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legolasbadass · 1 year

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Office Hours, Part 27

Summary: Lorelei Browning has just secured a job as an assistant professor at Exeter College in Oxford. Naturally, she is eager to prove herself and meet every challenge sent her way, but what she does not expect is the tall, handsome stranger who will quickly become much more than a colleague…

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 2.9k

Rating: E

A/N: @xxbyimm has been asking for a detailed description of Richard's 🍑 for a while now, so I hope you all enjoy that detail 😈 Thanks for your endless support of this fic @xxbyimm💙

Read on AO3

Beatrice and I spend the weekend sightseeing around Oxford. I bring her to museums and my favourite bookshops, then give her a tour of the botanic gardens, where the freshly bloomed hellebores and crocuses greet us under the morning sun. Richard also invites us to supper at his house, and we spend the evening eating, drinking, and laughing. Before I know it, I am driving Beatrice back to the train station on Sunday and she returns to Edinburgh, though this time, I am comforted by the knowledge that our separation will be much shorter.

The last week of the winter term goes by even faster. Between tutorials, office hours, meetings, and papers to correct, I have no time for myself, and I can only hope that the break before the spring semester will be filled with sleep and alone time with Richard. On the last day of the term, however, I am simply grateful that I have no classes in the morning, and thus I can sleep in.

Or at least, I thought I would be able to sleep in.

Richard groans as his alarm goes off for the second time. And for the second time, he buries his face deeper into my hair and ignores it.

“If you let it ring another time, I’ll push you off the bed,” I groan in warning, my eyes still closed as I try to fall back asleep.

Richard chuckles and reaches out to turn off his alarm before hugging me tighter. “Someone is grouchy this morning.”

“Because your stupid alarm woke me up—twice,” I mumble, burying my head under the duvet.

“Will you forgive me if I cook you breakfast?”

I slowly peer over the duvet and turn to face him. “Eggs? And toast?”

“I even got strawberries and the veggie breakfast sausages you like.”

“You did?”

He nods.

“I’ll be right there.”

Smiling, he leans in to kiss me softly before walking toward the bathroom, not bothering to get dressed yet. His skin is pale and soft in the grey morning light, and as he stretches, his muscles flex, creating folds in his back like ripples in water. Then my eyes drift down to the dimple at the base of his spine and the firmness of his bottom. That image lingers in my mind until he returns to the bedroom, this time offering me a view of his length, which sways along to his steps. He seems lost in his thoughts and only notices my stare when he looks up at me while pulling on his briefs. Even from the other end of the room, I do not fail to notice the way his eyes darken.

“Don’t look at me like that—I’ll be late for work,” he says playfully, but the low rumble of his voice is proof that he means it.

I giggle, and my heart grows light and warm at the tender smile he offers me before stepping out of the bedroom. With a content sigh, I press my face into the pillows, breathing in his comforting scent. Despite the annoyance of his alarm waking me up when I could have slept in, I much prefer sleeping here than at my flat. We have only been dating for six months, but already, this house has begun to feel like home. Richard feels like home. Once, that realization might have alarmed me, but now, my heart is overjoyed.

When I finally manage to drag myself out of bed, I slip on my sweatpants to shield myself from the morning draft that has settled in the house. Even through my thick wool socks, I feel the coldness of the old wooden floors, so when I step into the kitchen, I rush to wrap my arms around Richard and press myself into his back to steal his warmth.

“Why is it so bloody freezing in here? It’s almost April—it’s supposed to be spring!”

Richard lowers the heat on the stove and turns around, wrapping his arms around me. “Why don’t you put on a jumper? You’ll be much warmer already.”

I shake my head. “No, I prefer your T-shirt.”

“Then stop complaining and help me with breakfast,” he says playfully as he squeezes me tight, causing me to chuckle.

Instead of helping him, however, I hug him even tighter and say, “Don’t go to work. Stay here and cuddle with me.”

It’s his turn to chuckle. “I would love that, but I have important meetings today.”

“What kind of meetings?”

“Oh—just a boring thing with the Shakespeare Quarterly.” The way he stumbles over his answer turns my stomach in knots. When he quickly changes the subject, I become even more convinced that he is lying. I recall Beatrice’s advice and William’s concern and gather my courage.

“Richard?” I swallow past the lump in my throat as he meets my eyes. “You’d tell me if something was stressing you—at work, for example—right?”

Guilt clouds his gaze, but he merely says, “Of course. And don’t worry—I’m just really busy and tired because of the end of the term.” The smile he offers then me tells me yet again that this tender man I love with my whole heart could never lie to me. It is simply not him. “Let’s eat now. Otherwise, I’ll be very late for work—or was that your plan all along?”

Despite my unease, I laugh as I shake my head. “Am I that transparent?”

We continue to laugh and tease each other as we enjoy breakfast. Afterwards, Richard rushes to get ready and leave on time. I try not to let my thoughts turn back to distrust and suspicion as I clean the kitchen, then take a long shower. But despite the lovely morning we shared and how much I trust and love Richard, a voice at the back of my head refuses to stop doubting.

