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lixiepeach · 8 months

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Fascination

Summary: It’s not love, he muses as he stares down at you. He could never bind himself to such a temporary thing as yourself. Lust, perhaps curiosity, fascination even, that’s brought him to desire you in such a way, that’s entangled you both. He allows himself a moment of tenderness as he brushes the hair stuck to your forehead, his lips pressing softly against yours. You lean into him, fingers brushing the tip of his ear as you trail your hands through his hair.

Pairing: Thranduil x human!reader

Warnings: NSFW, explicit smut, p in v sex, fingering, sort of rough sex, unprotected sex (because of elf magic), no aftercare, interspecies relationship, reader is more of a paramour than anything, Thrandy is a bit obsessed, sort of a toxic relationship depending on how you look at it, it’s not love it’s lust, Thrandy is also a bit egotistical and elitist but what do we expect?

A/N: Thought up this one a while ago whilst in the middle of some thots and decided to just write it since it wouldn't leave me alone. Not my first time writing for LOTR, but it's been quite a while. Might consider turning it into a series if there's enough interest...Anyway, I hope there's enough of a fandom left to enjoy it and that I'm not screaming into a void right now.

MASTERLIST

His eyes trace your form as you lay sprawled in the grass, asleep and entirely unaware. It speaks volumes of your trust, the ease with which you simply exist in his world as you nap in the warm afternoon sun. It’s amusing to him the way you lay there, one arm over your head, the other draped across your stomach, chest rising and falling slowly and evenly as your mind takes you far off into your dreams.

His eyes trace your face, features he’s well acquainted with after hours upon hours of studying them. He connects the colored dots on your skin with his eyes, his gaze following the slope of your nose, the softness of your brow in your relaxed state. His fingers twitch at his side, longing to brush across the warmth of your skin but he stays his hand in fear he might disturb you. He’s not ready for you to be awake yet.

He would gladly stare at you all day, his little mortal.

It’s been a long time since he’s felt desire churning in his stomach, the twisting deep within as he gazes at another. Yet, here he finds himself feeling that warmth in his stomach as he gazes at a simple mortal woman. He had tried to brush it off as simply a fickle thing, many ages of loneliness finally beginning to wear upon him. It wasn’t as if he was without offers. Many brave elleths had approached him, brazenly offering their company in hopes of earning his affections, and even perhaps winning his heart. He had always turned them away, first in pain then in spite. He had ignored the disappointment and shame as he glanced over them, always looking through them, never quite seeing them.

Then you arrived.

It wasn’t often that the race of men graced his halls. He so rarely interacted with men, preferring to send envoys on his behalf the rare chance it happened. You had come not by choice, instead brought in on the brink of death after being rescued by his guards from a nest of spiders. Sick with poison from a bite, you had been in a terrible state upon your arrival, but had made a quick recovery thanks to the talent of his healers.

He’s not sure what it was about you that piqued his interest. You were no one of any sort of importance. A simple human from one of the woodsman villages on the borders of the forest, a mere mortal woman that would have lived and died in a blink of his eye had you not by chance strayed from your path and fallen into the traps of the foul nuisance that was the spiders. Yet as you stood there, nervous before him as you thanked him, offering your life in debt for your rescue, he couldn’t help but stare. He wasn’t looking through you as he so often did others, no, he was seeing you.

Perhaps it was because you saw him. Not the crown, not his status, not the promise of what he could give or the things he had the power to do. You were staring at him. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought perhaps you could see past the carefully crafted illusion and straight into his very being.

That had been weeks ago, and still you linger in his halls at his insistence.

You’ve offered no complaint, brought up no desire to return to your life in your village. There has been no longing in your gaze for your home, no far off look as you thought of your little house where you dwelled alone. He had felt the strength in your hands, the calluses on your fingers that spoke of a life of hard work, of fending for yourself. His fingers often traced the marks on your skin, remnants from accidents and close calls. He’s never bared his own scars to you, and he likely never will.

He continues to stare at you as you sleep, your form illuminated by the golden light of the sun. He wouldn’t go so far as to call you ethereal in its light. You lacked the luminance of elves, though you seemed to glow in a different way. There was something so tangible about you, the life that was almost teeming from you as you smiled, the pure joy in your laughter, the profoundness of your sympathy, the intensity of your stare. You carried the weight of your emotions so plainly, though perhaps that was what it meant to be mortal. The understanding that you had so little time, that your life would end eventually.

He has lived ages before you, and he will live ages after you.

He can no longer ignore the churning in his stomach, the twitching of his fingers, the desire burning hot within him. His fingers trail along the line of your jaw, ghosting down the side of your neck that’s bared to him as your head is turned just slightly to the side. The sun has warmed you, the heat pulsing beneath his fingers. He takes in the texture of your skin, soft for a mortal but not quite as smooth as an elf’s. The corner of his lips lifts upward as goosebumps form on your skin, his eyes drawn down to your chest as his fingers trace your collarbones. You shift in your sleep, his hand pausing until you settle again.

He allows his fingers to follow the neckline of your dress, the fine silk draped across your body in a way that accentuates your curves deliciously. You’re not built like an elf, no long lines and hard edges. You’re all soft curves and rounded edges plainly evidenced by the way the silk clings to your body even as you lay completely relaxed.

You shift once more as his fingers brush the tops of your breasts, your mind beginning to wake. He watches the way your nipples pebble as he teases the sensitive skin of your dress, pressing against the thin fabric keeping them hidden. He loves how sensitive and reactive you are to him, your lips parting in a gasp as he thumbs over one of your hard nipples.

Your eyes are glazed with sleep still as they flutter open, squinting in the sunlight. Your movements are sluggish as you shift below him, stretching your arms over your head. You remind him a bit of a cat as you stretch, letting out a quiet groan.

He lets his hand slide up your chest to your neck, his thumb brushing the line of your throat. “Good afternoon, little one.”

“I fell asleep.” You murmur, awareness beginning to come back to you as you stare up at him.

A smile tugs at his lips, the fondness that he felt for you rising above the desire for a moment. “You did. Quite quickly, I might add.” He says. You have a habit of dozing easily, needing far more sleep than an elf. “Perhaps I am to blame in part for keeping you up so late into the night.” He teases, heat blooming beneath his fingers on your skin.

You have the gaul to look bashful under his gaze, as if you had not captured him under your spell. You make him feel powerful as he looms over you, raw energy pulsing through him like lightning at the thought of how vulnerable you are, how vulnerable he is. How easily you had captured him, how easily life had begun to flow through him again at the sight of you. His blood runs hot, fingers trembling at the thought of how easily you could end him.

One day you will.

He forces the thought from his mind, pressing his thumb against your lips. You press a soft kiss to his skin, your gaze meeting his. You already know what he wants, why he pulled you from your blissful sleep. Your body shifts as he leans down, pressing his lips to yours. You still taste of the wine served at lunch, sweet and earthy with a hint of something else, something that was just simply...you.

His hold on your neck tightens just slightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh. You gasp quietly against his lips, his head tilting to take advantage of your reaction. His tongue invades your mouth, tangling with your own. You sigh into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair. It’s bold, but he allows it, far too focused on his attempt to devour you with his lips.

He shifts his body over yours, your knees parting for him like your body was welcoming his proximity. You are as your hands slip through his hair, silky strands sliding through your fingers. It’s his turn to gasp into your mouth as your fingertips brush the sensitive tips of his ears. The sensation shoots straight down his spine, his back arching into you. He pulls away from your kiss-plump lips, mischief shining in your eyes as you stare up at him. Your fingers flick the tips of his ears again, his eyes fluttering as a groan is pulled from his lips.

“Naughty little thing,” He groans, leaning down to nip playfully at your bottom lip.

Your giggle turns into a sigh as his lips abandon yours to taste your skin, his hand slipping under the skirt of your dress. He can smell your arousal, the thick, heady scent corrupting the fresh air of the gardens. He could get lost in the scent, bury his face in it until it suffocates him. He has lost himself in the scent and taste of you, many surfaces having been defiled by his need. He fights the urge to shove his face beneath your skirts and tease you with his tongue until you’re nearly unconscious.

No, he needs something else from you today.

His hand trails up your leg, pushing your skirts up with it. His fingers close around your thigh, sinking into the flesh. You let out a quiet sound as he digs his fingers into you, hard enough he knows you’ll bruise. He loves how easy it is to mark you, and he loves how long those marks linger on your skin. His rings bite into the sensitive flesh, but you offer no complaint. Instead your head drops back, bearing your throat to him. He bites at the skin of your throat, his tongue laving across the stinging marks his teeth leave behind.

You’re practically boneless under him and he has yet to touch you, your hands rumbling the fabric of his shirt as you hold on to him for dear life. He often wonders what it feels like to you, if his touch electrifies you as much as your touch electrifies him. You’ve never known the touch of a mortal man, you had confessed to him, though it wasn’t due to a lack of suitors.

You had never explained why, though, you had refused the many offers of eligible men over the years. Perhaps it was for the same reasons he refused the willing elleths who propositioned him.

Or, perhaps deep down you knew no mortal man would ever be enough.

He draws himself from you to sit up on his knees, his hands pushing the fabric of your skirt the rest of the way up until it’s pooled around your waist. You’re bare beneath the dress, damp folds on display for him as he takes you in. You are beautiful in the way mortals are, like flowers would be to trees. You’re especially beautiful like this, laid out beneath him shameless and needy. You had been shy at first to his advances, but now you served him without question, without hesitation.

How eager you were to serve your king.

His hand trails from your hip to your stomach, feeling the hitch in your breath as he dips his fingers lower through rough curls before he finds exactly what he needs. Your lips part in a gasp as he brushes your pearl, the scent of your arousal strengthening as he begins to touch you. His thumb brushes over the sensitive bud, watching your face as your eyes get heavy and dark with need. He knows exactly how to play you, exactly how to make you tremble in his arms.

He’ll take his time with you later. Right now, he needs his own release.

You let out a quiet sound as two of his fingers sink into your heat, your body opening up to him. Much time he has spent teaching your body to open to him, to accept him, to be ready for him. As much as he enjoyed the roughness, seeing just how far he could push your little mortal body, as much as he enjoyed taking out his anger and his frustrations on your body, he never wished to hurt you. Many hours had been spent with his hand between your legs, bringing you to the edge but never quite letting you peak.

Not until he was satisfied.

His hand presses into your stomach, holding your hips still as he languidly pumps his fingers in and out of you. Your walls are slick with arousal, gripping him like a vice. His fingers are thick and long, reaching deep inside you, far deeper than you could ever bring your own fingers to. You had tried, you had shown him how you pleased yourself. He wondered how often you had done it in his Halls, how often he had been the one in your thoughts as you brought yourself to your release with your fingers.

He’s forbidden it now, you touching yourself, bringing yourself pleasure. That was his job. It would be only his fingers that you knew, that would bring you to the point of release now. Now matter how dripping with need you are, you’re his. His to pleasure, his to take, his to find release with.

Sometimes he’s not quite sure who is truly in charge. If he commands your body and your mind, or if he’s the one wrapped around your little finger.

You buck against his hand as he curls his fingers, drawing a quiet moan from your lips. There’s no need for silence out here. You’re deep enough in the gardens the guards won’t be able to see anything, and they know by now to close their ears against what their king does in his private moments.

“Please, please My King.” You beg, oh so sweetly.

He stares at you, the sweat beading on your brow, your swollen lips parted as your chest heaves for breath. Your thighs are trembling, hands twisting in the grass beside you. You’re dripping onto his hand, the wet squelch of his fingers like music to his ears.

“Tell me what you need, little one.” He says, the deep timbre of his voice edged with a needy rasp. He’s hard, nearly throbbing beneath the constraints of his pants. He’s far more patient with his own pleasure. He knows it’s coming, he knows you’ll let him take what he needs.

“I-I need...” You stammer, eyes rolling in pleasure as he curls his fingers. A whine leaves your lips as he drags his fingers across that spongy spot inside you. “I-I need you. Please, My King.”

He hums appreciatively at your begging, your desperation. You truly are desperate, he can feel it in the fluttering of your walls around his fingers. He’s not done with you yet, though. His lips lift up in a smirk as he watches you, your gaze locked on his. “Am I not giving myself to you? Are my fingers not enough for you?”

“No!” You whine, thighs trying to close around him as you get closer and closer to release. “I-I need...I want to feel you!” You cry out, greedy in your desperation. “I want you inside me!”

He basks in your begging, your neediness, your shamelessness. He was going to give it to you anyway, and you know this, but you also know he wants to hear you, to see you beneath him, begging him desperately.

He truly wants to believe he is in control.

He pulls his fingers from your folds, lifting them to his lips. You let out a quiet whimper as his tongue darts out, licking your juices from them. You’re musky and almost tangy on his tongue, not unlike a rich wine. He wants to savor you like a wine, but his own neediness is beginning to itch in the back of his mind. He’s beginning to feel his own desperation, his own desire to sink into your warmth and stay there for the rest of eternity.

He releases you enough to free himself from the constraints of his pants, his hand wrapping around his thick length. You tilt your head so you can see him, eyes focused on him as he pumps his length in his hand. Your legs fall open, completely relaxed as you bare your weeping folds to him. He has the desire to praise you, but he holds his tongue. He does not wish to go to that place right now.

Right now he needs release, the sweet release only your body can give him.

You welcome him as he sinks into your body, arms wrapping around him as he presses himself against you. You relax yourself around him as he sinks into your warmth, the wide head of his length spearing you open. You offer no complaint if it’s uncomfortable, only clinging to his tunic as he lets himself rest over you for a moment. Your legs squeeze around his waist as if you’re trying to draw him deeper into you, as if you might fuse his body into yours.

He allows a moment of tenderness as he kisses you, tasting your lips again. You hum into his mouth, walls squeezing around him as if telling him you’re ready, you’re waiting.

You are waiting for him.

He draws his hips back, slow and steady as if he was unsheathing a blade, letting you feel every inch of him as he withdraws from your walls to just the tip of his length. You let out a cry as he presses back into you, reaching as deep as he can, until your hips are flush with his. You cling to him as he sets his pace, rocking into you steadily. There will be grass stains on your dress, but that won’t matter. You’ll change before dinner, wearing something more extravagant as you dined with your king.

Not that you’ll be wearing whatever dress you choose very long. He has every intention of taking you to his chambers tonight and picking you apart piece by piece until you are nothing more than a whining, writhing mess on his bed. Then he will take you apart further until your eyes flutter and your breathing shudders and you dangle over the precipice of unconsciousness as he brings you more pleasure than you ever thought you could feel at once.

That is for later, though.

Right now, he needs to ease the aching desire deep within him, the beast that you reawoke within him. He keeps his pace steady, sharpening the snap of his hips into you. You’re whining and moaning against him, hands clinging to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you on this plane of existence. His blood burns hot within him at the thought of being needed, of being desired so carnally.

You’re growing close to your release, your thighs trembling around his hips. Your cries are loud in the gardens, lost in your pleasure as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. As much as he’s fueled by his own need for release, he wants you to fall over the edge first. He wants to see you lost in your pleasure, even if just for a moment.

He pulls back enough to stare at your face, eyes closed in pleasure, lips parted as you moan. His hand grips the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes are dazed with pleasure, glossy and blown with lust. His fingers dig into your skin, your pulse thrumming under his thumb. Your skin is hot, slicked with sweat from the exertion. He fights the urge to taste it, to lick at the saltiness of your skin, to taste you on his tongue.

Later, he reminds himself.

“Let go.” He grunts, his breath fanning your face. “Let me feel you.”

Your eyes roll back as if he has that much command of your body, your legs tightening around him as you reach your peak. Your walls flutter, tightening and releasing around him, the mechanics of nature to draw him to his own release.

He lets himself go, burying his face in your throat as he spills into you. His body trembles with yours, length twitching as he fills you with his release. For a moment, just a fraction for a second he imagines it, his seed taking root, a half-elven child that takes after you. He wrenches the thought from his mind as if it’s a burning ember, refusing to allow such a daydream to take over his mind.

