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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 10 months

Note

hi, the way this blog is formatted and the menu is written is so creative and fitting! i had a great time looking through it

may i request some fem reader w rocky? maybe him playing the violin or reciting poems in a public space to himself and reader is the only one to react (positively) so he immediately is struck in awe. please and thank you :)

Good evening, Anon!! First off, thank you very much for the compliment. Two things you should know, however...

This ended up over three thousand words long somehow. (For the record, it was gonna be a scenario.)

It's the cheesiest meet-cute I've ever written, so I advise you all to brace yourselves, folks-

That being said, enjoy!! <3

When you heard it, everything else quieted.

The thunder of cars bolting down a busy road, metal armor bobbing upon four wheels as they broke past and left smaugful clamor clashing against the monstrum business blocks, softened to but a distant skitter of shiny black bugs ambling self-importantly about. The cacophony of pedestrians, indiscernible faces in square suits and tasteful pastels spewing bits of language into one converging mess, each voice independent yet competing for dominance until they clawed at your eardrums and suffocated your thoughts now felt no graver than the meek rustle of forest foliage when coddled by the summer breeze; a humming chorus to a beautiful solist’s serenade, and when a bycicle trilled inches past normally skittish, city-dweller you it didn’t even occur to step aside as you were far too absorbed in the one delightful sound that made the greys of asphalt’s reign seem greyer and dulled even the most striking women’s daywear to sun-worn cleaning rags in comparison.

It was a melody the color of blue, matching his eyes.

You hadn’t a chance to admire them for long when you spotted him in the crowd. They drifted closed for long stretches of time as their owner’s features suggested a deep, gentle focus on the music, his whole being smoothing into the instrument. There was something bewitching about the violin, you found; seemed even its players could seldom resist its particular pull, fingers dancing across the strings as if possessed by magic. The rosined bow dipped to and fro in a hypnotic sequence that pulsed like the rise and ebb of the tides; sometimes the pace changed, slowed to but a meandering, peaceful ponderance before it flew from the threads of catgut like nimble sparks of lightning, with the ease and comfort of at least a thousand hours of practice.

Must’ve been a classical piece, if not improv; but for that far too complex. Vivaldi? Mozart? You hadn’t heard it before, so you couldn’t confirm, however it proved the enchanting stranger to be both talented and educated. He looked up from his divine craft to initiate eye contact with passersby and, yes, he had the bluest eyes indeed, seated under emphatic brows, and he gave a hopeful smile of such integrity to those undeserving strangers who walked past in indifference as if he’d been an smaug-borne ghost, a trick of the light invisible to all but yourself and when he turned in resignation and his gaze caught upon you, playing still, your breath hitched in your throat.

How long had you been gawking there, frozen on the sidewalk like a dimwit? Oh, no. He must have thought you such a creeper; a notion which you had to rectify, and rectify it quick. Puff your chest out, march up, tell him you liked his playing and leave a dime; you took off at once with this very plan in mind.

In doing so, you forgot you had stood on opposing sides of the road.

Heels clicked across hot concrete in a headlong hurry. You realized that the cars were still coming midway through when his eyes widened in horror and a spontaneous screech of tires replaced that joyous melody. You stumbled back, blinded by car polish and a pair of glaring headlights you profusely apologized to before skittering away from a second car in the right lane when it came to an angry halt likewise. Loud honks scolded you along your path whilst you yelled back sheepish sorries.

Well, talk about making an entrance.

As you reached the paved edge, a hand manifested to help you up on it.

“Are you alright, miss?”

And blue eyes. You felt yourself sink further into the road with the transient wish those cars had hit you after all, nonetheless took the offer and tottered along with the stranger’s help. He held bow and violin in his other hand, by the neck, and you narrowly avoided stepping on their rickety case with a meager amount of coins and a crumpled up bill inside.

Ah, right. He’d been busking, after all.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” he reiterated, scanning you, and you realized you’d missed the previous question. “It’s hardly safe to cross this thoroughfare without looking both ways first, you know. You ought to try that next time.”

“I know, I know– I’m sorry. I’m fine.”

You weren’t. Not when this handsome vagabond with the most radiant blue oculars you’d ever seen and enough of a musical gift to put you in a trance kept observing you from such proximity whilst implicitly chiding you for being a tunnel-visioned idiot.

“Well, great news, then!” he grinned. Oh. That’s a lot of teeth, you noted with slightly raising eyebrows. “I doubt I’d have been able to sleep tonight had you met an undue fate under the stampede of these motorized beasts all for just trying to reach me.”

An odd penchant for metaphors, too. When you didn’t respond right away, he withdrew his gesturing hand in contemplation.

“You… were careening specifically my way, yes?”

“Yes!”

You snapped out of your appreciation for his endearingly boyish timbre and thereby commenced a frantic battle with your purse as you attempted to pry something from it.

“Right, I was heading this way– just give me a moment–”

He watched in intrigue as you counted something he couldn’t see under your breath, then produced the intended amount of what he identified to be cash and reached to hand it over to him, near breathless.

“I really loved your playing.”

You couldn’t bear to look him in the eye yet hardly missed his astonishment when he conceived the sum.

“Miss, that’s ten dollars.”

“Yes,” you affirmed curtly. “What of it?”

“I can’t accept that.”

Hearing which, you did finally face him with a frown.

“You’re a very kind soul,” he asserted in a hurry, smile never faltering, “and I’m thoroughly humbled by your contribution, but I cannot rob a lady of her hard earned pay in good conscience for that frivolous noise–”

“It was beautiful noise,” you interjected with knitted brows, “I really did enjoy it, and you deserve much better audience than the pedestrians of some drab street corner who’ll never bother to pay your music the attention it deserves.”

You pointed curtly toward the flow of people. Some in turn spared you a glance, but then you blended into their scenery again like another pair of shop mannequins.

“So take it from a lady,” you enunciated, all but shoving the money in his chest, “and I sincerely hope you end up in a concert hall someday.”

You exhaled and waited. He stared at your extended hand, then you, then at your hand and back again and gorgeous as you found those gleaming sapphires you couldn’t for the life of you tell what he was thinking. Your arm muscles trembled, and you contemplated whether sparing yourself from the awkwardness of further playing statue might be worth giving up anyway.

Finally, he seized your wrist with both hands. He didn’t seem to notice your startlement as he was busy beaming at you bright enough to put celestial bodies to shame.

“What’s your name?”

“Uh…”

God forsake it, that smile alone was turning your heart into a fluffy, overripe dandelion inside your chest. If he kept up, you feared he might just blow it apart.

But you managed to tell.

“Well, miss…” he began, implementing your surname, and you would’ve bolted on pure instinct had you not taken root at your spot, “your generous praise is, by far and large, the most invaluable gift I could’ve received on this brilliant morning.”

You took a deep inhale, acutely aware of his touch tingling across your skin even though he meant nothing by it… you supposed.

“You have certainly made a lowly troubadour’s day with your gracious approbation,” he patted your knuckles, at the same time gently shoving your offer away. “You see, I could tell from the moment our gazes locked across the street that I would enjoy the pleasure of meeting someone positively extraordinary… right after she ambled through the active traffic. Call it a concise connection of kindred souls, if you will. You, miss, have proved yourself a true appreciator of the arts.”

When those blue eyes were holding yours hostage so intently, you almost did believe he could see into your very soul. You tried to brave it, however.

“Thank y–”

“Which is why this won’t be needed.”

You held the rejected money against your chest, where he had guided it.

“You’ll be better off forfeiting it to charity,” he suggested, “if aiding the honest predicaments of your fellow citizens in need is a cause dear to your heart. Like orphans! Those poor, unmothered things, always caught in the throes of some quintessential lack or other; surely they could put your benevolent funds to good use… that is, in case you are looking to make a charity. If you’re not interested in, erm, providing for the orphans, that’s still quite fine. You just seem to me the sort to care for children. But that doesn’t make it your obligation, of course, to feed the orphans… no one is about to force that duty upon you… in equally sound conscience I suppose you could just as well keep the money…”

He proceeded along his mildly morally concerned tangent, but any of it beyond the lip movements you ceased to process. Some convoluted cliché about personal indulgence over supporting the waifs of the world, you reckoned. In terms of lifting your spirits it achieved a ludicrous heap of nothing, and amidst your silent marinating in this strange and unexpected failure of your strange and unexpected encounter, you continued to clutch the bills to yourself.

You didn’t figure that may have looked like dismay on his end until he trailed off, fidgeting vaguely as he probed your expression. The warmth of his hands on yours still lingered.

“My attempt at a point is,” he resumed at a slower pace, “you’re awful generous, but to tell you the truth, I’m quite comfortably off without the help. I am employed, after all.”

“You are?”

Rude as it sounded to gape the question so, you hadn’t considered that possibility. He was… well, not badly dressed, but his clothes appeared worn and a tad oversized on his comically skinny limbs, granting him a ragamuffin sort of appearance.

Though you still found it quite charming.

“Sure am!” he grinned in earnest, and you’d soon come to accept that his face simply looked that way when he did. “This is only some nifty supplemental income for a craft I spend day and night honing anyway. Really, I play out here to preserve my associates’ peace of mind more than anything. The other day they got so peeved with all the melodic caterwauling my boss had to fetch a broomstick and chase me out into the great wide open after failing to quiet me down.”

A chuckle escaped you at the joke, and it’s like his eyes gleamed brighter.

“What can I say,” he admitted with a theatrical shrug, “a musician’s ichor pulses to the ever-flowing rhythm of higher realms beckoning. That can hardly be helped. When my eager heart doesn’t sing Apollo’s odes from the strings, it reaches for the lyre, however… but they don’t deal in stanzas and limericks on the job market in contemporary times.” He glanced off into the distance wistfully, as if envisioning an ideal future where they did. “Miss M, our aforementioned lady-in-charge, says it’s only since our customers can’t exactly do the Lindy Hop to recitativo verse form.”

“So that means you’re a poet?”

“Indeed!”

You hummed in acknowledgement. He gave his vest a proud little adjustment as part of the performance, not that it served to make him look any more presentable.

“Vivacious vicinal versificator,” he expatiated with a playful half-bow, “humble herald of numinous inspiration, eulogizing the beauties of this peculiar earthly life to the cobblestone and the stars for a passtime. Old Muddy Miss herself has proven to be my most faithful audience… and for lack of substantial competition, in her listening skills she remains unexcelled.”

“Not for long, I should hope.”

That made him pause. Your nerves struck you alert as you rushed to explain.

“That is, well, I would be curious to join said, um, audience… mayhaps… sometime. I mean– you have a fascinating vocabulary, sir, so I can only imagine…”

He listened on with perplexed blue eyes; you mentally smacked yourself for the honorific. No one so refreshingly unrefined as this overeager stray puppy of a man could even remotely qualify for a ‘sir’, and you were happy about that, because had you made so many social blunders with any other stranger in succession you would’ve craved death.

He took his sweet time providing a readable reaction, but when he did he laughed. Not with a mocking edge, as you had feared; the sound tinkled as melodically as his trusty violin.

“Oh, miss, you’re just a bundle of pleasant surprises.”

You came to chuckle along, too, a nervous smile stretching your lips. He took your hand again.

“I’d be delighted to deliver a private recital,” he dipped forward then paused, perhaps contemplating whether a kiss on the back of it would be appropriate, peering up at you in a bluest display of rapt attention that made your heart leap, “if that’s truly the case.”

You averted your eyes. The vague unease as if you’d given your name to a fae in a stroke of recklessness minutes prior melted into the bustle of sluggish, smoke-ridden traffic.

“So where is it that you work?” you switched the topic.

Attuned, he let go of your hand as if it had burned him, adjusting his hat like an excuse.

“Little Daisy Café,” he responded quickly, perpetual cheer intact. “It’s just an ambitious spit from here, actually, a few blocks down that way.” He pointed in the opposite direction from where you’d been headed. “Awful cute little gem of an establishment. Perhaps you’ve been to?”

“No, not that I recall.”

“Well, I can only recommend that you drop by. The pancakes are to die for.”

“And there’s live music?”

You both glanced at the violin, then back at each other. He gave you another grin that you couldn’t help but detect as somewhat complicit.

“Makes your early beverage taste all the sweeter.”

You let your eyes linger on one of the boutique windows in the background; a closed one under construction. The ample light struck it at an angle which obscured the debris-filled darkness and activity inside, flawless glass surface glimmering at front in gorgeous deceit. Its reflective sheen conjured an alluring vision; deep azure sky dotted with fringed, fluffy lamb-clouds.

Suppose you offered it.

“Well, if you won’t let yourself be tipped,” you sighed, putting your money away, “may I treat you to breakfast, at least? A plate of those fabled pancakes, even?”

Childlike delight flashed across his face before the metaphorical reins were pulled back with a frantic grip.

“Why, miss, you’re spoiling me,” he lamented, “but I really shouldn’t–”

“I was heading for the bakery myself,” you continued with a pacifying gesture, “but now with your recommendation in mind, I might as well try a treat from that ‘little gem’ of a café, no? You could show me the way there, and… I suppose I could listen to those stanzas of yours, if you’d be willing to share…”

The words intended to compose the rest of your reasoning kept tumbling from your grasp before you could string them together, and someone in the crowd of pedestrians laughed. A snooty, feminine laugh. He kept watching you and you only, however, engulfing you in that mysterious blue once again.

“…granted that is okay with you, of course.”

He began to smile like the sun itself and dove with startling momentum for the violin case.

“Why, it’d be most uncouth to refuse the benevolent offer of such lovely ladyship,” he concluded while packing away his instrument then slapped the lid over the case once finished, money withstanding, “and I don’t reckon I’ll make two more pennies to rub together this morning, so I’d be more than happy to escort you along.”

He grabbed the handle and sprung up, beaming at you with the energy of a couple additional suns before he got an idea and moved to offer his free arm toward you like the smoothest of gallants. Clearing his throat, to boot.

“Mademoiselle?”

You put a hand to your chest, accentuating the action with a playful once-over.

“Chivalrous,” you chuckled before locking his arm with your own. The two of you would set off this way not unlike lovers, which he stiffened at the realization of.

“Too much?” he questioned.

“No, it’s quite alright.”

The cracks in the sidewalk became very interesting all of a sudden, however. You could feel his skinniness and lack of musculature thus far only guessed through the rolled-sleeved shirt; not that you minded.

Must have not gotten treated to meals often.

“About that poetry,” he piped up a bit quieter than before, “granted you won’t tire of my voice ahead of time…”

“Don’t be silly.”

You gave him a look, then caught yourself.

“Well, alright,” he resigned with an evaluating pout when you turned away, “but, uh… unfortunately, most of my limbs are occupied. And the fervent gesticulation makes up half the performence.”

By that point, you found yourself believing him. You all but burst into laughter at the mental image.

“Maybe you can gesticulate it to me after the fact,” you quipped.

“…Fair enough.”

You reached a street corner together and turned it. From the corner of your eye, a young couple were teasing each other by a flower shop on the opposite side of the road with a posy gift of piquant red tulips, blushing and giggling. You matched the bouncing steps of the stranger you were intertwined with in newfound giddiness.

“Let’s see,” he pondered, scanning the rows of buildings in an absent-minded manner before his eyes lit up. “Right! As fortune would have it, there does happen to be one I’ve been itching to inflict on a willing pair of ears for the past week…”

He made a big show of clearing his throat before he began; you were eager to let the mesmerized flow that had brought you to him in the first place take you along, absorbing the dramatic inflection and animated spirit oozing from his entire complexion as he made the widest gestures he was capable of in his inhibited position nonetheless.

A stranger indeed…

“Wait!”

Before he could proceed with any experimental odes to clay and calicos, you cut him off. He turned to you right away, magic put on hold.

“I never caught your name.”

He glanced around in recollection before those notorious brows sprung up.

“I never passed it,” he exclaimed, bewildered, and wriggled from your hold haphazardly as he scrambled for his hat. “Oh, foolish I! Forgive me this horrendous discourtesy, milady, if you might find it in your heart.”

You simply observed him in amusement.

A zephyr swept along the length of the street, bringing where you stood a nectarine fragrance which, though delicate, transcended the heavy smoke and for a delightful moment let you smell nothing but itself. With his hat now off and held politely to his chest, the breeze ruffled his tousled hair as it did yours. His blue eyes shone in the urban grey like diamonds.

“The name is Rocky Rickaby.”

And when he said it, you already knew you wouldn’t tire of that voice anytime soon.

