Hi! I wish you would write a story about Haldir comforting his wife who's having a terrible day. And he finds her curled up in bed crying because she's feeling like she can't anything right and even failed in being his wife or something like that plz... I could really use some Haldir feels rn...
And yeah... I think you who I'm... God I'm terrible and trying to hide...
Of course, anon, here is a short scene about Haldir comforting his wife...
Words: 888
Warning: sadness, self-worth problems
Haldir heard her before his eyes even grew used to the darkness; she had drawn all the curtains which was never a good sign.
With a quiet sigh, he padded through the spacious common room and over to the secluded bed chamber he shared with his beloved wife; how he had fought for her respect and love and how he adored every second spent by her side; even – or especially – when he was the only person she could even bear to interact with.
“My love?” he called softly over the muffled sobs coming from the luxurious bed he had built with his own two hands – having had a bit of help from his friends – for the one he cherished most in all the possible worlds.
She was huddled in the middle of the bed, curled up on herself, hugging her knees to her heaving chest as she cried softly into a pillow that had already half-slipped out under her reddened face.
“Don’t,” she hiccupped weakly, “I don’t want you to see me like that. I am a terrible wife!”
They had had this discussion more than once before and Haldir tried to remind himself that it was not for lack of faith in him that she seemed to forget every word of what he had previously said when this dark cloud descended upon her mind like a flock of voracious birds picking apart her happiness.
“Don’t say that, my beloved,” he replied softly, shrugging out of his armour and clothes to slip into the bed in his undergarments only.
Pulling her against his chest and holding her there, Haldir hummed a lullaby that spoke of starlight and the eternal yet changeful beauty of the forest.
“I have failed at everything I wanted to do today,” his wife whimpered, holding up her hands – stained and injured from tasks abandoned – as if to prove her own inferiority.
“Then today was not the day fated for these things to be accomplished,” he explained patiently, “and we shall try again tomorrow, together.”
“Stop,” she cried out passionately, “can you not see how awful I am? How I am disappointing you?”
“I don’t feel disappointed in the least though,” Haldir opined patiently, “I am merely happy to be reunited with the one I love so!”
Breathing in the familiar fragrance of her hair – exotic flowers and heady spices – he sighed: “I’ve missed you so much; sometimes, I truly loathe my job for taking me away from you. You should have sent for me!”
She shook her head feebly against his broad chest before snuggling further into his protective embrace; they both knew that she respected his status and work too much to draw him away from his duties simply because she was not feeling well.
“I am alright,” she whispered, “I am merely an idiot.”
“Don’t speak about my wife using that kind of language,” Haldir’s voice was steel and stone, but the harsh tone was tempered by the deep love that was an unmistakeable undercurrent to all he said.
“You are wonderful,” he went on softly, kissing her hair tenderly and pulling his long, skilful fingers through the tangled strands, “and beautiful; nobody has ever loved anyone as much as I love you. All these times, you’ve sat here and waited patiently for me; if anything, it is I who is a bad husband for letting my beloved wife fight her demons on her own while I run around in the forest.”
“Haldir,” she cried out in shock, “your work is important; you keep not only me but the whole kingdom safe thanks to your diligent watchfulness. I could never wish for a better husband of whom I’d be prouder than I am of you!”
“Ah,” he laughed, “that’s just how I feel about you, my brave, little warrior princess. Let’s go over and I’ll cook for you. It shall be simple and a bit rustic, but I shall put all my love into it.”
“You shouldn’t have to do that,” she groaned, “what kind of wife am I if my husband has to carry all the weight of my marital duties on top of his own?”
“A spoiled one,” he grinned and caught her trembling lips in a fond kiss, “and it is my honour to pamper you.”
As he lifted her into his arms to carry her over to the main living quarters, he smiled down at her with all the wordless adoration she didn’t think she deserved.
“A relationship is not based on equal weight-distribution,” he then mused as he sat her down on a cushioned chair and pulled up a blanket around her, “on some days, I come home tired and sore, and you take care of me despite being exhausted yourself, don’t you? Well, when you’re down and hurting, I am confident that I am strong and enduring enough to shoulder your burden alongside my own until you get back on your feet.”
Stretching out a hand to her, he asked: “You and me, forever, for better and for worse, right?”
“Forever,” she nodded with the first ripples of her radiant smile blossoming across her beautiful face, “whatever may come.”
“Right,” he laughed, relieved to see her regaining some colour, “I hope you’re hungry, I hope you’re veryhungry, because I am not actually a good cook.”
@sorisooyaa this might interest you 😉
Lots of love from me anon, I hope you're alright, and if not, you know where to find me. I'm here for you 💝
It was the last line wasn't it? That's what gave me away...
But anywhooo
This was utterly beautiful and heart warming! You actually took the time to write this? For little old me? It truly means the world to me.
Today was tough, rough and down right torture! I couldn't do anything right, it ended blowing up in my face or me receiving multiple scratches or burns, I really did curl up in bed cry all day, I couldn't lift a finger knowing absolutely everything I did today failed...
But this:
"Then today was not the day fated for these things to be accomplished" - OMG DID THAT HIT HOME SO MUCH 😢😢😢🥺🥺😭😭😭
I truly needed to heat that and be comforted. I just wanted to be comforted like this today and you given me that and so much more!!! I truly don't know how to thank you!
I'm treasuries this forever! I love this with my heary and soul! It's healing and comforting! I can't believe you really write that with so much love and comfort! It means the absolute world to me 💖💖💖💜💙💜💙💜🥺🥺
I'm a sobbing mess right now! Everything I held in now finally released! I just needed a good cry!! Thank you Angel!! I love ever so much!! And to write this so fast!!! Omggg!!!
AHHHH YOU ARE MAGIC!!! I swear on the Elvenqueen's jewels, the song was playing on my playlist when I got the notif of this post!!! So I would say your timing is perfect and this is most definitely worth the wait!!! It's SO BEAUTIFUL. And the extra banner?? I am definitely also using it for future fics!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH. Such a lovely gift! *insert more key-smashing*
Now I'm going to lie down and stare at it and possibly weep with a mixture of joy-angst because I have so many feelings about these two and your moodboard captured it just as perfectly as James Arthur's amazing version of the Thousand Years song.
I WILL write these two getting betrothed and wed in SotWK AU fanfiction someday!
@absentmindeduniverse in all honestly Idk what was going through mind when I was making this XD
But I think.....I like it?
Reader's been
Fandom: Robin Hood (BBC TV Series)
Ship: Guy of Gisbourne x Robin Hood's Sister
Trope: Ennemies to lovers (sort of) - Angst with a fluffy ending
Note: @sorisooyaa Second one. I still don't know what to make of it, but it's there sooo....
Word count: 9 258
Warnings: SMUT (because I cannot write a story without a sex scene apparently), violence in acts and in words, threats of rape, threats, betrayal, mentions of starvation and torture. (Promise it's only in passing) Mentions of christian faith from the reader and from Guy.
Tag-list: @heilith
@asgardianhobbit98
@middleearthpixie
@glassgulls
@evenstaredits @fizzyxcustard (I know you love Guy, I hope I did him justice :) ) @sotwk
“I want her imprisoned and hung! Now!”
The outrage was a novelty. Usually, you were only accompanied by the sound of the merchants, maybe the laughing children running around. You were not technically allowed to go out on your own, but the walls of your room were beginning to imprint themselves onto your mind and going crazy was not a death you were willing to live.
The heavy hood on your head covered you enough for the Sheriff’s and Gisbourne’s men to patrol by without recognizing you. You were exchanging pleasantries with an old woman, when nearby a tall and broad-shouldered man had screamed after a thief.
“She stole a full loaf of bread! Arrest her!”
Of course, you had not seen the scene. You figured that he was right, the young girl struggling to get out of his grip, proof enough. She was still holding the bread trying to find an escape with her eyes when she landed on you. Why was it always you?
You sighed, excusing yourself to the merchant before walking towards the commotion.
“Kind Sir, you would not deprive a young girl of food, would you?”
Only then did he look at you. He was towering over you, still not releasing the girl. With the cloth of her ragged tunic, you could not see, yet it was certain in your mind he was going to leave a mark.
“Only if she pays for it! It’s my life’s work lady.
“-I will pay for it. As for you, Sir” you pointed a finger at his face, coming closer, making him step back, “God will see to it that your unchristian behaviour is punished.”
The merchant’s face fell as if the threat really frightened him, and in a swift movement, you pulled the girl out of harm’s way and behind you. She was shaking and crying. Two pieces of silver fell into his hand. Even then, the man did not seem satisfied. This time, he grabbed you by the arm to shake you down. Before you could do anything, the hood you were wearing fell backwards, revealing your face to the soldiers passing by. You panicked. If the Sheriff knew you were there, he was going to have you executed. You were a prisoner of his. Not a guest. He had made sure you had known that when they had found out about your existence.
Being Robin’s sister was not always an easy path to be on. Even if he had left you to watch over your parents’ estate, Robin had been foolish enough to think the Sheriff had principle. Or honour. As soon as he figured out you were related, a mysterious invitation demanded your presence in the city. For your protection. It came from the king. Or so you thought. Upon arrival, you were stripped of your clothes, dressed in rags and left in a prison cell for an unknown period of time with only water and stale bread. He wanted to break you, and he did. After a prolonged time in the shadows, you finally yielded, begging him to take you home. You did not know where Robin was, he knew that. What he wanted was to have you on his side, at least in appearance.
You were living within the city walls, under constant surveillance. Luckily, some men and women within the castle were still on Robin’s side and helped you out of that godforsaken prison. What little privilege you had, you had because of your status. The Sheriff could not stop you from spending your own money, nor sending letters containing orders for your employees left to fend for themselves. He wanted to have your goodwill, to turn your brother to disgrace in the eyes of the people and finally capture him.
After weeks and months, nothing had changed. The people of Nottingham were still on his side, no matter what. Even worse, they were suspecting something was afoot after you had arrived overnight, seemingly uninvited and did not make any public appearances for a long while.
This would be the last straw to your precarious peace with the Sheriff.
You turned to the girl, petrified behind you. “Run!”
And she bolted.
The soldiers noticed your predicament and were walking towards you. Your fingers were digging into the man’s forearm. He did not move. The bruise would have to be covered for the next few days, you thought. If you didn’t get caught before then. You closed your eyes, tears threatening to fall.
Upon the soldiers approaching, the merchant thought his case won.
“Finally! I demanded your presence long ago!
-Sir, unhand the lady, if you wish to keep your hand.”
The tone was unmistakable, his voice as level as could be. Gisbourne.
You were dead.
Escorted by soldiers, you left the market without a word for any of your “saviours”. You could feel the animosity of Gisbourne’s men, angered by all the running around you had provoked. As you came to learn, your escapades were not as sneaky as you had thought. Vaisey had known about them all along, only authorizing them under the scrutiny of his guard dog. Alongside his men of course, tired of spending all their time running after you.
Guy of Gisbourne was not what you would call a kind man. Sometimes, he would surprise you and everyone else - probably himself too - by making a merciful decision, such as leaving the girl and not sending after her. You hoped she was alright, these days survival was the only priority. The thought of having her steal again made you inexplicably sad.
Unexpectedly you were propelled forward, the horse under you coming to a halt. You ended up grabbing anything you could, forgetting who was in control of the horse. Hence, finding yourself face first into Gisbourne’s back, your hands clasped around his waist. Of course, he would not let a lady walk back to the castle. Even though you had walked from the castle in the first place. What it told you was not that he was a gentleman, but that he did not want you to run again. The hassle of having to find you the first time was enough for him.
“Milady. You can let go. We have arrived.”
He untangled your hand from his body with a quiet and soft chuckle. The sound surprised you both. A faint red tainted his cheeks as he dismounted. Your eyes scrutinized the man before you. His palm extended towards you, eyes cast downward. His body was stiff, his back straight, a hint of care in his manners. In hindsight, you had never seen him raise his voice at any woman. Not that you were interested in the man, in the first place. He was handsome, yes. When no one was looking, at the Sheriff’s table, you had noticed the way his eyes filled with something… something close to longing. His smile was so rare too. Although, you knew better than to trust appearances and did not dwell on the thought.
His hands were covered in blood. That was who he was. Who you were, was someone who would do anything to stop him. This was the only thing you needed to know about Guy of Gisbourne.
You dismounted on your own, the rejection a not-so-subtle way of telling him to leave. Predictively, your clumsiness stroke. Luckily, the last man on Earth you wanted to, caught your waist, steadying you. The warmth of his hands knocked the air out of your lungs. For what felt like an eternity and in the blink of an eye, his palms settled there, thumbs moving in a slow soothing motion. You could feel the heat of his breath on the shell of your ear, his body slightly hovering above you. Every sense was heightened by his proximity.
Until you pushed his hands back. Just as he had done with you, you slowly eased his fingers from your waist. The loss was felt deeply.