He pushes himself up to his elbows, staring down at you. His hair curtains around you, soft locks caressing your skin. You're breathing heavily, chest still heaving beneath him. Your eyes are lidded, face nearly as relaxed as it had been when you were sleeping. Your skin is still slicked with sweat, strands of your own hair sticking to your skin. You look ruined and he has barely begun.

You look beautiful.

It’s not love, he muses as he stares down at you. He could never bind himself to such a temporary thing as yourself. Lust, perhaps curiosity, fascination even, that’s brought him to desire you in such a way, that’s entangled you both. He allows himself a moment of tenderness as he brushes the hair stuck to your forehead, his lips pressing softly against yours. You lean into him, fingers brushing the tip of his ear as you trail your hands through his hair.

Fascination, that’s all it is, he tells himself as another shiver runs down his spine.

(I know I had a taglist a long time ago but it's been so long since I've written anything for this blog I'm not even sure if there's anyone on it anymore. I'm willing to put one together though if there's interest...)

#the hobbit #the hobbit fanfic #thranduil x reader #thranduil x human reader #elf x human #x reader #fanfic #lotr fanfic

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raven-awed · 2 years

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What He Noticed First part 2

Ominis Gaunt x fem reader/MC

Angst/fluffy

Summary: Ominis finds himself dealing with a lot of complicated feelings, especially when he realizes he has a crush on the new fifth year.

A/n: Thank you everyone who read part 1! I was not expecting so much support/interest. Thank you @minichrismd for the help! This part is written from the reader’s/MC’s perspective and is fluffier with a happy ending. Enjoy! ☺️ tags: @rascal-20 @stuck-on-writing

*not my picture

Your head tilted to the side as you watched Ominis march off into the dark corridor. You considered chasing after him, but with the way he’s been avoiding you lately, you worried that your presence would only upset him further.

Ominis has never been what anyone would consider open, especially not with you, he seemed to keep all his feelings and thoughts bottled up. Very rarely he’d share what was going on in his head when the two of you would talk.

He always was the one to ask questions, constantly curious about you, but oblivious that you were just as curious about him.

You had hoped becoming closer friends with Sebastian would also bring you closer to Ominis. The way Sebastian talked about their friendship, their secrets, their bond, the more you wanted to become part of that world, their world.

When Sebastian spoke tonight of their time in The Undercroft, you imagined yourself experiencing something similar with them, even if it was just simply sneaking away to practice spells or play Gobstones.

With a long sigh, you slowly walked towards the common room.

The school year had just begun and already things were getting rather complicated, not that you were expecting anything to be easy after learning that you can see ancient magic, but boy troubles should’ve been the least of your worries.

Over the next few days, you focused on school work and completing the first task presented by Professor Rakham.

Ominis had continued to keep his distance, taking a different seat in every class. You weren’t sure how he seemed to know exactly where you were, even when you were as silent as a mouse.

One morning, you received an owl from Professor Weasley asking you to meet with her for an assignment. As you paced around in the hall, you thought about what she had in her letter.

You froze, wide eyed, when a grand door with an intricate design materialized out of nowhere.

“What’s this?” You mused.

“Already found it, I see,” Professor Weasley smiled as she joined you. “This is the room of requirement. Seldom few seem to find it.”

Another secret room, you thought to yourself as you wandered through the vast and cluttered space. Hogwarts truly was full of surprises it seemed.

Professor Weasley shared her story about how she and a house elf named Deeks discovered the room while she was in school. She had decided to share it with you, so you could use it as a place to study and catch up with your class work.

She advised you to close your eyes and that the room would become exactly what you needed.

When you opened your eyes, you gasped. The room that formed around you was incredible, the high ceilings, the beautiful details and designs, it was all absolutely stunning. It was literally something out of your very dreams.

Standing in the center, you slowly turned taking in all the details. Already you were feeling giddy about spending hours here honing your skills.

You paused as one of the paintings caught your attention. Your face began to burn as you spotted a familiar face amongst the random paintings and portraits. Hanging in the middle of the wall was a portrait of Ominis, his head resting on his hand. From the expression on his face, it seemed as though he was in deep thought.

You quickly glanced at Professor Weasley, who fortunately hadn’t noticed the portrait and instead was busy chatting Deeks.

“Why are you here?” You whispered to yourself. It was puzzling that there would be a painting of him, while the rest were of random wizards and witches.

Moving closer to it, you studied Ominis’s face. The image had captured every little freckle and beauty mark of his. You almost felt like you could reach out and touch him. He closed his eyes and a small serene smile formed on his face that made your heart flutter, but under your fingertips all you felt was canvas.

You missed him.

Perhaps that’s why, being near him again was one of the things you were longing for the most, this was likely the room’s way of making that happen.

As Professor Weasley approached you to start your lessons on Transfiguration, the Ominis in the painting wisely slipped away, saving you from any sort of embarrassment.

“Ready to begin,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

…

The following day, you found a seat in the back row behind Ominis who was all the way in the front. You stared ahead, watching him. A couple of weeks ago he would’ve saved the seat next to him. It bothered you more than you cared to admit.

“You should count your lucky stars, he's blind,” Sebastian muttered, taking the vacant seat next to you.

You gave him an irritated look, before returning your attention to Ominis.

“Honestly, it’s pathetic watching you pine for him,” he explained. “The whole school is going to know about it before he does.”

You groaned, shrinking in your seat, were you really that obvious?

“Go talk to him,” Seb urged.

“We haven’t talked since that night outside at the Undercroft,” you whispered as Professor Weasley slowly walked past you and Sebastian. “I think he’s still mad at me.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, “His bark is worse than his bite, trust me. Underneath it all, he’s quite forgiving.”

You sighed, hoping Sebastian was right about that. You continued to stare at the back of Ominis’s head, trying to figure out how to mend things with him.

Suddenly, Seb started chuckling, his body shaking slightly beside you as he tried to contain himself.

“What’s gotten into you now?” You pressed.

“Just occurred to me that you probably wouldn’t mind if he did bite you,” He teased.

“Ugh,” you scoffed disgustedly, giving him a playful shove with your elbow. You must have pushed him harder than you meant to because he lost his balance and fell backwards out of his seat.

“Mr. Sallow,” Professor Weasley reprimanded. “Having trouble staying in your seat again?”

A few students giggled as Sebastian stood up and dusted himself off. “Sorry, Professor.”

Your heart skipped a beat as Ominis turned in his seat slightly, wondering what was going on in the back of the classroom with Sebastian. You really were pathetic, you thought to yourself.

Back in the Room of Requirement, you tended to your Mallowsweet plant as you worried about your predicament with Ominis.

Sebastian was right about a few things this afternoon, one being your attraction to Ominis and the other being that you needed to talk to him. However, that was easier said than done. You weren’t even sure right now if he’d be willing to hear you out.

You glanced over your shoulder at his portrait, the Ominis in the painting was resting his head on his folded arms, taking a nap. His hair was adorably disheveled as he slept. You wished you could brush back the strands hanging in his face.

You had to do something, you didn’t want things to continue down this trajectory, but the only way to fix any of this mess was to do something, anything.

Your best bet would be asking Sebastian for help. He’d be the one who could convince Ominis to at least meet with you. You’d figure out the rest.

…

You played with the sleeves of your robe as you waited for Ominis in the Transfiguration Courtyard.

A cool autumn breeze rustled the leaves of the trees as it passed. Several other students were out enjoying the mild weather, sitting around the fountain reading books and chatting.

You had stayed up all night imagining how this could go. You thought about what you would say, what he would say. You hoped for the best, but expected the worst, heartbreak.

You took in a deep breath as you saw Ominis. As usual he was hard to read, his expression remained blank as he headed towards you.

“Hello Ominis,” you said.

He hesitated with his response as a wave of vanilla carried by the wind greeted him too.

“Y/n,” he finally replied, his lips pressing together in a tight line.

“Thanks for meeting with me.”

“Sebastian was quite persistent on your behalf,” he muttered. “So what did you want to talk about?” He asked, getting straight to the point.

“I-“ you frowned, looking from side to side, there were too many people here. “I-I wanted to show you something.”

Ominis lifted a brow and gave you a questioning look. “Alright,” he agreed reluctantly. “Lead the way.”

You led him towards the direction of the Astronomy Tower. The walk was quiet, filled with tension, you still didn’t quite understand why he was being so cold to you.

Ominis furrowed his brow, wondering why you brought him to the middle of some random hall. “Why are we stopping here?”

Being blind meant that he had mesmerized Hogwarts’ entire floor plan, it took time, lots of time, but it was necessary.

“Just give it a moment,” you explained.

He perked up when he heard the wall beginning to shift and change. Reaching out, he felt wood instead of cold stone, his fingers tracing over the grain and patterns that had magically appeared down towards the handles.

Pushing the doors open, you followed Ominis inside. By the echo of yours and his footsteps, he could tell the space was large with a high ceiling.

“What is this place?” He asked, carefully moving about the room.

“The Room of Requirement,” you shared. “Not quite as secret as the Undercroft, but still relatively unknown to most.”

He nodded, taking it all in, he paused in front of your potions station, it smelled of leech juice. “Brewing Maxima potion?”

“Yes,” you replied. “I’ve been using this space to catch up on class work.”

As Ominis continued his self guided tour, you tried to work up the nerve to tell him. It seemed so much easier when you thought of this plan yesterday, but the words just wouldn’t come out.

“So,” Ominis started, turning towards you. “What was it that you wanted to talk about?”

“I- um-“ you sighed, frustrated. You want to lose this chance, but you were just sputtering like an idiot.

“Well what is-“

But before Ominis could finish his sentence, you pressed your lips to his. Your hands gripped the front of his robes and pulled him closer.

The kiss took Ominis by complete surprise. He didn’t exactly kiss back, but he didn’t stop you either. He was in such shock that his poor mind struggled to accept the fact that you were actually kissing him.

The kiss only lasted for a few seconds, before you slowly parted. Shyly, you looked at him. The expression on Ominis’s face was priceless, his eyes were wide, cheeks tinted pink, and his jaw was hanging open.

You rubbed the back of your neck, “Sorry, that’s not exactly what I had planned to do, but I was worried I’d lose my nerve.”

Ominis blinked, still processing the last few seconds. “What?”

“I like you,” you finally admitted. “A lot, and it’s been driving me crazy that you’re not-“

“You like me?” He repeated.

“I do,” you confirmed in a small voice.

Clearing his throat, Ominis smoothed out his robes and licked his lips nervously, “I like you too.”

He hated how childish and simple the words sounded, originally when he had planned to confess, he had a more eloquent speech prepared, but at least he finally confessed. And he couldn’t even begin to describe the relief he felt knowing you liked him too.

Cautiously, he reached out, fingers extended as he tried to find your face. He swallowed thickly, as the pad of his index finger brushed over your lips.

His touch was so light that it made you shiver. His hand traveled lower, palm resting on your neck. Ominis closed his eyes and tilted his head.

As he leaned forward, you met him the rest of the way. This kiss was slower, more tender. His lips were so soft and plush as they moved against yours.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you,” he murmured, with his eyes still closed. “I was… I was jealous of how close you and Sebastian were becoming.”

Ominis buried his nose in your hair and inhaled deeply, drowning in the scent of vanilla. “I just want to be close to you.”

The next afternoon, you and Ominis walked into the Great Hall hand in hand. All morning the two of you had been attached at the hip. You had explained to Ominis that you both had to make up for lost time and he was happy to oblige.

“Ah, there’s the happy couple,” Sebastian greeted as you and Ominis sat across from him. “I believe I deserve some thanks for this,” his gaze drifted over to Ominis. “One of you is terribly stubborn.”

“More stubborn than you?” Ominis questioned. His hand remained clasped with yours during lunch. Both of you idly conversed with Sebastian and each other while you ate.

“I’ve got Herbology next,” Ominis pouted. “Dreadful subject.”

“Want to meet in The Undercroft after classes?” You asked, leaning close and whispering in his ear. Ominis smiled sweetly as he felt your breath tickling his ear.

“Of course,” he replied and then kissed your cheek.

“Ugh,” Sebastian scrunched his face in disgust and pushed his plate away with part of an unfinished sandwich, “Think I liked it better when the two of you weren’t talking.”

You kicked him under the table. “Maybe we should stop talking to you, then,” you joked.

“Go ahead,” he retorted. “Might spare me from having to hear and see all this lovey dovey nonsense.”

You laughed, “Didn’t know you were so easily offended, Sallow.”

Ominis shook his head, “he’s a real prude, no better than any of the professors.”

“Hey,” Sebastian shouted.

“Come on,” Ominis started, rising from his seat and offering you his hand again. “I’ll walk with you to your next class.”

Tag list: @rascal-20

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x reader #Ominis gaunt fanfic #reader insert #female reader #Hogwarts legacy fanfic #ominis gaunt x mc

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parvulous-writings · 6 months

Text

Untimely Reunion // Astarion x Elf! Reader

Summary: A reunion at a very unsavoury time.

Warnings: Mild mentions of grief/mourning

Words: 2.5K

Notes: Before anyone says anything. Yes. There will be a part 2.... At some point! Did kind of run out of muse for this partway through, but I pushed through!! Hope you all enjoy <3 My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist! Original character list - please request for these too! If you’d like to support me more, consider donating to my kofi! I’d appreciate it loads!!

Things were different, when you were younger - vastly different, from the situation you found yourself in now. You had grown up in Baldur's Gate - a city bustling with life, noise, and so much more besides. Your childhood was a rather happy one - a loving family, a good few friends, and all a child could ever want. Naturally, you had a tiny rebellious streak - but what child doesn't? Your rebellious streak had led down a much more appeasing path than one might have thought, though. You made a friend through it. Another elf, like yourself, by the name of Astarion. The two of you became fast friends - you thoroughly enjoyed his company and various quips he'd come up with. He enjoyed the more quiet, light hearted jokes you'd make. A slightly unlikely pair, the two of you, but an inseparable one nonetheless.

You spent the nearly the entirety of your youth together. Astarion went into Law studies, eventually becoming a Magistrate - and a damn good one, at that. He may not have been the most liked Magistrate in the city, but he was fair, for the most part. You, in turn, went into politics, becoming equally renowned for your prowess of speech. You were well respected, to say the least, to the point that there was a very large crowd who would follow you almost blindly when you made a suggestion for the city. The friendship between you and Astarion was very much a benefit, for both of you; Astarion could help you from time to time with the Legalese of your political rivals, and you kept him up to date with every single law that was freshly passed, typically on the day it was passed; a privilege that very few magistrates had, as most were brought into the loop within the next day or so. Word could travel slow within the world of law, at times.

You had this somewhat unspoken agreement between you for several years. The pair of you liked it that way - although you had your fair share of naysayers, saying how it was 'unfair' or 'too below board', the pair of you ignored it for the most part. It wasn't like the two of you were taking bribes from outer sources to change things, or to let things slide. Or, at least, you thought so.

One morning, you had expected a letter from the Elven Magistrate - a reply to a question (or, rather, several) you had sent him about some scripture a few days prior. But it never arrived, no matter how many times you checked, or pestered the one carrying the post. It didn't come the next day, either. Or the next. Or even the next. You tried not to worry about it, there were some points where Astarion was just too swamped with various cases to reply to your missives; as important as you were, he did put his job before most else. So you decided to wait.

After a week had passed, you had become truly concerned - this was more than just unusual, this was downright worrying. Astarion had never gone that long without contacting you - not even when the pair of you had had disagreements in the past. Though he was certainly a fickle creature, he had never been this bad. So, you took it upon yourself to give his household a personal visit. The journey there was much quicker for you than most would have assumed; being someone of such importance and high standing in Baldur's Gate made people very eager to be out of your way, rather than obstructing it. But when you arrived, there was no cordial greeting from the elf, nor even a flicker of a drape. For all intents and purposes, it looked almost as if there were no one home - besides, of course, the obvious care that the few servants he had employed had paid to the small estate and it's accompanying garden. As you briskly approach the door, and raise your hand to knock, a rather nervous looking gardener cleared his throat to get your attention.