#{💌 mod rory 💌}#{fun fact!! I did a bit of research on how much ten dollars would've been worth back then}#{and I came out of it still not understanding how dollars work}#{anyway this is finally finished!! keep feeling like there's something weird or historically inaccurate here that I can't quite identify}#{if that's the case feel free to point it out to me!! I don't rlly write historical fiction like. ever}#{Lackadaisy fics sure are a challenge for that reason hahah}#{but I do love it}#lackadaisy #rocky rickaby #rocky lackadaisy #lackadaisy rocky #rocky rickaby x reader #lackadaisy x reader #reader insert

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somedaylazysomeday · 3 months

Text

A Boon - Part Five

Thranduil comes to visit you in Esgaroth - one ruler to another.

Thranduil x fem!reader

Rating: Mature. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 3,600

Warnings: the pressures of ruling, romantic pressures, mentions of alcohol, mentions of mortality, sleeplessness, weapons, brief fear of intruders

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You surveyed the stretch of boards ahead of you. These boards were still yellow, freshly hewn from fallen trees. They were bright against the gray waters of the lake and the gray-brown of the older, weathered boards that made up most of Esgaroth. Still, you were displeased. “This is progress, but it still leaves at least a ten minute trip by boat to reach the shoreline.”

“Surely that is short enough, Queen?”

You shook your head. “We are discussing farmers. At the end of a long day in the fields, they may choose to swim rather than wait for a boat or fall asleep at their oars. We can hardly afford to lose any farmers. We shall have to continue construction.”

“But majesty,” one of your advisors protested, “if we continue, we will block the lake. Kings Thranduil, Bard, and Thorin will surely object.”

It was a fair point and you nodded to acknowledge it. “Then we shall simply have to be more creative as we search for solutions.”

“Perhaps a bridge of some kind, far off the water…” one mused.

“My queen!” an official called. You turned, already knowing what you would find. As you had expected, Thranduil waited on the main boardwalks of town. “Elvenking Thranduil of the Greenwood has arrived and wishes to meet with you.”

You waved back, made your excuses to your advisors, and started back up the wooden boardwalk toward the small elven delegation. The trip was not short, but Thranduil never seemed anything less than endlessly patient as you walked.

When you finally arrived in front of the elves, Thranduil gave an elaborate bow, took your hand, and pressed a lingering kiss to your knuckles. “My lovely Queen of Esgaroth.”

“Thranduil.”

A look of amused exasperation crossed his beautiful face as he straightened and you stifled a laugh. Thranduil had been officially courting you for months and he still insisted on keeping to the utmost standards of society. You, however, eagerly dropped his title whenever you could get away with it.

“I have business with King Bard, but I could not resist halting our progress to visit the famed Beauty of the Waters.” Thranduil leaned closer. “Why is it that I never find you in your throne room?”

The reception hall had been your coronation gift from the Kingdom of Greenwood. It was ostentatious to a remarkable degree, especially when set against the backdrop of Lake Town, but it had been the only thing that stopped Thranduil’s complaints about the rest of your coronation. The ceremony had been plain, certainly - perhaps even stark - but there were other things in Esgaroth that needed funds. It seemed a shame to waste gold on yourself.

“We both know that real business takes place outside of a throne room,” you reminded Thranduil. “Besides, I worry that Smaug will come back to steal the ridiculous gems from the walls.”

Thranduil sniffed, pressing a hand to his chest. “I hand-picked every one of those gems. They remind me of your eyes.”

“They’re… all white?” you reminded slowly.

“Yes,” he agreed, unperturbed. “But I did not choose them for their color. I chose them for their sparkle. Their fire. That is what matches your eyes. They are your defining feature, you know.”

For all that you thought he was an arrogant, over-confident ass sometimes, Thranduil did know how to deliver a compliment. To hide your flustered state, you asked, “How long will you stay?”

“I must be in Dale by sunset,” he told you, regret in his tone.

With a glance around, you scoffed. “You must leave in minutes if you will arrive there by sunset! You might have just waved from your boat as you passed by.”

Thranduil was unbothered by your caustic tone. “Ah, but then I could not have done this…”

He swept his long robes back, lowering gracefully onto one knee. The people Lake Town drew closer behind the elven guards, watching the scene with eager expectation.

After an appropriately long pause, Thranduil started, “My dearest queen of Esgaroth… You enrapture me. You have always done so, from the time you were a bar maid, and it has been my delight watching you rise to the challenges of being queen of what was once called Lake Town.

“Our kingdoms have been joined in matters both of diplomacy and trade to the benefit of all our people. I believe it is time we join in a more permanent alliance.” Thranduil paused, looking up into your eyes with a wide gaze of his own. “Will you agree to be my queen?”

You smiled down at him, wrapping your hands around his. “No, Thranduil.”

An appreciate chuckle ran through the crowd. Thranduil stood, not looking distraught in the least. “Very well. We shall depart for Dale. Accompany us to our boat?”

“Of course,” you agreed, placing your hand on his proffered arm. You chatted pleasantly on the way back to the elves’ boat as the people of Esgaroth called sympathies to Thranduil and wished him better luck the next time.

Thranduil had been proposing marriage to you since the week after your coronation. It had become something of a spectacle for your people to watch his attempts. There was even a betting pool on how long it would be before you gave in. It was a salve to your ego that there were a number of people who bet you would never agree to marry Thranduil at all.

“I shall return soon,” Thranduil announced, brushing your knuckles with his lips once more before he climbed into the elegantly carved boat.

The elven guard who had been trailing behind you paused by your side for a moment. “Your highness?”

“Yes?” you asked expectantly.

“It was the bar maid line, was it not?”

You smiled despite yourself. “Among other things.”

The guard shook his head. “I begged him to reconsider that section.”

“I believe you.” You offered a small smile to the elf. “Thranduil is a victim only of his own hubris.”

The guard hastily stifled a laugh before he climbed into the boat. You waited long enough to wave as they rowed swiftly across the shining waters of the lake. After an appropriate amount of time, you strode to your office, waving away teasing questions about when you would finally allow yourself to be caught.

There was far too much to be done.

Lake-Town - or Esgaroth - was not what it once was, but not all of the changes were negative. Most of the people who had survived Smaug’s attacks had chosen to follow King Bard to settle Dale, but Esgaroth had kept almost a third of its original population. And the town was bolstered by the ever-flowing tide of merchants and travelers who chose to settle on the lake instead of further into the mountains.

Yes, Esgaroth was growing and changing, developing into a fine community with the makings of an actual economy. There were days when you questioned whether you had been made queen as a joke of some kind and if the townspeople would take it away from you. But there had been no hints of that.

It probably aided your rule that you weren’t queen full-time. You still ran the Ripple, though you had needed to hire additional help for when you were fulfilling royal duties. Contributing to the local job market - and alcohol provisions - definitely helped your popularity among Esgaroth residents.

The Ripple was nearly empty when you stepped inside. Storr beamed at you from his place behind the bar, giving a bow so deep that you worried (or hoped) that he would bash his forehead against the shining wooden surface.

“My queen!” Storr cried, drawing the attention of both patrons. They lifted their tankards at you; they knew you well enough to know that was the only acknowledgement you truly welcomed. “To what do we owe this honor?”

You scowled at him. Storr didn’t take the expression to heart. You had largely left him in charge of the Ripple when you were doing other things around the town, and he had handled the responsibility with grace and a level head. You appreciated everything he did for you and your business… and both of you knew it.

Still, you filled your tone with steel and venom as you said, “This is my bar, Storr. If you’ve forgotten, perhaps it’s time for me to find a replacement.”

Storr only laughed, and the sound made you smile back at him. You accepted his brief hug when he had stepped around the bar. “You know I hate when you bow to me.”

“Why else would I do it?” he asked, patting your shoulders as you pulled away. “Kirna and Kell say hello.”

“Give them my love,” you said instantly. Storr’s wife Kirna had been one of your staunchest supporters even before the town had decided to make you its queen. And his son Kell was wise beyond his four years… and far more energetic than you remembered being as a child.

“Of course.” Storr sighed. “I know you are far too busy, but remember that you have an open invitation to come for dinner.”

“I am never too busy for friends,” you protested.

Storr cut you off with a loud laugh. “You’re too busy to sleep and eat, let alone visit with lowly town residents.” He winked at you, continuing before you could refute that statement. “While we are on the subject, what brings you to the Ripple this afternoon?”

“Honey mead.” You glanced toward the back room where you stored the mead as it went through the process of fermentation. None of the casks were visible from where you stood, but you looked anyway. “I need to bottle a few casks. That double batch should be ready for consumption next month.”

Storr grimaced. “That will be a busy night. Will you be here to help?”

“I- will do my best,” you said carefully. Sadly, the truth was that you couldn’t know for certain where you would be when the mead was ready. It all depended on what was happening in the town. “I’ll see if I can find someone to come up for extra support for the first few nights.”

The first sign you had of an impending conversation was that Storr followed you to the fermentation room. He had always avoided it, claiming that the smells gave him a headache.

“What is it?” you asked as the door closed behind him. There was a tangle of fear in your stomach as you waited for whatever news he had.

“Nothing bad,” he assured. “More a question than a concern. But you will dislike it.”

That did nothing to soothe your nerves. “Go on.”

“Perhaps you should consider hiring additional help on a permanent basis,” Storr said, clearly choosing his words with care.

“I… did hire help…” you reminded slowly. “We have five employees for you to manage, and I assist here as often as I can.”

“You do, and everyone appreciates your dedication to the Ripple.” Storr’s gaze dipped to one of the casks, studying it like it was fascinating. “But the demands of being queen mean that you can’t be here when you say you will, even if you do your best to come. And the problems will only grow worse when you marry Thranduil.”

The stinging ache of guilt in your chest was frozen in place at the unexpected conclusion to Storr’s point. “Thranduil? He has no bearing on this situation. I have no intention of marrying him.”

Storr aimed a dry look in your direction. “I heard he proposed earlier.”

“And I said no,” you told him. “As I always do.”

“Yes, but you will not refuse him forever.” Storr shook his head, looking somewhat mournful at the idea. “The two of you have been courting for almost two years. Marriage is the eventual goal of courtship, is it not?”

“Technically speaking…” you trailed, trying not to look as uncomfortable as you felt. With a sigh, you chose to confide in your friend. “I will not marry Thranduil. I cannot. It could never work between us, not for any real length of time. He sees me as I am and is blind to the way I will be. The years will weigh me down in a way that will not happen to him. If I am the only one to see our future clearly, it is my burden to keep him from making that mistake.”

To your surprise - and mild hurt - Storr seemed to find that amusing. “Such disdain for your Elvenking, even after so long a time… But now, as back when you first met him, I believe you may be misjudging Thranduil.”

You huffed out a sigh. "I do not understand you, Storr. First you claim to be concerned that I will marry Thranduil and now you seem to be angling for that very result. Was my argument that unsound?"

"No, I think Thranduil is more determined than you seem to believe."

You opened the first cask of honey mead, letting it hiss slowly as you moved to the next. With the sound of a half-dozen snakes filling the room, you turned to Storr and frowned. “I believe I am at least his match in determination, if not more. You should not be so certain that he will convince me.”

Storr dragged a hand over his face. “I am not trying to start another competition between he and you. Or even myself and you. I am simply saying that you are more likely to listen to reason.”

“And how has marrying an immortal elven king become a reasonable option?” you demanded.

“When you started courting him.” That seemed like a jest and you narrowed your eyes at Storr. He made a helpless sort of gesture. “What I mean is that he pressed your courtship. He encouraged your placement as queen of Esgaroth. Now he is insisting that the two of you be married. Maybe it is not reasonable for him to push for this, but your reasons for fighting him are ones that will be to his detriment, not yours. Do you want to marry him?”

You began pouring the settled mead into gallon jugs. They would be prepared for the final fermentation process when you were done, and ready for consumption only a few weeks after that. You had hoped that the delay in your answer would distract Storr, but he watched you and waited patiently.

“That is not the point,” you said eventually, avoiding the question entirely. “Thranduil does not think about the future.”

“I disagree,” Storr said decisively. “I believe he thinks almost exclusively about the future. Most elves do. We now get enough of them in here to know. Maybe Thranduil just believes the present outweighs the future.”

“He is wrong.” You punctuated your point with a sharp slap, using the motion to force a cork into the mouth of a bottle.

“Have you explained your reasoning to him?”

It was a fair point, and you grimaced. “No. But only because he has not given me the chance.”

“Then he will only keep asking,” Storr pointed out. “And he may eventually grow discouraged by your refusals.”

You laughed at that, and Storr eventually joined you. It was difficult to imagine Thranduil being discouraged by much of anything. He pursued what he wanted whole-heartedly until he had gotten it, without exception.

But still, you were thinking about Storr’s words long after you had bottled your mead and left the Ripple. In fact, you were thinking about them so hard that you had trouble falling asleep that night.

It was ridiculous, and you were half-tempted to take Storr up on his offer only to lecture him at his home. The day had been long and your body was exhausted… but your brain refused to stop tossing up possibilities for the future, and you were dragged reluctantly along for each scenario.

When the knock sounded at your door, you were grateful for the interruption.

However, you were not so grateful that you left behind the light, elven-forged short sword that Thranduil had gifted you. He had intended it for decorative purposes, meant to adorn your hip as you were crowned queen, but he had warned that elvish weapons only dulled after hundreds of years of constant use. The short sword would serve as a handy weapon if your unexpected guest was less friendly than you wished (or far too much more).

When you opened the door to find Thranduil on the other side, you let the blade dip until the tip was nearly brushing the floor. The Elvenking’s dark brows were arched high on his forehead, his gaze moving quizzically from the sword to your face.

“Late night sparring practice?” he drawled.

You shook your head and stepped aside to let him in. “I was not expecting to see you again tonight. Did you not arrive in Dale by sunset?”

“I arrived with time to spare,” Thranduil assured you, closing and locking the door securely behind you both. “You need a larger home. One befitting the role of a queen. If there are none in Esgaroth to your liking, I could always have something constructed…”

“Thranduil, focus,” you commanded, watching the glow of amusement on his face. “What happened? Why are you not in Erebor now? I thought you were meant to be treating with King Thorin?”

“I seem to have offended him,” he said, offering an unconcerned shrug. “He ordered me to leave and I believed it was best to oblige him. His youth gives his temper an unwise edge.”

“He’s older than anyone I’ve ever met,” you argued, grimacing at the dry look Thranduil gave you. “Present company excluded, of course.”

“That may be,” Thranduil sniffed, “but it makes him ill-suited for leadership, especially in a situation like ours, in which so many kingdoms occupy such a small space.”

“His people seem to believe his leadership is excellent,” you countered. “As do the people of Dale. Besides, I believe your opinion has not been requested.”

“And yet it should have been,” Thranduil climbed the ladder up to the second floor of your home with ease and remarkable speed, offering a hand to pull you up the ladder after he had reached the top. “Considering that mine is the largest of the kingdoms. And I hope to make it still larger when our kingdoms combine.”

You sighed. “I lack the energy to have this argument once more. Not today. Can we discuss something else?”

“Of course,” the Elvenking soothed, drawing you into his arms. You settled in that embrace, your cheek pressed against the delicate weave of Elven fabric. It did not muffle the steady beat of his heart, and you were thankful for that. “Perhaps you would like to tell me why you are awake so late.”

“I… would rather not,” you hedged. If you even hinted at the way Storr’s words had been eating at you, Thranduil would consider you as good as wed. And while you disliked the idea of him losing interest and moving on, your concerns were valid enough that they demanded a solution. “Why are you here, Thranduil? I am happy to see you, but-”

“-but I was hardly expected,” Thranduil finished for you. “As I said, Thorin removed me from the halls of Erebor, but Bard is still there. I decided to send my guards back to the Greenwood rather than stay in Dale. And when I saw the candlelight behind your shutters, I came here instead of returning to my own kingdom.”

“Because it’s closer for you to return to Erebor tomorrow?” you asked.

Thranduil laughed softly. “You know Thorin well enough to know that I will not be welcomed back into his kingdom for at least a fortnight. No, I simply concluded that my time would be far better spent here.”

You stared up at him, making note of the soft fondness that filled his haughty, fine-boned face. “You… are too kind.”

“Do not mistake my honesty for simple flattery,” he told you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I enjoy your company and I prefer to think that you like mine as well. No, I know for certain that you enjoy my company. I would know if you did not - you are far too honest not to have told me so.”