Without turning around, you whispered a muffled “Thank you.”
Frowning to yourself, the inner turmoil caused by his touch would not leave you. It had been so careful almost tender. Something stirred in you, unsettling you in the deepest. Gisbourne’s presence had never felt hostile to you, even if you knew of his actions. Somehow, he never felt like a threat to you, even as a sworn enemy and rival of your brother. He could have used you, punish you for what your brother had done - whatever that may have been. Marian was a good part of it, you knew that. She has chosen Robin, not Gisbourne. A cold feeling ran through you: had he ever stopped loving her? Despite everything had he not stopped caring for her? Worse: why was the notion of him caring for someone else, was so upsetting for you? The answer never came.
In the shadows, he followed your steps, guiding you silently towards the main hall. You thought you knew what was to come. This moment between the two of you changed everything. But so little at the same time. You were still a prisoner. He was still a monster. Nothing would change that. You gained back composure as you stepped into the hall, hearing his steps closely behind you, ever watchful.
“Milady of Locksley. What a surprise to see you here! And here I thought I would find you in your chambers, quietly reading as a lady is supposed to. Not very lady-like of you to go running around with peasants.”
Vaisey’s breath stunk of wine and red meat. His nose was a mere inch away and you could count the riddles around his eyes as if they interested you. He stepped away, a cheerful expression on his face. That was a first.
“You see, milady, I am afraid that I will have to keep you much longer than anticipated. Indeed, your brother has yet to show a decline in popularity, and you have yet to help us find him…
-Sheriff, with all due respect, which is to say none, could you get to the point? I have a better story than yours to get back to.”
Your words rang in the air, echoing through the room. His face was twisted. He gripped your jaw. He, too, would leave bruises you’d have to cover. Somewhere behind you, you could feel Gisbourne straighten. Just as an archer ready to shoot, the arrow taunted and eyes on the target.
“Stupid, silly, little girl. You do not know who you are playing with, do you?”
He observed you, from one side to the other, manhandling your jaw, hurting you more and more. One of your teeth was bound to break if he kept at it. Deliberately, he gripped your throat, not enough to hurt but enough to know he could strangle you in a second.
“Sir…”
It had escaped him. Knowing full well what his superiors would and could do to him, at that moment, Guy did not care. For if he had learned something about you, all those afternoons and mornings watching over your every move, is that you were kind. Smart. Rebellious and resilient more than he could ever be. If he had been foolish enough to say it aloud, he would have said his feelings for you rivaled those he had for Marian. But he could not. Not yet. So, instead, he said the only thing he hoped would save you.
“What? Don’t you see I am occupied?”
He steeled himself for what was to come, stepping next to you.
“Sir, I fear that if any harm were to come to her, the riots would only grow stronger. Would it not be wise to lock her in her room and limit her outings as you thought?
-She defies me. She defies you too, you know. Sneaking around, losing your men in the marketplaces and the streets of Nottingham.”
Vaisey eyed his right-hand man. Unfortunately, the appointed Sheriff knew where people’s weaknesses laid, and he knew how to manipulate them.
“Unless… you have a soft spot for maidens in distress? First, Marian and now this one?”
A shiver ran down your spine as he focused on you once again. His hand had an ever-growing grip on your throat, even with you were desperately trying to get his hand to give, nails biting into his flesh, leaving blood and red trails on his wrist. The world was becoming darker with each passing heartbeat, the air barely passing through your lips and nose.
Then, abruptly, he released you, and you fell to your knees. Gisbourne did not move, only clenching his fist in frustration as you were coughing harshly at his feet. This was humiliating. When you gained back your breath, you stood up, voluntarily stepping forward, standing your ground. Vaisey laughed, pouring himself another cup of wine. His face lit up. An idea had emerged in his brain and you were not sure you wanted to know what it was.
“Gisbourne, since you cannot seem to keep notorious thief Robin Hood’s little sister under control, how would you like it if I made the task easier for you?
-What do you mean?”
He looked you over, lurking at your body as if it was a piece of meat ready to be eaten.
“I mean, that his little bird is not going anywhere. But what better way of keeping her from running if she was bound to this place… in holy matrimony.”
Before you had a chance to realize it, Vaisey ordered his guards to keep you quiet and still.
This time, tears did spill, down your cheeks, wetting the hand of whoever was keeping you from speaking.
“I would have taken her for myself, alas my interest lie elsewhere, and I have no patience for a wench who can not keep her place.” The Sheriff licked his lips, visibly amused and excited by your predicament “Although, I would have had a good time taming her.”
Gisbourne was heaving. He could not… would not entertain the idea of marriage. It felt beyond him. A muted hope lit up inside him. Was it the only chance he’d have at love? The beacon was extinguished just as it appeared. You did not want him. None of the women he had cared for wanted him. Guy knew himself to be many things, including a murderer. But forcing your hand, he could not do it.
“My lord, I can not accept.
-Oh, but you’ll have to. This” He gestured to you, as you were still struggling against the hold the guards had on you. “Is your punishment. Everything she does you will have to answer for. If you lose her or if she escapes, your head rolls. It was simple enough to keep her within the castle, but you spectacularly failed at that too. I should hope that chained to you, you would not let her go. Find a way to make her tame. Put a baby or two in her, that will keep her occupied.”
The thought of it made you want to gag, your body used and abused, violated beyond recognition, your very existence not your own. You would rather die than suffer such a fate.
“Her presence here is essential. Her brother will come in search of her. If he has not already. The sister escaped you, why would the brother be any different?
-Sir…
-That is an order! She will be your wife and you will be her husband. I do not want to hear another word from you before I see Robin Hood’s head on a spike. If not his, then it’ll be yours.” Vaisey stepped closer to Guy, a finger pointed at his chest. “Find a priest. Marry the girl. Spread the news and her thighs. The brother will come running. He is a hero after all, is he not?” A dark chuckle escaped his lips. “Now out of my sight before I change my mind and have you both hung.”
The guards released you within the confines of your bedroom. Gisbourne had not followed. He was probably searching for a priest at this very moment. You felt stupid for ever thinking something could be salvaged about him. Whatever your heart and body were telling you, they had to be wrong. That moment had been a fluke, a passage of weakness you would soon come to forget about.
Nighttime came and still no sign of him. Maybe, just maybe, he had fled, to save himself from impending death. Your skin was tingling where he had touched you still. The bruises on your arms and throat were more painful though, erasing any softness you could have felt.
Despite your initial doubts and hopes, Gisbourne did show up. With a priest. Neither addressed you, only stepping in the room without being invited to. Even if you had wanted to speak, your throat felt as if it was about to rupture.
“Is this the lady?”
Guy nodded. His breath hitched in his throat upon seeing your arm and neck. The purple marks were still there, an awful reminder of what you had survived. And what he could not prevent.
“Place yourself in front of one another.”
You looked at Gisbourne, words stuck. You frowned. He looked so lost. Awkward, bashful even. He took his gloves off, revealing his hands. He took yours in his with careful movements, minding your injuries. It confused you, his gentle manners and his murderous ways. You followed him, moving according to the priest’s demands. You would not be able to escape this, even if you ran he would catch you, you could not scream, and he had to have bribed the priest into some sort of agreement. It was all orchestrated to trap you. The lump in your throat made it even harder to breathe. The robes of the priest smelled of wine and sweat. He was probably somewhere else when Gisbourne had plucked him out. He did not even ask for your consent.
Merely mumbled the vows and added: “You may kiss the bride.”
Gisborne was unreadable, even at such a short distance. Closing your eyes in the hopes it would pass soon, the warmth of his fingertips putting a strand of your hair away made you jump. You heard a sharp intake of air before he leaned in and put his lips to your cheek. It was slow, thought-through, and delicate. So many adjectives, you would never have associated with him, as late as of this morning.
Once the priest went, he lingered in the room, fidgeting with his gloves. It felt as if he was about to say something. But he shut his mouth and left the room. He did not come back. Not even to claim what was his to claim. Insomnia plagued you that night, not being able to sleep more than a few hours at a time, until dawn came, all too soon.
Somehow, the Sheriff had organized what he called an “impromptu” dinner for your “hidden” union. One he intended to see to the consumption. The thought left you quiet and frightened. The bruises on your forearm and neck were now yellowish, healing slowly but surely. Unlike your ego. Vaisey was a snake. He needed to be treated like one. Poisoned by his fangs.
Nevertheless, this was not the most pressing issue at the moment. Your heartbeat was erratic, panic settling in your bones at the Sheriff’s initial intentions. Gisbourne had not appeared again after last night. Hopelessly, you had thought he would. To talk at least. This was a brutal way of marrying someone. Your faith had guided you all your life. This marriage even if forced was to be respected. You were to spend the rest of your lives together and it felt strange to avoid each other like so.
A young maid knocked on the door, before entering your room. She helped you get changed, and left again without a word. This silence around you was going to drive you insane. You grabbed your coat, opening your bedroom door in a hurry, only to be met with two guards and Guy of Gisbourne about to knock.
“Oh.”
Guy looked you over. You were breathing rapidly, from what he assumed to be the hurry you were in, your dress in a maroon colour he immediately recognized. Despite the Sheriff’s threat, you were about to go out. He gritted his teeth.
“Leave us.”
The guards hesitated. He threw them a look over his shoulder and they left rapidly. Without asking you, he stepped forward, making you go back into your room. Your hands were still clutching your cloak. Fear took you over as he closed the door behind him.
“Do you have a death wish?”
His eyes met yours, his full height towering above you. You craned your neck to meet his stare with the powerful force of the steel hiding in them.
“The Sheriff specifically asked for you to stay here.
-I know.”
Your voice was hoarse and harsher than you intended it to be. His hand inched toward your neck, and you flinched. He pulled back when he saw it, not wanting to hurt you more.
“If you know, then why were you about to leave?”
He signaled to your hands, holding on to the cloth for dear life. He kept overstepping into your space, making you step back until you could not anymore, stuck between the wall and his unimpressed stare.
“I wasn’t…
-Do you think me a fool?”
You bit your lip. Answering him would only bring more trouble.
“Do not answer that. I do not need your wits today.”
He sighed, lowering his head in an exasperated gesture. He was resigned, you would always defy the Sheriff’s authority. He only had to make sure you were not slandering his name. Or running off into the forest. Away from him, he thought.
“If we want this” he gestured between the two of you, even with the minimal space left. You could feel his breath against your cheeks. It only made them warmer, remembering the dream from the night before. “To work, you will have to follow the rules.” You scoffed, undignified.
“I am not one of your men, you cannot tell me what to…
-I am not trying to tell you what to do, I am trying to protect you!”
He was angry. Frustrated by your actions. You knew he was right, even if you did not want him to be. He was right.
It felt excruciating, the tear in your mind almost able to be touched, between reason and feelings, between the will to leave and the fact that you would be leaving everything behind. Including him. You looked up, staring straight into his eyes, willing yourself to put up a front. Always. The only thing you had not accounted for was the way he looked at you. His mouth agape, affection clear on his face. His pupils were blown, as dark as the abyss you were falling into. His brows furrowed in frustration and fear. You wanted to think he was genuine in his intentions, but the voice of reason was always pulling you back. He wanted your brother dead, you told yourself. That was more than ample reason to hate the man, anger flaring up in you, destroying everything in its path. You lowered your eyes, missing the way he pulled away from you, wounded, stepping back until he opened the door and turned one last time to you.
“I have no intention of forcing your hand. You make your own choices. Yet, those choices implicate me now. Would you consider it the next time you try to run away?
-Why would I? My brother is in danger because of you! Because of you and your misplaced attachment!”
The words had escaped you before you could think. It was as if the place was set on fire all of a sudden. He did not touch you, but he might as well have with the brutality of his words.
“My misplaced attachment? Do you remember who your brother is? Who you are loyal to? His actions have led to lives lost! He is a thief!
-Just like the Sheriff and you then! My loyalty is the only thing keeping you and your men from killing him! He is my brother! We grew up together! We…” Tears swelled in your eyes. Your hand drew his eyes to your collarbones and the yellow bruise on your throat. Guilt washed over him. He let that happen to you. The sadness, the anguish of not knowing if Robin was alive, everything for him to see written plain as day on your face. What husband did he make causing you to suffer, not being able to defend yourself…
“We grieved our parents together. We shared secrets, waves of laughter and scrapped knees. Late night stories and early morning horse-rides…” Something in you snapped. You turned away from Gisbourne, fearing for your life if he was to reach out to you.
“I had to marry you. Spend the rest of my life… with someone who wants to kill the only family I have left. Do you see the torture I am in or are you just blind?”
His silence made you wonder if he had not left the room altogether.
Guy was taken aback by your sudden outburst. His honour depended on him achieving what the Sheriff asked him to do. His heart on the other hand… Seeing you hurt, desperate, and your spirits broken was the last thing he wanted to do. Marian came to his mind, fleeting, only passing through to remind him: she did not choose him. Neither did you. Would he ever learn? His love was not worth it. His affections were not required. All he loved, he loved alone. It was time he accepted it.
