Hey! About your Christmas fics, could I request a ‘memories’ + Daemon Targaryen x poc! fem reader from the Summer Islands + fluffy nsfw? In it, they’re either living with or visiting her parents in the Summer Islands (maybe it’s Baela’s first time there?), and nostalgia hits them both as they remember the beginning of their relationship. And the nsfw part can be on the beach or in the sea, where they love each other, adore each other, and make vows of love. (Maybe the reader ends up getting pregnant again?) Please?
Memories
Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Fem. Reader (POC/Summer Isles | Second Person POV)
Prompt: Memories
Themes: Fluff | Smut
Warnings: Kissing | Sex in a public location | PIV Sex
Wordcount: 1.5K
Summary: While walking the shores of Jhala, recollections are made and tempers are soothed.
This is also available on AO3
A/n: I tried to include as much of your request as I can, anon, but I had to limit the story to Daemon and Reader. Perhaps I may include Baela and the new pregnancy storyline in a future event. Until then, I hope you enjoy what I have written!
The shores of Jhala painted a different picture from the bleak and dreary beaches of King’s Landing with its striking emerald-green and coal-black sands, clear blue skies, crystal waters, and brisk winds that, while chill, were still refreshing and invigorating when compared to the often snow-filled and icy gusts that whipped at the walls of the city, its homes, and the mighty towers of the Red Keep.
Daemon walked along one such shore, his lady wife’s arm around his, and was content with having just her for company. Baela, their daughter, had been calling on kinsmen and elders in Sweet Lotus Vale with her mother’s mother and father, and she was not expected to return for several more days. Her dragon had, naturally, followed her, and he was already seen as a novelty by those who set their eyes on him.
Though not as great a novelty as her father’s dragon, Caraxes, had been the first time he had visited the island.
Daemon recollected the first time he had visited the islands seen only by sailors who had survived the crossing across the Summer Sea. It had been after a lengthy tour of other lands, and he had decided the Summer Isles would be the final realm he called on before returning home. That was when he met his lady wife, and where he finally tasted the fruit of lasting love and experienced for himself what his brother had enjoyed with his first wife and queen. It was a most startling revelation—both to him and those who knew him, a man who was once called “Lord of Flea Bottom” by those who dwelled in the capital. Yet the change was not wholly unwelcome, at least by those who counted themselves among Daemon’s most intimate acquaintances, such as his brother and his niece.
“Do you remember the first time I acquainted you with Caraxes?” Daemon, having had his fill of the companionable silence that followed you both from the first moment, asked.
“Yes,” you replied, beaming with delight. “It was on a beach just like this one. It was the height of summer, and the sun was shining down on brilliant blue waters. You called Caraxes to you, and when he answered, you let me touch him. I confess, I never experienced anything more wondrous in my life—until our daughter was born, of course, and was placed in my arms.” You shot a look at him and, after a moment’s pause, broached a matter that had weighed heavily on your mind since before the voyage to the place of your birth began. “And speaking of our daughter… I have heard rumours that your brother, his grace the king, means to one day propose a match between her and his youngest son. Have you heard of them? Do the gossips speak the truth? Did his grace the king speak to you before we left? Did you agree to it? Will you agree to such a scheme if Viserys approaches you after our return?”
Daemon stopped, bristling, and turned to face you. “I have heard much the same,” he spat, his face puce. “And I will tell you this instant that I will feed our child to the dragons before I see her wed to one of Alicent Hightower’s sons.” He resumed walking, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Put any fear you may have over such an impending betrothal out of your mind, my love,” he added after taking a moment to compose himself. “Baela is still too young for such a thing, and my brother has not approached me with the offer of his youngest son’s hand. But I will gladly tell him nay if he does. Baela and Daeron,” he snorted derisively. “Can you imagine a more mismatched pair?”
“I cannot,” you admitted, studying him. Daemon was vexed by the notion of Baela wedding Daeron; it was plain in the clenching of his fists and the tightening of his jaw. “And, truth be told, I desire Baela to have a say in who she weds. I want her to taste true happiness with her choice of husband, instead of simply duty and sacrifice. But enough of that for now. Your blood is up. Pray allow me to temper it before we return to our abode.”
