to the mattress and hovering over you. His hands find your inner thighs again, spreading you for him once more, and then he’s entering you again without warning, one hand pressed to the small of your back as he works himself in and out of you much faster now.

“Look at you. Taking me so well, almost like you’re made for this. You love that we’re stuck in this stupid suite together. You love that they only booked us for a room with one bed, and you love taking my cock like this. Am I wrong?”

There’s no way to answer him when his pace is at its quickest, the sounds of squelching filling the dark room around you, and perhaps even echoing past the thin wallpapered walls. You pray that there’s nobody in the rooms beside you, because they could most definitely make out that he’s hate-fucking you, by the way you attempt to respond in stifled moans, as his grunts get much louder.

“Fucking say it,” Minho orders again. He loops your hair around his slender fingers to pull taut, littering a series of kisses along your jaw. Your eyes roll back in pleasure, relishing in the sensation of him channeling all his frustrations through you. There’s so much you can admit when he’s fucking you well beyond comprehension now, and you have to bite your lip to prevent from uttering some false string of confessions about how good he is at this. It’s true- he fucks like a porn star- of course you’d never let him know that.

“I love it,” is all you can reply in a desperate whine, as he keeps his grasp around your hair. He’s gentle to push your face back onto the mattress, and then his lips find your ear, where he nibbles on the lobe and allows his heavy breathing to fill your ears.

“You love it,” Minho repeats. “You love it, and you’ve made it obvious from the fucking start. Now cum for me.”

He doesn’t need to ask you twice- not when your head is spinning in a daze, eyes rolled into the back of your head as he keeps your face pressed against the mattress. Your hair is sticky with sweat, both his and yours, and tears prick the corners of your eyes as you feel him let go inside of you first, painting your insides with his release, as he coaxes an orgasm out of you, too.

“Fucking cum for me,” Minho repeats, thrusting his arousal in and out of you. It’s mere seconds that you follow suit, a wet puddle forming on the mattress when your fluids trickle of of you.

Minho pants heavily over you as he catches his breath, loosening his grip on your hair and tucking it behind your ears once more. He pulls out to roll over, glancing in your direction from his side, and then he taps your shoulder gently, prompting you to roll over, too.

“Are you okay?” Minho asks, sitting up with a concerned expression.

“I’m fine,” you say back, lying back on the mattress, hands folded over your chest.

There’s a silence in the room as you both attempt to make sense of what just happened, and then you begin to laugh, wiping a bead of sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

“What’s so funny?” Minho asks.

“You’re insufferable,” is all that you respond, turning onto your side now and shutting your eyes.

You can almost hear the smug grin he wears on his face, satisfied at having beat the other groomsmen at this little game. He wonders if you’d been truthful about wanting to fuck them, too. You couldn’t have been- not in a session this passionate. Not after a fuck this good.

“Y/n?” Minho asks, intent on coaxing the truth out of you.

But before he can produce his question, you’re interrupting him, a smug grin also plastered across your face.

“And don’t snore,” you tell him, lips pulling further up into a wicked smile. “If you do, I’ll wake you.”

*

[madwomansapologist]

Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 9 - Gandalf does not know all

Pinterest Board | Series Masterlist | Spotify Playlist

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.

nineth chapter synopsis: Gandalf had his first good morning in ages. It ended as quickly as it started. [1K]

warnings: female!reader. pre-Smaug. the plot is plotting.

glossary: Mithrandir: Grey Pilgrim

It was a good morning. An absolutely good morning for Gandalf. Either he wished for it or not, it simply was. He felt good that morning. It was a good morning to be good.

Gandalf can count on the fingers of one hand how many of those he had in his life. Not a bad, wrong or slightly annoying occurrence this far. The sunlight was gentle on his back, a cold breeze of autumn stroked his skin with a dear friend kindness since he entered this path. As his sorrel went up hill, his worries turned into something else.

Into something easier to bear.

It has been far too long. Elrond needed them. With the hordes of vile creatures attacking Rivendell, Gandalf and Saruman helped Elrond to reign instead of only react. Now, Gandalf is  back to the inn he saved a lifetime ago. Back to you. Just as he promised them months ago when their hopes were near extinction.

Saruman’s plans were almost perfect. There was no way for them to be sure of how your mind would react, if your conscience would break and shatter to their interference. Doubt tasted like vinegar on their mouths. Even the brief light of an alternative, the possibility of some sort of cure, died before their eyes. But as much as they fear the outcome of that solution, they needed to do something.

They could not just sit and watch as you agonized towards death’s embrace.

That is the reason why, even without any proof that it would work, Gandalf agreed. And that is exactly why Radagast did not.

He was determined to do things his way. Radagast kept on searching for a cure, a forgotten knowledge that would save you. He did not liked Saruman’s plan, and for the sake of honesty so did Gandalf, but it was the only one they had. The more they waited, the paler your eyes got.

At the end, Radagast gave in. A choice made out of pure despair, but a choice nonetheless. With conditions, they all had theirs, the cousins put an end to your suffering.

Saruman needed you to recover somewhere safe. Somewhere far away from any sorts of dangers. Radagast wanted it to be near nature, so his eyes and ears could watch over you. And Gandalf needed someone able to keep you in line, keep you safe, until…

(you recovered? you came back to being you? you remembered what happened that tempestuous night? your body finally give in to the deep, piercing power still crawling inside you? you came to an end and something else takes your place?)

Aerin’s inn fit perfectly on their necessities, and so did her.

The stable’s door were open. Gandalf dismantled his corsel, and watched as a tall boy took care of it. Did you grew tired of the horses? Mayhaps Aerin decided you are better doing something else. Disappointed you were not the first person he saw there, Gandalf grabbed his staff and wandered towards the inn.