You huffed out a laugh despite yourself and Thranduil smiled. With the barest hint of pressure against your lower back, he urged you toward the ladder that took you up to the highest floor of your home. “Come, it is surely past time for you to be in bed.”

The idea of the Elvenking himself ordering you to bed would have made you laugh if only it sounded less appealing. So you let him shepherd you upstairs and into bed. When you had gone to answer the door, you had only pulled on the minimum amount of clothing to protect yourself from the lake breezes. It took only moments to undress once more.

Thranduil never suffered any crisis of confidence, so he stripped bare and slid between the sheets beside you. The warmth of his body next to yours put you in an even deeper state of relaxation, especially as his hand found yours beneath the cover of your quilt. His thumb traced gentle strokes over the back of your hand, almost hypnotic in its steadiness.

Maddeningly, you still could not fall asleep.

---

Author's Note - There is definitely going to be a second part tomorrow.

Thanks for reading!

#fanfic february #fanfic february 2024 #lord of the rings #the hobbit #the hobbit thranduil #thranduil #elvenking thranduil #thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #fem!reader #reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fanfic #reader insert fic #not suitable for minors #minors dni

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hottpinkpenguin · 4 months

Note

I'm in desperate need of sub Thranduil × dom fem reader

Don't care what it is, but i need to see this man put into his place tbh

Slap him, pull his hair, peg him, sneak up on him, drag him away to a secluded area, make him get on his knees and beg. Literally anything 😭😩 Luv ur work

A/n: there's nothing here but toe-curling smut :) hope you love it. MINORS: THIS WORK IS NOT FOR YOU!! DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ only.

Crawl To Me

Sub!Thranduil X Dom!FemReader (gotta be honest, Daddy Thranduil doesn't stay sub forever)

Warnings: smut smut smut, absolutely not even a whisper of a plot, P in V, creampie, squirting, dom/sub vibes, smacking - Word Count: 3646

You jerked upright against the carved wood of the throne, catching yourself just before slipping into sleep. The council of advisors assembled around the dais stifled chuckles at your reaction. The bard from Lake Town who was serenading you and your husband, Thranduil, didn’t notice. He pressed on, his reedy voice warbling over the painfully mistuned notes of the cheap lyre he plucked. You’d appreciated the gesture of appreciation from the residents of Lake Town for the role your people had played in rescuing them from Smaug almost twenty years ago, but after a long and tedious day of presiding over the business of Mirkwood, you desperately needed some excitement in the throne room to grab your attention. Next to you, Thranduil watched the bard serenely, his expression hovering between interest and fondness. He didn’t react at all, although you knew that he had sensed your uncharacteristically obvious disruption. Although you knew you should have been paying studious attention to the performing bard - like your husband - you found your restless mind wandering to other distractions. His handsome side profile did nothing but further escalate your scheming mind. A wicked smirk spread across your face as a plan took shape. Get rid of the bard, and release some of this damn pent-up energy.

As the plan took full form, you knew that Thranduil was tracing the direction of your thoughts. He could feel your eyes roaming across his face, lingering on his full mouth, remembering the feeling of his lips discovering every inch of your skin… down the long line of his throat and over those broad shoulders that you loved to cling to as his fingers and tongue and cock drove you wild with pleasure… drinking in the sight of his long, smooth hair, imagining how it would feel twined between your fingers. With a shudder, you dragged your distracted mind back to the throne room, uncrossing and recrossing your legs in the other direction, savoring the barest hint of friction in your legs. Thranduil marked the motion, his eyebrow raising imperceptibly. He knew you too well. It was almost a damn liability, and the knowledge that he could sense your awakening lust made it even harder to focus. You sensed his consent in the soft curl at the corner of his mouth and the way his long fingers ran over the smooth wood of the throne’s carved arm in languid, teasing circles. The image of his fingers sent a flicker of warmth curling up your spine from deep within your core. Biting down on the inside of your cheek, you forced your focus away from your husband and back to the crooning bard, resolved to wait until the two of you were alone later that night to see your plans fulfilled…

**Three Hours Later**

“What do you think you’re doing?” You demanded, stepping into your bedchamber and closing the door behind you with confidence. You heard the guards outside quietly leave to reposition themselves further down the halls, granting you and Thranduil privacy.

Across the room from where you stood, Thranduil froze, his hand mere inches from the green velvet robe he’d been reaching for. You’d timed your entry well; you’d entered just in time to find him shirtless, stripped down to nothing but his soft linen trousers, moments away from covering his exquisite frame in the robe you’d gifted him at the celebration of your marriage anniversary the year prior.

He heard the note of demand in your voice. He turned half to face you before you issued another command. “Don’t look at me,” you purred as you crossed the room to him. The muscles of his upper back flexed in anticipation as you approached. The sight of his body tensing in your presence was intoxicating. Your fingers came to rest gently on his muscled bicep, tracing a line along the ridge of his shoulder as you whispered in his ear. “Does my lord wish to be commanded, or take commands this night?”

You knew before he answered what he would say; the obsequious way he held his eyes from meeting yours told you that he was in no mood to make decisions. But, nevertheless, it was your practice as a couple to express your wishes in words, even if you were so attuned to one another that a mere glance could say more than your mouths ever could.

“My wish is only to please,” he replied softly. His blue eyes burned as he turned halfway to face you. “I will do whatever my lady commands of me.”

Your blood sang at Thranduil’s concession. You felt your smirk deepen as the plans you’d been scheming of in the throne room clamored for your attention. Where to begin?

“As you wish,” you replied smugly.

“Turn to face me.” You took a step back from Thranduil, allowing him to turn and face you fully. The candlelight danced across his muscled torso - a sight you drank in greedily. You kept your eyes glued to him, lingering on the trail of dark hair that started below his bellybutton, tracing a path downward to the part of him that you wanted the most. Your skin danced with heat as you undid the corseted laces at the small of your back, your dress loosening around your shoulders. You shimmied out of it, leaving the embossed black and silver fabric in a heap upon the floor. The cool of the night air mixing with your appetite for release made your skin pucker in goosebumps. You saw Thranduil’s gaze begin to move up the expanse of your bare legs before you issued your next command.

“I said, don’t look at me.” Your words burned with taunting, the feeling of power growing as you saw Thranduil’s expression crumble in disappointment. His eyes fell back to the floor.

“Your job, right now, is to listen. Can you do that, my lord?” Confusion flashed across his face. This wasn’t your usual fare, but you were set on a path and wouldn’t be turned from it now. He nodded once, swallowing thickly.

“I can’t hear you, Thranduil,” you continued seriously. He shifted with frustration as he replied, “Yes, my lady, I can listen.”

“Good,” you cooed, stepping back until you felt the bedframe connect with the backs of your legs. You sank onto the mattress, spreading your legs wide and displaying your naked pussy to him. Although his eyes never left the floor, you sensed that he knew what he was missing by the way he chewed his bottom lip, a large bulge beginning to form in his trousers, just below the flat planes of his lower stomach. His hands twitched aimlessly at his sides, almost as if asking your permission.

“You’re not to look, or to touch anything, without my permission,” you added, relishing in the way Thranduil, Elvenking of Mirkwood, the most powerful and regal being you’d ever seen, crumpled in begrudging submission at your words. He nodded, biting down harder on his lip, eyes glued obediently to the floor.

“I can’t hear you,” you said teasingly, one of your hands coming to cup your breast, the other snaking its way down between your legs. Wetness was beginning to accumulate at your center, and you ran your fingers through it. The soft, squelching noise was quiet, but you knew Thranduil heard it. His eyes widened, almost darting upwards before he caught himself, swallowing down a muted moan.

“Yes, my queen,” he replied.

“Good job. Kings who follow orders always get rewarded.” You let the promise drip sweetly off your tongue like thick honey. Thranduil shivered with restraint, his head tilting on his neck as his eyes bored holes in the wooden floor. The bulge in his pants grew as the V-shaped muscles atop his pelvis flexed. His fingers found the edge of the dressing table he was leaning against and curled under the edge, desperate for something to grab. You thought about correcting him - reminding him that he didn’t have your permission to touch the table - but your mind was easily distracted by the sight of him getting increasingly needy. Your breath quickened as your fingers found the sensitive bud at the top of your slit, tracing soft and teasing circles around it. The tantalizing sensation and the vision of your subservient king caused you to gasp softly. Thranduil heard the sound and shifted with discomfort. A small spot of moisture at the end of his erection had formed in his trousers, and his knuckles were turning white where his fingers gripped the dressing table.

“Get on your knees for me, my king,” you commanded. Thranduil knelt almost instantly, his desire to please you so consuming that the floorboards shook under his weight. His cock bounced eagerly in his pants, and the sight only tightened the hot coil that was beginning to build deep in your core.

You shimmied yourself towards the edge of the bed until your pussy hovered right at the edge of the mattress, your feet flat on the floor and knees splayed wide. Thranduil still hadn’t lifted his gaze from the floor.

“Crawl to me.” The command was so delicious that just hearing yourself say the words pitched you an inch closer to your own orgasm. Thranduil’s eyes flashed with blatant desire as he obeyed, dropping to his hands and knees and moving towards the sound of your voice. The sight of him - half undressed, a faint sheen of sweat dancing across his creamy skin, long hair the color of fresh butter gleaming in the candlelight - on his hands and knees at your command was intoxicating. The pace of your fingers sped up against your clit, and you had to fight the urge to close your knees and rub your thighs together.

He closed the space between you quickly and hesitated. The sound of your wet fingers moving quickly against your slick center filled the room.

“Take off your trousers.” Thranduil did as commanded, undoing the lacing of his trousers. His cock burst free from his pants with a satisfied groan from you. His length was impressive, and even after the countless times you’d taken him, you found yourself practically mewling for him to be inside you. But you were resolved to draw this out, to extend your pleasure, and undoubtedly his as well.

“Kiss my thigh, Thranduil.” Your breathing was shallow, your command not quite so drawling as before. Thranduil lept at your words, his hand instinctively coming to grab your leg as he sat upright.

“Tsk tsk tsk,” you interrupted, momentarily moving your hand away from your clit to slap his arm down. “I said, kiss my thigh. Not touch.”

Thranduil looked half-crestfallen, half-crazed as he nodded with a quiet murmur of “yes, my queen” before he pressed his lips to the inside of your knee, his hand returning to the floor.

“Higher,” you ordered. “And close your eyes.” Thranduil did as commanded, his eyelids fluttering shut as he traced a line of kisses up the inside of your thigh. You brought your fingers back to your clit, letting your head fall back against the mattress. Your orgasm was close, and you had designs on how to get yourself there.

“Keep going,” you murmured, your voice rising in pitch as you felt yourself climbing up one side of your climax. Thranduil’s lips were close to the seam of your thigh, so close you knew he could smell your sex, perhaps even taste you.

“When I tell you to, I want your lips on my pussy,” you heaved out, eyelids fluttering closed as your fingers strummed needily against your clit. Your toes were curling under, your calf muscles clenching as your thighs began to shake.

“Say the word, my queen.” Thranduil was so close to your center that you felt the deep baritone of his voice vibrating at your core. The sensation plucked just the chord you needed, and as you felt yourself beginning to come undone, you cried out. “Now!”

Thranduil’s mouth was on your pussy before the syllable had tumbled fully from your lips. He lapped and sucked and ran his tongue over and into you. Your orgasm crashed onto you like a thousand cresting waves, your ears filling with cotton as the earthly world fell away for a moment. You grasped at Thranduil’s head, pulling him harder against you as your walls fluttered and your thighs quaked. Your cries turned silent as Thranduil’s tongue sent you into bliss over and over again, the sounds of his slurping and groaning against your slit the only thing left tethering you to the moment. You drifted there for a while, catapulting from one trembling orgasm into another, until you didn’t recognize the words your lips were trying to form. Everything turned to a shimmering vapor except the mouth between your legs.

You felt yourself beginning to fall back into your body, your legs collapsing in exhaustion. Thranduil, much to your delight, had stayed true to his orders and kept his eyes closed and his hands unencumbered. You propped yourself up on your elbows, enjoying the view as he lapped at your juices greedily. His mouth and chin were wet with your sex, his cock so swollen it looked painful. Gently, you pushed against his forehead, breaking the contact of his mouth with your pussy. He pushed back somewhat, but your insistence won out, and he eventually sat back on his haunches, chest heaving slightly with exertion and desire.

“Well done, my king. I wonder, is it time to reward your obedience yet? Or should we play a bit longer?” Thranduil grimaced at the prospect of enduring more time without being given free reign to touch you and fuck you. You smirked, rising up from the bed on slightly quaking legs.

“Lie down.” Thranduil hesitated briefly until he caught up with your plans. With an eager grin, he rose from the floor and got on the bed, lying on his back. His cock lay against his stomach, its veins engorged, a small drip of precum oozing from its head. You felt yourself clench automatically at the sight of him, your core desperate to feel his girth inside you, stretching you.

You straddled him on the bed, deliberately letting your hair fall around your face and tickle his neck and shoulders. You hovered your pussy a hair’s width above his cock, letting the heat from your center dance across his member. He felt it too, because he jerked automatically at the faintest hint of contact. His cock twitched eagerly, barely grazing the moisture of your center. He hissed loudly, his hands balled into fists as he resisted the urge to grab you.

“Your eyes stay closed and your hands stay at your side,” you reminded him. He nodded, not bothering to answer you at this point. You weren’t sure if he could speak; he was straining not to break the rules and grab your hips to drive himself shaft deep into you.

You sank slowly, not taking him into you, but letting your folds barely envelope his cock as you dragged your pussy up and down the length of his shaft, coating him in your juices. He groaned, the sound deep and feral. “You are cruel,” he protested darkly, bringing a fist up to his face so he could bite down on his knuckles. You laughed, thoroughly enjoying seeing him so utterly undone by the lightest touch. You sat back, your weight balancing on your knees, freeing your hands to come to your hardened nipples, rolling them between your fingers. The sensation caused you to gasp. Beneath you, Thranduil thrashed at the noise, a desperate growl emanating from his chest.

“Stay still, my lord,” you told him, one hand reaching underneath you to grab the base of his member, holding it upright until he was positioned at your entrance. He froze, chest heaving in exertion. You let your hips sink slightly, the head of his cock beginning to penetrate your core. Your pussy trembled, aftershocks from your previous orgasms mixing with the shudders of more to come.

Beneath you, Thranduil’s head was turned, his eyes glued to the wall. His face was contorted in focus and restraint, his brows knitted and his lips pursed. You reached down and cupped his cheek with your palm, gently but firmly turning his face towards you. “Look at me.”

Thranduil obeyed, his winter blue eyes locking with yours instantly. His gaze burned with an intensity you’d rarely seen from your husband. The neediness on his face matched yours, and it was almost enough to make you want to sink onto him. Just a little more play, you told yourself.

“Tell me you want me,” you ordered. Thranduil groaned impatiently.

“My queen, you cannot be ser-”

The slap surprised him. You struck him - not enough to damage, but enough to get his attention - squarely on the cheek. Without giving him time to recover, you grabbed his chin between your thumb and forefinger, jerking his head back squarely to face you. His eyes were wide with surprise, but beneath that shock you saw that the contact had stoked the flames of desire, just as you’d intended.

“I said, tell me you want me.”

“I want you,” he uttered breathlessly. You slapped him again, this time harder. His cheek reddened, but he smirked wickedly before bringing his eyes back to meet yours. You let yourself take him deeper, the head of his cock now entirely embedded in your pussy, your walls tightening around it. You gasped at the stretch, another orgasm beginning to tighten your core.

“Again.” Your lust for dominance was so thick it felt like honeyed wine in your veins.

“I want you, my queen.” Thranduil’s voice was stronger this time, more insistent. “I want you so desperately I can’t think straight-” he paused to lift his head off the mattress, mouth connecting with one of your nipples. He nipped and sucked on it, quickly and roughly. You cried out, your head tossing back, composure and restraint crumbling. His mouth released your nipple to move to the other breast. “-I want you to scream for me-” Another rough nip dragged a cry of pleasure from your throat. He was gaining control over you, your body reacting to his touch and his words. And he knew it. His hands ran down your back until they locked over your hips, grabbing you so tightly you knew you’d have bruises there the next morning. “-I want you to cry out my name until your throat is raw.” Holding your hips exactly where they were, he drove himself with a hard jerk upwards until you felt his cock bottom out inside you. Your legs quivered, the sudden sensation of fullness extinguishing all semblance of control you had. You felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes. “-I want you to remember-” another hard thrust, your pussy trembling as you began to cum, crying out his name “-that you may command me-” you were coming undone, words turning to gibberish, legs trembling as your mind went white “-whenever you want-” your legs buckled, your weight coming down on top of him “-but I fucking own this pussy.”

