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strawwritesfic · 2 years

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Legolas x Female!Elf!Reader: Adore

Summary: Gimli had better just get used to the fact that he’ll never understand Legolas completely.

Rating/Tags: All (Gimli & Legolas; post-Return of the King; Mirkwood Elven Guard!Reader; some lingering Dwarves vs. Elves tension; pipe smoking)

Challenge: “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Adore

Good was finally ending one long, uncertain journey to start another with a certain end. Better was a journey of companionship and seeing sights one could not rest for on the first. Better yet was being an honored guest in your companion’s home where your kin had once been prisoners and little else. Still, Gimli felt, one could grow tired of elves–and dwarves could grow tired of them more quickly than anyone, warm welcome or no. Better than all the rest was quiet, stars peeking through the Mirkwood trees, and a chance to get at his pipe.

Legolas’s feast would continue on for many hours more. No one could celebrate like his people. For all Gimli knew, he could rest for the next night and day and wake to continued revelry. There would be time enough for him to return.

Gimli settled himself comfortably against the base a wide tree trunk to smoke at his leisure. He took his first breath in of sweet-smelling smoke and was in the process of blowing it in rings toward the leaves above his head when a slender figure stepped silently past him into the nearby clearing. Eyeing the figure's back, Gimli wondered if Legolas realized that he was there. The sound of singing continued in the distance behind them, but Legolas’s back was to the celebration, his head turned up to watch the sky.

Five minutes of that, and Gimli decided he had had more than enough. Patient dwarves might have been, but friends had no need to be patient with the sudden oddities of a friend. He cleared his throat.

“Do you plan to join me, or do you intend to stand there like an Ent for the rest of the night?” Gimli asked.

Legolas made no sign that he had heard.

Snorting, Gimli put his pipe back in his mouth. Now that he thought about it, this behavior of Legolas’s was nothing new. They had left Gimli’s family in high spirits, but as the road wound on toward Mirkwood, Legolas grew more and more introspective. The silent rides atop their horse had nearly driven Gimli to insanity, but he had hoped that coming home would lift his friend’s spirits. Clearly nothing had happened except to make Legolas seem less communicative than ever.

Gimli ran a hand down his beard. Perhaps going back to the food would not be so bad. It would save him sitting there worrying fruitlessly over Legolas.

Just as Gimli made to put out his pipe, Legolas turned, stepping again toward the feast. Then his eyes fell on Gimli. Gimli blinked once at him. Whatever Legolas was thinking about, he did not want to share it with him. The elf blinked back, and his lips pulled up into a vague smile. He changed direction and soon was close enough for Gimli to touch.

“I had not realized you had left the celebration already,” Legolas said.

Gimli only squinted in reply. Was Legolas so truly out of sorts that he had missed Gimli entirely? Had Gimli been more familiar with any elf other than this one, he might have spoken with one of those here of his concern. As it was, all he could assume was that this was normal behavior for an elf and that coming home had turned Legolas more normal somehow.

“Aye,” Gimli answered gruffly. “I had thought my greeting five minutes past would have been enough warning for you, but I suppose you might have got into a bit of that Elvish wine.”

To his great surprise, the wan smile on Legolas’ face faded further. His eyes turned again to the stars. “Forgive me, my friend. My thoughts are elsewhere.”

This did not entirely discount Gimli’s suggestion that Legolas was simply drunk. Really, though, that would not explain Legolas’s silence over the many miles. Wherever his thoughts were still, Gimli was not wanted.

“Blasted elf,” he grumbled, though there was some good-nature in his tone, for at least Legolas was sorry. Mirkwood had not reclaimed him so much that they were no longer friends. “How about you tell me where your thoughts have been for the past fortnight? Perhaps that will make me more inclined to forgive you.”

“The past fortnight?” Legolas repeated. Gimli was pleased to see that this had at least got Legolas’s attention back to present. Legolas blinked again, then he let out a small sigh. “My thoughts are ever elsewhere, I suppose.”

“That is not an answer, of which you are well aware.”

“I am.” Another sigh. Though Gimli would not admit it, his attention was piqued. In all their time of knowing each other, Legolas had never acted in such a manner. “I am sorry, Gimli. I have been worried about returning here for so long that I did not realize that you had noticed my concern.”

“Concern about what? Either tell me or do not. So long as I can rest this evening knowing you will be leaving this place with me in due time, so much the better.”

Legolas’s smile turned sad. He did not look away this time, yet Gimli felt somehow that Legolas was no longer looking at him but rather through him.

“What good does it do to dwell on that which will not be?” Legolas asked. “It only makes the absence that much more apparent, speaking of it more so to those who were otherwise ignorant of the absence to begin with.”

“The absence of what, pray tell?”

It rankled, Gimli realized, knowing that Legolas wanted to keep secrets even after all this time. There had been no holding back during their visit to Gimli’s family. Legolas had been treated just as a dwarf, a dwarf prince even. Gimli had been treated well by Legolas' family, too, but he hardly cared about the niceties of elves when there was only one elf he truly cared about remaining in Middle Earth.

“Spit it out, Legolas! Have we not been together long enough to speak frankly to one another?” he said.

“I do not mean to keep you in the dark. It is only that I received bad tidings from my father this night. I fear that coming home might have done me more harm than good. There is but one thing I hoped for on the way here, and now I know there is no chance of it happening.”

“You are more difficult to interrogate than an orc!” Gimli bemoaned. He threw up his hands in defeat. A long night of singing it was. “Keep your secrets, Legolas. I need them not. I only hope that you will be back to your old self by the time we make ready to leave.”

Legolas smiled a bit more sincerely at that. “I do not intend to speak in riddles, Gimli. It is only that–”

A snapping branch interrupted him.

Gimli’s hand went straight to the ax at his hip, but Legolas was even faster, his bow strung and arrow drawn before the sound came again, louder and faster. There were still elves close by, but this was closer, and not everything in Mirkwood could have been fixed by Frodo and Gollum’s deed.

Gimli could hear Legolas breathing in the dark; his own breath sounded too loud in his ears. They stood together like that for several minutes, ears straining as the snapping condensed into swift footsteps. A straggler rushing to the party?

No. Just when Gimli thought that danger might be upon them, a young woman burst into their clearing. She was so out of breath, so obviously exhausted, that it took him half a minute to realize that she was an elf. Thankfully, it took him less time to understand the look Legolas gave her–and therefore the whole of Legolas’s behavior this night and those before. The bow fell immediately to Legolas side, and there was something in his gaze that Gimli had never seen before.

“[Name],” Legolas breathed.

There were many odd things about this elf. Never had Gimli seen one so tired, not even Legolas after taking down an Oliphant. Stranger than this, however, was your reaction to Legolas. Your eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but at the same time, you lifted one hand to your mouth.