“How?”
You bade him to sit by a little stretch of sand adorned here and there with thick clumps of grass with shiny green leaves and stems that clung to the soil as they grew.
“You will see,” you declared, moving to stand astride him. When you lowered yourself onto his lap, hiking up the ends of your skirts and the silken shift beneath as you did so, his eyes darkened almost immediately and sparked with both lust and understanding. “Do I have your leave, husband mine?”
“You always have my leave, wife,” Daemon growled, his skin prickling with what stirred to life beneath his raiment. “You know you do not have to ask for it.”
“A notion that still pleases me greatly.” You set yourself the task of unfastening the sash of his robe and the buckle of his belt. Silk rustled and metal clinked softly as garments slowly loosened, then came undone. “Now, if I may begin?”
“By all means,” Daemon husked sweetly, then closed his eyes when you framed his face with your hands and leaned in.
The kiss that followed was reminiscent of a kiss once shared many a year ago, when Daemon still remained on the isle. It was all fire and heat, the kind that blazed relentlessly before it finally ebbed to a gentler flame, one that spoke of deep and ever-constant desire, instead of just the intensity of unrestrained lust. Daemon was overwhelmed. Between kisses he threw his arms around you and, after pulling you closer into his embrace, proclaimed, “I thank the gods each day for you. You understand me in a way no other could.”
“Just like you understand me in a way no other could,” you echoed, looping your arms across his shoulders. “Now hush, and let me please you.”
“Our thoughts are of one accord then.” Daemon grinned, then deepened his kiss, tasting the shared breath that came about as a result of it.
His heart beat at a frantic pace while he savoured all that he discovered, from the subtle flavours that clung to your lips to the faint fragrance of honey and salt that clung to your skin. And it was not enough. For Daemon, it was never enough. He wanted more. He wanted it all, for he was a man who always wanted to have it all. He undid his breeches with one hand, so unwilling was he to let you go, and he fumbled with the little clasps that seemed determined to hinder him in his efforts to free himself. Nevertheless, he succeeded, slipping out his cock from the confines of his breeches before he slid that same hand under your skirts and between your thighs to tear away at your smallclothes. A quick but sharp and satisfying rip rippled through the air as silk and lace swiftly came apart. You did not wait for him to go further. You took him into you instead, guiding him until he was sheathed within the velvety clasp of your body. Daemon moaned, then smothered yours with a kiss of his own. A wildness filled you then, longed-for and wanton, as you undulated your hips against his.
The coupling that followed was greater in tenderness than the kisses that led to the beginning of it all. Daemon moved his free hand to your hips; his mouth parted as he edged closer to his release, while the hand that still lingered between your thighs teased and toyed with your pearl, unleashing red-hot flashes of pleasure that surged up your back. It was too much, what he did. But you welcomed it all the same, and when those flashes nearly consumed you, you let it be known with a transported whine.
“Unravel for me,” Daemon panted, and thrust up. He set the hand that was against your hip down on the cool sand to brace and balance himself better. “There,” he commanded, having perceived he was now as close as you were. “There. Harder, my sweet. A little harder. Yes, just like that.”
You orgasmed first, a flash of blinding white light exploding behind your closed eyes as your body let itself go, and you came. Daemon followed not long after, his grunt deep—so very deep—as he shuddered and emptied himself of his spend. He grabbed onto you as you fell against him, your entire body trembling, as you drowned in the aftermath of your release. Words of praise and words of love were whispered against your ear, and when you finally ceased shaking, the world around you seemed to go still.
A silence followed, one that was sweet and filled with ease. Daemon roused himself first—albeit reluctantly—and tenderly brushed his hands over your hair.
“Have I tempered you, my love?” You questioned, your voice still thick with the dregs of passion that seemed to linger.
“You have indeed,” Daemon answered. “Oh, my love, the way you lift up and soothe my moods; I pray you will never lose it.” Then he laughed softly and pressed kisses along your brow. “Let us remain here a little longer, then we shall return. I hope the cook has prepared a hearty meal for us, for I suspect you and I will crave it soon enough.”
could I get Elrond, smut, Thrall? thank you!!!! <3
Here you go!