***

At the college, the excitement of the imminent holiday momentarily makes everyone forget about the stress surrounding finals. In my last tutorials, discussions of the ending of Beowulf lapse into conversations about everyone’s holiday plans. I cannot blame my students, but this only heightens my longing for relaxation, and unfortunately, I still have tons of assignments to correct before I am officially on holiday.

I find myself daydreaming about lazy mornings in bed with Richard and quiet walks around the city as I sit in my office later that day, the pile of unmarked papers before me begging for my attention. Richard reassured me this morning he was simply busy with the end of the term, so I can only hope that that really is the only thing that has stood between us these past few weeks and that soon, everything will go back to normal. I have to believe there is nothing more going on because I have to believe that Richard is not hiding anything from me—that he is not lying to me.

“Lorelei—am I interrupting anything?”

Professor Bennett’s voice suddenly pulls me out of my thoughts, and I look up to find him standing in the doorway, his shirt lightly stained with chalk.

“Not at all!” I say, inviting him in with a kind smile. “How are you?”

“Excellent! You?”

“Looking forward to the break,” I reply with a chuckle, causing him to laugh.

“You and me both,” he replies. “I just wanted to wish you a good break before I left. And I also wanted to ask if you got the email about the teaching awards?” he asks, referring to the prize awarded to professors for their outstanding teaching, based on student nominations.

“I did!”

“Good, good. You know, Richard’s won the departmental award for the past two years.”

“Really?” I exclaim in surprise.

“Yes!” Professor Bennett nods and smiles. “But based on what I’ve been hearing from students about you, I daresay he’ll have competition this year.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I want to be in that position,” I reply playfully, causing him to laugh. “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were,” he says, and his compliment, as subtle as it is, makes me smile proudly. “Alright, I won’t keep you. Have a nice break, Lorelei.”

“You, too, Michael!” I say as he slips out of the door.

I try to focus attention on the papers I desperately need to correct, but unable to help myself, I soon make my way toward Richard’s office. The door is open, and I try not to make a sound as I glance inside. His office is messier than usual during the final weeks of the term. Unmarked exams and essays cover almost every surface that is not full of books, and three empty coffee mugs sit forgotten on the corner of his desk. A soft smile floats to my face as I watch him for a moment; his tired eyes are fixed on his computer screen, and as a sigh escapes his mouth, he runs a hand through his unruly hair. Then, he finally notices me standing in the doorway and offers me a tired smile.

“Lorelei,” he says as he closes his laptop.

“You look exhausted,” I point out, shutting the door behind me.

He shakes his head. “I’m fine. It’s only that this student could have written the same argument in half as few words.”

Smiling apologetically, I walk toward him, then wrap my arms around him. He sighs contentedly and sinks closer into my embrace, allowing me to press a kiss atop his head.

“Why don’t you go home? All this can wait until tomorrow.”

“I can’t. I have a meeting with a student in an hour,” he replies as he slides his arms around my waist to pull me even closer.

Burying my fingers in his hair, I close my eyes and let myself forget about all the work I have to do, his warm body against mine a welcome reminder that soon, this hectic term will be over, and we will have more time to devote to each other.

“So is there a particular reason for your very pleasant visit in my office?” he asks after a long moment of silence as his thumbs gently caress my waist.

“Actually, I was just talking with Michael before and he told me something rather interesting…” I begin, unable to hold back my smile.

“Oh?”

“Apparently you’ve been nominated favourite professor for the past two years.”

“Oh, that.” Richard clears his throat, a sheepish blush blooming on his cheeks. “Yeah, I have.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? That’s amazing!”

He chuckles. “When was I supposed to tell you? Right when we met?” Then he puts on a serious expression and holds out his hand as if in greeting. “Hello, I’m Professor Armitage. I’ve been nominated favourite professor by students two years in a row. How do you do?”

I laugh and say, “Well, I might have shagged you earlier if you had.”

Richard’s laughter joins mine, and he shakes his head. “If only I’d known.”

Still smiling, I lean closer to rub my nose against him before bringing my lips to his in a tender kiss. His beard tickles my skin as our mouths fall lazily together, already soft and open. Richard hugs me closer as one of my hands slips to the back of his head, my fingers tangling themselves in his curls. The office around us fades away, and I am transported back to a Saturday morning spent in bed, kissing each other until our lips were swollen and the sun was high in the sky.

When I am forced to break the kiss to catch my breath, Richard groans and tightens his hold on me. “That feels nice,” he says in a low, rumbling voice. His eyes are still closed, his eyelashes comfortably resting atop his cheeks, and as I raise a hand to trace the line of his brows, I notice that already, his face seems softer, more relaxed.

Ignoring the time and place, I kiss him once more, this time more hungrily, as I suck on his lower lip, demanding entry. My tongue slips between his parted lips, tasting the sweetness of his love and passion as his fingers dig into the flesh of my hips. It suddenly hits me just how busy we have both been lately; it has been longer than either of us can bear since we were last intimate, and only the thought of being interrupted by a student or colleague keeps me from taking off my clothes and straddling his lap. As though he has just had the same realization, Richard pulls back, breathing heavily, his mouth half open. But the look in his eyes—that all too familiar darkened intensity—sends a wave of warmth through me and causes me to ignore reason. I know it is unwise and unprofessional, but I cannot stop myself, and Richard does need to relax, so slowly, I kneel before him in the small space behind his desk.

