ereawrites

[ereawrites]

yoosung from mysme… im down so bad <3

[ereawrites]

one thing about me is i’m going to read the sex pollen fics

[ereawrites]

i don’t give a shit that he’s 6’2 i want him MOANING and WHIMPERING

[ereawrites]

valentines day rb!

couldn't stop thinking about this post so I wrote it.. from elrond's pov bc why not!

wc: 1.1k | cw: none

fluff, mutual?pining, dumb puppy elrond

Elrond spots the necklace nestled amongst the wares of an artisan jeweller one early autumn day - a stall he barely even glances at in his haste - and for some inexplicable reason, he thinks of you.

Well. He knows the reason. It's because the gem is the exact colour that your eyes are when you turn your head away from him and the light catches the iris just right and you practically glow - and he tries not to think too hard about the fact that he can't recall that same hue in any of his other friends' eyes.

He's in a rush, but he stops anyway. The woman is kind, motherly-looking; she laughs when he has to juggle the armful of scrolls he carries to fish the coin purse from his pocket.

"Your love is a lucky one," she smiles as she hands him the box, a soft green velvet that reminds him of your favourite cloak. "To have such a generous admirer."

Elrond blinks, and swallows. "Ah - no, it's for a friend. A very dear one, but no more."

She pats his hand gently, eyes twinkling. He's running too late to dwell on it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It's four days before he's able to make the time to seek you out. The box sits on his desk in the meantime, and Elrond keeps finding himself opening it. Admiring the craftsmanship, he thinks. The colour really is quite beautiful.

Four days of torturous meetings and endless papers to read over. Gil-Galad seems to take pity on him then, tells him to leave in time for the evening meal, and perhaps run a brush through his hair. Elrond laughs at that, but does it anyway.

He has to run - why must he always be running? - to catch you in the gardens before the food is served. Once, he used to join you here every evening. Now he counts himself lucky to come once in a moon's turn.

As always, you're happy to see him, welcoming him with a warm caress of his cheek. He leans into it. As always.

Your palm lingers, thumb tracing the dark shadows that have formed under his eyes before falling away. "You look tired, mellon. Somehow I sense you may be overworking yourself again."

"Nonsense. I do only as much as is required of me.", he begins, desperate to wash away the concerned furrow of your brow. It works, if only because you instead raise it as if to scold him wordlessly. "Ai. I suppose it has been a busier week than usual."

You've always been able to see right through him, and he's never been able to lie to you anyway.

The autumn breeze catches your hair as you reply, twist of your mouth and crinkle of your eyes betraying your admonishing tone. "Just a week? I haven't seen you for two. I'd half-feared our king had shackled you to your desk and condemned you to an eternity of paperwork."

"I beg you, do not speak the idea around him. He may just follow through."

You laugh, and the trees dance in response, shaking off their golden leaves. Elrond gathers your hands in his, holding them close to his chest. "But, truly - I am sorry that I have neglected our friendship of late."

Your gaze softens and you make to comfort him, perhaps, or to say that you understand - you always understand, no one knows his mind better - but he silences you by drawing the velvet box from within his robes.

"A gift?", you ask as he presses it into your palms, not taking your eyes from his. He nods. "Well... I am very upset with you."

"And rightly so.", he says gravely. Your smile warms him against the chill of the evening breeze. "I had hoped this might redeem me."

Once he gives your wrist an encouraging squeeze, you open the box, and gasp like all the air has been knocked out of you. "Oh - it's beautiful."

"It made me think of you.", he responds instantly, before he's given any consideration to how that sounds. Fool. You don't seem to notice, though, too focused on tracing a finger over the gem and watching the way it sparkles in the dying sunset light.

"Thank you, Elrond. Mae carnen. In fact, I must wear it tonight so everyone can share in its' beauty.". You press the necklace into his waiting palm, and turn from him. "Will you fasten it for me, please?"

He fumbles a little with the clasp, a far cry from his usual steady hand. It must be the cold air. Or fatigue, he thinks. He lowers the chain over your head and his heart warms at the way your hand comes up to caress the stone against your chest. "I am glad you like it."