"Apol.. Apologies, Laird.." He stumbled over his words as he addressed you, and clearly couldn't bring himself to meet your eye. "His worship isn't here at the present time..." "That much is obvious." You replied, sharply. "I'm sure his Steward would be happy to let him know that I paid a visit, would he not?" "... Stefan is also, not here right now... He's.. He's with the constabulary..." Your blood ran cold at this. The constabulary? Why in the hells would the steward be there? This could only mean trouble. Your glare, focused on the gardener, urges him to continue. "H-he's been there since this morning - his worship is, um.." He trails off, his voice audibly wobbling as he does. "His worship is what?" You ask through gritted teeth, taking a slow, but meaningful step towards him. "Missing- ... His worship is missing, your grace..." The gardener was trying to hide his nerves and failing spectacularly. Some things start to click into place inside your mind. "For how long?" You ask, your volume dropping. "Just over a week, your grace..." That's why he hadn't responded to your letters.

You lapsed into silence, as the gardener hurriedly explained to you all that he could recall about the situation; the morning that he had disappeared was like every other morning. He got up for breakfast, and made some idle chatter about what he was expecting for that day. The gardener scrambled to list a few of the things that his employer had mentioned - there were three cases of petty thievery, mostly concerning Gur and others that lived outside of the main city walls, that had been blown out of proportion, a property dispute, and a few cases of various assaults that had made it to court. To your knowledge, there was nothing out of the ordinary at all. Not to mention, the gardener didn't mention any unusual behaviour from the elf. Not that he would notice it anyway, to be fair to him, but at least he was trying to be helpful. A curt farewell to the fellow followed, and you were quick to leave - even quicker were you to call for an investigation into Astarion's disappearance following the Steward's report to the Flaming Fist. The search went on for near four months - you refused to let the Fist simply file this as a cold case. It was a perk, you seem to recall being told by another friend of yours, of being in the public eye so much, and being in such good standing. The Flaming Fist simply couldn't afford to displease you on this matter, lest you speak out and entirely tarnish their reputation as a law-force. But, eventually, both you and them had to admit that there was nothing more you could do - Astarion was gone, and there was absolutely no sign of him.

Naturally, you began to mourn. Your childhood friend, just... Gone. Of course, you didn't know if he was dead, but he might as well have been. It felt strange in your day to day life, catching yourself thinking about the next time the two of you would have afternoon tea, or exchange letters, only to have to remind yourself that those pass-times would be no more. As your grief deepened over the next few months, you started to accept the fact that maybe he was dead. Astarion - as wonderful a magistrate as he was - wasn't always the best at staying on people's good sides. But he was so young, for our kind. You'd think to yourself. The more thought you gave it, the more it tragic it became to you. Your childhood best friend, your closest confidant, gone before even his 50th birthday. But, time moved forward, and eventually you did too - never entirely forgetting the man, but beginning to think about him less and less. What was the use in dwelling on things that couldn't be changed? You thought about him from time to time, but came to accept that whatever had happened to him, he wasn't coming back to the city, if he was even still alive.

That was, until you found yourself amidst a mindflayer invasion. You had heard whispers, of course - who hadn't? But to see one of your fellow politicians warp, mutate, and change before your eyes... It was horrid. Nauseating. Thankfully, some deep-rooted need for survival took hold of you, and you broke into a run, trying to flee the creature before it could get it's newly-formed tentacles wrapped around your head. Scampering out into the street, you saw that you were not the only one who had been ambushed by someone suddenly undergoing ceremorphosis. The streets were in chaos - you could hardy even dwell on what had become of the city before you were on the run again, sprinting down various alleyways in an attempt to flee the hundreds of mindflayers amongst the populous. When your legs grow sore, and your lungs short of breath, you wearily come to a stop. Your hands rest on your thighs as you try in vain to recover from your sprint. You were so wrapped up in trying to figure out what in the hells was going on, that you don't hear the wet, smacking sound of a mindflayer trailing up behind you.

"Look out, you fool!" Was all you heard before being pushed to the ground - out of the way of the horrid purple creature that had nearly caught you by surprise. You didn't really get a good look at your saviour to begin with; his face was obscured by the sun. All you could make out was the tips of his pointed ears, and how some of his curls had nestled around them. You paused, watching as the figure made sure the illithid was dead with a flurry of blows from his dagger. "Gods, are all of you city dwellers this blind?" He scoffed, with a 'holier-than-thou' tone. It was one you felt was... Oddly familiar. No, more... You knew that voice. Your brows furrow, as you slowly push yourself to your feet to come eye-to-eye with the man who saved you. Red eyes glare back at you - piercing and, in a way... Keen. "Well?" The man says, impatiently. There's a rather... Upper City edge to his accent, making it all the more familiar. "... No. We're not." You reply, almost deadpan. "But... Thank you." You reply, trying to show at least some decorum. Your saviour pauses, something in his eyes... Shifting. He seemed almost shocked, but he was quick to recover. "Well, make sure it doesn't happen again." He seems quite smarmy - a small smirk gracing his features, making his eyes crinkle. "I can't go around saving everyone, you know..."

And then it clicks. You know where you've seen that face before.

"Astarion?" Your voice is quiet, unsure. Part of you can hardly believe - or maybe, doesn't want to believe - that Astarion is standing in front of you. He looks different, now. His hair is white, even paler than what it used to be, but it still curls around his ears just the same. His eyes are a deep red, and as he starts to practically sneer at you, you can just about make out the fangs that now reside in his mouth. "Is.. Is that really you?" You mumble, just barely managing to stop yourself from reaching out to him. Astarion stares at you for a few moments longer, before the sneer that had put itself upon his lips melted away, replaced with something much, much softer - something almost mourning. Something in your chest begins to ache, and you realise you had begun to cry as you feel wet tears trail down your cheeks. The elf just seems stunned. "Gods, it's been centuries-" You take a step towards him as you speak, and he takes an instinctive step backwards. "It... Has.." He says, slowly. He seems quite unsure of himself - caught off guard, even, by your presence. "You... Look well." He tells you. This isn't quite the Astarion you remember, he's much more reserved now. Or perhaps he's just nervous. "You look... Different." You echo back to him, and you see him visibly swallow. That must be a sore spot for him. He opens his mouth to speak, then sighs. "It's... A long story." He tried to avoid your gaze, and you could remember him well enough to know not to pry- especially now that you were pressed for time. He glances over his shoulder as something booms off in the distance. He curses under his breath, before turning back to you. "... How about this? We can be all sappy after this world-ending crisis is stopped... If we both survive." He says to you, and you slowly nod in agreement. Standing here for too long could get the both of you killed. "When this is over.." He continues, "I will meet with you... Say... One of our old haunts - the tavern, near where you used to live... And I will tell as much as I can..." He offered you a smile as he spoke, and you could see those sharpened teeth of his more clearly. Something wasn't just different about him, something was wrong - but, for the most part, he still seemed to act like the Astarion you used to know. You consider it for a moment - what could go wrong, should you both survive? - Before nodding softly. "It's a deal... I shall wait for you." You tell him, pushing down the myriad of growing questions that you had for him. How was he still alive? Where had he been? Why did he look so... Different? He gives a slight chuckle - you hadn't changed much at all, in his eyes. You were still that same sly, snarky politician he had known in those centuries past. He gave a rather playful bow to you, falling back into his old ways. "I shall try not to keep you waiting for too long.." You could hear the smirk on his lips as he spoke, before he rose to his full height again, his expression falling. "Now, go - find somewhere safe... And do try not to let anymore Mindflayers sneak up on you, I won't be able to help with those ones..." He murmurs. "I am, unfortunately, needed elsewhere..." He tells you, starting to march forward, dagger still in hand. You start to call out to him, but you're hardly through the first word of your sentence when Astarion calls over his shoulder to you. "Just go!" You have few other options but to do as he says, ducking into another alley and taking refuge in a partially destroyed home. You hoped to remain at least somewhat safe, here... You'd have your thoughts and theories on the other Elf to keep you company, at least. You clasped your hands together as you sunk to the floor to remain out of sight to anyone who may peer inside the building, quietly praying, to any God that may listen to one measly mortal, that the pair of you may live through this.

At least, until you saw him again.

#requests open #x reader requests #x reader oneshot #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate x reader #romance #astarion x reader #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion

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tealfling · 10 months

Text

Tiefling Spice.

A/N: I’m new to writing fanfiction, and honestly, don't know how any of this works, but I just had to because of Astarion. I think I thought of all the labels.

Summary: Amaranth muses over the taste of blood with her favorite traveling companion, Astarion.

Pairing: Astarion x F!Tav

Tags: tiefling tav, named tav, flirting, banter, somewhere between Act 1/ beginning Act 2, some innuendo

Tav: Amaranth, purple tiefling Cleric

"Hot Cinnamon."

"What?" Astarion turned to Amaranth confused. The purple tiefling had taken to reading beside him in his tent lately, but her book--some spell tome-- had laid ignored in her lap for the past serval minutes. Her white gaze fixated on nothing in the distance as a finger wrapped and looped a long curl of her silver hair. He'd noticed she usually did this when she thought, but he couldn't figure out where her mind had been to say such a thing.

Amaranth faced him with a deadpan expression, "Karlach. I bet her blood tastes like a hot cinnamon kind of spiced drink."

Astarion chuckled in the soft way he did when he was caught off guard, snapping his book shut, then setting it to the side. That conversation had been so long ago, that he was surprised she remembered. "Interesting," he drawled considerately. "She does seem like a sweet spiced burn, doesn't she?" He remarked, regaining his flirtatious air. "But Darling, I'm hurt, here you sit in my company while your mind wanders to another?" he said with mocked melancholy.

Amaranth replied, "Well, I was watching you drink, then I thought about blood, and then I remembered when you asked me what I thought the others might taste like." Astarion watched Amaranth chatter away. Silver freckles danced like starlight across purple cheeks as she hurriedly walked him down her train of thought. "...and then the campfire reminded me of toasted marshmallows, which is how Karlach kinda smells, and then I remembered you asking what the other's blood might taste like...."

The pale elf hummed, mostly watching Amaranth's expressions animate across her face as she spoke rather than listening to her words. His ruby gaze occasionally returned to her plum fingers twisting and raveling that one pearly curl section.

"HEY. Star?"

"Hmm? Yes?" Astraion responded, startled back to the moment by an intense tone and a new name she never called him before. He realized the weight of the silence settling between them. There was a question he hadn't answered and a concerned expression slowly knitting across the face before him.

"Are you okay? You didn't answer my question and I thought I lost you there for a second." Amaranth said gently while trying to hold a playful air. Her eyes were soft, but keenly watching his face for tells.

Deciding he needed to redirect this change in mood, Astarion brushed his long fingers through his bangs, setting a coy smile on his face. "Apologies, Darling, it seems I became distracted admiring those adorable freckles of yours," he thrummed, hoping to fluster his company.

Not today.

Amaranth placed both hands between them, exposed arm muscles flexing to support her as she leaned into his space, face only a few inches lower from his as he retreated a bit from the unexpected invasion. She paused, taking in his wide-eyed expression, unsure. Mirroring his earlier tone, she repeated, " I said. You still haven't told me how I tasted." Her faux sultry look surveyed his face, constantly assessing him, ready to pull back. His pupils dilated, but not much else changed. It only took a moment for his face to settle, ready to unleash a counterattack. She held up a finger, " Ah, and before you throw 'delicious' at me again, it makes for a cute compliment, but rather too vague for a proper description," she said, sitting back on her tucked legs, giving Astarion breathing room. "We both know you can do better than that," she teased. Her tail tip swayed playfully, as she crossed her arms, awaiting his response.

Being on the back foot was Aatarion's least favorite place to be, but lately, Amaranth seemed to be getting the better of him in their little game. Although vexing at times, perhaps it meant his plan was working, that she was falling for him. While it made the game more challenging, her riposte was also, admittedly, more fun. Her initial intrusion toward his person overwhelmed him, an uneasy spark flitting in his stomach. But she just, hovered there, allowing him to adjust. Her tiefling heat permeated the span between them. As she went on, talking about blood, wondering about her flavor, all the while the very thing loudly and visibly pulsed in the neck inches from his face, the scent so strong he could taste it. It irked him that he had to restrain himself from inhaling it deeply. He didn't wish for her to take the impression he might be wanting.

No, Astarion needed to restrategize. Turn this back on her. He sat up, readjusted his shirt, then rested his arm on his bent knee. "Oh, come now my Dear? Where's the fun in that?" he goaded with a flip of the wrist. "You need to guess."

"You're not going to tell me?" the tiefling asked, taken aback. Her pearl-colored brows furrowed.

The pale elf inhaled through his teeth to drawl, "It's hardly a challenge if I tell you now, isn't it Darling?"

"Seriously? How am I supposed to guess? The few times I've tasted my blood, it was either flavorless or reminded me of copper!" she huffed.

"Well," he paused considering, "maybe I'll tell you... If you beg," he ribbed with a small chuckle. Astarion watched as Amaranth bristled. He liked getting a rise out of her. For a moment, he thought he caught a glimpse of her tell when a salacious thought crossed her mind, but, alas, her pewter brow furrowed deeper instead. Amaranth pouted, sucking in the corner of her lip. He'd seen her do this in frustration before, a glimpse of the tiny ivory tip of her tiefling fang baring down on her bottom lip in annoyance. Astarion hated it when she bit her lip this way, the last few times she'd done it, he felt like he might want to bite it too.

For a bit, the only sound between them was the soft, irritated thump of Amaranth's tail on the floor. Her diamond eyes locked in a scowl toward his crimson ones. How hard was it for him to give a little? The question shouldn't be that hard. None of the others at camp were willing to give him their blood, but he'd had intelligent blood in battle before. So between those and their...schedule...by now he surely should have had a working flavor profile of comparison. He was just toying with her. Being told her blood smelled good was--novel, but no one had said why. And Amaranth had to know.

"Fine," she sighed, adopting a look of indifference.

Astarion lifted a single white brow but said nothing. Waiting. He watched as she lifted her long hair back in a stretch, noting the strategic reveal of his favorite part of her neck. The tiefling stood pretending to dust off her thick thighs.

Amaranth continued with a feigned defeated huff, " I guess I'll just go ask my other favorite monstrosity what I taste like. He also thinks I smell delicious and he has been begging for a bite." The tiefling dramatically spun on her heel to face the exit.

"What!? Who?!" Astarion jolted up in a panic.

The purple tiefling whipped around with a giggle, "The owlber cub. You silly goose." Her gentle gaze met his unsure round eyes as he cautiously approached. Damn. That look made her weak. Though, it was quickly countered by his repulsed shrill.

"THE OWLBEAR CUB?" Astarion exclaimed. "That filthy thing?"

Amaranth clicked her tongue, "Oh, now, don't be like that. I know you secretly like him."

"I do not." Astartion puffed, sticking up his nose, and crossing his arms.

"Did you forget, Star, that one of my many talents is Beast Speech?" Amaranth hummed. His ears perked, glancing at her when he heard what he supposed was a new pet name of hers. "I know you let him cuddle you while you read. Don't worry, he likes you, too." The elf rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue. A little too dramatic to be real.

"Anyway," she continued slowly, rocking on her feet, " I guess if you have nothing more to say, then I'll see you for supper." Amaranth conspicuously added, "Unless, I'm utterly devoured first. I don't know if the owlbear cub has ever eaten tiefling before."

"You'd better well not be!" snapped Astarion, playfully. "You know I don't like sharing," he quipped.

Amaranth felt her cheeks pull into an easy smile. This was her favorite type of banter. "I'll see what I can do. There's a chance I'm quite tasty." She smirked, stepping closer to Astarion. "Perhaps I'll offer him a toe? As a treat?" Amaranth made a sweeping gesture to feet. "Definitely, not the tail. I'd miss it too much." She whipped it for emphasis. Astarion chuckled taking a step closer. Amaranth made a low thoughtful hum. "What else?" She pondered, making exaggerated finger taps to her pouty bottom lip. "Ah! What's your least favorite finger?" Amaranth cheerfully beamed, wiggling her fingers beside her face.