“Legolas?” you asked.

Legolas joined you in a single bound, leaving Gimli to stand on his own once more. This time, Gimli did not feel the faint burning of frustration in his veins. No, this time Gimli felt nothing but amused. He hid a smile in his beard as he leaned back against his tree. He had not been sent away, after all, and this was something he most certainly wanted to see.

“My father told me that you were away on patrol, too far away to get here in any short time,” Legolas said in a soft voice.

You stood just a little away, as though frozen to the spot. When Legolas continued to look at you expectantly, you looked down for one moment before looking back up at him.

“I was,” you admitted, then: “I am. They told me you were here, and I…ran.”

That much, Gimli felt, was obvious.

Perhaps Legolas did not feel it was so, because he lifted a hand to gently cup the side of your face. “You’re warm."

“I ran as swiftly as I could.”

Legolas let out a soft laugh.

Laugh? To think that all this time, Legolas was mooning over some woman in the forest. Gimli did not know whether to be annoyed or entertained. Both, he decided in short order--short enough order, in fact, that you and Legolas were still busy staring at each other in the dim starlight by the time Gimli had come to his conclusion.

“Does my father know you’re here?” Legolas asked.

“No, and there are so few of us left to look after the border. I should not have left, but–I had to see you.”

Legolas beamed.

What could Gimli do but clear his throat? Much more of this presentation and he was likely to fall ill. Thranduil would not take that kindly, he was sure.

The two of you practically leaped apart at Gimli’s interruption, though to both your credits, each of you recovered quickly enough. The familiar crease of the brow that appeared whenever Gimli first met an elf appeared on yours as well. This smoothed away as Legolas stepped over to him. Gimli suspected shock, as was common when anyone came to know if his and Legolas' companionship.

“[Name]," Legolas said, placing a light hand on Gimli's shoulder, "this is Gimli, son of Glóin. He is my closest friend, and it is to him that any thanks are owed for my safe return.”

Frowning, you looked first at Gimli, then slowly returned your gaze to Legolas’ face. Gimli expected it to stay there, but soon you were looking at him again. Then you inclined your head toward him. “Thank you, Gimli. For keeping him safe when I could not follow to do so.”

“My pleasure, Lady [Name], and it is a further pleasure to know of your existence.”

It was Gimli’s turn to grin. His doing so made Legolas smile as well. It was a nice change from the consistent frown he had worn of late. You simply threw Legolas an appraising look and came nearer to take his hand.

“He needs looking after, this one. I appreciate any help that you are willing to give,” Gimli added.

You opened your mouth to reply, but Legolas beat you to it. Unsurprisingly, his attention was elsewhere once more: “You said my father does not know that you are here,” he said, leaning closer to your face. “If you were to join us, he would know for sure. I would hate to subject you to his displeasure, and yet…”

Gimli could tell Legolas wanted to leave his welcoming party. Well, it was not as though Gimli could not sympathize. He hated to be left alone with Legolas’s friends and family, but this seemed a more important reason to run off.

With a shake of his head, Gimli waved you and Legolas toward the deeper recesses of the forest. “Go on. I shall make your excuses for you.”

There was the briefest return of Legolas’ smile. “Thank you, Gimli.”

You two did not wait for him to wave you away a second time. Gimli watched until you disappeared into the tree boughs across the way. As he turned back to the feast behind, it was with a considerable weight gone from his shoulders. Legolas would be fine. Furthermore, if–and Gimli certainly hoped it so–you joined them as they headed onward toward the sea, maybe you would prove better at conversation than Legolas had proved to be.

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mileycyprus-hill · 5 months

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To Have and to Hold, Tenderly

Based off @gondorimagines post about Boromir cradling you in his arms after a bad day. I took a creative turn with it. This is also my first Boromir fic I've written, so I hope it's good. (Not gonna lie, it was a f***ing struggle to alter my writing style to mirror that of Tolkien when I've only ever written cowboy stuff. Did I need to? Prolly not. But I'm an idiot who does things the hard way.)

Summary: You're a Lady of Dol Amroth and have been married to Boromir for a few years. You're postpartum from a long and painful delivery of your firstborn child while Boromir was gone to protect the borders of Gondor. When he returns, he offers you consolation during your difficult time.

Tags/Warnings: postpartum depression, fluff.

It has been a week.

A week and the pain still lingers. It has spread through your body and evolved from its physical form to infect your mind. The pain of labor had left you frail and weary, your once vibrant spirit now subdued by the weight of motherhood's trials. As you lie in your bedchamber, weighed down underneath the furs and silk sheets, you hear the argument between guilt and apathy loud in your thoughts.

The guilt shouts at you, ordering you to get up. It tells you to be stronger than this; that a Lady of Dol Amroth and wife of a high-ranking captain does not laze about in her bed. She never accepts defeat, but stands up and soldiers on. For her child. For her people.

Apathy however, whispers that you have already failed and you'll never be strong enough for yourself, your child, or your captain again. Your body is ruined. Boromir may not ever return to Minas Tirith. How will you find the strength again?

The silence in the room feeds your inner thoughts. The grand walls and high ceiling loom over you, making it feel less of a comforting place of rest and more of an entrapping cave of white stone. The heavy, blue velvet curtains draping your tall, arched windows shut out the warm sunlight.

You wish to hold her, your newborn babe. That's all you can care for, to feel her warmth against you so you can feel something. Alas, she remains with your nursemaid in another room at the request of the midwife. To give you rest, she told. She witnessed your pain and anguish firsthand, as she stayed with you during those prolonged hours of pushing, screaming, crying, and praying for it all to end. You were near hysterics, anxious that your baby was trapped inside you. You feared as if you had to split yourself in half to get her out.

The midwife recognized your melancholy which lingered after your daughter's birth. She said to you this feeling will pass in time, or was it she hoped it would?

As you drift in and out of an emotional slumber, a gentle knock echoes through the wooden door, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps crossing the threshold. You open your eyes to see the familiar dark, yet golden hair of Boromir, your stalwart husband. He enters your shared bedchamber, his countenance etched with lines of concern and weariness from the battles fought at Gondor's borders.

"My dear (Y/N)," he whispers, his voice a soothing balm to your troubled mind.

You can hardly contain the tears in your weary eyes at the sight of his towering figure. The sound of his voice sends a wave of relief. It washes over you, threatening to spill the emotions you've held so tightly in your heart.

"You've returned!" You sputter and look to him as he crosses the room with purpose, his arms outstretched to embrace you. With such tender care, he gathers you in his arms, his strong frame a shield against the woes outside your door.

