DO U WRITE FOR HABIT IF SO CAN U DO YANDERE HABIT X YN WHERE HES LITERALLY SOOO DOWN BAD- LIKE IN A WEIRD WAY? (stealing her laundry, longing to be around her, begging to be collared/owned, etc) :333
ᓚᘏᗢ 𓈒∘ ꒰I will write for Habit, but I have a confession…I never finished EMH- I KNOW I KNOW IM TERRIBLE!! I started in like 2018 and just…forgot- BUT I will attempt to write him for you, star child! Just don’t hate me if it’s bad PLEASE!!꒱
Stranger Danger
⟢ Pairing: Habit x Reader
⟢ Summary: You seemed to have a stalker on your hands…
⟢ TW: Stalking, blood, knife, yandere
You swore to yourself you weren’t going crazy but how else would you explain the missing clothes and the constant feeling of being watched? Maybe you finally cracked. You couldn’t sleep anymore without the overwhelming weight of eyes on you. What the hell was a matter with you?
One day you were walking home hope from (JUMPSCARE) work. You got let off early due to falling asleep on the job. Your boss told you not to come back till you got yourself sorted out. Your thoughts were filled with possible solutions to your paranoia. Perhaps therapy? As you walked through your door you immediately noticed something was off. You weren’t crazy. You could feel another presence in the house so you slowly made your way to the kitchen and grabbed a knife for protection then made your way upstairs.
Everything was quiet except for an occasional rustling noise you knew wasn’t coming from you. All rational thinking of calling the police left thoughts. Maybe you were crazy. Crazy enough to think you could fight off whatever was in your house. You pushed open the door to your bedroom but was met with nothing. Everything was where you had left it…except for the window being opened. Before you could process the cold air blowing in you felt a pair of hands wrapping around your waist. You quickly whipped around to face the intruder, pointing your knife towards him to show you meant business. However, he was unfazed. He just smiled wider before grabbing to knife by the blade, not even flinching as it cut into his hand and dropped it aside. You were shocked to say the least. You wanted to scream but your voice wouldn’t let you.
This man was wasn’t very tall but had broad shoulders and a strong build. His brown hair was ratty and fell in his eyes. He was covered in blood you weren’t sure if it was his or someone else’s. His smile made your stomach churn and your skin crawl.
“Hello, bunny~” He cooed before wrapping his arms around you once again. He held you like a diamond, tightly but as if you were still easily breakable. “W-Who are y-you?” You finally managed to croak out. He leaned down and purred in your ear. “I’m all yours~” His breath on your neck made you cringe. You tried wiggling from his grasp but he wasn’t letting you go anytime soon. “I could be anything you want. All you have to do is ask.” Feeling him nibble on your earlobe gave you enough strength to push him away. You noticed he had a pair of your underwear tucked in his pocket which made you cringe. “You n-need to leave N-NOW!” You were trying your hardest to be stern but the stuttering wasn’t getting your point across. The intruder closed the space between you two once again. This time he sunk to his knees and looked up at you with devotion. His chin rested against your stomach and his hands clamped down around your thighs. “I’ll even be your little pet. You can put a collar on me if you’d like~” He grabbed your hands and forced them around his neck. He could feel you trembling which only made him smile wider. “What’re you shaking for? You aren’t scared are you?” Laughing as if that was absurd. Why would you be scared of him? All he wanted was to love you…in his own sick and twisted way.
Silence fell between you two. He could tell you were thinking of a way to get out of this he just didn’t know when/how you’d strike. You planned on getting out of this one way or another. If you were going to die at least you’d go down fighting. So with all your might you kneed him in the jaw causing him to fall back then you lunged for the knife he had tossed aside. He grabbed you and pinned you to the floor. The smile had finally fell from his face, now replaced with a scowl. “You’re really starting to piss me off, sweetheart.” He growled while trying to pry the knife from your hand but your weren’t giving up. You knocked him in the stomach to get him off you then closed your eyes and started stabbing. The feeling of slashing flesh made you sick but it was self defense! When you opened your eyes he was gone, nothing but the blood as a trace and your window now closed. You dropped the knife and screamed in a panic as the realization kicked in. You had been running off of fear and adrenaline.
After the beating of your heart slowed and the blood on your hands started to dry you went to soak in the bath. Scrubbing at your skin till it burned didn’t take away that image in your mind. Did you just kill a man? Did you imagine it all? Was this whole thing just a nightmare?…Had you gone crazy? You weren’t sure but apart of you felt a little safer knowing you could defend yourself.
Your bravery didn’t just impress you but also a certain stalker that would now wear those new stab wounds like badges of honor. He was so proud that his bunny could hold their own. He’d definitely be back for another round.
I didn’t plan for this to get bloody…I still hope you like it!! So sorry I couldn’t do better!! Love, Kami ᓚᘏᗢ
make sure to be logged into twitter/x (and be 18+) & Imk if the links become broken. credit to the users. i lowk hope i didn’t use the same vids i did for the other ones.
as always some of the videos might have crazy tags / captions so beware
other twt links. 1.2.3.
jeff
oops jeff lost the key now you’re stuck like this
don’t fight him just take it like a good girl
do you really think he cares that your body is shaking?
masky
you messed up during a mission & now him and hoodie have to punish you
bark for him while he fucks you in the woods
ruin his orgasms
hoodie
hoodie wants to see if u can take his and masky cock at the same time.
riding his dick in the car before your guys mission
anal training
toby
he loves being close to you while you guys fuck
toby loves dry humping
he just can’t stop cumming in you
ben
you teased him too much during his match
his little gaming pet
yea so what if he likes to suck your breasts and call you mommy?
eyeless jack
get his fingers nice and wet before he uses them on you
thumb in butthole while fucking you
this is what happens when you bother him during dissections
laughing jack
stomach bulge, stomach bulge, stomach budge
his cock is too big
loves holding you while he fucks you
jason the toymaker
folding ur legs while he breeds you
fingering you hard after you caught an attitude
testing out the custom buttplug he made you
dark link
suck his dick while he fingers you. it’s only right
fingering you after he fucks you hard
don’t you dare look away while he fucks your throat
kagekao
back arched while you fuck yourself on his cock
he doesn’t care if anyone can walk up the stairs and see you guys.
twisting and hitting your nipples
bloody painter
finishing on you
you guys have morning sex everyday
just keep licking and sucking the tip
slenderman
fucking you on the mansion floor while the crps are out
you’ve been so bratty, so he has to fuck you to forgiveness
oops.. you failed your mission
thanks for reading. divider credit: @/sister-lucifer
!! okay so it was so fun, i lasted for about 2 hours. you start with an empty bladder and the game tells you how much to drink and challenges to do while you hold. it's lowkey pretty brutal but omg it was so fun and i really wanna play it again 🥰
✰ Warnings: Aimed for GN Reader, Smutty ABC thing at the end, IDK
✰ Request by: @gremlintheslut
✰ Rating: M
⋆.˚✮ Notes: I feel like Thor from the game doesn’t have a lot of screen time, so I’m not really confident in portraying his character. (Also, the only Thor depiction I’m super familiar with is MCU Thor.) I did my best, don’t hate me if it’s shit.
Also, he’s married, so I went into this with the idea that he had divorced or something at some point.
✰Confessing Your Love✰
Thor does not really give me the vibe of someone who would laugh off a genuine confession unless he thought it was a joke or a trick at first.
He’d probably go still for a second, stare, and make sure he heard you correctly.
“You love me?”
Once he realizes you mean it, he’d give you his full focus.
He’ll breathe a little heavier and consider his options.
Thor is emotional in a big, powerful way, and not always refined.
Since the confession took him of gaurd, he reacts by resting a hand on your cheek before he can tell himself otherwise.
For how powerful he is, and how many enemies Odin has, and him by proxy, he’ll consider it a trick at first.
He’ll ask you if you’re mocking him or lying.
When you grovel and tell him it’s true, and beg him to believe you, that little insecurity in the back of his mind will melt away.
“Do you understand what it means to stand beside me?”
He’s a wreck and a drunk; his own family has decided that.
So what good could he do for you?
Yet you are unwavering, and he feels the need to keep you close regardless of all of it.
There will be a long heart-to-heart about your feelings and desires for him, and his hesitation.
But after all that, he’s just a lonely broken man who revels in your affection.
He’ll want to take things slow, but he will find himself reaching for you regardless of that.
Thor is not a subtle man, so he’ll parade you around afterward.
✰Confessing his Love✰
Thor is not the kind of man who would pine forever and do nothing about it.
He waits longer than he should if he’s unsure, or if he thinks the timing is wrong, but once he decides to act, his confession will be direct.
He’d approach you privately when he finds you alone, just in case you turn him down.
He does not want witnesses to his embarrassment.
Nor does he want them for what he’d planned to do if you’d accepted him.
He’ll just say it.
“I want you.”
“I have tried to master this feeling, and I find I no longer wish to.”
He might accidentally come off a little intense in his confession.
His hand twitches, like he wants to hold your face or take your hand, but he waits for your reaction first.
When you look shocked, he just waits silently.
Maybe painfully, maybe intensely, but he’d wait.
He’ll watch every rise and fall of your shoulders and the gears turning behind your eyes.
As soon as your mind catches up with what just happened, and you smile at him and return the sentiment, all that tension in him breaks.
He cups your face, pulls you close, and kisses you.
✰Nicknames✰
He’d likely tolerate your nicknames for him at first, then secretly grow very attached to them.
At first, he might act a little gruff about it, especially with something very sweet or teasing.
When you first started calling him “Love”, “Dear”, and “Sweetheart”, his reaction would just be a raised brow and maybe a scoff.
“Is that what you call me now?”
He’s not used to soft and sweet pet names.
The world sees him as this big, imposing God, so that is how the world treats him.
When you call him these pet names, they make him feel a little more like just any other man.
He kinda likes it.
He warms up to them eventually, though he’d prefer the nicknames stay private.
They feel intimate with him, and would prefer it if it were just something between the two of you.
Though he’d eventually have his own for you as well.
He’d call you “Dear”, “Darling”, and “Beloved”.
Though he’ll stick with calling you by your name when others are around.
If you ever called him something outrageous, like cupcake, cutie, or sugar, he might react differently to those.
“You test me.”
Though as long as it’s not meant to tease or mock him, he’d very obviously indulge them anyway.
✰Little Gremlin✰
You are impossible, and I think that would fascinate him.
So if his lover has a talent for finding trouble, his immediate response would usually be physical and decisive.
He’d move in front of you, or actually hold you back if you were all but literally barking at someone, and glaring at the offensive party, even if you started it.
He would be constantly torn between scolding and laughing.
“You are forever one breath from disaster.”
A very obvious ‘you exasperate me, but I adore you’ kind of tone.
Thor would respect that you are not timid.
He likes that you are fiery and mouthy.
It’s constant entertainment, really.
A lover who turns into a tiny snarling beast when threatened?
Thor would pretend this is the most aggravating thing in the world.
He’d groan.
He’d mutter to himself.
He’d tell you to hush.
And then later, when the danger had passed, he’d remember exactly what you’d said and how you bit the man in that bar fight.
And he’d spare it a chuckle, and be privately entertained by it.
Sometimes he has to step in when he knows it’s a fight you won't win.
He’ll pick you up and move you out of the line of fire.
Plant a hand on the back of your neck to steer you away
Physically turning your face away from danger, so you stop barking at the enemy for one second.
“Enough. You’ve had your turn.”
Then handle it himself.
When you argue that you could’ve handled it just fine without him, he’d entertain the idea for a single second before, “No. You couldn’t.”
You’d bicker about it with him.
You insist you could handle yourself.
Thor telling you that was not the point.
You accusing him of treating them like you are fragile.
Thor snapped back that you are not fragile, merely reckless.
You calling him overbearing.
Him calling you impossible.
Then plenty of kissing and making up after the heat has settled.
He’s learned your patterns and your ways and is always paying attention to try to keep you out of trouble before you can find it.
✰His Reaction to your first Kiss✰
Thor and you are alone after an argument.
Thor is standing close, saying something low and serious, still focused on you with that full, heavy attention of his.
You’re struck by how open he is in that moment, even if he does not mean to be.