He stopped talking, his focus exclusively on driving himself up inside you, again and again. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything except let him take you. He relentlessly pumped his cock in and out of your core, your pussy squirting each time he almost withdrew from your slit, the sensation driving him mad with lust. He roared with pleasure as he pounded, once, twice more, the third time slamming himself as deep as possible into you and stilling. His roaring turned to mewling. Somewhere in the haze of your own fucked out pleasure you became aware that his cock was pulsating as he emptied inside you. You felt boneless, entirely dependent on his arms to hold you up, his hands gripping your hips with delicious intensity. He gasped as the pulsing in your center slowed, his face smoothing from white-hot climax to the warmth of a hard come-down. He let you collapse on top of him, both of you sick with sweat and your wetness. Your breaths synced and slowly, inch by inch, you both began to soften.

After a few moments, you felt his strong arms wrap around you. You lifted yourself off his still-twitching penis and lay on the bed beside him, your body pressed against his as you lay your head on his shoulder. From this angle, you could hear his heart beating against his ribs, and you counted each beat as the heaving of his chest gradually diminished. He turned his head, pressing a kiss into your hairline. He chuckled slightly.

“You truly are wicked,” he murmured appreciatively. You lifted your head, feeling drunk from the aftershocks of your orgasm, and gave him a lopsided grin.

“You don’t seem to mind, my king,” you shot back. He shook his head fervently.

“Quite the contrary,” he replied. After a few moments of silence, he added, “I think we should have that bard to court more often.”

You only pretended to be offended as you playfully smacked his shoulder. He smiled, a dazzling sight, before he caught your head gently and connected your mouths for a deep kiss. Before you knew what was happening, you felt him roll you onto your back, his weight coming to press down on your body, his cock already beginning to stiffen again as his mouth set to work on the line of your throat. You were about to protest, unsure if you’d be able to handle any more of him, but he caught your mouth with his palm. He looked up from where he was nibbling on your earlobe, his eyes simmering with an emotion you could only describe as eagerness.

“My turn.”

#thranduil imagine #thranduil smut #thranduil x reader #thranduil fanfiction #thrandaddy #sub!thranduil

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bluebellhairpin · 1 month

Text

Thorin Oakenshield X Fem!Reader

Summary; With the dragon Smaug gone, you discover what remains - or, more accurately, what has been taken away.

Warnings; Thorin has the dragon-sickness and is generally an asshole. Implied non-canon character death. Reader is female-body-coded, uses she/her pronouns, and is Human.

Listening to; 'Burn' from Hamilton - "Your sentences border on senseless... They don't get to know what I said... You forfeit all rights to my heart."

Part 12 || Part 14

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Ko-Fi

Everything was burning. Homes, buildings and lives. People.

It hurt that all you could do was watch, with the stone cold underneath you, and the wind making your tears feel like ice carving a river down your face. It was an ironic contrast, especially since your chest burned hot and ached with every breath.

You wondered why it still hurt. You felt calm, despite the distress before you, and you had rested enough from the fight with Smaug for your heart to have settled. But your chest hurt. Your lungs burnt with each breath and your throat was dry. You’d noticed before, how it seemed the closer to Erebor you got the worse it became. But you dared not bring it up, and now you couldn’t - Oin was will Kili, no one else would have answers like he would.

You were feeling so close to being sick - like properly throwing-up sick - because of what was happening both to the burning Laketown and Thorin. Oh, your dearest Thorin.

What was becoming of the Dwarf you once loved? You could only hope that he would get better now that the dragon had fled. Somehow you knew that hope was founded on shaky grounds.

You stared ahead, watching the distant walls of flames flicker like candles along a mantle place. You saw smoke rise into the dark night sky, glowing orange with embers. The dragon’s silhouette constantly swooped up and down, high then low.

With each pass Smaug made on the town you thought of your friends, Fili, Kili, Oin, and Bofur, and even Bard and his family. You hoped this would not be the pass to kill your friends, and at the end of each you waited - as if you would have felt it, but it never came. Only for the apprehension and hope to return once more with another path Smaug made.

You would’ve prayed they would make it out safely, if only you knew who to pray to.

The minutes felt like hours, and the hours seemed to drag on forever. As the stars passed overhead, and the very first signs of day drew near, a new kind of movement went across the town.

With a startled gasp, a pain in your chest sparked and you stumbled to your feet.

Beside you, Bilbo, who had yet to turn away unlike most of your other companions, likewise saw the shift - even if he didn’t feel it, or notice it in you.

“You saw that?” he asked, turning between you and the town. “The dragon, it fell.”

“The dragon died.” you said, fingers tight over the leather and furs over your heart.

“The black arrow. The Lords of Dale have finished what was started many years ago.” Then the burning, the aches, it all stopped. A peace which you thought would never return did - and it was like you were blessed with a whole new body.

“The dragon is gone!” Golin said, stepping forward on quite nimble feet to take a proper look at the scene before him.

“But the damage is done.” Dwalin lingered just behind you, scowling at the flames that still burnt.

“And now it’s dead word will spread. Those with good intent and bad will be swarming to the mountain.” you added. “I do not think a dragon is the worst thing we will see before we can finally call Erebor home again.”

Enjoyed this chapter so far? Read the rest now over on Archive of Our Own! (Chapter Twelve Continues Here!)

Feel free to leave kudos, comments or a reblog if you're enjoying the story so far - especially now we're so close to the end. Remember to support your favorite writers! If you liked reading it, reblog it <3

#the girl who knew the end #thorin x reader #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin x you #the hobbit x reader #tolkien x reader #the hobbit x you

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bella-rose29 · 5 months

Text

Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader: reverse damsel in distress situation

I just thought this was funny so I made some head canons about it

I don't think there are any warnings? like a couple of vague references to stuff (like they're on a horse together 👀 and they go in a lake together 👀) and possibly a swear word or two??? but I can't remember

I wrote these while I was meant to be writing my essays and I'm not gonna go back and proof read

ok so

instead of the royal child locked in a tower that's guarded by a huge ass dragon being the princess, it's the prince

and the prince is Anthony lockwood

I know he would totally want to be a knight or train or something

but instead he gets kidnapped when a dragon (think Smaug sized) attacks the city

(we're gonna pretend that his family are all alive for this)

so lockwood gets carried off (he's like... 15? 16?)

put in the ruins of a castle in the middle of a thick and dangerous forest that takes like... a week to get to

and for the next three (ish) years parties are sent out to rescue him

none of them are successful

they are either killed by the dragon

or they get scared and run away

lockwood doesn't really mind living with the dragon

Lucy becomes a knight to try and save her friend and George is like a really well respected scholar or something (because lockwood was friends with him and made sure everybody appreciated George's talent for research) who researches dragons and how best to defeat them

lockwood does miss his family but he figures that he can go back any time he wants, and now he actually has some freedom for once in his life

it's a breath of fresh air (just like the air that's all around him because he lives in a forest now)

and the dragon is actually really nice

brings him food, makes fires to keep him warm, lets him practice his sword fighting on its hide (since it's basically impenetrable)

lockwood gets really good at sword fighting really quickly (of course he does)

and soon he's venturing out into the wilds to hunt for food or to discourage the hunting parties from coming to rescue him

also he just likes going for walks sometimes and there are nasty things living in those trees

but one day

not long after his 19th birthday

a single figure approaches the ruins

now the dragon starts gearing up for a fight (even though it's wondering if this is really a fair fight)

but when the singular knight starts bowing to the dragon and pandering to dragon pride

well

safe to say this knight won't be getting eaten today

lockwood of course ventures downstairs to see what's going on

and when he sees his terrible, fear-inducing dragon on its back having belly rubs from some random knight he almost faints in shock

"uh, who are you? And what are you doing with my dragon?"

the knight is surprised and pauses the belly rubs (the dragon lets out a huff)

"oh, I'm here to rescue you I think!"

then lockwood is surprised again because holy shit this knight is a woman

normally women in the army was rare since when lockwood was in the city the patriarchy was still in the progress of being abolished

but in the time he's been away the army has sorted itself out

(not that he knew that)

so he's all confused and frowny

and then he remembers to speak

"oh, well I'm quite happy here, thank you. Sorry for making you travel all this way, but I shan't be being rescued anytime soon."

he expects the knight to protest or something

instead she replies with:

"Alright then. Could I at least stay the night? I haven't slept properly for a while"

he agrees

the dragon is happy because the knight staying = more belly rubs

she goes out to hunt for dinner for the three of them and comes back an hour later with a lot of food

they spend the night talking about what's been happening in the city since lockwood hasn't been there for like, three years

turns out a lot has changed

like it was mentioned earlier, women are now in the army (and can train from a very young age like the men)

the city opened its borders and trade routes have been established between them and neighbouring cities

this means a lot more money has come into the city

and building programmes have started so that people have jobs and then housing

schooling is free

all good things

lockwood spends most of the time the knight (who has introduced herself as Y/n) is talking feeling as though he missed out and wanting to go home

he doesn't want to stay there, he just wants to catch up with everyone and let them know that he's fine

and could they please stop attacking his dragon thanks

omg and while the knight is getting ready for bed she takes her armour off (she has clothes on underneath don't you worry)

and lockwood doesn't realise but he's staring

because that armour is fitted but shapeless and he hasn't seen a woman for nearly three years (and he's a honey teenager let's face it)

and while he might not realise that he's looking

the dragon absolutely does

flicks him with its tail to get him to stop even though the dragon thinks that the whole situation is hilarious

because the dragon had also seen how lockwood had been looking at the knight while they were talking

and boy oh boy is he in trouble because he is definitely crushing on her

the next morning they're having breakfast:

(lockwood went out to get it because the others were still asleep)

and she's laughing at his jokes

and lockwood thinks oh shit I think I'm falling for her

and then he agrees to make the journey back to the city with her and she smiles and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen

(mostly he agrees to go back so that he can spend more time with her but shhh)

they hug the dragon goodbye (refuses to leave the hoard)

set out on the knight's horse

and omg they both get on and they're really close together because they don't entirely fit and-

lockwood is really struggling to concentrate he won't lie

so is she

anyway

they get back to the city and everybody is cheering because someone actually managed to defeat the dragon and bring the prince home???

and then she has to explain to his parents (after a very tearful reunion from all members of the family) that no, she didn't kill the dragon, she just told it that she'd never seen a dragon more impressive and gave it belly rubs

then lockwood has to break the news that he's not staying

and more crying ensues

the knight is kind of just... stood there awkwardly because these are her monarchs and she has no clue how to act right now

they invite her to dinner

she says yes (she didn't feel she could say no when lockwood turned to her with puppy dog eyes)

it's very loud

and more of a party than a dinner

lockwood spends a lot of time around George and Lucy (and Y/n totally isn't jealous of how gorgeous Lucy is and how lockwood looks at her like she's the sun that would be true ridiculous)

she's used to the noise of it all, she's a knight for god's sake

it's just been a long couple of weeks and she needs a break

so she heads out to the balcony for a breather

and is surprised to see the prince there because she thought he'd be in the middle of the celebrations

he gives her a small smile when she steps out

and she looks gorgeous against the glow of the room behind her and lockwood thinks he might be falling again

they talk for hours

literally until sunrise

everyone else has gone to sleep

they've moved from standing to sitting with their backs against the wall of the castle watching the sun come up over the horizon

there is absolutely no need for them to be sat as close as they are but-

and lockwood almost feels sad to be leaving again

but then he remembers how constricted he'd felt earlier when people were fussing over him and getting him ready for the party

and he thinks he's much better off living with his dragon in the forest

the journey back Y/n comes with him

she says it's to protect him

she knows he can fend for himself she just likes spending time with him promised his parents that she would (they hadn't asked her to)

they get ambushed on the way by bandits or something

they fight together like they've been doing it their whole lives

and when she pulls out two knives and throws them with perfect accuracy and without even looking and saves his ass, lockwood knows he's screwed

yep he's definitely fallen for her

the dragon knows What's Up when they get back because they're both giggling and stumbling over each other as they walk in

they stopped for a dip in a lake on the way and he totally didn't nearly faint when she started stripping

they didn't go far (just a lil kiss because they finally admit their feelings for each other) but the journey was quite long so they've had time to talk about how it's gonna work

she decides she'll move in with him

the dragon is happy because once again, the knight staying = more belly rubs

lockwood is happy because he's got the girl of his dreams

and they live in their ruins in the middle of a forest, occasionally travelling back to the city for birthdays and celebrations and such

the dragon gets a lot of belly rubs when it comes with them (which doesn't happen much because of the hoard)

George and Lucy travel to see lockwood a lot (and basically live with them now)

tag list: @anathemaloren, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @briar-rose23, @dangelnleif, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @light-23, @locknco, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @ran23sblog, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife

#damsel in distress #except Anthony Lockwood is the damsel #and he's not in distress #(not physical distress anyway)#lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader

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bizaar · 2 years

Text

Cruel Summer - Part 3

First -Previous - Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 8k

warnings: non-mutual pining, swearing, Dustin has a great big crush on the reader

A.N.: babysitter!reader part three! this time we get to hear from the baby who is being sat on ... anyway, Dustin is jealous and Steve is kind of a jerk

If Dustin had to pinpoint the moment he’d fallen in love with you, he would say it would probably be roughly an hour into the first time you’d ever babysat him, a hundred years, and a short lifetime ago.

Five years to be exact.

You began as a babysitter of convenience, the thirteen-year-old girl who lived across the street and could be coerced into being paid to sit and watch television with her eight-year-old neighbor for a few hours at a time.

Dustin didn’t throw a tantrum or cry or do anything so dramatic as that when his mother left him in your care that first day, but he was set in thinking that he wouldn’t like you. What did he know about eighth-grade girls, beyond that they all had sticks up their butts and were very often singularly evil? He couldn’t believe the naïveté of his mother, opening the door and willingly letting the fox into the hen house. As far as he was concerned, you were a strange and devious creature, not to be trusted.

He slunk out of the room and listened from the sanctity of the hallway as she walked you through the babysitting spiel, he would go on to be able to recite in his sleep: emergency numbers, house rules, what you should and should not offer for snacks. You nodded and agreed and sweetly bid her farewell, then immediately went to sit in his mother’s favorite chair and flipped on the television. Dustin remembered being outraged at the audacity of it because you ought to have known that you had no right to sit in that chair, but he wasn’t about to do anything about it.

You were Smaug, a great and terrible dragon lurking among the stolen treasures of Erebor, and he was Bilbo Baggins, bravely slinking away, silent and invisible. Dustin would have retreated further to the sanctuary of his bedroom, to discuss the presence of the interloper with his toys, but you’d stopped him in his tracks by turning on the siren call of Speed Racer reruns, and he’d been quietly enraptured.

He watched from the hallway for the better part of twenty minutes, quietly singing along to the theme song, before you finally called out to him.

“I can hear you humming back there.” You said, “You know you can come out and watch, right? I’m not gonna bite you.”

Dustin ran down the hall after that — Go Speed Racer, Go— if only to muster his courage and return five minutes later with backup in the form of a big tub of Legos and action figures.

And just like that, a silent truce was agreed upon.

“Who’s your favorite superhero?” He remembers asking, an hour or so after the cartoon marathon had ended, sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by the growing minefield of his toys.

You’d since twisted to perch sideways in the chair in a way he’d been unwilling to admit was so totally cool, legs slung over the arm as you fiddled with one of his action figures. Cobra Commander. He remembered thinking it was technically okay that you’d chosen that one, in the vast lexicon of all of Dustin’s toys, Cobra Commander was a low man on the totem pole.

You cast a sly glance in his direction and answered without hesitation.

“Daredevil.”

The surety of your answer nearly floored Dustin.

“You know about Daredevil?” He gasped, very nearly losing his composure, “… I mean, he’s cool I guess.”

There was an undeniable coquettish slyness to your tone, like you understood the effect of your presence, even back then. “Spider-Man is cool too.” You said, nodding to the action figure Dustin held clutched in his hands.

He shrugged and tried to feign nonchalance, working at twisting the friendly neighborhood web-slinger into a battle-ready pose. At the same time, his brain kicked itself into overdrive, trying to process what seemed like conflicting information at the time.