"I have, as swiftly as my steed could carry me...I feared I had lost you," he murmurs, soft and low, pressing a kiss to your brow. "But here you are, safe as I hoped you both would be."

You nestled against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your ear. It's a comforting cadence amidst the chaos of your thoughts. The warmth of his cheek against your crown permeates your cold and weakened body and you breathe in his scent, detecting his musk that you've always found so alluring.

Lavender and cream from his shave, leather from his clothing, and the earth and air from his travels.

"How are you feeling?" He queries with a gentle hush, "I had heard it was...quite difficult."

Tears began flowing down your cheeks like a trickling stream after a spring rain. You mutter a sarcastic answer to mask the pain, albeit pathetically, "Difficult is how I would describe your temper. This was..." you pause to reconsider burdening him with your woes, "...something far beyond my imagination."

Boromir's warm hold around you tightens and he presses an apologetic kiss to your forehead. As the fire crackles softly in the hearth, he begins to weave a tale of excitement upon learning the news of your daughter's birth.

"When I received word that our child was a girl," he began, a fond smile gracing his lips, "my heart swelled with joy beyond measure. I thought, a blessing has been bestowed upon us by the Valar themselves, to cherish and protect for all the days of our lives."

Your heart sank.

"But what of your father? He did not appear pleased to discover her," You worry, remembering the controlling nature of the steward towards all things in his city. "Tradition demands a male heir."

Boromir replies, his expression turning solemn as he considers your question, "He may harbor...disappointment at first. He does cling to the ways of old, but he is a man of wisdom and honor." He pauses, a flicker of sadness crossing his features before resolve settled in his eyes. "I have faith that in time he will come to see the light and beauty that our daughter brings to our house, and he will welcome her into the fold with open arms, as a cherished member of our noble lineage."

He recounted how he had ridden with haste through the rolling hills of Gondor, his heart buoyed by the thought of returning to your side, to share in the wonder of new life.

"As I rode through the streets, I heard talk of you and our daughter." He smiles a breathless laugh at that final word, "They spoke with such gleeful joy, 'Finally, a girl is born in the Citadel!' It gave them hope, (Y/N). Countless people requested I send word of your good health to them. They love you, (Y/N). They are here for you just as I am. You are...you're their princess."

Suddenly, a drop of moisture splashes onto your hair. Bringing yourself up from beneath his chin, you look into his grey-blue eyes. They're brimming with tears and he makes no effort to slow his weeping, for he is so overjoyed he can no longer contain them.

"My journey was long and arduous," he continued, his voice a low rumble in the quiet chamber. "But fear not, my love, for I am here now. Together, we shall weather this storm."

And so, in the solace of each other's arms, you found a sanctuary from the trials of the world outside. For in the embrace of love, even the darkest night could be pierced by the light of hope, shining bright as the morning sun upon the walls of Gondor.

The soft creak of the doorknob echoes through the bedchamber, heralding the arrival of another into the sanctum of your solace. Both of your gazes, intertwined with longing and curiosity, turn to behold the newcomer being carried across the threshold.

"And now, here she is," says Boromir, his gaze softening as he looks upon the babe being welcomed into your arms. "When I look upon her, I see the promise of a future adorned with beauty and grace. A beacon of hope to light our path ahead."

As he spoke, you felt a warmth suffuse your weary frame, a renewed sense of purpose blooming within your heart. For in Boromir's words, you find strength to face the challenges that lay ahead, knowing that together, you would overcome every obstacle, guided by the light of love's enduring flame.

#Boromir should've been a dad #just to show he wouldn't be like Denethor #what can i say?#I'm a sucker for papa au's #just look at my red dead fics #Boromir #boromir x reader #fluff #fan fiction #lotr

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dancerinthestorm · 1 year

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Fic Recs: "Didn't see that one coming" edition...

I've been wanting to start collecting my all time favorite stories in ages but never knew where to start, there are just too many talented souls out there. A lazy day of re-reading favorites makes me want to finally give it a try though.

Featuring today: stories that defy my usual hunting patterns but still became all time favourites against all odds. Stories leaving me utterly gobsmacked thinking "That was so, soo awsome... but how on earth did I end up in this fandom / character / trope tag of all places?".

@messy-insomniac-bookgirl Let's be honest: this writer is the spirit animal of this specific selection. Never heard of the fandom? Dislike the protagonist with a passion? Doesn't matter: she writes it, I devour and love it. The reason? Dense and hugely rewarding story-telling, perfect pacing, side characters you want to adopt on the spot, delicious slow burns with sooo much yearning. And, most importantly, the awesome female OCs. I am in love with each and every one of them, regardless who they share a screen with. It's almost impossible to select just one story for this list but let's go for "Keep Calm and Buckle Up" (AO3) for suddenly making me feel things when Steve Rogers entered the stage in "Infinity War". Steve Rogers x OFC, James "Bucky" Barnes x OFC, Steve x Bucky x OFC. Action, slow burn, emotional roller coaster rides. Rated E.

@batsingotham "Written in the stars" (AO3) I don't do Soul Mate AUs. I don't do Robert Pattinson characters. For me the best things about "The Batman" were Andy Serkis' Alfred and 3 hours of Niravana in a loop. But the undisputed goddess queen of slow burn domestic fluff overruled all of that. Bruce Wayne/Reader. Soulmate AU. Dorks in love. Bruce needs a hug and Alfred has the patience of a saint. Rated M.

"Sweet Conversations" by @glassgulls Lord of the Rings has been living in my head rent free ever since I was a teenager but I simply don't do Elves. Period. Yes, Glorfindel is very cool and Lee Pace's Thranduil is an absolute vision (the costumes, the voice and the make up, mind you, don't get me started on any other aspect of the Hobbit movies though...) but otherwise? Thanks but no thanks. Nevertheless: the award for best fictional kiss I’ve come across in ages goes to this gem. Amazing scene setting and character work for something so short. Leaves you weak-kneed and high as a kite on serotonin for the rest of the day. Haldir/Reader. One-shot. Rated M.

„Ownership of Mine“ by @amywritesthings . Okay, lets be honest, peeps: Prison settings for a romance story? Seriously? Who in their right mind would be able to think about romance and seduction when all of your freedom is taken away, you are crammed into a small and dark space with people of questionable character and put under constant surveilance. Well… apparently I can… with this story. Even if that tag is a big red NO GO sign for me otherwise. Amazingly dense story telling and atmosphere building in just 3 short chapters. Kino Loy/Reader. Rated E.

„Directions“ by @zinzinina . Probably a sure sign that I am getting too old for all of this but tags about age gaps, first love or first times usually make me run for the hills. Add a character like Poe Dameron (I mean: come on! Howww…?!) to the mix and there is not enough willing suspension of disbelieve in the world to get me immersed in the plot. Or so I thought. Unwisely. Until this beauty came along. Poe Dameron/Reader. Rated E.