A soft thud echoed in your bedroom. He had put a box on a table, near the fireplace.
“I will leave this here. If you will, I… I could accompany you. Outside, to the market, wherever you want to go.”
You did not answer, wrapping your arms around yourself, the sobs finally stopping. It was pathetic. How much you wanted him to say he was sorry, so you could forgive him.
“I hoped…” his throat felt tight, keeping the words at bay for a minute “I hoped that at least, my company would not be such a burden for you to bear. Maybe not now, but in the future. I have no wish to see you suffer. Nor in pain.”
A muted metallic sound let you know he had left the room. When you turned around, a faint smell of leather and heat was still lingering in the air. It made your heart clench. You went on to look at the small wooden box he had left on the table. Your fingers opened it before you could think the action through.
A wedding band.
You closed it in a hurry, afraid and happy.
The banquet arrived all too fast. Vaisey had outdone himself. Or told someone to. The decorations were nothing short of ostentatious, tapestries hanging from the walls, candles being lit everywhere, and tables full of plates capable of feeding more than a family of four could have in months. It was disingenuous, a display of wealth you could not bear to see.
Gisbourne arrived soon after you. He looked at your hands. The band was there, settled perfectly on your finger. His chest filled with pride.
“Milady.
-Sir.”
You bowed to him, willing yourself to be impassible. So far, if your companion’s stare was any indication, it worked. He offered you his arm, and you felt yourself tremble, laying your hand on his forearm. Without breaking eye contact, he grabbed your hand and kissed it tenderly, his lips leaving a hot feeling where they met your wedding band.
It had taken you hours to decide whether or not you were going to wear it. Not wearing it would mean a sign of defiance to the Sheriff and you did not need any more of his wandering eyes on you, whereas wearing it meant… meant you belonged to someone, which left a sour taste in your mouth. Out of the two evils, at least you knew one of them to be more benevolent than the other.
“The newlyweds!”
The cry made you stiffen in fear. Your hand gripped Guy’s arm in response to it. He stood up, head high, putting himself a step before you, in a posture you assumed to be of protection. Was he protecting you? The thought was quickly erased from your mind, and the hope accompanying it was sniffed out when he let go of your hand.
Vaisey was arriving towards you. Instinctively, you stepped forward almost colliding with Guy’s shoulders. Your hand wasn’t even an inch away from his.
“Gisbourne. Any news on the Locksley front?
Men have been posted at all entries. Guards as well.”
You clenched your jaw, looking at him sideways. The bastard.
“Oh. Milady of Gisbourne is not too happy about it. Remember, if you can’t tame her, I’ll be happy to do it myself…”
Guy’s face was stern. No emotions transpired. There, next to him, you worried he might lurch and kill the Sheriff with his own hands. Your palm met his wrist as he was about to raise his hand. His eyes snapped to you, surprised by your gesture. Though, you were not looking at him. With a saccharine smile on your lips, you addressed Visay straight on.
“I will have you know Sheriff that my husband sleeps with a sword next to him. I, on the other hand, prefer a good old dagger. Covered in poison of course. Would you like to know the provider for such a weapon? Coups are so frequent these days. Especially with…” you eyed him up and down, biting back a smirk. “Temporary replacements.”
Your tone was laced with charm and softness, yet the sharp threat underneath it all was clear.
“If that was all, I believe the first dance is ours. You’ll excuse us, will you not?”
Visay gritted his teeth, Gisbourne visibly approving of your behaviour.
“Of course, Milady.”
He let you pass in front, stopping Gisbourne in his tracks. “Get him. I will not accept another failure from you. Think about what I could do with her once you’re out of the way…”
You had stopped a few steps ahead, looking around, head high as always, saluting nobles of the court in a rehearsed manner.
Guy nodded curtly before leaving Visay right there. The Sheriff did not know if he had made a wise choice when putting the two of you together. He hoped for more fight, even some evident traces of violence on you. Anything to get the Hood’s blood boiling. As usual, he feared his amusement had gotten the better of him. He should have taken care of this himself.
The feast lasted until the heavy hours of the night, leaving drunkards and young couples behind. Your feet were killing you, the wine still present in your body making you lean into Guy a lot more than you would have done sober. He was not complaining. Your hair smelled divine, with fresh flowers and honey. Maybe he had drunk a little too much himself. Or not enough for what he was about to do. He accompanied you back to your chambers, opening the door for you to step in. Without a second thought, you took your shoes off, walking barefoot on the cold stone floor, a sigh of contentment passing through your lips. The guards were dismissed. Gisbourne, hypnotized by you, smiled despite himself. You were flushed, eyes just as fiery as ever, but, still, not looking at him.
He put his hand inside one of his pockets. What he had between his fingers was enough to get him executed for treason.
Although he had made his choice, Guy was not sure what your reaction to this would be. You were his to protect and to love. To serve too. His choice was made. The price for it would come soon enough.
“Your brother left this for you.”
You opened your eyes, not quite believing your ears. Guy was reaching out, putting a piece of paper in your hand. He closed your fingers around it, seeing your face going from one emotion to the other, not knowing what to do with yourself.
You sat down on the edge of your bed, carefully opening it. A small flower fell. A forget-me-not. You smiled. Guy’s heart skipped a beat when you brought the flower to your lips. How he wished to be those petals, graced by your breath. Graced by you. What you read made you laugh, and cry a little. The whole time he just stood there waiting for you to finish it. The closed door next to him was calling for him to leave. Hope in his chest told him to stay, just for a little while longer.
The letter wasn’t even that long. In essence, Robin was asking for you to keep your head low until he would come and save you. He had not abandoned you. Your eyes met Guy’s over the paper. He seemed out of place, a prisoner of his world. He had done that for you. Collected a message from Robin for you. He had risked his life for you. A warm feeling erupted in your chest akin to birds in flight. The relief in your eyes stopped his breath.
You got up from the bed, your dress caressing the floor in gentle sounds. He felt more than he saw your hand on his chest, pulling yourself up. Your lips on his cheek melted everything. The armour, the mask he wore, his barriers, walls… Everything, in one kiss.
His breath hitched when you pulled away.
“Thank you.”
The words rang in his ears. His hand came to rest upon yours, right above his heart. The drumming beat underneath your fingers echoed your own. He leaned, his forehead meeting yours in an intimate embrace. Soon, he pulled away, earning a heavy sigh from your lips. Your head bowed questioned him. He pulled your chin up, delicately.
“What is the matter?”
Close like this, his voice resonated through you like a lightning bolt in the dark. Your eyebrows were knitted together, hesitation etched in your eyes. You showed him the letter.
“Is this… are you still going after him?”
His hands went to your cheeks, keeping your eyes level with his. There was nothing but pure devotion in his eyes. It made you shiver. Only then, did you realize the power this man held over you. And you over him.
“I have cared for you long enough to know I would do anything not to hurt you. Including betraying my values and duties. I would burn the world to the ground if only to make you smile at me.”
He looked at you intently, his thumb tracing the shape of the apple of your cheek, drawing his fingers lower still, settling on your jaw. The sensation was overwhelming you, your ragged breath fanning over his cheeks, your sensations swallowing your thoughts entirely.
“Guy.”
He was startled by the sound coming out of your mouth. That name had been nothing short of a curse for him, yet it felt the greatest blessing of them all in your mouth.
“Yes?
-Kiss me.”
A split second passed before he pulled you in by the waist, closing the distance between the two of you. His kisses began gentle, tender, turning hungry, harsh, pulling moans and whimpers out of you. He was gripping your hips, before embracing your whole body in his arms, willing for you to be one. His lips traveled to the junction of your shoulder and neck, gently nipping. You yelped, alarming him.
“Are you hurt?
-No. Quite the opposite…”
He frowned, barely catching his breath before you pulled him with you towards the bed. You met no resistance. You made him sit, placing yourself between his legs, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders. His hands moved up to your hips, enticing you closer. His forehead met your sternum, your fingers carding through his hair, dark locks untangling between your knuckles.
The air was stifled between desire and agony, not knowing how far things could go, or how far either of you wanted it to go. So, you stayed there, him hugging your body as he would a lifeline; you kept him there, caressing his face in slow motions, reassuring yourself he was indeed real.
Time passed without either of you noticing, until Guy looked up at you, murmuring your name, mouth barely opened, scared he would chase the dream away.
“Aren’t your legs hurting?
-A little. Nothing I can’t…”
His hands were faster than your words as he pulled your knees up, one after the other, making you sit on his lap. An involuntary gasp passed your lips. His smirk was quickly hidden. Without another word, he kissed you again, leisurely mapping over the expanse of your stomach, your back, your ass, your thighs. It knocked every hesitation you might have had out of the window. You willed your legs wider apart, pulling your dress higher than needed, revealing skin and heat. Your fingertips toying with the collar of his shirt were finally met with his as he pulled it off. His eyes met yours, ever so inquisitive. His scars were visible, some deeper than others. It was only fair to show him yours in return.
As if reading your mind, he pushed you off of him, getting up from the bed and turning you around. The only sounds you heard were the unmistakable sound of a blade and the snap your laces made as they were cut through. The corset fell to the floor, your hands pulled the rest of the clothes down.
Your back was littered with traces of whips. Some of them were so deep, it must have been hard to move for several weeks after that. As he did not move, you turned around awkwardly covering your breasts, modestly trying to hide them.
“Who?”
His hands grabbed your face, anger transpiring.
“Visay.”
He looked at you, all frowns and tears unshed. His eyes were glimmering with them. You reached to him, erasing them in earnest. “I’ll kill him for…” Your lips shushed him in a heated kiss. You guided his hands on your body, eyes pleading with him. Not tonight. Not now. Obedient as ever, he complied. You laid down on the bed, his body hovering above you. His lips and moans were tantalizing. As if in trance, he followed down the path from your jaws to your collarbone, mindful of the bruises there, worshiping this body of yours in every touch, every moment. His movements were calculated, even if hesitant, always asking you if you were feeling good, making sure your desires were fulfilled. You could feel the hammer in his chest resonating through your ribcage, through the skin, in echo with you. Soon, you found yourself closing your eyes, your breathing altered in a shapeless rhythm. Your knuckles were turning white, your hands clawing at the sheets like a woman possessed. The way his tongue curled against you made you lose all train of thought. As if he had done it thousand times before, his lips were making sinful sounds, while his nose was pressing against the apex of your thighs. The pleasure you felt, kept on growing and growing until you could not hold it anymore. Silently, you arched your back a soundless cry leaving your lips.
Guy pulled away. His head leaned against your thigh, an easy smile appearing on his gleaming mouth. You could feel, still, his hand on your hip drawing mindless patterns there. You reached out for him. Before you could think of anything to say, he pulled you to his bare chest, leaving no space between you two.
Without an afterthought, his rough fingertips were caressing the birth of your back in a soothing gesture. It lulled you to sleep quickly, feeling safe and sound in this bed with him. The thought almost made him cry. Him, whose only purpose was to fight, to obey, to threaten and to be violent, had found in you a new home. A new reason for a new beginning. He promised himself then, that whatever was to happen next, he would never let anyone ever, hurt you again.
Upon the morning, your hand reached out for him in a familiar gesture you did not know you had. His face was peaceful for once, a deep sense of contentment settling in his brow. Leaning up, you placed a delicate kiss on his cheek bone. He stirred a little, his hand curving around your waist, pulling your body closer to him. The cold air of the room and the sunlight sneaking through the window brought a sense of urgency over you. He had spent the night here. In your bed. You sat up in a hurry, pulling your night dress over your head. But, before you could get yourself more stressed out, he pulled you in bed with him, visibly very widely awake this time.
“What are you doing?”
The gruff of his voice made you shiver slightly. You caressed his jaw, the stubble there scratching your palms, a hint of a worry in your voice. “You spent the night.”
He smiled lazily into your hair, his hand settling at the nape of your neck.
“Yes. I believed it is allowed between a husband and his wife.”
Oh.
Oh.
Would he believe you had forgotten about that? Yes, it even made him laugh. You were so cute when confused like this. Mornings were not on your side by any means but this was new. The domesticity was new. You did not know how to feel about it.
“I…
-You forgot.
-I did not.
-You did.”
You hit his shoulder, half a smile on your face. He pulled your chin up, hooded eyes meeting yours. His lips leisurely covered yours in a deliberately slow kiss. His chest was warm against your palms. Eager to meet his skin, your fingers ran across the planes of his back, while he pushed you down, spreading your thighs with his hips. His hands made your back arch against him, your breasts peaking under him meeting his chest through the cloth of your dress.