Resting his hand on his chin, Astarion looked quite statuesque. He regarded each amethyst palm with careful consideration, before snatching her right wrist in a firm grasp, eliciting a surprised eep from her lips.

Amaranth froze.

Her eyes immediately locked on his face. Trying to read him. When did he get so close? She took careful, calculated breaths. Unsure of what he would do, she waited to see how to react.

Astarion brought her hand closer to his face. With a cool, nonchalant expression, he studied the hand more closely under a discerning red gaze. Using his free hand, he judiciously traced each of her fingers with his, leaving a trail of tingles in his wake. His eyes were observantly fixed on his task. Her eyes were glued to his every movement. He used his own fingers to splay hers more open.

Had his hands always been so much bigger?

Separating her index finger from the rest, "Not this one, Darling," he said in a luscious purr, "It's my favorite." Finally, he met her stare with a sinful gaze as he kissed the very part of her finger that touched her own lips not a short time ago.

Shit.

Amaranth tried to control the exhale that escaped her, but she could feel her nostrils flare. It was obvious between them that she had been holding her breath. She hadn't expected this. He grinned fiendishly as he worked toward the next finger.

"Actually, my Dear, I don't want to part with any of your delectable digits," he droned, brushing his lips across all her fingers. He turned her wrist up, pressing a kiss down on her pulse.

Using the new angle, Amaranth took the chance to caress his cheek with the tips of her fingers that could reach. He flinched, and she retracted her fingers.

"I didn't know you were so jealous of a baby owlbear," she mused softly.

He scoffed, "I'm not," releasing her wrist, but leaned his cheek into her hand. "You're just too important to lose your delightful hands. Could you imagine if we had to rely on only Shadowheart and -ugh- Gale for spells and healing?" He smirked, but his words sounded more sincere than he intended.

"What about Wyll?"

"Ah ha! Wyll doesn't count," he said smugly, causing the tiefling to roll her eyes.

Amaranth gingerly trailed her finger over his cheekbone, barely touching his skin. She used it to move her favorite white curl behind his ear. Enjoying the way the pointed tip flushed. For a second, she caught a glimpse of those sad, round eyes he liked to hide, the ones that made her knees weak.

"Well," she sighed, lowering her hand, "I guess I'd better go help with dinner so that everyone that actually needs food gets fed. It's not fair to make them suffer through so much of Gale's cooking when I'm right here." She joked.

Astarion shifted uneasily, running his fingers through his hair. This was something new he occasionally did, like he wanted to say something, but held back. With Astarion and Shadowheart, she knew better than to press. They needed room to open.

"And what about you?" She inquired pleasantly, "Will you be dining out or ordering room service?"

He paused as if weighing his options before replying, "That depends on what's on the menu tonight?" His rakish grin appeared on his face.

Amaranth lamented in jest, "Unfortunately, only the same old thing that's on the menu every night. However," she perked, struck with an idea, "If you want, I could try to see how many spices I can add to change the flavor?"

"Oh, please, Darling, you're salty enough already." Astarion poked, waving her off with a hand before resting it on his hip.

The tiefling gaped, pushing his shoulder back, "Fine! Garlic breath it is, saer!!" she hissed flippantly. Revolving on the balls of her feet and stomping toward the threshold.

"Wait!" Amaranth hadn't reached the drapes before Astarion's long fingers grazed her arm, stopping her in her tracks faster than a Hold spell. "I was just teasing." He purred.

That was obvious. She replied flatly, "I know," still facing the entrance, trying to hide how happy she was that he stopped her.

"So, you'll come back later?" he asked from behind. It sounded like he was trying to be indifferent.

"Maybe. I don't know. I have other monstrosities I have to feed, you know." she tossed over her shoulder, acting aloof.

She felt Astarion close in behind her. He pulled back her hair, whispering into her ear, "But, you said I'm your favorite, right my Sweet?" Feeling his long fingers caress through the hair at the base of her neck caused her core muscles to flex. Electric tingles danced down her spine. SHIT.

"Yeah," she breathed, "you're my favorite." Amaranth turned her chin up toward his words. Noticing how very close their mouths were. And how very little it would take to close the gap. She could feel the warmth crawling across her cheeks. This fucking cheat was getting the better of her. Amaranth could feel her mind already lulling, she had to do something.

If she let him win now, she'd be here all night, the others would surely come looking for her. And the ones that would come were the ones that would react the worst to finding him fangs deep in her throat...If that's how they found them...

They still had chores to do before nightfall. Before the others stopped checking in with her.

The right thing to do would be to take a pause. She needed to tap out. Before she could lose her will, the purple tiefling popped up on her toes, landing a quick peck on his lips.

"I'm still eating garlic," Amaranth piped, darting out of Astarion's tent.

#astarion #astarion romance #tav x astarion #astarion x mc #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #astarion brainrot #astarion fic #astarion headcanons #astarion my beloved #astarion x female tav #astarion x oc #tiefling tav #my tav #tav oc #write your tav #bg3 fanfiction

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demonscantgothere · 2 years

Text

I did a thing.

An Inexorable Fate by Helholden

Fandoms: The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power (TV 2022), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types

Warnings: Teen And Up Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply | F/M | Complete Work

Relationship(s): Galadriel/Halbrand (The Rings of Power)

Tags: Galadriel, Halbrand (The Rings of Power), Elf/Human Relationship(s), Denial of Feelings, Nature Versus Nurture, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Unresolved Tension, Declarations Of Love, Late Night Conversations, Existential Angst, Existentialism, Good and Evil, Good versus Evil, Hints of Sauron!Halbrand, But Can Be Read As Just Halbrand, If You're Not Down With That Train, I Wrote This While Listening to Hozier's Music, OTP: Keep It With Me Always, OTP: Bind It to My Very Being, Post-Episode 6: Udûn

A/N: Many, many hints of Sauron!Halbrand, but barely beneath the surface and never explicitly spoken, so if that's not your thing, fear not. Can be totally read without all of that subtext. But the subtext was intentional. Oh so intentional. If you like it, love it, let me know! I might write more if y'all want it.

Summary:

“Pray tell,” she whispered back, “what is this, then?”

There were many words for what this was, and yet none of them seemed to do it justice. He sought for moments trying to grasp at it until he found himself speaking outside of himself by a voice that seemed hardly of his own accord. “We seek acceptance, do we not?” Halbrand reasoned, meeting Galadriel’s eyes. “You and me, we are the outsiders amongst our own people, but together, we are a unified front. We could send a message together. Show them it’s possible. Not just hope, but goodness. Altruism in its purest form . . . ” His hand had found its way back to her cheek, flushed pink and so, so warm to the touch.

Love, came the thought, but he banished it as soon as it reared its head from the depths.

* * *

The overlook swirled with snow, a light fall that shrouded the sky in a grey mist. It was on the edge of the world above a vast mountain range of white-tipped peaks. Each one shot upwards into the sky like spikes, and it gave the view an eerie feeling. She stepped up beside him, cloaked in white and beaten grey leathers, wisps of loose blonde hair flowing freely from her braid in the wind. Her face was no longer covered in blood and ashes, and the color was strong on her cheeks. She was healing from the beating she took almost as good as he was recovering from his own, and she stood straighter than him. It made him smirk to think of it.

He took her hand, cold and icy despite the leather that wrapped his palms for protection. She seemed taken aback by the gesture, but only the look in her eyes gave it away. Her body did not move. She reckoned she could flip him if needed, he calculated, but she didn’t believe it would be necessary.

She was right about that.

A fire crackled on the logs behind them within an alcove wrought from weather and time. He had soaked the wood in liquor to burn it quickly. Up this high, it was warmth or death for most. Luckily, despite that or because of it, they were spared an audience for once. No need to whisper. It reminded him of that brief time right after the first battle when they had sat alone together in the woods. He had told her something then he was not so sure he had intended to say out loud, but a part of him deep down longed for nothing more, and so he did.

It seemed his emotions regarding her would send him to many unnamed places.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, staring at the dangerous view before them. A silly question. Neither of them would be here on this mountain if it weren’t for the other. They had followed each other up here, and fought through the peril side by side. There was blood on her blade as real as the blood on his own sword. They were in this together, blood for blood.

“Haven’t decided yet,” she mused aloud, a soft smile on her lips. Gods, he loved her smile. It caused the corner of his mouth to crinkle up. She never gave a damn about propriety most of the time. It was one of the most charming things about her.

“Good,” Halbrand quipped. “You shouldn’t place your trust in people so easily. We are more fickle than elven folk.”

The slightest of smiles tugged at Galadriel’s lips. “Are you trying to warn me, Lord Halbrand?”

“Hardly,” he said, the humor falling away from his voice. His eyes scanned the horizon. “Did we come here for nothing?” he finally asked.

His question dropped them into deep silence. The ash and soot had spread wide in the eruption, covering everything within sight. The mountain was bright and bloody, flowing ever freely each moment. He knew what this was without having to ask questions, and a part of her already knew as well or had discovered it in Númenor. The solemn acceptance with which she faced it spoke volumes to him.

Her hand slipped away from his, causing him to look down before looking up again. She was walking towards the edge, surveying the wide world below.

“Not nothing, no,” Galadriel told him. “Our efforts are not in vain. We can still stop this. Together, we can stop this. I have every faith in that, Lord Halbrand.”

It hurt to hear her say that, but it wasn’t the type of pain he was used to. It was different. Halbrand didn’t know what to call it. He had never felt it before. He had never seen a single being before possess as much self-assurance in their convictions outside of her. Galadriel was one of a kind. She was special.

That much he knew, even if he did not understand the feeling it had stirred within him.

The backdrop of nightfall was approaching fast, shrouding her visage in blue and silver. The pieces of metal in her clothing and hair caught the moonlight and starlight and set her ablaze in light. Galadriel almost glowed against the sky, and Halbrand found himself walking toward her to join her by the cliff’s edge. He glanced over her shoulder from behind, the sight dizzying to say the least. They were sequestered against the wall, an overhang of rock and roof above their heads—a crumbled vestige of the fortress it once was. The whole wall ahead of them had fallen off the edge of the mountain. Its boulders lay broken on the empty and abandoned roads far, far below. Empty and abandoned like this place.

Except for them.

“If you believe it, then so do I,” he whispered next to her ear, causing Galadriel to lean against him in a moment of lessened inhibition. A little sigh wracked her lungs. He felt her hand reach back and grip his, layers and layers of leathers between them. It was too cold for what he wanted to do to her. Thank the gods, because he didn’t know if she would kill him for even thinking about it.

“I believe it,” she murmured, and he found himself yet again possessed by something he didn’t quite understand yet. He moved closer until they were no more than an inch apart from each other. A risk, yes, but a calculated risk with heavy payoff and reward.

For some reason, she stuck around unlike the rest, so maybe—just maybe—the feelings were mutual.

“Come back to the fire with me,” he murmured. “It will keep you warm. It’s freezing up here.”

She turned around as if space wasn’t an issue, staring up at him with a smile. Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Lord Halbrand, I do not feel the cold as you do. If you wish to return to the fire to keep warm, all you need do is ask.”

A jest. He felt his mouth fall open a little. She was brazen sometimes with her choice of words. He had never met an Elf with her fire before. They were all so demure. Not her. His eyes fell to her lips. She was so close. All he had to do was lean forward to close the space between them.

“ . . . Lord Halbrand?”

He looked up. Galadriel’s brow was furrowed, her expression one of worry. Like she was worried about him. If only she knew his thoughts. He was surprised she couldn’t read them outright. It seemed like a gift she ought to possess.

“Are you all right?” Galadriel asked. It was firmer this time. Her free hand came to touch his cheek. Her palm, it was so warm; it caused his eyes to drift nearly shut. He felt his body move forward of its own accord, possessed by this feeling utterly.

She disappeared like a breeze from his touch. Halbrand’s eyes shot open, finding her before him still but distant, having released his hand and cheek and pulled away from him. There was a foot or two between them now, and his body felt cold without her next to him. His breathing deepened, a nervousness overtook his movements.

“Have I offended you?” he asked quietly. “I thought . . . I thought you felt the same as me. As what I spoke to you by the stream’s edge. You said—”

Galadriel’s lips thinned slightly. She tilted her chin up. “—I felt it, too,” she finished for him. “I remember it well, Lord Halbrand.”

Unsure, he took a step forward. Galadriel countered it with one step back. He stopped. This was a dance. A very old one.

“Why do you step back from me, Galadriel?” He spoke her name with its Elvish enunciation, which caused her eyes to widen somewhat as if in surprise. “Have I shown you harm, or hate? Or anything else unsavory in nature?” Her nostrils flared a little almost in anger at what he suggested.

“Lord Halbrand,” Galadriel stated firmly, “I don’t understand your mea—”

“Oh, don’t be so obtuse,” Halbrand shot back, emotion taking him over. “You’ve pushed at me since day one. Do you think I’m going to fall for the innocent woman routine now?”

Her eyes grew fiery. “How dare you—”

Halbrand held up his hand in an attempt to quell what he had accidentally started in haste. “I meant only that you pretend to not understand my meaning,” he rectified. “It is not a judgment on the pureness of your character, but that I know—” he looked her directly in the eyes, “—that you understand me.”

Galadriel looked furious. Her cheeks were flushed, and he wanted to kiss them. That was the wrong thought to have right now. “What if I did?” she threw back at him. “What if I did understand you? What would it change, Lord Halbrand? I am an Elf, you are a Ma—”

Halbrand held up a single finger to his own lips, slowly shaking his head. He did not interrupt her this time. She just stopped speaking. She looked like she would burst from the effort alone, staring at him in earnest now. Lost herself, for once. He took the moment to close the distance she had put between them. Halbrand gently took her hand in his grip again, covering it with the other. “What does it matter? What we are?” He shook his head. “Does it not matter more ‘who’ we are?” Galadriel’s bottom lip shook ever so slightly. “Who are we, Galadriel?”

She shook her head softly. “I don’t know,” she whispered in response.

“Are we at war with one another, Galadriel?”

“No,” she answered quickly, “of course not.”

He took the hand laid upon hers and put it above her heart just below the collarbone. “Is this war, what we feel?”

She trembled beneath his hand. She was looking him in the eyes at least. “No . . . ”

“We are not enemies,” he murmured, leaning ever closer to her face. “We are friends, are we not?”

“Yes . . . ”

He leaned closer, inches away from her lips. He could feel her soft breath touch his skin. “There is no hate between us, no strife . . . ”

“Lord Halbrand—”

“Halbrand, please,” he corrected her in a whisper, and she shuddered enough he could feel that, too. “Galadriel, this is not war you feel—”

“What is it, then?” she interrupted, and he knew it right then.

This was the moment that would damn him forever.

“Can I show you?” he suggested ever so slightly, brushing her chin with his fingers. Only at her behest would he make so bold a move. She faltered. It was such a small quiver. He barely saw it, but he felt it beneath his fingertips, and it caused him to lean ever closer to her. Her breath washed over his lips, and he forgot himself.

There were no great words to describe what happened next. It was primal, instinctual, but mingled with love and respect and the smallest twinge of fear. Her lips tasted of no fruit, but they were sweet, and soft, and she kissed him back with an effort that was just barely there. His mouth parted, and so did hers; a dance both their kind knew from the beginning of the world to the end of it.

Her fingers found a way to snake into his hair, gripping it with enough force it hurt just a little, and he kissed her back more fervently. She knew what this was; he had no need of telling her, but it wasn’t that he wanted most of her. There were other things, deeper and more primal than lust alone, and they could have that one day, if . . .

“ . . . Halbrand?”

He sighed softly, pausing and laying his forehead against hers. “Yes, Galadriel?”

“This cannot go futher than it already has.”

He raised her hand to his mouth, kissed the top of her knuckles. They had healed already from their war wounds, and the blood had been washed away. Her skin was pure and clean.

“I do not seek to besmirch your honor in that way,” he finally murmured, staring at her skin. It was so white, he could see the blue beneath it.

“Pray tell,” she whispered back, “what is this, then?”