Reward
Pairing: Elrond/Fem. Reader
Themes: Smut
Warnings: Master/Servant dynamics | BDSM elements | Oral sex (giving) | Kissing | Fingering
Wordcount: 1.5K words
Summary: Service to the Lord of Rivendell is far from tiresome, and pleasing him guarantees a special array of rewards.
Minors DNI | 18+
Prompts for requests can be found here.
Elrond sat beneath an open window in his bedchamber, draining the last of his wine. “More,” he commanded, holding out an empty cup.
You hastened to obey and crossed to his side, a gilded pitcher in your hand. “Another full measure, my lord?”
“Indeed,” Elrond said. He did not turn to look at you while you served him. “Tis a most wondrous night,” he murmured, looking out into the world beyond the window. “A ride through the forest may be in order for later.”
It was indeed a wondrous night, just as Elrond said it was. The valley stretched out in every direction, the leaves of its trees rustling like hushed whispers in the wind. The sky was a blue so dark it was almost black. And it was clear—a waning moon gleamed weakly in its station in the heavens, and not a cloud was to be seen. Then there were the stars themselves. They were brighter than they had ever been, covering the trees and hills beneath them in pale, white light. It was as if Elbereth, their maker, had been in a fine mood, and it showed in the brilliance of her creation.
“It is a fine night for such a thing, my lord,” you said, bowing your head and moving two paces to his left. It was what he instructed you to do while serving him. There would be other acts of service as well, he had said, but what those would be, he did not say. “Should I send word to the stables once you decide to depart?”
“You may do so,” Elrond returned, though not ungently. He drank deep and made himself more at ease in his seat. It was unadorned but very well made—a gift from Lothlórien, and carved from the silver-grey wood of a Mallorn tree. “And you may join me,” he continued, “if you please me well, that is. Now, take this away, y/n, and set it down with the others. I have had my fill of wine.”
“Of course.” You divested him of his cup and drifted to the other end of the room. “And it would be an honor, my lord, to accompany you and see the forest at night,” you told him, putting down what you held on a round table made of polished wood. It was full of many delicacies, all of them neatly arrayed in clear crystal bowls: delectable wild berries from the forest, little pastries and tarts from Rivendell’s kitchen, and the strange but fragrant dainties Gandalf had brought with him the last time he called on the Lord of Imladris. The sight and smell of them was tantalizing and made your mouth water. “Pray what must I do now?”
“Please me how I desire best,” Elrond expressed, leaning into his seat. His eyes twinkled with anticipation. “I trust I no longer have to guide you in this?”
A welcomed flash of heat crept up your throat. This was what Elrond meant when he spoke of other acts of service. You did not need to ask an explanation on what he sought, for no further explanation was necessary. You knew all too well what was expected of you.
“You do not, my lord,” you replied, turning to go back to him. The floor was smooth and cool against your bare feet. It was another duty he asked of you. You were to be barefoot while you attended him during the hours he was alone with you, the way a thrall would when they served their master. “I will do as you command.”
When you reached him, you moved to stand between his spread legs. Elrond said not a word after that. He merely watched, his grey eyes like molten silver, as you reached down for the hem of your dress—a simple thing of deep brown—and pulled it over your head. Goosebumps prickled over your limbs when you tossed it to the floor without ceremony and stood in nothing but your smallclothes.
“Does this please you, my lord?” You asked, your lips curling up at the corners. Elrond looked at you like he wished to devour you.
“Very much so,” Elrond husked. He remained seated, but his gaze never left yours. “Continue, y/n.”
You nodded and made quick work of the studs going down his tunic. They each took the shape of a star, and they were still warm to the touch. Elrond kept perfectly still while you went about your task. And it was impossible not to feel how his chest rose and fell with each breath he took, and the strength that lay beneath layers of velvet and silk that parted and revealed an unblemished torso with its smooth, supple skin. Nevertheless, you carried on—resisting your urge to linger and touch each dip and curve—and dropped to your knees to loosen the heavy sash that circled his waist. It slipped off of him without a sound, leaving him exposed from belly to throat. Elrond finally stirred. He leaned forward and cupped your chin, lifting it so you would look at him.