“Lorelei…” Richard speaks in a tortured whisper that sends shivers down my spine. I know that tone very well. It is a warning—a warning that I should not continue and that if I do, he will not be able to stop me. The thought makes me grow warm, and when I make no effort to stand up, I notice how his trousers grow tighter at the apex of his thighs.

With a soft but far-from-innocent smile, I look up to meet his gaze. My body grows warm at the burning passion in his deep blue eyes, and I reach out to caress him. Even through the fabric of his trousers—which cling to his muscles in a way that never fails to arouse me—I can feel his strength. And as my hand lingers there, slowly moving to his inner thigh to caress him, his skin grows warmer. I tease him some more, waiting for him to shift in his seat impatiently before I reach up to unbuckle his belt. A moment later, it falls to the floor with a soft cling, but the quiet peace that reigns in the room is quickly broken by the deep moan that escapes his throat when I slip my hand under his trousers to touch him.

He is impossibly warm and growing harder as I trail my fingers along his length, causing him to gasp. The sound brings a smile to my lips, and I eagerly pull down his briefs as much as possible while he remains seated. The soft hairs curling at the base tickle my skin as I wrap my hand around him. A groan rumbles deep in his throat as he grips his chair tightly, and in no time, moisture spills from the tip of his shaft while I press my thighs together and feel my own arousal soaking my knickers.

“Lorelei, please …” he groans pleadingly, but I merely shake my head and bring a finger to my lips to remind him to be silent.

Never tearing my eyes from him, I lower my head to take him into my mouth. I shiver as his hands come to rest in my hair, fisting but not guiding, and when I trail my tongue along the underside of his shaft, he actually whimpers. His salty taste is so intoxicating that it is difficult for me to hold back, but I force myself to caress him slowly, lazily, one of my hands touching the parts of him my mouth cannot reach. Already, I can feel his climax building as he hardens in my mouth and his hands tighten their hold on my hair. Despite telling Richard to remain quiet, I cannot hold back my moan, which causes him to moan in return. The sweet tension in my core is almost unbearable, and even if the feeling of my jeans rubbing me as I squeeze my thighs alleviates some of it, it can never compare with Richard’s touch. The rest of the day will pass painfully slowly. But at this moment, that seems less important. All that matters to me now is bringing him over the edge, so I take him in as deep as I can and move faster, and in no time, he tenses under me and spills himself in my mouth.

I continue to taste him until he slumps back in his chair, his loud, uneven breaths the only sound in the room. As I pull back, I feel some of his warm, salty release dripping down my chin, and when I raise a hand to clean myself, then lick my fingers, Richard groans once more and clumsily pulls me onto his lap.

“Fuck, Lorelei … sweetheart,” he whispers breathlessly, his voice low and hoarse in the way it always is after he climaxes.

Giggling, I lean in to kiss him deeply, my heart hammering and my core throbbing with need. When I manage to pull away, I sigh and reluctantly say, “I should go now.”

Richard groans, his arms tightening their hold on me. “What about you?”

I am more than used to his thoughtfulness by now, but my heart flutters in my chest nonetheless. “I was thinking we could take a break from our research and corrections tonight….”

Richard smiles at my suggestive tone. “I like the sound of that.”

I kiss him once more, then disentangle myself from his embrace. “I’ll see you later then.”

“Wait—” he says suddenly as he reaches for my hand. “Could you wear that black set I like, the one with the corset?”

Raising my eyebrows, I bite back my smile as I lean in to bring my lips to his. “I’ll see what I can do,” I whisper teasingly before walking out of his office, feeling his heated gaze on my back.

Taglist: @lathalea @linasofia @mcchberry @fizzyxcustard @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @enchantzz @myselfandfantasy @notlostgnome @laurfilijames @swoopswishsward @quiall321 @dianakc @sazzlep @albionscastle

Let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list or tagged in future chapters! 💙

#richard armitage #richard armitage fanfic #richard armitage x oc #richard armitage x reader #richard armitage x you #professor au #office hours

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guardianofrivendell · 1 year

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GOR Milestone Celebration!

Celebration time!

So it seems that I have passed two major follower milestones that I didn’t celebrate at the time because I wasn’t in the right mindset. But now I am so let’s celebrate together, shall we?

First of all, a big thank you to everyone who has clicked that follow button (not you, p@rn bots!) and tolerated me enough to stick around. I can’t thank you enough for your support, your comments, your reblogs and your likes.

This celebration is open to all my followers and there’s no limit on the amount of asks. Just send in as many hearts as you like! It will be up until Tuesday Jan 24 11 pm CET.

💛 - Change POV - Let’s shake things up in my masterlist! Have you read one of my stories and always wanted to see the POV of another character? Now’s your chance! Send me the title of my fic, the scene you want me to rewrite and the character you want to hear from and I’ll write the scene from their POV. For example “Water - Bilbo”, then I will write that drabble from Bilbo’s POV instead of reader’s. (Note: with oneshots or multichapters you need to pick a specific scene, drabbles I can do the complete thing)

🧡 - GIF requests - Send me an orange heart and a gif (this only works when you’re off anon, sorry!) and I’ll write you a little drabble (max 300 words) about it. You can find several gif requests from previous sleepovers in my masterlist as an example

❤️ - Valentine Baby - Love letters! They’re back :) Send me a red heart and a character, and maybe I can persuade them to finally confess their love for you in a letter! Please request these off anon so I can send them to your ask box!