At the entrance, he heard Aerin complayinig. A frame that should have been higher, candles way to close to her precious scarlet curtains, the shuddering need of better chairs. Gandalf stood quiet on the main hall, watching as the elve walked around and took care of her precious inn.

“You are not able to begin to imagine the amount of energy I put into…” Aerin turned around, and her body suddenly stopped. Her words died inside her mouth, and a crippling silence tamed the room.

“Is that how you welcome an old friend?” Gandalf teased her.

Aerin thought about moving, she wanted to, but her body chose not to obey. She looked somewhere, anywhere, and tried to find the right words. The world was never so loud. With her left eye twitching, Aerin breathed in. “Mithrandir, have you read any of my letters?”

Gandalf’s smiled died slowly. He held his staff closer to his body, and took the pipe he fit on it. Glancing at the stairs, searching for you, Gandalf lit it. “We both know the answer to that question. Tell me, what happened?”

Controlled by fear and shame, Aerin guided him to her office. A few flight of stairs felt like a journey. Aerin locked the door, but did not let go of the knob. Her forehead fall against the wood, and Aerin allowed the cold to ease her mind. “The Elvenking was there”, she begun by the easiest part. “For weeks.”

Gandalf knew he would be close. When Thranduil announced it at the Counsil, he felt relieved. Better him than Elrond or Galadriel. They would have recognized you instantly. But now, after seeing how Aerin looked eons older, maybe it was a mistake from his part.

“They became friends, I thought so, but when the warg bit her… The look on his face”, Aerin turned, now brave enough to face the man to whom she broke her oath. “Gandalf, it was the face of a man in love.”

His hands trembled. You were not there to welcome him. Months passed since the incident, more than a year, but you were not fully recovered. A warg bit you. “How is she?”

“Alive”, Aerin answered. Oh, if only the warg was their biggest problem. She opened a drawer, and hesitated before giving him the sealed letter. “Recovered, as good as new.”

Gandalf tored the seal open. It was your calligraphy. Your words. Your signature. That letter was not only a goodbye, but also an invitation.

He burned in front of her eyes. Gandalf absorbed the light, as if even the sun knew better than to not surrender to his powers. “YOU LET HER GO TO MIRKWOOD?”

Aerin almost fell to her knees. “She runaway during the night. I swear, I did everything so she would stop exchanging correspondences with the Elvenking …”

“YOU DID NOT WARNED ME!”

“Of course I wrote!” This time, Aerin yelled. “I wrote for you when she was bitten, when she woke up, when the Elvenking became a problem. I wrote when she was gone, when I followed her in the path to that sick land, when I came back without her.”

Gandalf dropped the letter, and light went back to work as it usually does. Aerin breathed deep, air burning her throat, and closed her eyes. When his hand touched her shoulder, it was not threatening.

“I will find her”, Gandalf warned. “And she will come back. Will you take care of her again, my friend?”

“Of course, Mithrandir”, Aerin did her best not to bust into tears. “But the Elvenking…”

“The Elvenking might try to stop me, but nothing will keep me from defending my family.” Gandalf unlocked the door, and glanced at Aerin one last time. “After all, I was invited. Thranduil does not strike me as a bad host. ”

Good morning. What a fucking lie.

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish @whore-of-many-hot-men @h0ly-fire @h0n3y-l3m0n05

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

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[laumier]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫. ⋆ 엔하이픈 hyung line.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: enha x fem!reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: pwp-ish ?? , swearing , pet names, riding in jake’s, dirty talk, mentions of being in pain, suggestive in hoon’s hc, praises, hickeys, missionary

lala’s note. definitely doing this for atz. also, i got carried away with jake’s.. whoops :p.

⠀⠀⺀ LEE HEESEUNG.

the sun peeked through the beige colored curtains, signaling that it was well past 8am. you and heeseung remained in bed, bodies tangled together under the white sheets along with subtle touches from each other.

he was propped up on his elbow, leaning over you with his lips attached to yours. his hands roaming your body underneath the sheets. the sound of breathing and small moans filled the bedroom as the two of you still had a bit of adrenaline from the night before.

you threw your leg over his, pressing your body closer to his as he deepened the kiss.

“baby,” he whispered against your lips, leaning into your touch.

you hummed in response, somewhat distracted by the way he touched you.

“i need it..” his kisses traveled down to your neck, nibbling here and there. you hissed quietly, trying not to give into him seeing as this would’ve been the 5th time you both went at it.

“hee.. again? can we at least start the day first?” your laugh was cut short with a moan as heeseung found your sensitive spot, sucking a hickey there.

“can’t start the day without my daily honey..” he mumbled. you rolled your eyes when he mentioned the ‘honey’. it was a little name he had given your pussy. you remembered him saying that it was sweet and how sticky in between your legs would get whenever you were aroused.

“hee,” you whined, trying to push him away so you could climb out of bed.

“unhunh,” he protested with a grumble, his arm coming to lock around your waist so that you couldn’t move. he began shuffling his way under the thick duvet, giving you a mischievous smile. you squirmed around until he grabbed ahold of your thighs, holding them in his larger hands.

“just one more taste, baby..”

⠀⠀⺀ PARK JAY.

your back arched off of the bed as jay thrusted into you slow and deep, his length dragging against your soft walls. your moans were soft, but the sound bounced off of the walls making them seem much louder. jay grunted into your neck quietly, rocking his hips at a torturous pace.

the two of you couldn’t seem to get enough of each other, even with how many times you came the night before. jay was infatuated with you, just as you were with him. he wanted to show you that love all over again.

your nails clawed at his back, your legs wrapping around his waist as the stickiness between you both became messier.

“jay,” you gasped as his hips suddenly sped up, brushing against your g-spot. your mouth created an ‘O’ shape as you struggled to get any word out.

jay groaned, shivering when you clenched around him.