He was hard against your abdomen. Desire pooled there, down, between your lips as well at the idea of him deeply seethed inside you. Guy must have sensed it, for he pulled any remaining garments off of you, before taking your hand in his. Kneeling on the bed, he put your sweaty palm against his waist, letting you found your way to the waistband of his trousers. The leather there clung onto his skin, just a little too tight not to notice the bulge threatening to snap the cloth in two. Your fingers were shaking as you undid his bounds. Then, once you were done, he pulled them down and he was finally bare in front of you.
In the morning light, he was glorious. Breathtaking. You leaned against one of the post of the bed, biting your lips hard. You were clenching on nothing, seeing him there. He smiled wickedly at you, all but throwing himself on you, devouring your mouth in a hungry haze you never wanted to snap out of. Quickly, his fingers find the hair between your thighs, caressing down until he met your clit, drawing heavy, long, drawn out circles around it. He felt so powerful. More powerful than he had ever been before. Graced by God in the perfection that you were. He felt trusted and trusting. Your eyes met his in a silent plea. The need for him was plain and simple. Still, he could not help himself.
“Are you sure?”
Surprised, he followed your pull on his neck to your lips, all but falling into you.
“Yes. God, please, yes.”
The ushered tone to his ears, your legs secured around him while your hips could not help but press onto his cock. He readjusted his hold on you, entering you in one swift movement. The cry escaping your lips was nothing short of sinful. He could live only hearing that noise, over and over and over again.
The burn of him soon left to be replace by untethered pleasure. It was foreign and familiar at the same time. You could feel him inside of you, move and hold on to you as he would a lifeline. His grip on your hips tightened. Those bruises you would cherish, you were sure of it. Your chest fell and rose with each movement. It elicited so many sensations in you, you were incapable of forming words or thoughts. His mouth met your shoulder in an attempt to keep quiet but to no avail. You felt his release deep inside you, quickly followed by your own.
As he pulled himself off of you, a knock resonated through the room.
You exchanged an inquisitive look with Guy. You were not expecting anyone today.
A second knock, much more impatient, hit the door.
You pulled yourself up, and covered yourself in your night dress, opening the door slightly.
It was pushed open by none other than Visay.
“Well, well, well, what have we here? Lovebirds huh? How sweet is that?”
The guards behind him laughed heavily. You doubted they were genuine.
Guy had barely had the time to put on his trousers.
“Gisbourne, I need you to make a sweep in the castle and in the town. Apparently, our dear Hood was there yesterday. Yet, he still escaped you.”
His forefinger dug into Guy’s chest. He remained stoic, almost calm. His eyes felt heavy on you, sparing only a glance before Visay almost kicked him out.
In a flash of remembrance, you wondered where the letter he had brought you the day before was. But before you could recall, Visay gripped one of your wrist twisting it until you could no longer move your arm. The guards, even if not entirely in agreement with him, were afraid, and frightened men were even more loyal to the one holding the chains than the one being beat up with them. Their eyes told you that if you made a move, they’d make you pay double for it. On the verge of stepping out of the door, Guy turned around, eerily quiet. He was buttoning up his shirt, taking his time. Somehow, you knew what he was about to do before he did it.
He pulled out a knife out of one of his boots and threw it in Visay’s direction before he was grabbed by the guards. He was pushed to his knees in an instant.
Visay merely laughed before releasing you and picking the knife up.
“Oh my poor Gisbourne. Has your brain gone to goo?…” He kneeled in front of him. Gesturing towards you he added: “Or has the pussy been that good?”
Without a second thought, Guy spat in his face.
Visay’s first instinct was to strike him, so he did. His second instinct was to strike him a second time, but he thought better of it. He had quite the tools at his disposal to make him yield. Including you. The knife in hand, he turned around and pushed you down.
“Poor little bird… Doesn’t know what’s best for her? I’ll show you what’s best for you, you bitch.”
You knew exactly what he meant to do as punishment for Guy’s affront.
One of his hand blocked your wrists above your head, as his knee was pulling your thighs apart. The knife started to tear at the cloth you were wearing. It would not hold long against it. Despite his best efforts your husband could not get out of the grip the guards had on him. Still, he trashed like a man possessed. Yelling insults and threats you could not hear. You could only hear that old man on top of you, his knife leaving marks deep in your skin, trying to entice you into keeping your legs open for him. You knew how to trash around too. One of your knees made contact with his groin and he doubled over in pain. Guy stopped moving when he saw you had the knife in your hands. His face went white when he saw the blood on you. Visay was less than happy about your little stunt. While the room had gone quiet, even the guards not daring to move, Guy jumped to his feet and knocked Visay down in one motion. He pulled him by the collar, and knocked his head and body against the wall so hard, he would have a concussion later on. For the moment you did not care. Everything was hurting, your thighs, your chest, your arms. The monster had left almost no part of you intact.
Suddenly tired, you relinquished the knife to Guy’s expertise. Without an afterthought, he plunged it into Visay’s guts. The man was moving like a loose puppet, making the blade only go deeper in the wound. The loyal men did nothing. They were too afraid of the one who had defied their boss and won.
In a disarray, the soldiers let both you and Guy leave unscathed. And you followed him. As you would to the ends of the Earth. You felt a fool for trusting him too fast. Yet, he had thrown away everything he held dear and holy, for you. Only for you.
But you were so tired. Before you could stop it, you collapsed against the stone floors.
When you opened your eyes, everything was dark. A little light came through some kind of cloth above you. Had the sky been torn? Your head was pounding, but at least, you could feel your arms and legs. As well as a light movement from where you were. Using your hands you pushed upwards and sat up. Horses. It smelled like horses. And the grass. God, how much you had missed the smell of grass. You were in a carriage, it seemed. One of hay, perhaps? It was too dark to tell. Your wounds stung as you moved around. Only then did you notice the fresh bandages on your limbs and the new brown cloth of a gown you did not own. A hand pushed you back down. A woman’s hand. Her words were hard to understand but when you saw her face, you knew exactly where you were. Or at least where you were headed.
“Marian?”
She called your name again, this time you heard loud and clear.
“You need some rest, please, lay back down.
-How? Where?… Where’s Guy? We were with Visay and then…
-Slow down. We know. He told us.”
You frowned. Her voice was soothing you yet your thoughts were spinning out of control.
“He told you? What…?”
The carriage came to a stop then. The light came in as someone pulled the cloth apart, revealing the early evening sky behind them. You could recognize that face anywhere.
“Robin!”
You winced as you jumped off your feet and out of the carriage, hugging your brother as if your life depended on it.
“Oh my God, I really thought for a second…” You pushed out of the embrace in a swift motion, keeping him at arms length. “Wait. You had me so worried! I’ve spent months in that castle trying to escape and you come in now?! I’ve been waiting the whole time! What took you so long!” You slapped his shoulder and he pretended for a minute to be hurt.
“I am sorry I could not get you before. We had our own adventures to deal with. But as soon as I heard you were married to Gisbourne I had to come to get you!
-You do hate the man.
-I do. I did. He did help you escape though.”
You smiled fondly at Robin, his soft side always a reminder of the good in this world. An anxious thought reached your mind.
“Where is he, Robin?”
A queasy smile on his face, he gestured to the head of the carriage. There, you could see Guy’s silhouette dismounting. His eyes met yours. He ran to you.
“Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
His eyes were mischievous but the strong hold he had on your shoulder was a sign he was not joking. He pulled you against him, kissing the crown of your head, his hands settling on your face. His thumbs moving in slow circles on your cheeks, settling himself in your warmth and real breaths.
“I am alright now. Thanks to you.”
A pained expression appeared on his face.
“No. I… was helpless. I could not save you. I could not protect you… I…”
The kiss was meant to be reassuring and innocent. Instead it turned hungry and passionate. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could see Marian and Robin walking away silently.
“You did save me. You save me, everyday. I don’t know what I would have done if I had been forced to marry someone else but you…
-Perish the thought. I’m never letting you marry anyone else.”
Your laugh echoed in his ear, like a sound he knew by heart and was discovering for the first time in years. All of a sudden he felt emotional. Needing to tell you how much he adored you.
“I never realized it until now but I think… I truly think I was in love with you even before we met…”
Your stunned silence drove his thoughts in the wrong direction.
“You don’t have to say anything. I know you don’t feel the same. Not yet anyway. It’s alright. I have you, so, everything will be alright.”
His arms tightened around your waist, your forehead against his chest. A moment passed in silence. The words were escaping you, but they’d have to do anyhow.
“ Guy… I… I can not imagine a future without you in it. Our relationship moved so fast, it shook me a little. But… I don’t want a life where you’re not in with me. No. I cannot and will never picture a life where you are not tied to me like you are right now. If this is not love, I don’t know what it is…”
His eyes were fixed on the horizon, the forest behind and the people in the camp talking. He was listening to you, you knew that. If he was hearing you was something else entirely.
Your fingertips found the side of his face and forced him to look at you.
“Guy of Gisbourne, I believe I was not in love with you before we met. I know I hated you with everything in my being. And then you touched me and everything changed. You fell for me softly and reverently as you do with all things. I fell for you - as I do in life - passionately and wholeheartedly. I don’t regret it. I love you, Guy of Gisbourne… Whether you like or not.”
He looked at you with awe, wondering for a moment how lucky he could have been to find you in this life.
He had been right about something. With you, everything was going to be alright.
I LOVE LOVE LOVED IT SO MUCH!! WHAT YOU MEAN YOU DONT KNOW HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT THIS!?!? IT WAS A MASTERPIECE!!!
I love a slow burn love story with Guy!!! YOU REALLY TOOK THE WORDS FROM THE EDIT AND MADE IT SOMETHING BEAUTIFULLLLL!!!!!! OMGAHHHHH!!!! PLEASE NEVER STOP!!! I LOVE HOW WRITE GUY!!! THIS WAS PERFECTION!!
@sorisooyaa, my darling girl, here is a story just for you!
Words: 782
Characters: Haldir x OC
Warnings: Age gap, insecurity
Haldir kneaded the poor flowers he was holding mercilessly.
He felt woefully out of place on the fancy college campus; usually, he and his beloved met in his flat or went to a restaurant out of town, but he had felt that it was important to her that he was invested and present in her day-to-day life as well.
Of course, he was aware of how laughable the feeling of embarrassment creeping up his throat was—he was a man grown and should not have been intimidated by a few college students walking to their next class, but he couldn’t help feeling like an intruder.
This was one of the downsides of an honest man falling helplessly in love with a woman much younger than him—he lived in the constant fear of being called a predator or of being thought of as someone who wanted to dominate his partner.
The truth of the matter was that he admired the woman he loved more than words could say; she was brilliant and kind and he was a lucky man to have won her heart.
Being a man of few words, Haldir was unfortunately patently incapable of explaining these things to others which, of course, made his insecurity only worse.
“Haldir,” she cried, visibly surprised, as she exited the old building like a breath of fresh air chasing away the cobwebs of their dignified surroundings.
Her dark hair was neatly tied back, and her eyes flashed with pleasure as she walked towards him without a moment’s hesitation; clearly, she did not share his worries for there was an undeniable expression of pride falling over her beautiful face as she tilted it up in expectation of a demure kiss.
“My love,” he sighed and presented her with the flowers. “I took the afternoon off, and I thought I might wait for you?”
“Oh, I can skip the last class,” she immediately said, but he shook his head. He had come to make her understand how proud he was of her and how much he wanted to be a full part of her life.
“No,” he articulated meticulously. “I will go to the library and read a book while waiting for you and maybe, we can go to that book shop you’ve been talking about so much later? Have dinner somewhere around there?”
“But…” she replied hesitatingly, “there might be other students. I thought you were uncomfortable with all that…I mean, I don’t want you to feel unhappy about having to do silly, childish stuff like that. I can go there another day.”
Haldir’s fist tightened around the bouquet he was still mistreating unconsciously.
“It’s your choice, if you’d rather not be seen with an old man…”
“No,” she cried out passionately. “That is not at all what I meant to say; I’d be honoured to have you accompany me—and carry my purchases in your strong arms.” She winked. “Nonetheless, I don’t want you to force yourself.”
The tight smile he had been trying to keep up mellowed into a more sincere expression of affection and gratitude.
“I’d be lying if I said that I don’t feel like I’m sticking out like a sore thumb,” he confessed, “but you are worth a bit of insecurity and discomfort. I am a tad older—and much less intelligent—than you, that’s a fact, and it’s silly to want to hide that forever. Sooner or later, people will know…We can’t very well be married all on our own, can we?”
It had been a joke to ease the tension, but her enigmatic, deep eyes grew soft with emotion almost instantly. “Do you really mean that? You and me, forever?”
“Of course,” he immediately confirmed. “I love you too much to let something as irrelevant as people’s prejudices and my own inferiority come between us.”
“You are being rather silly right now,” she chuckled, “for you are the best man I’ve ever met and I thank my lucky stars every day for having conquered you. I am not in the least ashamed of you and neither should you be.”