You hum contentedly. For that moment, there is only the rustle of the leaves, the gentle lapping of water in the fountain, the distant music and chatter - the clasp does up easily and Elrond lifts your hair carefully, meaning to settle the chain against your nape. He doesn't know why the tips of his fingers linger against your skin, or why he so gently moves away the stray tendril of hair that isn't interfering at all, or why his knuckles seem to brush against your back of their own accord as he lets your hair down. The movement lets him catch just the barest hint of the scent you wear, and the breath in his throat hitches almost imperceptibly.

What is he doing?

That quiet moment is gone as quickly as it came. You turn to face him. "I would like anything in this world if it came to me from you, mellon. But this really is beautiful. I am lucky to have you."

You're close enough that he can see the goosebumps rising across your collarbones. His head is spinning. He's exhausted, he must be, more so than he realised; he hates to worry you, though, so he smiles, and says softly, "Am I forgiven, mellon nin?".

Then, you come up onto your tiptoes, steadying yourself with splayed palms against his chest, and - you kiss him on the cheek, something you've done a thousand times, so - why does he feel dizzy?

"Quite.", you grin, and slip your arm into his in a well-practiced motion. "Now, let us go and find you some food. You look a little faint. I'll be having words with our king if this continues, I don't care that-"

Elrond hardly hears the rest of your tirade as you lead him out of the gardens. The realisation has hit him like a punch to the gut.

Oh. Oh.

He's in trouble.

[ereawrites]

annatar!sauron could manipulate me all he wanted and i would thank him

[ereawrites]

not to get too unlovable on main but sometimes i fear i’m so used to being single and independent that i’ll never be fully able to give myself to a relationship:))

[ereawrites]

absent-mindedly playing with elrond’s hair and he practically starts purring

[ereawrites]

couldn't stop thinking about this post so I wrote it.. from elrond's pov bc why not!

wc: 1.1k | cw: none

fluff, mutual?pining, dumb puppy elrond

Elrond spots the necklace nestled amongst the wares of an artisan jeweller one early autumn day - a stall he barely even glances at in his haste - and for some inexplicable reason, he thinks of you.

Well. He knows the reason. It's because the gem is the exact colour that your eyes are when you turn your head away from him and the light catches the iris just right and you practically glow - and he tries not to think too hard about the fact that he can't recall that same hue in any of his other friends' eyes.

He's in a rush, but he stops anyway. The woman is kind, motherly-looking; she laughs when he has to juggle the armful of scrolls he carries to fish the coin purse from his pocket.

"Your love is a lucky one," she smiles as she hands him the box, a soft green velvet that reminds him of your favourite cloak. "To have such a generous admirer."

Elrond blinks, and swallows. "Ah - no, it's for a friend. A very dear one, but no more."

She pats his hand gently, eyes twinkling. He's running too late to dwell on it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It's four days before he's able to make the time to seek you out. The box sits on his desk in the meantime, and Elrond keeps finding himself opening it. Admiring the craftsmanship, he thinks. The colour really is quite beautiful.

Four days of torturous meetings and endless papers to read over. Gil-Galad seems to take pity on him then, tells him to leave in time for the evening meal, and perhaps run a brush through his hair. Elrond laughs at that, but does it anyway.

He has to run - why must he always be running? - to catch you in the gardens before the food is served. Once, he used to join you here every evening. Now he counts himself lucky to come once in a moon's turn.

As always, you're happy to see him, welcoming him with a warm caress of his cheek. He leans into it. As always.

Your palm lingers, thumb tracing the dark shadows that have formed under his eyes before falling away. "You look tired, mellon. Somehow I sense you may be overworking yourself again."

"Nonsense. I do only as much as is required of me.", he begins, desperate to wash away the concerned furrow of your brow. It works, if only because you instead raise it as if to scold him wordlessly. "Ai. I suppose it has been a busier week than usual."

You've always been able to see right through him, and he's never been able to lie to you anyway.