“fuck, i love you so much..”

you placed your hands on each side of his face as he picked his head up to look you in the eyes. you leaned in, pressing your lips against his in a quick, rough kiss.

jay found himself now pounding into you at a way quicker pace than before. the bed slightly creaked as the headboard hit the wall softly. if he had any self control before, it was definitely all gone now. you were just too irresistible to him.

your hand came down to where you and jay were connected, spreading your folds so jay could have more access. the squelching from your pussy became louder as jay dug deeper and you inched closer to the edge.

“deeper, babe, deeper..” you moaned out, unraveling your legs so you could spread them.

your high pitched whines only fueled jay, his hips now moving like they had a mind of their own.

you both wouldn’t be leaving the bed anytime soon.

⠀⠀⺀ SIM JAKE.

“fuuck, you feel too good,” jake threw his head back, his hands finding their way onto your hips. his long brown strands stuck to his forehead as his sweat dripped.

you lifted your hips up once more, his length sliding out of you, covered with cum and your juices. you took him back inside you, a hoarse moan escaping your mouth as you leaned down, pressing your chest against jake’s.

his hands traveled past your hips, gripping the soft flesh while guiding you up and down on him.

“mhm.. ride that dick like you need it, mama.” he hissed, landing a slap on your ass. you bit your lip, whining as he began thrusting his hips up to help you.

jake stared up at you in awe, eyes lidded and filled with love. he was addicted to you. you were almost like a drug to him. he was hooked.

“ja..jake,” you mewled. he didn’t respond at first, distracted by the way you moved against him. he shuttered, a whiny moan escaping his plump lips.

“jake.. i have… t-to get ready..”

he panted, shaking his head. he picked up the pace, your ass now slapping his thighs.

“nah.. just need you here with me..”

you began to slouch against him as you continued to whine. you tried to protest but your body still gave into him. your hips instinctively moved against his, giving you more pleasure.

he landed another harsh slap against your ass, earning a whimper from you.

“need you to cum all over me, baby.. keep putting that pretty pussy on me,”

jake’s words seemed to give you a sudden rush of adrenaline, making you forget about the shift you had in an hour.

⠀⠀⺀ PARK SUNGHOON.

you opened your eyes to see sunghoon’s back facing you as he sat on his side of the bed, probably still trying to wake himself up. you reached out, running your hand up his back, causing him to jump a bit.

you ran your nails down his back lightly, watching the goosebumps appear on his skin. he licked his lips, your touch bringing memories back from the sleepless night that you both had.

you sat up, the blanket falling of of your body as you moved to sit behind him. your hands traveled from his back to in front of him, sliding them down his chest slowly.

“g’morning..” your voice came out in a raspy whisper as you placed your lips right by his ear. you planted a kiss behind it, making your way down to his neck and shoulder.

he tilted his head to the side, giving you more access. your hands continued their actions, their movements causing sunghoon’s face to heat up. he was enjoying this too much.

“mornin’,” he mumbled, quietly hissing after, your kisses and nibbles making him weak.

your continued your wet kisses, making his breath hitch. he would’ve turned around and laid you out on the bed right then and there but he had things planned for the day. ‘things’ meaning his very demanding job.

“what’s planned for today?” you asked, your voice low and seductive.

sunghoon’s hand came to grab yours from his chest, bringing it to his lips, pressing gentle kisses to it.

“the usual. whatever the mangers have on the schedule.”

you hummed in response, hardly listening to whatever he said. you only wanted him and his body against yours so it was hard for you to focus on anything else.

“stay home, baby..”

“what?” he chuckled lightly.

“tell them you can’t make it..” you began kissing down his neck again, this time in all his weakest spots. your hands wandered all over him, making it hard for him to say no.

“y/n..—“

“please, hoonie? just want you to myself today.” your whiny tone was starting to turn sunghoon on. he exhaled, reaching for his phone on the nightstand.

“you’re lucky i love you.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

𐙚 : — comment or send an ask to be added to my taglist.

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐫.

𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦.

[leejenowrld]

“cum all over daddy’s cock.”

word count — 2.5k

pairing — lee jeno x reader

synopsis — you ride your boyfriend, jeno’s, cock, using him for your own pleasure. you bounce and fuck yourself dumb on it until you crash out

warnings — explicit sexual content, explicit language and swearing, sexual themes, reader is a warrior!!, bouncing and fucking herself dumb on jeno’s cock, her thigh and core strength are next level, kinda dom!reader, she uses jeno and his cock for her own pleasure, taking control of the pace, big daddy themes, overuse of the words ‘daddy’ and ‘baby,’ jeno praising and guiding her, rough handling, and mutual exhaustion from going all out.

“Look at you… fuck, you’re fucking wild right now,” he growls, his voice low and almost in awe of how hard you’re going. “You want it so fucking bad, don’t you? Taking my cock like you were fucking made for it.”

──────────────────────────────

As you lower yourself onto Jeno’s cock, a sharp gasp escapes your lips, the stretch of him filling you completely in one slow, deliberate motion. The fullness makes your thighs tremble, and the effort of taking him so deep already has your body tensing. You take a moment, catching your breath, feeling him pulse inside you as your body adjusts to his size. He fills you perfectly, and you can’t help but bite your lip at the sensation.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Jeno groans, his voice rough with arousal, his hands gripping your waist just enough to guide you. Every inch of him presses against your walls, the feeling almost overwhelming. Your thighs quiver, but you hold yourself still, grinding slowly to savor the feeling. Small, deliberate movements—your hips rolling lazily against him to preserve your energy. You know you’ll need it later.

You lean forward slightly, hands planted on his chest for balance, your nails digging into his skin as you move in slow, teasing circles. “Fuck… you feel so good inside me,” you whisper, your breath coming out in soft, shaky gasps.

Jeno’s eyes are dark, locked onto yours, his lips parting as a deep groan escapes him. “God, keep going,” he growls, voice thick with need. His fingers press deeper into your waist, encouraging you, but you can feel your legs beginning to strain already. You slow down, your hips grinding against him with careful control, letting him feel every inch of your walls tightening around him.