💜 - Drabble requests - I’m opening up drabble requests because all my WIPS hate me and I can use a little change. Send me a prompt from one of these prompt lists, together with a character and I’ll see what I can do!

Trauma

Hurt/comfort

Random prompts

Characters I write for: basically everyone from TH/LOTR (except for Gollem, Azog, the Master etc you know the type), I do not write for the Silm and RoP

💙 - Postcards - Send me a character and I’ll send you a postcard based on your first date! Add which universe you want it to be in, ME or modern AU!

🖤 - Wild Card - You read that right! A Wild Card! Were you waiting for one of the old hearts to come back this sleepover? Or were you hoping for something else? Send in a black heart and what you want me to do and who knows... it might be your lucky day! Just remember, no fic requests please, you have the yellow, orange or purple heart for that purpose.

Everything will be posted in the next few weeks, but please keep in mind that I do have a fulltime job, a family and other obligations to fulfill!

Permanent taglist to get the word out:

@roosliefje @kata1803 @entishramblings @artsywaterlily @sleepy-daydream-in-a-rose @marvelschriss @kumqu4t @the-banannah @dark-angel-is-back @the-fandoms-georgie @lathalea @xxbyimm @katethewriter @aredhel-of-gondolin @elvish-sky @moony-artnstuff @kirenia15 @vicmackeybullshxt @hey-its-nonny @beenovel @cassiabaggins @shethereadinghobbit @justfollowtheroad @laurfilijames @fizzyxcustard @brokennerdalert @linasofia @naimadrawsstuff @errruvande @amaryllis23 @enchantzz @narniaandthenorth @sketch-and-write-lover @blairsanne @ruthoakenshield @midearthwritings @alone19-24 @medusas-hairband @ren-ni @kyramaximoff @megnotfound @middleearthpixie @aduialel @tree0frog @trappedinlimbo15 @brethil13

#GOR Milestone Celebration #2.5-3k followers #Follower celebration

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i-did-not-mean-to · 2 years

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October 16th

Feast

This one is dedicated to all the Thorin and dwarf enjoyers out there.

@legolasbadass and @lathalea for the mention of Dís, @middleearthpixie, @linasofia, @xxbyimm, @fizzyxcustard, @frosticenow for the mention of Thorin and the dwarves :D

I hope you'll enjoy this tiny slice of mischief and family fluff.

Words: 670

Warnings: none

Dís would have laughed if she hadn’t been so touched by Thorin’s fretting; there had been a mishap in the kitchens and the food was delayed.

This was a common enough occurrence and – despite many other talents – Bombur was neither the hastiest nor the fastest dwarf in the settlement; therefore, she surmised that it might well be another hour before the heavily laden trays would be brought out.

She also knew that her dear brother had indulged in stolen cookies with his crony Dwalin only a short while ago, so it was not hungerthat made him scowl so impressively.

“Maybe we should,” Thorin started but was interrupted by the indulgent and fond smile of his sister.

“They are okay,” Dís tried to pacify him quietly, “Dori has raised his own little brother without a problem and he’ll take good care of the lads.”

In her own gut, nervousness and longing were roiling in sickening waves that made her loathe the mere thought of indulging in the lavish feast that had been organised in celebration of another autumn going to an end; winter was almost upon them, and their preparations were on track.

Her two young sons were probably sleeping peacefully in their beds, no doubt having had more than their fill of sweets and having whispered themselves into drowsiness while taking advantage of the more lenient babysitter; nonetheless, she was terrified that they’d be unhappy, ill, or frightened.

An echo of her own misgivings and doubts rippled over the stately face of her brother – so much like her own – and she forced herself to smile soothingly as she might have at the very boys she was thinking of so desperately.

“Dori would have sent someone down if anything was amiss,” she reassured the both of them in her best “I am the reasonable one here”-voice. “Do not fret, brother mine, your darling heir is safe.”

Anger flared in his icy blue eyes at her words.

“My heir?” Thorin growled, thinking of the two boys whom he had been picking apples with, who slept cuddled against his ribs as if he was the safest place on earth, whom he loved more than his own life. “I love them, Dís, in all the ways…”

She covered his massive paw with her own – slightly narrower and definitely better entertained – hand and sighed, “I know, Thorin, I know. They are safe.”

The ghost of their brother lingered in the air like a childhood smell in a cold kitchen; they both felt the heart-wrenching memory drift in the stillness between them. Frerin, sunny, beloved Frerin, had fallen long ago and yet, every night of celebration and of feasting, reverberations of his booming laughter rang in their ears still.

How he had loved those! Many a time, they had all been punished for sneaking down past their bedtime to see the lights dance on the tankards and reflect from the jewels hanging from sturdy necks.

Despite the reprimands and the impatient reactions from their elders, they had always been sent back to bed with a honeyed cake or two and they too would whisper about the things they had but glimpsed until fatigue made them slur their words.

