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kiatheinsomniac · 1 year

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How about sleepy early morning sex with Thranduil?👁👁prettyprettyplease

──── 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 ˊˎ -

☾ ⋆ ﾟ𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: I feel like it's been forever since I last write for Thranduil 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Thranduil x Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1.3k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: NSFW content, MDNI, smut, morning sex, riding, slight overstimulation, creampie.

You wake to the sensation of kisses being peppered across your cheeks as morning light pours in through the window, bathing you in a pool of liquid gold. The warmth heats your skin with the aid of your lover's body which is half draped over yours . One of his arms crosses over your body palm pressed to the soft surface of the mattress in order to prop himself up as his pillowy lips plant kisses across your face in order to rouse you from sleep.

You groan as you wake but the corners of your mouth quirk up in a smile when you realise that the first thing you feel this day is your husband’s affection. Your arms reach up to wind around his neck and thread your fingers through his gossamer hair, tugging just a little at the hair at the base of his head as you arch your back up to press your chest to his, delighting in the warm press of his skin upon yours. He begins to kiss you with more fervour now that you’re awake and you sigh against his lips as your mind begins to wake up.

You let out a little giggle when you feel him press to your thigh and your eagerness only seems to spur him on as he reaches beneath the curve of your spine to pull you on top of him when he turns onto his back. His hair fans out on the pillow beneath his head like a halo of starlight and you smile sleepily down at him.

“Good morning, meleth nîn~ (my love)” You drawl out with a little smile on your face as you lean down to pour kisses down his cheek and the slope of his jaw. His strong arms coil around your waist and you bask in the warmth of the sunlight pouring over your bed and heating your bodies as your skin presses to his. You allow yourself to simply rest atop him for a while as your nose nudges against his neck and you feel one of his hands lift up to sweep your hair from your shoulder.

“Indeed, a good morning it is…” He murmurs against the side of your head, pressing a kiss there. Beneath the sheets, your legs shift so that they bracket his hips and you slowly rise up as you set your palms down flat on his chest to support your balance. The sheet crumples and falls down your back, pooling around your hips and giving your husband quite the view considering the two of you are still bare from last night’s activities.

You let out a low groan as you slowly, sensually roll your hips against him, feeling his dick slide through the folds of your dampening pussy. His hands slide down the curves of your waist in order to land upon your hips and hold firmly, softly squeezing you. No words need to be spoken to understand what the both of you want.

Thranduil’s large hands roam up over your belly and to your chest, cupping and squeezing your soft breasts as his thumbs brush over your nipples, watching how they harden in the golden rays of light falling over you, making you look almost as though you were glowing. You continue to rock your hips against him, his dick trapped between his abdomen and your leaking pussy.

His head tips back as he sucks in a hiss through his teeth. “Come now, meleth nîn, tease me no longer.” He looks up at you through lidded eyes as one of his hands firmly grabs at the underside of your ass and helps to lift you up a little. His line of sight flickers down to his hardened cock and then back up to you, a silent command. You reach down and let out a soft moan when you glide his sensitive tip through your lips, taking a moment to feel the press and glide of it against your swollen clit before finally sinking down onto him.

You take your time to sink down to him as you feel his large hands curl around the curve of your hips. At the stretch of him, you find your hands on his abdomen curling into tight fists, scratching slightly at his alabaster skin. He seems to grow impatient with you, or perhaps he just enjoys seeing your reactions, because his hold on your hips tightens and he bottoms out up into you. A keen is torn from your lips and for a moment, you feel as though you might collapse onto him. But he’s already setting a slow and steady pace, fucking up into you and it fills you with a craving for more. With your hands still pressed to his toned abdomen in order to assist in your balance, you begin to match his pace.

It doesn’t take very long before the room is full of the squelches of your pussy being emptied and filled again and again and again, of your skin meeting his; they’re joined by his groans and your airy moans as you can nearly feel the air being punched from your lungs with just how deep he sinks into you each time. You can feel the trembling in your legs grow as all of your muscles seem to wind up tightly and sense in anticipation of your impending orgasm.

Soon enough, your body seems to flush with heat and you push your hips down with all your weight, taking all of his cock inside your fluttering walls while he grinds into your sweet spot to draw out your pleasure even longer.

You’re suddenly pushed onto your back in a tangle of limbs and you let out a noise like a wail when suddenly your sensitive, sticky walls are being pounded into as Thranduil chases his own release with your body, quickly pushing you towards the border of overstimulation. Your hands reach up to tangle in and tug at his gossamer hair and pull his body flush against yours. You feel his breath puff out against your neck just below your ear, sending shivers down your spine while your legs continue to quiver. You can hear all of his groans and grunts right by your ear as he praises you: ‘so tight’, ‘you always feel so good for me’, ‘one more, just give me one more when I fill you with my cum…’

It’s enough to quickly send your overly-sensitive body into another orgasm, your walls milking his cock as his hips stutter and you feel the warmth of his seed filling you up.