Taking the flowers, she hugged them to her chest tenderly. “I’ll find you after my class then? Not that I’ll pay much attention now that I know that a wonderful afternoon with you is waiting for me on the other end of that dreadful lecture.”
“Be good, my little bird,” he whispered, “I am so honoured to call you mine.”
Tears of emotion collected on her lower lashes like dew on a flower petal and he wiped them away carefully before lifting her hand to his lips.
“I love you,” he repeated insistently, “and I’ll be waiting for you!”
@fellowshipofthefics Here is the last one then!
Thank you to everyone who was with me for this ride!
@sorisooyaa I love you so much, my darling baby, and I am so endlessly proud of you! You're such a gem and such a light in my life! I am wishing you only the very best!
@sorisooyaa I had sworn that none of this would ever see the light of day, but as a payment for your beautiful talent and excellent work...Here is the first chapter of the abomination.
Words: 1,5k
Characters: Lucifer, Michael, Shirel, Emmanuelle
Warnings: blasphemy, reference to sexual assault
“Lucifer,” Chloe had said, her eyes full of pity, the last time he had managed to see her without upsetting the whole plan they had previously agreed upon, “don’t you think it’s time to let him out?”
“I do not think so. Who knows what terrible plans he’s going to set in motion this time?”
Now, as he repeated his doubts to his most loathed prisoner, Lucifer was still not convinced that his beloved had not woefully underestimated the resentment undying beings could harbour.
Michael sneered at his twin in disgust. “Not up for a deal, brother? Do you really enjoy my being here so much?”
Lucifer’s eyes took on a wicked gleam; this certainly had gotten his attention. “All right! If anyone was to miss you—really miss you—and call on you, you may go. Under my supervision, of course!”
This seemed like a fair condition to him, and he would get to spend some time on earth once more, maybe even getting a moment to pop in on Chloe without letting their daughter see him.
A frustrated bellow interrupted his musings rather unceremoniously though and he frowned in annoyance.
“You can say that,” Michael grunted, “you, whose gift has been delivered—even now she’s alive and loving you, smug as ever—only because Amenadiel was apparently the better messenger, not even because you deserved it.”
The thought of Chloe’s staying hand on his chest thankfully prevented a highly unproductive brawl before it could even break out; Lucifer had sworn to her that he would try his best to come to an agreement with his brother and he would not be side-tracked by their shared tendency to sabotage their best opportunities at finding even a quantum of happiness.
“Maybe,” Lucifer drawled with a sharp smile, “if you hadn’t lost track of yours, you’d be sure that someone was praying for and to you, don’t you think? And that, brother mine, is a state of things entirely of your own doing.”
“Shir!”
Emmanuelle strode towards her oldest friends—hands outstretched pleadingly—through the brightly lit gallery; she had not been sure whether Shirel would even come here.
“What is this about? The wing for religious art, really Manu?” that self-same friend whispered as if afraid to raise her voice to an audible level in the presence of ideas she had renounced a long time ago. She had been particularly unafraid as a child—confident in her faith—but since then, many things had changed and Shirel was but a shadow of her former self nowadays.
Shrugging, Emmanuelle clasped Shirel’s hands to keep her from retreating—they were cold and stiff, and, for a moment, her own conviction faltered.
“I need your help, Shir,” she said. “We got a new painting in, and…I don’t know what to make of it. All I do know is—that it’s insane.”
Her gaze flew over the petrified features of a woman she had known all her life; once upon a time—long before she had accepted this job at the old Museum—she and Shirel had spent blissful afternoons here, staring at the antique paintings in wordless awe.
“Do you remember how we used to…” Emmanuelle’s fingers moved gracefully through the air and—despite her self-imposed years of silence—Shirel could hear the song her friend played on an invisible piano in her mind.
“That is a long time ago, Manu.”
“Nonetheless, Shir, you…you are the only one I trust with this. You won’t think I am crazy.” Emmanuelle pleaded, tugging her friend forward under the benevolent eyes of the Holy Virgin, smiling indulgently down at their struggle from every other canvas.
“Manu!” Shirel groaned, digging her heels into the worn wooden floor. “Manu, stop. Please, let’s not go back there—I’ve left all of this behind, you know?”
Then, in a softer voice, she added, “It was fake after all. Heaven and Hell are empty—and there is no such thing as angels!”
Desperate, Emmanuelle stooped to a level she had sworn not to fall to; she hummed the first few bars of an old hymn they both knew well.
The weary, pained gaze in Shirel’s hazel eyes made her flinch, but she didn’t desist.
As young girls—in another life—they’d stay hidden away in this wing until it was almost closing time; the old building had marvellous acoustics and they’d always have enough time for one resounding song before rushing down the stairs, out of breath with laughter, to make it to the last bus taking them home in time.
Back then, Emmanuelle had believed that their whole life would be like that; she was still convinced that the paintings glowed whenever Shirel’s voice—silver bells and sweet honey—caressed their worn vellum. Yes, even now, Emmanuelle had faith in Shirel’s destiny, even if she herself had decided to turn away from it.
Compelled by the ancient memories and the hopeful smile of her friend, Shirel capitulated and joined in the song—feeling her voice soar on invisible wings made her heart feel all the heavier, but she pushed through and simply closed her eyes.
“You’ve still got it,” Emmanuelle whispered in an awed voice as the last notes faded out; all around her, the faces of the Saviour’s mother glowed as if lit from within and a surge of a happiness she had almost forgotten prickled in her fingertips.
“Don’t start, Manu,” Shirel pleaded under her breath, prying one eye open and sighing deeply. “My mother was—disturbed. She’s not really heard an angel announcing the imminent conception of a girl-child to her; life is not some weird biblical musical!”
“I am so sorry that you truly stopped believing in the miracle of your conception.”
“There was no miracle, please believe me!” Shirel put a shielding hand over her burning eyes. “Mum…she was a lonely woman—God knows she has only tried to make herself feel better for having a child of wedlock.”
“Shir, your parents ended up getting married and your voice is a miracle, no matter what you say…”
Shirel’s face hardened into a mask of pain and rejection. “My voice is nothing special…”
Emmanuelle wanted to protest, but she didn’t dare; for years, they had sung in churches and museums, and they had been so convinced that this was their calling and their destiny—people from far and wide had come to listen to Shirel sing the praise of the Lord.
And then, just like that—everything had changed.
A dark alley, a secluded spot…when they had found Shirel, her voice had been hoarse with screaming and crying for help. Nobody had heard. Nobody had come.
On that fateful night, as she opened her eyes in a sterile hospital bed, Shirel had decided to abnegate her faith and—what was worse—to silence that precious song of hers. Nowadays, she worked in a home for deaf students where nobody knew or missed that voice that had betrayed her so.
“Let me show you the painting,” Emmanuelle said, changing the subject. “You might recognise him.”
She led her friend by the hand to a narrow door, almost invisible in the dark panelling of the wall. “Here.”
As soon as Shirel’s eyes had adjusted to the low light after the brightly lit gallery, she gasped.
“As if,” she scoffed, breathing more freely now that she was beyond the searching gaze of the Mother Mary. “I see we’ve moved past the many eyes and arms and wings.”
“So, you do recognise him?” Emmanuelle asked—full of faith and hope once more—as she gestured towards the oddly compelling painting depicting two men standing on either side of a flaming sword.
“These are actually two…” Shirel cut herself off. “You know what? Never mind. There is no way either one of them looks like that! They’re not real, so what does it matter?”
“You once thought they were,” Emmanuelle said almost accusingly. “And there is something so strange about this piece of art—don’t you feel that?”
Shirel did feel it, but she refused to be dragged back into a delusion that had broken more than just her heart. “Manu, the angels I told you about…those were imaginary friends—maybe, I am not so unlike my poor, disoriented mother after all. All those stories? Puerile fantasy—I am so sorry, but it was never…”
She shrugged dismissively.
“Look me in the eye,” Emmanuelle demanded stubbornly, “and tell me that you don’t know who that is!”
Shirel had done many things in her life that she was not proud of, but she was not about to betray her friend in such an unforgivable way.
“My heart and mind are now closed to such revelations,” she mumbled instead, evading the question, “and whatever I might think is just the intuition of a broken soul.”
“Have you ever seen him—them—before?”
“Well yes,” Shirel chuckled mirthlessly. “They’re the reason heaven and hell have felt empty to me.”
@absentmindeduniverse LOOK I HAD VERYYYY CLICHE IDEA FOR THIS ONE AND TBH IDK IF I LIKE IT OR NOT
But.....reader being related to Thrandui
Ship: Thorin x Elf!Reader
Trope: Childhood friends to enemies to lovers
Length: 3 376 words.
Warnings: Injuries, violence, guilt, guilt trip. Thorin being Thorin, Thranduil being Thranduil. Angst with a happy ending.
Note: @sorisooyaa I have something for you. I made a thing. I don't know what to make of it. But I have made a thing.
Tags - if I forgot someone sorry and please tell me so I can not forget you next time: @heilith
@sotwk
@asgardianhobbit98
@middleearthpixie
@glassgulls
@evenstaredits
@fizzyxcustard
Vocabulary point:
Nethig = Sister, little sister (diminutive) - Sindarin
You were here to help.
Of course, you had come to help.
The battle of Erebor would be known as the one where great elven and dwarven warriors perished. It would still be an understatement before any of the gods who listened. The Durin line barely survived by the skin of their teeth. If you had not been there to prevent the massacre... Thorin stopped the thought there, fearing what it would bring to mind.
You, whom he had known since he was a mere child, your parents and his - if not in agreement - cordial to one another. At the time, you knew Erebor's halls almost as well as he did, despite having grown in the shadows of the Greenwood. Often, you would meet, in secret, away from the prying eyes of both your families, running away, chasing dragons and seeking battles made out of air.
Now, he wished for these times to come back.
The dwarven king owed you his life and the life of his nephews.
That was why he was at your side, watching until you woke up. If you were to wake up.
Why was he waiting? He knew not. Or, he knew as he had known for years, yet stopped himself from hoping you would know too. He was not the young dwarf he once was, careless with his words and promises, careless in his affections. The sovereign he had become could not make foolish choices as Kili had the luxury of making. Nevertheless, the hope in him would not die, not until you gave him an answer to a question he would not dare ask.
You were there. You were there when his grandfather had refused your brother and your people what was owed to them. The look of confusion and disappointment on your face had not left his thoughts in all those years. Where the regret and sorrow as you followed your brother away from the dragon’s massacre felt like a heavy scar, this first betrayal was still bleeding through the walls of his mind more vivid than it had ever been.
For since the battle, you would not wake. And he would not sleep.
Maybe, this was his atonement for not having intervened sooner in the feud between the elves and his people. Maybe it was punishment for not having told you, as a child, what those feelings were, leaving you blindsided for the rest of your life.
His breath came to a halt when you stirred in your sleep. His surroundings were dark, only lightened by the moonlight shining in the room. Everything was so pale, the sheets, your gown, the light. He felt sick for a moment, in pain with each breath. Thorin was sitting in the most uncomfortable seat he had ever been in, his back hunched over, elbows on his knees, rubbing at his face to erase the deep sleep in his bones.
Thranduil opened the door. His eyes racked over the dwarf’s figure. The deep circles under his eyes and the hollow of his cheeks were clear indicators of his state. Your brother would have been blind not to see your injuries’ effect on Thorin.
Despite what people knew of him, the elven king was not as heartless as he seemed. He had sustained many injuries over the years, many terrifying experiences, and too many meaningless deaths. His heart was a closed sanctuary now, only opened for those he trusted. Even if he was not trusting Thorin, he trusted you. You, who had sought him out all those moons ago, trying to stop a raging war between your families. He had refused to listen and what it had cost him would never be counted accurately. The elf was old and weary of war. He wanted this to end, almost as much as you did.
When you were playing in Erebor’s halls, he was with his guardian, resenting you for not having to attend all those boring meetings nor being with him when he had to learn all those awful words in Khuzdul. No. You had learned with a friend. The ultimate betrayal for him was that you were allowed to.
No one saw the harm in the shenanigans you orchestrated. You were children, what was the harm? Only when you grew, beautiful as a newborn star, people started talking. He dismissed them all in public. Chastised you in private. “Behave as you were born”, those were his words. It was then that Thranduil had known. It was too late for you. You had fallen for him, having known him for so long. His stubbornness familiar to your equally stubborn mind, the wits of his tongue matching your own, your secret kisses shared in the mistrusted shadows of the woods or the corridors of the dwarven city. You would not let him go. But, soon, even Thorin dismissed you, in favour of dwarf women more suited to be by his side. Your heart was misplaced. Lost with someone who had no use for it.
After that, heartbroken and deep into your mind, you let yourself perish to the brink of death. Thranduil’s wife and son became your only solace, throwing yourself into the family life you yearned for, but could not have for yourself. With your brother, you would not talk of love for the prince. Only a “misplaced trust” as if it was enough to describe what it was you were left with.