Galadriel’s eyes darkened ever so slightly. “What does goodness have to do with what is between us, Halbrand?”

He swallowed. Too much, he thought. Too much. “I . . . ” His voice caught in his throat. How could he fix this before it spiraled away from him forever? His fingers laced with hers, clutching them tightly. “I don’t know, but I know together we can do anything. I am more myself with you than I have been in a very long time, Galadriel . . . ”

When he said her name like that, her eyelids fluttered almost to a close. Halbrand clasped her neck and pulled her to his lips; he couldn’t help it this time. The feeling overpowered him, and the light touch of her fingers dancing across the back of his own neck sent his hairs on end and a tingle all the way down his spine. He kissed her in earnest, parting lips and sliding his tongue forward between hers. A little moan escaped her, and his other hand found its way to her waist, gripping her closely to his body. Leathers and layers between them, but his skin was on fire.

She dug her nails into his flesh at the nape, leapt easily into his arms with a litheness he had seen her use only in battle; her legs were wrapped around his waist, and she held onto him tightly. The move took him by surprise, but the shock of it wore off into fiercer kisses that took them over to the fire, and then to the blankets thrown down into a makeshift bed he had put together earlier for his watch. This would not go too far, he knew, but he also didn’t want it to stop just yet.

She fit beneath him easily, but she had slithered into a less compromising position where he did not lay between her legs yet still remained on top of her. Their kisses had slowed down to something of a smolder like the embers in the deepest part of the fire. He touched her face, and she, his; his lips strayed to her cheeks. One by one, he kissed them, before turning upward to her forehead. His hand cupped her face, and he placed the lightest brush of his lips against her brow.

Galadriel held onto his wrist, her thumb sliding back and forth against his skin. It burned him.

He pulled back, wanting to see her eyes. They were so blue; they sparkled lively against the backdrop of stone and snow. Halbrand found himself brushing a stray piece of hair from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. Their eyes met between his wandering gaze as it drank her in, and her voice cut through the silence as her hand slid up his arm to touch his cheek.

“You are a good man,” Galadriel assured him. Her voice was not weak. Always firm, even in its whispers.

The bottom of his stomach dropped out. It felt hollow in his throat. He swallowed. His mouth suddenly felt dry. “Do you mean that?” He could feel the disbelief on his face, and he couldn’t hide the incredulous tone in his voice. “Do you really believe that, or are you just saying it because it feels like the right thing to say?”

When she looked up at him, her gaze felt warmer than the fire. “You are a good man, Halbrand,” she repeated. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

Halbrand shook his head. “I don’t know that I’d call myself good . . . ”

“Bad, then?” Galadriel ventured, her fingers falling from his cheek to caress his neck. He closed his eyes hard, trying to will away the desire to own her completely and utterly, a pull in his nature he felt always and yet he was trying so hard to be something other than that. For once.

“No . . . ” he whispered.

“Well, in that case, somewhere in the middle. Just like the rest of us,” she finished up for him.

There was an assurance to her tone that even the gods would fear. It sent tingles up his spine. Made his hair stand on end. She was on point about all things, about all people. She would throw herself away for others, and it meant little else to her what the other person thought about it. She did it for nothing else but that she cared for the well-being of others above her own. No ulterior motive. It was terrifying—when he really thought about it. Survival instincts being so high in their natures, to cut that tie, it took a lot of brass.

More brass than most people had in their entire lifetimes.

“You don’t think we have all made decisions that haunt us at night sometimes, even though it kept us alive?” she asked softly. It was more than a question of whether it was done. Why did we do it, and was it even worth it? he heard her ask, but the words weren’t spoken. He felt them like a current beneath the water, warm and true.

Then the cold snuck beneath his furs like the icy speared tips of the truth hidden behind her words, and it made him shiver.

She wrapped her arms around his neck as if to shield him, easily lifting a loose fur blanket over them to keep him warm. He opened his eyes at last, seeing her sparkling eyes meet his across the short space between them. She was the main source of heat aside from the fire. Life, he thought, wanting to keep her in his arms always. The urge was so overpowering. He couldn’t understand the intensity of it.

“Not everyone has your commitment and courage,” Halbrand ventured. Ever since he had grabbed her hand on that raft, he had never regretted it. She had been by his side through thick and thin. When all others had fled, he was always there to grab her hand, and her, she was always there to grab his.

He couldn’t ruin this. Not this, so pure of all things.

His thumb grazed her bottom lip. Her body froze, the tension running deep. His fingers fell down, caressing her jaw. Her chest heaved with the first breath she took, loosening suddenly with a shudder. She closed her eyes, opening them again just a moment later.

He felt Galadriel tremble at her own words. “You are not making this easy.”

He shook his head. “I’m not trying to make it hard either,” he admitted softly. “I just needed to tell you.”

“Why here? Why now?”

It was a good question. “Because it’s just you and me,” he said. “The whole world is gone, and it’s just you and me here, and I’ve never felt more at home.”

A shuddered breath left her lungs.

“But,” he said softly, “at least then I can say I once loved this lady, and maybe . . . maybe she loved me, too. And maybe it didn’t last in the end, but what does? Life is ephemeral, and so are the things within it. We still eat good food. We still drink fine wine. We still sleep on feather pillows, don’t we?” The tension left Galadriel’s body as she looked up at him, but her breaths deepened. “May I?” he asked, laying a hand on her waist. She nodded in an uneven manner, the first hint of real timidity he had ever seen in her. He wrapped his arm around her waist, moving off of her and pulling her back close to his chest under the blanket of fur. Halbrand rested his chin on her shoulder. She fell easily into the embrace, and he sighed into her hair. It smelled both earthy and floral, and he just wanted to lay like this until the world fell away around them. “If it’s frightening,” he said, “let me be a shield for you.”

“That is a lot to trust you with . . . ”

“You already do.”

Her silence was the only answer he needed to hear. He had saved her life twice. He had given her free reign as she had done with him, and they had already shared so much together. This was just the next step, wasn’t it? If she wanted it, which he didn’t know if she did, to be honest, but it felt right.

She stayed there, in his arms that night, and maybe it was all she needed to say.

#galadriel x halbrand #halbrand x galadriel #galadriel #halbrand #sauron!halbrand #rings of power #my fic #otp: keep it with me always #otp: bind it to my very being

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talesfromaurea · 2 months

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Writerly Question Tag

I saw this on my dash and decided to yoink it. Consider this an open tag if you wanna do it too!

About You

When did you start writing?

I wrote my first book when I was around 6 years old. It was a picture book (illustrated by yours truly) about a dog going on a walk lmao

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

My favorite books to read are nonfiction and I write fantasy. In the realm of other fiction genres though, I enjoy reading sci-fi, historical fiction, and thrillers

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared?

I don't think anyone has ever compared my writing to someone else's. There are many authors I admire but none that I consciously try to emulate or look up to specifically.

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)?

The couch in my living room tbh. If I'm feeling fancy, I'll put on a wax melt.

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Music

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

Maybe in the sense that I was stuck in boring suburbia so I was always dreaming of fantastical adventures 😅

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

Groups of misfits becoming friends, shape shifting and/or monstrous aspects of the self are probably the two big ones. And no they don't surprise me at all haha

Your Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc.)

I love all my babies equally (but it's Sakrattars - my know-it-all dickhead elf who falls into an anxious spiral)

Which of your characters would you be friends with in real life?

Maybe Kaja, since she's so easy to get along with? Otherwise probably none of them tbh...

Which characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

Probably Sakrattars lmao we're too similar and I think it would Cause Problems

Tell me about the process of coming up with your characters?

Honestly they just kind of kick down the door in my head and introduce themselves. And when I come up with new ideas about them, they will absolutely let me know whether it suits them or not

Do you notice any reoccurring themes/traits in your characters?

Loneliness (that eventually becomes friendship!)

How do you picture your characters?

Your Writing

What’s your reason for writing?

I am plagued by visions

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

I love when people tell me how they felt reading certain scenes or passages. But really any type of comment is a good comment (unless you're just being rude)

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work?

Do not perceive me please 😅 I just want to tell you a story

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Characters and dialogue. Luckily my partner's strengths are world-building and plotting so it turns out ✌

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

Characters, dialogue, descriptions

How do you feel about your own writing?

There's always room for growth, but it suits me fine

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

Probably, like 80% of my writing has never seen another pair of eyeballs before so yeah lol

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy?

I write for me lmfao. Y'all can read it too sometimes, but my target audience is definitely me

#tag games #though I wasn't technically tagged...

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rinwellisathing · 6 months

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You're Awful, I Love You: Part 52

You know when you could picture your ending from the moment you started writing and you finally get to write it? Yeah that. Feels so good but so bad at the same time. Enver Gortash/Trans Male Tiefling Durge

The Mindflayer Colony fascinated Sentry. The color of the strange, pulsating walls, everything seemingly organic and alive. Ideas flashed through his mind of giving his sculptures movement or creating a space like this to display them. It was beautiful here in all of its strangeness and its wrongness. “Pay attention, boy.” Ketheric's voice snapped him out of his reverie. “If your focus isn't on dominating the brain, we're all done for.” “Uh...that brain isn't even here right now. We haven't reached it yet. Why can't I enjoy the scenery?” Sentry shot back, glaring petulantly at the old man. “We're in its lair, you arrogant...” The elf fumed, inhaling sharply through his nostrils as he tried to calm himself. “Come now, Ketheric. You'll have to forgive Mr. Ojeda, he has an artist's eye.” Gortash smirked, noting Ketheric's near outburst. “Sentry, my love, a touch more focus. Just for now.” He added, his hand slipping to Sentry's waist. “Alright, Enver. But once we've got this thing under control, I have to take a moment to sketch this place. It's phenomenal.” Sentry breathed. “Of course, my dear Executioner. But for now, just focus on that stone I gave you.” Enver's other hand clutched his own stone, a glowing purple one. Sentry nodded, producing his own red stone from his pocket. “I'm still not sure whether to add it to my halberd or make a crown of my own with it.” He mused, turning it over in his hand.

“There will be plenty of time to decide when we return to the city, dear Bhaalist.” Enver assured him, briefly pulling him close and then continuing along the winding, undulating path. Sentry nodded and followed after him. As he walked, he felt a strange tugging at his mind. 'What are you?' He frowned at the intrusion. Something was speaking to him. 'You are...transcendent.' He frowned, the bridge of his nose wrinkling as he began to look around for the source of the voice. Finding nothing, he continued along the path, hurrying to catch up with Enver. 'Such power...your pain, your anger...your will...It is intoxicating.' He shook it off, sweat beading on his forehead. The path led them deep into the bowels of the Mindflayer Colony, far beneath Moonrise. 'Your mind refuses to bend...your spirit refuses to break.' He tried to ignore it, a chill running down his spine. 'Come to me...Face me....Show yourself, godling.' The room they arrived in was cavernous, massive. The pulsating walls tinted green and grey and surrounding the slightly raised floor was a pool of acid-green liquid, bubbling and steaming. Small creatures scurried underfoot, the size of cats or small dogs, but crawling with tendrils. Pink, wrinkled meat on muscular, stubby legs. Intellect Devourers. “Well, this must be the place.” Sentry remarked as he stepped across the disconcertingly squelching floor.

“I'm not sure I care for the company.” Enver cringed, stepping back as one of the Intellect Devourers scurried past him. “Oh, but why not? I think they're sort of cute.” Sentry grinned.

Ketheric grumbled something under his breath, pushing past the two and making his way towards a raised platform near the bubbling pool. The liquid began to ripple and pulse, bubbles coming rapidly now as something began to surface, massive and imposing, larger by several measures than any of its apparent 'children' scurrying about. Cruel eyes peered down at the trio as Enver and Sentry joined Ketheric in its presence. 'You....' 'You're the one who's been speaking to me down here?' Sentry thought back to the creature. 'Yes. You seek to crown me, to make me a god....' 'I...yeah...that was the plan, yeah...' 'I accept, godling. Together, you and I will rule this world...' 'Wait, easily as that?' Sentry was vaguely aware his eyes were widening in shock at the idea. 'You are peerless, you are powerful....You can succeed...' Sentry bit his lip a moment, looking from Ketheric to Enver. This could be a trick. The Elder Brain could see into his mind, that was clear enough, what if it viewed him as the cult had when he was young. What if it saw the breeding cage, his trembling, exposed body quivering in the dark. No. If that was the case, he would be a puppet or dashed against the walls by one of those massive squidlike appendages. He had to try. “Give me the crown.” He said, perhaps more bluntly than he intended. Enver gave a small laugh. “Dear Sentry, the plan was that I would crown the brain, after all, I've been holding the crown all this time, we agreed it was safest with me. I know how to use it.” “I wasn't asking.” Sentry drew himself up to his full height, standing at least half a head higher than his lover. “Let me do this. It has to be me.” He held out his hand to receive the crown. Enver's face began in an expression of shock, then a moment of indignation, then the look of pure worship Sentry had seen countless times when they'd been alone together, slicked with sweat, blood, and more.

“You call me your equal, you say we'll rule together, so let me do this.” Sentry repeated, expression set in a look of determination. Enver placed the crown in his hand, fingers brushing against Sentry's for just a moment longer than necessary, and he stepped back. Sentry turned to face the brain, looking up at it. The being floated closer, hovering lower and tilting forward as though kneeling to accept the crown. The Tiefling gazed in awe at this impossibly huge, otherworldly being, bowing in submission before him. His breath caught in his chest as he approached, willing his arms not to tremble as he placed the crown atop the creature, the stone in his pocket heating up and beginning to glow as he did, Ketheric and Gortash both startling as their stones reacted similarly. 'It is done, godling. I am Absolute....Together, we will rule.' The brain intoned inside Sentry's mind. The young man half wondered how this had looked to his companions, he assumed it spoke only in his mind, at least presently. But he shook away that worry. Who cared if he looked completely insane, he had solidified their plans, he had crowned the brain. An ecstatic grin crossed his face, eyes wide and manic with excitement. He had thrown everything he was, everything that was expected of him, in their faces. Sarevok, Jackal, the hanging corpses in the sculpture garden's entry way. He was Chosen. He was Absolute. As he had planned, Sentry took some time to himself after crowning the brain. He wandered the colony with his satchel, looking around for the perfect place to begin sketching. Finally, he found a room that seemed fairly empty. He liked the way the walls seemed to twist in odd ways, like nerves and blood vessels wrapping around eachother. He sat down and produced his sketchbook and some charcoal from his satchel, whistling a tune to himself and smiling serenely as he began to work. A pair of strong, calloused hands rested on his shoulders some time later, it might have been hours as several pages were full of scene studies, he wasn't certain. But he laid down his materials and gently squeezed one of the hands, blushing a bit. “You've been down here a while, I was afraid something had happened to you.” Enver's voice purred sensually above him. “You know how I get carried away with my work.” Sentry chuckled.

“So the plan is in motion now, you've done it, my love. Dominated the brain, birthed The Absolute...” Enver continued, letting go of Sentry's shoulders and walking around to kneel on the ground with him, a hand coming to rest on his cheek, pulling him into a deep, longing kiss. Sentry relaxed, eyes closed gently, returning the kiss hungrily, arms sliding around his lover's shoulders. And then...pain....Agony through his skull as though his brain were tearing apart. His eyes flew open and met dark, black eyes. No hint of emerald to them. The face Orin could never get right. Again, Sentry was back in his breeding cage, panic setting in, the fear he hadn't felt beyond simple nightmares since he was a child. He was vaguely aware of warm, sticky blood oozing down his neck and face as Orin gave the stiletto another twist, Sentry's eye twitching as another hole lacerated his brain. The last thing he was aware of was that face, shifting from a pale imitation of Enver to the marbled flesh and white eyes of Orin, the only thing that remained, was constant flow of tears, and the wide disbelief in the eyes as Sentry's world went dark.