The two of you hold each other in the silence that follows, interrupted only by your panted breaths and the faint wet noises of Thranduil continuing to grind into you, fucking his seed deeper into you, nudging against your cervix.

“I don’t want to face the day just yet…” You let out in a sigh as you hold your husband a little tighter. All you truly wanted was to spend the day in bed with him but the two of you had a duty to your kingdom.

“Neither do I, but it must be done…” Thranduil replies with a gentle kiss to your temple as he withdraws just enough to brush some damp hair away from your face. “But we don’t have to part until we leave our chambers.” He withdraws from you at last and you feel the sticky warmth of his cum leak from your hole. He looks down at the sight and you see a masculine sort of pride flash across his face for a moment. “So let me clean you up before I send you about your day.” You giggle when he suddenly hoists you up into a princess carry and begins to walk you towards your shared bathroom.

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sotwk · 1 year

Text

Taken (Eomer x femReader )

Part 1 of 3

Part 2 / Part 3

Love Confession feat. Eomer Eadig

Valentine 2023 Event by @sotwk

Summary: The lone shield-maiden in Eomer's Éored has been secretly in love with him for years, but has long accepted that that he can never share those feelings. At the feast of King Elessar's coronation, she is surprised to learn that there may yet be hope.

Prompt: "It's like you never really see me. I'm standing right in front of you and you don't see me!"

Requested by and Dedicated to: @writefortherain-blog Thank you for making this request and giving me the opportunity to write for Eomer!

Word count: 2.4k

Content: Romance, angst, mutual pining, oblivious to love, jealousy, forbidden relationship, class division, shield-maiden, King Eomer, post-RotK

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Some sensuality

To Read on AO3: Link

Taken

Third Age 3019 May 1

Minas Tirith

PART ONE

Downing that fourth cup of wine had been a mistake. Or was it the fifth? Sixth? The ridiculous dress with its rib-crushing bodice and neckline positioned nowhere near your neck, had also been a mistake, even though the local clother had insisted to you that it was in the "proper" Gondorian fashion. The entire evening and its inconveniences had all been for a failed end.

You finally jostled your way out of the packed feasting hall and stumbled outside to the courtyard, your compressed lungs and flushed skin rejoicing at their contact with the cool night air. One hand rose to massage your throbbing temple, and the other clawed irritatedly at the boning that caged in your unacceptably unfeminine frame.

"Never again," you seethed under your breath, as you crossed the white-stone pavement to move even farther away from the chaos you escaped.

It had been a painful decision to ride out to Minas Tirith with the rest of your Éored and attend the coronation of the returned King of Gondor. You despised grand affairs, knowing well enough the requirements rules of court would impose on you, unwieldy formal attire being just one of them. These were at least tolerable within Rohan, where you could find some comfort amongst familiar faces and settings. But as the lone female who rode in the company of the Third Marshal, you refused to be excluded from any undertaking by your Éored, however dangerous or unpleasant. Whether it broke your arm or shattered your heart.

"I can just go," you thought, casting a quick glance back at the great hall, alive and alight with the merry cacophony of a thousand revelers that would surely last until dawn. The two hours you already spent mingling to the best of your limited ability had to suffice, and it was doubtful your presence would even be missed.

But the call of a deep voice stalled your retreat, loud and commanding and instantly recognizable even across a distance as it shouted your name. The soldier in you succumbed to the instinct to obey your Marshal, to honor the oath you had sworn on your knees years ago.

The flickering flames of nearby torchlights reflected against the carved silver panels of the breastplate he donned over his lavishly embroidered tunic. Famously handsome even when caked in blood and grime, Eomer was breathtakingly resplendent bearing the regalia that befitted his station. King Eomer now, you reminded yourself, as you dipped your head in a bow.

“My lord.”

“Is something amiss? Why did you leave?” His narrowed eyes upon you were penetrating, his tone demanding rather than concerned. Lying to someone you had spent practically every single day of your adult life with was difficult, and even more so with an addled brain, so you knew you had to mince words carefully.

Fortunately, you had years of practice doing exactly that.

“I underestimated the potency of their vintage, and downed one cup too many.” You scrunched up your features in a grimace that just slightly exaggerated your pain. “I thought it best to excuse myself and retire for the night.”