The autumn breeze catches your hair as you reply, twist of your mouth and crinkle of your eyes betraying your admonishing tone. "Just a week? I haven't seen you for two. I'd half-feared our king had shackled you to your desk and condemned you to an eternity of paperwork."

"I beg you, do not speak the idea around him. He may just follow through."

You laugh, and the trees dance in response, shaking off their golden leaves. Elrond gathers your hands in his, holding them close to his chest. "But, truly - I am sorry that I have neglected our friendship of late."

Your gaze softens and you make to comfort him, perhaps, or to say that you understand - you always understand, no one knows his mind better - but he silences you by drawing the velvet box from within his robes.

"A gift?", you ask as he presses it into your palms, not taking your eyes from his. He nods. "Well... I am very upset with you."

"And rightly so.", he says gravely. Your smile warms him against the chill of the evening breeze. "I had hoped this might redeem me."

Once he gives your wrist an encouraging squeeze, you open the box, and gasp like all the air has been knocked out of you. "Oh - it's beautiful."

"It made me think of you.", he responds instantly, before he's given any consideration to how that sounds. Fool. You don't seem to notice, though, too focused on tracing a finger over the gem and watching the way it sparkles in the dying sunset light.

"Thank you, Elrond. Mae carnen. In fact, I must wear it tonight so everyone can share in its' beauty.". You press the necklace into his waiting palm, and turn from him. "Will you fasten it for me, please?"

He fumbles a little with the clasp, a far cry from his usual steady hand. It must be the cold air. Or fatigue, he thinks. He lowers the chain over your head and his heart warms at the way your hand comes up to caress the stone against your chest. "I am glad you like it."

You hum contentedly. For that moment, there is only the rustle of the leaves, the gentle lapping of water in the fountain, the distant music and chatter - the clasp does up easily and Elrond lifts your hair carefully, meaning to settle the chain against your nape. He doesn't know why the tips of his fingers linger against your skin, or why he so gently moves away the stray tendril of hair that isn't interfering at all, or why his knuckles seem to brush against your back of their own accord as he lets your hair down. The movement lets him catch just the barest hint of the scent you wear, and the breath in his throat hitches almost imperceptibly.

What is he doing?

That quiet moment is gone as quickly as it came. You turn to face him. "I would like anything in this world if it came to me from you, mellon. But this really is beautiful. I am lucky to have you."

You're close enough that he can see the goosebumps rising across your collarbones. His head is spinning. He's exhausted, he must be, more so than he realised; he hates to worry you, though, so he smiles, and says softly, "Am I forgiven, mellon nin?".

Then, you come up onto your tiptoes, steadying yourself with splayed palms against his chest, and - you kiss him on the cheek, something you've done a thousand times, so - why does he feel dizzy?

"Quite.", you grin, and slip your arm into his in a well-practiced motion. "Now, let us go and find you some food. You look a little faint. I'll be having words with our king if this continues, I don't care that-"

Elrond hardly hears the rest of your tirade as you lead him out of the gardens. The realisation has hit him like a punch to the gut.

Oh. Oh.

He's in trouble.

[ereawrites]

Robert Aramayo as Elrond THE RINGS OF POWER (2022– ) S01E07: The Eye

[ereawrites]

2 weeks in the shire would fix me rn

[ereawrites]

gil galad. more like gilf galad

[ereawrites]

rings of power!elrond helping u fasten the clasp of your necklace and his fingers lingering just a little too long against ur skin… and when u turn around u could swear the tips of his ears are pink …..

[ereawrites]

i know the seasonal depression is hitting again when i start searching x reader hurt/comfort fics !!

[ereawrites]

mutual pining w/ your fictional crush + hozier’s version of do i wanna know …

[ereawrites]

hit with the inspiration to write for the first time in what 18 months. of course it’s boromir and of course it’s smut

[ereawrites]

hi! i just read you leap of faith parts and it made my heat flutter🩷 how do you think legolas, boromir, and aragorn would react to you sleep talking during the journey? i always thought it would be funny !

