Tuesday, September 8, 2015

A Bard Lemon -- Hurricane

Character: Bard

Fandom: The Hobbit

OC: Reader-Insert, Bard’s wife

Inspiration: Because I totally have a crush on him.  I mean he’s gorgeous so why not?

You wake up cold.  You usually do.  Laketown is always cold, even in the tirades of summer.  The nights are getting colder now, and far across the water, the leaves are golden on the trees, like little coins tumbling from the cursed mountain.  The fire had also died in the grate, and so you sit up and stretch your sore limbs high above your head and then go to throw another log on. 
It’s still early, around 6, but the town is already waking up and you must too.  You turn and glance around for a robe of some sort to cover your bare form.  Your tattered lacy shawl is draped over the bottom of the bed.  You don’t get much in the way of privacy, though, because as you pull the long fabric around you, the door creaks open and in steps the man solely responsible for your current state.
“Bard,” you murmur, putting a hand over your surprised heart.  “Where were you?”  You don’t like waking up cold and without his presence beside you.  But he merely smiles that crooked, boyish grin and allows his eyes to swoop carefully over your figure.  You must make quite a sight.
He jerks his thumb behind him as he closes the door, “I went out to check the wind.  No one’s going anywhere when it’s blowing the direction it is – there’s a storm brewing.”  He tears his eyes away from you to look out the window in contemplative silence.  You know he’s thinking about the loss of coin that the next few days will bring, and what they are going to do about that.  With a sigh, you go to him and wrap your arms around his waist.  He pulls you against him and mutters, “You must be trying to seduce me, woman.  The children are still asleep in the other room.”
It was a warning, but you only purr, “I’ll be quiet.  Come back to bed, Bard.  You said yourself you don’t have anything to do today, what with that storm trapping all the boats in the harbor.”
You rub your hand over his chest, pushing the fabric away and slipping your fingers against his skin.  He looks down at you with warring eyes.  The shawl is very loose around your shoulders.  One piece of it has fallen aside, revealing the pale curve of your breast and a tautly peaked nipple.  The gentle morning light is gray from the clouds, and lends an almost catastrophic air to the room.  Some of that catastrophe leaks into Bard too, as he gruffly mutters, “Make sure you’re quiet,” and surges forward.
He lifts you up like you’re a sack of potatoes, displacing your shawl and scattering it over your skin.  You let out a surprised shriek and are immediately and rather laughingly shushed by your willful husband, who drops you onto the mattress and crawls in directly after.
And then he’s kissing you, and you hardly realize what’s going on around you because his kisses always do that to you.  Make your entire world shrink to encompass only him and nothing else.  Only his mouth moving with yours, his warm touch caressing your cold skin, his body shifting yours into blissful surrender.  There is nothing like the feeling of his love brimming above the boundaries of your earthly body.  Nothing like feeling it spill against your skin and keep climbing, up and up and up into places you can only try to fathom.
You smile against his luxurious kiss and whisper, “Take all this off, Bard.”  You pluck at his shirt impatiently, then jerk the fabric from where it was tucked into his trousers and push it up his body.  Your fingers drag up the skin of his back as you do, and Bard shivers.  His back has always been a sensitive spot for him, and you delight in seeing him react in such a tangible way.
“You are a seductress,” he tells you, and you burst into laughter that is made all the stronger by your own excited exhaustion.  He chuckles too, plants several long kisses to your mouth, and then sits up straight.  The next moment, he’s grappling with the shirt and tossing it onto the floor, then immediately going for his trousers.  As he does, you wrap your legs on either sides of his and stretch your body out.  His attention is instantly captured by the sight of you waiting for him, and he slowly pushes the last of his clothes away as he stares down at you.
“When did you get so good at captivating me?” Bard wonders quietly, eyes crinkled into a smile that makes you heart race.  He comes back to you leisurely, unhurried in his movements as he spreads his bare body over yours.  With a flourish of his wrist, he flips the shawl away from you, baring every inch of your skin to his eager eyes.