Even if you're bickering, he’s telling you off for doing something dangerous.
And before you can overthink it, you lean in and kiss him.
Thor goes completely still for a second.
The sudden affection catches him off guard.
His eyes widen slightly, and there is a brief moment where he just stands there.
He seems almost shocked by how gently you’re touching him.
For one suspended breath, he does not move, as though he is making sure this is truly happening.
Then his hands react before his words do.
He reaches for you carefully.
One hand at your waist, the other at your jaw.
At first, the return kiss is almost cautious, like he is restraining the full force of what he feels.
Then it deepens quickly, because Thor is not built for half-measures.
The kiss becomes a mess of tongue and teeth.
When you finally part, Thor stays very close, still holding on.
He is breathing heavier, staring at you, looking a little stunned and a little hungry for more.
He does not speak immediately.
Then he says something like, “Do that again.”
Afterward, he rests his forehead against yours.
From that point on, it would be much harder for him to pretend his feelings are manageable or hidden.
He’d be confused about how they went from bickering to tongue wrestling, but he wouldn’t argue.
He indulges in the affection you give him.
He can argue with you for your recklessness and ask questions later.
For now, he just wants to milk as much of his moment as he can.
✰Cuddle Bugs✰
Thor likes to cuddle.
Plain and simple.
While some men see it as a sign of weakness or silly, Thor sees it as just a natural thing between lovers.
It’s a comfort he has to look forward to after a long day.
And intimacy that doesn’t require mess like kissing and sex.
Thor’s love language is acts of service and physical touch.
He likes to hold you close.
Cuddling lets him do several things all at once:
Keeping you close.
Reassure himself that you’re safe.
Show affection without needing many words.
And relax in a way he does not allow himself to often.
He seems like the kind of man who carries a lot of tension, so lying with someone he loves wrapped against him would probably calm him more than he expects.
He doesn’t openly admit it in the beginning.
He acts as though he only tolerates it for your benefit.
He’d sigh and say, “Come here, then.”
But once the motion of your relationship is set, he grows comfortable admitting he likes and looks forward to it.
He likes it best when you're tucked against his chest, and he wraps his arms around you.
He also loves to be the big spoon.
Its the most comfortable to fall asleep in.
Though every now and then, after tossing and turning all night, he’ll wake up to find you spooning him.
He’s a big guy, and it's amusing to see your arm swung over him.
But he likes that too.
He’s not openly clingy, nor a man of profound words.
But when it’s just the two of you, winding down for some shut-eye, he’ll open his arms and wait for you to take your place in them.
He’ll pull you back when you try to get up too soon.
✰ABC’s✰
A is for Aftercare ★ Thor is very attentive afterward, even if he’s not overly talkative. He’d want you close, make sure they’re comfortable, tuck you against him, check whether they need water, warmth, or rest. His version of care would be practical and protective, with a softer side that he doesn’t show many people. He’d probably stroke your back or hair and keep them tucked to his chest until they drift off. He’d only worry about cleaning up the mess if you were uncomfortable with it. Otherwise, it's a future Thor problem.
B is for Body ★ Thor takes pride in his hands and arms, the parts of him most tied to his strength and ability to protect. His favorite part of your body is your face. He’s drawn to your expressive features, especially during the act. He likes to watch your face when he fucks you, or the curve of your lips when they're around his cock.
C is for Cum ★ He likes to come on you rather than in you. He likes how intimate the mess feels. He’s not done until you’ve cum.
D is for Dirty Secret ★ He may seem steady and dominant, but privately he’s more affected by tenderness, praise, and being wanted than he’d like anyone to know. So he’ll often let you be the one to take control and tell him what to do and how to do it. He’s a submissive top.
E is for Experience ★ He’s had plenty of experience. He’s a father, so clearly he’s fucked. But he feels inexperienced when it comes to fucking you. Everything you two get up to in the bedroom is really new to him. And what isn’t new is just intimidating. He’s fucked up relationships before, and he’s determined not to fuck up this one.
F is for Favorite Position ★ He favors positions that feel intimate rather than impersonal. So while he does love how you feel from behind, it’s not his favorite. He prefers letting you sit on him, either his cock or face, and set the pace. He likes to watch you use him.
G is for Grooming ★ I do not think Thor would be overly fussy or vain, but he would likely be clean and put together, just not shaved.
H is for Halla At Ya ★ His way of getting you in the mood would probably be through intense attention and physical closeness rather than clever pick-up lines. He’ll tell you outright that he’s turned on and what he wants from you. He’ll touch and caress whatever skin is exposed beneath your clothes. He’ll stand close and press as much of himself against you as he can until the clothes start coming off.
I is for Intimacy ★ Even if the moment is heated, there is a strong thread of care in it. Even if it’s a quick hard fuck, he’s kissing and coressing, and making sure you’re enjoying it.
J is for Jerk Off ★ He doesn’t mind it, but he’d rather it be your hand, mouth, ect, on him. Mostly, he’ll wait until he can get you alone, but if that's not an option, he’ll close his eyes and imagine it’s you touching him. He’s a big fan of lying beside you and touching you while you stroke him.
K is for Kink ★ He likes being used by you. With his size and strength, you can’t really do much in the way on manhalding him, but he likes it when you push him back and use him until you're finished. It gets him off to watch you enjoy yourself on his cock like he isn’t even there. Also, a mild overstimulation kink. If he’s finished and you’re still going, it’s painful in the sweetest way.
L is for Location ★ Any setting where he can fully focus on undoing you without interruption. He doesn’t really care for risky public places as much, though sometimes what happens happens. He prefers to fuck you in the comfort of your bed, or on the floor by the hearth.
M is for Motivation ★ He’s a slut for you doing those dirty little dances and stripping down in front of him. That's one way to get him in the mood real quick. But other than that, he finds that you showing feats of strength (not always physical ones) gets him hard rather quickly.
N is for “No” ★ Anything that feels cruel or mocking, or even humiliating, is a very easy way to make his dick deflate like a sad pool floaty. That degrading kind of dirty talk turns him off so quickly. Although he will agree to praise you for being a slut for him and vice versa, as that is just a fact, not an insult.
O is for Oral ★ Thor is a generous, attentive lover rather than a selfish one. He loves to put his mouth on you, taste you, and watch you squirm. Though he wouldn’t be a man if he didn’t like watching his cock disappear behind your lips and feel your tongue stroke him. Still, he’d much rather have you riding his face.
P is for Pull-Out Game ★ He’s not looking for you to get knocked up, so pull out game string with this one. However, if that's not a problem, he’ll leave it in and paint your insides happily. Still, he’d rather see his cum on your chest, back, or face.
Q is for Quickies ★ He prefers to be able to take his time. Though if the heat of the moment is strong, and you ask really nicely, he will happily give in. He’d absolutely be capable of being swept up in it, removing only the clothing necessary to get the job done. It’s not his favorite or a regular thing, but very likely passion runs high.
R is for Risk ★ He’s all for risk. If you want to try something new, no need to ask twice, or even once, just do it. He’s a blunt man; he’ll tell you outright if he’s not into it. But he’s always willing to try if it’ll make you cum.
S is for Stamina ★ He could go for hours if you let him. And he does, often. Though the longer it goes on, the more rounds that pass, the more he slows down. Not cause he’s tiered, he’s a God, but because he’s overstimulated and his cock is aching, and it just feels better to slow the pace when you’re on the 6th round of the night.
T is for Toys ★ Eh. He doesn’t care for them persay, but he likes your reactions to them. As long as you’re cumming, he won’t make a fuss.
U is for Unfair ★ His teasing would probably be very deliberate once he realized the effect he had. He’d enjoy getting a reaction out of you, especially if you're easily flustered. It’d mostly be teasing touches, edging you during foreplay, and remarks about how desperate you’re becoming.
V is for Volume ★ In the beginning, he’s quiet, low huffs and grunts. But as the night goes on, and his intense focus on unraveling you dissolves into a need for release, this man pants and moans just as badly as you. He’s not shy about how good you feel; he’ll praise you and moan your name, unashamed if anyone passing by overhears something. That’s their problem. His goal, aside from making you cum, however, is to make you sound just as much of a desperate whore as you make him. He loves it when you’re loud.
W is for Wild Card ★ Anyone would expect him to handle passion well, but soft touches, forehead kisses, quiet praise, or you fussing over him after a hard day? That would probably hit him straight in the chest. When you shower him with buttler fly kisses and lazy pecks afterward, it feels like a reward for a job well done.
X is for X-Ray ★ His dick is just like the rest of him. Big and thick. Need I say more?
Y is for Yearning ★ Moderate to severe. Your body is never far from his mind. If you’re down, he’s down.
Z is for Zzz ★ Once he’s tapped out, he’s out. Especially when you’re curled up against him and already worn out and asleep. That man goes into a cum indused comma for the next few hours. Completely dead to the world.
Placing the Blame (Maekar Targaryen x Niece!Reader)
Summary: After your father's death, you return to Summerhall with your uncle, unable to face King's Landing without your father. Unbeknownst to Maekar, you fall into a deep depression upon arriving at Summerhall. When he finds out what your grief has caused, he cannot help but feel guilty.
Word Count: 4.6k
Warnings: Use of (Y/N), Targcest, Suicidal thoughts, Self-harm, Age-gap relationship, Mentions of sex
It had been little over three days since Maekar and—most of—his children had returned to Summerhall. Though Aegon and Aerion’s absences had been odd, the absence of sound itself had been even worse. In a family full of so many children, there was scarcely a moment of silence to be found, and yet now it was so abundant that Maekar grew uncomfortable. The silence not only reflected the grief and misery of all around him, but gave him too much space to lose himself in his thoughts.
He knew Baelor’s death was not his fault—it had been an accident, of course. And yet when Maekar got the little sleep that he could in such a state, he was plagued with nightmares of the trial, searching hopelessly for something, anything. And yet he could not see his brother’s face in these dreams, nor the blow that killed him.
Maekar had begun dreading sleep, and when he was awake he could hardly see fit to leave either his chambers, after all, with three of four sons gone as well, every other room and hall felt barren. Servants would come every now and then, whether to bring food or news of matters that needed attention, and he would eat or see to it, but he felt lost otherwise. He had little idea what to do with himself.
Baelor would have known.
“Your Grace, a word if I may.”
The knock and sound of one of his servants broke the prince from his contemplation. He bade the man enter, and turned his head just enough from his position at the window of his study to see the servant. The man wore a meek, anxious expression, which caused Maekar to turn fully.
“News of Aegon or Aerion?” he questioned, wondering if there had perhaps been a development in one of his sons’ well-being or location. The man shook his head.
“N-No, your Grace. It is your niece… She has not emerged from her room since arriving. She has locked herself inside, and will not come out even for food. All the response that we can manage to get from her is being told to leave, and-”
Maekar’s face hardened as he took in such information. He pressed his fists into his desk, glaring at the man before him with utter fury.
“You mean to tell me that my niece has not eaten in three fucking days, and you only now saw fit to inform me?” he seethed, watching with no sympathy as the servant began to tremble.
“I beg your forgiveness, your Grace, it is only that we thought it best not to disturb you at such a time as this until it became absolutely necessary-”
“I should have been informed immediately! Get out, you idiot. I will see to her,” Maekar scowled, watching the man flee the room after a rushed bow, perhaps fearing for his employment if not his safety. The prince could only sigh, rubbing his forehead and grabbing his cloak from his chair. Yes, he would see to you.
As Maekar ventured to your accommodations, anxiety gripped him. You were Baelor’s eldest child, and the Gods knew you were closer to him than either of your brothers. You were his darling girl, and he was your entire world. Thinking of it now, Maekar felt entirely stupid for not having gone to check in with you sooner—after all, the only reason you’d joined your uncle here was because you could not bear to return to King’s Landing without Baelor.
Even worse, you had always adored Maekar, and he had not been here for you now despite returning your affection just as strongly. Affection was perhaps too small a word—out of all the children in the family, you had always been Maekar’s favorite. Unassuming and inappropriate remarks as a child had always made your uncle laugh, and when you’d grown into a woman, intellect and wit had made such jests even more appreciated. You were kind, but not dull, and when Maekar was in the midst of a fit you knew just how to calm him because his anger did not frighten you as it did others. You had kept him sane when his wife had passed. More than that, perhaps, you had brought back joy.