Intermittent flashes plagued him after that. Laid out on an operating table or propped up on a slab on some kind. His body in agony, his mind screaming, trying desperately to find focus. Something crawling in his brain. Rotting. Maggots, it must be. He was dead. He was rotting. He was in pain. He was like one of his own statues back in the sculpture garden. A thousand images flashed through his mind. A handsome dark haired man. The Temple of Ilmater. A handsome dark haired man. Blood, so much blood. Slaughter. The streets running red. A handsome dark haired man. Light...A hand reaching for him, thin wrinkled fingers, the skin papery with age, but warm and a soft, familiar shade of brown. The fingers closed around his hand and pulled him to his feet, the world around them shifting white and grey, empty as a blank canvas. Warm golden eyes gazed into his and the scent of honey and freshly made fry bread filled his nostrils. The memory of standing by her side, shaping the little balls of dough and passing them into these same hands to be tossed into the bubbling oil. Her long iron grey hair framed her angelic face and her full, beautiful lips curved naturally upward into a kind, loving smile.

“Time to wake up, mijo” The woman kissed him on the forehead. Sentry's eyes snapped open and he gasped heavily, eyes wide in terror as he stumbled from the broken pod, collapsing to his knees, gazing around warily. Where was he? Who was he? What had happened? Sentry Ojeda. You are Sentry Ojeda. It doesn't matter what happened, you are in danger and you need to move. His mind told him. “Are you alright?” A soft voice asked as a blue-grey hand reached down to him gently. Sentry took the hand and was brought to his feet, finding himself standing taller than his rescuer, a rather short tiefling girl with glowing blue eyes and long pale blonde hair. “Yeah...thanks...My name is Sentry Ojeda...”

#baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #tiefling #oc #dark urge #durge #writing #fanfic #oc: sentry ojeda #gortash x durge #bg3 durge #durgetash #enver gortash #lord enver gortash

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raisedbyheathens · 11 months

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Mental health type stuff under the cut

One of the things my daily cocktail of pills and potions do is help quell my urge to unalive myself. I've long had a very Nietzschean relationship with suicide; The thought of suicide is a great consolation by means of it one gets through many a dark night.

One thing I have noticed recently is while I consume a LOT of media; the only characters that I generally find myself having the deep, 'write super soft smut fanfic' brain rot for are ones that are either overtly or indirectly suicidal.

Jon Sims by about S3 has 100% accepted that he will die, and it will be his fault and his doing. Even if someone or something else makes the killing blow, he's come to some sort of fragile peace with the fact that it was his own addictive personality that lead him there. He's the friend you call the police to wellness check on if you haven't heard from them in a week

Arthur Lester threatens suicide so often, it's become almost a joke. But a joke that isn't really all that funny anymore? He's the friend that posts 'kms' memes so often on the Discord you are honestly starting to worry now. And he probably would never actually do it, but when his recklessness gets him killed, you'll be left wondering if that's what he had meant to happen all along

Warren Godby, in any other context would be 5150'd so quickly and so often being in hospital would be second nature. He'd have an entire collection of grippy socks, and a special wardrobe of no string, no metal hoodies and sweats he kept specifically so he didn't get issued new ones every time. You're almost relieved when he threatens to jump off a bridge, because you know when he actually does decide- he won't be telling you about it.

Hell, even Runaan the noble elf assassin accepted his likely death at the hands of an enemy combatant well before the show's timeline starts. And even having a loving husband and duty to care for the ward in his custody, he never waivers from that at all. You can talk about honor and duty and all of that, but HIS honor and duty hinge entirely on his willingness to obliterate himself.

Anyway; when I write them I always make them more normal, more stable and more healthy than I will probably ever be. They are more loving, less touch averse and more stable than I will ever hope to be.

I wonder if this is therapy; or just maladaptive daydreaming on my part.

Anyway; just a weird musing I had and you know; go read my super soft smut.

#tma fanfic #malevolent fanfic #red valley fanfic #maybe she's born with it #maybe it's therapy

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emystic-a · 1 year

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yet another multimuse questionnaire / Accepting!

5. Any muses you had to revise or any you think you need to?

To a extent a lot of my muses had to get revised to some degree, but some got completely revamped to the point their character are totally different than the first product. Since I have so many I decided to just pick three that I think changed a lot.

First is Lucy, she went from 18 to 15 which might not seem like a big jump, but it is since she went from a legal adult (at least where she's at) to a 10th grader in high school. 3 years change a lot about a character and it meant being able to focus more of how she acted in high school. Considering her most interesting side to me is her insecurity behind her confident and hotblooded personality as well as her family, which would more of a focus in her high school days. Her already starting out as a college freshman feels like a epilogue to herself. Fun, but all the interesting development is gone.

Let me talk about how Hanako was suppose to be a highly sentient robotic doll not the ghost of a girl at first. Now the concept was fun, but I started to hate how I was writing the lady that owned her, Missy. Cause it felt like to make her character make sense, Missy had to be written so inconsistently with her being a genius lorewise but her decisions was so stupid. So I thought what if Hanako was instead a doll but possessing a antique doll and own by someone who was actually meant to be kinda hopeless. Then I just couldn't click with it and then I was like fuck it what if she was just her own thing. I had to make it that she was not connected to anyone and give her own lore but the extra work was worth it.

Then there was the whirlwind of everything to do with Mika. At first he was pretty much a little wild child that constantly took food or just stuff in general. At first I gave him this crazy ass accent which I had to make a entire guidebook for others to understand and that stayed for too long, I don't know why I was so pressed on to. At first I don't think I explained why he was a orphan, he just kinda was.

Eventually I had it that he did have a mom, but he just constantly was doing his own thing. Which just made proto Marja look like a shitty mom. Then I took the mom away again and instead gave him two elf dads, one a forest elf and one that lived in a town they took turns seeing after him cause by then I gave his grandpa godlike status. So everyone wanted a hand in helping raise Mika to please Gramps Inge.

Too many added characters that meant nothing was being added cause of all these aunts and uncles and brothers being added cause the whole damn forest was raising him, so that got silently scrapped too. Then I just gave him to grandpa Inge after he took him away from his mom, explaining because Inge claims Marja left him unattended as a baby but lore wise he just was pissed his son was gone and took it out on her. Which made Inge inconsistent if he was this wise man but treated Marja like shit with no proof, despite knowing how much she loves Mika. But also the twist that Inge can't keep him forever cause he's a god, so why take him in first place.

At first he was around maybe 7 or 8, but he kept getting aged down simply due to me liking his story better if he was very young,e. Mostly due to when I started making his parents into a permanent ocs, I wanted them to be written fairly young and naive too. I doubt all of this would happen if Marja and Toska was in their 30s instead of early twenties, so his age had to reflect it too so he became 3.

#answered #kitxkatrp #thank you so much #mika's got really long and wordy lol #but i had him for the longest so he been through a lot changes with me

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hopefulfuturenovelauthor · 2 years

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Can you write some Percy de rolo x reader? Some jealous and protective Percy.

hi, I hope this meets what you expected. its not very angsty, but i thought it was kind if cute and funny. hope you enjoy, and please do not copy my work! thanks!!!

Jealousy

Percy de rolo x reader

You obviously didn’t mean to be hit on by the tall, slender, handsome elf, and you certainly weren’t trying to draw attention to yourself. After all, it's not as if you had eyes for anyone other than the gunslinger of your group. You didn’t care to learn the elf’s name, though you were sure he brought it at some point in the one-sided conversation. He continued rambling on about something so utterly boring and unimportant while you simply nodded.

The only reason you were even present was because you were required to attend the formal gathering with your colleagues and fellow mercenaries, Vox Machina. You had all arrived decked out in your fanciest attire, the luscious green and black fabrics adorning your body like the muse of an ethereal painting.

In the beginning, you had all been together, but Scanlan broke off from the group first, then Grog joined the gnome, Vax and Vex were drawn away by admirers, Pike decided to sit and watch the event, Keyleth chose to explore the room, and Percy was led off by a group of mechanical and technological admirers. You, being you, went looking for a drink to dull the edge of the surrounding crowd.

The drink did dull the edge of the crowd, but sadly the wine served at this event was not enough to take away the buzzing of the elf beside you. Unlike most of your friends, you did not like to be rude. However, in most cases, you would have already made a bit of a scene, but Percy had asked you all to be on your best behavior so you stayed silent in your seat. The room was filled with chatter and banter, but for the life of you, you couldn’t help but want to do anything else than interacting with these people. Honestly, you would slay another dragon if that meant you could leave this place.

The elf made another advance on you, placing a hand on your forearm. You tensed, but did not shrug it off. If he became too handsy you would most certainly have him pushed into the bar with a knife to his easily accessible throat. Once more, you didn’t want to make a mess out of this event like your colleges had the last several, so you searched the crowd for your escape. Pike was chatting with a noble, grog was munching away on appetizers, Scanlan was somewhere, and Percy was still surrounded by admirers and possibly some potential investors.

It was Percy that noticed you, and his eyes met yours with ease. When they left yours, they were filled with a little rage and something else that the gunslinger had never shown before. It was a look you were unfamiliar with his face showing . His eyes were locked onto the elf that had leaned closer to you without you noticing it. It seemed from your perspective that Percy had excused himself from his conversation and was making his way over to you. Your lazy posture became abruptly aware and excited to be saved from the drag of a situation you were in. You popped up from your seat just a little, as Percy stepped before you.

“Hello there Y/n,” Percy smiled down at you while you smiled back. Percy’s attention turned towards the elf that had been gnawing off your ear with his conversation, “and …” Percy trailed off waiting for the elf to give his name.

The man beside you held out his hand for Percy to shake, “Idril, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Percy grunted a little but shook the elf’s hand. “Well, Idril, you don’t suppose I could steal Y/n for a second now, do you?”

“Oh,” Idril looked at you, “actually we were just in the middle of a conversation, I’m sure you don’t mind if we finish first.”

“I suppose you can finish whatever you were talking about after I speak with them,” Percy smiled smugly, neither of the men looking at you anymore.

The two were becoming quite passive-aggressive, while you were just becoming aggressive. “I really feel like the discussion you are both having should involve me a bit more than the two of you. After all, shouldn’t it be my decision when it comes to what I do?” you asked them in such a way that if they said anything other than yes, they would have both had their asses handed to them.

“Of course, you are entirely correct,” the elf responded.

“Yes, obviously,” Percy huffed out. You raised your brow at his demeanor and quickly rolled your eyes.

“Percy, why don’t you go wait over there,” you gestured to an empty spot of the room, with two chairs available, “while I finish up here.”

Percy did a curt nod, annoyance clearly showing in his eyes, “fine.” The man walked away and toward the spot you had pointed out.

You turned to the bartender of the event and kindly asked for two more glasses of wine. The elf beside you smiled. “It has been lovely talking to you, Idril,” you spoke.

“As is the same for you, darling.”

“I’m very glad we were able to meet,” you continued as the bartender returned with the two glasses of wine you had asked for. Idril reached out for one, but you quickly grabbed both and stood up, “I truly hope I see you again one day.” You left the elf sitting alone at the bar and made your way over to Percy.

You fell into your seat with a thunk, seeing as you were already exhausted from the night. “Here, drink up,” you handed a glass to Percy and then downed the entirety of yours.

“How was the ever so charming Idril? I’m certain he would like to see you again,” Percy’s tone was odd, but it didn’t throw you off. He seemed angry for whatever reason.

“I don’t know, I didn’t listen to a word he said until you showed up,” you glanced at your companion.

“Really?” Percy asked skeptically, not entirely believing you. You did not appreciate the accusation in his voice.

“Yeah really,” you snapped back. You winced at your own voice and sighed. “Sorry, these events always get me so worked up. I hate them.”

“Well for someone that hates them so much you are quite good at them. Much better than the others I assure you,” his voice became softer and less targeting.

“Please, the others aren’t even trying to be good, I on the other hand constantly want to punch people in the face at these events.”

“Why don’t you?” Percy asked after taking a sip of the burgundy liquid sloshing inside his glass.

“Because,” you started and paused, “because, they are important to you.”

“Not important enough for you to feel this obligated to fit in and drain yourself internally,” he responded with faint concern lacing his features.

“Please, you are the only one of us that belongs in a place like this. Even I find Scanlan embarrassing at these events, I can only imagine what you must feel.”

“I don’t care how others view us. I care infinitely more about how you view us,” he said honestly. From him, it sounded like a confession, like a secret you were never meant to hear.

You smiled, “good because if one more person here hits on me and enters my personal space I will threaten them.”

“Good, I’d be happy for you to do just that,” Percy straightened up.

“You really would, wouldn’t you?” you moved closer to him, “based on the way you acted earlier, I would say you were jealous. Now I could be completely wrong, but simply based on observation-.”

Percy turned his face, and he went a little red from embarrassment, “please don’t, I was not jealous.”

“Really?” you questioned teasingly.

Percy turned back to face you, “yes really.”

“Alright, I guess I believe you,” you said, “I could use some food, how about you?”

“Food sounds nice.”

“Good,” you kissed his cheek, “I’ll be right back.” You stood up and winked at him before you made your way to the selection of appetizers on display. Percy’s face turned a deep red as he watched you gracefully make your way to Grog.

You both ate together before trying to hurdle up the others so you could leave. The rest of the night went fairly smoothly, other than a few smashed plates due to you and one broken elf nose due to Percy. For once you had enjoyed the night and it seemed Percy genuinely enjoyed it too. You both laughed as you left the uptight party to return home with the rest of Vox Machina. On the journey back you and Percy passed a wine bottle you had snatched. Even returning home the group lulled creating a peaceful vibe across your shared home. You and Percy walked together to the hallway where your bedrooms were located. Sharing a short kiss in the moonlight, you said your goodnights and went to get some well needed rest.

#percy de rolo #percy de rolo x reader #percy x reader #vox machina #vox machina x reader #requests open #jealousy #x reader #…#idk what else #seriously no clue #I’m going to try and sleep now #Ha who am I kidding #That isn’t happening #See you at 1 am

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marvelmusingsbyhertz · 3 years

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Scars, chapter 7

A/N: This story is turning out to be a daydream for me. When I started writing, I really did it for me, getting back in my groove and writing the stories, I could see myself in, and somehow, you amazing people read my daydreams and understand them. I can really only thank you, although it is a small word - it is all I really can express. So, thank you to you all. I truly, really love you.

ALSO, my keyboard is broken just a little bit, so if there’s a missing space or an H, that’s why - my keys are tired of my shit, apparently.

Feedback feeds the soul and requests are open!

MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

ASK ME ANYTHING/REQUESTS

Pairings: Bodyguard!Bucky x reader

Warnings: Fluff, slight angst, Soft!Boy!Bucky, language, flangst (like, if you squint)

Previous chapter

Chapter 7: If It Means That Much To You

You were scanning the website for dresses - since you weren’t allowed outside, all you had was the internet and then hope it would fit you, when it came. Two days from now, you were going to be at the fundraiser, surrounded by Avengers, publicists and/or bad, horrible Hydra people. One of them being your ex.

You still didn’t know much about the entire situation, but Tony had dropped by the day before, and gave you an update on the stuff you’d found and what was happening.

All in all, it was pretty horrible. Tony and the others thought that Hydra had been kidnapping homeless people with the promise of money and had brought them to the run down factory, where the rave had been held. Then they injected them with different variants of a serum, all of them seemingly unsuccessful, dumped the bodies and started over.

Pierce was the main head - or, rather, the one with money who could fund the project - while the scientist who conducted these experiments was only known as Dr. Death. All in all, the consensus was that Hydra was trying to reassemble and create what they’d lost; Bucky.

Tony had been smiling ruefully at the end of the meeting and announced that they were digging deeper into it, but for now, it seemed like everything was a dead end. The factory had been cleared out and not a single scrap, bloodstain or flake of rust left over, and it looked like Hydra had simply disappeared from the face of the earth, much to your chagrin. That meant more time stuck inside with Bucky, which in and of itself wasn’t too bad since you’ve decided to not kill each other, but you missed going out, feeling air on your face.

You groaned, pulling yourself from your thoughts and swiped through dresses on the website until your eyes fell on a floor length, navy blue chiffon dress and clicked on it. It was beautiful, although probably a little over the top for the fundraiser - but, you mused, it wasn’t often you got a chance to wear an evening gown and be escorted by a handsome man. You ordered it, shutting the computer down and stretched before going to the living room, where Bucky was sitting in one of the heavy, leather chairs, reading a very tattered version of The Hobbit. You grinned.