You were a tween girl, and you knew about superheroes. That math should not have added up to make a real person.

It was like the world was opening for the first time and he could feel cracks beginning to form in his impenetrable fortress of boyhood.

“I like the X-men.” He said slowly like he was testing to see just how much you actually knew.

You pulled a face like you didn’t appreciate the vagueness of his answer.

“You can’t just say you like the X-men,”

He wrinkled his nose, warily preparing to go on the defensive in case you finally decided to shed your skin and reveal the viper waiting beneath.

“Why not?” Dustin asked.

You shrugged.

“I mean, I guess you can but, come on, you’ve gotta have a favorite. There’s a whole bunch of those guys. You’ve got Cyclops, Storm, Wolverine, Professor X…?”

Dustin was fully aware of how he was gawping at you as you continued to list the various X-men on your fingers.

The wealth of what actually equates to very basic knowledge was enough to tear down the walls he’d put up to the point of forgetting his leeriness of the strange girl who had been put in charge of him that day. Before that moment, he would not have been able to fathom the concept of a girl like you (ridiculous, of course, he can practically hear you berating him for thinking so little of women’s knowledge of pop culture. Women have interests, Dustin, don’t be a tool.) but suddenly and for the first time in his life, he was completely enamored.

You were like a unicorn he’d stumbled across in a clearing in a dark forest, and he literally could not stop staring at you.

He’d never wanted someone to think he was cool so badly.

You spent the duration of that evening pouring over his favorite comics, debating who among the heroes was strongest, who would win in a fight (you hadn’t been able to reach an agreement over whether Doc Ock or Dr. Doom would win, so you’d agreed to disagree with a cordial handshake), he’d even led you down the hall to show you his bedroom, nervously of course, in some bizarrely juvenile hope to impress you with his books and posters and all the toys who hadn’t made it out into the living room.

At the end of the night, Dustin shocked himself by sending you on your way with his prized Spider-Man action figure, watching him from the back pocket of your jeans as you skipped back home and disappeared into the house across the street.

From then on, Dustin was head over heels, and it only got worse with every passing day.

Over the course of the next five years, you became a staple in the Henderson household. Dustin chased your shadow, entering Hawkins Middle and you made your way over to Hawkins High, and as you waged into the foray of adulthood, you never forgot to leave room for him, even when it wasn’t exactly convenient.

You were always happy to stuff his bike in the trunk of your car and give him a ride home, never balking at the thought of being seen fraternizing with a middle schooler by your high school peers, and you always stopped for ice cream or a Slurpee or any kind of treat that would have curled his mother’s hair and turned it gray. You liked your music loud and heavy on guitars, and Dustin couldn't say he felt any different. He liked what you liked. On nights and weekends, you let him stay up well past bedtime, eating junk and watching scary movies, and you almost never enforced the “homework before Atari” rule, considering you were just as eager to sit down and play it as he was. You were simultaneously a guiding light and a very bad influence.

You not only became acquainted with his friends but went out of your way to include them. If you and Dustin were headed to the movies for the day, you didn’t bat an eye at letting Lucas, Mike, and Will tag along, so long as they didn’t mind cramming into the back of your little Toyota, because according to you “the more the merrier, right?”

You chaperoned trips to the arcade and always came prepared with extra quarters to supplement their meager scrounged bounty. You didn’t mind stepping in to play D&D if the occasion called for it, and most importantly, you never gave the impression that it was some big inconvenience. You dressed up, you did voices, you stayed in character, and you took the matter very seriously.

You treated the Party the same way you treated Dustin, without judgment or exclusion or favorites. You were their friend, but you were in charge, and they all listened with varying degrees of eagerness, despite the fact that you didn’t actually babysit any of the rest of them. Dustin had a tendency to get quite vocal about that. If any of the guys got too friendly with you, he was quick to remind them that you were his babysitter, he knew you first.

They all teased him mercilessly about his massive crush on you, and Dustin could only be bothered to care about it half the time. You were arguably the be-all-end-all of cool babysitters, and sometimes, Dustin was sure you were too good to be true. You weren’t like the other girls he knew, which is to say you weren’t like Nancy Wheeler or Erica Sinclair, or any of his friends' moms. You’d given him a forty-five-minute lecture about the absurdity of that statement when he’d told you as much. (You don’t even know any other girls, Dustin, don’t go putting us in boxes like that.) It had been a failed first attempt at trying to express his feelings for you, and it had ended with him agreeing to be a little more open-minded and a little less sexist, and you none the wiser about his affections.

Sure, maybe you were like plenty of other girls (girls Dustin wasn’t entirely convinced existed, at least until Max came into their lives) but that didn’t mean you weren’t amazing.

And then one day after school, in your tenth-grade year, you arrived at the house, grinning stupidly about something, and acting uncharacteristically foolish and ditzy as you threw your backpack down. While you were normally light and cheerful, this was something else entirely. You were glowing, practically floating around the house. You spent the better part of the afternoon smiling to yourself and sighing, gazing off into the distance and not hearing a word Dustin had to say.

It took absolutely no prompting to discover the source of your good mood. You were more than happy to explain.

You’d met someone.

Oh no.

This really sweet, funny guy.

Oh shit.

You think you really like him.

Son of a bitch!

His name is – Dustin clapped his hands over his ears when you’d tried to tell him. He didn’t want to know the guy’s name; he didn’t want to know anything about him unless you were going to tell him he’d died or something. The next few weeks were an exercise in patience as Dustin waited for you to get bored of this guy, whoever he was.

This wasn’t like you. You had a good head on your shoulders, you liked superheroes and Atari and Lord of the Rings and didn’t get silly crushes. Surely you weren’t foolish enough to get caught up in something as fleeting as a summer fling… right?

Wrong.

By summer break, it was officially official. Boyfriend and girlfriend official. You were even wearing a big chunky chain bracelet of his and a beat-up guitar pick strung around a ball chain necklace. It was all Dustin could do to keep from blowing his lid.

Suddenly he was all you could talk about, your boyfriend. How he was so fun and funny and sweet and thoughtful and yadda yadda yadda. It went on and on, an endless stream of saccharine word vomit that twisted at Dustin’s insides like a rusty fork making spaghetti out of his guts. He’d never been so jealous in his goddamn life. It made him feel like he was on fire.

How was he supposed to compete with high school boys? Especially since whatever teen boy spell this guy had cast on you had apparently turned you into the girl you’d never been? A giggling, flirty mess of sunshine lollipops and rainbows.

You were in love with this guy much too quick, and Dustin hated every moment of it. More than the jealousy, he hated the guilt he felt over hating it because he could not deny that this guy made you incandescently happy. You were on the moon where Dustin could not reach you, and despite how bad it made him feel, he told himself that if you were happy then he was happy … to a point.

A lot of that sentiment went out the window when you started ditching him to hang out with this guy.

Sure, you still chaperoned the Party around Hawkins, but you were just as likely to go skipping off to some dark corner of the arcade or the movie theatre to have some sort of secret rendezvous as you were to stay. You didn’t offer rides to and from school as liberally as you had before, due to the fact that you were riding to school with your boyfriend as often as you were driving yourself. Your evenings babysitting no longer consisted of superhero debates and D&D, but sitting and waiting by the phone, only to snatch it up and run to the other room when it would ring. You spent hours talking on the phone about absolutely nothing of value to this guy, acting like everything you had to say to each other was the most important thing in the world. (Dustin knew your conversations were nothing to write home about because he’d been caught twice listening on the other line before you’d snapped at him to get off the phone).

“Was that your little brother or something?” He’d heard your boyfriend ask, his voice lilting with an infuriating humor.

You’d sighed and rolled your eyes, “No, it’s just the kid I babysit.”

Just.

Dustin didn’t know what it felt like to have his heart broken, but he’d never been made to feel so small and insignificant by a single word. He’d never been just anything to you, not until your boyfriend had come around. Suddenly you were exactly like the other girls he knew, and it set Dustin’s teeth on edge.

Dustin had never met this boyfriend of yours, partially because you never brought him around (thankfully the vice your relationship had on your mind didn’t turn you into one of those cliche babysitters sneaking her boyfriend into the house to make out) but also because Dustin had no interest in meeting his biggest competition for your attention.

He may have only been a middle schooler, but he was smart enough to know that all it would accomplish would be to hurt his feelings, more than it already hurt to think about you in the arms of someone else, laughing at his dumb jokes, playing games in the arcade, going to the movies with him.

He caught glimpses from time to time, of course, even in his denial he was wildly curious about him, your mysterious boyfriend.

The best look he ever got was in spying out through the front window, watching you skip off across the street and climb up into the passenger’s side of a beat-up, shitty panel van blaring overloud rock music. There was a flash of denim on leather, long dark hair, and big chunky silver jewelry on a hand that came up to cup your cheek as you leaned over to kiss him before the door slammed shut.

Dustin had ripped the front curtains down over that, jealousy briefly turning him into the goddamn Hulk. Of course, he’d been subsequently grounded for it despite how it had been entirely by accident.

He painted a picture of your boyfriend in his mind so that he would have something to hate, denim on leather, chunky silver jewelry, long dark hair, an amalgam of all the lame rock and roll guys he’d ever seen on MTV or in magazines. He imagined he was probably too concerned with his looks, fixated on his hair, didn’t let you touch his radio, and played guitar in a shitty rock band. Like Steve Harrington, if he was a metalhead, which is to say a total loser.

Of course, that opinion would go on to change drastically over the months. Steve Harrington, it turned out, was cool. Much cooler than your stupid boyfriend.

Dustin would complain bitterly to Steve about him exactly once before he learned better.

Steve scrunched his features as Dustin went on and on, slowly putting the pieces together. He didn't know you very well, beyond the fact that you went to school together, but come to find out he did know your boyfriend.

“Oh, wait,” He’d started to say, “Are you talking about E—”

Dustin clapped his hands over his ears once again and screeched out what could only be described as a primordial sound of denial. It had shocked Steve perhaps more than anything in his life to hear a sound like that erupt out of a human being.

“Don’t say it!" Dustin cried, obviously being very cool and mature about this whole thing, "I don’t want to know his name!”

Steve threw up his hands defensively.

“Alright, Jesus! I won’t say his name … Anyway, I know... That Guy, and he’s a total freak. Don’t worry Henderson, it won’t last long. She’ll come around eventually.”

It might have made Dustin feel better if it weren’t for the fact that – inexplicably – you liked the apparent freak so, so much. Too much.

You were in love with him.

Dustin was sick with how much he hated a person he didn’t even know. He railed against any and all information, any suggestion of That Guy’s existence, despite how you insisted he would love him, how he was into all the same fantasy and sci-fi stuff Dustin loved, and how he even played D&D.

“He wants to meet you,” you’d said once, sitting cross-legged on the floor, helping him put together his outfit for the upcoming Snowball Dance.

Dustin was already sulking because you would be cutting out on chaperoning to go out with your boyfriend, even though you’d promised you were going to go.

The declaration that he wanted to meet Dustin felt more like a taunt than anything else like the bastard wanted to rub his face in it. It made him burn with petty anger.

Dustin couldn’t give a shit about what this guy wanted.

“Well, maybe I don’t want to meet him.” He’d huffed, “Steve says he’s a freak anyway–”

“Don’t say that.” You’d snapped, your tone biting and harsh enough to cause Dustin to flinch. “He's not a freak. Steve is an asshole, he doesn’t know anything about him. And neither do you."

"Well, maybe you don't know anything about Steve," He mumbled defiantly.

"I know more about him than you do."

Dustin waffled between feeling a mean satisfaction and instant regret over the way your face crumpled in the wake of the fight, as short as it had been. You offered a meek apology for biting his head off and Dustin forgave you. At least you seemed to have the good sense to be remorseful about ditching him.

After a long silence, you nudged him with a sock-covered toe and put on a pout.

“Don’t be mad at me Dusty, I’ll go to the dance with you next year.”

Next year was a poor excuse for a band-aid, but considering everything that had recently happened, Dustin just had to resign himself to trust that you would eventually come to your senses and eventually your boyfriend would be out of both of your lives.

Through growing up and all the otherworldly insanity that had come to Hawkins since, the Demogorgon, the Upsidedown, the Mindflayer and everything in between, his feelings for you were as strong as ever. Stronger, even, because suddenly he had a duty to protect you, to keep you safe from the unseen dangers lurking just beyond the veil. He couldn’t tell you about the battles they’d waged and fought, you were safer not knowing.

Though, to be fair, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried to tell you about all that stuff. In November of 1983, before that stupid jerk was your boyfriend and you were still Dustin’s number one girl, you’d spent every afternoon at his house, from after school to dusk. With your parents busy with work like they always were and Dustin’s mother assisting in the search for Will, it was agreed that it was safer for the both of you to stay together. Dustin was over the moon and chomping at the bit to tell you about all the new developments within the Party.

You didn’t think his story about the girl with the superpowers living in Mike’s basement was very amusing.

“That’s not funny, Dustin,” you’d said, your mouth pulling down into a disapproving frown as you crossed your arms and leveled him with that steely look got when you were being serious, “You shouldn’t joke about stuff like that.”

He couldn’t imagine what you were talking about, considering he was being very serious, and Mike really did have a girl with superpowers living in his basement. Dustin had just seen her only half an hour before, you could see her too if you just went over to the Wheeler’s house.

“Stuff like what?” Dustin asked, completely nonplussed.

You grit your teeth like you hated having to explain it to him.

“Like keeping girls locked in basements and stuff! That’s not funny,”

Dustin rolled his eyes, his little body flooding with relief as the apparent source of your upset made itself clear.

“She’s not locked down there. She can go out anytime she wants, just not when Mike’s parents are home…”

Somehow, that explanation didn’t manage to clear things up the way Dustin hoped it would. You stopped showing him scary movies for the better part of a year after that, and Dustin stopped trying to tell you about Eleven and everything that went with her.

It’s been two weeks since the battle at Starcourt Mall, resulting in its unceremonious burning down, and Dustin hasn’t seen hide nor hair of you since the start of all that madness. He’s almost glad he’d been so preoccupied all summer, first with camp, then with trying to hail Suzy, and finally with decoding the Russian message with Steve and Robin. It hadn’t given him time to worry about you becoming one of the mindless throngs taken by the Mindflayer … or the mindless girl you’d become under the influence of your boyfriend.

Dustin had seen you briefly on his way to rendezvous with Steve before everything went down. Technically, you’d seen him first and snuck up on him just as he was crossing the threshold into Scoops Ahoy. You’d seized him by his backpack and jostled him violently, roaring in a way that had drawn a squeaky cry of alarm out of him.

His voice cracked. It was embarrassing. People turned to stare.

You were laughing when he whipped around to find the source of the assault, that bright, musical sound that he knew so well, it almost knocked the breath out of him to see you standing there.

He’d shocked himself in realizing how he’d nearly forgotten you, blinded as he was by the rose-tinted haze that had been his summer fling with Suzy. She made him feel stupid and gooey, all warm and fuzzy inside, but it wasn’t anything like how stupid your boyfriend made you. Dustin told himself it was different, but then there you were to remind him of his one and only, looking like a sun-kissed angel dressed in a strappy little sundress and sandals, and he wondered just how different it could possibly be. He squeaked your name and let you hug him, swallowing hard and answering your questions in a daze. “When did you get back?” You asked, playfully shoving him.

You had an ice cream cone gripped in one hand, and despite your teasing, you were careful not to let it drip on Dustin’s shirt, which he was thankful for.

“Yesterday.”

“Did you have fun? Make lots of nerdy friends?”

“Sure.” He mumbled, eyes catching on that stupid guitar pick necklace and the chunky chain bracelet you still wore.

Then, like he’d been struck by the tingling of Spidey-senses, Dustin realized you were conspicuously alone, and he didn’t trust it.

“So, where’s your boyfriend?”

He said it like it was a dirty word.

Strangely, instead of getting that dopey look on your face and waxing poetic about how wonderful he was, or berating Dustin for being unkind, you pulled a face and rolled your eyes. You made a show of heaving an exasperated groan like he had just asked you the most annoying, trivial question in the world.

“Who knows, I haven’t seen that jerk in like two weeks.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and cast your eyes down to your toes in a way that seemed almost halfway sad.

“You know he didn’t even come to my graduation?”

“Seriously?” Dustin spluttered, “What a jerk!”