#fic recs #stories to cherish and re-read for all eternity #fan fiction #steve rogers x ofc #james bucky barnes x ofc #steve rogers x james bucky barnes x ofc #haldir x reader #haldir survives lotr goddamit!#bruce wayne x reader #battinson x reader #kino loy x reader #poe dameron x reader #dancerinthestorm reads

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seanofbeankeep · 3 months

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Perfect timing is when the first thing I see after I make my silly fan fic moment where I make Gromph duel wield frying pans like he’s Drizzt is this image on social media

Edit the frying pan segment:

Ducking below the whipping barbed leash, Gromph prepared a spell, spinning his delicate fingers in a gliding motion, but he was interrupted when the emboldened goblin warriors stabbed their spears at his unprotected hands in the attempt to slice his exposed casting fingers. He was an archmage, he could conjure up devastating storms that would fell a goblin army, but the room was too small, Catti-Brie too close, and too many goblin spears in his face to properly cast his deadly spells fast enough. He reached back instead and grabbed the items hanging loose from Regis' pack and swung it full force into the face of the nearest goblin.

Regis felt his heavy pack get lighter and heard several loud clangs behind him, he turned from his own fight to see a furious archmage beat back vicious goblins with a pair of cast iron frying pans. The goblins looked terrified and Regis wondered why in all his years he had never done the same. Regis edged away from the rampaging archmage in case his own head was next to be squashed by a wild swing and he focused his attention to the goblins ahead of him. He puffed out his chest thinking of Donnola, the Bleeding Vines, the Grinning Ponies and all that is good in the world, like a full belly and a quiet fishing hole. With a dance of his short rapier two goblins fell dead as he struck them from over their shields. Regis yelled a cheer, until two more goblins took their place.

Jarlaxle glanced over to spy Drizzt somersault over a group of goblins, but he corrected himself when he saw it was his own brother Gromph dual wielding cooking equipment. He made the mental note to laugh about it later as more goblins streamed into his side of the room.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56620513

#gromph baenre #fic post #legend of drizzt #a lotr Drizzt crossover #fan fiction

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coopsgirl · 1 year

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Thranduil Fic Masterlist

The Darkening Forest: Set in the Woodland Realm around the year 1050 of the Third Age as Greenwood the Great begins to turn into Mirkwood. King Thranduil meets a young elven woman and his life will never be the same. AO3 link

Words: 34,506

From a Far Away Shore: Set at the beginning of the Third Age just after the victory against Sauron by the alliance of elves and men, Thranduil has just become king after the death of his father Oropher in battle. He gets help from a most unexpected source as he tries to fill his father's shoes and guide his people back to peace and prosperity. AO3 link

Words: 56,048

The Shadow and the Sunrise: Ranyare, a member of the original eldar who awoke on the shores of Lake Cuiviénen, has survived into the Third Age and has lived hidden away from others in Fangorn Forest. Forced to come out of hiding, she meets the elves of Lothlórien and Greenwood. Much to her surprise, she and Thranduil become friends and together they will work through their pain and traumas to finally find peace and love. AO3 link

Words: 22,447

All fics are completed and safe for work. I hope you will enjoy them!

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backtothefanfiction · 19 days

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Just to say…

I am going to post part one of a Legolas, Lord of the Rings fanfic I have been working on for a bit. Was going to post it all as one but the two towers section is getting very long so gonna divide the story by the trilogy. This is a reader insert with a universe appropriate name. Reader is half elf half man and has a complicated history with a certain elf. I am so excited to finally share, so if it’s something you’re interested in and want to be tagged, drop me a note on here and I’ll be sure to tag you when it goes live some point tomorrow.

The series is titled GREEN LEAVES as a reference of course to Legolas’s surname but also it is a play on Green Sleeves because I am an Anne Boleyn fan through and through. Anyway, can’t wait to start sharing this with you all.

#Legolas #coming soon #Legolas x reader #Legolas x you #lotr #the lord of the rings #fellowship of the ring #the two towers #return of the king #Aragorn #reader insert #fic announcement #Orlando bloom characters #my first love #childhood crush #elf reader #legolas fanfiction #Lord of the rings fan fiction

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year

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The real tragedy of The Last of Us is that they never got to see The Return of the King.

#talking about the hbo show timeline obvs #i'm convinced that joel miller is a LOTR fan #is there a fic idea somewhere in here?#someone finds a copy of RotK #and they make a date night of it

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middleearthpixie · 1 year

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Promise Me ~ Prologue

Summary: Friends since childhood, Gabriella has long held back her feelings where Boromir is concerned, as she did not want to risk losing his friendship if he didn't feel the same. But, then he is summoned to Rivendell, and the night before he is to leave, he stuns Gabriella by confessing his feelings for her as well.

But, war is coming and he cannot put off what he knows must be done. All Gabriella can do is wait for him and pray for his safe return.

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (AU, Boromir lives)

Pairing: Boromir x ofc Gabriella

Characters: Boromir

Warnings: Some angst…

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.1k

Tag List: @sotwk @heilith @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @emmyspov @finnofamerica @lathalea

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

“You can swing at me, you know. You are not about to hit me.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Gabriella grunted as she sat up. Her sword lay on the ground beside her, her arms ached from the effort of wielding it, despite the fact that it was made especially for her. Not only that, but it was commissioned by the man now standing over her, looking more than a little smug as he folded his arms over a broad chest.

“So, why don’t you?” Those thick arms unfolded and he held out a large hand with deceptively elegant fingers.

She lay her hand in his and let him draw her up. “I don't know. I suppose I fear hurting you.”

He chuckled. “I think it would take more than what you could deliver to hurt me, Gabby. Come, let’s try again.”

“No. I’m sore and tired and my arms might very well fall off if I so much as think about swinging that blasted blade even one more time.”

He moved to pick up the blade in question, then handed it to her. “I don’t know when the next time I’ll be able to spar with you will come, you know.”

“Don’t remind me, please.” She took the sword from him, carefully slipped it back into its scabbard, then looked up at him, squinting as the sun sinking into the horizon behind him temporarily blinded her. She blinked the spots from her eyes and looked instead at him. Boromir, oldest son of Denethor II, Steward of Gondor, and her closest friend in all of Middle Earth. They’d grown up together, and in recent times he was away from Minas Tirith more often than he was there. But when he did come home, he made certain to come by the tavern and see her. And if he planned to be around for more than several days, he found the time to work in a sparring session with her.