“Perhaps if you rested a while and ate some food…” He rested a hand lightly on your shoulder. “It is much too early and the quarters would still be empty. I know you detest fraternizing, but just sit at the table with the rest of our men.”

You released a graceless guffaw and a puff of wine-tinged breath. “Half of them are already deeper in their cups than I, and getting sloppier by the second. I finally had to remind Héothain of his manners the second time he tried to sneak a hand down the front of my dress.”

“He did what?” Eomer’s sudden growl awakened you to your own carelessness and slip of the tongue. Smooth-cheeked Héothain was the youngest and newest addition to the Éored, and remained sorely lacking in experience with women. He should not be held accountable for his awkwardness amplified by insobriety.

“It was a silly mistake that caused no harm,” you insisted, pulling back as Eomer attempted to lead you off by the elbow. “Two sprained fingers taught him a lesson he shall not soon forget.”

Eomer glowered at you but remained silent for a pause, as he did whenever running through courses of action in his mind. “Then you can come sit by me at the King’s table.”

Your laugh in response to that suggestion was shrill and nervous, as he looked so serious making it. “I most certainly cannot… my lord.” You stated your defiance firmly, baring a toothless pertinacity against your leader, and underneath it a silent plea that the friend in him would understand. “There is no place for me amongst such esteemed company and truly, there is nothing in the world I would enjoy less at this moment.”

You sighed and braced one hand below your rib area, massaging a spot where the corset dug into a still-tender battle injury.

“Please. Let me go back to my room where I can be rid of these dreadful garments.”

“No.” The immediacy and sharpness of his refusal made you blink in surprise. “Not until you explain yourself to my satisfaction.”

“Pardon, my lord?”

“Hah, there! That is what I am speaking of.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand--”

“When did you cease to call me by my name in private conversation? Or last bother to converse with me at all?!” You took too long to answer, and he barreled on, hazel eyes flashing with the sudden rise of agitation. “Let me enlighten you, since I recall it well. It began after Theodred’s death, accompanied by a host of other changes in your behavior towards me that you think I have not noticed!”

You scrambled to concoct a rebuttal, another feint to keep him from uncovering your secrets. Alas, your dulled mind had frozen completely in the face of the horse-lord’s fury, which had never been directed at you in such a manner.

“You are misreading things, my lord, or else imagining them. I cannot say that I--”

“You cannot even look me in the eye these days of late!” Eomer snapped. “Nor can you stand to be in any room I am in for long.” He threw out his arm in the direction of the great hall. “Even now you rebuff any attempt I make to spend time with you.”

“I…I…” You stammered, rendered helpless before his unexpected wrath, cursing yourself for the poor timing of your inebriation. How could you put up your shields when your mind was struggling to pick out your own lies from the truth?

“If you are angry with me, I would have you admit to it now. I will no longer be played for a fool.”

Indignation pooled in your gut, crawling upward until it deepened the coloring of your already flushed face. “I confess to nothing! For what cause do I have to be angry?”

“Because you loved him!” Eomer erupted. As you gaped at his outburst, he gripped a fistful of his hair, and took in one sharp breath, steeling himself. “You loved Theodred,” he finally said, in a voice gone cold and quiet. “And you place blame on me for his death.”

The fire in your belly flared at the terrible accusation. “Theodred was murdered by Saruman, and only a traitor would fault you for that vile cur’s deed.” You shook a finger at him emphatically. “I am no traitor.”

“Did you love my cousin?”

“Of course I did,” you said stoutly. The prince’s demise plagued you still, for you had been the one to spot Theodred’s body amongst the corpses that littered the fords. And after he’d been borne away to Meduseld, you never saw him alive again, and all you could do was weep in the privacy of your quarters, which you did for weeks, mourning the loss of so much more than a dear friend and mentor.

“No one has ever shown me greater kindness than Theodred.” You held a hand over your heart as a different ache rose in you. “He believed in me at a time when no one else would, not even you."

Eomer had fallen silent, but you saw his cloaked shoulders rise and fall, broad chest heaving in the manner so familiar to you. It was the way he looked on the battlefield, where his blood ran hottest, and he was fighting to balance out the genteel lord and savage killer that both resided within him. He was so thoroughly upset with you.

“If I have made you feel like your cousin’s fate was in any way your fault, I am truly sorry,” you said. "But what sort of questions are these, and why are you asking them now?"

His gaze flicked back in your direction, leaden with anguish. "You should know why."

“I am telling you I do not, my lord, and I must beg you to explain why you are speaking so cryptically."

“You wish for me to explain in words something I have been trying to show you for years now?!” He gave a strangled laugh and raised his eyes and hands to the night sky. "Bema…"

“It is as though you never really see me,” he muttered, almost as though speaking to himself. “Here I am, standing right in front of you, and you do not see me!"