He stopped himself from saying something harsher because he knew you were just going to rail on him for cursing, and this wasn’t about him, this was about the heaping pile of bullshit you’d just dropped on him. He was genuinely incensed. What kind of asshole skips his girlfriend’s graduation ceremony? Your boyfriend, evidently, that's who. Dustin couldn’t hardly say he was surprised, he’d always known the guy was a jerk, despite not actually knowing him.

He couldn’t help but think back to what Steve had said the previous autumn, about your boyfriend being a freak. He’d often wondered exactly what that meant, but now he supposed it meant that he skipped out on major milestones in his girlfriend’s life.

Dustin hated how dumb That Guy made you, prancing around in a daze like a lovesick puppy. Maybe if he was lucky, he wouldn’t have to endure listening to you moon over him anymore, talking about how fun and funny and nice and cool and blah blah blah...

How could all of that be true if he couldn’t even be bothered to watch you graduate?

“I know right?” you huffed, and suddenly there was a very real heaviness to your posture like you were trying very hard to make light of something that you didn’t think was funny in the slightest.

In fact, you were genuinely upset about it.

For half a moment, Dustin very seriously considered abandoning the mission to rendezvous with Steve if only to keep you company… or maybe you would’ve preferred to be invited along? He wasn’t entirely sure you liked Steve, but maybe you could learn to love him like Dustin had. And what’s not to love? Steve was cool and charming and funny and— Dustin stopped that line of thinking in its tracks as he began to imagine how much worse it would be to watch you gushing over Steve the way you did with your boyfriend. It might actually kill him if he inadvertently set the two of you up.

“Then again, you didn’t come either, you Butthead.” you huffed, prodding him in the shoulder with the sharp point of your finger.

A fiery indignance rose in Dustin’s chest at the notion of being looped in with your boyfriend’s crimes.

“I was at camp!” he squawked, hoping beyond hope that you knew he would have moved heaven and earth to be at your ceremony if he hadn’t already had the prior summer engagement.

You smirked at him.

“Uh huh, excuses excuses…” your tone was maddeningly condescending, but he didn’t get the sense that you were upset, not seriously, which was a relief. “So, where are you headed?”

Dustin jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the ice cream parlour and you rolled your eyes.

“Right, of course, off to see your new best friend, Steve?” you stretched his name lyrically in a way that didn’t feel authentically You.

Dustin wondered bitterly if maybe that was something you’d picked up from your jerk boyfriend. Still, he nodded and followed your gaze as it slinked up to the Scoops counter, where a girl roughly your age stood looking particularly miserable.

Your face split into a delighted Cheshire Cat grin, pulling your lower lip in past your teeth as the corners of your mouth quirked up.

Dustin wasn’t sure he liked that look on you, his head bouncing back and forth between you and the Scoops counter. His stomach was strangely in knots as a sense of dread washed over him, you knew something he didn’t, and he didn’t like how coy you were being about it… and he really didn’t like that look on your face.

“What?”

“Just wait until you see him.” You purred, giggling as you turned to leave, “Bye Dustin.”

He would have returned the farewell, but it wasn’t you bidding him goodbye. It was your stupid boyfriend again, working through you to taunt him, waggling your fingers and grinning at him from behind your eyes as you skipped away into the crowd.

That Guy, the Freak. Whatever his name was.

In the madness of the weeks that followed, Dustin had almost forgotten that interaction, and now you were coming over.

He’d waited all day for your impending arrival, knowing that you were coming over to babysit that evening, much to his chagrin.

It’s not that he didn’t want you coming over, he’d labored over what kind of things you could do together to pass the time that evening – movies, junk food … board games? – he told himself he wanted to do something you would enjoy, now that you had graduated, not just the same old baby shit you’d done for years. He racked his brain for the things he knew about teenagers, what did Steve and Robin like to do when they weren’t busy decoding secret Soviet messages? Sit around and judge people for their taste in movies? Trade high school gossip, talk about who said what, and who was worth pursuing for a date…? Somehow Dustin didn’t think you’d be interested in any of that, and it stressed him out immensely. Same as he had at eight years old, he still wanted so desperately for you to think he was cool, mature, worth taking seriously. Of course, he told himself it didn’t matter what you two did to pass the time, any amount of time in the glow of your presence was tantamount to Heaven, but he only just wished that you were coming over under different circumstances.

He wished he was old enough to take you out on a date. He’d entertained that flight of fancy for a few days, even found the perfect line to use (courtesy of Steve), but then his mother had caught him talking to himself in the mirror, pretending to ask you out to dinner, and he’d nearly died of embarrassment.

If he was ever going to marry you, he needed you to take him seriously as a man, not just some kid. Because he was going to marry you someday, after all, that was without a doubt. Sure, you’re a few years older than him, he’s only fresh out of eighth grade and you’d graduated that summer. Sure, there’s the problem of your stupid boyfriend, and sure he likes Suzy, like, really likes her. She is as amazing and perfect and phenomenal as he ever hoped his first real girlfriend to be, but you are you.

If ever there was a litmus test for the ideal woman (Don’t be such a male chauvinist, Dustin) you have long since set the bar, and while Suzy is amazing and quite literally had a hand in helping to save the world, she’s not you. He realizes it’s an unfair comparison, and it makes him feel terrible (could it technically be considered cheating?) but there’s no arguing with true love. That shit is forever, baby.

The mood is wrong the moment you walk in the door, twenty-five minutes late, completely flustered and apologizing profusely. His mother assures you it’s no problem, what matters is that you’re here now and she’s out the door with a promise to be back no later than 11:30.

You stash your bag on the kitchen island, moving robotically.

“Crazy about the mall, huh?” You say, looking like a hollowed-out version of yourself as you stare vacantly out the front window.

“Yeah, crazy.” He mumbles, wondering with an uneasy start just how much you know about the incident, the truth of what happened at Starcourt.

He watches you carefully and realizes very quickly that there’s something wrong with you. You’re swaying slightly on your feet and breathing raggedly, and suddenly Dustin can’t help but worry about the lingering effect of the Mindflayer. It was gone, they’d burned it out with the mall, but that didn’t mean it didn’t have some sort of residual hold in this world, like what had happened with Will the year before.

“Are you okay?” He asks, sitting up on the couch, ready to jump up at a moment’s notice in case he has to catch you.

You turn and stare through him, and then after a moment much too long to be considered normal, you lie through your teeth.

You’re a terrible liar.

“I’m good.” You say, “I'm really, really good … in fact I’m great.”

You try to smile, but your lower lip is trembling and Dustin notices for the first time how your eyes are bloodshot and puffy like you’d been crying.

He wants to ask what’s wrong, but he can feel his courage quickly fading, so he decides that further inquiries regarding your emotional state can wait until after the declarations of his love have been made.

The thought of it makes him blush.

“So… listen,” He begins, gathering as much of his quickly fading gusto as he can muster, ‘There’s something I wanted to talk to you about...”

For a split second, Dustin sees what he can only equate to panic flash across your eyes, the corners of your mouth twitch as your plastered-on smile crumples into a grimace. His confidence wavers in the face of it. There is something seriously wrong with you, that’s for certain, but he doesn’t have time to sit and unpack that until after he’s said his piece. He is more than uncomfortably aware of the fact that he’d better do it quick if he wants to keep his nerve.

Dustin opens his mouth to continue, but you turn on your heel and bolt suddenly down the hall, which is perhaps the most shocking thing that has happened yet.

“Hold that thought, Dusty.” You say in a rush, your voice suddenly tight and strained. “Just for a second!”

He stands a little dazed as he listens to the quick sound of your receding footsteps, followed by the slamming of the bathroom door.

A heavy silence bleeds into the room.

After a few seconds of nothing, Dustin thinks he can hear what sounds like muffled screaming, and it throws him for a loop. He doesn’t know what to do with that, he still isn’t completely sure you aren’t being mind controlled by what’s left of the Mindflayer, but he can’t make himself move to investigate.

He stands, and he waits, and you don’t come out, so he waits a little longer.

It’s nearer to fifteen minutes before you finally emerge again, and Dustin has slumped back into the couch cushions, fidgeting with his compass while he waits for you. You’re sniffling, frantically scrubbing your hands over your eyes as you trot back out into the living room, doing your best to put on a smile.

“Okay, kiddo, you wanna watch a movie or something?” you ask, sounding absolutely manic as you throw yourself down onto the couch beside him.

“Uh… sure,” He says, “Something scary?”

It’s a blatant effort to try and please you. Dustin is no fan of scary movies, despite how hard he is trying to be because you love them. He’s still plagued with nightmares of Freddy Kreuger, despite how it’s been well over a year since you sat him down with A Nightmare on Elm Street and a promise to turn it off if it got too scary. It had, but he’d kept his mouth shut and had been forced to endure the whole thing. He is still afraid of sleeping with the lights off because of it.

In a shocking turn of events, you shake your head.

“No, let’s watch something nice. Let’s watch The Neverending Story.”

The coincidence of you suggesting that movie is enough to give Dustin whiplash until he remembers that you were the one who took him to see it in the theatre in the first place –and then ditched him there to go meet up with your boyfriend.

Still, he can't help but be a little stunned considering the recent significance of that movie and how it had effectively saved the world.

“Yeah okay…” He mumbles.

Dustin stands to go and sort through his VHS tapes. He flips absently through the hard plastic rectangles as he feels a lump forming in the pit of his stomach, biding his time to try and muster what meager scraps of his courage are left. He swore he’d tell you tonight.

Don’t be a pussy, he tells himself, It’s now or never.

He stands and turns swiftly on his heels to address you, only to find that you have pulled one of the couch cushions into your lap for security.

Your pretty face is pinched in a mask of despair and there are tears in your eyes again, but they are gone in a moment as you come to realize Dustin is staring at you. You try to smile and barely manage to quirk the corners of your mouth.

“So, listen…” He begins again, slowly, fidgeting with his fingers, twisting the digits, “What I was trying to tell you before--”

Your face brightens in an odd, forced way.

“Oh, right!” you chirp, a little too enthusiastically for how you’re failing to reflect whatever it is you’re trying to pretend to feel. “Yes. Okay, I’m listening.”

Your voice is bubbling and wet like you could break down crying at any moment.

It’s highly disturbing.

“…Are you on drugs?” Dustin suddenly blurts.

He is semi-horrified at the way the intrusive thought broke through the barriers of his mind, especially when your eyes go wide.

You pull a face like it’s the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever suggested, and make an incredulous sound that is closer to a sob than a scoff, especially with the way you gasp on the tail end of it.

“God, Dustin – you can’t just ask people if they’re on drugs.” you sniffle, pulling your eyebrows together to glare at him, “That’s totally rude.”

“Well.” He mumbles, throwing up his hands and hating how defensive he suddenly sounds, “Are you?”

“No, I’m not on drugs! I’m having a bad day.” You cross your arms tighter around the pillow and he watches as you suppress a burst of something caught between outrage and devastation. “Just give your speech already.”

You sound angry, but then again, your expression still doesn’t match your tone, so he can’t exactly gauge what it is you’re feeling. It makes him more than a little nervous about how you will take what he has to say to you, but Dustin manages to soldier through it.

“Okay. Sorry … actually, it’s not a speech, really, it’s more like – nevermind. Look, what I wanted to say is that I’m gonna be starting High School in a few weeks…” he says nervously, “And then I’ll be turning fourteen.”

Your face is still pulled into that annoyed look as you nod. The movement might have been somewhere on the way to sagely if your head hadn’t been bobbing so vigorously, like something trying very hard to look human after having only observed one for a very short time.

Still, somehow you manage to say all the right things.

“Big changes.” You mumble, “You’re not a little kid anymore.”

Dustin’s heart leaps into his throat as a bright light of hope wells in his chest, growing his courage along with it. He suddenly hopes beyond hope that you are picking up what he is putting down, even through the haze of whatever weirdness has currently gripped you.

He’s still not entirely convinced it isn’t drugs.

“Exactly!” Dustin shouts, “I’m not a little kid anymore, and if you think about it, fourteen is actually way too old for a babysitter, right?”

Your face contorts suddenly into a mask of confusion and your voice grows very quiet.

“Um… yeah I guess so…”

“So, really, I guess what I’m trying to say is I don’t want you to babysit me anymore.”

The silence that blooms between you is deafening as the words hang heavy in the air. Dustin doesn’t realize his mistake until you scrunch your face, and the tears finally – finally – begin to spill over your cheeks.

Oh no.

Dustin’s heart drops into his ass, and he freezes as you try not to break down.

Oh shit.

He’s never seen you cry before. In all the years he's known you the closest he's seen you to tears has been through anger or laughter.

He doesn’t know what to do.

In spite of yourself, you choke on a burst of harsh laughter, thick and wet, bubbling up from your throat as you wipe at your eyes. It is an effort made in vain, as the moment you brush away your tears they are replaced by new ones.

“Dammit, Dusty.” you sniffle, “Are you breaking up with me too?”

He rushes to the couch, leaping to land on the cushions beside you.

“No!” Dustin cries, “Oh no, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, that's not what I meant at all – please don’t cry – I only –” And then the words really hit him. “Wait… what do you mean?”

You open your mouth to answer but the rush of emotion is too much, and you bury your face in your hands. You sob for a brief, heartbreaking moment, and Dustin feels something crumple inside of him.

He doesn’t know what to do, somehow it feels like this is his fault, and it has him frozen to the spot.

Then he remembers your son of a bitch boyfriend, or perhaps more specifically how you hadn’t mentioned him once in all the time you’ve been here, and the gravity of the situation dawns on him.

“You guys broke up.” He says softly.

It’s not so much a question as it is Dustin having to say it out loud to believe it.

You nod and break into another round of pitiful sobbing.

Dustin has to take a moment to process the information and decide how he feels. He wants to be happy, ecstatic even. How long has he been waiting for this exact day? Counting the minutes until you’d get tired of that loser and move on to greener pastures. It should be a victory, but it turns to ash in his mouth because in his mind you should have shrugged it off with a flippant wave and an uttering of “good riddance”. But there you sit, choking and crying and crushing the heels of your palms into your eyes like you’re afraid they’re going to fall out of your head. You're not just sad, you're devastated.

This is not how he expected things to go at all, and seeing you so upset hurts Dustin’s heart.

You scrub at your face again, furiously trying to compose yourself, but the tears won’t stop coming. Dustin tries to muster all the anger and hatred and jealous outrage he’s felt towards the jerk over the two years he’s had to endure your relationship, but he suddenly can’t find it. All he feels is the sharp aching pull deep inside of his chest, watching you cry over the no-good bastard who’d broken your heart. It feels something similar to anger, only calmer, sadder. He’s never felt anything like that before.

He wants to hug you, but he dares not touch you, on the off chance that you really are as fragile as you look right now.

He’s half afraid he’ll break you if he tries.

“I’ll kill him,” Dustin says without really thinking.

You’ve calmed down enough by then to heave an exhausted sigh and throw your hands down to the pillow sitting in your lap. Your face is pink and ruddy, streaked with tears as you gasp out the last moments of your breakdown.

“No, you won’t.” you insist, twisting at the ring you wear on your middle finger with the dull black stone set into the band.

His ring.

Son of a bitch.

Dustin remembers the day you showed up wearing it. The suggestion of the promise that stood behind it had knocked the wind out of him.

A cursory glance shows you’ve still got on the chunky chain bracelet and the faintest hint of the guitar pick necklace sitting tucked beneath your shirt. It sets Dustin’s teeth on edge. He doesn’t want you to be sad – ever – but especially at the behest of some guy. He wants you to be angry, rip those gaudy pieces of jewelry off, and hurl them into the quarry, along with everything else that asshole has left in your life. He wants you to curse his name and flip the bird and forget you ever knew him.

“Well, I’ll kick his ass if you want me to.” He presses, scooting closer to you on the couch and rising on his knees in a way he hopes might help to try and make himself seem taller, more mature.

I would never hurt you. He wants to say, I’d treat you so much better than he did if you’d let me.

It’s enough to make you snort with watery laughter and roll your eyes, and for a brief moment, Dustin has to remember that you’re laughing at his offer of kicking your stupid (ex)boyfriend’s ass, not the declaration of love that lives in his heart of hearts.

“That’s sweet. Thanks, Dusty,” you say, patting his hand where he’d unintentionally reached out to take yours.

Dustin’s heart is in his throat. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding your hand until that moment. Despite the moment, his courage dissipates. Disappointingly, he deflates and sinks back into the couch beside you.