That “misplaced trust” was all that was needed for Thranduil to care.
“Thorin Oakenshield.”
His face barely rose to meet the elven king’s eyes, falling back again in an impolite manner, now familiar between the two.
“It’s you.”
The elf had a hard time not snapping at him. But even he knew, the pain he was in. Your brother kissed your brow in slow motion. Nothing moved in the air, as he was adjusting your pillow, smoothing your sheets, sitting down next to you, eyes lost on your face. The room reeked of balms and healing herbs. Thorin ran a hand over his face once more, the stiff figure in front of him immobile and solemn.
“I remember.”
The sound of his voice was barely above a whisper, yet it took up all the space in the room. He had that effect, your brother. You used to be so proud of him when you were little. Trying to get his affection every time you could. He wondered if you would still look at him that way.
“When you were young. Both running around in our legs, trying to get some attention, only to run away just as easily.”
Thranduil might have seen a soft smile appear on Thorin’s tear-stained cheeks if the darkness was not so thick. He did not see.
Instead, the elven king grabbed your hand, ever so cold, between his own seizing your fingers, growing accustomed to your unresponsiveness. All those hours spent in silence by your side had made him weary. The loss of his wife was an everlasting memory at the back of his mind, as he was praying to anyone who would listen for your recovery. Not again his mind would say. Not her his heart would scream.
And maybe it worked somehow, after all those days, all those weeks, because then you opened your eyes.
The light was faint. You could make out parts of the walls and ceilings. It was home. A breath of relief left you, making your chest ache. You winced, eyelids shut close, brows furrowed. Your hand was captured in someone else’s, warm, alive. You were alive. Every part of your body was in pain, sharp, akin to the edge of a fine sword twisting your guts and bones. Soon, you could hear a voice. Voices, you realized. You turned towards the tall figure holding your hand. It seemed to be calling your name.
“Nethig?”
Thranduil. His face came to a focus, his forehead meeting yours as you were holding his hand to your chest for dear life. Tears streamed down your face, not being able to stop them in any way.
On the other side of your bed, Thorin had not moved. His mouth agape, he was waiting for you to see him, to look at him. The minutes and murmurs exchanged with your brother were lasting, echoing in his mind. The chuckle escaping your lips was a balm to his undone heart. King, he was, yet he would have been on his knees and given it all up in a heartbeat if it would keep you from crying as you were.
You could not see past your brother and you did not want to. How stupid could you have been to throw yourself and your soldiers into this death trap? For what? An old flame nothing could light again? Thorin’s affections for you were long past, a mere child’s play you took to heart when he did not. The young and everlasting hope in your chest would not die. In the end, it almost had you killed.
Deliberately, Thranduil pulled himself away, his protective gaze still on you. His eyes met someone else’s over your shoulder before coming back to your face. He helped you sit up, one movement at a time.
Upon seeing who it was, you started crying again. Not of joy, nor pain. In relief. How your heart could be a trickster. The moment was clear in your mind, despite the anxiety creeping up your spine. The moment you thought he was going to die in front of your eyes. It was without a second thought, you had pierced the chest of the orc before Fili or Kili could be harmed. For Thorin, your heart had lept in your throat as the menace of losing him became more and more obvious, the more the fight went on. The prince you remembered, the one you had loved, was brave beyond any elven or dwarven standards. He still was. You had hesitated, the ever-nagging thought of him being upset upon being defended by you. Until the last minute. When you had jumped from your vantage point, it had been all a blur, the only thing remaining the clear sky above you, the sun on your skin. The edge of the sword had pierced through armour and flesh, close to your heart. As if hurting it more was a feat anyone could accomplish. In a last stroke of luck, elven warriors had flooded the place, while you were still staring at the sky becoming darker and darker with each passing moment. You could hear yells and angry cries, strong arms cradling your head, and a soft, profound, grave voice begging you to stay alive. In your haze, you had thought… you had thought it belonged to him.
The sobs had stopped. Thorin stepped closer to you, his right hand outstretched. His palm touched your cheek sloppily, checking if he was not dreaming. Yet, you were swiftly pulling him away, careful not to touch him for too long. You exchanged a few words with Thranduil, and he stepped away, one final hard stare at the dwarf before leaving the room.
“What are you doing here?”
It was more to yourself than to him that you asked this question, in a hoarse voice you did not recognize. His arm lingered in the air, in your vicinity. How much you wanted to bury yourself in his chest and never let him go again. The harm he had done to you, on the other hand, was too heavy on your heart to let go of.
He swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. The rejection was bitter-sweet. He knew his faults all too well. Against his first instinct, he got up to his feet, grimacing under the weight of his flesh wounds. Seeing you in pain was so much worse than that.
“I…”
Around you, the night lights were shivering, dawn simmering under the cover of the clouds. It was now or never.
“I have something for you.”
A snort escaped you and you coughed. Startled, he approached, but you stopped him with a gesture of your hand.
“If it’s not an apology, I do not want it Thorin.”
There. Plain as day. The look on his face, you never dared to hope he’d show for you. His gaze softened as you mouthed the name you had not spoken of in years. His name. Delightful to hear you say it, if only it had been in different circumstances. Alas, it was not. He had to make the best of this. Even if it killed him. Because a life without you was only worth death, the unmerciful kind, slow and feverish, agonising. He could not bear it anymore.
“I hoped you would agree to listen first and see what to do afterwards. Yet, you stay faithful to yourself.”
His voice resonated in the room even as he claimed the words one after the other, softly, trying not to scare you away. He smiled. One of those precious smiles you came to banish from your mind, year after year, as it plagued your waking hours almost as much as your dreams.
You turned your eyes away from him, a heat blooming in your cheeks. Although you could not see his face, you heard him, coming closer to you, sitting near your calves, hands on his knees. He was loud as dwarves are. Sometimes, you dreamt about that noise. Dreamt of him coming home to you.
You shook your head a little, the world blurry for a moment before your eyes.
“Could you… would you, at least, look at me?”
His voice was pained, smooth around the edges of his sorrow. He did not recognize that voice as his own. It was the voice of heartbreak. A sweet relief came over him when you finally looked at him.
It was short-lived. Your face, he remembered. Ever-lasting as the poets said. Engraved in his heart, beating erratically with every minute spent in your company. The bruises, the sharp cut going from your cheekbone to your chin. The edge and the indifference. All of that he did not know and wanted to rub off. His hand twitched in his lap, fingers extending into nothingness.
“I am incredibly happy you are alive.”
His words were met with pure harshness, almost hostility. Sorrow in your eyes, a headache growing behind your eyelids.
Thorin licked his lips.
“I came here to thank you. Personally.”
A snicker stopped him. You sniffled again, ungracefully wiping your nose in your sleeve, wincing at the effort it took you. His palm felt warm on your knee. You were not one to bet, but if you had to, you would have assured a tattoo of his palm was to appear on your skin at how hot it felt. How right. Still, unnerved, you did not move.
“I came here because… When we thought… When I thought I lost you, I came to realize how much of an imbecile I had been.”
You bowed your head. Biting your lips, your hair hiding the desperation in you. You could not bear it. Could not bear hearing him say the words without meaning them. He had done so before, what was stopping him from doing it again? It would destroy you.
“Stop. Just stop!”
Tears formed at the corners of your eyes. You did not try to stop them from falling. His hand reached you before you could stop it, meeting your cheek, and wiping away your tears. Stilling your heart in its ribcage, prisoner of his touch, again. His beautiful eyes were worried, brows furrowed, lips pinched together.
“Why are you torturing me so? Telling me what I want to hear? After all those years? Am I just a toy to you?”
You bit your lips harder, drawing blood. Without saying a word, he smoothed the skin there, smearing blood on his fingertips, unbothered merely grateful he could do it at all.
“Never. Amralimê, never.”
He frowned. Only then did you notice how close he was, the word in his mouth settling near your heart, his forehead a breath away from yours. Blue eyes boring into yours, lips parted, his cheek covered by a white and black beard. He had aged, as we all do. How could he still make your heart beat so loud and your stomach flutter so even after all these years? It was uncanny. Impossible. You wanted to take his hands off of your face, gripping his wrists in a vice grip.
He held on, gritting through the pain shooting in his arms, your face cradled in his warmth.
“I have been wrong all this time. I thought I was better off without you. Hoping you would find happiness without this love we did not see coming. But, no one can stop the sun from rising and I could not stop myself from loving you.”
A whimper escaped you when he pulled away, reaching into his coat for a small thing, wrapped in grey cloth, worn with time and travel. Carefully, he grasped your hand putting the itchy material in your palm.
“I should have given you this, at the time. I am giving it to you now. I hope you keep it.”
His words were ringing in your ears as you pulled the package open. Inside was a trinket you recognized immediately. You smiled, half expecting it to be a fever dream.
“A courting bead.”
Clenching your hand around it, you felt the walls around your heart beginning to give. Taking your hand in his, one more time, he pried the cage your fingers made one after the other, relinquishing in the feeling of your fingertips.
“Not exactly.” Giddy with excitement, he leaned close to you, as if in confidence. “It is an engagement bead. I figured we were past the courting steps at this point.
- Are you serious?”
The question had escaped your lips in a bewildered whisper, not quite wanting to believe him. Thorin became self-conscious again, nodding, bashful. He was shy. Thorin Oakenshield had gone soft. The world was going to collapse.
“Why now?
- After this close call with death, I don’t think I have anything more to lose but you.
- What of…?
- The others? I do not care. Not anymore. If you’ll have me, I’ll be there. Whenever you need me. As who you want me to be.”
Without thinking, your hand reached out to his cheek, bringing him impossibly closer. In a familiar gesture, your lips met his.
Thorin had become tender with the years. Surprised and inhaling sharply, his fingers gripped your gown at the waist, in a desperate attempt at getting you flush against him, your warmth comforting his melting heart through your skin.
The pain shot through you interrupting you both.
“My apologies, I’ll be more careful from now on.”
You smiled against his lips, pushing yourself a little bit further into his embrace.
“I doubt that.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“You were rough once. Harsh even. Don’t stop now on my account…”
You bit your lip and saw his pupils darken, a thin line of blue at the edge of it all, holding you down under this lustful stare.
The kiss he gave you next was nothing short of hungry, wild and powerful. You felt the fragility of your body in his hands, even more than you had during the battle. His palms spread a heated river down your waist, straight between your legs. Yet, it would have to wait. Only for a night or two, you thought. If you would restrain yourself. As if reading your thoughts - he had always been good at that - he replied.
“We have all the time in the world for this, now. If you’ll have me.”
He was worried. Still. You could not blame him, after all these years you had spent avoiding him only to find out he felt the same for you as you did for him.
“Yes. We do.”
Your tone left no doubt. Affirmed and self-assured, you knew this would be the beginning of something new. This was a new chapter in a lifetime of stories, you could not wait to find more about.
OMGAHHH YESSS I FINALLY GOT TO READ THIS IT IS AMAZING I LOVE LOVE LOVE IT AHHHHHH LOOK AT THAT BASHFUL SOFT THORIN I LOVE IT OMGAHHHH HOW AMAZING! SO MUCH DEPTH AND CHARACTER I LOVE IT SO SO SO MUCH! YOU ARE SOO TALENTED THAT WAS JUST *chef's kiss* OMGAHHH PLEASE I LOVE IT AHHHHHHH! I LOVE IT SOOOO MUCHHHHH you are sooooo wonderfulllll ahhhhhhh
hi darling <3 could I request vamp! Tilion with the "you're not just the friendly gentleman/lady, are you?" prompt and a mortal reader who's managed to get into where Telperion is kept? (whether she's a spy, is there for personal reasons or straight up lost lol, Tilion finds her) 👀👀
( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ tilion ⠀〳 human!reader⠀ ❜࿔
· ⊰ synopsis. long have you awaited this day — where you would reach your goal and avenge your loved one. but it seems that a new friend of yours has other plans. ( blood mention ៸៸ biting ៸៸ mentions of humans used as blood bags ៸៸ 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌! 𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏 )
· ⊰ note. to kick off the vampire au we have a request from my darling writing wife<3 hope you enjoy!
˙ ˖ lore post ៸៸ character sheet ៸៸ masterlist
Humans and vampires were like oil and water.
Never mixing, and sure as hell not friends.
Yet on the rare occasion, humans would mingle in the affairs of night crawlers. Rather, vampires in the Royal Court would prefer to have a walking blood bag than venture out into the world to feast on the son of man. Smaller villages that were well aware of their existence and feared them most, eventually came up with a solution: to offer a handful of young, healthy, sons and daughters — to not only live in the Court and be their breakfasts, lunches and suppers — but to also aid vampires in the more mundane, tedious affairs of the human world.