“I didn’t think you were a fantasy-guy.” He glanced at you with a brow raised.

“I’m not. It’s a force of habit.” He kept reading.

“Sure thing, Elf-lord.” He didn’t even look up from his book.

“You’re the reason God created the middle finger.” You narrowed your eyes at him, a little annoyed that he came up with a quip that fast. You leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Someday you’ll go far. I hope you stay there.” He cracked a smile and put his book down.

“Good one.” You smiled.

“What’s up?” He asked and you shrugged.

“I’m bored.” He rolled his eyes at you.

“That’s news to me!” you rolled your eyes right back at him - it wasn’t your fault that this fucking apartment was void of any fun things and you were going stircrazy.

“Shut up, it’s boring to be inside this much. I feel like I’m wasting away, my skin turning to parchment…” You said dramatically. “If I don’t see the sun soon, I might die.” He sighed.

“You’re just as depressing as an unsalted pretzel.” You glared at him.

“That comes from a man who ate beef jello.” He shrugged and silence fell between the two of you, while you made a cup of coffee from the slow, agonising coffeemaker. He hummed a song you didn’t recognize as you poured the coffee and took a sip.

“I have an idea for something we can do.” He finally said after minutes of silence. You smirked.

“I’m not into buttplay.” He groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Shut your mouth. No, I actually have an idea. Grab some blankets, put on a warmer shirt and some shoes and meet me at the elevator in 5 minutes.” He shot up from his chair and ran to his room, slamming the door behind him. Jesus christ.

You followed directions, gathering a bunch of blankets together before throwing on a jumper, a pair of fuzzy socks and a pair of nondescript black boots.

You met Bucky at the elevator, who had his hands full of a basket, stuffed to the brim with pillows and what looked like a sixpack of beers and a handheld speaker in his free hand. He grinned and pressed the button for up - you furrowed your brows in confusion. He didn’t say anything, simply grinning wildly at you and stepped inside the elevator when it dinged.

“I didn’t know there was an up.” You said with narrowed eyes. “Is this the point where you abduct me and kill me?”

“Clearly.” He chuckled. “Just relax.” You huffed in annoyance - you hated surprises.

The elevator opened up to the rooftop, the breeze grabbing your hair and you sucked in a deep breath, the smell of spring lingering around you. It felt fantastic.

“Come on, lazy bones.” He nudged you out of the elevator and you finally saw the roof fully.

Plants littered the terf, in pots and planters, different colours, sizes and leaves filling the otherwise empty space. A few poles with string lights stood in a square, marking a space in between them, where Bucky now placed the basket, grabbed the blankets and laid them down before putting the pillows everywhere. You hugged yourself as the wind bit through your jumper - you should probably have put on an extra shirt, but you didn’t know you were doing a rooftop-picnic.

“Come on.” he gestured for you to sit down, holding a blanket out for you to wrap around yourself. You sat down next to him, wrapping the blanket closely around your shoulders and gratefully took the beer, he handed you, as music flowed from the speakers.

“I know it’s not the same as going out out, but at least you’re outside.” You nodded and smiled at him, taking a sip.

“Does Steve and Tony know you’re taking me outside of secure areas?” You asked with a grin. He shrugged with a small smirk.

“I might’ve rerouted the cameras, so it replays us on the couch. Maybe.” You laughed, feeling freer than you had for days, and closed your eyes as another gust of wind grabbed your hair and threw it around your face. You glanced at Bucky in his henley and a pair of jeans.

“Aren’t you cold?” You asked with a concerned voice, feeling like you sounded like his goddamned mom. He chuckled and his face kind of fell, lines appearing around his eyes.

“I’m, uh, I’m always cold. Byproduct of the serum, I guess.” he said in a soft voice, like a secret was spilling over his lips. He glanced at you with big eyes. “I haven’t really felt warm since before… Well, since I fell off a train.” He smiled ruefully. “I haven’t really told anybody that before.”

It was a spur of the moment decision, but it felt right to take his hand in yours, wrapping both hands around his, gently rubbing your thumb over the exposed skin your hands didn’t cover. He sighed and closed his eyes.

You sat there for a minute in silence as you felt his skin heat up under your hands.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice was soft and you let your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing it gently - a silent okay if he didn’t want to talk.

“Mhm.” He hummed an agreement.

“It’s totally fine if you don’t want to talk about it, but… Uhm, do you remember anything?” His eyes opened and he looked like he had just stepped back into the war, eyes darting back and forth. “Not about the war or what happened after, but before. Your family, your life?” He relaxed again and smiled slightly.

“Some of it. Some of it… Steve told me some things, but some things I remember.” His smile widened, and even though it was saddened and raw, his eyes shone with remembrance. “I remember my mom’s perfume. My sister used to draw me as a pig.” He chuckled and looked at you, his fingers tightening around yours. “My sister’s name was Rebecca. She was a spitball and took no shit from anyone and.. She was amazing.” he sighed. “My dad died in an accident in training camp, and I enlisted pretty shortly after. Rebecca went to our aunt, and I kept Steve out of trouble.” You smiled.

“I loved spring in Brooklyn. The way the sun would hit your skin… Women in summer dresses.” He grinned. “I loved that. Springtime was good. I was an athlete. My favourite flowers were forget me nots, which is ironic. I read the paper from dumpsters and I cuddled my pillow at night.”

It was like he hadn’t talked about any of this before, the words tumbling out of him. “I didn’t learn to drive until I was in the army. I hated brown. Coney Island was like a safespace, and I made Steve throw up after eating four hot dogs and going on the Cyclone. My mom always smelled like cookies and roses.” You smiled softly at him. “She was a force, that woman. Just… Headstrong, funny and every kid on the block was her kid, no matter what. She gave the best hugs and she used to slide her finger down the bridge of my nose when I was sick.”

“She sounds like a wonderful woman.” he nodded.

“I wish I could remember more about her.” His face was wrought with pain and grief, he’d probably never had the time to process. Your heart felt heavy at the thought - he had woken up from being brainwashed, 70 years after he thought he died, and had to find out that everyone he knew and loved had died.

“I still haven’t visited my sister’s grave. Or my mom’s, for that matter.”

“When all of this is over, we should go.” You said with a smile. He smiled back, eyes shining.

“I’d like that.”

You sat in silence, hands still intertwined. He looked down at it. “I haven’t felt… Normal temperature in a while.” he whispered. You squeezed his fingers. “Glad to help.” He drew his fingers from you and stood up, holding out his hand to you, and you took it, slightly confused. He turned the volume up on the slow jazz song, and he grabbed your waist with his metal hand and tugged you gently closer to him before he started swaying slightly.

“What are you doing?” You asked confused. He smiled down at you, before leaning forward and dipping you softly.

“I’m teaching you to dance.” You giggled like a fucking schoolgirl. “Uhm, why?” you asked as he turned you, letting your back stand flush against his front - it was surprisingly intimate with his chest against you, a hand on your waist, fingers splayed out under your breasts. You had to really use your brain to listen to him, because all you could focus on was how damn close his metal fingers were to your nipples.

“Because we’re going to a fundraiser and there’s going to be dancing. Probably.” He said, spinning you out from him so you were face to face with him. “Besides, I’ve kind of missed dancing.” He said with a boyish grin. You nodded.

“Fine, I’ll allow it.” You said, your hand finding his shoulder and swaying with him in a small circle. He smirked, eyes on yours.

“We make a good match.” You blanched at his words - his voice was so soft, so sincere and you didn’t know how to react.

“Uh, I mean, for dancing. Y’know, you’re not stepping on my, uh, toes. So good match.” His neck was turning a soft shade of pink. You nodded and pulled yourself a little closer to him, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach and the heat forming between your legs, as his thigh went between yours, dipping you again.

“Whatever you say, Buck.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

TAGLIST:

@kingshitonly @honeywithemoney @ilovedoggies4everever-blog

@cjand10 @gloriuspurposee @janita @gloryekaterina

@brea-renee @anrimdjarin @thomasthetankson @lesbians4loki2021

@marvel-thor-lover @boofy1998 @anrimdjarin @the-omni-princess

@tfandtws @youtubersshipper @calstielwinchester

@lover-of-bucky @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned

@marvel-whor

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tornsurvivors · 2 years

Note

Saw the ask about the Sylvanas ship asks, could you do a Sylvaina ship but both are Ace and they have a nice picnic in eversong woods?

It’s okay if you misread my post, I honestly don't mind that you sent this anyway! Writing drabbles on a ship with different perspective on their sexuality could be interesting. I hope I did well.

The worst of the heat wave had passed, for now. While summer could be bountiful to those who wished to bask under the sun and soak up the vitamin D... it also had it’s flaws. Sunburns so harsh on sensitive skin, and unbearable humidity. Today, it’s as if Spring had decided to spare mercy on this particular pair. Well, one of them more than the other. Jaina would have preferred Old Man Winter’s biting breath, than to deal with the sweltering afternoon heat. She is a frost mage after all. Sylvanas, on the other hand, was perfectly content. The Ranger General laid on her side, propped up on an elbow and her long legs stretched out across the flannel picnic blanket spread out near the shore of a lake.

Dragonhawks occasionally passed in a safe distance, but the family of lynxes Sylvanas had happily greeted earlier were long gone now. They were unfamiliar with Jaina, and the mother lynx was more cautious and that was understandable. It was probably strange for them to see humanoids that did not have long pointy ears and Jaina smelled different. More like ozone, and something possibly sweeter that Sylvanas could never pinpoint. Not that she bothered to ask... some things she prefers to keep a mystery.

“Why am I not surprised to see your nose sticking in a book already? And today, out of all days.” The Ranger General drawled, a corner of her mouth curling up ever so slightly in amusement and light blue eyes glinted under the sunlight filtering through the forest canopy. Her gaze was steady on the mage, while she idly popped a berry or two in her mouth. Sylvanas took her time to savor the sweet juices of the fruit, chewing thoroughly and swallowing them. She was a creature of flavor, always preferring to enjoy nature’s nutrition at every opportunity.

“Oh please, Sylvanas. You would not last a day in my shoes in Dalaran. At least you have the opportunity to enjoy nature’s fresh breath of air and roam wherever you see fit, even if it’s for the means to ensure Silvermoon City is safe. Whereas I am swamped by the tasks and burdens of the Kirin Tor. I very rarely have the opportunity to sit down for more than five minutes and enjoy a good read.” Jaina retorted, her eyes mirroring the playful glint in her companion’s and Sylvanas couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Fair enough. The mere thought of being trapped in a crowded city without a single lynx to entertain me is rather dreadful. Oh, the horror.” Now it was Jaina’s turn to laugh as Sylvanas gave a dramatic shudder, and waved her hand dismissively. Honestly, Sylvanas would probably be bored to tears, or annoyed just enough for her to indulge in the temptation to cause a scene. Just for giggles.

“You haven’t thanked me yet, though.” The Elf added, giving a side glance to the mage as her lips turned down into a pout.

“What am I thanking you for, again?” Of course Jaina knows. The minute the Ranger General was given the day off, she became Jaina’s savior. What’s fascinating is the other leaders bought into the lie that a situation had risen and the request for the Kul Tiran mage’s assistance was oh-so-urgent. The next soft smile curling Jaina’s lips said it all, as she closed her book and carefully set it down. Sylvanas secretly admired the mage’s care for her books. It just tells her a lot about Jaina.

“You know, I wonder how long it’ll be before they catch on to the lie.” Jaina mused out loud, features creased into mock pensiveness. Ocean blue eyes then flicked to Sylvanas, when the Elf suddenly sat up then rose to her feet in a fluid motion-- stretching out.

“I suppose we will find out. But until then...” Sharp pointed teeth were revealed as Sylvanas grinned, a mischief that Jaina was all too familiar with, shining in the ranger’s eyes. “I think the heat wave is returning. Last one in the lake will have to think of an excuse to why we lied.” With that, she took off in a dash. Suddenly, the scent of ozone lingered in the air and she could’ve sworn she felt a burst of cool air-- then a splash came from the lake. Before Jaina surfaced with a laugh. “Have fun with that explanation!”

“Hey, come on! That’s cheating... that doesn’t count!” Sylvanas yelled out, jogging towards the lake with a light scowl.

“You never said I couldn’t use magic, so anything goes.” Jaina remarked with a blink and an innocent smile... that was soon wiped off her face by a decent splash from Sylvanas’ cannonball in the lake.

#idk this was a bit cheesy lmao #i hope you enjoy.#DRABBLES » memoirs of a torn survivor #artoriyasart #*sylvaina.

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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 3 years

Text

The Halfling from the Mountains Cont’d

Hey all! So I wanted to write something for Fanfic Writers’ Day, and even though it’s coming in a bit late, I decided to write a small continuation of the Mulan AU. It is almost a year exactly since I posted this little drabble, and it’s by FAR the most popular drabble I have on tumblr. Also, I really needed Kili to ask Bilbo if he “would like to stay forever.” 😆 Please enjoy.

Thorin and Bilbo had barely hobbled their way to the base of the hill before they were swarmed by allies. Healers ushered them to one of the many tents being erected on the cleanest part of the battlefield. While Bilbo only had a few bumps and bruises of little concern, Thorin was all but thrown into a cot as they tended to his foot. Bilbo was able to get one more glance at the protesting king before he was shoved down on a makeshift bench with a bowl of stew in his hands.

“Eat up, laddie. I’m afraid the hard work isn’t over just yet.” Oin instructed before leaving to tend to others.

Bilbo allowed himself the moment of peace as all the adrenaline seeped out with each bite of the bland, but very welcome food. Perhaps, truly this time, the worst was behind them.

“WHAT A MESS! WHERE IS HE?! WHERE IS THE ARKENSTONE THIEF?”

Then again, perhaps not. Bilbo’s head whipped up to see a furious Dain stroll into the camp. He jumped to his feet, the stew regrettably spilling to the ground only to invite the irate dwarf’s attention. Dain immediately stalked into his direction, and for every step forward, Bilbo took one back until he bumped into someone behind him. He startled and turned to apologize only for the person to put a hand on his shoulder and gently push him behind them. Bilbo’s shoulders sagged in relief at the sight of Dwalin. Dain, on the other hand, was flummoxed.

“Stand aside.” Dain ordered. “That creature isn’t worth protecting.”

Bilbo flinched at the sheer acid in his tone. Before Dwalin could respond, his brother appeared on his other side completely blocking Bilbo from view now.

“He’s a hero.” Balin argued.

“He’s a Halfling and a thief.” Dain scoffed.

Bilbo’s jaw nearly dropped as he was suddenly surrounded by his entire company minus the Durins. Each of them with a hard glint in their eyes.

“Listen here you pompous windbag.” Bofur growled. It was the only time Bilbo ever recalled him truly angry. “I think we know our Burglar better than any here. You owe the life of your King to him.”

Dain looked about ready to spit fire as his face changed to match the color of his hair.

“HE BETRAYED MY KING AND ANY THAT DEFEND HIM ARE JUST AS BAD!”

Well that seemed to set everyone off as the Company started to yell loudly in defense of their honor, and Dain and his men continued to besmirch the hobbit’s name. Bilbo, having quite enough of such nonsense, was about ready to find some way to shut them all up when a strong voice broke through the clearing.

“SHARZA!”

Silence rang through the camp as all eyes be they man, elf, dwarf, and hobbit, turned to regard Thorin. The king’s foot was wrapped tightly yet blood still managed to seep through the bandages. Because of this, he was being supported by his two nephews, but all three managed to look regal and proud in their grimy states. Thorin’s cold eyes bore into Dain until the other dwarf dropped his head. At that point, Thorin regarded the Company and silently demanded they stand aside. Bilbo was once more exposed to the glares and curious stares of the surrounding crowd. He could kill Thorin.

“This is Bilbo Baggins.” Thorin announced in a clear voice that somehow seemed to ring for miles without being too loud.