“Do this next deed well, y/n,” he whispered, “and you will find yourself well rewarded.”
The smile that graced his lips when you swore to do your best was a sinful and bewitching one. You moved your hands to the clasps of his breeches, unfastening them one by one until you had undone enough to take his erection to hand and free it from the confines of his raiment. Elrond moaned softly and closed his eyes. He slumped into his seat, his head thrown back, his hair cascading over his shoulders like a dark waterfall, when you ran the flat of your tongue up his shaft.
You began slowly, and in the ways he enjoyed most. You kissed the tip, swirled your tongue over it after that, and stroked with your hand. You repeated each act, again and again, until his breath grew sharp and ragged, a visible sign of his growing arousal. Then you dipped your head and swallowed his cock.
Elrond gasped each time you took him as far into your mouth as you could manage, all while uttering words in an ancient language you did not know. There was tenderness in them, that you could not deny, and warmth. They also inflamed the senses, just like his touch heated your blood when his hand glided down your cheek.
“You are most dutiful,” he breathed, “and always eager to please. Pray do not stop. I am so very close.”
You heeded him and used your hands and lips together, nearly gagging when Elrond cradled your head and gently pushed it down on his length. It took him over the precipice and he shuddered, with spurt after spurt of his spend spilling into your mouth. Then it stopped, and the room grew quiet. Elrond took a deep breath, and brushed his hand down your hair while you took in the bitterness of his seed. And he was far from finished. When you drew away, he clutched your arms, pulled you back up, and kissed you deeply, his teeth grazing your lips in his frenzy to savor all what he found clinging to them.
“I can taste myself on your lips and on your tongue,” he cooed, drawing you onto his lap and pushing your legs apart until you were straddling his hips. “And I believe the time has come for a reward. Kiss me now and give yourself to me. Yes,” he grunted, when you kissed his ear and ran your thumb back and forth over his nipple until it stiffened, “like that.”
He slid his hand down your belly and underneath your smallclothes while you kissed and kissed. After he tore them away, he cupped you between your thighs and groaned when he found you wet. He took his time, sliding his fingers over your folds and proceeding to stroke gently. And it was exhilarating. You ground your hips, rhythmically at first and then erratically, as he gradually increased the pressure he used. Then he slipped a finger in, and another, and began to thrust. You threw your arms around his neck, your fingers digging desperately into his flesh, as fiery and overpowering flashes of pleasure tore up your back. It was too much. A flood of pure sensations surged through your veins, the likes of which you had never experienced before. They made you feel like you were drowning. Then you let go, moaning long and deep and throaty, as you came. Elrond trembled beneath you, and whimpered as you poured onto his hand. He still held you, speaking soft words of praise while you fell against him, shivering.
Nothing could be heard save for the fluttering of sheer drapes as they lifted and fell in the breeze. Elrond stayed where he was, unwilling to move while you rested. At length, he said, “Are you well, my sweet?”
“I am,” you said, tucking your head beneath his chin. The flood that had pulsed through you ebbed away, and a comfortable sense of indolence poured in as you settled in Elrond’s tender embrace. “Can we stay like this for a little while before we leave for the forest?”
“Of course. Our ride through the forest can wait.”
Description: A struggling accounting student meets a successful lawyer. A relationship blossoms. With a few social media excerpts.
Pairing: thranduil/reader
Warnings: age-gap
There was a saying around the school - only the accountings get the accountings. While all the students from the other majors were out partying and dancing until their heels hurt from jumping, the accountings were stuck memorizing business terms and calculating debits and credits until their fingers hurt from routinely tapping their calculators. It was a figurative hell on earth.
And you have always been fond of burning.
It was seldom to see you attend a party, but miraculously your schedule cleared up and there weren't any quizzes or lectures in the vicinity. "Are you already missing the comforts of Harvard?" your father teases and you crack a smile. "God, don't remind me of studying." You groaned while slumping on the leather couch.
You've almost forgotten about the comforts of your childhood home after being surrounded by flashing white lights and empty cans of redbull, comfort wasn't exactly in your vocabulary. "I'm just saying; you ditched school to attend the neighborhood gathering and you are cooped up in this humid living room, avoiding everyone who wants to talk to you." He emphasizes, encouraging you to come out.