When you turned the appropriate age of adulthood your village had roped you into the decade’s next supply for their blood-thirsty overlords and shipped you off to the palace. Ebony stone and lavish, candle-lit hallways awaited you. Paintings of old, sculptures of the talented and decorations of the rich adorned the interior of their domain. You expected something large, of course, but this was on a whole other level. Magnificent in every right. A part of you even began to believe that this was a hoax, a mere underhanded arrangement for your village to sell off a few of their own every ten years for wealth. Now that you stood before the red carpets, silver accents and crimson, beady eyes; you knew in your heart that this was reality.
Perfect.
You would merely bow your head and curtsey before the vampires — yet as you face the spruce-wood floors, your smile would remain inconceivable.
Never, you promise.
Never will these demons know of your true intentions here.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⊱· ❀ ·⊰
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
“You certainly took your time.’’
A voice dripping honey and laced with playfulness tickles your eardrums. You glance up from your ink and parchment briefly to force a smile onto your lips. Or at least, you tell yourself it is forced as you discreetly slip a note into the drawer of your desk.
“Tilion,’’ you sigh with jesting exasperation and turn back to your quill. “You know, for a royal guard, you certainly have too much time on your hands. Slacking off, are you?” You could feel the roll of his eyes and his chuckle brought forth a swell of warmth in your chest. Goosebumps rise on your skin when cold arms wrap around your shoulders and silvery strands tickle your cheek. “Is it a crime to check up on my favourite human?”
Favourite human. A title you had earned throughout your stay here. Tilion was different from his kin. Looney, comedic relief and far from the stern faces and constipated looks that other vampires around the palace wore like silver jewellery. You quickly gained favour from the higher-ups due to your ability to read and write, thus, you were sent on various tasks and missions into the human world. Documenting what you saw and relaying important information — apart from your default blood bag status.
The first time you were bitten was absolute agony. Unfortunately for you, you caught the eye of a pureblood because of your pretty face and demeanour. You would quickly learn the difference between the fangs of a pureblood and their lesser selves: halfbloods.
Perhaps you should be grateful for the title of favourite human to Tilion. You rarely faced the threat of his fangs. Initially, you assumed that his friendship was merely a ploy. A small game with his food before he sunk his teeth in. Needless to say, you were pleasantly surprised when the bubbly, sometimes goofy vampire only sought your companionship. It lessened the load of your ‘duties’.
And made your job so much easier.
“What brings you here today?’’ You question before turning back to your note-taking. Scribbling down accounts of your short time in the human world. From the corner of your eye you observe his mannerisms, hoping that whatever it is that he was here for, it wouldn’t take too long. Let alone result in him plopping himself onto your desk and rambling on for hours. Whilst most nights you would entertain him, today was different. You had other work to attend to. Free from the watchful eyes of any vampire.
A sacrifice, that is what you and the other humans were dubbed. Little did they know that one particular sacrifice would lead to spilt blood, and ironically, not that of the blood bags.
Long had you been aware of the existence of vampires — and long have you craved vengeance for their reign of terror on the mortal world. Especially after the passing of your beloved friend to their powerful, cruel clutches. You worked hard to ensure that you were the main pick of the village for that decade’s batch of humans. Wormed your way into the palace and sucked up every ounce of pain that you were put through in order to make it to where you sat now. A map, that you deciphered, in your drawer that would lead you to their most revered possession: Telperion
Tilion was not apart of the equation. An unknown variable that threw your plans into disarray. Not that he ever discovered your true intentions, rather, you could not bring yourself to hurt him. A conflict of interest. You wished to curse yourself until you were blue in the face.
Maybe there is a way, you keep telling yourself as you allow him to chatter on about anything and everything interesting that occurred within the palace walls that week. ‘Maybe he is different.’
“Well, let me not take up too much of your time, seems like you are quite dazed.’’ Those words snap you out of your mini monologue and you habitually bite your lip. “Forgive me,’’ you sigh. “Suppose you can say I am far from energetic after today’s outing.’’ His smile tells you that all is well and he unwraps his arms from around you. Even if he was colder than ice, the absence of his touch left you chiller. Much like the ravenous winter that struck the land around the palace.
“Rest today. If all is well, I will pay you a visit tomorrow.’’ His lips purse. “Well, if Eönwë has nothing planned for me. You know what a pest he can be.’’ Silver eyes roll to the chandelier strung from the ceiling. You give him a faint smile accompanied by a wave before he leaves you alone in your room once again.
‘He is different.’
You already feel the headache settling itself between your nerves and you groan with fingers rubbing at your temples. Perhaps this is why vampires often got the job done without fail. They never grant themselves the luxury of forming meaningful relationships, at least from what you have observed. Unlike humans, who rely on their signature trait for survival: community.
Curses fly from beneath your breath as you fish out the intricately drawn map and splay it over your desk. Bringing a candle nearby to ease the strain of your eyes, you follow the path that you can only hope will bring you one step closer to your goal. First, Telperion — and soon, the downfall of all vampires.
‘East-wing, stay centre. The guards should be controlling the west once the moon is three-quarters through its course. Time it right and it should lead the way.’
Praying to whatever holy being might be listening, you once more fall back on your greatest strength: intelligence — before rolling up the map and burning it to ashes with the very candle in your hand.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⊱· ❀ ·⊰
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
You would thank your lucky stars, but you knew that this was far from luck. This was skill. Skill that you sharpened like a blade. Knowledge and intellect were your weapons as you discreetly slink your way through the palace.
Dawn would soon break through the sky, a sign for most vampires to call it a day. Even with their advanced energy and disregard for sleep, many enjoyed taking a few hours between the onset of dawn and morning to give themselves a break. A schedule you had memorised like the back of your hand. As you did the guard routine.
Following the last shine of the moon that decorated the stone walls, you mind any creaking tiles and keep to the shadows. Avoiding windows that might send a breeze and cast your scent to the nearest guard in the vicinity. Many months had you planned this, and you would be a fool to let any possible contingency slip through the cracks.
You could already catch glimmers of its shimmering leaves from the arch of an opening that lay before you at the far end of the hallway. Wouldn’t they guard it well? Many would ask. Vampires worshipped the tree, regardless of their rank. However, this specific wing of the palace was forbidden to humans such as yourself. Were you to be spotted, one can only assume a bloody outcome. Favoured or not.
Heart in your throat, hands trembling at the taste of victory on your tongue — you approach the stone arch and slip out into the mini courtyard that awaited you. A ceiling was missing from above, allowing the power of the moon to shine down onto the area. Your lips purse for a moment. Was that the use of masking magic? You have never seen an opening from outside of the palace. After that brief spout of curiosity, you lower your gaze at last.
Lo and behold, the legend was true. Rooted at the centre, tall, mighty yet beautiful in every right stood the tree from the tales you read of in story books. Your eyes dazzle with the magnificence of silver that shimmers before you. Leaves, fruit, blossoms and trunk — all were blessed by the moon and shone with its pride.
Telperion, the silver tree.
Whether the gleam on your face was from the tree or the overwhelming sense of accomplishment that overflowed from within, you know not. After all this time, you are one step closer to your goal. Your friend’s name is sweet on your tongue for the first time in years as you whisper it into the air. Renewing your silent vow of avenging them.
“Far from energetic, you say? Might I assume that you are sleepwalking, then?”
Nerves tensing. Hair standing. Your heart plummets into your stomach when a voice graces your ears. The same honeyed voice of the one you held dearest. The light of the tree means nothing to you anymore. Overtaken by the shadow that consumes the pebble floor beneath you and renders your body frozen.
Unknown variable. . . No.
A miscalculation.
Nails dig into your palms as the presence that once brought you comfort finds itself in front of you. Seering dread throughout each of your nerves. Any warmth was now replaced by the chill of realisation — and the frostiness of failure. Betrayal.
You sight those silver strands that you adored despite your gaze fixated on the ground — even so, you refuse to glance up. Whether out of fear or shock.
“Will you not look at me?”
The pebbles melt to bronze and you soon face pools of grey. The warmth that you sought was still there. Familiar even. But now you could see past its facade and into the truth of malice. Staring back at you like a predator staring down its prey. The fingers beneath your chin that raised your head slip upwards. Caressing the underneath of your jaw as Tilion basks in the glow of your expression.
“What is wrong? You are usually so happy to see me.’’ His thumb brushes at your cheekbone, a habit that you fell in love with. Despite it all, your mouth runs dry — and you can all but stare at him in a dumbfounded state. “Could it be. . .” he trails, before nails bite into your soft skin and his arm yanks you nearer. Flushing your heat against his iciness.
“Is that fear in your eyes?”
Was that cruelty in his?
For the entirety of your stay here, Tilion was the one that chipped away your general view of vampires. Beating down the notion that all of them were merciless, sadistic beings of the night. With his silly smile and shimmering eyes. Oh, he still smiled. Yet it was filled with malevolence; and while his eyes shimmered, you knew well that it was not from kindness.
“You. . .’’ Your throat wishes to bleed. Still, you power through — gaze locked onto his.
“You are not just the friendly gentleman, are you?’’
His bark of laughter answers your question if not for the stone that met your back after he slipped his hand down to your throat and collided you into the nearest wall. Instinctively, your fingers shoot to his wrist and claw at his tanned skin as your body kicks into a struggle. Alas, you are no match for a vampire. Let alone a pureblood. The rose petals in your pocket would do so much as tickle him.
“That is what I love about your kind.’’ Tilion grins, bringing his face closer to your frightened one. “You are all so trusting. So eager for companionship. Even if you try to remain aloof or indifferent. Tell me, did you think we were friends?”
“N-N. . .o!” your pride attempts to choke.
“That look in your eye tells me otherwise.’’ His devilish hum rings through your eardrums and you gasp at the tightening of his grip that nearly cuts off your air supply. “Ah, that is right. You saw me not as a friend. . .” Tears spill into your eyes at his next spout of cruel laughter as he beholds your wriggling form. He needn’t finish his sentence. You knew the truth — so did he. All along you thought you were fooling him. Little did you know that it was you who was played like a harp.
“As the Guardian of Telperion. . .’’ Your eyes widen at the start of his words. The bishop!? You absolute fool — how couldn’t you piece it together sooner?
“I should report you to the royals. After all, analysing your research would tell even a dunce of what you have been up to. However. . .’’ Holding your breath, your heart pounds against its ribcage. Eager to tear through your chest and run from you. Save you from the agony that you knew would come.
“I must say, I believe I deserve a reward for this.’’ You catch a glimpse of his hungry gaze directed at your pulse. No doubt it is ringing through his ears just as much as yours. To make matters worse, the digging of his nails into your flesh cuts into your skin and allows a trickle of blood to drip down your neck. “I have held back all these months. . . And believe me, it was far from easy.’’
His hair tickles your face as his tongue flushes against the crimson; trailing it along the thin streak on your skin. You feel his tremble, his shudder — you hear his groan. Even a speck of your blood left him ravenous. Yet summoning all the patience he could, he parts in the slightest. So that he can behold your fearful expression once more.
“I should have my fun with you first.’’
It is the only clarity you will receive before a cry is ripped from the depths of your throat. As though hot metal tore through the softness of your flesh. His fangs reminded you of the true prowess of a pureblood.
It mattered not how much you protested. Struggled. Screamed — or begged. His hands found your wrists like chains and his bite left limp against the wall. A slave to your own ambition and at the mercy of his hunger.
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LLOOOK LOOOKKKK I UNDERSTAND HE IS BADDDDDD OK?!??! I UNDERSTAND IT!!! I UNDERSTAND HE IS VERYYYYYY VERYTTTT BADDD!!!!
BUT TILION MY PRETTY MOON BOI THE BISHOP DOES IT SOOOOO WELLLLLL I CANNNNNOOOOTYTTTTTT HELPPPPP MYSELFFFFF I AMMMMM ENTRANCEDDD DEEEEEPPPLLYYYYYY BYYYYY HIMMMMM
THERE IS NOOOO HOPE FOR ME WHENNNN HEEE IS JUSTTTTT LIKE THAAATTTTTT!!!! GOOD GOD HELP ME HE IS SOOOOO TANTALISING WITH EVERYTHING HE DOES!!!
I LOVE VAMPIRES OK?!?!?! AND I LOVE TILION SO WHAT DOES THAT MAKE ME?!?!?!?
I am in love with this, the way you described him, lil sis!!!! The lines!!!!! OH THE LINES!!!! I CANNOT GET OVER THE LINES OF THIS STORY!!!!!!!
NOW WILL EVERYONE PLEASE PLEASE EXCUSE ME I READ OVER MY LIL SIS'S BEAUTIFUL WORK OF ART!!! GOODBYEE SO CAN DROWN HIM VAMPY MOON BISHOP BOY TILION!!!!!!!!