Your head tilts back as the pleasure builds steadily, his cock stretching you just right with every slow roll of your hips. The friction, the heat—it’s all starting to build, but you know you can’t go too hard too fast. “I need to pace myself,” you murmur, biting your lip in frustration. You want to give him everything, but the burn in your thighs is already starting to make itself known.

Jeno smirks, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer as his hips start to shift beneath you. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. His hips lift, thrusting up into you slowly, meeting your grind and making you gasp. The way he moves beneath you, matching your slow rhythm, sends sparks of pleasure through your body.

“Fuck, Jeno…” You moan, barely able to hold back. Each slow, deliberate thrust from him presses deep, dragging against your most sensitive spot. “You feel so good,” you whisper breathlessly, your fingers curling into his chest as you lean forward, your forehead resting against his.

“Yeah?” His voice is deeper now, more intense, and his hands grip your hips tighter. His thrusts become slower but harder, each one pushing deeper, filling you to the brim. “You feel how deep I am?” His voice is rough, his eyes locking with yours, daring you to answer.

“You feel me here?” Jeno growls, his hand pressing down firmly on the slight bulge in your lower belly, right where his cock is buried deep inside you. The sensation of him filling you completely, combined with the pressure of his hand, makes you whimper in response. He smirks, eyes locked on yours, knowing exactly how much control he has over your body. “Fuck, you’re so full of me,” he mutters, his voice thick with lust. “Daddy’s cock stretching you so good, isn’t it?”

You nod desperately, but it’s not enough for him. “Use your words, baby,” he demands, his grip tightening on your waist. His cock pulses inside you, and the way he’s looking at you—like he owns every part of you—sends a rush of heat through your entire body.

“Y-yes, Daddy,” you gasp, barely able to form the words, your breath coming out in ragged pants. “I can feel you so deep… so fucking deep.”

You can feel the pressure building in your core, the need to take things further, faster, more desperate. Your thighs are already burning, your body on fire from the way Jeno is filling you, but it’s not enough—you want more, and you’re determined to get it. Gritting your teeth, you start to move faster, grinding down on him with purpose, then shifting to bouncing on his cock with renewed intensity.

“Fuck… just like that,” Jeno groans, his eyes wide as he watches you take control. His hands grip your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, but he doesn’t try to stop you. He knows exactly what you’re doing, and he’s loving every second of it. “You gonna fuck yourself on my cock, baby? Huh? You gonna ride me until you come?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moan, the words spilling out of you between gasps. The pace is brutal now—every time you drop down onto his cock, it’s like you can’t get enough. You bounce harder, faster, your whole body moving with reckless abandon as you chase your release. “I’m gonna fuck myself dumb on your cock, Jeno… fuck, I’m so close.”

His grip tightens, but he lets you ride him, lets you take what you need. “That’s it,” he growls, his voice thick with lust. “Take it, baby. Fuck yourself on my cock. Use me.”

Your thighs are trembling violently, your muscles screaming for relief, but you don’t stop. The need, the desperation, is driving you forward, and all you can think about is the way his cock feels inside you—how perfectly it stretches you, fills you up, hitting that perfect spot over and over again. You’re losing yourself to the pleasure, the pace so fast and rough that you’re barely coherent anymore.

“Jeno… fuck… Jeno!” You scream his name, your hands bracing against his chest for leverage as you ride him harder. The sound of skin slapping together fills the room, your body bouncing violently on his cock, each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

“Fuck, baby, you’re gonna break me,” Jeno groans, his voice strained. He can barely keep up with you, but he doesn’t care. His eyes are glued to you—the way your tits bounce with every thrust, the way your body is completely out of control, driven by nothing but pure lust. His hands move up your body, grabbing your breasts roughly, squeezing them as you ride him with reckless abandon.

He knows what you’re doing, he watched with pride at every desperate push you make to chase your own pleasure. His voice is hoarse, rough with arousal, as he watches you come fuck yourself dumb on top of him. “You look so hot like this,” he groans, his fingers digging into your waist as he lets you set the pace. “You’re so fucking hot when you ride me like that. You’re using me to get off, aren’t you?”

“Look at you… fuck, you’re fucking wild right now,” he growls, his voice low and almost in awe of how hard you’re going. “You want it so fucking bad, don’t you? Taking my cock like you were fucking made for it.”

His words fuel the fire inside you, pushing you above your limits, bouncing on him so violently that the bed shakes beneath you. The sound of your bodies slamming together fills the room, the wetness between your legs making everything even dirtier, even hotter. You can barely breathe, barely think, the pleasure taking over every part of you.

“Fuck, your tits are perfect,” he groans against your skin, his voice rough as his lips tug on your nipple. “I could suck on them all fucking day, baby.”

Your tits bounce wildly in front of his face, so he takes the opportunity to brush his thumbs over your hard nipples, teasing them before he leans forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. The sensation of his tongue swirling around your nipple, the way he sucks hard, sends another wave of pleasure through you, and you nearly collapse on top of him. “God, you’re fucking perfect,” he growls, his voice strained as he tries to keep control. “Keep going, baby. Use me. Take what you need. I want to see you come all over me. I want to feel how fucking tight you get when you come.”

You’re going so hard, mixed with the pleasure of his mouth on your nipples, it makes your vision blur. The sensation of using him to chase your own release is overwhelming, sending shockwaves through your body. “Fuck, yes, suck my tits, Daddy,” you gasp, your voice shaking from the intensity.

He switches to the other nipple, sucking hard, flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin until you’re whimpering above him, your body trembling from the added pleasure. “That’s it… ride me, baby. Ride my cock. Don’t stop.”

“God, Jeno…” you gasp, your voice barely audible through the haze of pleasure, but he hears you.