Come the sunrise, he’d be leaving. Rivendell was his destination and he would not say why he’d been summoned there, which meant it couldn't possibly be good. War was coming. She knew it. They all knew it. For the last several weeks, men had been working almost round the clock to attempt to fortify the city, to evacuate as many of the women and children as they could.

“You’re staring,” he broke into her reverie, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“At you? Hardly,” she snorted. “Why would I stare at you?”

A lie. Of course she stared at him. How could she not, when he was, quite simply, the handsomest man in all of Gondor? He was tall and broad of shoulder and chest, with hair the color of fresh honey and eyes the same green as a lush meadow after a spring rain. He was noble and proud and kind and strong.

And he saw her as nothing more than a friend. The sister he’d never had.

One dark gold brow rose ever so slightly. “Why, indeed.” He glanced up at the thickening clouds. “Let me see you home before the rains come.”

She nodded and they set off back toward the tavern not far from the inn. Her family ran said tavern, and lived above it and while her best friend Dora liked to tease her about someday marrying Boromir, Gabriella knew such a match was unlikely to happen. He showed little interest in any woman, and even less in the notion of marrying any time soon. Of course, the time would come when his father would decide it was absolutely time, and so would choose a suitable bride for his son.

And that bride would not be the daughter of the tavern keeper.

They made an odd pair as it was, but no one seemed troubled by it, and she valued his friendship above all else, so if friends was all they were to be, she would treasure it still.

“Do you truly have to go? It’s grown so dangerous to travel beyond the city walls.”

“We’ve talked about this, Gabby. And yes, I truly do have to go.”

She peered up at him as they walked. He was almost a head and a half taller than her, and always gave off that feeling of security. No matter what, she was safe with him and she knew it. He made certain she did.

“The side of my face grows hot.” He stopped and turned toward her. “Going to tell me you aren’t staring again?”

“Not this time, no.” She shook her head. “I am instead trying to find a reason to convince you to stay.”

“Gabby,” a hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his lips, “please stop. Staying is not an option. You know this, so please stop asking me to.”

“I know, I sound like a child and I pout like one, but I’m terrified something will happen to you. Something terrible.”

He caught her hands in his and her heart gave a mighty leap at the way the air seemed to crackle around them. His hands were rough from riding, and large enough that they swallowed hers. “I will be fine and when I return, you will laugh at yourself for being so worried.”

“And if you aren’t? If you don’t?” She looked up at him. “I know that sounds so ominous and dramatic, but—”

“Gabby,” he broke in gently, his normally guarded eyes softening as they met hers, “I will.”

Thunder rolled low in the distance as he held her gaze and her heart sped up as she whispered, “Promise me.”

“I promise you. And perhaps by then you will have finally worked up both the nerve and the strength to knock me down.”

“I most definitely will.”

He winked then. “Promise me.”

“I promise you.”

“Good.” He bobbed his head slightly. “Because I will be back. I have a very good reason to be, you know.”

“Well, yes, you have to take your place eventually as steward.”

“Yes, but that’s not quite what I mean.”

Her heart sped up again as his eyes grew softer still and the crackle in the air seemed louder now. Loud enough that she almost expected to see very real sparks shoot between them. The fine hairs along her arms stood and a slight, teasing chill ran along her spine.

He leaned over and their lips met in a gentle kiss that had her curling her toes in her boots and her fingers about his. His lips were so incredibly soft, much more so than she’d ever imagined, and she had to fight back the rising sigh as they moved against hers. The neatly trimmed hair of his mustache and beard tickled, but only for a moment as he tilted his head slightly, parted those soft lips, and the tip of his tongue eased between her lips to caress hers.

His one hand fell from hers to come to rest on her hip, then he eased that arm about her waist to tug her flush against him and her heart soared as his kiss deepened, as he bent her body back just enough. It wasn't her first kiss, but it was the sweetest she’d ever received and he drew back to press his forehead to hers, a sheepish smile playing at his lips. “I’ve wanted to do that for some time now.”

“I’ve wanted you to for some time,” she replied softly.

“So then you are not about to slap me?”

“Not this time, no.”

He chuckled softly. “Good.”

This time when he kissed her, there was no hesitation, and she melted against him as he wrapped her in his arms as if he’d never let her go.

The next morning, she slipped away from the tavern to head to the stables, where Boromir was readying his horse. She came around the corner, not wanting to startle him, and called, “I thought you’d be gone by now.”

He peered over one shoulder at her. “Trying to get rid of me, are you?”

“What do you think?”

He turned away from his horse. “I thought you’d be with the others to see me off, actually.”

“I will. But, I wanted a moment alone to give you something.”

“What’s that?”

“This.” She closed the gap between them and held out her hand. Coiled in her palm, on a delicate silver chain, lay a silver medallion with a bear etched into it.

He lifted puzzled green eyes to her. “Gabby?”

She smiled despite her heavy heart. “My father gave it to me when I was a child because I was afraid of the dark. The first night I slept in the dark alone, I was so scared, it took me forever to actually fall asleep. But, I remained in my own bed and left him and Mama alone and so he had this made for me. He told me it was a symbol of my courage and that the bear would watch over me on the nights when I was still scared.”

“I cannot take this.”

“You can,” she caught him by the wrist to turn his hand palm up, let the silver chain spill into the middle of said palm, then closed his fingers over it, “and you will. But, just so you know, I expect it back some day.”

“Are you certain?”

“I am.”

“Very well. If you’re certain.” His eyes softened once more. “Would you put it on me? I’d rather not mangle the clasp.”

“Of course.” She took it and, despite her heavy heart, smiled as he turned away from her. “You’ll have to crouch a bit, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, sorry.” He did as she said and bent his knees to bring him low enough for her to fasten the delicate chain about his neck.

He straightened up then and turned back to her, tucking the medallion beneath the neck of his tunic. “You are certain about this?”

“I am, yes. As I said, I expect it back, so now you have a reason to return.”

“I have more than one reason, Gabby. And I will return.”

Her eyes stung as she nodded slowly and whispered, “Promise me.”

“I promise you.” He bent to her, his kiss light and gentle and when he drew back, his eyes were soft. “I will be back.”

“You had better, Boromir.”

“I just promised you, didn't I?” He stepped back and caught the reins in one hand. “And I will be.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together to keep them from trembling. Her throat tightened. Her eyes stung. “Be careful, won’t you? It’s so very dangerous beyond these walls.”

“I will be fine.”

“I know. But I’ll still worry just the same.” She closed the space between them once more, easing her arms about his waist, and let her head come to rest against his chest. Beneath his tunic, his heart beat softly, and she desperately wished they had more time. She should have spoken up long before now, but she was so terrified of ruining their friendship that she kept her budding feelings for him carefully tucked away. But if she’d been brave enough to risk it, they would have had time to share more than a couple of tender kisses.