"Please, those people saw me grow up. I hardly think that I'm missing out." You reasoned, returning your attention back to your cellphone. "- all they ever talk about is me getting married, or at least having a boyfriend." You added while scrolling past a TikTok video about some random guy bashing Crumbl cookies.
The people in your parent's close circle were typical upper-echelon folks whose only means of communicating with some 20+ year old is asking them about marriage. Of course, your usual reply would be that you are not seeing anyone and they'd blink at you like fucking reptiles. They can't fathom the idea that a young, intelligent and relatively good-looking (not ugly) woman still didn't have a husband.
It did make you happy that they found you interesting enough to have a husband but it was infuriating that being married was the only thing they cared about you. They belonged to a different time, you tell yourself before your mind drifts back into TikTok.
"We have a new neighbor, he's a good fellow but he's a little too young for our crowd. I don't think that he's old enough to relate to Geert's Hoover Deluxe jokes. You should talk to him, you've always had magic with your words." He encourages, and a sigh escapes your mouth. "Dad, I'm not talking to one of your golf buddies." You groaned. Maybe it was a mistake coming here.
You still needed to study for the licensure test, that test was something that you could not fail. It was the first step to your CPA to Lawyer plot-line, if you are unable to handle the pressure of the licensure exam then maybe you aren't equipped with Law School. Then, maybe you should just drop out and become a stay-at-home daughter like your other friend, Magnolia.
"He's a lawyer. He handled that case that you were fixated on, the one with the ballerina and her father. Of course, he defended the ballerina." He did his best to remember your teenage ramblings about Oonagh, the ballerina, and her treacherous ex-husband, Gilbert. "What?" You pry your attention away from your mobile phone. Johnson v Johnson was the court case that began your fascination with law, and the guy who defended Oonagh Johnson was in the same house as you! Goddamn.
Thranduil wanted to let the ground consume him whole. He's spent a lot of time with businessmen and world-leaders alike but BBQ with his neighbors was a different type of embarrassment. He couldn't relate to them in matters of American life or farming, and he honestly doesn't know enough about the outsourcing industry to make a decent connection with these folks.
Of course, he could relate to their wives about perfume, but he doesn't want to be that cunt who talks to random people's wives. He seriously wanted to go home, but then he sees a figure in his periphery. A woman with amazing hair, walking towards him and suddenly everything was happening in slow motion.
She takes a step, her hair moves along with her, the wind is her willing assistant and her lips turned upwards. A smile. Is she looking at me? He tries to hide the fact that he was looking over his shoulder. Maybe she's looking at someone behind me? He thinks, but then again, there was no one standing beside him, save the rose bush.
"Hey," you greet him and suddenly he finds himself leaning back into his true self. The confident defense attorney who charms everyone that he speaks to. "Hey?" He raises an eyebrow, as if he's teasing you. "My dad told me that you were the one who defended Oonagh Johnson back in 2012." You opened your mouth to speak.
Always straightforward. Time is gold.
"Yes, it was a terrible thing what happened to her." He breaths. The case seemingly close to his heart just like this case was to you. "I know that it sounds a little creepy but that is my favorite case in the history of the world. I was thirteen years old-" you rambled and he releases a breath that he was unaware that he was holding.
Thirteen years old in 2012. I feel so old. He muses.
"- I didn't know what I wanted to be, and then I saw you and Oonagh on the news. I knew then that I wanted to be in the same spot as you, defending women, minorities, children. I knew then that I wanted to give what was due. Justice." You finished rambling, he notices that smile on your face.
It reminded him of himself back in his rookie days, that hopeless glimmer in your eyes mirroring back to all the years before him. Some dreams remain dreams, and others turn into goals. "Well, that case is close to my heart. I don't think I've ever told anyone about this before but my mother was a victim of domestic abuse, her father was not a good man, and when I defended Oonagh, I felt some sort of retribution..." He pauses. I shouldn't tell this to a stranger.