Jeno growls against your skin, sucking harder on your nipple, his other hand kneading your other breast roughly. “You’re fucking perfect,” he mutters, his voice muffled as he devours your tits. His tongue flicks over your sensitive skin, his lips tugging at your nipple, making you moan uncontrollably. “These tits… fuck, they’re so perfect. Bouncing for me, baby. You like when I suck them?”

“Y-yes, Daddy,” you whimper, your movements becoming more frantic as the pleasure skyrockets. The way he’s sucking your nipples while you’re riding him is almost too much to handle. “Fuck, I’m so close… I’m so close…”

Your entire body is trembling, your thighs burning from the intensity, but the pleasure is too overwhelming to care. “Please, Jeno,” you beg, not even sure what you’re asking for at this point, your voice broken and needy. “Please, I don’t want to stop.”

“You’re not fucking stopping until you come all over my cock,” Jeno growls, his eyes dark and filled with lust. His hands grip your waist tighter, controlling your movements as he thrusts harder into you. “You feel that?” His voice is rough, his breath hot against your skin as he leans closer. “You’re gonna come for me, baby. I want to feel you fucking dripping for me.”

The roughness of his words sends a shockwave through your body, and you can barely hold on anymore. His cock is hitting so deep, each thrust dragging against that perfect spot inside you, sending your mind spiraling. “Fuck, baby, I’m so close,” you whimper, your voice barely a whisper.

That's all it takes. With a final, desperate bounce, the tension snaps, and you’re sent spiraling into the most intense orgasm of your life. Your entire body locks up, your walls clamping down around his cock as you scream his name. You ride him through it, your body convulsing uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

The wetness between your legs is already soaking him, but as you come, it feels like your entire body explodes. Your walls clamp down around his cock, squeezing him with pulsing, uncontrollable contractions. The heat spreads through your belly, radiating down your thighs as your body shakes. The slickness grows even more intense, the wet sounds between your bodies filling the room as you drench him, a mix of your release and his cock driving deeper into you with every thrust.

Your breath catches, your head spinning as your vision goes white for a second, the intensity of the orgasm hitting like a tidal wave. Your hips stutter, unable to maintain the same rhythm as your muscles tremble violently, your body clinging to him, shaking uncontrollably. The warm slickness dripping from you pools between your legs, coating him, making each thrust even wetter, more intense. Your skin glistens with sweat, your chest heaving as you come undone, completely lost in the sensation.

"That's it, baby," he growls, his voice full of satisfaction as he watches you fall apart in his hands.

"Come all over my cock. Let me feel it." Your mind is spinning, completely lost in the pleasure, and you can feel yourself dripping around him, your release coating his cock as he keeps thrusting into you. His hands never leave your body, guiding you through every moment of your orgasm, his voice low and filled with pride. "You're so fucking perfect like this," he murmurs, pressing kisses to your neck between deep, guttural moans. "So fucking tight for Daddy."

Jeno’s hands slide up your back, pulling you down against his chest as you both lie there, utterly fucked out, your bodies trembling from the intensity of it all. His lips find your neck, pressing soft kisses there as you come down from the high.

“Fuck… you… you fucked yourself dumb on my cock,” Jeno groans, his voice still full of lust even as his body relaxes. “You’re fucking incredible.”

“Mmm… we need to do that more.” You sigh.

Jeno chuckles softly, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back as he holds you close. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “So fucking perfect.”

[sinsofsummers]

cupcake

1.9k | teacher!logan x fem!student!reader

(gif not mine!!)

summary: logan eats you for lunch. warnings: porn! teacher!logan and student!reader, so a bit of a taboo age gap, but an established situationship. oral (f receiving), desperate logan—like he is A LEWSER, p in v, creampie because he doesn’t last long (because he’s a whore), logan is a slut for ur releases mixed together, sub!logan tbh, let me know if i miss any! note: wow. sorry. this was also supposed to be a night of writing a longer fic. but i think this is my brand! short and sweet and salacious little things! enjoy, my loves! also i'm tagging @cavillscurls , @bren-lee-bear0404 , @ieatgoldfishy and @hughverine for this one cause...it just seemed like u guys were extra eager for it hehehe!

You can sense him behind you as you make your way down the corridor, heading for your room. You’ve just gotten out of an exam, and as the relaxation-lover you are, you’re thinking of one thing and one thing only—your bed, and curling up in it.

But just like Logan can sense you at all times, you’re no stranger to the feeling of being under his watchful gaze. It’s a heady feeling, and even though you can’t see him, you know that if you turn around he’ll be just a few paces behind you. 

And maybe you shouldn’t have gotten under your history teacher in an attempt to get over him, but by now it’s far too late. Logan has all but ruined everyone for you, anyway, a fact that you’re sure he would put on a billboard if you’d let him.

You put your head down and pretend to ignore the sound of his footsteps getting faster. 

You smirk. Thankfully the hallway is empty, or you’d have to answer for why your history teacher is chasing you down. 

He’s not exactly discreet; or at least, not when you’re in the same room as him. Whether it’s his intense brown eyes staring you down like a challenge, or his hands somehow finding their way to your shoulders, or your hands, trying to look innocent enough…you’re pretty sure Logan’s made it obvious. 

“Hey.”

There he is.

You pause, about to turn the corner, but he swings a hand around your arm and makes you whirl around to face him. His eyes are hard, but there’s a spark of mischief that has you flashing a tight-lipped smirk back in his face, blinking slowly. 

“Yes, Professor?” you cross your arms, holding the textbooks in your hands to your chest. “Did I miss an assignment?”

Logan’s mouth twitches into an amused grin, and he tilts his head. “C’mere,” he says gently, and tugs you toward the nearest classroom—his own. 

You’ve had your fair share of classes here, but you blush as he closes the door and sidles up behind you, his broad, heavy chest pressing against your back. 