You smirk and murmur, “Most likely around the time you started to fall for me.”  He chuckles in agreement.
“Mmm…you mean the first time I saw you in the market?” he grins, pinching you playfully as he dips his head down to kiss your breast.  You watch, tangling your fingers into his hair to bring him closer.  His tongue lays flat against one pert nipple, and you hum in slow passion as shivers race through your body.  You think there is nothing quite like being naked with him and lavishing in these slow mornings before the children are awake.  He seems to think so too.
You bite your lip and giggle, “How you could fall for the daughter of a fish monger, I will never understand.”  You remember that day well, that first glance at your future husband.  You stank of fish, and were in the middle of haggling rather obstinately with one of the customers when he had sauntered up to the stand and had told the unruly customer to do something really very ungentlemanlike, and that the price you had given was better than anyone else in the market.  You hadn’t thought much of him back then, but neither could you have denied the attraction you instantly felt.  It had only grown the more you’d seen him, and had lasted still longer into your marriage.
“It was easy to fall for you,” he tells you with a smile and a mischievous light in his gaze.  “Even if you did smell like fish,” he adds as an afterthought, and you laugh and slap him playfully on the head.  He gets back at you by rolling you abruptly onto your side and slapping your rear, and you shriek in amusement.  Immediately after he ducks his head to press a kiss to the flesh.
“You are still rough with me,” you say, kneading him with your elbow.  Two can play at this little game of his.  You’re quite qualified – you have to be, with him.
Bard laughs and pulls your lower body across the bed towards him, chuckling as you stubbornly struggle against the movement.  “I believe it’s you who is rough with me, my love.”  Sliding his hands along your skin, he touches your thighs, your hips, your waist, curves his fingers over your breasts, until Bard is cupping your face with one hand and bending once more over your body.  There is no space between you now, and you shiver at the feeling of his skin pressed so diligently to yours.
You hum, “Then let us call a truce.”  The notion is enough to make him grin boyishly and lean down to kiss you, sealing the pact as well as making your body explode into shivers.
“A truce it is,” he murmurs against your mouth.  He hikes your knees around his waist and nestles between them, pressing his hard length against you before kissing you again.  Quickly, you lose yourself in the kiss.  Your fingers gently stroke over his cheekbones, tunnel into his hair.  He shivers into you and licks your bottom lip, taking it into his mouth and sucking at it briefly before releasing it to kiss you all the deeper.  And then the mischievous side of your personality makes you shift your hand down his body, over his broad shoulders, scraping down his back and over his rear, until at last you hold his shaft against your palm.
He moans just a little at the bold touch, and opens his eyes to stare down at you, as if daring you to go farther, begging for it really.  You don’t need any more incentive. 
“Mmm…” he purrs against your mouth, and kisses you ever deeper with more bruising force.  You gently stroke his length, bringing him close to your core with every pump of your hand, until his tip is doused with the wetness of your folds.  It seems to make him rather crazy, in the most delicious way, and he shifts his hips just a little to feel more of you.
“The kids will be up soon,” he mutters into your ear, abandoning your mouth in favor of kissing over your face.  His lips brush over your earlobe and you hum, turning your face to look at him.  He blinks back, eyes heavy with lust, and you know that his little warning doesn’t mean he wants to stop – how could it? – only that he wants to go even faster.  The arousing ache that pulses through your body agrees.
“I am ready for you,” you whisper to him, and you are.  You are wet and ready for the feel of him inside you.  You long for him.  To feel him stretching you, to have his pleasure as your own.  And so you guide him to you and spread your legs farther, making it easier for him to slide into your waiting core.
“Yes it seems you are,” he smirks at you, sliding in easily.  The passion you’d exchanged last night has long prepared you for more of him, and he has no trouble whatsoever.  You join together with a seamless passion that makes you both sigh out in bliss, and you’re already well on your way to your finish as he begins to thrust into you.