In the last few years, something had shifted for both of you. Lingering glances in halls and at dinners, touches that stayed a moment too long. The night of your most recent nameday feast, Maekar had caught you alone and both of you snapped, unable to resist kissing one another. He had fallen to his knees and tasted you that night, and you had dripped all over his beard, so enamored with him that he’d had you arching and moaning like a common whore. All the same, you both agreed it was best forgotten immediately afterwards; you would need to marry soon, and he was your uncle. Your father might have killed him if he knew; that was what you feared, at least.
While nothing more had happened since, attempts to “forget” such an incident were futile. When you and Maekar looked at one another, the tension was palpable. His heart stirred as it hadn’t in years, and such devotion to you made him all the more nervous at news of your current condition.
Maekar took a deep breath as he approached your door. There were multiple servants roaming the hall, and he could feel all of their eyes. They all knew of your condition, and were surely wondering if your uncle would finally manage to coax you out. The prince gave the door three heavy knocks.
“Princess, it is your uncle. I wish to speak with you,” he called, blinking rapidly and straining his ears for the sound of any movement from inside. When he heard nothing after nearly a minute, he carefully reached for the handle, hoping perhaps it was no longer locked. Finding that it was still shut tight, he knocked again, beginning to become frustrated at the situation. “Princess, you must open this door at once!”
Still, nothing. Maekar sighed and cursed under his breath, wondering if perhaps such a harsh command had been the wrong approach when you were in this state. All the same, your continued silence was nerve-wracking.
“Would you at least grace me with a reply so that I know you are well?” he requested, face flushing as more and more servants seemed to stare. He waited again, but there was no answer. Both anger and panic continued to stir.
“(Y/N), if you do not open this door I will be forced to break it down! Do you understand?” he shouted, reaching for the handle and giving it a harsh shake once more to show you he was serious if nothing else. Was he serious? The fear that something seriously bad had happened beyond this door told him that he was, and all that momentarily stopped him was the thought of propriety.
Seven hells, Maekar was a prince of the realm, and he would break down a hundred doors to get to you, manners be damned. With a scowl, he backed up and took a deep breath. He charged at the door, slamming his shoulder against the wood with a groan and repeating such movement as he felt the material beginning to bend to his will. As he ran at the door for the fourth time it finally flew open beneath him, and he stumbled into your room breathless and somewhat disheveled.
His eyes darted around the space, searching in a panic for evidence of something he did not even want to consider. He was relieved to simply find you tucked into your bed, head turned back towards him with shock at the intrusion. Maekar sighed out, gently closing the door behind him and meeting your eyes. It did not last long, you quickly turned your head forward and laid it on your pillow once more. Your uncle approached apprehensively, going to your side of the bed and sitting beside you very slowly.
“(Y/N)... the maesters say you have not left this room since our return… that you have not even opened the door for food. You must eat, my dear. You cannot starve yourself,” he said, voice so soft that any but you would surely struggle to believe it was Maekar speaking. He had placed a gentle hand on your blanketed shoulder, and when he examined your face more closely it took everything in him not to simply wrap you in his arms.
Your eyes were red and swollen, as well as your skin colorless and drained. You were clutching your blankets as though they were all you had left in the world, but it was not lost upon your uncle just how truly fragile you were right now. All the same, when you spoke it was with your usual bite.
“How am I meant to eat when my father is dead? How could you ask me to conduct myself as though nothing has happened?” You snapped, anger at all that has happened being unfortunately misdirected at someone who you knew already blamed himself, and who you knew did not deserve it.
“I am not asking that of you. None of us are acting as though things are normal. All that I ask is that you see to your health… I cannot bear to see you this way. So please, for the sake of your dear fucking uncle if nothing else, eat,” he pleaded, turning towards you even more directly now and looking at you with such concern that you could hardly say no. You gave a meek nod, lips parting as you looked up at him. He laid the back of his hand on the bed beside you; an offering. One of your hands peaked out ever-so-slightly from beneath the covers, intertwining your fingers with his. After a few moments, Maekar spoke again:
“And perhaps bathe, while you’re at it.”
Giggles erupted from you for the first time in at least two weeks, and the sound felt foreign, both to you and Maekar, who had both become so accustomed to the sound of either sobbing or utter silence. Your eyes met, and you graced one another with gentle smiles. Yours faded after a moment.
“How fares the rest of the family? Has word come from Valarr or Grandfather?” You inquired, guilt lacing your voice at the thought of not being there for your younger brother at such a time, even though you knew it would kill you to be in King’s Landing right now. Maekar looked away wistfully.
“Your brother is grieving deeply, as are Matarys and my parents. Though I am glad to report that the rest of our family is at least eating…” he told you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before gently cupping your cheek. You pressed your lips together, trying to avoid tears. Maekar had always found a way to bring down your walls, just as you did for him. That was the last thing you wanted right now, though. You feared if you let your emotions free that the grief would never stop pouring out.
“And what of you, Uncle? Are you… alright?” You questioned, attempting to find a way to ask that didn’t sound entirely stupid. He was devastated, you knew, but how he was managing his own grief you were unsure of.
“I have been… figuring it out. But it does not matter. I am here for you, sweet girl. Gods, when I was told you weren’t eating… the stupid idiots hadn’t said a thing about it until now. I would have been here for you sooner, I would have been here right away. I should have been here regardless, though… forgive me, please. You have needed me and I hadn’t thought… Forgive me.” Maekar repeated his apology over, clutching your one hand with both of his. Your brows furrowed with sorrow and concern.
“There is nothing to forgive. I did not expect you, if anything I felt ashamed of myself for not going to you. You deserve comfort just as much-”
“And yet you are the one who has locked herself away. How can I not worry for you?” he responded, eyes glossed over with utter guilt. If Baelor could have asked for anything, it would have been the safety of his children. And more than that, Maekar himself loved you so deeply that he felt ashamed for not even having thought to check in—he hated the thought of you having rotted alone in here the last three days.
“I am fine, Uncle… I will be fine,” you attempted to assure him, though the quiver of your lips and the crack of your voice made him stiffen almost immediately. Maekar glanced at you with both curiosity and apprehension.
“There is something on your mind. Tell me.”
You shook your head, instantly looking away from him and trying to fight back the tears that so desperately wanted to spill. You could no longer resist when Maekar moved to cradle your head, a sob ripping from your throat as you leaned into his warm hands.
“I- I miss him so much, Maekar… I miss him so much that I- Gods, I wish I were dead. I only want to stay in here until my eyes shut and I can be with him again… I only want to die,” you continued to sob, eyes shut tight because you could not bear to meet your uncle’s gaze when making such an admittance. All the same, you felt him go still as he processed your words.
Maekar hated to hear you say such a thing—his heart surely shattered all over again, just as it had when he learned of his brother. He could only stare at you, mouth agape. He wanted to shout at you, to forbid you from saying such things. He wanted to wrap you into his arms and comfort you. All he could do was stare, so paralyzed by his fear of losing you.
No… no, no, no. You cannot-
Panicked thoughts were interrupted when he finally managed to tear his eyes away from the tears on your cheeks. His gaze wandered and settled upon your nightstand—or rather, the small blade and bloodied cloth that sat there. A chill went down his spine.
“(Y/N)...”
The way Maekar said your name forced your eyes open, unsure of what was happening. So much fear was in his tone that one might’ve thought he had witnessed some sudden danger. And yet, when you saw his face and where his gaze was focused, every nerve in your body ran hot with terror. Only a moment later he turned his head away from the nightstand and looked at you once more; his expression of anxiety turned to anger.
“(Y/N), pull back the covers at once. Show me what you have done.”
His hand reached for your blankets, tugging, but you gripped onto them just as fiercely, refusing to let him pull them away. It was a mistake, you knew, for it surely branded you as guilty of having done something, but the fear of your uncle knowing was so horrible that you couldn’t help it.
“Maekar, stop it, please!” you pleaded, tears still streaming down your face. He scowled, growing angry because he knew no other way to show his concern and love in such a situation.
“Let go of the fucking blanket!”
Maekar stood when you still protested, using his strength to give the cloth such a hard tug that you could no longer resist. The covers went flying down to your legs, and you trembled as your uncle looked down at you, seeing all the wounds that decorated your arms, both fresh and scabbed. You sat up and clutched your arms to your chest, but he had seen them. Even if he hadn’t, small spots of blood decorated the sheets where you lay.
Maekar took a stumbled step backwards, all the anger—and color—instantly draining from his face as his fears were confirmed. You had hurt yourself. You had been locked away in this room not eating, likely not sleeping, and instead taking a blade to your own skin. A choked noise escaped the Anvil’s throat, and he had to press a hand to his mouth to suppress anything further. Your heart dropped when you saw tears begin to develop in his eyes.
“Gods… (Y//N)... what have you done to yourself? Let me see, please… let me see.”
Maekar moved closer, and as tears fell and your lip trembled you could not deny him. You did not resist when he reached for your arms, turning them over and examining them so tenderly it was as though you were the most fragile thing in the world. His hands were trembling when he touched you.
“It is my fault. All of it. I killed Baelor… I killed Baelor, and his death has driven you to this. It is my fault,” he muttered, voice cracking and quivering as he stared at your arms. A couple of tears slid down his cheeks in a moment of vulnerability that you had never seen from the Anvil before.
At once you scooted to the edge of the bed with the intention to rise and comfort him, but as soon as your feet met the floor your uncle collapsed to his knees before you. Maekar’s face fell into your lap as you sat there, and his tears turned to sobs.
“It is my fault! He is dead and you have hurt yourself, and I have done it to you…” he choked out, gripping your legs to keep from falling over. In an instant your hands rushed to the sides of his head, holding him as you leaned down and pressed your forehead to his hair.
“No, no… you mustn't say such things. It is not your fault, Uncle. It could never have been your fault. It was an accident, and you miss my father just as I do. This-” you forced his head up and presented your arm once more, “This is not your fault. It is as you said, I did it to myself.”
He shook his head, more tears falling as he observed your wounds closer. He gently grabbed your arm again, thumb brushing over a few of the scabs.
“You would never have done this if not for my actions and their consequences. I am to blame,” he whispered, shutting his eyes and trying to take a deep breath. You held his cheeks now, forcing him to look at you.
“You know that to be false. But if it is any comfort… I do not blame you. Perhaps I blame Aerion, or the Gods themselves… and perhaps even my father, for he should have known better than to wear a helm that did not fit him correctly… but never you, Maekar. It was never your fault, never,” you assured him softly, wiping the tears from his face and holding his gaze in yours. His lip trembled, but he swallowed and nodded after a moment, breathing deeply as you pressed a sweet kiss to his forehead, and then another to the slowly fading bruise on his cheek. He held your hands to his face.
“It is only that I… if I had not…” he shook his head, clearly lost in his head and attempting to wrack his memories for the crucial mistake. He could not find it no matter how hard he tried—he would not even know what to do differently if he could do the day over again. “I miss my brother.”
Maekar’s voice was small when he said it, but you heard him well, and your own expression saddened at his words. The ache in your chest that had not gone away since you heard the news only seemed to worsen.
“As do I.”
The two of you looked upon each other, both with glossy eyes and trembling lips. In an instant, Maekar was reaching for you, arms wrapping around your waist as yours wrapped around his neck. You slipped forward into his arms, clutching him close as you both began to cry into one another's shoulders. He gripped you fiercely, as though you were the only joy he had left in his life; as though you were all he had left of Baelor. You held on just as tightly for the same reasons.
“M-Maekar…” you whimpered, face buried into his neck. The warmth of him, the scent of him, and the feeling of him felt holy at a time like this. There was something special about receiving comfort from a man known to be so cold and harsh. In this way, he was yours. You wished for him to be yours in another way as well.
You pulled your face back from him, looking into his eyes as they opened at the feeling of your movement. Both of your faces were damp with tears, and you softened at the vulnerability of it all. Yes, you wished for him to be truly yours.
“(Y/N)?”