Looking up sharply as she remembered, Dís saw three little heads bob up from under a distant table: one golden, one dark, and one pale red. She grinned as she understood that those three devils had given poor, old Dori the slip.

Nudging her brother, she laughed, “Go down, prince Thorin, and shoo your nephews and their little friend back into their warm beds. You are no longer the miscreant caught where he has no business to be; you are now the sour-faced grump who must bar them from all the fun.”

Grumbling ostentatiously, Thorin lumbered away but Dís clearly saw that – as he advanced through the brightly lit hall – he was stuffing his pockets with many a treat to give the misbehaving youngsters once they had cleared the room and had escaped her own disapproving glare.

@fellowshipofthefics so this is my daily input for today ☺️

I hope you enjoyed this :D

Lots of love from me

-> Masterlist

#fanfiction #writing #IDNMT writes #fotfics October challenge #fotfics fictober #ficlet run #1 scene per day #a different pairing every day #The Hobbit #Thorin #Dís #Fíli #Kíli #Ori #Family fluff #feast

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linasofia · 2 years

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Petite Voleuse

Epilogue

Fandom: Pilgrimage

Relationship: Raymond de Merville x OC

A/N: The epilogue to Petite Voleuse. You can find all chapters here.

I look into his expressive steel blue eyes. His dark hair is unruly and a smile spreads over his face as he takes my hand. He knows so well how to get what he wants and my love for him makes my resilience falter when he sticks his hand in mine and squeezes it. I wish for him to be happy, to never doubt that he is loved and even if I have very little, I want him to have everything.

”Can I go and play in the woods?” Ciaran repeats his question and this time I nod and his smile explodes in a warm contagious giggle.

”Be home before the sun sets,” I remind him and he nods.

”I promise.”

Then he is gone, with the speed of lightning, and I return to my evening duties. He is a good boy, and the farmer is kind to him, letting him only do less heavy work so he still has energy left to play with the farmer’s son.

I am not proud of the things I had to do to survive, to get here, but when I finally found a farm who took me in, there was no point in trying to hide my state.

When the trees surrounding the farm appeared to be on fire, I gave birth to my son with the help of the farmer’s wife, and I will forever be grateful that she was by my side that night. We bonded during the late hours and I do not think I would have made it, if it was not for her.

Ciaran is so full of life and he seems happy, but sometimes I can tell that his thoughts travel far, despite his young age. When he asks about his father, I always repeat the same made up story about a loving husband, who was a brave soldier, but died by the sword of an enemy. He loves to hear how brave his father was and I suppose that part of the story is true. The real story, he must never know. It is with a small pain in my chest I think of how much my son resembles Raymond. The color of his eyes and their shape are identical to Raymond’s. His hair is the same dark shade and Ciaran is already taller than most boys his age. The day he becomes a grown man, I hope he does not break a young woman’s heart.

Deep inside, I still fear that Raymond will somehow find me, even if I am far away from him now. He sometimes visits me in my sleep and my vivid dreams make it harder to forget, but time has made the wounds less sore. During early mornings, when the sun rises and paints the sky pink, I even allow myself to think fondly of him. The kiss he gave me and the gentle caress that followed was the last time he touched me. I still have not figured out what feelings he hid in the depth of his eyes that morning and maybe I never will. I cannot help wondering what happened to him. Did he search for me when he discovered I was gone? Did he stay in the area or was he sent out on yet another mission by his father? It feels strange to not know if he is dead or alive, but for every autumn that passes, its significance decreases. I am free.

�� If you like my writing, please consider spreading the love and reblogging.💙

Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @enchantzz @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @kibleedibleedoo @mariannetora @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra @rachel1959 @knittastically @jaskierthelover @quiall321 @medusas-hairband @fulltimecrazy @s0ftd3m0n @emrfangirl @glimmering-darling-dolly

Let me know if you want to be added or removed.

#richard armitage #fanfiction #raymond de merville fanfic #raymond fanfic #raymond fic #raymond de merville x oc #raymond de merville fic #raymond de merville #pilgrimage (2017)#pilgrimage #Petite Voleuse

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catthefearless · 1 year

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Never enough time

I didn’t factor time into things

But it turns out it was the most important thing

I tried time and again to get you to understand

Only to be told you didn’t have enough time

and how dare I tell you otherwise.

You only seemed to care when time didn’t matter

When you had ample amounts of it for us

Now, there’s never enough time

But here’s the thing: time matters in another way

For me it meant you never made enough time

Just for us to play and to enjoy ourselves

With you gone for good, I have plenty of time

just for myself to sit and wonder what happened

a little broken hearted and very disappointed.

@lathalea @deepestfirefun @theincaprincess @september-stardust @ramus-mortium @pixiedurango @fizzyxcustard @cd1242 @abiwim @bellevox @patanghill17 @armitageadoration @blankdblank @tomssweetbouquet @sun-flxwer @calicoskatts @ra-of-light @amarabliss @thorins-magnificent-ass @fandomgalcentral @xxbyimm @shikin83 @replicant1955 @rachel1959 @sherala007 @leah-halliwell92 @ceres27 @notyourmartyr @sweeticedtea @raychellefay @enter-fandom

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fizzyxcustard · 9 months

Note

For the writer ask game: 😳💻🎲✏️

Thank you 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Scariest line: Oof, that’s a hard one. I don’t tend to write really dark fics, although I would like to try. I’d probably say this was some of my darkest/scariest.