He goes slowly, dragging out the pleasure as the gentle morning seems to dictate.  Specks of rain start to patter against the windows, very lightly.  The gray skies lend a surreal quality to your lovemaking, especially when, in the distance, the soft boom of thunder crashes into existence.  The windowpanes shudder with the wind, and you shudder into him as well.
His hand slides over your side, squeezing you gently and pulling you ever closer to him.  As he quickens his pace, his lips seek yours.  You arch you body into him and kiss him back, tangling one hand into his hair as your bodies rock together.  It is a union that always makes you breathless with want, and the pleasure you feel seems to transcend the bodily desire that grips you both in its clutches.  This is the stuff of your childish daydreams.  It is an exquisite collaboration of two souls coming together in the purest of ways, until you are both gasping and thriving toward an end that sparks your body to splintered pieces.
“Bard,” you moan quietly, a whisper of sound that is muffled quickly by his languorous kiss.  You clutch him against you and he thrusts just a little bit faster, just enough to make your climax slowly escalate into existence.  It thunders through you just as the sky thunders with the incoming storm, until you’re laying beneath him, spent and pleased in ways only he can cultivate.
He rocks faster, hurrying to catch up to you, thrusting into you at a pace that quickens the slow radiance of his own passion.  You can see in his eyes that he is close, and you can feel it in his body as he shifts toward that end.  It is a wonder to watch him, to study the way his expression tightens, his eyes burn, his lips wordlessly whisper.  And when at last he surrenders to the throes of his own release, Bard tucks you tight against him with a happy sigh, which seems to sum up every tide of his longing for you.
It is not a moment too soon.  You lay together like that for only a few solitary moments, breaths gasping as you slowly drift back down into your little gray room.  And just as Bard begins to kiss a line down your neck, a knock sounds at the bedroom door and Tilda’s childish voice chimes, “Momma, will you make pancakes for breakfast?  Sigrid said to ask you.  She doesn’t want to make me any.”  There is a slight whine to her voice.
Bard heaves an impatient sigh (too often are you interrupted), and you giggle.  Your husband drags you close when you try to get up, and in a firm voice he loudly says, “Your mother will make you breakfast after you and Sigrid do your deliveries.  There is a storm coming in, Tilda.  Be quick about it.”  The girls are often sent to deliver the tailoring work you do for the town – a little business you had started after marrying Bard and giving up your own family business.  Usually you would go with them, but it seems that today your husband wants you all to himself.
You give Bard a look and tell him, “Really, Bard, I don’t think anyone will care if their deliveries are a little late – “
But he cuts you off with a deep kiss that makes you wonder why you even want to leave in the first place, and you surrender to him.  You hear Tilda shuffling around the house, helping Sigrid get the bundles of clothes.  The promise of breakfast makes them hurry out the door in their heavy raincoats, and the moment the front door swings shut, Bard rolls back on top of you.
You giggle and clutch at him, enjoying the passionate, firm kisses that he presses to your lips.
“Let’s see…” he muses, “we have twenty minutes before they return.  However shall we pass the time?”  His mischief is enough to make you chortle with laughter, but your amusement quickly fades when he begins to kiss down your body.
“Mmm…I see you already have a few ideas,” you murmur, half laughing.  He glances up at you playfully and grins, before ducking down to kiss your thigh and then – “Bard!” you gasp, dragging him closer, and he chuckles against your folds.
“I’m hungry for a breakfast of my own,” he mutters rather wickedly, but you don’t have it in you to scold him for it, because then he’s licking at your core and pleasure lights you up, and you surrender once more to him.



  1. This was wonderful!! I love your attention to details!!

  2. This is so good !! >.< You should do a Zero Kiryu lemon from Vampire Knight.

    1. I am so glaf i'm not the only one who's been asking for this lol

  3. This just makes my heart happy in general. I love reading the fluffy smuts along with the rough ones. It's like a nice rainy day after a week of sunshine. You enjoy both but one makes your heart happier ๐Ÿ˜„