He folded her into his embrace and she bit down on her bottom lip at the gentle pressure of him kissing the top of her head. “I will be fine,” he whispered once more.

She nodded, although she wasn't nearly as confident and he held her for another moment or two, then, with a deep breath, pulled away. “I really must go now, Gabby. I’ve a long ride ahead of me.”

“I know.” She swiped at her cheeks, at the stupid, stubborn tears that refused to remain at bay.

“Don't cry,” he told her, reaching out to brush his thumb along her left cheek.

“I can’t help it. My stupid eyes will not listen to reason.” She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and stepped out of his reach. “You should go. Everyone else is waiting to see you off.”

He bobbed his head and then swung up into the saddle. “I will see you soon, Gabriella.”

She managed a smile. “Promise me.”

He winked. “I promise you.”

“I’m holding you to it, you know.”

“I fully intend to keep it.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth, and his horse ambled down the path from the stable to the road.

She had planned to follow, to join the others in seeing him off, but as he grew smaller, she couldn’t bring herself to move. His scent hung in the air—leather and hints of horse and cloves—and as the silence settled about her, she finally gave up trying to hold back the flood of tears burning the backs of her eyeballs.

#Lord of the Rings #LOTR AU #Boromir #Boromir fic #LOTR fanfic #Lord of the Rings Fanfic #Fan fiction #LOTR fanfiction #AU #Boromir x OC #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Sean Bean

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welikeimagines-andfandoms · 4 months

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It’s the one bed trope but instead of waking up in a sexual position, waking up with a leg in the back and an arm on their face 😂

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strawwritesfic · 2 years

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Frodo Baggins x Female!Hobbit!Reader: Girl

Summary: Frodo doesn’t really mean it about turning Merry and Pippins into toads, but there are times he wonders if that wouldn’t make things a little easier on everyone else.

Rating/Tags: All (Movie canon; during canon; Fellowship of the Ring; A Long-Expected Party; Pippin & Merry; Pippin & Merry & Frodo; Frodo & Gandalf; Sam/Rosie; quarreling; love confession; birthday party; the Shire)

Challenge: “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Girl

Bilbo’s eleventy-first birthday party had been the talk of the whole Shire for almost the entire year that led up to it. Every hobbit in the town of Hobbiton—and many more from the outlying regions—was invited to the massive celebration. To the young Frodo Baggins wandering through the crowd, it seemed that each and every one of them had come. Plus some, he judged, as a line of his uncle’s well-wishers nearly crushed him in their eagerness to get to the buffet. He had seen nearly everyone he cared to, including Merry and Pippin and Rosie and Sam...save for the one person he had hoped to see most.

The weight in Frodo’s stomach grew heavier and heavier the longer his search for you went on. Could it be that you hadn’t come? Of all the hobbits to skip his coming of age party—and to add to that, he knew that it was his fault if you had! If only he had not said what he’d said just that very week. Then maybe, maybe—

“Frodo!”

He looked up to see Merry and Pippin waving at him from beside the band playing for the wide field of dancers between Frodo and his friends. Both grinned widely upon catching his eye. Unable to entirely hide his disappointment, Frodo morosely picked his careful way through the throng of party-goers to the pair. Neither of them stopped smiling.

“Why the long face, Frodo?” Merry asked.

“Are you still looking for [Name]?” added Pippin.

Frodo looked over his shoulder at the constantly-shifting dancers, half-expecting to see you there with some other neighborhood tween. He did not. Pippin’s grin widened as Frodo turned back to him and Merry.

“Never fear,” Pippin gave Frodo a hearty clap on the back, “for we have found your maiden fair.”

Frodo tried to protest this, but Merry overrode him: “A little bird told us precisely where you can find her.”

“Who was the little bird?” asked Frodo.

Merry shrugged carelessly and reached for a passing tray of ales. “Gandalf,” he answered, passing Pippin a drink of his own while the latter nodded sagely.

“You know, I rather think Gandalf suspects us of something, Merry.”

“I believe you are correct, Pippin. And that he believes sending us on this errand to help Frodo will keep us from any mischief.”

“A pity for Gandalf. Everyone has to be wrong from time to time, I suppose, even great wizards such as he.”

Both sniggered into their mugs. Frodo waited for them to get to the point. They didn’t. At last, unable to wait any longer, he said:

“Well? Where is she?”

Merry gave a slight start, as though he had forgotten that Frodo was even there. He pointed off towards the edge of the main tent.

“Her mother has her helping with the catering, or so [Name] claims.”

“So you’ve spoken to her?”

Pippin shook his head. “Threw a plate right at my nose when we tried. You’ll probably have better luck.”

“I doubt it,” Frodo murmured.

After gulping down the last of his ale, Merry made a shooing motion with his free hand. “Well, run along and find out, why don’t you? And if you see Gandalf along the way, tell him we passed along his message and were perfectly well-behaved for the duration of our conversation.”

Frodo knew that he ought to have been more concerned with his companions’ plans. If Gandalf desired to keep them occupied, it was probably for the best. A lot of planning had gone into this party. Merry and Pippin were more likely to ruin it with their particular brand of trouble than any of the other guests—and that included the horrible Sackville-Bagginses. On the other hand, Gandalf must have wanted Frodo to talk to you, if he’d gone out of his way to give him your whereabouts.

It hardly mattered. Before Frodo could breech the topic of whatever trouble the two were up to that evening, they had disappeared into the crowd. Oh, well. He hadn’t really wanted to tell them off anyway. His heart just wasn’t in it.

Relieved of this duty—though not without feeling some slight trepidation over what Merry and Pippin might have planned—he made his way in the direction indicated. This led him straight to a smaller tent set off from the rest of the festivities. Frodo joined the fast-moving line to the entrance and eventually came close enough to peek inside. A veritable hive of busy hobbits in uniform bustled endlessly before him.

None of them seemed to notice him slipping into the warm darkness after them. Everyone was far too busy with their assigned task. Here the party’s considerable amount of food was prepared, and none of the workers had time to rest. A constant stream of them carrying plates both empty and full moved in and out from the tent’s entrance flap. Heat from exertion and so many cooking fires pressed against Frodo’s skin until he was quite as pink in the face as those doing the baking. Of course, he found you at the very back, scowling over a steaming tub of water filled with dirty serving platters.

He was not surprised you were hiding among the cooks. Your mother was considered one of the top chefs in Hobbiton, and Bilbo had hired only the best for his eleventy-first birthday party. What did surprise Frodo was your expression. Rarely had he seen you appear so dour, and you hadn’t even spotted him yet.

“Pardon me, Mister Frodo,” said a man at Frodo’s back, “but if you wouldn’t mind scooting out of the way, I’d be much obliged. We’re rather in a hurry.”