The conversation doesn’t carry on much further from there. For lack of anything better to do, Dustin puts on The Neverending Story, and you sit and watch it together in comfortable silence, with your head resting on his shoulder. He doesn’t pay much attention to the movie; he is too busy plotting how he will avenge you. He swears to himself that if and when he ever happens to find himself crossing paths with the sorry piece of shit who had been fortunate enough to be your boyfriend, he’d make sure he paid for what he’d done. Nobody gets to break your heart and just go on with their lives like nothing ever happened. It isn’t right.

By the time flashing headlights signify the return of his mother, and you make your way out the door and back across the street, Dustin is set in his mind that it is a matter of avenging you, defending your honor. He who draws first blood must make it right, lest they face banishment – and since he can’t expect your shithead (ex)boyfriend to do right by you, it’s up to him. He takes the burden on with his shoulders back and his head held high, though he is roiling with anxiety when he tucks in that night. He has no idea how he’s going to avenge you, and if Dustin can’t avenge you, how can he ever expect to be worthy of you? He’s only thirteen, what on earth can he be expected to do?

The theme of The Neverending Story is still buzzing around in his head, a pervasive earworm that any other day would have served only to annoy him, but now it fills him with confidence, reminding him of exactly what he is capable of.

What can he do? Save the fucking world, that’s what.

#eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #stranger things fic #eddie munson x reader #reader insert #eddie munson fic #eddie munson #i'm just trying to make sure this ends up in the right tag despite the fact that Eddie is literally only here in the peripheral #this is about dustin but lets be honest #this is about eddie #dustin henderson #cruel summer #cruel summer fic

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lathalea · 2 years

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Thorin Oakenshield Masterlist

Here is the masterlist of my Thorin Oakenshield stories. Enjoy!

📜 ONE-SHOTS:

✨ The Lotus Flower and the Summer Wind (Thorin x Reader, rated T) ✨ Forest Gold (Thorin x Reader, rated T) ✨ The Winner Takes It All (Thorin x Reader, rated E) ✨ Boop! (Thorin x Reader, rated: G) ✨ Imbolc (Thorin x OC, rated: T, gothic fairy tale) ✨ Blacksmith Needed (Thorin x OC, rated: M) ✨ Far Under the Misty Waters Cold (Thorin x Reader, rated: T) ✨ To Home Afar (Thorin & Dis, my TRSB21 entry, rated: G) ✨ Strong (Thorin x Reader, hurt/comfort fic) ✨ A Good Night's Kiss (Thorin x Reader, rated: M) ✨ The Gift (Thorin x Reader, rated: G) ✨ Mistletoe (Thorin x Reader, rated: G) ✨ How Do You Shop for a King? (Thorin x OC, rated: G) ✨ Thistle. A Midsummer Night's Dream (who is the woman in prince Thorin's dream?, rated G) ✨ The Tinderbox (Thorin x OFC, rated: G) ✨ The Crossover (Thorin x Reader, rated: G) ✨ The Best Day of My Life (Thorin x OC, rated: G) ✨ Never (Thorin angst, rated: G) ✨ Dream Come True (Thorin x Reader, rated: G) ✨ A Kind of Magic (Thorin x gn!Reader, rated: G) ✨ A Pint Too Far (Thorin x OC, rated: G) ✨ Wild Strawberries (Thorin x OC, rated: E) ✨ The Arrival (Thorin x OC/Reader, rated: G) ✨ The Shrieking Monster (Thorin&Dis&Fili&Kili family fluff, rated: G)

📜 LONGFICS:

✨ The Weeping Willow (Thorin x Reader, angst, dark fairy tale, rated T, complete): [1] [2]

✨ All Is Fair in Love and Trade (Thorin x Reader, rated E)

✨ Entangled (Thorin x OC, rated: G): [1] [2] [3] ✨ Heart of Stone (Thorin x Reader, The Hobbit Pirate AU, an interactive story, rated M): [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] (on hiatus) ✨ Third Time's the Charm (Thorin x Reader, rated T, complete): [1] [2] [3] ✨ Sun and Stone (Thorin x Reader, rated G, complete) [1] [2] ✨ Springtime at the Lonely Mountain (pre-Smaug AU, read the whole fic on AO3, rated E) ✨ How to Kiss a Fairy (collab with @avaria-revallier , Quest of Erebor with a twist, rated G, complete): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 ✨ Blame It on Cider (Thorin x fem!Dwarf OC Yrsa, rated E): [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] ... 💎 Soulmates (Modern AU take on Thorin and Yrsa's relationship)

✨ If on a Winter's Night (Thorin x Reader, Modern AU): [1] [2] [] [] ✨ The White Raven (Thorin x OC, rated: T/E): [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] []

✨ Entangled (Thorin x OC Mista, rated: G/E)

➡️Other Masterlists

Lathalea's Main Masterlist

Writer's Month 2021 Masterlist

Tarot Imagine Ask Game 2021 Masterlist

The Hobbit Advent Calendar 2021 Masterlist

Armitage Summer Splash 2022 Masterlist

You can read all of my works on AO3 (Lathalea).

If you'd like to be tagged in my fics, let me know! Do you like my writing? Would you like to read more? Feel free to show your support by having a Ko-fi with me! Thank you 💙

#thorin oakenshield #fanfiction #lathalea #the hobbit #thorin x reader #richard armitage #thorin #tolkien #lotr #thorin fic #king under the mountain #fanfic #thorin x oc #thorin imagine #fantasy #fan fiction #the hobbit imagine

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melon-cream-enmu · 3 months

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(🐲 anon)

Actually, I was thinking of Smaug type dragon, as well as hearing your general thoughts. But I'd love to hear your NSFW thoughts too, if that's ok with you! 👀

This got so much longer than planned orz

*Cracks knuckles* Well...

Dragon Enmu is a moderate sized dragon. A bit shorter than average, lean but not skinny, but his form is sleek. Your head comes up to his back when he's on all fours. He collects silver and jewels, and fine fabrics. His wings are sturdy but light, and his spine is lined with soft draping frills instead of spikes, though they are sharp at their tips and he can move them as he wishes. He's reclusive, doesn't bother with humans unless they've gotten on his nerves or there's something for him to gain. Bright blue eyes that are always either staring boredly or glaring. Dark scales, black, with a pearlescent shine that reflects the silver around him in a beautiful way. Spends most of his time sleeping, though he's a light sleeper, so if something were to come around he's aware of their distance and knows whether they'll be a nuisance or not. He allows for creatures to use his cave for cover should they need it, he occupies a deep cave, so he has no care what decides to shelter in its opening.

It looks like a small cave with a dead end, but the cave goes even further. He dwells far enough inside that nothing can sniff him out, and the entrance to the tunnel that leads to his horde is well disguised from the normal eye. A lucky chance that this cave was formed just so, to trick the eye in such a way. He's much bigger than a human, and the cave is the perfect size for him. He has ample space to move through his tunnels and dwelling. For a human this cave must be monstrous...

Enmu with the princess below (nsfw)

Cw kidnapping, fem reader, next in line reader, unfavored reader, dragon Enmu watches the reader masturbate, reader has a vagina, reader has bush, dragon on human oral (human receiving), somnophilia, dubious consent (Enmu gives the reader oral while they're asleep, when she wakes she consents), Enmu has two dicks, reader takes one, jerks off the other, implied excessive amounts of cum, lovey dovey stuff, mention of oviposition (no eggs in this fic nor any pregnancy)

Citizens of your kingdom begin encroaching on his territory. Do they know it's his territory? Are they doing it on purpose? Who knows, Enmu doesn't care. He’s going to deal with it his way.

He's known who occupied the kingdom, he's lived in it for centuries. A long line of royal blood, though it's almost died out once or twice. The current next in line were two siblings, a prince and princess. If he recalls correctly, you'd be the first queen by birth in a century or two. If you'd get the chance.

You probably won't.

If the myth of a dragon wasn't enough to keep your pests away from his territory, then an actual threat will.

He'd waited ever so patiently for a chance, and finally one arose. You came far enough away from the town for him to snatch you up. Swoop in, grab the princess, leave behind a terrified maid and some scorched and fallen trees, and no one would dare tread on his territory again, not for a long time.

He had no plans to hurt you, just keep you captive, that's all.

"You don't have to hide like that. It's not like I'm going to eat you."

You're cowering behind a stray mound of treasure, eyes puffy from crying. You stare wide eyed at him and he holds in a laugh. "You...you can speak..."

Enmu rolls his eyes and puffs smoke from his nose. "Of course I can speak. Have stories of dragons truly died this fast?" You don't respond, you only stare.

There's a pause, he picks up on the rumbling of clouds above. The hole in the ceiling allows adequate light, but it's growing dim...and cold.

"Come here princess."

You hesitate, understandably so, but come closer soon after being told. Enmu lifts his wing, exposing his side to you and you seem to understand. You're reluctant to touch him, placing a hand to his skin and he gives an attempt at a reassuring sound, deep in his chest, rumbling beneath your touch. You settle on the ground and lean against him.

He pulls a large draping fabric from a pile nearby with his mouth and sweeps it around, covering you with it. You still have that wide eyed stare, and he doesn't want to answer any of your questions, so he lowers his wing atop you and closes his eyes, putting his head down to sleep.

Over the next few weeks you grow accustom to his company. He explains why he'd taken you, and you'd confided in him that you doubt the kingdom would send anyone to rescue you. Something about whispers of a desire to be rid of you in favor of a king. You doubt anyone truly planned to kill you, but you know the desire for your brother to rule instead of you was shared by many. Enmu has seen many rulers fall to a fate like that, but he elects not to tell you this...

Whether your rescue is coming or not doesn't matter to him, your abduction has instilled fear in the people, and he'll be left alone once more.

Around week two you'd begun sleeping with him. Nestled in his side, keeping warm, and he'd eventually reciprocated, curling around you. Soon after he began to enjoy your touch, you'd taken to stroking his scales idly, kissing his cheek good morning and good night. If only the kingdom could see you now. Once a dignified princess, now bathing in springs, wrapped in sheer silks fastened with whatever be on hand, keeping a dragon company.

He kept an eye on you when you left the cave. It would be trouble if some stranger were to find you, or an animal come across you.

But you must've forgotten, relaxing in the spring. He watched enamored as you slid your hand down your body, between your legs, and let your fingers pleasure yourself. He can tell he wants you, his body physically craves you the same as his heart does. He's never had a need to mate, nor had he ever had someone near, so this feeling had always come and gone quickly. As he watches on, he can feel that it won't this time. It will linger...

When you return to the cave, he's rather physical. He'd returned earlier than you, waiting a bit anxiously. He could smell you so strongly. You pressed a kiss to his muzzle as you passed by, and his head follows you, reluctant to let your warmth leave. He's practically purring, loud, rumbling, constant. He follows behind you and keeps close, nearly flanking you.

"Princess..." He nudges you needily, keeping low to the ground as he crawls, his head at the height of your shoulders. You giggle and shift you head, bumping and nuzzling his. You've never done that, but he's never acted like this either. He stops you from walking any further by lightly wrapping a hand around you.

You touch the scales on his finger and laugh. "Whats up with you today?" He grumbles, pulling you along. "I'm just...tired."

"Yeah, we can take a nap. That's fine." You say, cozying up to his side just like always...

He can't sleep. You've fallen asleep, but he cannot. The smell of you has only become more intense. The wetness between your legs, you must be dreaming of...something he could take a guess at. He's going to tremble out of his skin if something doesn't change. He tenses when you sigh and shift.

He cautiously lifts his wing to look at you. You've slid down his side, laying on the cushion he'd laid down at some point. Your chest is rising and falling, shifting the thin silk you're wearing that had loosened in your earlier squirming. His pupils grow wide as you squirm again and it finally falls from your body. Your breasts rise in time with your breaths, with your stomach following the same movements. His eyes sweep over every inch of you before settling between your legs, licking his lips nervously at your heavy mound, covered with coarse hair.

He's drawn in as if under a spell, muzzle nudging your thighs apart, which is met with zero resistance. He breathes you in as he hesitates, failing to resist his urges. He nudges your body, testing if you'd wake, before letting his tongue pass his lips. He's careful, gently licking at your slit, slowly pressing deeper until he can really taste you.

A deep rumble creeps from his chest as he settles on the ground between your legs. He works his tongue inside you patiently, worming it inside you in between lapping at your clit, opening you up slowly. Caressing your walls in ways he knows no human man could. Your sighs had turned to whimpers that had turned to whines.

Enmu loses himself in you, unaware of everything besides the taste and heat of you. He's so into you that he doesn't feel the touch of your hand on his head, he doesn't hear your words of praise. He does, however, hear you moan his name.

He stops, frozen. Are you awake? One glance up at you tells him that yes...you are.

"No please, don't stop, Enmu please!" His heart beats fast and he follows your demands. He hopes you'll let him go further, focusing on your pleasure and preparing you for more. Your thighs tremble and squeeze his head when you cry out, cumming on his tongue.

He breathes heavily and rises to tower above you. You look at him with heavy lidded eyes.

"Princess, you need to tell me now if you want me to stop..." He feels his hold slipping, and his cocks literally slipping past his slit, if you don't answer him he's going to retreat...for both your sakes.

You shake your head, reaching for him. He nervously lowered his head to you and kiss his scales, begging with a quiet "please..."

Enmu groans appreciatively and lifts your body easily to hold you against his chest. He sits against a pile of treasure with you sitting where his stomach meets his lap. His let's you slide down further until your body bumps his cocks behind you. You gasp. They're slimy and warm and you wanted both of them in you so bad.

The look in his eyes and his lack of action tells you he wants you to take this at your own pace. You nod and the hand behind your back lifts you and let's you find your place. He's not huge, it won't kill you, but you certainly can't take all of him. Not that it will keep you from desperately trying.

You whine at the way the tapered head begins to push inside you as you lower yourself with his help. Enmu leans his head down to yours and nuzzles in your hair reassuringly, letting you feel the soft rumble in his chest. You pant, trying to calm yourself. He grumbles more as you pet his cheek, struggling with his control and his instinctual desire to slam you down on his cock.

Slowly, you take as much of him as you can and steady yourself on his hands that support you. You don't think you could stay upright if you tried. You writhe, wanting more, but unable to go any further and already raised up on your knees planted on his body.

"Lay me down, please Enmu..." You need him more than anything right now and you can't have him like this. He shuffles onto his knees and bends forward to lay you on plush fabric and bedding. He stares down at his other cock, resting atop your stomach as the others nestled warmly inside you.

You're ready, if your insistent tugging at his arms means anything. He takes a deep breath before slowly pulling his hips back and rocking against you. It aches to be so gentle but he doesn't want to hurt you. And he's not, the way your face twists from straining to begging tells him that.

You look perfect. His claws indenting in the fat of your body, the way every part of you ripples with his thrusts. He goes a little faster and you find your voice, previous gasps turning to sighs and moans. His gut churns in ways he's never felt and it excites him. His desire building and building like this...he's never felt this good.

His eyes close and he relaxes. He's going to lose himself in the feeling of you again, he knows it. His moans tumble from his lips in quiet roars when your hand lands on the cock resting on your body, stroking him as it glides back and forth on your skin. He shudders, it's all so much and yet he wants more.

His wings flex and stretch behind him and his muscles tense. His thrusts get faster and more precise, you're cumming and he won't last much longer. You squeeze him so tight and flutter around him and he cums.

A deep, low, rumbled roar escapes him as he floods your insides, his other cock covering your stomach and chest in cum. Your whines are so cute, it's hot in and on your body but not unpleasant.

You stay like this for several moments, even after his cocks have begun to grow soft. He pulls out with a groan, missing the unfamiliar but wanted heat of your body already. He sinks lower to the ground and lifts you, hugging you close and kissing you. Kisses all over your face, neck, hair. You wrap your arms around his neck and bask in his affection.

It takes some time to fully gather your thoughts, the both of you, but it doesn't change anything, not anymore. Enmu holds you close as you exit the cave, heading to the large spring some ways away to wash off. The entire time he's purring, or as close to it as a dragon can.

You both relax in the water, sitting in silence. You break it first.

"This won't...become anything, right? I'd probably be taken away if I went to a doctor in the kingdom with...anything going on." He yawns and lays his head on the embankment, closing his eyes.

"No, I doubt your body will take to my seed." You nod and murmur in understanding. "Besides, I didn't put any eggs in you..."

You turn, splashing the calmed water around you. "Eggs?!"

He doesn't respond, only peering at you with one eye and smirking before returning to resting in the calm of the woods.