Your eyes flickered to your uncle’s lips, and as you took a deep breath, he seemed to understand too. Both of your faces leaned closer, and ever-so-gently he pressed his lips to yours. He leaned down to kiss you as he lowered your knees to the floor so that he could cup your face rather than holding you. Neither of you hesitated, all conversation of ignoring the feelings you clearly held for each other long forgotten now.
Though your arms still wrapped around Maekar’s neck, pulling his face down to you, you allowed one hand to roam through the hairs on his neck, and he shuddered at the feeling. The relief and comfort you felt kissing him was such a perfect ailment for the pain both of you had experienced, not to mention something you’d both craved for at least a year now.
The kiss grew deeper, more desperate, the taste so intoxicating that neither of you could separate. Both of your hands roamed with abandon, Maekar’s finding your waist and yours finding his hair and his back. A tug to his silver locks made him release a groan into your mouth, and fire lit inside of you.
Like a starving, feigning animal you pushed your uncle back onto the floor, crawling on top of him and straddling him as he recovered from the shock of being forced down. You kissed him fiercely, and he returned it just as ardently for a moment. It was only when you began to claw at the lacing on his doublet that his hands gripped your wrists and his face turned away from yours. You sat up, pulling away with both confusion and betrayal; you were angry despite yourself, for reasons that had nothing to do with this rejection.
“What? You had no qualms tucking your head beneath my skirts and tasting me on my nameday, but you shy away from more now? When I need you most?” You questioned, tone more than just laced with anger and frustration. Maekar sighed.
“You are vulnerable, (Y/N). I would not touch you now, when you are unsure of yourself and your emotions,” he reasoned, looking up at you pleadingly from where he laid and tucking a stray hair behind your ear. You grimaced further.
“I am sure that I want you. I have been sure since my nameday, if not much sooner. You would deny me such comfort?”
“I would never deny you comfort, but it is not fucking comfort that you seek. Whatever relief you believe this might bring you, it will not. You are not well enough for such vulnerability,” he turned your wrist over, looking for a moment and then shaking his head, “And I refuse. I refuse to do such a thing to you when you have not eaten in days, and when no maester has tended to these wounds. I will not hurt you further.”
Before you had any time to make a protestation—not that you really could have after such a display—he was sitting up and wrapping his arms around you. Maekar, in his ever-impressive strength, managed to lift both of you from the floor and instead moved to place you back on the bed.
“I will call for food, a maester, and warm water for a bath. You will eat, you will bathe, you will rest, and you will heal. That is the comfort you need, my dearest,” he said vehemently, smoothing your hair before placing a kiss to the top of your head. He motioned to make for the door, but you grabbed his hand and stopped him.
“I wish that you would help me with it all. If the maesters and maids see these… they will talk. I do not want any but you to know,” you pleaded, glancing down at the scars that seemed obvious enough for even a blind man to notice. Maekar huffed and stuttered a reply.
“You seriously suggest that I help you bathe? And what of your cuts? I am no maester, I know not how to-”
“I trust you, Maekar. The cuts have not festered, they need only be washed and wrapped… please. I need you.”
Maekar stared at you incredulously, as though he could not believe what he was hearing. Yet, as he saw the look on your face and felt the way your hand trembled in his, he softened. Your request was fair—this truly was a plea for comfort, nothing more.
“Very well. I will tend to you myself. Let me call for all you need.”
Your uncle called upon several maids to retrieve bath water, bandages, and a hot meal, snapping at them with a desperate sense of urgency. No more than ten minutes later everything had been delivered, and Maekar was quick to bring the plate of food over to you in bed.
He sat beside you, carefully and slowly feeding you in small spoonfuls so that you wouldn’t be sick. He would stop every now and then to provide you with water or ask how you felt, and you would see the relief on his face when you reassured him that all was well.
When you were finished eating and felt ready for it Maekar helped you to the bath, looking away with a flushed face as you undressed and slipped into the water before dropping to his knees beside you, washing your hair as you washed your body. He placed a few gentle kisses to your shoulders, and the stress and tension of all that you’d been through lately seemed to fade away. You reached back to hold his hand for a while.
“I would have you stay here in Summerhall, if it please you,” he said as he massaged your scalp, voice soft and almost anxious. You turned to him and smiled.
“Nothing would please me more.”
Maekar wrapped you in a towel as you rose from the bath, drying you off and helping you into a clean nightgown. It was domestic, and for once you remembered that this man had been married for many years. It warmed your heart to see this side of him.
He sat you on the bed then, taking your arms into his hands and wrapping them with such tenderness that you would not have expected it from his battle-forged hands. He was gentle, and he kissed your arms when he was finished. He wiped away the tears that followed.
Fate had brought heartbreak upon your family, and ghosts that would haunt you both for years if not decades, but it had brought love and beauty as well. The way forward on this journey seemed so uncertain to you, but of one thing you were sure: Maekar would help you.
Connor RK800 spitting in your mouth and degrading you by calling you an "organic" while fucking you on his big cock. Bragging about how he's superior in every way, and how you don't stand a chance against him. WHO SAID THAT.
The concept of HABIT not knowing the difference between love and fascination
I’m kirkuenly foaming at the mouth I love him sm
GTFOOO LMFAOAOOAOA
And Habit’s love for u is weird bc like he DOES love you 😭😭 it’s just never gonna be in the way that most people feel it.
You’re never gonna be seen as an individual with full autonomy or something intelligent that’s a “partner.” You’re just… his. That’s it.
Something he keeps, a pet he takes care of. It’s not that he’s holding back or denying he cares ab you- it’s the fact that he physically cannot feel anything past that. This is his max, and the way he views you is Habit’s equivalent to loving someone with your whole heart.
He adores you as property. Like in his head, you basically have no purpose besides being his, and wouldn’t be able to survive without him.
It’s the reason he’s actually a pretty decent lover. He can’t get mad at you when you need affection, when you reach for him blindly even if he’s busy- because you don’t know better.
He’s borderline codling at times, treats you like you’re dumb, but he’s so good at making you think he doesn’t.
Habit will scoop you up and carry you to bed after a long day. Especially if you point out that he acts as if you’re stupid- he’ll use these times as an example.
Saying that he’s not being mean for reason. That he knows you, knows what’s best for you. Telling you how worried you make him. Along the lines of-
“Poor thing, see what I mean? You can barely stand.”
And
“C’mon, you can’t even walk straight. This is why I need you to listen to me, sweethearts.”
You always fall for it. Maybe it’s the way he says it, the low rumble of his voice in your ear. When you’re head feels heavy and he’s just so warm.
Or maybe it’s the way he holds you during. When his eyes lose that edge for just a second, and he kisses you like his appetite is simmering. Slow and steady, his tongue will slide against yours. It makes you fuzzy all over.
You and your bunny brain will be your downfall I fear. 💔😔
(I literally love older Leon I need him bad, this is pure fluff )
————————————-——————————————
Leon sleeps like a man who’s spent half his life pretending he doesn’t need rest—one arm locked around you, forehead tucked against the back of your shoulder, as if letting go would invite the world back in.
He runs warm—warmer than he should—and it keeps the sheets kicked halfway down the bed.
You wake up to that heat, to the steady drag of his breathing against your spine, and to the quiet weight of his fingers, hooked in the waistband of your sleep shorts like he anchored himself there in the night.
The room smells faintly like coffee dark roast, the one he pretends he buys for you but secretly prefers.
You shift, just enough to breathe, and Leon tightens his arm before he even opens his eyes.
“Don’t,” he mutters, voice rough, scraped with sleep and age. It’s not a command more like a plea.
You smile into the pillow.
“It’s morning. People get up.”
“Let people,” he says, finally cracking one eye open. “I just want five more minutes.”
You turn under his arm until you’re facing him. His hair’s a mess—silver threading through the brown, falling into his eyes. He squints at you like he’s still processing the sight of you awake. Then his hand moves—slow, deliberate—up your back, thumb brushing your spine.
Leon always touches like he’s relearning you: warm palm to your ribs, fingers sliding along familiar landmarks, mapping the softness he never quite trusts is his.
“Morning,” you whisper.
He dips his head and kisses you not rushed, not hungry just a slow press that lingers long enough to say everything else. His stubble grazes your chin, your cheeks, warm and a little scratchy.
That’s what you love most about him now he’s gentle in all the ways life refused to be with him.
“You made coffee,” you say against his mouth.
He hums a quiet yes and kisses you again—your top lip, your bottom lip, the corner of your mouth—lazy, like he’s got nowhere else he’s expected to be.
“Thought you’d smell it and come running,” he teases.
“I didn’t,” you shoot back. “You dragged me.”
Leon smirks at that, brushing hair off your forehead.
“I’ll drag you anywhere you want.”
You shove his chest lightly and climb out of bed, but he catches your wrist, tugging you back long enough to pull one more kiss—slow, deep this time, thumb angling your jaw open just a little.
He’s not dramatic about it—no breathing hard, no tension—just a man who has finally learned softness and refuses to ration it.
In the kitchen, the morning light spills through the curtains. You barely reach for your mug before Leon slides in behind you, hands smoothing over your hips, chin finding your shoulder.
He kisses the place just below your ear—slow, lingering, like he’s warming his lips on your skin.
“That your good-morning plan?” you ask, leaning into him despite yourself.
“Want something else?” His voice is low, teasing, but his arms tighten just a little.
You place your hands over his and squeeze.
“No. This is enough.”
He exhales through his nose—a quiet, honest sound, like he’s relieved by the simplicity.
Leon’s never needed fireworks.
Just proof that the world didn’t burn everything.
You turn in his arms, looping yours around his neck. His shirt is soft—gray cotton, threadbare, clinging to shoulders broader now, heavier with time.
He kisses your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth again. Small, almost domestic kisses—habitual, affectionate, grounding.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs against your skin.
“I like the silver in your hair.”
He huffs a laugh. “Thought it made me look old.”
“It makes you look like you survived. That’s better.”
Leon pauses just for a heartbeat then presses his forehead to yours like he’s absorbing that. His hands slide up your spine, fingers curling in the back of your shirt, holding not tight, just close.
“You’re good for me,” he says quietly. Not dramatic. Not poetic. Just true.
You kiss him again slow enough he can feel how sure you are and his hands settle at your lower back, thumbs stroking small circles like habit.
Coffee cools on the counter.
The world waits outside.
But Leon keeps you right there held close, kissed warm, loved in a language that never needed words.
warnings: SMUT, porn with plot, rough, degradation, hair pulling, fingering, against the wall, on the floor, we get nasty, this girl is bringing all the freak and he's all for it.
Summary: For so long, you've stayed nothing but an entertainer, willing to be anything that would keep you close to your king. All it takes is one step in the wrong direction for it to all change, for you to get your way at last.
A/N: Here is my annual birthday fic! Hope you like it, and if you do, please gift me some likes, comments and reblogs.
Tonight was a good night; one spent with your king. As your eyes rested on him, not quite with the intensity of staring—yet never leaving him. And there it was again, that all too familiar longing in your chest. Heavy in your chest and pressing down from your collarbones to the bottom of your ribs.
You wanted more. A life in his arms may not even be enough to settle the feeling. Not that you ever suspected you would be any more than what you already are, so lucky to have.
Your eyes sweep over him like they had many times. You had memorised his face over a hundred times, and yet you kept looking. Just like always, your eye eventually found his and was unable to look away again. You loved his eyes the most; what did not fall from his beautiful lips was always said through his eyes.
He looks back at you in this moment of peace. You were a calming presence — someone who, through jests, lifted some of the weight of his kingdom from his shoulders. You had seen these truths in his own eyes.
You worshipped the ground that your king walked on. Always admiring and never wishing to be far from him, while also overstaying your welcome. You were so lucky to be allowed to live in his kingdom despite not being of his kin.
That is how you have always acted with him, and in front of others. You respected him—and you didn’t want anyone to think otherwise.
Though when you found yourself keeping him company in his chambers, a different side of you showed. Sometimes it was a playful one, or a mischievous one. Perhaps it was your behaviour outside of private chambers that allowed you to get away with some of the stuff you did inside them.
You wanted him to know you cared, even when you were certain he did not to your degree. You respected him even when you joked. You never expected to be admired back when your eyes danced over him.