Frodo hastily crossed the aisle in which he’d been lingering. The man’s additional, “and a very happy birthday to you, sir,” was lost on him, for at that very moment your eyes flashed upward to catch him in the act of spying. You dropped the platter in your hands, but being pinned in by the hobbits washing plates on either side of you, you could make no escape. One of the washers left, only for Frodo to step into the empty space.

You crossed your arms across your chest, and shot him a look eerily reminiscent of your mother. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my party,” Frodo answered, “as well as Bilbo’s.”

Apparently this was the wrong answer, because you threw him a dirty look and bent to snatch your dropped plate from the sudsy water. “Then go enjoy your party,” you snarled, attacking a stuck on bit of potato with more vigor than Frodo thought necessary.

He inched closer, the better to stay out of the way of those continually coming to deposit dinnerware in need of washing. “I can’t,” he said. “I don’t have anyone to talk to.”

Your mother had explicitly freed you from catering duty for the party. She had done it as a favor to Frodo, an early birthday present, she had said. Why, then, did you seem so insistent on doing what wasn’t your job for the evening? Without bothering to look at him, you dropped your tray back into the tub, then reached over the resulting splash for a new plate.

“I’m sure Merry and Pippin would be more than happy to talk with you,” you said coldly.

“I don’t think I want involved with whatever they’re up to.”

“Bilbo, then.”

“He’s busy playing host.”

“Gandalf.”

“How would he keep an eye on Merry and Pippin?”

You threw your hands up in the air in frustration, and lost your grip on the plate. “Why not Sam?”

Frodo shuffled his feet. You were nearing the subject of your fight, whether you realized or not. “He and Rosie are dancing.”

Nose wrinkled, you rummaged through the water in search of your platter. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Frodo. Those are all the boys I know, and your only friends. After all, you told me yourself we can’t be friends, because I’m a girl.”

His wide blue eyes closed in shame. Frodo had said that. He hadn’t meant it. The whole thing had been badly bungled, and now he didn’t know how to un-bungle it, or if you’d even give him the chance to try.

“I didn’t mean it like that, [Name].”

You did not answer this time. Having retrieved your wet things, you made a silent, angry beeline for a rack of clean towels to dry them with. He followed as quickly as he could, given how many hobbits were inside such an enclosed area. He wished he wasn’t having this fight so publicly—not that anyone really had the time to eavesdrop.

“[Name], I didn’t,” he insisted as he caught up to you. “You’re a girl.”

“Oh, very astute observation,” you said semi-hysterically. Now the pitch of your voice was drawing attention. “What would I do without you? I already figured out I was a girl because, in case you haven’t noticed, we're no longer friends!”

Frodo took a deep breath. Like mother like daughter—though he supposed you were still a tween, with your own coming of age several months away still. Either way, he was terrified of your rage, but this might be the last chance he got to explain himself. Bracing himself, he lightly looped one hand around your wrist. You fell into an enraged silence at once.

“You’re a girl and my friend,” he said, before you had the opportunity to recollect yourself. “When I said I didn’t have any friends that were girls…well, I meant that you’re something more.”

“What?” you said after a moment of struggle.

Encouraged by your not making to run off again, Frodo slipped his hand from your wrist to your palm. “I didn’t mean that we weren’t friends. I was trying to ask you to dance with me. I just didn’t phrase it right.”

A strange noise like a cross between a giggle and a squeak escaped you. You still had not forced him to release you. “You wanted to dance? With me?”

The odd tone of your voice gave Frodo some doubts. You were not normally the kind of person to repeat others either. He offered you a hesitant nod.

“I didn’t mean to make you think you mean less to me than Sam and the rest. You don’t. You mean more. But,” he added when you remained as stiff as a statue in front of him, “if you want to just stay friends, I understand. So long as we’re still friends.”

Seconds went by as you continued to gape at him. His heart sank, and he let go of your hand at last. Yes, he understood you wanting to remain friends, but that didn’t mean he wasn't disappointed by this turn of events. Bilbo’s occasional asides about broken hearts made sense now. Frodo mashed his lips together for a long moment before he gathered his wits about him to take his leave.

“You’re busy," he said awkwardly as he backed away. "Bilbo will be looking for me. We’ll talk some other—”

“Of course I’ll dance with you!”

Frodo had barely got two steps toward the crowded tent exit when you practically tackled him in a hug. Twisting in your grip, he looked around to see your scowl had transformed into an enormous smile.

“You will?” he said. Bewildered as he was, his heart felt ten pounds lighter even as you shuffled off him to allow him room to stand.

“Yes! I—I like you as more than a friend, too. I’d love to dance with you. If,” you looked suddenly shy, “if you still want to after I was so mean.”

“You weren’t mean. I said the wrong thing. I got nervous.”

You smiled again, a little less brightly this time. “So…still more than friends?”

“More than friends,” he said. “But can you leave? Will your mother let you?”

“Are you kidding? She’ll serve me next if she catches me hiding from you in here.”

Just like that, you both were hand in hand again. Frodo squeezed yours firmly in his own. “Let’s go. I think I can get the band to play—”

KABOOM!

Everyone in the tent yelped and froze. Plates trembled. Frightened hobbits dropped their plates. You threw Frodo a knowing look.

“Pippin and Merry?” you asked.

“Pippin and Merry,” Frodo said wearily. “Let’s go see what sort of trouble they got in this time.”

“Then we dance?”

“Then we dance.”

The two of you ducked out of the food tent and headed for where Gandalf and a cluster of half-drunk hobbits—all grumbling over the fright they had received—were gathered.

It was hard for Frodo to be too upset with Merry and Pippin after they’d help him get together with you. Gandalf had, too, however, so it could be that they were about to get what they deserved. It all depended on how much time this business took, and if Frodo at last got to have his long-awaited birthday dance.

On second thought, he hoped Gandalf turned them both into toads. It would be faster, Frodo thought, and after all, Gandalf could always turn them back...after you and Frodo had your dance.

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marielwho · 5 months

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Dear Tumblr friends, I need your help...

So, I've been away from reading fan fics for almost a decade now (because my heart couldn't handle more unfinished fics tbh😭). Buuuut, I've been considering going back to it for a while now. However, I am so unfamiliar with the fic world nowadays that I need help finding some good, finished fics; these are the types of fic-topics that I would love to read if you have any recommendations!! (Please, also mention the website where I can find it ❤️)

Mass Effect FemShep x Garrus with a focus on how Garrus dealt with learning that she died at the start of game 2 and/or end of game 3

Young Legolas trying to get close to his dad, Thranduil, and more of him mourning his wife (or just any fic about their father-son relationship)

Any good "What If...?" kind of story about Anakin and Padme

Another "What If..?" kind of story where Alina actually goes with the Darkling and the Darkling's feelings for her are true

Maybe a fic about Oscar Isaac's Moon Knight post-season one and how he deals with/learns about his 3rd personality?