"It is a different kind of power that you feel when you do something right. Yes, it is every citizen's right to defend themselves in the court of law whether or not they are guilty or innocent, but I think that you'll realize this when you do become a lawyer. It feels like a breath of relief when you bring true justice to the innocents." He continues. A feeling that feels so far from me now.
"Yeah, I don't know how I'll deal with choosing cases when I'm an actual lawyer but my dad says that I don't have to think about that until after I actually pass the bar." You chuckled nervously. He pries his attention away from his current woes, "Oh, are you studying law right now?" He inquired, his body leaning closer to yours.
"Oh no, I'm studying Accounting right now. It's my pre-law course." You informed, and he slowly finds himself respecting you. "I wish that I did something cool like that, my pre-law was Polsci and I wouldn't recommend it even to my worst enemy." He chuckles, his conscience floating away and instead is focused on you.
The shining starlight that has come to guide him away from this existential crisis. "I've heard a lot of things about that major. Some people say that it doesn't really equip you in law school, but the Polsci majors that I know are such cool people." You smiled, only beginning to realize that the man standing in front of you was h o t.
Hot with a capital 'H'.
He had a cleanly shaven face, and beautiful golden blonde hair that seriously rivaled those of the Targaryens that you watch on HBO. (You are still stuck in Season 5 of GOT due to being on studying jail.)
"That major did not help me in law school. It gave me an overview but law school is ultimately a different demon." He warns, staring deep into your eyes. She looks good, he thinks. "Well, hopefully if I pass next year I'll be able to apply for law school. Are there any universities that you recommend?" You ask and he ponders.
"I finished my degree in Harvard-"
"Fuck," you interrupted him. "No, I'm sorry." You gasp.
"I study in Harvard right now. It's just I found it - I don't know." You mentally cringe, accepting the fact that you've let go of your chance with dating this hot lawyer man. "It's alright, I was gonna say to not study in Harvard. Stanford is much better. I've found really formidable opponents who finished their degree in Stanford." He smiles, finding your quirks to be adorable.
It is not everyday that a woman walks into his life and talks about his best case to date, and then laugh about stupid stupid things. "The food isn't really that great to be honest," you mumbled. "Some things never change." He mused. "Oh wait, I'm sorry. I haven't introduced myself. I'm Y/N Saint." You offer your hand to shake and he takes it.
"Thranduil Greenwood." He smiles while shaking your hand. He lets go of it, and then remembers. "Daniel's your father?" He asks. "Yeah, but he's not really my biological father, he adopted me when he married my mom." You provided a bit of a background information.
He tries to make the conversation longer, in the hopes that you wouldn't walk away from him or that you'd leave at least an email or a number or a facebook profile so that he'll have some way of communicating with you. "He's a nice guy." He compliments.
"He's more than nice," you smile.
Suddenly, your phone rings. "Oh damn, sorry. I really have to catch a plane, but it was so nice talking to you attorney. Um, do you have a phone or anything. I'd love to keep in touch." You turn the alarm off, and focus your attention back to him. He unlocks his iphone and hands it to you. You glance at his wallpaper. "It's my son." he answers, not bothering to hide that fact about him.
"You have a wife?" You tired to keep your tone nonchalant, but it comes out jealous and icky. "No, his mother left when he was born. Funny enough, I couldn't blame her anyways. I was twenty, she was nineteen and she had an art degree." He jests and you try your best to find an instagram app on his phone.
How old is this man anyways? All he had on his phone was whatsapp, imessage, a few apps that were there when you buy the phone, and then two different email apps (email for apple and gmail.) Which made you want to laugh at him, as it was adorable, but you decide to open his notes app. "I don't have any social media except for instagram so I'll just write my username down and hopefully you do have an Instagram at home." Your voice turns nervous at the end.
There was a 50/50 chance that Thranduil had an instagram. "Goodbye, it was nice talking to you." You greet, handing him his phone, but before he could reply - you sprint away.
yournamesaint: mornings like these...
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>comments
ingridhorstefe: the type of thing u see before going to bed
- yournamesaint: chug redbull and the bed becomes a theory
- ingridhorstefe: id reply something smart abt management theory but my brain is fcking fried
"Thank you for helping me set up an Instagram account, Tauriel." Thranduil thanks his intern before taking a sip of his coffee. "I don't think that you should post anything for legal reasons, but I already fixed your profile and privated your account. I also told everyone in the firm to follow you, Legolas says he'll only follow you after you get 10 followers so everyone won't think that he's following a bot." Tauriel continues, and Thranduil has no idea what those words mean.