Though you knew a lot just from his eyes, there were things you could only know if he decided to speak about them. Like how he remembered off-hand comments of yours. Always having the staff in the kitchen prepare your favourite food when your eyes told them you were not feeling your best. Making sure you always had sheets as soft as his own and your soaps and perfumes that made you smell the wonderful way you did.
You loved him.
Most of all, you loved the way he looked at you and spoke to you when he was annoyed. Nothing got you off better than his sharp tone. Every time he’d call for you, despite how hard you tried to remain respectful, you would begin your antics.
You would jest until he gave you that look, that bothered, agitated stare, and in return, you give a smile. Some nights, you would leave it at that, the ache between your thighs too bad to stay. Another night, you pushed through to spend more time with him.
Tonight was one of the nights when you would have to silently leave. You had done this so many times before that you would never assume you would get in any real trouble. He had told you off lots of times, although you never went far enough to make him truly upset; no, you’d never want that. You had always made sure the amused glint in his eyes never left.
He generally lets you get away with so much. So much so, if you said something that you would say in private, in public, you would probably be sitting in a cell.
A hand slams to the wall right in front of your face, a loud clap noise echoing throughout the room. You subtly jumped at it, not expecting it in the slightest. It had been quite fun to see him grow frustrated—distracting him from his bothersome work as king. Something told you your fun was coming to an end as your eyes met his.
“Who permitted you to take your leave? You're not going anywhere...” He spoke sternly.
As much as you wish to say these games were for him, they were not. When your jokes were light-hearted and truly helped him ease, they were for him, but when you got sassy to make him frustrated, they were for you.
You never wanted to truly upset him. You loved a reminder of your lack of power; you loved when he’d snip at you, tell you to behave, for he was your king. You wanted to be in his control; you wanted to be his.
Something his eyes would not tell you was that he wanted it too. You knew you had caught his eye in some way, for he would never have granted you to make Mirkwood your home—or better yet, allowed you so close to him. You practically spend almost all of your shared free time together.
He knew how frowned upon it would be if he had taken a mortal as a lover. Elves are only supposed to love once in their lifetime, and he thought he had. Then, centuries after his wife fell, he had found you. He couldn’t find any words to describe this desperate feeling that clutched him.
“Matter of fact, I gave myself permission to take my leave.” You retort with a smug look. You wholeheartedly believe whatever punishment that comes your way will be worth it, which will most likely be nothing at all.
With that, you duck under his arm and try to walk away from him again. However, you feel him grab hold of your upper arm tightly, a very brief warning, before he pulls you back towards him and slams you against the wall. It was rather unexpected; you’ll give him that. Now, standing face to face, your heartbeat quickens a little with fear. Had you taken it too far?
You have a slight glint of disbelief in your eyes as you look up at him again, attention utterly caught.
“Last I checked, I, not you, were king of the woodland realm,” he muttered, leaning in closer.
You pull away as much as you can, pressing yourself flat against the wall. The feeling of butterflies in your stomach should’ve surprised you. However, they didn’t. They had always fluttered when he got near, and he was oh so near now.
You have to press your lips together to keep a smile from forming on your face. Gods, there was something wrong with you today? You might be in real trouble now, but why must it make you so horny?
As you mentally battled yourself over these intense feelings, you had missed the way he almost smiled. He watched you carefully as your face grew so hot—it had made you pink from your cheeks to the very top of your ears. Although he enjoyed seeing you this way, he knew that his feelings were reciprocated to a degree. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop the uncertainty in him.
His eyes could not speak loudly and confidently enough for him to be sure that you loved as truly and deeply as he did. He wasn’t sure if you weren’t just experiencing a crush the way humans do. Still, he tried his hardest to push these feelings away for the moment and try to memorise your gorgeous, flustered face for later when he will be alone with his rock-hard cock.
You shouldn’t be getting off on this, but how you lived for frustrating him. For annoying him and seeing how far he’d let you go. He had let you go quite farther than he’d let anyone else go.
You felt so guilty now. Getting off on annoying him slightly was one thing, but now you get the feeling it wasn’t so slight. Now you can’t help but feel an overwhelming warmth between your legs and a beyond distracting tingle.
After a silent moment, where your mind wandered as you stared into his eyes, daydreaming that this would be the exact moment you’d think of later tonight in the dark of your own chambers. You decided it was best to apologise now and hopefully not get any real punishment.
“Yes, you are, my king. But-” You began.
“Stop.” He interrupted. His voice was deeply laced with frustration, and he used it commandingly.
You weren’t expecting it. Oh, how the tables have turned. It had always been you catching him off guard, and now he had successfully shocked you twice.
Unknown to you, most of his frustrations came from his sexual desires. He had let you jest, joke and tease your heart out, but eventually the throbbing in his pants would remind him he could not have you and make him truly annoyed.
He was definitely annoyed right now. His eyes are sharp. You were in trouble, and there was no getting out of it.
This had truly been a game to you; you knew deep down he enjoyed it too, to a degree. For he would not have allowed it to go on for so long if he hadn’t.
You never thought it would go anywhere, not towards a closer relationship with him, where you wouldn’t need to spend your nights with your hand. But now, you were sure your little game was coming to an end.
Your chest felt tight with anxiety, while the rest of your body, to your dismay, kept acting like a fool. Deep down, you loved it when he took control, acting like the king he was and treating you like the lowly woman you were.
You had started to reminisce about how much fun you had joking with him and hinting at your lust.
“Calling me King as though your only reason for it isn’t that it makes the space between your legs ache.” He whispered almost mockingly as he bent down a little to match your height more.
You had gone red as a tomato. You didn’t think he would catch on so soon... Now that you're wondering how he found out, you realise you haven’t been quite discreet at all.
You worshipped him in public, treated him so highly that at times it seemed you were putting yourself down. Which you were, because you got off on him having more power and control than you.
Never before has humiliation burned so bright in you. His words struck so deep, and the longer they lingered, the more hornier and filled with dread you got.
There is no way you're going to get away with this now. That look in his eyes was new, his tone too. You couldn’t for the life of you place what they meant. You had seen him angry, disappointed, annoyed, and on the rare occasion, you had seen him happy. This was just... new.
“You enjoy getting away with this? Jesting and joking just to see the look on my face. Bringing that memory back to your bed.” How did he know? God damnit.
Bright red was the only word to describe your face. You bit your lip and tried not to smile. As embarrassing as it was to be called out like that, so plainly, the thought of him finding out had gotten you off many times before.
Oh, how you loved the humiliation that burned in your chest. Subconsciously, you had begun to rub your thighs together. He noticed, of course, he did.
“I was beginning to wonder if you’d figure it out.” You tried to keep up your usual act of being unbothered, but you clearly were not. Hot and bothered.
A sudden rush of worry so deep struck through your body. What will he do? What might change now? You tried your hardest to push away your lustfulness. Feeling so genuinely guilty because you loved the king and you didn't want him to think horribly of you.
Your heart raced in your chest. He did not seem bothered in the slightest. A small part of yourself was praying he’d let it continue. It was dirty and depraved, and you barely ever felt ashamed doing it. Doing things just to get a rise out of him because you thought his voice and the look on his face were hotter when he was angry or frustrated. You liked it when he got stern; you liked the threat of punishment, as long as it was him, you enjoyed it.
He hummed at your words, watching you carefully, noticing your every move. You found yourself not being able to hold eye contact as long as you used to.
“You did not make it difficult; did you wish me to find out? Even without any hope that I’d reciprocate anything you felt,” he asked.
You still weren’t entirely sure how he felt. Surely, he was angry? Would he still allow you to remain as his loyal servant? Maybe he wouldn’t banish you from his sight out of disgust? You hoped not. You really wanted to remain as close to him as you could. You would never lie or do him any wrong, aside from all the mild annoyances and the obvious swooning, but all of that had no evil intentions behind it.
You chewed on your lip. You couldn’t lie to your king ever. You nodded as you looked up at him through your lashes. The guilt and shame that settled in your stomach, as always, was accompanied by another feeling, an equally dirty one.
You couldn’t take this anymore. Not even the near burn of your arousal could distract you for long. You were sure he was truly disgusted with you now. You stare at your feet, unable to face him. He misses the way tears pool in your eyes, unable to keep them from falling. How pathetic you felt, and no longer in an enjoyable way. You take the deepest breath you can manage before looking up, feeling he deserved such respect while you apologise.
“I am deeply sorry, my king, it will never happen again, I swear. I did not mean to offend you so deeply. I should have had half a mind to stop, and I didn’t. I understand whatever punishment you want to give me. I’m so sorry.” There is so much you want to say, but as your voice breaks, your throat grows tight with sadness, and tears stream endlessly down your face, you find yourself unable to continue.
You want to tell how much you love and adore him. To beg not to be sent away, to say that even a life where you were forced not to utter a word to him is better than one where you cannot hear or see him. That even just the thought that there was a chance he could be near would be enough for you.
The shock on his face is hard to miss. He did not expect you to break like that.
Your eyes could not tell him how deeply you loved him and wished him to be happy, but your tears could. How heavily they flowed when you thought you had truly upset him. Before he knew what he was doing, he had crouched down slightly to match your height better and held your face in his hands. He cupped your cheeks gently, making sure you looked into his eyes and saw his concern for you while his thumbs wiped your tears as they fell.
Your name left his lips in a whisper. “It is all alright, my dear. I am not angry.” He whispered to you as though you were his most delicate prized possession. Relief fills you as you see and hear that he is not offended or grossed out.
A sigh left you.
All you can see when you look into his eyes is heartfelt concern, and it was for you. Only for you. It meant more than words could say. You chuckled a little, feeling a bit silly for letting tears fall over this. His words begin to truly set in. Was this the concern of a friend who did not mind, who found it endearing or of someone who also longed for more than just friendship?
He can see the questions forming behind your eyes as the words take their full effect.
Again, as he did when he grabbed hold of your face, he moves without thinking—this time he leans in. His eyes linger on your lips, and he comes in so close that you share breaths before abruptly stopping before your lips can connect. A kiss would solve all the questions in your head, but perhaps not all of his.
“Long have I listened to your words and wondered if there was more than lust.” his voice is soft, though it carries weight through words. You take them in for a moment.
You lean in just a smidge closer before speaking. “Wonder no more, my king.” You speak softly with a slight smile and a small glint of playfulness in your eyes. “I love you... More than the light the sun brings in the morning, more than the tranquil sounds of the forest or the very water and food keeping me alive.” Your eyes dare not leave his as you speak from your heart. Your hands come to rest on his forearms as he continues to hold your face. You let your truth linger in the air, and so does he before he speaks his own.
“I love you too, more than any elf in this kingdom could ever know. More than anyone could ever understand. Reputations and expectations be damned, say you're mine.” There is an air of desperation to his words, like he truly does not care what anyone might think.
Your smile widens a bit at his words. The relief of having your feelings reciprocated is delightful. You take a deep breath and bask in the feeling for a moment.
“I am yours, and you are mine.” You remarked.
It is he who begins leaning in. You barely have time to finish speaking before his lips are pressed to yours. He kisses you gently as he is still worried by your previous tears. You lean in more, pressing harder, encouraging him to enjoy what is his, and he does.
He leans in more, though unrushed, and he is passionate. Taking his time to study your lips before slipping his tongue into your mouth, and trying to memorise all he can reach in there too.
By the time you finally pull away from him, you’re both panting. Strings of saliva connect you for several moments before dropping further, wetting your chins.
You giggle at that—feeling more carefree than you ever have. The words ‘he’s mine’ keep ringing in your head. But not in a possessive way, however, in the ‘I can hardly wait to marry this man’ way.
He smiles too; the feeling of quaint happiness sits around you two.
One of his hands falls from your cheek and comes to rest on your waist. In return, your hand falls from his forearm, and your arms come to wrap around his waist. Your hand comes to rest on his back.
The peaceful moment slowly becomes filled with lust again as you find yourselves drifting closer again. His other hand moves from your cheek to your jaw, keeping you still. Just so that he has complete control over the kiss that is about to happen. Your other hand come to rest on his shoulder, so you stay balanced as you rise on your toes, so he does now have to bend down as much for you.