Thank you 💖 and if you think there might be a fic worth reading based on the fandoms above, even if the topic is not quite what I'm looking for, please comment!

#mass effect #garrus vakarian #moon knight #mark spector #legolas #lotr #star wars #anakin x padme #fan fic rec #the darkling

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beebobeebo · 9 days

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Title: Gondor Calls for Aid

Fandom: Justified

Pairing: Raylan x Tim (Givenson)

Characters: Raylan Givens & Tim Gutterson

Summary: Seriously, the sword thing is becoming a problem.

"I am not wearing the helmet."

"But-"

"The sword can stay."

"Oh compromise, the heart of every great relationship," Tim says with a snort. "Now pull my hair and ask me about Gondor's reserves."

Raylan yanks Tim's head back. "'I, Aragorn son of Arathorn, called Elessar, the Elfstone, Dúnadan, the heir of Isildur Elendil's son of Gondor would know the state of my kingdom."

Tim groans loud enough to block out Raylan's quiet "Jesus Christ" as his eyes roll

"You actually read the goddamn book?"

"There are three fucking books, but yes," Raylan tilts the kneeling man's head. "I read the damn books for you."

"Fuck the sword. I think that's the hottest goddamn thing I've ever heard." Tim grabs Raylan by his hips so that he can drag his tongue over the jut of bone that begs to be tasted, bitten. Raylan pulls the willing mouth away from his skin with no small amount of reluctance.

"All I had to do was read for that reaction?" Raylan quirks an eyebrow and traces Tim's jawline with the fingers of his free hand. "You gonna come apart if I tell you I flicked through the appendix?"

Tim's eyes roll up to meet his. "You let me at you, you'll start tryin' to pronounce things correctly."

"Appendix E?" Raylan is unfortunately so smug at calling this play that he misses the way Tim's lips part slightly. He does catch how that too-pink tongue pulls in that soft bottom lip. "You know this is the nerdiest goddamn shit ever?"

Tim nods.

"And you're gonna thank me appropriately for all that time spent rememberin' which elf did what?" Raylan tilts his head in that way that highlights every bit of his damnedable bone structure.

Tim smiles moonily. "Enough that you'll be happy you read all those words with dots over the letters."

Raylan tilts Tim's chin up gently. "Enough that I'll know why, in this little game, Faramir is so loyal to Aragorn?"

"Enough that you'll know why Tim is so loyal to Raylan," he whispers before adding, "asshole." He grabs Raylan's hip, his thumb stroking that beloved angle of bone. His free hand, almost passive-aggressively, because is he only human, hovers near Raylan's firming cock. "Do you want me to prove my loyalty? Or do you want to hear about how being a steward works?"

Raylan shivers. The tension of proximity setting his nerves on edge. "Jesus Christ, Tim, you can tell me about castles later. I promise." Tim smiles, because the bastard actually means it. He slowly, carefully swipes his tongue along the underside of the coloring head. When Raylan groans and grips his hair just this side of painful, his lips tug up into a smug grin. It's not a game, but he's winning. Between the reading and the way a tremor runs through Raylan's thigh, he would do anything for the man, and yet he's the one winning. He closes his hand and slowly rolls his fingers up and over the head of Raylan's cock teasing out that bit of taste and that soft sound that always catches in the other man's throat.

"Fuck," Raylan says through clenched teeth. "You down there playin'?"

Tim laughs and nuzzles the base of the length straining toward him as his fingers apply pressure in a chaotic pattern that makes sense only to him and the dick at his disposal. "Checkin' the state of your kingdom. I'd make a joke about the White Tower of—"

"Minas Tirith," Raylan says through gritted teeth. He tilts his head so that one eye is focused so hard on Tim he might shatter like Narsil.

Tim leans back and opens his mouth to speak, but finds it quickly occupied with a more pleasant task. He presses forward out of both affection and spite until he can feel that sickeningly pleasant strain that dares to make him light-headed if enjoyed too long. For his own sake, he pulls back, his lips wrapping around the tip, tongue flicking over the slit to taste. Raylan's other hand lowering to cup the base of his skull causes him to look up quickly enough to appreciate one of the few times the other man's face isn't rough with tension, fury, or thought. He can't help but push forward falling into that steady rhythm that never fails to make Raylan let loose a rumble from deep in his chest. The slightest scrape of bottom teeth jerking him back to alertness in time to make sure Tim knows who is holding whom by the hair.

Fuck, he's gorgeous like this.

Tim lets his mind wander filling in the details as his tongue feels the details. Raylan with shoulder-length hair swept back at the temples would be his undoing. Pushing the doors open at Helm's Deep? That's filed away for nights when Raylan is causing trouble elsewhere.

They've both lost the plot at this point. Raylan is doing his level best to stay standing while at the mercy of someone who has tucked away the information of how to undo him next to another fact about goddamn wizards. Tim, for his part, can only think of how much he wants Raylan to sack his mouth like fucking Osgiliath. Tim digs his fingers into Raylan's ass and the man obliges his unspoken request. He groans around Raylan who is muttering Tim's name like he's cursing his dick for not coming that very, goddamn second.

"Fuck!"

When Raylan does break loose, he buries himself within Tim's mouth with the recklessness he approaches everything else. Fortunately for Tim, he is aware of this foible and gladly takes what is given before dropping to rest on his heels with a choked laugh. "Need…throat,asshole."

Raylan is down beside him in a moment suddenly the sweet Raylan that comes with post-nut clarity about his own existence. He pulls Tim into a kiss. "The best part of those damn books was thinking about you reading them." His hand is quick to the point leaving Tim loosing a gasp as the hand finds his cock.

"Fuck, sweetheart." Tim wraps his arms around Raylan's neck as the man pulls groans and curses from him with little more than a firm hand and benevolence. Raylan is all kisses and soft touches. He knows the effect that will have on Tim following even the lightest of roughness. A manipulation born of affection is still a manipulation, but he won't deny it for a moment. He's a desperate whining mess spilling himself to please Raylan as much as his own want. He tucks his face into the crook of Raylan's neck. "You did somethin' for me."

"I'd do a lot for you. Can read a damn book."

"Someone told me it's three fuckin' books," Tim whispers against Raylan's skin. When his chin is tilted and guided into a kiss he takes it willingly. "Clean up and watch the movies?"

"I could have watched the goddamn movies."

#fan fic #raylan givens #tim gutterson #givenson #raylan x tim #tim x raylan #bad lotr references

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