The Beer Slayer 2.0 (Slayer of Roots)
Request: Could you do a part two of the glorfindel x reader that you did in the what the hell is happening event? Maybe how they first met and those first impressions to falling in love or glorfindel deepening the relationship with her after the initial events?
Pairing: Glorfindel x Reader
Genre: Pining fluff
Summary: 5 problems 1 solution- repression.
AN: Sorry for being so late but it's been rough. I hope you like this. Reader POV for this one. I will be working on requests slowly as mental health permits :D
Part 1- The Beer Slayer
You are in love. Well, screw it. You are in love with a guy you can't even breathe around. One glance at him and your heart crumbles like a sandcastle under a toddler's heel, pathetic and insignificant. It practically begs him to finish the job.
So you steel yourself and take the seat opposite from him, leaving a chasm of emptiness between you two. You plaster a smile on your face for Tommy's next attempt at humor, the kind that usually lands him a date.
Today, however, your forced enthusiasm lands with a thud. Because you're not interested. And flirting? Absolutely not. You believe in the opposite. Repression is your middle name.
Every time your path collides with Glorfindel, you launch into a full-body assault on your thundering heartbeat. Your smile is a tightrope act, never daring to stretch a millimeter further than polite social interaction. He can't know. The very thought is laughable.
Glorfindel, the radiant center of everyone's universe, wouldn't even look at you twice. He's a freaking star, and you're a pebble yearning for the sky.
You're practically hyperventilating by the time you reach the next staircase. You picture your lungs as deflated balloons, gasping for air after two measly flights.
Just when you think you might faint from oxygen deprivation, you see him. Glorfindel's glorious mane is caught in the intricate metal railing, a prisoner of its own beauty. He's perched precariously on a chair, his head hanging in defeat.
Sucking in the last dregs of air, you manage a weak wave. Your smile, practiced for weeks in the mirror, feels brittle. You tear your gaze away, unable to meet his eyes for fear of your heart erupting from your chest.
Glorfindel turns towards you, and a smile, so breathtaking it should be illegal, splits his face in two. Every fiber of your being screams to mirror it, to bask in the warmth of his attention.
You almost, almost ditch that stupid chem lecture you haven't been paying attention to in weeks.
Just as you turn to mutter a choked "see you later, "The sound of ripping hair echoed through the stairwell, a horrifying screech that made you wince. Glorfindel stood there, a clump of hair dangling from his fingers like a macabre trophy.
His face, however, was a masterpiece of conflicting emotions. A valiant attempt at a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, while his eyes held a definite flicker of pain.
Your mouth gapes like a beached fish, sputtering for words that stubbornly refuse to appear. Glorfindel's normally bright eyes are suspiciously watery.
"Oh my gosh, are you seriously okay?" you blurt, desperately trying to avert your gaze from the potential bald spot. The thought of a Glorfindel with a patchy mane sends shivers down your spine, both sympathetic and slightly terrifying for the entire Glorfindel fan club (which, ahem, you might be a reluctant member of).
You glance between the fistful of golden hair and his face. "So..." you begin, voice thick with a poorly concealed tremor, "nurse or hairdresser?" The mental image of either fixing this epic hair fail is equally unfathomable.
But before you can process further, a sound erupts from your own throat. It starts as a hesitant snort, morphing into a full-blown, snorting laugh that you're fairly certain Glorfindel wouldn't appreciate under normal circumstances.
Unfortunately, normal circumstances have flown out the window the moment his hair became a sacrificial lamb to the stairwell railing.
By the time the minute mark rolls around, your sides ache from the effort to stifle your laughter. You swear you can almost feel the beginnings of a six-pack forming under your doubled-over form. When you finally manage to peek through tear-filled eyes, Glorfindel is staring at you with a look of...amazed fascination?
That's how you ended up with a clump of braided hair in your palm. You weren't exactly a valiant knight on a noble quest, but in that moment, Glorfindel made a surprisingly convincing damsel in distress, with gloriously strong hair, no less.
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