Your lips lock together again in a passionate kiss. This time was laced with desperation, like the feeling of shock and delight had worn off from your love confession.
Now, all the time spent longing for each other's touch is catching up and must be dealt with immediately. His grip on your jaw remains firm as his tongue glides into your mouth again.
Your tongues don’t dance as they did last time; this time, it’s more of a fight for dominance, you on the steadily losing end. Even more drool than last time slips past the corners of your lips, and he's making a mess of each other, though neither of you cares.
You saw amusement in his eyes when you pulled apart, and you knew that he knew how this made you feel. He knew how it made you drip and how disgusting it made you feel.
"It's how depraved it is that makes you enjoy it so much, yes? Does it feel good to know you're doing something bad? Does it feel better hearing me say how dirty it is?” He begins speaking of the prior topic, your sexual desires. Your breath catches as his words wash over you, and you can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. Yes, yes, yes! Your thighs were soaked by now. The feeling of a good kind of embarrassment fills you yet again, your attention drawn back to the wetness dripping down your thighs. You nodded as soon as you realised you were yet to answer. With a commanding tone, he urged, “Speak.”
“Yes, my king,” you reply, your voice shivering with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. A blush creeps across your face, and you find yourself pressing your legs together tightly, as if to contain the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you. You press yourself flat against the wall again, backing away from him like a submissive animal.
You look up at him as though he is one of the stars that shine bright in the night sky. Your surprise has slowly begun to fade as you enjoy his teasing, now blatant and willingly given instead of having to be jested out.
Then, to your utter relief, he presses his lips to yours in a searing kiss, hungry and harsh. You sighed as he did, very glad to have him against you once more.
He quickly deepened the kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth without any warning, and you moaned openly for the first time in his presence, though it was muffled by him. Your tongues dance together, though he remained dominant. He grabbed hard and kissed harder. His hands found the side of your head, keeping you from pulling away from him as he made out with you. Your heartbeat quickened out of thrill.
Your hands grabbed where they could; it had been so long that you had dreamed of this, and so you couldn't help your desperation. Your fingers intertwine with his hair and claw at his clothes impatiently.
He pulls his tongue out of your mouth and presses a firm kiss to your lips, then another to the corner of your mouth, then down the side of your face to your neck. He works with haste but precision, not pure desperation like you.
“Dirty little thing,” he says against your neck, as he switches from kissing to sucking. Your skin grazes his teeth as he sucks it into his mouth, leaving red marks that will turn purple by dawn.
He releases the skin with a slight pop and moves one of his hands from the side of your head to your waist. "I am your king, not some lowly elf with no reputation to be ruined,” He leans in closer and whispers into your ear.
No longer having guilt to keep you from enjoying his degrading, you bite your lip and tilt your head back; gods be good, never did you think you would get to hear such words from him. Don't stop, you almost say, never wanting him to.
“What would my people think? What would my kin have to say about this? A little mortal thing like you getting away with such vile behaviour?” he pulls away from your ear to look you in the eyes, perhaps to make sure you are still enjoying being talked down to. The look on your face is all the answers he needs.
“I know, I'm sorry, my king,” you whimper. Your lips are red and swollen and coated in both your saliva and his, pupil blown wide and face as red as ever while he stays almost completely composed.
“Oh, but you are not sorry, are you, little star?” he asks with a mocking tone as he unbends his knees, knowing that having him tower over you would make your head spin further and moves the hand still on the side of your head to your shoulder. You shake your head without really thinking, doing whatever he asks.
“You love it, you love being filthy, and most of all, you love hearing me say it.” He looks down at you as he speaks, and you must crane your head up to look him in the eye. You nod your head, absolutely under his spell. “Say it,” he commands as he slowly bends down closer to your height again.
“I’m dirty, I’m filthy, and I love it when you tell me so,” you whine, the ache between your legs almost unbearable. You tilt your head closer to him as he smiles at your response. “Please”, you whisper just loud enough for him to hear, and he hums in response.
He stands to his full height again and grabs you just above the hips. With barely any warning, he spins you around and pushes you roughly against the wall. You let out a quiet moan at the pain. He hears it but says nothing at the discovery.
You hear him removing his clothes behind you as he keeps you pinned to the wall with one hand on the small of your back. He tosses his tunic to the side, and you're graced with the knowledge he’s shirtless as it passes your view before hitting the floor, though you cannot see him yet.
After he’s half naked, he decides you're wearing too many clothes, and both of his hands are on you. His fingers dip into the back of your dress's neckline before gripping tightly and pulling down hard, causing the dress to rip.
You gasp as he tears it off you. “My king-” you begin without knowing what you're even going to say, but he cuts you off.
“I’ll have one of the servants bring you another one from your chambers in the morning before you leave. May I continue?” There is concern in his tone as he asks, and you can picture the way he’d be looking at you if you were facing.
The thought distracts you, and you don’t say anything at first. After a moment, you find your voice and though all that comes out are stutters at first, a desperate, “yes!” squeezes past your lips. He continues to rip away the silk dress as though unwrapping a present.
His hands pry and pull at your dress, desperation of his own shining through as he tries to get you out of it. Before you know it, your blue and yellow dress is in pieces on the floor of his private chamber. His hands soothingly caress down your sides, and they find your hips before giving them a slight squeeze. He pushes your front against the wall again, having pulled you away from it while removing your clothes.
One of his feet comes between your own, pushing against them one at a time, a silent command to spread your legs, and you do. You spread them wide, as wide as you can.
You hear a faint chuckle behind you. “So eager.” Your face burns bright again, though he cannot see it this time. You want nothing more than for him to take you, right here, right now, but when you feel his hand come between your legs instead of him, you cannot help but whine in displeasure.
He spreads your soaking wet folds, and his fingers glide through them so easily. Although you can’t see his face, he is completely unable to take his eyes off your cunt.
“You're dripping,” he comments, and watches as your pussy clenches around nothing at the embarrassment. He has a smirk on his face as he slides his middle finger forward, towards the top of your slit and rubs a slow, painfully soft circle on your clit.
You can’t stop the instinctive flinch in your hips that has you pressing backwards onto his finger. His finger slips away from your clit, and you let out another frustrated whine.
“Patience,” he states simply, eyes still yet to move. You feel two of his fingers pressing ever so slightly at your entrance.
“Please,” you whine desperately, as you arch your back and push your hips back against him. He laughs at you softly, it feels mocking, and he feels you flutter against the very tips of his fingers. Finally, he gently pushes them into you.
A deep sigh leaves your lips as his fingers enter you. Though you have spent each night since you arrived here with your own fingers inside yourself to the thought of him, his are wider than yours, and so much longer. They reach deeper than your own ever could. His fingers curl slightly and hit that wondrous spot on a new angle, a better angle than you had ever found.
He begins to thrust his fingers, starting gently, barely leaving you at first, slowly slipping out of you more with each thrust and entering slightly quicker. Moans flow freely from your mouth as you see no point in hiding them now that no other part of you is hidden. Your eyes flutter into a closed position as you tilt your head back slightly.
Your moans grow in volume as his pace quickens and hardens. He has found a good pace now, slow enough to make sure the tips of his fingers hit that one spot each time he thrusts them in, but still deliciously fast.
The fingers of his right hand move expertly inside of you, and one of his lefts finds its place on top of your clit, rubbing perfect circles, bringing tears of pleasure to your eyes and sweat of excitement to your skin. Warmth fills your lower belly, and with it comes a desperation.
“Please, m-my king, please!” You beg as your hips fall slightly out of rhythm and buck back against him with haste. You're unsure if you're begging for him to go faster or harder or simply for him to allow you to orgasm, but more pleas fall from your lips anyhow.
“I'm so close. So...” you begin to trail off after your first sentence, getting lost in the intense pleasure, your moans keeping your pleas at bay.
Thranduil comes in close, chest to your back, lips to your bright red ear. “Shhhh, sh sh…” He hushes you gently but with a slight air of mocking that would’ve brought you closer if you had been aware enough to catch it as his fingers continue their incredible work. His left hand's fingers press ever so slightly harder, and the fingers of his right move in and out a little faster.
Soon, your sounds of ecstasy are caught in your throat. Your fingers grip the wall before you, and your chest is pressed to it as your back arches; in this arch, your rear also presses against Thranduil, and his hard cock presses back.
Your thighs twitch and your legs shake under your own weight as pleasure rushes through you. As your mouth hangs open in a silent scream, a little bit of drool slides down the corner of your lips as those tears of pleasure that filled your eyes finally slide down your cheeks.
Soon, your voice is returned to you, and you gasp, trying to recover from the high. Your back relaxes, no longer pushing your chest further into the wall, though Thranduil stays close enough to keep his hard cock pressed against you.
His left hand moves away from your core and rests on your hip, rubbing soothing circles into your skin with his thumb instead of pleasureful ones onto your clit. Soon after, he slowly removes his other hand's fingers from inside of you, said hand coming to rub up and down your side.
He rests his forehead against the back of your skull, taking deep breaths himself while you pant and attempt to regain the ability to do the same. As air begins to find you more easily, he moves his head to the right. His forehead and nose brush against your hair as he comes to rest them against you, closer to your ear. You turn your head slightly to the right, wanting to face him. He leans away slightly, letting you move freely.
You look over your shoulder at him, and his nose almost brushes against your cheekbone. You bask in the afterglow of your release while admiring him from the corner of your eye. Although more peaceful than the moment before it, a lust still hangs in the air, both of you still unsatiated. It comes more so from him than you. He studies you carefully with his eyes, waiting as patiently as he can for you to regain your energy so he can have you again, properly this time. Valar knows he can’t wait much longer.
You lean away from the wall a little, just your upper half, so you can turn to face him more. He leans back a little so as not to get in your way as you move. The hand on your waist skims across your stomach and comes to rest on the other side.
You lean in to kiss him, but he doesn’t lean in to help close the gap; if anything, he tilts back slightly. He doesn’t want to exhaust you, but he has longed for this day, and now that it’s here, he has little control of himself.
He imagines that if he lets you kiss him, he’ll be unable to remain composed and take you right here, perhaps too soon after your first orgasm. Your lips just barely graze, and you give him a confused look.
You lean in further this time, expecting him to do the same and capture his lips better this time, and he does. But he does not kiss you for long, as you find him pulling away with a look of restraint upon his face.
Determined to make him stop restraining himself, your hands quickly find their place on his head, palms resting on the side with your fingers resting on the back of his head and your thumbs by his tipped ears. You hold him in place as you lean in to kiss him again.
Your lips move quickly, kissing each of his individually. Your tongue swipes against his thin lips, asking for entrance into his mouth, though the request is denied. He keeps his lips sealed shut even when he feels you frown against him.
You're reminded of something you read in a biology book once in Mirkwood's library, and thank the gods for such a wonderful idea.
Your thumbs, which currently sit stationary by the king's elven ears, lift and move back slightly. The rest of your hand stays still as your thumbs come to rest on the tips of his ears.
You're careful not to press down as you know it’s a sensitive spot, and pleasure can turn to pain quickly. He gasps at the unexpected feeling and shudders slightly, his grasp on you tightening. His gasp allows you to slip your tongue in.
Your tongue slides against his for a moment before he pulls away, and your hands fall to his shoulders. There's no aggression or upset behind it, but he does have to use a little force because of the way you're holding him. He doesn’t go far, though, his forehead coming to rest against yours.
“Are you ready to have me?” He asks bluntly, knowing how close he is to breaking. You give a teasing smirk, but before you say whatever it is that comes to mind, he speaks again. “Please.” It’s not a beg, no, he would never. Rather, it comes across as him telling you not to tease and a command to answer his question.
“More than ready, my king”, you say with a lustful tone as a hand slips from his shoulder and reaches down. You hold his cock gently in your hand, your finger and thumb trying to wrap around the base, but are unable to connect due to his girth. Your hand glides up and stops halfway to turn your hand around, now facing towards you, before continuing.
With the corrected hand position, once your hand reaches the top, you can rub your thumb over the weeping tip. You miss the face of pure resistance he’s making as your eyes are trained on his cock
You feel him throb in your hand as you spread his pre-cum around his tip. You begin to make another painfully slow glide down, but he tightens his grip on you before you can finish it. He can’t take it; you kissing him was torture enough.