"You'll feel everything that she did, and so much more," Francis said, his tone slow and deliberate. Then he grabbed John by the throat, picking him up from the carpet and then forced the knife into his stomach, turning slowly, blood trickling down his wretched body. Amongst screeches, begging and gurgling, Francis watched John's life drain from his eyes, making every last second stretch into an eternity. (“I did it for you…for us.” Armitage Summer Splash entry with Francis Dolarhyde)

3 fics of mine that are a must read: Wrong Place Wrong Time, Covert Eyes and A Rose at Twilight. They’re my favourites. And while I don’t like saying ‘must read’ in fear of coming over arrogant, they’re definitely ones I’m fond of.

Favourite part of a multi-part fic: This is a hard one. I can’t help but keep thinking of Wrong Place Wrong Time. I love that fic! I’d probably say the first four chapters of part 1 are my favourite. The tension and build up between the reader and Raymond. Love it!

Favourite part about writing: Being in a different world and messing about with all the angst and emotions. It’s my escape and hope.

Thank you for asking, love!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

#ask #xxbyimm #writer asks

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xxbyimm · 9 months

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XxByImm's Works in Progress - 2023

Since Tumblr is a bitch and won't allow me to find or edit my old post (a bug I reported ages ago, twice ffs.), here's a new "Works in Progress" ❤❤❤😊

+ (Anti-)Hero - Joel Miller x OC - Chapter 2 Joel and Jess got me by the balls, UNGGHH. I'm working on chapter 2 now and their dynamic has me FERAL! Follow my sideblog @sluttyforpascal for the filthy updates. 😈😭

+ Roles - Pedro Pascal x reader oneshot Why is Pedro Pascal so handsome? And why is he distracting me from my writing projects? Fuck that man!! 😭🙈🥵 This oneshot I'm working on is to get him out of my system. Follow my sideblog @sluttyforpascal for the post! 🤗

+ A Tale as Old as Time - Bard the Bowman x OC - Chapter 7 The angsty ride is not ever yet... Let's goo.... 🙊

+ Enya’s Unexpected Journey - Thorin Oakenshield x OC - Revision of all chapters Yes, I am insane. Rewriting this fic is a disaster, but it must be done. Currently, I'm working on chapter 15, 14/30 chapters are done and waiting to be published.

Spoiler: Enya always gets what she wants... 😈🍑🍆

+ The Bet Series - Thorin Oakenshield x OC - Phase IV Orgasm Ooff I still have to finish this series. I truly intend to. 🥰

In the meantime.. Have some Joel with me. 🥵😈

#xxbyimm's upcoming works #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x oc #joel miller tlou #tlou #joel miller fanfiction #bard the bowman #bard the bowman x oc #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x oc

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middleearthpixie · 7 days

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Brilliant Disguise ~ Chapter Twenty-Seven

Summary: Speech therapist Josephine Asharm has been brought into Erebor to work with Bifur, but trying to find her place among people who eye her suspiciously would be difficult enough under normal circumstances, but when Sophie finds herself caught between the king, his most trusted lieutenant, and the dwarf she’s there to help? She’s certain no good can come of it. Being of Man, not only does she stand out in the dwarf kingdom, she’s not entirely certain she’s actually welcome there at all.

Thorin only agreed to allow Sophie to live amongst them out of a sense of duty to Bifur, who is recovering from an odd head injury (is there any other way to describe having an axe blade lodged in one’s head, only to have it later dislodged during the Battle of the Five Armies?) Before the battle, he spoke only khuzdul. But since it? He’s regained the ability to speak Westron—if only he could but remember any of it. As for Thorin? He’s trying his damndest to ignore the speech therapist, not to mention his own growing feelings for her, even as he is also recovering from his near fatal wounding in the same battle.

Both Sophie and Thorin are haunted by their pasts and are uncertain of their futures, but sometimes, chances must be taken…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x OFC Josephine (Sophie) Asharm

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.7k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard

@legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being

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@sazzlep @night-ace

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

Previous chapters can be found here.

Thorin straightened up and stepped away from the table. “Do you think she will like this?”

Heather looked up at him with solemn blue eyes and nodded. “I think so, Mister Thorin.”

“Good.” He smiled as he bent to scoop Heather into his arms. “Now, do you remember what you’re supposed to do, mimûna?”

She nodded. “I do.”

Heather had been an asset as she’d helped him set up the dining area in his flat, transforming it from a somewhat cold, cheerless alcove into a warm and welcoming space. He’d smuggled in china and crystal from the butler’s pantry, along with fine silver and gold candlesticks and pure white table linens that were only used for the most elegant of occasions (such as any royal wedding that might appear on the horizon) and now, soft golden light from the flickering white candles warmed the entire room.

“Should I go fetch Mama?”

He nodded. “Don’t tell her why, but don’t let her worry, either.”

“I won’t.”