“Where’ve you been, sugar?” His voice is smooth, low, and reeks of sex. You know exactly why you’re here.

Your throat goes dry, but you swallow and turn around, taking a step back. With a wink, you keep your hands clutched to your textbook. “I’ve been working.” 

You’re goading him. “If you hadn’t noticed, I still need to study for my exams,” you say nonchalantly, and watch as he confidently strides forward, following you up to the front of the room. 

In no time at all, his desk hits the backs of your thighs, stopping you from your retreat. Logan’s only a step away from you and capitalizes on it. You’ve got no room to squirm away; he towers over you and puts his hands on his desk, trapping you there.

“Time for a break, I think,” he hums, nipping at your jaw when you chuckle and turn away from his attempt to kiss you. “You’ve been working that brain so hard,” he continues, tugging the textbook out of your hands and tossing it to the floor with a heavy thud. “I’ve been waiting for you all day.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re still pleased at the admission. You take it upon yourself to hop up on the desk, though it doesn’t give you much more leverage; he’s still got the upper…everything. “Oh, you have?” 

Logan lifts a hand to cup your jaw and neck, bringing your face closer to him. His hand is rough but the guidance of his touch is gentle, and he rests his forehead against yours. His next words are a whisper. “I have,” he nods. “You look so sweet, sugar. Can’t you just take a break?”

Your stomach turns in a familiar knot, and your thighs tense. It’s not that you haven’t fooled around on his desk before. But you really do have exams to study for.

“I know,” you sigh, turning to press a series of kisses to his beard. “I know, I want to be done, too. But I—”

“Then be done,” he whispers, his other hand landing on your thigh. “You’ll pass all your exams, bub, you know you will. Such a smart girl,” he says as his hand creeps toward the inside of your leg. “Why don’t you let me do something for you, smart girl?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and bite the inside of your cheek, but it does nothing to hide your smile. “Logan,” you whine, trying your best to sound exasperated. “I can��t just drop my panties for you everytime you want.”

His hand has wandered to the waistline of your shorts; an elastic band is all that bars him from your thin panties. 

“Of course,” he says, and then his eyes dart down to the crux of your legs as he hooks a finger in your waistband, tugging it away from your body. “But you sure do leave them sopping wet, don’t you?” He cocks an eyebrow at you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Well, if they weren’t before, they are now.

Your jaw drops open an inch, and for a moment you don’t know what to say.

Another finger hooks into your waistband, and he swipes his fingertips across your lower stomach, not daring to go any further until you give him the go ahead. “Please, sugar,” he whispers, and his voice shakes as he tilts your head up, holding his lips just an inch from your own. 

“I’ll be quick. I won’t even tease, baby,” he says, his hot breath fanning over your face, that delicious hint of tobacco making you flutter your eyes closed.

“Logan…” you try again, but he ducks his head into your neck and whimpers. Whimpers. 

“I’ll be good and quick, bub,” he says again. “Just let me taste you. I won’t ask for anything else, I swear.”

“Yeah right,” you say breathlessly, your composure slipping. “You always want more.”

“Can’t help it,” he breathes heavily, and his hand clenches your shorts in a fist. “M’gonna go insane if I can’t taste you, cupcake.”

You’ve never seen him this desperate, this much of a loser for your pussy, that you choke out a sigh and push his hand down your stomach. His eyes go wide and his mouth stutters as his fingers reach your mound, shoulders shuddering at the velvety smooth touch of your core. 

“Fine,” you say quietly, a smile growing on your face. “But just for a minute.”

“Minute’s all I need, sugar.” Logan doesn’t waste his time, molding his lips to yours with a deep groan that borders on the side of a growl, something that ignites a fire in your gut. 

In a flash, he’s practically torn your shorts from your body and he’s getting on his knees, eyes flitting up to yours as he leans into your core. The flush of cool air on your lower half is almost relieving. 

He pauses, closing his eyes right as he’s about to dive in. And he sucks in a breath through his nose, inhaling the scent of your arousal. It’s like a fucking ritual for him. Like a monk bent to pray, he worships the source of your sweetness.

You shake your head, carding your fingers through his hair. “You’re such a freak,” you breathe, but the humor leaves your voice as he darts his tongue out to flick your clit. 

And with your hands in his hair, he growls into your pussy and laps at it like a starving man, swirling circles around your clit and wasting no time before his fingers are teasing your entrance. 

“God,” you gasp, squeezing your thighs around his head. 

He lifts his head, and you wish you could take a picture of how fucking desperate he looks, with his beard already glistening with your wetness and his eyes wide as a puppy’s. “Not God,” he huffs, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Just me, bub.”

“Shut the fuck up and make me come,” you sigh, tilting your head back and letting out a soft giggle. “Your minute’s almost up.”

Of course, you don’t have any plans on cutting him off. Once he gets his tongue on your core, you won’t be satisfied until he’s filling you to the brim. 

He moans with every drop that slips out of you and lands on his tongue, which only makes your pussy weep more for him. “Come on, baby,” he says into you, his fingers slipping inside you and stretching you deliciously over his thick digits. “Come on daddy’s face.”

He has the gall to ask you to call him daddy? When he just spent the last ten minutes begging to get on his knees for you?

You almost laugh, but then his fingers curl inside you. He’s hitting that one spongy spot that has you arching your back, your eyes rolling back and your hand pressing down on his head, holding him to your core as you ride out your release. “Fuck, Logan,” you whine, rolling your hips into his mouth to make the ecstasy last longer.

He pulls away from you, and you can’t even lift your head before you hear the clink of his belt hitting the floor. His face comes into view, and then his tip is sliding against your slit, throwing you into a frenzy as your legs shake at the sensitivity. 

“I’m sorry, sugar,” he says, voice hoarse as he circles your clit with his angry, leaking tip. “I’m close already, I just wanna…”

“You wanna fill me up,” you finish breathlessly, head resting against his desk.