He’s desperate for you. He turns you in his grasp so that you're facing him fully at last. He locks his lips with yours in a searing kiss. It's filled with passion, the kind only a long wait can bring.
You enjoy the somewhat rough handling and the clear dominance. Your hands come to rest on his chest, fingers running along his abs as you struggle to breathe through the intense kiss. He tugs you closer, your arms having to wrap around his neck as you are pressed chest to chest. He grabs you by the back of your thighs and lifts you slightly, spreading your legs. He slots himself between them, groaning in relief as he rubs his cock through your slippery folds.
He grinds his hips against yours, enjoying the feeling deeply, though it riles him up more to a degree. You can see it on his face that his patience is gone, and he wants nothing more than to finally fuck you, though you can’t say you expected what he did next. He picks you up fully, and you wrap your legs around him to help stay up, though he lifts you easily.
For a moment, you thought he would take you against the wall, but you were surely mistaken.
To your shock, you're quickly lowered to the ground. He hasn’t dropped you, oh no, he would never. He has dropped to his knees without warning, though. He kneels on the ground, his hard cock resting between your stomachs as he shifts your weight onto his thighs instead of in his hands.
Finally, you separate, and you take in a deep breath. Gasping and panting with red, wet lips as you look at him through your lashes. The lack of oxygen was delightful, especially when you know he’d never agree to choking you.
The two of you stare into each other's eyes as you catch your breath for a moment. His right hand finds itself planted on the floor, and his left on your back, supporting you. He shifts forward and carefully places you on the floor of his chamber, where he is no doubt going to fuck the light out of you.
The idea makes your stomach warm and your pussy wetter if that's even possible by this point. Having your king put you in your place by fucking you into the floor where the mud from his boots once lay.
He can see the excitement in you. He doesn’t enjoy the power play the same, but he does enjoy how much you enjoy, the way you twitch in anticipation.
You look up at him in absolute adoration as he sits back on his heels. His jaw is clenched still as he tries his hardest to contain himself, an odd look for someone usually so composed.
He grabs the backs of your knees and presses them to your chest, or rather, as close as they would go. As your spread open for him to see, his eyes drop down, and you are yet again unable to look away from your sopping heat.
You find your face getting even hotter and surely redder. You can see the hunger in his eyes, though you are still slightly self-conscious, as most people would be with such intense staring at a place you yourself don’t ever really see.
He removes his right hand from the back of your leg, letting it drift slightly forward away from your chest without his hand's support.
His now free hand comes to wrap around the base of his throbbing length, still leaking with precum. Your own eyes drift down to take your turn of staring; they trace the veins that run up and down it and linger on its bright red head before lifting back up to meet his gaze.
You find him already looking at you. He shifts closer to you. His other hand comes away from your leg as well and meets the cool ground next to your head. As he leans down to share the intimate moment of his first time inside of you, how he deems fit, as close as possible, he moves on to his forearm and supports his weight there.
You feel his tip press against the skin just below your hole as he guides himself, just feeling his way, eyes never leaving yours. He searches for any sign of hesitation in your eyes as his tip slips through your folds.
He glides it all the way to the top, teasing your clit and watching the way your face twitches slightly, not quite contorting in pleasure. A little bit of a smirk can be seen on his face as he watches you so carefully.
He guides it back down quickly, not willing to deny either of you any longer. He finds your entrance easily and not so easily finds it in himself to pause for a moment. You're confused for a moment as you look into his eyes for explanation.
“I may continue?” he asks upon seeing your brows furrow.
To that, you huff a warm, soft laugh. “Yes, my king”, you say with a smile on your face. You notice his facial expression twitch a little at the way you address him, but he says nothing.
Slowly, he pushes his hips forward and enters you. He takes his time, being careful not to hurt you, as he’s felt your tightness and is well aware of his size compared to you. You both sigh deep sighs of relief, even while only his tip is inside.
You let out a giggle at the fact of what longing did to people. The noise is quickly turned to a small moan as he continues to press in. You watch his own brows furrow and his clenched jaw return as he tries not to rush.
You almost tell him that he can go in faster, but you glance down beforehand and are silenced by the sight of how much there is still left to take. You chew on your lip a little as he steadily continues to enter you, worried if you’ll be able to walk tomorrow.
He notices but doesn’t say anything until he sees you glancing down again. “Are you alright, my dearest?” he asks, slowing to almost a complete stop. You nod and roll your hips, signalling him not to slow before you speak.
“I am simply unsure I'll be able to take all of you,” you say, trying to sound almost joking.
“Do not fret, star, if you cannot, I will surely live”, he smiles down at you before pressing the softest of kisses to your lips.
You hum into the kiss and follow just a little as he pulls away. To that, he smiles, and you bite your lips to hide your own. He quickly swoops down again and catches you off guard with another kiss.
This one is not as soft; he presses harder, but not quite hard. You kiss back with passion, trying to see if you can take control of this one. He is quick to put your attempts to shame.
He gives an unexpected thrust of his hips, not entering more than another inch as he does, not wanting to harm you. You can’t help the shocked moan that leaves your lips, and that's when he slips his tongue in. Easily fighting his way in while you're unalert.
You feel him smirk into it as he practically fucks your mouth with his tongue. Saliva drips down your cheeks as he messily makes out with you, knowing it's how you like it.
You whimper into the kiss a little as he starts to reach quite deep inside of you. His smirk widens at that until the hands on his shoulders' nails dig in, and the legs wrapped around his waist kick his back lightly with their heel, and you whimper out loudly in a way that sounds more pained.
He quickly detaches his lips from yours and stops his hips dead in their tracks. He looks at you with deep concern, along with a little bit of guilt already. You swallow thickly, trying to find your voice.
You glance down to see how much of him there is left, but he grabs your chin before you can get a good enough look. “It doesn't matter if you can't take the rest; it matters if I'm hurting you,” he says, his voice deep and laced with worry. You nod at his words, taking them in. You were glad he didn't mind, but sex was mutual; you wanted him to have a night just as good as the one you were already having.
“I’m okay, can you just go a little slower for now, please?” you say with a shaking voice, feeling stuffed. In a good way, yes, surely a great way once he starts fucking you properly, but gods were your walls burning from the stretch. He doesn’t move but gives you a look. One that told you he wanted you to promise you were alright before he even moved a millimetre. “I will tell you if I cannot handle it,” you reassure him with honesty in your voice.
He hums softly at that before, as slow as a snail, he resumes his thrust in. You bite your lips and try to keep in any concerning noises or faces.
You swear you can feel it in your stomach now. The burn is delicious, and he’s pushing up against every great spot up there, including one or two you were unaware of 10 minutes ago.
“Gods…” You can’t help but whine out breathlessly.
He stops almost instantly, and you quickly speak. “Keep going- please!" you manage to get out. Your lip gets caught against your teeth yet again, though whines are still heard. You knew you liked some pain, but gods, this was different from anything you had ever felt.
“Are you sure you are alright?” he asks as if your eyes aren’t rolling back. You nod absentmindedly, lost in the feeling. It wasn’t the depth that was the real problem, absolutely not, who knew there were so many great spots so far up there. It was his girth that was gonna get you, parts of you that had never even been grazed before getting stretched so far wasn’t feeling too good.
The pain was nice at first, but now it’s lingering, and you can already tell it’s not going to get better. Perhaps there was a depth that wasn’t meant to be reached. His tip hits a part deep inside you that refuses to stretch and make way for him, your cervix, and you let out a groan at the feeling.
The groan drags on, as it was really starting to turn into just pain and no pleasure. The wind had sufficiently been knocked from your lungs. You can’t speak, and you won’t be able to like this.
A hand comes down to desperately press his hip to tell him to pull out a bit. He listens with haste, though he is careful not to move too quickly for your sake. You gasp as air finds you again. You find yourself relaxing your limbs, unaware of how much tension had found its way into your limbs as he entered.
“Are you alright?” he asks with deep concern in his voice and face.
You nod and hum a yes as you take deep breaths and try to regain your composure. “I don’t think I can take all of you,” you sigh out in disappointment, wishing you could go all the way for him.
“That is quite right,” he says with his hand on your chin, making sure you look at his face and see that he means it. You smile softly, still disappointed but less so.
“How about I re-enter slowly, and you tell me when you have reached your limit?” he proposes. It's a good idea, it's what you were supposed to do in the first place, though he doesn’t mention it, not wanting to sound like he’s scolding you.
Instead, he just phrased it differently and hoped you would listen this time, and you would, how could you not when he asked so gently.
“Yes, please…” You tell him, almost not being able to stand how empty you now feel. His tip sits at your entrance again, and he searches less deeply into your eyes, now having more confidence than the first time. He doesn’t make you sir in anticipation, though the look on your face in the few seconds you do is delightful to him.
He slowly starts to push in, and you try to look down at where you meet again. He grabs hold of your chin between his thumb and finger to make you look at him.
“Why do you do that?” he asks. He thinks it’s because you want to make sure you’ve taken enough of him in your eyes before you tell him he’s in the deepest your body will allow with minimal pain.
“To see how deep you are,” you reply with a shaky voice as he slowly buries himself inside you. You know that it's not the whole reason, you just like it? I mean, how big he was had always been a turn on, but something about how small it made you feel watching him try to fit himself in. It just got to you in a different, explain way. It must have shown in your voice or face that wasn’t all of it.
The look he gives you tells you so, his deep gaze pressing you to continue speaking. A quiet moan leaves your mouth as he hits a spot inside you; it interrupts your thinking. You're unsure what to say, but you speak anyway, between the way he was looking at you and the way he felt it was hard to keep anything in.
“I just like it, I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.” You explain quietly, avoiding his gaze the best you can.
He hums at that as he studies your features; it wasn’t really a hum of approval, you couldn’t tell what it meant if anything. You take in a sharp breath at a pinching feeling inside of you. “Is that too deep?” he asks, and you nod quickly. He begins to slowly pull out a little and stops when a sigh of relief leaves you, a sign that you are no longer in any pain.
“Better?” he asks softly, and all you can do is hum in response and bask in the feeling of perfect fullness. He smiles down at you, enjoying the look on your face, taking the moment to enjoy simply being sheathed by your warmth.
You managed to take a considerable amount, more than he thought he’d get in. You huff out a breathless laugh, and he raises an eyebrow at that. “Took us so long to get here, we may as well have taken the time to go to bed,” you explain, what thought had made you laugh.
Although desperation had not been shown through movement, it still hung in the air over the two of you. There was no other thought on either of your minds than you getting absolutely ruined on his cock, but he didn’t want to hurt you, and you knew better than to try and ask.
“I can surely arrange that if you wish,” he says, realising the tough floor may be hurting you.
Without a thought, you quickly wrap your legs around his waist so he can’t pull out. “Don’t you dare leave me now,” you all but whine, and he smiles at that, not wishing it either but finding the look on your face most agreeable.
“If you wish to be fucked into the cold, hard ground instead of a soft, most welcoming bed, then very well,” he says, making you turn red again simply for his enjoyment.
He begins to move his hips. Tiny movements, barely out and then back in at the exact depth he was in earlier, not an inch deeper. He sighs as he starts to thrust enough for it to feel like anything; his head is tilted up slightly, and his eyes are locked onto the ceiling as he continues to slowly work up his pace.
You find your hands yet again on his toned muscles. They roam up and down, all over his chest and stomach, until they come to rest on his abdomen, as it's way easier to flick your gaze between the sight of him inside you and his beautiful muscles.
A white ring of your slick is already beginning to form on his cock, right where you stop being able to take him. Breathy moan flows out of your lips like water in a stream. Your nails lightly scrape his lower belly as you feel him up. Your eyes look up to admire his face, the pale glow of moonlight, and the warmth of little candle flames illuminate his face for you to see.
There's a slight crease formed between his brows, and his jaw is relaxed but not quite slack. An unmistakable shine of pleasure sits over his face in that ethereal way, that elven way.
A few moments pass as you try to take a photo with your mind before he looks down at you. He has found a good pace, a medium one, bringing just enough pleasure to both of you that if given the time, it could make you come, though you knew it wouldn’t last long.