"It is about time that I enter the realm social media. I mean, it is one thing to not have social media but Atty. Elros has an instagram and he's literally fifty something." Thranduil jokes. "I did tell you to sign up, which reminds me, you should follow Atty. Alfred." Tauriel presses the 'follow' button on his screen.
"As much as I hate Atty. Elros he has an amazing feed." He jokes again, and Tauriel nods agreeing with him. "He's actually an excellent photographer, I've heard a story about him actually. I heard that he wanted to be a photographer at first but then had a change of heart because his twin brother became a neurosurgeon..." Tauriel informs.
greenwoodlaw_ has requested to follow you
yournamesaint wants to call you.
"Hello," he greets seeing your face on the other end of the line. "Hey, I'm surprised to see you with an instagram. I mean I'm not stalking you or anything, it just says 'new' on your profile." You found yourself explaining to him, and he responds with a laugh. "Tauriel, my staff, helped me make this account. I figured that it was about time that I make one, I mean even the old lawyers in the neighboring firm have their own social medias." His big eyebrows merged together.
"I was about to give you my phone number yesterday but I remembered that I didn't have a line. I wouldn't be able to call you or reply to the text messages." You reply uneasily. Your father has pestered you about getting a line since the moment you bought your phone, but you shook him off saying that no one texts or calls people in their mobile number anymore. You were wrong.
"I didn't really bother paying for that since it's a distraction." You settle your phone on the desk in front of you, not bothering to adjust it to an angle that'll make you look better. There is no use fighting against what you really look like. "I understand. Shouldn't you be studying?" He asks and you shake your head.
"I'm free, miraculously, but I'll start on some reviewers in an hour. Better safe than sorry." You inform.
"You must always be on your feet." He says.
"You sound a lot like my professor." You teased. "- but thank you for the advise, I shall use it well." You add.
Tauriel walks inside of his office, carrying a stack of files. "Oh, it looks like you've got a lot of work to do." You smile. Tauriel raises an eyebrow but he gives her a glance telling her not to ask any questions. "I guess this is goodbye. I'll call you again tomorrow."
I’d like to think that Omen is an insomniac/doesn’t really sleep. Can I get some headcanons or a drabble of Omen going to the roof when he can’t sleep and finding gn!reader by themselves because they also can’t sleep and they just chill and watch the stars together?
ty for answering my call for omen recs. this was actually so cute and i may have made it a bit too emo but also fluffy.
Stargazing (Omen x reader)
Word Count: 642
Slight angst, fluff
The night is quiet and dark, as it always is. Omen stands in his room, contemplating nothing in particular. His new form doesn’t require much sleep, if at all— he hasn’t tried to test it honestly. Sometimes, time just… blurs into itself.
Knitting helps with the spasms— there’s not enough of him left to call them muscle spasms. But other nights the pain is too much to think of counting the stitches, row after row.
Tonight, the pain is not so bad. The voices, though. Those never leave. The souls he’s taken, or perhaps they were souls that once mattered to him. Omen can’t recall.
He used to wander the headquarters at the dead of night when he had nothing else to do. Walking helped quiet the voices. But after he unintentionally ran into a half awake Phoenix and almost caused him to burn down the common room, he figured it might be best for him to stick to his room.
But tonight, something draws him away, to the roof. As he steps onto the large, flat roof, Omen feels a sense of calm wash over him. The night sky is so vast and quiet above, its calm reaches down into him. The stars are so cold and distant from this view— nothing he could harm. Not even his untethered form could reach them, he thinks.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”
A voice shocks Omen from his reverie. His head snaps to look for the source, landing on you. You smile an uncertain smile— he supposed that’s better than most of what he gets from the other protocol members.
“They look cold.” He finally answers.
You quirk an eyebrow at him. “They’re actually the opposite. The hottest stars are over five times as hot as our sun.”