“I know you won’t.” He pressed a kiss into her temple. “And don’t tell anyone else you might see on the way, either.”

She bobbed her head as he set her down. “I won’t. I promise.”

“Go.”

She slipped around the door and he tried to ignore the flutter of a thousand butterflies in his belly. Tried, but failed. It was foolish to be so nervous. He knew she would say yes when he formally asked for her hand. After all, she’d already said yes.

And yet, he was every bit as nervous as he’d been in the moments leading up to their first kiss, as he’d been in the moments when he’d teetered on the precipice of making love to her for the first time.

But at the same time, he wasn't nervous. He’d never felt for anyone, not even Elmaya, what he felt for Sophie. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her, nothing he wouldn’t give her, and he wanted to be the ’adad to Heather that she deserved, to give both of his girls the lives they deserved.

Still, his belly danced with fluttering wings, which made sitting still impossible. So, he paced. Back. Forth. Around the table. Into the great room. Back into the dining area. And by the time the door opened, he almost leapt from his own skin.

“Mister Thorin?” Heather held her mother’s hand and smiled. “And I didn't tell anyone.”

All at once, his stomach calmed, his need to pace faded, and when he turned to see Sophie in the doorway, her eyes wide and already shimmering, he smiled. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”

“I’ve come to know Erebor almost as well as you and my daughter know it,” Sophie replied with a smile.

“Come in, then, and have some wine.”

Sophie eased her hand from Heather’s to tousle her daughter’s hair. “Did you know about this?”

Heather looked up at her mother with solemn, wide eyes. “I did. But I promised I wouldn’t tell you. Are you mad?”

“No, love. I’m not mad at all.”

Thorin reached for one of the crystal goblets, offering up a silent ask that his hand wouldn’t tremble and spill claret all across the snowy white table linen. Mahal listened and granted his wish, and he took a sip of wine to steady his nerves once more.

Then, he smiled. “Miss Heather, I have something very important I wish to ask you,” he told her, setting the goblet down to hold out that hand.

“Me?”

He nodded. “Yes, you.”

She stared at his outstretched hand, and then met his gaze. “What is it?”

He crouched to meet her eyes and caught her hand in his. “You know how important you and your mother have become to me, I hope.” He waited for her to nod and when she did, he went on, “and I know how important you are to your ’amad, so I feel it only fitting I ask you first.”

“Ask me what, Mister Thorin?”

“I wanted to ask you—to get your blessing, mimûna—if you would allow me to ask your mother to marry me.”

Heather pressed her lips together, her eyes shimmering as she looked up at her mother and then back at him. Her expression was far more serious than he’d ever seen, and his heart melted as she whispered, “Do you promise to note ever make her cry?”

“I give you my word, Miss Heather. I will never make her cry.”

“And you promise to make her laugh and bring her flowers and tell her stories about Princess Heather and the dragon with the beautiful scales?”

He nodded. “I promise to do all of those things.”

She blinked, then looked up at Sophie again. “Mama, would this make you happy?”

Sophie’s eyes shone as well as she nodded. “I would make me terrifically happy, Heather.”

“Then I think it would be all right,” Heather said, turning back to Thorin. “But only if I can call you ’adad.”

“I would be honored for you to do that, Miss Heather.” He reached out to brush the tip of her nose with his forefinger, then said, “Can I ask you to do one last thing for me?”

“What?”

“There is a box over on that table in the corner by your ’amad. Would you fetch it for me?”

Her dark curls bounced as she bobbed her head and practically skipped to the table in question, where she brought back the small teak box. She set it in his hand and stepped back as he straightened up.

“I’ve heard tell in your world that a man proposes marriage by offering his intended a ring, to let those around her know she is spoken for.”

With that, he lifted the box’s lid. Inside, on a bed of moss green velvet, was one of the most beautiful pieces Balin had ever crafted. The ring itself was mithril, and set into the mithril, ringed by diamonds so pure and white, they were nearly colorless, was an oval-shaped sapphire of the deepest blue he could find.

“Oh, my…” Sophie whispered, a hand coming to her lips. “Thorin, that is… that is beautiful…”

“Balin does fine work,” he said, “so, let’s see if it fits, shall we?”

Her hand trembled as he slipped the ring onto her fourth finger. It fit as if made for her. As he slid it into place, he said, “Will you marry me, Josephine Asharm?”

She nodded, whispering, “Yes.”

He leaned in to brush her lips with his, both of them laughing when Heather grumbled, “Ew. Squishy sounds.”

“Oh, forgive me, Miss Heather,” he replied with a grin as he pulled back. “And you know, I almost forgot, but I have something for you, as well, mimûna.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “I do, indeed. I know Lady Dís explained to you the importance of dwarves’ hair and the braids we wear, didn't she?”

“She did. And she wove this into my hair.” Heather cradled the braid Dís had woven into her hair so many weeks ago, the braid Sophie smoothed and fixed on a regular basis.

“I was wondering if you would allow me to do the same?”

She stared up at him and slowly nodded. “I’d like that, Mister Thorin.”

“Good. So would I.” He crouched, reaching into the box once more to pull out the small square of moss green velvet, where, beneath it, lay a small silver cube. He plucked it from the box carefully, and held it out. “Does this meet with your approval, Miss Heather?”