“He was contracted by my Company of thirteen dwarves to leave his home in the Shire and burgle from a dragon. He thinks of nothing but creature comforts of good homes and good food. He was inexperienced with a blade prior to joining us, and knew nothing of how to survive in the wild and yet…”

Bilbo blinked in shock at the warm smile that split Thorin’s face.

“He has saved us all. As King, I pardon any and all crimes against his person. Master Baggins shall only ever be treated with respect on behalf of all Durin’s folk.”

If Bilbo was caught off-guard before, the sight of Thorin bowing to him nearly had him flat on his back. What made it worse was it started a domino effect as next the Company was bowing, then the rest of the dwarves, and finally the remainder of the entire Free People’s army. Even Dain, who looked like he tasted something foul, bowed in deference to his king. Bilbo wanted to scream that he wasn’t a hero! He was just a simple hobbit from the Shire, but faced with the truly humbling sight, he couldn’t find the words. Almost as if realizing his newfound conundrum, Thorin rose with a hidden twinkle in his eye before he turned to return to his tent using his sister sons as his crutch, satisfied that Bilbo would have no more difficulties. The Company patted his back or ruffled his hair. Dori even offered to stay with him if he felt unsafe, but Dain’s hasty retreat spoke volumes about any remaining troubles Bilbo would had. In a matter of seconds, he was alone once again.

“There’s seems to be an awful lot of excitement this side of the Misty Mountains.”

Almost alone. Bilbo looked up at Gandalf whose smirk somehow managed to reflect amusement and pride all at the same time.

“He didn’t have to do that.” Bilbo finally found his voice, regardless of how awe-filled it was.

“I would think Thorin has a differing opinion on the subject. You’ve done well, Bilbo. You can go home now knowing you have gone above and beyond the call of duty.”

“Hmm?” Bilbo mused, not registering Gandalf’s words.

“Why back to the Shire! You do still plan to return to Bag End, don’t you?”

“Of course!” Bilbo snapped reflexively only to flinch at the harshness of his own words. “I mean, yes, I do...I just...”

“Well,” Gandalf offered. “We have a few days. Think about it, and let me know, whatever you decide.”

***

Bilbo thought about it, but he was no closer to an answer. He had to go back to Bag End. He was a Baggins after all, but the idea of leaving his dwarves. Leaving Thorin...it left a hole in his chest that refused to be closed. He finally decided it was just the freshness of leaving his friends. A few months back in the Shire, and the pain would leave him once he was back where he belonged. Therefore, despite how much it hurt, he told Gandalf he did still intend to go home.

His dwarves did not take the news well.

Bilbo ignored the pleading eyes of the Durin princes as he finished putting away his new clothes from Dori into his pack along with trinkets from the whole Company. Well, all but Thorin. Even Dain had come by to apologize for the way he had reacted after he got the full story and left Bilbo with a rather large and impractical shield. Remarkably, Bilbo had seen neither hide nor hair of the new King Under the Mountain since his declaration to return home.

“You could build a new home here! You don’t have to go, Mister Boggins.” Kili pleaded.

Bilbo couldn’t help smirking as he patted the dwarf on the shoulder.

“As I have said before Kili, the Shire is where I belong."

“You also belong here.” Fili added, looking oddly serious and melancholy.

Bilbo’s smile fell as he turned his back to hide how effected he was by the prince’s words.

“Me? I’m just a silly hobbit. I no more belong in a mountain than an acorn in a window garden. Now, are you going to walk me to the gate or expect me to carry all of this myself?”

Fili and Kili had many more protests for him, but in the end gathered the ornate shield and the chest bearing his company’s treasures to be loaded on Bilbo’s pony. The rest of the Company, minus their king, was gathered just as somber as Bilbo’s companions. The wizard was ready to go, and waited for Bilbo to make his goodbyes.

“Well...” He started. “T-Thank you. Thank you all for...the most amazing adventure. If you’re ever in the Shire, tea is at four...don’t bother to knock.”

That earned a weak chuckle from his friends.

“And I suppose tell Thorin that...”

His throat closed, and Bilbo had to look down at his toes to gather his courage.

“Tell Thorin...”

“Yes?”

Bilbo’s head shot up as his heart thrummed in his chest.

“Thorin!” He breathed in delight.

The king was looking much healthier if but for the dark circles under his eyes and the saddened expression.

“You’re here.” Bilbo remarked in awe.

Thorin ducked his head with a small smile.

“I was getting your going-away gifts together.”

“Oh.”

Bilbo should have been delighted much like he was with the other Company members’ gifts. However, he had been hoping for...well, he wasn’t quite sure what. Without further ado, Thorin pulled out Bilbo’s small sword he had been rather fond of but sacrificed in desperation to rid them of the monster orc. Sting.

“I asked Prince Legolas and Captain Tauriel to try and find it. They were more than happy to assist. I hope that it reminds you of all that you’ve done for Erebor.”

He presented it to Bilbo with a small bow, and Bilbo repeated the motion happy to place the blade back in the scabbard on his hip. Even with his limited experience, it certainly made him feel better having it on his person.

“Also,” Thorin added almost eagerly. “I want you to have this.”

Letting his braid flutter lose, Thorin tugged one of the hair beads from his own raven locks and presented it to Bilbo.

“So all of Arda will know what you have done for me, a grateful and indebted king.”

Bilbo was practically trembling.

“Thorin.” He croaked. “I-I can’t...”

“Please.” The king whispered as he carefully closed Bilbo’s fingers over the bead sitting innocently on his palm. “For me.”

It was too much. Thorin looking at him like that. His too large hands still softly cradling his hand. There was only so much a respectable hobbit like Bilbo could take. Before he could stop himself, he closed his eyes and surged up onto his tiptoes as he planted a kiss on the handsome king. It was quick and chaste and breath-taking all at once. Thorin seemed equally befuddled but hopeful. Bilbo tried his hardest to ignore the cheers of the Company and the heat in his own cheeks as he gave Thorin a single nod.

“Well then...good evening.”

He turned to saddle the pony when his actions seemed to catch up to him. What exactly was he doing?! He loved Thorin. How could he leave him now? His mind struggled to process the influx of emotional information while he remained halfway on his pony, staring into the setting sun.

“Perhaps...” Gandalf finally offered, far too amused. “We got too late a start.”

Thorin picking up on the cues rushed to Bilbo’s side.

“Would you...? Would you like to stay for dinner?” He blurted much to the annoyance of their friends.

“WHAT HE MEANS IS WOULD YOU LIKE TO STAY FOREVER?!” Kili corrected.

Everyone couldn’t help but laugh including Bilbo and Thorin. The hobbit finally returned to the present turning to Thorin with a large grin.

“I think dinner would be a lovely start.”

And Bilbo enjoyed dinner in Erebor for many years to come.

#bagginshield #thilbo #mulan au #continuation of another drabble #dain really isn't a bad guy #its just a lot to take in for a mere few hours

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julia-highstorms · 2 years

Text

Fic Authors Self Rec!

When you get this, reply with your favourite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💜

Thank you so much @missameliep ✨ it's an honour being tagged by you!

Alright, let's do this (in no particular order):

1. If Jane Was Here (Alternative Ending) - It Lives in the Woods

I finished writing If Jane Was Here (which is ILITW but by Noah's POV) back in 2018, but until this day, I am very proud of it. Naturally, there are some things that I would change (like the writing and add even more angst), but overall I am very proud of it: it's my first and (so far 🙃) only long series that I have ever finished 🙏😭 I consider it a personal victory. Writing is so fucking hard and it took over a year to finish it, but I did it. My favorite chapter of them all is the alternative ending that I wrote, where neither Noah or MC becomes the new Mr. Red. Or they both become it? Kinda? 👀 You'll have to read to understand.

2. Play My Game (Tom Sato x Julia Vance) - It Lives Beneath

This one was a joy to write! I used to love writing these two dorks and their bantering and teasing and I peaked in this fanfic. It's fun and light.

3. Uncool (Bryce Lahela x Rei Sato) - Open Heart

Rei Sato was the first MC that I actually put thought in her personality - not following the always confident, easygoing and extrovert canon personality all MCs have - and background. 99% of my fanfics are focused on her and her crush on a certain scalpel jockey, to the development of her crush into something deeper. But this one is entirely focused on Bryce's POV, when he tells Rei about his family. I love his interaction with Keiki and how - underneath his cocky smirk and confident attitude - he actually is freaking out because his little sister decided to live with him suddenly. And how flustered he is with cooking 😂 Apparently people also love it, because it's my most popular fanfic !

4. Lullaby (Tyril x Luxia) - Blades of Light and Shadow

I remember when I first played Blades and I knew I was going to romance the hell out of that blue elf, but when they make out in chapter 10, I missed a bit of closure happening first. And this is why this fanfic was written. It is sweet, with a bit of slow burn and fluffiness and Mal spoiling a perfect moment 😂

5. Bruises (Eli x Kiera) - Wake the Dead

And last but not least, I simply had to put a WtD fanfic. Eli is my new muse. WtD not only broke my author's block, but also is making me more productive than ever. I've never written so much! Both Eli and Kiera are special to me because they both struggle with opening up and have some communication problems. So, their relationship don't go as smooth as my other couples (well, try to survive the apocalypse first). It also feels special because they bond because of the loss of their families and shared mourning (and because I love angst lol). But, little by little, they're both opening up to each other.

Special mention: Sparring Session (Kenna x Dom) - The Crown & The Flame

I'm going to cheat and put one more. Why? Because this one is very special to me. Until this day, TC&TF is the series that I've replayed the most and I'd been structuring this fanfic for over 3 years before I finally wrote it down. I wanted to cover Kenna's and Dom's relationship throughout their lives, since they were kids, and give a bit of spin-off of what happened to them, but keeping alive their sparring session tradition (the whole series started with them sparring and ended with them doing the same, so I just knew I had to do the same) to the next generation. 🥲

_______________________________

I'll tag @thequeenofpixels @banirareiko @kelseaaa @melodyofgraves @my-glitter-heart

#playchoices #choices stories you play #choices fanfic #playchoices fanfic

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dolce-peach · 4 years

Note

Aragorn x reader. Aragorn meets reader when he randomly finds reader fighting orcs in the forest or something. Asks her to join them. Mutual pining. IDK just some cute awkward Aragorn please

just a feeling

pairing: aragorn x reader

warnings: fluff, slight mentions of blood

a/n: a bit short but i had a lotta fun while writing this 🥺 hope you guys enjoy!

permanent taglist: @kaitlynmalikisnotonfire @just-another-loki-fanblog

** TO MAKE A REQUEST -- please check the status in my bio **

masterlist

----

To say the entire Fellowship was uneasy was an understatement. As time slowly passed, every member grew weary by the end of each day, crawling to sleep with no more than a grunt or murmur of “goodnight”.

Aragorn watched as Frodo’s usually gentle demeanor waned, revealing uneasy glances and the occasional look of distaste and suspicion. The ranger couldn’t deny he felt the Ring calling to him, but he knew he couldn’t succumb if the fate of Middle Earth was in their hands. Instead he kept watch over the Halfling, providing small conversations of relief every now and then.

Frodo loved to talk about the forests surrounding his home. He would swing from the branches of the trees as a young child and read against the trunk in the shade as life began to lose its innocent glow.

Perhaps it made Aragorn think of his distant past. He never knew, as those forbidden memories were kept locked away somewhere deep in his heart. He turned away from that part of himself long ago, and now with the endless confirmations of his lineage...

A roar echoed through the woods nearby, shooting Aragorn to his feet. His sword was already drawn, the rest of the company barely getting to their feet.

“What was that?” Frodo whispered.

“I’ll find out,” Aragorn promised him. He placed a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. “Stay here with the others. It’ll be alright.”

With a nod to Legolas, the ranger stode out into the wood, taking in the air as he walked.

Everything reeked of the foul stench of orc blood. There were dark drops splattered on the trunks of trees and fallen leaves. Aragorn gripped his sword tighter. Whoever had done this was a likely to be a greater foe, if that was possible.

Before he could react, a sword crossed his, pushing past the blade to point threateningly at Aragorn’s throat.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t slay you where you stand,” you said. “Who are you?”

To say you were beautiful was an understatement. You did not carry the ethereal beauty of an elf nor the poise of a princess. Yet as you stood in front of him with your messily tied hair, blood-stained robes, and a smirk of victory, Aragorn was sure there was nothing in all of Middle Earth that could compete.

Legolas lowered his bow, studying the large pile of orcs in your wake. “You did this?”

You scoffed. “Who else?” The tip of your sword was dangerously close to Aragorn’s Adam’s apple. “You never anwered my question.” You sized him up quickly. “Ranger.”

“You answered your own question,” Aragorn chuckled, sheathing his sword. “Now my question is, who are you?”

“Someone passing through,” you said nonchalantly while lowering your blade. “I’ve been tracking this pack from Isengard for a few days. It was when they began speaking about conquering Middle Earth for Sauron that I decided to act.”

Aragorn’s brow furrowed. “So the rumors are true. Saruman has become Sauron’s puppet.”

“What do you know of this?” you questioned while cleaning your sword.

Aragorn exchanged a quick look with Legolas, the elf giving him a slight raise of an eyebrow. “We are trying to destroy the One Ring, Sauron’s ring, and put an end to this once and for all.”

“Sounds like a brave thing to do,” you mused, sheathing your sword. You whistled your horse over.

“You don’t care?” he concluded quietly.

“I do care,” you said, stroking your horse’s mane. “I do not care for the Ring. That is all.” You sighed heavily. “It has turned many hearts astray and destroyed too many lands.”

“Then help us,” the words left Aragorn’s lips easily.

You laughed. “I’m sure your companions will be safe, given that you were sent to protect them.” Seeing his puzzled look, you pursed your lips in a knowing smile. “Do not think I don’t know who you are, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Word of your actions has travelled fast throughout Middle Earth.”

Aragorn blinked before looking away. He knew in his mind it would be valuable to have you included in the Fellowship, but was he doing it for the right reasons?

You clearly had no problem protecting yourself. It was obvious you were strong and good-willed. He had no idea about your background nor where you came from, but he had a feeling about you, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

And it was bothering him.

He lay a hand on the hilt of his sword. “We...we could really use your help.”

“I’m sure you could,” you chuckled. “I’m just waiting for you to ask me properly.”

You were definitely not like any woman Aragorn had ever met. He never thought he’d succumb to such an odd request, but you had him under your spell.

Aragorn scoffed before gazing at you curiously. “What is your name, milady?”

“Y/N,” you said. “And call me ‘milady’ again, and you will not live to see another day.”

He nodded with a small laugh. “Will you help us, Y/N?”

You smiled. “I’ll do my best, Aragorn.”

As the three of you exited the forest, Legolas pulled Aragorn aside. They watched as you walked up to introduce yourself to Gimli, Boromir, and the four hobbits.

“In all the years I have known you...” Legolas trailed off, seeing Aragorn’s eyes on you. “You truly are hopeless, my friend.”

Aragorn cleared his throat, adjusting his cloak. “When was the last time you saw anyone take on a squadron of Isengard orcs by themselves and live to tell the tale?”

“You know I don’t mean that,” Legolas groaned. “Never mind. You always have a reason for everything you do.”

“I do,” he replied.

The elf sighed as his gaze turned towards your direction. “You think she is beautiful.”

There was a long moment before Aragorn exhaled. “Yes.”

Legolas sighed, rolling his eyes. “This is going to be quite frustrating to watch, then,” he said as he walked towards the camp.

Aragorn furrowed his brow. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“If anything I’ve heard about men pining after unreachable women is true, then we’re all doomed,” the elf said. “Why don’t you just confess your feelings now, rather than later?”

“Legolas!”

“I’m not wrong, and you know it.”

#lord of the rings #lotr #lord of the rings fanfiction #lotr fanfiction #jrr tolkien #tolkien #aragorn #strider #aragorn x reader #aragorn x you #aragorn imagine #aragorn fanfiction #aragorn fanfic #reader insert #cameo #legolas #legolas greenleaf #legolas thranduilion #frodo baggins

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