“Yes,” he whimpers, and you swear you could come again at the sound of it. “Please, cupcake.”

You nod, a string of yes please falling from your lips. And not a moment later, he’s shoving himself inside, and suddenly you realize how empty you’d felt all day before this moment, before his thick cock was making room for itself in your body. 

He doesn’t look like he’ll last long enough to give you another orgasm, but you don’t really care; he looks so fucking pretty like this that it’ll be enough to fuel an entire night of play when you’re on your own.

With a guttural groan and a few uneven thrusts, Logan bursts. The swing sound of metal claws unsheathing themselves is like a drug as he empties himself inside of you. “I’m sorry, cupcake,” he shudders, laying himself over you on the desk. “M’sorry I couldn’t—”

“It’s okay,” you wrap an arm around his shoulders, savoring the feeling of his dick still pulsing inside you. “I like it when you’re so…”

You trail off. Nothing can quite describe the essence of Logan when he’s begging to eat you out. But there’s something so undeniably filthy about someone like Logan—your rugged, perfect Professor Logan—shedding his grumpy exterior for a taste of you.

The two of you lay there for a few more moments before he straightens, pulling you to a sitting position. He slowly pulls out, catching his seed and pushing it gently back inside you as best he can. 

You hum at the sight, and finally stand, pulling your wrecked shorts back onto your hips. “How are you gonna explain that?” You point at the small puddle of your releases, mixed together.

His hair is still messy, his fingers still shining with your arousal, but he winks. Claws retracted, he swipes a finger through the mess and puts it to his lips, drinking down the result of your pleasure. 

“Frosting,” he grins, and the return of the cocksure professor you know so well has returned. He presses a kiss to your temple and whispers in your ear. “From the sweetest of cupcakes.”

[back2bluesidex]

Slide - MYG (18+)

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader 

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 2k+

Summary: 

"I can see the pain in your eyes I don't wanna say that I'm God, but I'll take you to heaven if you die"  

Alternatively, 

You would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timeline.

Warnings: implied smut, explicit smut, emotional sex, very sad (don't underestimate the angst huhu), depressed yoongi, reader is pining so hard lord!, creampie, unplanned pregnancy, NSFW!!

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon

A/N: Lemme know if you want a part 2? (even though I already know the answer hehe).

Arrangement.

You would rather call it an arrangement - the thing that is going on between you and Yoongi. Anything you have been feeling for him, outside your usual practice, is your, solely your decision or more likely… fault. 

Hence, it’s a given. A given that you shouldn’t feel your heart dropping to your stomach, crashing on whatever is available inside your body and shattering into a thousand pieces, when you find Gyuri walking inside the room. 

Beside you, Yoongi tenses. His body goes rigid as the air inside the room thickens beyond repair. And all of a sudden you can’t breathe. 

Now you understand why Namjoon has been avoiding to reveal the name of the artist all along.

Lee Gyuri - One of the most successful solo artist as well as Min Yoongi’s one true love, who had left him broken so bad that you once found him on the street, unconscious, vomit all over his clothes - is now back in his life… in your life, which has been revolving around him. 

Where she left - You started. 

You picked Yoongi up, put him into pieces, not that you were able to heal the cracks but you at least conjoined it all together. 

And just like that - one night after a long heart to heart talk and a few beers, you found him seethed deep inside you. Yoongi chanted your name again and again as if it’s a mantra that will heal the cracks of his heart all while he rutted in you like a mad man. 

It started from there - the arrangement. 

At the end of long days and even longer nights, whenever both of you were too exhausted to go home, you spent the nights crammed together on Yoongi’s studio couch. 

Quiet whispers, curse words, wandering hands, secret body parts slick with arousal - everything had made your existence dwindle dangerously through his fingers. 

Yoongi always fell asleep right after but you stayed awake, tracing the slope of his nose, bow of his lips, map of his pale skin glinting in the dark. 

You had made a mistake. 

You fell in love.

Now as Gyuri slides inside the room with natural elegance, you hear Yoongi’s breathing getting quicker in pace. 

He is anxious. 

You place a hand on his knees, under the table. It’s a practiced habit that you adopted over time. Your fingertips help to calm him down. 

Everything is the same. 

Except this time, Yoongi doesn’t relax under your touch. 

“Yoongi, can we talk for a moment?” Gyuri requests with a timid voice at the end of the meeting. Her eyes quickly lock with yours for a fraction of a second. 

You half expect for Yoongi to say no. You pray to the universe for his answer to come as negative even when you know –

“Yes. Sure.” 

That Yoongi never stopped loving her for a moment. Yoongi loved, loves and will love only one woman - and that’s not you. 

Even though you don’t feel your legs anymore, you stand up. You choose to take the stairs to exhaust your body so that your sadness can be masked. 

But even as you climb down floors after floors - your heart stays confined in that room locked with two lovers. 

“She said she wants to work it out this time. She has been missing me terribly... she said.” Yoongi doesn’t look away from the blaring computer screen. 

He probably doesn’t have the heart of looking into your eyes. 

Somewhere he, too, knows of the deepest secrets you have been hiding from him. 

“And? What did you say?” You chew on the inside of your mouth, again praying for him to answer something of your liking. 

“That I will think about it.” you knew he would say that. 

“What is there to think about, Yoongi? You still love her.” you force the words out of your mouth even when your throat closes up. 

Tears threaten to spill from the corner of your eyes but you blink those away.

Yoongi finally looks at you, his own eyes glinting with moisture. 

“But what about you?” The question is rhetorical - metaphorical. 

“Me? I will go back to where I started from.” you lie, heart threatening to leap out of your chest. 

You would go back, but not where you started from, you would go back to the night when you picked Yoongi up from the street.

In simpler terms, you would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timelines. 