#cream slayer #cream writes #toasted sugar cream #toasted for dragon/monster #cream afab #cream fem #please read the CW before continuing

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lady-spacy · 1 month

Text

Pt. 3 Children of the kindly west (Kíli x Reader) — A tale of two dwarven hearts

This is a translation, more of a re-write, of a fanfiction I wrote first in German during 2013 - 2015 when the Hobbit movies premiered and I was just as obsessed and enamored by that adorable prince like everyone else. And reading the Silmarillion for the first time this year in February brought me back to middle-earth and reminded me of my love of dwarves. And this brings me here today. Enjoy! Cross-posted on AO3 here. P.S. Feel free to tell me if any warnings or tags are missing. And if you want to be tagged in future parts! <3

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 *coming soon*

Warnings: Mutual Thirsting/ Pining, mentions of a naked female body under a nightgown, mentions of breasts, some sexual and romantic tension

New-found Friends

„Do you like Kíli?“, Syniver asked with an innocent face.

„I really like him!“, she continued. „He is so tall and funny!“

She laughed and rolled over a small sofa in the corner of the kitchen, standing up and giving an impression of Kíli when he huffed and rested his hands on his hips, when he was about to loose a game.

You smiled. You smiled about how wonderful your sister was and how much fun she was having.

But her question continued to linger in your mind, did you like Kíli?

Was one afternoon, one evening enough to say whether you liked your old acquaintance more than you had before?

It probably was enough. You had not laughed as much in a long time, spending time with him felt natural and easy and you wanted more.

More of him! You wanted to get to know the man he had become. The man whose eyes sparkled from within!

You met him again on the next day, when he came by to bring some knitted work that his mother had done for Syniver and your mother invited him to stay for an early tea.

And a few days after that you took the long route to the market, that led by the house of his family, hoping that you would see him. And you were lucky, he was outside shoveling snow from the pathway — you smiled at him and waved. He waved back with an excited grin and something deep inside you felt full and warm.

You stopped to talk with him and he offered to accompany you again.

„But don’t you need to finish shoveling here?“, you had asked and he had just shrugged.

„I’ll finish it later, or Fíli will do it. Or it snows more and then I have to do it again anyways.“

„Alright“, you had agreed and had taken his arm that he had offered you once again

„And besides“, he had added with the sparkle in his eyes that you had started to always look out for, „ I prefer your company over the shovel’s anytime!“

„I am glad to hear that I am more pleasant to be around than a shovel“, you had laughed but it had died in your throat as you had caught Kíli’s eyes on you and somehow you had gotten tangled up in them.

You had eventually torn your eyes away from his, missing the quick flash of confusion, as you had looked away and got out your shopping list from your pocket, ignoring the way your hands had trembled.

You were woken up by the repeated and unrelenting calling of your name a few days after your last day with Kíli.

You groaned, turned to the side and hoped that Syniver would be quiet soon, if she would not get an answer from you and your closed door.

Speaking of your closed door, you heard muffled voices on the hallway and a half-awake part of your brain chose to listen to them as you caught your name being said.

„Oh yes, she’s here. She’s maybe still sleeping. You can just go in!“, Syniver cheerfully explained and a horrified male voice answered.

„I can not go in there. I will not disturb her privacy!“

Kíli!

„Oh, why?“, asked Syniver’s voice confused and you thought the same.

‚Yes, why would he not come in’, the half-asleep part of your brain wondered, having him here with you would be heavenly, you could breathe in his musky scent of leather, pine trees, smoke and horse and it would surround you completely…

He would surround you completely.

Kíli’s voice sighed and then he answered.

„Just family can go to someone when they are sleeping, I am just a…“ He paused and you felt your heart hammering in your chest, what would he say now? What was he?

„I am merely a friend!“, he said slowly.

Just a friend.

What did you expect would he say?

Sighing, you threw your head back deeper into your pillows and opened your eyes.

Taking in the light of the day that filled your chamber you decided that you were awake now and got out of your bed. You turned to look for your dress that you had laid over a chair the night before.

And then your door opened. Syniver stood there and looked pleased with herself.

„See, she’s not sleeping anymore!“, she exclaimed loudly over her shoulder to Kíli, who stood behind her with a mortified look on his face.

The two of you stared at each other, mouth open and you felt the heat rise in your cheeks and saw how his cheeks reddened as well.

The heavy up and down of your chest brought you back to reality and you stumbled over your feet in an attempt to find something, anything to cover yourself with. You grabbed your dress from the chair and pressed it to your front.

Kíli had moved in the same time as you had come back to your senses, stuttering apologies over and over again and fled from the hallway, you heard his panicked steps on the stairs.

„Can you not knock?“, you asked Syniver over your heavy beating heart with more anger than she deserved.

„This was embarrassing!“, you sank back down onto your bed, resting your head against the bed post, suddenly exhausted, the dress still pressed to your body, that felt uncomfortably hot and aware of the fabric of your nightgown on your skin. You wore a simple white nightgown made from a light, fine fabric that could be quite translucent — oh Mahal, what had he seen?

He was never supposed to see you like this, hair open and unkempt, barely a braid in it and nearly naked. He was a prince after all! And he had offered you his company and his friendship, he had offered you his brilliant grin and sparkling eyes.

You wanted nothing but to be worthy of his kindness and friendship, you had to be your best self!

And this was barely your best self, just right out of bed! You groaned and looked at Syniver with pained eyes, who stood confused by your side and wondered why you and Kíli were acting so strange.

While you got dressed and tried to explain to Syniver why knocking is of importance and why you cherished your privacy, was Kíli running out of your house and straight to his. He spoke with nobody on his way, thankfully was no one home when he arrived, and gathered his bow and arrow together with his hunting gear and fled to the woods.

He went by foot, needing to run, needing to move, needing to get the image of you out of his head.

You bathed in sunlight, hair flowing freely over your shoulders, just a few little braids with golden beads on the ends sprinkled through it, cheeks and lips rosy and fresh from sleep —

You standing against the golden sunlight that made the fabric of your nightgown so sheer, that he could see the voluptuous contours of your breasts and the lush outlines of your waist, full belly and hips…

You staring at him with big surprised eyes, lips slightly parted, chest heaving, breasts moving with each breath under your nightgown.

And he had stared, he could not take his eyes away from you and your body, he should have looked away! He should have stopped Syniver when she opened the door!

He did not deserve to see you like this, fresh after the night, glowing like one of the goddesses of old that he had heard so many stories about.

Who was he anyways? Just the second-born prince of a kingdom he did not even knew, he spat out this title in disgust, even in thoughts.

And he was so oddly lean, too lean for a respectable dwarven warrior, his hair was too straight and he seemed to be unable to grow a beard.

People had mocked him, they have cackled behind their hands pressed over their mouths for all of his life.

And amidst everything was you, beautiful, cheerful and well-spoken you.

You, whose eyes and face were kind to him, he felt seen in your gaze. In the best way possible.

When you smiled at him, laughing at one of your own jokes or his, when you two chatted away was he finally feeling like he could just be.

He felt like he was enough, let the people talk, when he had your smile and your warmth next to him.

You had knocked him off his feet, literally.

Which was surprising and unexpected. He had barely given you a second thought in the past, the daughter of his mother’s best friend. Tiny and always behind him, his brother and other children. You had played together, spending more time arguing about a game than actually playing it.

But you had found ways to arrange yourself and your games and still, he had never looked twice. You were just there. Until now.

When your worlds had collided and were joined again by impact.

Oh Mahal, he slowed down his running and sighed, what have you done to me?

Later on the same day were you working in the kitchen, making a fresh batch of bread, and hitting the dough more than kneading it.

You were still embarrassed about what had happened in the morning, still unsure on how to continue and you did not even knew why he had come to you in the first place.

A knock on the door made you pause in beating up the dough and you wiped your hands clean from flour on your apron while yelling “coming” towards the door.

You went to open the door and it was Kíli’s remorseful face greeting you with a shaky grin.

“Hello”, he whispered with a hoarse voice.

His eyes barely sparkled anymore, you noticed with a growing concern.

Was he not feeling well?

“Can I come in? I have brought you, I mean not you, you, I mean you and your family of course, some rabbits that I have freshly hunted today…”

And indeed, he had five already skinned rabbits hanging over his shoulder.

You smiled carefully and nodded.

“Of course! You are always welcome here!”

He breathed out in relief and his steps got his usual bounce back as he strode confidently into the kitchen.

And when he turned to you were his eyes sparkling again! You grinned, happy at the sight.

He gave you the rabbits and told you that he had already gutted them.

“They are ready for cooking or smoking!”

“Excellent!”, you answered.

“Mother will decide later on what will happen to them, my responsibility today is only the bread”, you nodded towards your kitchen’s worktop where still the bread dough rested. He followed your look.

He kept his eyes on the dough and said quietly: “Can I talk to you? I have to apologise for my behavior today…”

He still was not looking at you.

“Of course…”, you nodded and got up to put away the rabbits into the cold storage room under your kitchen.

“Will you help me with these?”, you nodded towards the rabbits while climbing down the ladder into the storage room.

Kíli got up as well, without saying a word and handed you two rabbits at a time.

After he had given you the first pair he started speaking.

“I am awfully sorry for my disturbance in your privacy earlier! I should have never looked into your private chambers, Syniver had told me that you were still sleeping… I should have left right there.

It will never happen again!”, he said, voice coated with remorse and pain, while handing you the next two rabbits and you stored them carefully away.

“I have already forgiven you”, you answered after a quick minute, where you had gathered your thoughts.

“It was a stupid accident! And also quite hilarious, if you think about it. As if any visitor sees the people in a house in their night wear…”, you laughed and Kíli gave you the last rabbit and smiled slightly in an attempt to answer your laughter.

“Why did you come by anyways?”, you asked, as you climbed the ladder up again.

“Oh, I was just wanting to ask – CAREFUL!”, he suddenly yelled, as your foot slipped from

the last step of the ladder as you had stepped accidentally onto the hem of your dress.

He grabbed you by the arm and you cling onto him instinctively and he helped you carefully back onto the safe ground of the kitchen floor.

Your eyes got tangled into each other once again as he still held you close to him.

*You were already standing safely back on the ground but neither of you moved, the two of you were not even blinking!

You breathed out and smiled at him, breaking the spell. He instantly released your arm and made a quick step back from you.

“Thank you – for saving me. This could have gone very differently without you…”, you shuddered as you looked down the ladder onto the dark, solid ground.

“We’re square now”, he answered with his usual grin. Everything was fine again.

“You ran into, well over, me and most certainly saved me from eventually doing something stupid that day on the market in regards to Fíli’s lover and now I saved you. We’re even!”

“I am glad”, you said.

“You were just about to tell why you came by this morning…”, you reminded him.

“Oh yes, I wanted to ask you if you wanted to spend the day with me, hunting, riding in the forest…”, he looked at you with hopeful eyes and your heart melted instantly.

“Can we still do that? This sounds lovely!”

“If you want to, there’s still enough daylight left for a short trip. I know a lovely little pond, it is frozen now of course, but it is beautiful with frozen waterfalls…”, Kíli’s eyes sparkled and sparkled and your heart was full and happy. You wanted to ride through the forest by his side, you wanted to see the beautiful little pond, you wanted to see the world through his eyes!

You wanted to get to know his world!

And so you did.

Today’s ride through the forrest would be the first of many more to come.

He showed you hidden places, full of beauty and wonder. He showed you, where the rare white deer grazed during the winter months and you spent hours watching them from deep within the undergrowth of big, old trees.

„Some say“, he told you one day, „that these trees are older than the elves in middle-earth…“

You cocked your head to the side and looked at the gigantic trees around you, covered in all kinds of evergreens, moss and dead looking climbing plants — you knew that they would become lush and green soon enough when spring would arrive.

The trees were old, sturdy and had a rough bark that protected them from the seasons and weathers and apparently time.

„What they must have seen in all of these ages…“, you wondered and caught Kíli looking at you from the side.

You smiled at him, it was an instinct, you could not not smile when you saw or just thought of him, and his eyes sparkled, when he returned your smile.

„The most extraordinary wonders“, he answered solemnly and kept looking at you and his smile lit a fire of gold and brown in his eyes, like a fragrant late summer day over freshly dug soil.

You wanted to keep the happiness that radiated off of him in your life and your heart forever, it made you feel whole.

Of course, you were your own person but with him by your side, it felt like your life had doubled.

Everything had intensified over the span of the days and weeks since Kíli had come back into your life.

He gave you so much. So much laughter, so much joy, he filled your heart and soul with warmth and let your insides tingle pleasantly.

His smile, his slightly curved pink lips, his sparkling eyes, his strong hands, his skillful fingers that flitted over the neck of his fiddle when he played his happy melodies…

He was all of this and more and you had started to wonder how you were ever able to live without the light he brought.

It was one of the evenings that you had spent with him in front of the fireplace in the welcoming living room of his family’s house — he and Fíli had played their fiddles and you had danced to their tunes, you had hummed along, happy songs about the most beloved treasures, of rare gems and of girls and boys flirting and dancing at their town’s festivals.

You had pressed your favorite book, that you had read to the brothers before, to your chest, taking it as your dance partner and swirled around the room, laughing and swinging…

But your eyes never left Kíli. You kept your eyes on him for the whole time.

You admired how he used his whole body to play his fiddle, how he moved along to the music, how his arms moved when he played, how he kept his full body tension —

pressing his chin gently to his fiddle to keep it stable on his shoulder and how his bow in his right hand danced confidently over the strings all while the fingers of his left hand bounced masterfully over the fiddle’s neck…

He was otherworldly beautiful, like a mythical creature from another realm, his dark hair in contrast to his sky blue tunic, his cheeks reddened from playing and laughing in the warmth of the fire in the room and always his eyes.

Sparkling. Fixed on you. Smiling slightly, as much as his play allowed.

And you danced, danced with your happiness and joy. Danced with a full heart and a soul that felt complete.

In the night that followed you saw yourself dancing in your dreams, your skirts twirled around you and you laughed. The You that you observed looked directly at you and you saw her smile so brightly, so beautifully.

Your face rosy and a few strands of hair were sticking to the sides of your face, where sweat glittered in the light of the fire.

You were beautiful. Any doubt that you ever had about yourself faded as you observed your dream self.

She was glowing. She was everything.

And you knew, even after waking, that she was not a creation of your mind, she was you and you were her.

Kíli saw himself this night in his dreams as well.

He saw himself like you had seen him. Beautiful, ethereal and worthy of your admiration.

He did not saw the little boy in the shadow of his brother and uncle, who was always trying to prove himself to them and the world. He saw a man, strong, capable and enough, even handsome, just like he was. And for the blessed moments that his dream lasted, he accepted your vision fully.

He just did not know that it was your eyes he had seen himself through.

Just like you did not know that you had seen yourself through his eyes.

Efís had stopped talking and the children all looked up to her with big eyes, questions flashing up behind their eyes.

“Why were they dreaming of themselves? Don’t you usually dream of other people and not about yourself?”, one of the older girls asked.

“Oh well”, Efís smiled slightly, her eyes fixing at a far point over the fire place, while she thought of her answer.

“There are stories, stories of old, that tell of bound, fated souls, souls tied together by Mahal himself, when He created them.

Kíli and who was merely just his childhood acquaintance once were always destined to be more than friends or lovers. I believe firmly that their souls were promised to each other by Mahal, just like in the old stories . I believe they were the One for each other.

And the old stories also say that people, whose souls were were bound together in the moment of their creation, were able to see through the eyes of the beloved. Especially in dreams.

They caught a glimpse of their own soul and it inspired them, healed them, nourished them and made the love in their hearts burn even brighter than before. If it ever was possible.

But the pair in our story, though fated, was not yet aware that it was love that was growing quickly and rapidly in their hearts.

But it would change very soon.

On a fateful day in the deep winter, when Fíli celebrated his 81st birthday Kíli and his One were both met with a burning desire for each other— and burning jealousy. But before I tell you about their hearts matters, do you want more cookies?”

The children screamed in joy and nodded ferociously.

“Very well then, dears, let me get the next platter!”

Efís laughed contently on her way to the kitchen, she was happy that the children, who came to visit her, shared her love for wonderful baked goods and the stories of old. This way was she making sure that the heritage of their people, stories, songs, everything that made their culture so rich, would be passed on for generations to come.

She continued speaking, after she was seated again and the children happily produced cookie crumbs on her carpet and the room was once again filled with eating children, their breathing, their sniffling and the crackling of the fire.

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