Hi ! Can you do a headcanon about ainur finding out their human s/o is pregnant ? Just pretend they can have children ( And thank you flower 🌸 for your polite reply ! ) ｡^‿^｡
( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ ainur ⠀〳 reader⠀ ❜࿔
· ⊰ synopsis. how mairon, melkor, manwë, irmo, námo and eönwë react to finding out that their s/o is pregnant ( pregnancy themes )
· ⊰ note. absolutely! here you go, I'll admit I went a little overboard and wrote a lot for all of them but I hope you enjoy <3
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ mairon.
ʚ He had taken notice of how you began avoiding him a little more and Mairon being Mairon immediately jumped to conclusions and became rather annoyed by this sudden change
ʚ He couldn’t exactly remember what he may have done that sparked something like this but he was certain that this was the last thing any of his actions could have merited
ʚ Mairon would confront you eventually without much hesitancy as eventually it had become too much to bear. He would wait for the perfect moment once the two of you are alone, perhaps getting ready for bed when he decides to spring the question up on you and find out exactly what’s going on
ʚ We all know how he can get when he’s annoyed and in general he has never been able to keep his temperament very well and that would be the factor that drives you to eventually spill the beans and tell him the real reason that you were avoiding him
ʚ It halted any and all accusations from him and for the first time in a long time, you saw Mairon’s expression display nothing but shock. Furthermore, he was left speechless. His brain ran amock, trying to remember his last intimate moment with you and whether or not this was possible
ʚ He’s dragged out of his shock when he sees how nervous you are and to assure you that he is not in any way, shape or form angry, he brings his hand to your head and rubs his thumb on your hair, a gesture you’re familiar with. It calms you immediately
ʚ It is then and only then that he gathers himself and admits that while he is rather shocked, he is not disappointed. He doesn’t mind raising a family with you, however, it’s definitely something he’s going to have to come around to
ʚ “I will admit that this is far out of my level of knowledge and comfort, however, I am willing to commit to it. If it is to you I am committing to, precious.’’
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ melkor.
ʚ You had every right to be nervous in telling Melkor about your recent discovery. He was the last person that anyone saw as father material — you were certain that even he himself must have despised the thought of children.
ʚ So, you made the foolish decision of actually avoiding him after you had discovered you were pregnant. At first, the Dark Lord wouldn’t take notice. He would simply be too consumed with his diabolical plans and schemes to realise how you actively stayed out of his way
ʚ However, he would soon come to realise that you were, indeed, avoiding him. And he is less than thrilled when his little hypothesis is proven correct when he attempts to confront you about it and you make up one of the silliest excuses he could have ever heard. Surprisingly, he would let you leave. Just that one time.
ʚ It was the second time when you had tried to pull that stunt again that he would grab you by the wrist and unceremoniously yank you towards him. “Do you think of me so foolish as to not realise what is going on?”
ʚ Your heart would leap into your throat as your mind scrambled for some sort of explanation as to how he found out about your pregnancy and immediately begin to splutter out apologies. You say that you weren’t sure, that you didn’t know how it happened or why it did — and in the process reveal the truth that he did not know
ʚ The second you mention that you are carrying his child, Melkor immediately drops your wrist and stares at you with surprise written all over his features. It is only then that you realise whatever it was he was referring to was not your pregnancy
ʚ He rests his hand on your stomach, almost as though he did not believe you. His silence made you nervous and you stare up at his face for some sort of indication of how he is taking this. It is only then that you see what seems to be a ghost of a smile. He pulls you closer, hand still on your stomach as he feels the new being
ʚ “Aren’t you lucky? To carry my child.’’ He’d chuckle, thumb running over your stomach. “You should have just said something sooner.’’
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ manwë.
ʚ You and Manwë had spoken about the possibility of a child and the both of you had been rather open to it. In fact, you even tried for a baby once or twice. But after a few failed attempts you came fear that due to your species disparage, you as a mortal may not be able to fall pregnant with a vala’s child
ʚ You were shattered, to say the least as even your husband himself had no knowledge of whether or not that was the case — seeing as the relationship you had with him was one of rarity and most likely the only ainu-mortal relationship. But he assures that, regardless of whether you bear a child or not, he will love you regardless and will continue to spend the rest of your life with you
ʚ So one can only imagine your surprise and sheer excitement when you discovered that you had indeed, fallen pregnant. While you knew that Manwë would be over the moon, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous about telling him this news. It was only natural
ʚ You planned a nice dinner, knowing that he would be a little tired during that particular night due to a meeting with the other ainur — you wanted to surprise him. Needless to say, he was very pleased when he returned to Ilmarin and saw the simple setting, knowing that it was most likely your doing. However, he does not see you anywhere in sight
ʚ He looks around for you, calling once or twice before going over to sit at the table and the small arrangement that you had decorated. He can’t help but admire your work — yet soon his attention gets stolen by the little note that lay before him with his name on it
ʚ The king smiles, assuming that it is another one of your love letters that you would always leave behind for him. However, when he lifts it and reads the contents, he cannot help the tears that prick in his eyes
ʚ It is then that he feels your arms around him and he wastes no time in standing up, turning to you and cupping your face. “My darling. . . Is this true?”
ʚ You see his tears and feel your eyes sting as well. All you could do was wordlessly nod and watch as a bright smile finds his face. He wastes no time in finding your lips, kissing you with just as much love, adoration and passion as he did on the day of your wedding. You both shed happy tears and when he pulls away, he brings a hand to your stomach
ʚ “Surely, you will be a wonderful mother, my dove.’’
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ irmo.
ʚ You were beyond surprised to find out that you were pregnant. There was only one person who could be the father, that being Irmo. The real question was — how in the hell did a vala actually impregnate you? Were you not a mortal? How was this possible?
ʚ However, you were not displeased with this news. Far from it. You were actually quite excited to be carrying Irmo’s child. And while you were a bit nervous about telling Irmo, you would admit that you held some confidence that he too would be over the moon
ʚ The first person you told was his brother, who had the same reaction of surprise and questioning when you first found out. However, Námo would go on to assure you that Irmo would not be displeased by this new development. Knowing the vala more than anyone, you trusted his word and set on your plan to tell Irmo
ʚ While you did want it to be special, you couldn’t help but fear the small sliver of fear that if you were to go all out — and he for some reason wasn’t pleased with this, you’d most likely feel worse than if you simply told him outright
ʚ For days you would go back and forth on this. Debating, pondering, wondering just how you were going to spill the beans to your lover. You should have known, however, that your little panic would be sensed by none other than Irmo who quickly became concerned for your wellbeing
ʚ One day, when the two of you were resting in his gardens, he took the opportunity to ask you what had been troubling you. Mentally cursing at yourself for making it so obvious, you assured him that all was well and that you simply had a lot on your mind
ʚ “Do you see me as naive, my dearest?” You almost jump out of your skin when he wraps his arms around you from behind. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to let up about this and you quickly tried to form a mini monologue in your head on how to tell him
ʚ However, you panicked and practically blurted out the information — immediately bringing a hand to your mouth and praying to Eru that there was a sliver of possibility that Irmo had not heard you. But of course, he did
ʚ You felt his arms loosen around you and your heart immediately fell into the pit of your stomach. Panicking more, you try to find the words to say, only becoming more anxious when he remains silent. At last, you turn to him with tearful eyes and a quiet, “Irmo I —”
ʚ You are cut off but his lips on yours, his hands taking your face in his hold and kissing you until your breath was taken from you. Relief washes over you, especially when he pulls away and looks at you were a face brighter than the morning sun
ʚ “We are going to have a child? Our own?’’ He exhales dreamily, looking down at your stomach with a bright gleam. “We are going to have a family, my dearest. Our own, happy family. . .”
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ námo.
ʚ Námo was absolutely horrendous with children! You saw how he frightened the elflings, you have witnessed first-hand how many babies cried in his presence. You remember when one of the elves presented him with their baby and the poor thing began wailing the second that the vala took them into his arms. How in the actual void was he going to react to the idea of you being pregnant?
ʚ You were panicking, and rightfully so. You couldn’t even begin to think about how your lover might react to this information. So in desperation, the first person that you sought out and told was his sister Nienna, who was more surprised with your anxiousness rather than the prospect of you being pregnant
ʚ She assures you that while Námo may not seem all too thrilled with the idea of children, she highly doubts he would ever leave you over such a discovery. If anything, the idea of having a child with you may be far more appealing to him. She believes that her brother would do anything for you, he has promised to spend the entirety of your existence with you, after all
ʚ After your little chat with Nienna, you felt more assured and decided that you would have to find a way to tell your lover of this news. The next big question, however, was how. How were you going to tell him? Should you say it outright? Should you plan something special? Would he want something special? This was your first child with him, after all
ʚ It was then that you decided to plan a little something. Nothing too extreme, but definitely something special. You wanted it to be special for him. So, you got to planning. That didn’t mean it was easy, with the way that you were panicking you kept second-guessing yourself, kept adding more details and ideas, right up to the point where the ‘simple plan’ now became an elaborate scheme. So you restarted, only to come out with the same result the second time around
ʚ You were exhausted with all this planning, so much so that you had started unintentionally avoiding Námo and he of course took notice of it. He wouldn’t bring it up at first, simply thinking that perhaps you had a lot on your mind ( which he wasn’t wrong about, evidently ) but soon, he had decided to go along and ask you what had been troubling you
ʚ One day, he left his duties early and went to his chambers which he knew you would be in considering it was already nightfall. What he didn’t expect, however, was to find you monologuing to yourself. You were practising what you would say to him and scolding yourself every time you messed up a line. You were so engrossed in your little rehearsal that you didn’t even realise that your lover was right behind you — and had heard everything
ʚ It is only when you felt two arms wrap around you from behind and a hand rest upon your stomach did you nearly jump out of your skin. You know immediately who it is and you’re too scared to say anything. Only remaining silent as he buries his face into your shoulder
ʚ You felt something wet and only then did you realise that he shed a few tears. You finally turn in his arms and see that your theory was correct — he had shed tears of happiness. He takes your face in his hand and a rare sight meets your vision. He smiles.
ʚ “Why had you hidden this from me for so long? I want nothing more than a life with you.’’
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ eönwë.
ʚ You had been trying for a baby with the maia for who knows how long. So you were over the moon to find out that you had indeed, fallen pregnant. The only issue is, that you found this out during one of the most inconvenient times — Eönwë was out on a mission
ʚ As Manwë’s herald, it was only expected that Eönwë would be sent on certain issues regarding Arda. You recalled your last night together and how the two of you had become intimate. What you didn’t expect was to fall pregnant at a time like this.
ʚ Of course, you were fearing for your lover and your future child. You wondered whether or not he would return in time. Or if he would even return at all — you knew how dangerous some of these missions were and now that you were pregnant and your hormones were all over the place, you were even more panicked and stressed
ʚ You had informed Manwë of your pregnancy and told him of your worries regarding you lover. You were quite surprised to see how ecstatic the king was, but you shouldn’t have expected anything less. He did assure you, however, that Eönwë would return safely and that you have no reason to doubt him. He is the banner bearer for a reason, after all
ʚ Of course, you still couldn’t help but worry. As time went on and you were further down the line, you couldn’t help but wonder if he would return in time. Whether you would give birth before he even arrived. While that wouldn’t be the end of the world, you still thought that he had the right as the father to be there for the birth of his own child
ʚ So one can imagine your relief and sheer joy when you had gotten word of his return. You couldn’t wait any longer, with your stomach already showing, you rushed to the entrance of Ilmarin to greet your lover after months of being apart
ʚ The second he saw you, shock washed over his face. It didn’t take a genius to realise that you were pregnant. He stiffens up, realising that you were here, pregnant and without him — he couldn’t help but feel a little bad. However, he quickly rushes to you and scoops you up into his arms, being careful of your stomach
ʚ He practically spins you around, leaving you squealing and tearing up with happiness when he kissed you with so much passion. When he pulled away, it was evident that he too had started crying. He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss upon it. “My dawn, I am so sorry.’’
ʚ His hand then lowers to your stomach and he exhales, as though he cannot believe this news. “I am here now. I promise, I will take care of you and our little one.’’
Manwe with chubby cheeks s/o where he smothers ur cheeks with endless affections💕
( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ manwë ⠀〳 reader⠀ ❜࿔
· ⊰ synopsis. little hcs of how manwë dotes over his s/o with chubby cheeks
· ⊰ note. not sure if this was a request or not but it was simply too good to pass up bc GID this man is just so soft and I love him. have some very short headcanons <3
ʚ Loves pinching your cheeks when you least expect it, he enjoys listening to you whine — he finds it beyond endearing
ʚ Kisses! So many kisses, just peppers his lips all over your face until your a flustered mess and pushing at his shoulders
ʚ When you're both cuddling he'll sometimes nuzzle his face against yours
ʚ There are times you'll be talking about something serious and he'll just reach over and squish your face in his hand
ʚ Probably pinches them when you're mad at him and puts on a soft, baby voice: "Aww darling, are you mad? Do not be like that, I'm sorry my darling dove,"