Once you were used to him, he was going to fuck you fast and hard until your eyes rolled back so hard that you’d swear you had caught a glimpse of the Valar themselves.
Your eyes roam once more, adoration shiny behind your somewhat glossed-over eyes. His eyes, in turn, roam your face too. Lingering on the way the light of the candles and the moon hit your sweat-cloaked skin, and then on how it bounced off the spit on your lips. Though not as kiss bitten anymore, they were still a brighter colour than usual. Then it was your tousled hair that caught his eyes. It was tangled and not as glossy as his and not as vibrantly coloured, and yet he still found it so... beautiful.
You were much unlike his kin; he never thought he could come to like mortals, and here he was, loving one so deeply. He smiles softly at the very human sight beneath him.
His head fell back into a tilt towards the sky again as his eyes closed softly. He quickened his pace slightly and listened to the sounds that filled the room, choosing to hear and feel for a moment.
The warm pleasure of how you hugged from the inside, the squelching click of your wetness, what was now without a doubt his favourite song being sung by you and your calloused hands against his muscles.
Or they felt calloused to him, not forever perfectly pale and smooth all over, your skin slightly rougher compared to elven kings all over and especially where you often found yourself gripping things. Proof you had lived was written all over them, proof you were here, with him, not just the softest dream to ever grace his mind.
He removes a hand from your hip to hold one of your own. His soft fingers roll over yours, sliding down to your palm. Feeling where your skin was most coarse and where it was softest, not taking any preference for which he liked the feel of best, because it was all you. Mortal you. You who he should not have wasted so much time not being as you two were in this moment.
He finds himself beginning to increase the pace again.
A heavenly sound leaves your lips; it’s abrupt and sort of loud. His lips twitch up slightly as the noise blesses his ears. His eyes lock onto yours, and he gives your hand a rather tight squeeze.
You meet his eyes upon the feeling. He begins to quicken his pace again, his hips meeting your rear with a slapping noise.
Quickly, your eyes roll back, and you cannot keep his gaze. Again, that sweet noise leaves your lips, and he feels as though there is no better noise in existence than it.
He thrusts quickly but not so hard; he studies you as he does. Your eyes have fluttered shut, though you keep trying to open them to look at him as your body trembles in pleasure, not allowing you to.
You watch him through almost completely knit lashes when you can. His hair sits beautifully behind his shoulders; there are a few flyaways, something you’d never think you’d see, falling onto his forehead. His skin shimmers slightly with sweat, not nearly as much as you do.
You watch the way his silky hair bounces on his head as he fucks you, and he watches as your dishevelled hair drags along the floor, becoming increasingly more tangled, both with equal amounts of lust and love in your eyes.
Your fingers dig into the back of his hand while his fingers rest gently over your knuckles and the back of your hand. He leans down again, taking the hand interlocked with his and pinning it to the ground next to your head.
He keeps most of his weight on his knees as he continues his now incredibly quick pace to avoid crushing your hand. He looms over you, taking in every micromovement of your face and focusing so hard on every sound you make.
He watches intensely as you arch your back, and a more desperate sound leaves your lips. He can feel you beginning to tighten around him, both with your delicate walls and your legs that still grip his waist tightly.
You tilt your head back as you arch, and he’s not having it. His free hand comes to the back of your neck and pulls you into him. His lips meet yours in a searing kiss, and he can feel the vibrations from your moans hum in his mouth.
You try to pull away, but he follows you, and you end up having to push him off. You gasp for air and stutter trying to speak through the intense pleasure. “I’m... gonna-” You manage to get out, though it strained and breathless. His hand lets go of yours and reaches between your bodies.
Before you can properly comprehend what he’s about to do, his fingers are on your clit. “C-c-cum,” you finally finish your sentence, but just barely, as almost the exact second the words leave your mouth, you do cum.
“Cumming!” You moan out your correction as your body spasms beneath him. He wraps both his arms around you as you shake and rests his chin between where your collar bones meet, pressing his smiling face into the column of your throat.
Your hands grab and scratch where they can reach, which all happens to be him, as he continues to take in the beautiful scene before him. His hips keep snapping to meet yours, even the tight squeezing in more places than one, and the wriggling makes it slightly more difficult.
Your moans begin to morph into pants and gasps, so he slows down, not thrusting so harshly or as often. Back to the pace you were at somewhere in the middle of this experience.
Your legs twitch hard around, and your walls spasm the same. You let out a breathy, whiney moan as he keeps going. You tilt your head back down, and he pulls away from your throat. You lock eyes, and he can see the tear marks that run down the side of your face to your hair by your ears, some even going up into your hairline from when your head was thrown back.
He smiles warmly at the sight, and a hand comes up to wipe the wetness away with his thumb. “Poor, sweet thing.” He coos, though his hips don’t stop, even as he watches new tears form at the overstimulation. He kisses you again and whines as he continues.
He pulls back to sit on his knees, and he takes you with him. He has you on his lap now and your hands come to rest on his shoulders as your forearms press against his chest.
He takes a deep breath in as you two settle into the new positions. He has an almost smug look on his face as he looks at you now; it has a very “you don’t know what's coming” air to it. You, in turn, take a few deep breaths to try and slow your heartbeat down the best you can. “Are you alright, meleth nin?” he asks sweetly, though his face doesn’t change.
You're too out of it to notice that he seems to have something planned in his mind. You nod your head and give a small smile.
“Good,” he states simply in response. Too simple. He never did that unless he planned on his actions speaking louder than his words needed to.
But you notice too late, and before you know it, his hips are snapping back up into you. His right arm wraps around your back, pushing your chest to his, so your arms become trapped between the two of you, and his left comes to your hips to move them as he pleases.
You're sure half the castle knows what you're up to by now.
The overstimulation burns inside of you. Every brush of him against those delicate spots hurts so good. His smile widens as he watches your jaw go slack and listens to uncontrollable sounds of pure, near-unbearable pleasure leave you.
If it weren’t for how thoughts seemed to be far and few in your mind, you would be thinking of what the guards must be thinking in this moment, as they can surely hear you howling.
Your fingers dig into his shoulders as hard as they can, and your feet try their best to find the floor, so you push yourself away from him, but with each thrust, they shake with a mind of their own. You are leaning back as far as you can, your eyes on the ceiling in the odd moments you find you can open your eyes. But those moments are even farther and fewer than thoughts. You can’t help but screw your eyes shut as your head feels light and empty.
You just barely hear him groan over the sounds of your own before he speeds up. The noise brings on the distant but comforting thought that he may be close, but that is as quickly wisped away as each thought before, since he started again.
It is almost unbearable now.
His arm leaves your waist, and now both hands grip your hips roughly. He moves you effortlessly in time with his thrust.
“Gods!” You moan, your hips ache from being set so wide for so long, and your back from arching so much. Your muscles twitch and tremble beneath your skin as he keeps brushing against that now rather abused spot inside of you.
“Thranduil, please!” You whine not as loudly as your last plea. He shushes you as he places his forehead against yours to comfort you while his hands remain occupied. His thumbs rub up and down on your hips as his remain tight and his own hips remain relentless.
“You're alright,” he assures you with his brows knit together and small groans slipping past his lips now somewhat regularly.
Your arms wrap around his neck, and you press your tear-stained face into his chest. With your wet cheek now pressed into his chest, he tilts his head back and lets out a deep groan. He's getting close to his own peak, though you're too far gone to notice. You cling to his neck helplessly as his thrusts get sloppier.
He moves with less perfection now, not lifting and bringing you down in exact time with his thrust and not getting that angle he’s grown fond of right each time.
His eyes squeeze shut as he tries to focus his movements. He feels that familiar flutter around him, and an all too gorgeous sound leaves your mouth, and he knows he’s going to bring your soon-to-be-wrecked self to another orgasm.
“Deep breath in,” he says to you with a light tap on the hips to get your attention, and you listen only then, realising you had begun to hold your breath.
You huff out said breath and follow it with a pathetic whine, a noise that could only come from someone as deep in almost unbearable pleasure as you could. You find your fingers grabbing at his hair, his neck and his shoulders interchangeably as your impending orgasms loom over you, trying to prepare yourself for even more than what you're enduring.
His breath has picked up now; you can feel his heart race inside his ribs against your cheek. The feeling of the barely there thud against your cheek and the sound you can scarcely catch is oddly grounding. You feel his chest vibrate against you as he groans.
You squeeze around him involuntarily, and he lets out a soft moan, one that is almost completely drowned out by the sound of your loud moans.
Tears have begun to stream down your face, overstimulation getting the better of you. Your hands find their way to his hips and begin pushing him away the best you can. You're not very strong compared to him, so it’s rather difficult.
“Can’t take it,” you whine and continue to desperately get away from him. He grabs hold of your hips as hard as he can and tries his best to keep going as you try to stop him.
“You can, we both know that,” he says coldly, ignoring your pleas and chasing after his release. You try to argue, but you seem to no longer be able to speak, too close to what you pray is your last orgasm of the night.
Still, however, you keep at your squirm and pushing insistently until his grip falters. You manage to wriggle yourself backwards at the exact moment he was trying to adjust you, and his hands slip from your hips for just a moment.
Finally feeling as though you can breathe, you try to scramble backwards further. His tight grip finds your ankle, and you are dragged along the hard floor back to him.
“You. Are. Not. Going. Anywhere.” He says sternly, he sounds angry now, likely because he was so very close when you finally got away, and he does not enjoy being teased.
He flips you onto your stomach, one arm wraps under your hips, and the other comes between your shoulder blades. The left one, the one under your hips, pulls you up and against him. The right, the one on your back, presses on your spine, its hand coming up to grip your hair and press your face into the floor, rather roughly. He half-kneels, half-stands behind you, his left knee planted against the cold ground just as you are, and his right foot placed flat on the ground for leverage.
Without any hesitation, all regards for you may seem like they’ve gone, but rest assured, if he saw any true pain, he would stop for you; he begins to fuck you again. His thrusts are the hardest they’ve ever been. No longer does he aim for the lovely spot inside of you; this is for him now. You keep him from release, and now he will keep you from yours while he takes his back.
No whining or crying will help you now.
He closes his eyes and tilts his head towards the ceiling after a moment. He focuses all he can on his approaching orgasm, listening to the erotic symphony the two of you create, and paying no real mind to your begs. He presses his elbow down between your shoulders hard at any sign of struggle, which is nearly constant, and pulls your hair as roughly as he can without removing his arm from your back.
His grunts and groans get louder as he nears the edge. They begin to get shorter, too, as he begins losing his breath, too focused on how the rest of his body feels.
It seems just as you feel your own orgasm building again, you are rudely met with him burying himself as deep as he can inside of you, now bringing you no pleasure, edging you as you did to him, and pouring his thick seed inside of you.
He thrusts incredibly slowly and shallowly as he cums. You let out a pitiful whine and emphasise it with a kick of your leg at the fact that he edged. Now that you can think clearly, you want him to do it again, to ruin you, fuck you to the point of pain like some wild beast.
You rest against the ground as he presses his forehead to your back. He catches his breath. The side of your face is wet with spit from having drooled while he fucked you against the floor and being dragged through it while he moved your hips and thrusted into you.
He brings his right leg down and his front moulds against your back as he kneels and leans in closer. He presses a soft kiss to your jaw, a stark contrast to how you have just been treated, but reassuring, comforting, nonetheless.
One of your hands reaches behind you to stroke his hair. “You were like some wild demon. It frightened me.” You state simply that your heart rate begins to come down.
He panics now. He worries he did too much, that he really, truly hurt you, that he got lost in it, and if he hadn’t, he would’ve been able to tell your pleas were real and should’ve been listened to.
He is so frightened himself at the thought of frightening you that the words of apology he wishes to tell you won’t come to his tongue. He is very rarely at a loss for words, but now, he surely is. You begin to turn, and he pulls away to permit you to roll over onto your back.
“Do it again.”
A/N thank you so much for reading, and I hope for leaving some appreciation for my work on my birthday xoxo - Gremlin
Oh, don't worry, nothing can make me stop now. I've been writing for about three years now, with a two-year gap between the first and the second year. I know I'll always come back to it