She squinted as she studied the cube. “What does it say?”

“Uzbadnâtha. Do you remember what that means?”

She nodded slowly. “Princess.”

“And when your mother and I marry,” he told her softly, “you will become Princess Heather.”

“I will?” Wonder wove through her words and her eyes went perfectly round. “I’ll be a real princess?”

“I am the king, mimûna,” he reminded her with a soft chuckle. “And the daughters of kings are princesses. So, you shall be Princess Heather. If you wish to be, that is.”

“I like how it sounds.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and shimmering once more, then pointed to the rune. “Can you put it near Lady Dís’ braid?”

“Of course I can.” He set to work, taking great care not to tug her hair to hard as he carefully wove the rune into the plait, and when he finished, she threw her arms about his neck and squeezed him so tight, he thought he might actually pass out from lack of air.

Later that night, after supper was finished and everything cleared away, Sophie smiled as she came into the sitting area and found Heather sound asleep on the sofa. Usually, when she was anywhere other than her own room and she fell asleep, Heather would curl into a ball, would make herself as small as possible.

But not this time. This time, she lay stretched out, peaceful in her dreaming and seeing it almost brought more tears to Sophie’s eyes.

She didn't jump when Thorin’s arm eased about her waist. Apparently Heather wasn't the only one who felt safe there.

“I should get her home,” she whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Let her sleep, mesmel. I have a second bedchamber that she can have all to herself, just as she does in your flat. It’s plain now, but she can decorate however she wishes.”

She smiled up at him. “Are you certain about that?”

“About her decorating or staying?”

“Decorating. She is only four, remember.”

“I know. But she is a wise four who has seen far more of the world than she should have. Now, she gets to be a child and if that means decorating her room in colorful dragons and princesses, I’m fine with it.”

“You’re taking on a ready made family, you know.”

He turned to her, easing his free arm about her waist. “I know.”

“One you were not expecting to take on.”

“I know.”

“And she can be a handful.”

“I know.” His eyes sparkled like the sapphire on her finger. “And I look forward to the coming days, and with any luck, we will add to this family. Heather should not be an only child if we can possibly help it.”

She smiled as she wound her arms about his neck, threading her fingers through his thick hair. “I wholeheartedly agree, Your Majesty.”

“Somehow,” he murmured, his lips just brushing hers, “I thought you would, mesmel.”

The End

#The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #Thorin Fic #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Richard Armitage

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lathalea · 6 months

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THAUC23: Scattered Through Time

This is a story written by @joyfullynervouscreator and yours truly for this years' THAUC event organized by @fellowshipofthefics. Enjoy!

Moodboard by Lathalea

Scattered Through Time

Relationships: Dís/Dís's Wife Rating: G Warnings: bring tissues Author's notes: Time is merciless. It devours every single thing it meets on its way… almost. Somehow, a handful of memories remained. Once, they formed a kaleidoscope of life, full of shapes and colours. Now, they resemble a handful of stained glass pieces scattered on the bleak fabric of the past.

These are the letters between Dís, daughter of Thràin, and her beloved wife, Víli.

Link to the whole story:

My gleam of golden treasure,

I found your gift; snuck into my pocket during our final soft goodbye? You have a skilled hand with the chisel, even if you claim it not so, and I can only hope to match the swell of love I felt when I pulled the stone from my pocket with one that my words may pull from you.

I miss you, I love you.

I will return to you.

I swear it.

***

My Princess,

My betrothed,

It is such an honour to address you with these words. I am touching my betrothal braid and can feel the pattern you plaited as if it was today and not six days ago!

And now we are apart and I will not see you for three more days… It feels like an eternity. And to think we are to be wedded in seven months! If you were here with me, in the deep mines, you would laugh and call me “too impatient for my own good”. Yes, yes, good things are worth waiting for — but you are the best one, a true treasure, and I simply cannot wait until the day we become One before Mahal the Creator.

I still cannot believe my happiness. Or... do I dare to write “our happiness”, my Princess? Our. You and me. A daughter of kings from a legendary kingdom, a descendant of Durin himself, and a simple Broadbeam lass from the mines. A story I would not believe from the greatest of bards, and yet… Sometimes I wake up in the morning and wonder if I am dreaming a beautiful dream… I am dreaming of the way you smile when you look at me, so tenderly…

… of the afternoons we spend together, when I listen to you speaking of yet another problem with that latest contract and your clever solution…

… of the way your hair shines in the firelight, or the way your eyes light up when I show you a new block of carving stone…

… of the softness of your lips and the way your hand feels in mine as we walk through the newly constructed corridors of your city… our city.

And of the way you whisper my name.

I love, adore, and worship every single thing about you, Dís. My perfect princess.

If it is indeed a dream, I refuse to open my eyes! The only thing I wish to do is to take you in my arms and hold you close until the end of days, my beloved. My wife-to-be.

Forever yours,

Víli

Read the whole story on AO3.

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#thauc23 #dís #lady Dís #dis #princess Dís #Dís x oc #Dís x wife #the hobbit #lotr #fanfic #f/f #f/f fanfic #f/f romance #love letters #ori #balin #happy ending

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