Omen watches as you look up at the stars, clearly enamored. The way you look up at them… he almost envies it. He realizes he can’t remember the feeling of the sun on his skin, on his body.
Not wanting to dwell on the thoughts, Omen turns to you. He finds himself fixating on your arms— then immediately catches himself for having stared at your arms. Admittedly, you do have quite nice arms. They’re lean and muscular, a few lighter marks from scars long faded. (He wonders if you have an interest in crafts…)
“Do you come here… often?” he asks you, painfully aware of how cheesy the words sound. Though, perhaps more so if it had come from someone less like him.
You laugh. “A bit. Can’t sleep,” you shrug. “What about you?”
Omen shrugs, mimicking you. It feels… good. Human. Sitting here, talking with you.
“I do not often sleep. Not anymore,” he says. You look at him, empathy in your gaze.
You don’t press, which he appreciates further. The two of you just lie down in silence. Omen images that the tile of the roofing under him is still the slightest bit warm from soaking in the sun’s rays, that if he presses his worn fingers to them he’ll feel that intoxicating heat of the sun.
“Do you want to hear more about the stars?” You ask.
Omen surprises himself by speaking before he can think further about it. “I’d love to.” Further to his surprise, he realizes the sentiment is genuine.
There was a time where he had thought the only way he could find fulfillment was through the stealing of souls from others. That the sensation he felt in battle was peace.
You light up. “See those stars there— that bright cluster? That’s a part of Ursa Major. Actually we predict the formation is gonna change in the future…”
But maybe this is another kind of peace— lying here, listening to you speak, the stars glinting in the darkness.
If Omen tries hard, he thinks he can feel their warmth again.
Hope you’re doing well Rigel! Thanks for answering my Sage x Reader request last time, I happened to read it for the first time at work and was smiling the whole time. This time, may I request some cuddling HCs with Sage, Skye, Jett, and Reyna? If that’s too many I understand, you can just do Sage and Jett!
I'm doing wonderful thank you! I'm glad you liked the Sage fic and I am more than happy to do headcanons for all of them! Hope you enjoy!
-Rigel
Cuddling Headcanons - Sage/Skye/Jett/Reyna
Word Count: 300+
Warnings: None
SAGE:
Sage is a very busy woman, and because of that she doesn’t get a lot of opportunities to cuddle.
When she does though, she’s very affectionate.
She’s usually naturally cold, so she likes to snuggle up to you with a blanket or something
When spooning, she likes to be the little spoon, but is willing to try and be the big spoon too.
Really likes sitting in your lap and having you wrap your arms around her waist. Perfect place for her to cover your face is kisses which leaves both of you a giggling mess.
SKYE:
Skye loves cuddling.
She always makes sure you know how much she cares about you by making sure you feel safe in her arms.
She’s a big fan of the honeymoon hug position so she can hold you and be close to you.
Doesn’t initiate the cuddling too often, but will always offer if she notices you feeling down.
Not really cuddling, but I am a firm believer that Skye gives the absolute best hugs.
JETT:
Jett claims she doesn’t like cuddling. This is a complete lie. She just doesn’t want to look soft.
The moment the two of you are alone, her head is in your lap as you play with her hair, or she’s wrapping her arms around you from behind as she rests her chin on your shoulder.
She moves a lot in her sleep, so if the two of you are cuddling while you sleep, it’s likely just one of her arms draped over you or your legs intertwined.
She doesn’t cuddle a whole lot unless the two of you are trying to sleep, so during the day it’s mostly just long hugs or leaning against you.
REYNA:
Despite her intimidating demeanor, she loves holding you in her arms.
She’s always warm, so she makes a wonderful cuddling partner if you’re cold.
Really fond of cuddling positions like the sweetheart’s cradle and the half-spoon. She’s always the big spoon though, but she finds it funny when you attempt to try and be the big spoon instead.
Likes to always be touching you somehow, whether it be an arm around your waist or holding your hand.
If anyone wants to send in ideas for any LoP x reader stuff you're more than welcomed to, all I ask is for nothing nsfw (because I suck at it but I can do small suggestive stuff) and nothing too complicated! I also mainly do things for GN/Male readers!
My hyperfixation on this game is really strong atm