You squeeze your eyes shut tight, pretending not to hear anything at all. 

Even though you have to summon all of your willpower to do so - you stay still in your bed. 

Your tears though - keep falling, rolling down the apple of your cheeks and making a small puddle inside the curve of your ear. 

He keeps rambling on the door. 

Sometimes the knocks are steady, sometimes infused with anger but his voice stays low. You wouldn’t hear him calling your name if you weren’t attentive enough.

“Y/N! Please open the door.” Yoongi requests again. Through the wood of your door it sounds like a whisper, “Please. I- I want to see you once.” 

Every pore of your body woozes out the desire of letting him in, taking him inside your arms and never ever letting him go. 

But you are afraid. 

He has never once visited you by his own will. 

He only tagged along when you asked him to. 

So you are afraid. 

Afraid of what he might say. Afraid that he might say what you don’t want to hear. You already know everything - know enough - if he points it out now that he is going to leave you behind as the love of his life is back then you might as well break down, which you definitely don’t want to do. 

You have always appeared to be nonchalant before Yoongi about this arrangement, about his kisses, his marks, his simple ignorance - and you want it to stay that way. 

However, your resolve breaks when you hear a sob, muffled by the door. 

Is he crying? Why? Why is he crying at your door? 

So you get up, pad towards the door and swing it open. 

Yoongi’s head shoots up and you look at his face. 

He is a mess - a mess that you love. 

With dark hair all disheveled, face smeared with tears, lips chapped, Yoongi says, “I am here to end things.” 

This. You were afraid of this. 

Your insides churn and mold into a ball of nothingness. There are words sitting on the tip of your tongue but you choose to stay silent as always.

“Okay.” you reply, holding the door knob again ready to shut it on his beautiful face for once and for all. 

Yoongi forces his hand at the edge of the door, preventing you from closing it. 

He steps inside your apartment and within a few moments, you are being pushed to the door, closing it with the force of your back. 

Yoongi kisses you with everything he has left inside. You kiss him back. 

You don’t know what is happening but if this is for one last time, then you will accept it. 

Your hands wrap around his neck on their own accord. His chapped lips mold perfectly with your moisturized pair. 

They move in perfect sync, perfect rhythm - the rhythm of destruction. 

“Y/N” Yoongi whispers in between the kiss, “I am sorry.” 

You don’t pay his words any mind, rather you let your fingers get lost in his long dark hair. 

The kiss grows hungrier by every second you spend in each other’s hold. 

Yoongi starts directing you towards your bedroom and your small apartment space takes no time to be crossed. 

You soon feel the edge of your bed behind your knees. 

When you fall back - Yoongi falls with you. 

He looks into your eyes, his own eyes telling a thousand different stories all together. But tonight, you don’t try to read those. 

What’s the point when your own chapter is ending? When memories of you will be left to collect dust on the surface? 

What’s the point when he knows he is going back to the one he has always loved? 

His rough calloused hand comes in contact with your cheek. 

“I’m sorry.” he whispers again as he reaches down to place a kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m sorry.” he kisses your right eye.

“I’m sorry.” he kisses your left eye.

“I’m sorry.” this time it’s the tip of your nose. 

“I’m sorry” and lastly it’s your lips. 

You have never seen Min Yoongi this emotional. 

After Gyuri left him, he became numb. You were never able to thaw the frozen parts of him. 

But tonight you see a completely different Yoongi. Is this Gyuri’s magic? Has her return made him a human again? 

Yoongi - who never touched you or kissed you more than it’s needed, is now apologizing while kissing every small part of your face? 

You take a sharp breath and reply, “it’s okay.” even though you don’t know what he is apologizing for. For not being able to reciprocate your feelings? For using you when you let him? For leaving you behind after tonight? 

He has already started placing kisses around your jaw, throat, collarbones. His hands fist the hem of your pajama top and he pulls it up revealing your naked chest. 

He doesn’t waste time diving down and taking one of your perked nipples inside his mouth. 

He sucks on it softly, sweetly - like a lover. Your tears start spilling from your eyes finally. But you completely lose it when you feel his own tears on the mound of your breast. You let him sob, as you sob quietly. 

It doesn’t take much time for your clothes and his clothes to join as a hip on the floor of your bedroom. 

Yoongi pumps himself, preparing for one last time to enter you. When he lines his cock on your entrance, he takes a quick glance at your face, as if asking for permission. 

Your tear stained face lights up in a small smile - it’s not fake. 

He enters you, takes up every corner of your walls, fills you with himself - both of your body and heart. 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything anymore. He pushes himself inside you, pounds into you with an unusual pace. 

His face comes to rest on the crook of your neck. You embrace him to stay there, stay with you as long as it lasts. 

For the first time ever, Yoongi doesn’t fucks you - he makes love to you. 

The realization makes you shudder. 

Why now? Why now out of all the time? Why now when everything is ending? 

His breath starts getting labored, you feel yourself hanging close to the edge as well. 

And after a few more thrusts, you let go. He fills you up following your invitation. 

Both of you stay like that even after the deed is done - for a moment, an hour? You don’t know.  

You feel his disposal running down your inner thigh, when he finally slips out of you. 

You sneak a glance in his dark orbs for one last time. With a sore throat and an equally sore heart you whisper, “Be happy, Yoongi.” 

You see one last drop of tear slipping down his eyes when he dips down to cage your lips in his for one last time. 

It’s been a month since that night. 

It’s been a month since you last talked to Yoongi beside work. 

It’s been a month since you last saw Yoongi outside work. 

It’s been a month since you withdrew from Gyuri’s project.

It’s been more than a month since you had your last period. 

As you stand in your bathroom, with the tiny testing kit, those two red lines mock you. 

You thought that night was the last time? But this after effect - where will you go with this? Who will you confide in? 

It can’t be Min Yoongi - can it? 

You have let him slide through your fingers after all. 

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