But you did hear his mumbled complaints, and suddenly it was all too much. Your sickening weariness, your aches both physical and emotional, your befuddlement caused by the six drinks and this man's unhinged raging as he launched yet another ludicrous accusation at you.

"Not see you?" you repeated, and something about just saying it rammed open the gate behind which you had caged up every real thing you ever wanted to say to Eomer, Son of Eomund.

"If such a thing were possible, I would wish it upon myself immediately!" you exclaimed. "But you are all I ever see, even when I do not wish to! Even when I flee from your presence, I can never escape a face that refuses to leave my thoughts!"

Oh Valar, no. STOP. Panicked, you bit down on your lip to imprison the words fleeing your mouth, so hard you tasted blood. But Eomer suddenly moved forward, encroaching on the space you desperately fought to maintain for your own protection, and his hazel eyes locked into yours to wrench away the last of your defenses.

"It hurts too much, can you not understand?!" you cried, managing one step back. "To remain in the presence of the one thing you most desire but will never have, to be taunted by a dream that will never be fulfilled, to watch as it falls into the possession of another while you can do absolutely nothing!"

He spoke your name, his voice oddly hoarse, and shame finally came crashing down inside you. Your hands flew up to hide your face and suddenly he grabbed your wrists, tugging your arms away only to replace your hands with his own, warming your cheeks with his calloused palms.

“Then see me now,” he ordered. “And know I have always understood how that feels. What great fools we have both been all along to deny ourselves our true desires.”

“Eomer, what--” The stroke of his thumb over the corner of your mouth drove the rest of the words away, and the parting of your lips and flutter of your eyes gave him the approval he sought.

His kiss tasted more glorious than they did in a thousand daydreams combined. It did not surprise you that he was completely unlike the other men you had kissed before. Whereas lesser men were greedy and sloppy in their hunger, the caress of Eomer’s mouth was deep and languid, almost worshipful in its exploration of your lips, as though he aimed to savor every small sensation and intended to carry on doing this with you forever.

His one arm looped around your waist to hold you covetously against him; his broad left hand traveled from your cheek to cradle the back of your neck, his long fingers burying themselves into your hair, tips grazing your scalp. It fired up a new heat in you that you had never felt before, not with such raw intensity, and a tremulous whimper escaped your throat.

But the sound of your own pleasure was your undoing, for it triggered an alarm in your head, one that caused you to break away from Eomer’s passion. You mumbled against his lips the words you had conditioned yourself for years to think around him.

“My lord, I cannot…”

He paused, his eyes still dazed and unfocused, caught in a state of bliss--one that you caused, you realized with a shiver. “You cannot… what?” he said thickly. Without waiting for an answer, he dipped back in eagerly to trail his mouth up your jawline, his tongue skimming the tender pulse underneath your ear.

You gave a small cry and pushed against his chest with more force, immediately waking his attention. His arm around your waist remained stubbornly secure however, and it took you physically prying the powerful limb off for you to slip free. Either due to shock or lingering delirium, Eomer did not resist.

“I cannot…” Your voice broke even as you clung to your resolve. “I cannot have you.”

His heavy brows furrowed. “What?” Within seconds the confusion lifted to uncover his dismay, layered with anger. “You would speak lies and nonsense again, after everything I told you?”

“It is the truth, Eomer!” You started backing away already, stepping faster and faster as he began to move and reach out for you. “You can never be anything more than a dream to someone like me. I cannot have what is already taken.”

“Taken? What--wait! No!” He started to run, but you had already turned heel and were sprinting full-speed towards the Citadel Gate. You had always been faster on your feet; there was no hope of him catching up if you refused to heed his orders. “Stop!”

His shouts of your name faded quickly, drowned out by the noise of the milling crowd you plunged into and the thunder of your own frantic heartbeat. You slowed to a walk but kept a quick pace, weaving haphazardly through the throng and on and on until you’d descended at least two levels. Only then did you duck into a side street and survey your surroundings.

Your escape succeeded. Neither Eomer nor any Rohirrim were anywhere to be found, at least for the moment.

You collapsed upon the nearest doorstep, exhaustion and aches finally overcoming you. As the chaotic whirlwind within you settled, so too did the reality of what just occurred sink in.

Eomer desired you, perhaps even loved you as you did him. But the King of Rohan’s love was not for you, a common soldier, to take. You had known that all along, and he did too. It was unkind of him to give you such false hope.

Raising your fingers to your swollen lips, you felt the ghost of his perfect kisses on them, and finally burst into tears over yet another memory that will grieve you until your trampled heart could bear no more.

To be continued...

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