Thanks so much!! I’m so glad you liked it. I’m still having trouble finding a voice for Aragorn, and I’m ready to move on from Legolas for now, but here’s a bit about Boromir and a sleeptalking reader for you <3 I meant for this to be a 300 word drabble but it got away from me a bit, as usual.

A Thief in the Night

Boromir/gender-neutral reader

Rating: G

Word count: 1,300

Read on AO3!

“No, no, please!”

Boromir’s eyes snapped open. Your bedroll was the closest to his in the Fellowship’s makeshift camp, and your panicked cry had him wide awake at once. He leapt from his bedroll with a warrior’s instinct, his hand flying to his sword to defend you from— 

Nothing. You were still asleep.

The entire Fellowship remained undisturbed, other than occasional resounding snores from Gimli, a peaceful breeze ruffling the tall grass around your camp.

But even in the faint moonlight, it was clear your sleep was not peaceful, not any longer. “Please, they’re mine, you can’t…please—” Your eyes darted back and forth under their lids, your limbs twitching. Boromir hardly recognized your voice, hoarse with misery, sharpening quickly to fury. “I said they’re mine, give them back!” 

In the throes of your dream, you stretched out a grasping hand, nearly clawing at his concerned face as he leaned over you. “Whoa now,” he murmured, catching your thrashing wrists in a broad hand. Your mouth twisted into a snarl as you strained at his grip, vainly reaching for something long lost. 

Boromir sent a reluctant look back to his sword. Would that your tormentor was a thing of flesh and blood, something he might tear apart on your behalf! Such intangible enemies as these were beyond him. How was one meant to calm someone lost to such a nightmare? Uncertainly, he whispered your name. “Come now, you must wake.” 

Your unconscious attempts to shake him off put him in mind of a horse beset by flies. “No, no, stop, you sneaking—foul—thief! Give them back, damn you…”

Clumsily, he brushed the back of his fingers along your cheek, interrupting your tirade. “Arise, dearest, for you—” He choked at dearest, stifling a hurried cough. Valar, he had hardly intended to address you so intimately—it must have been a slip of the tongue, he decided, in his haste to comfort you.

Or perhaps his own dreams, cut short by your cries, had not yet left his mind.

Still, you remained asleep, and likely for the best. He took a deep breath and jostled your shoulder—less intimate, and therefore a good deal safer. “Wake up! I shall retrieve what was taken from you, if I can. But you must wake.” 

“No—no, you thieving rat, Pippin—”

“Pippin?” he repeated, startled. Had he heard you wrong? 

“…don’t even need them—hobbits don’t even wear shoes, just give them back!” 

“What?”

His baffled exclamation woke you at last, traces of fury still lingering on your brow. “What? Where—where is Pippin?”

Boromir raised an eyebrow. “The thieving rat, you mean? Sleeping soundly in his bedroll.”

“No, no, it’s a lie! My walking boots, Pippin stole them, he…he…” But your voice trailed off in confusion as your mind returned to you. Your eyes flickered down to your hands, still caught gently in his, then back up to his face. 

Coughing hastily, Boromir withdrew. “You—you were dreaming.” 

“Oh. Yes.” Groggily, you sat up and rubbed at your eyes. “Pippin stole my walking boots.”

Boromir stared at you for a long moment. You stared back. Then he was laughing, more heartily than he had in months—perhaps since he’d left Minas Tirith on this cursed journey in the first place. He rested his forearm on his bent knee, burying his head in the crook of his arm to stifle the sound. 

Stretching out his other leg beside you, he met your gaze again at last, tears of mirth welling in his eyes. Your defensive scowl mollified him a bit, though he could not help smiling fondly at you.

“It made a great deal of sense in my mind, you know,” you protested. “Pippin grew jealous that hobbits wore no shoes, as the race of Man does. So he took my boots when I removed them for the night, put them on, and fled—oh, stop laughing, will you? You’ll wake the others!” 

Boromir nodded, valiantly attempting to calm himself. “I had thought you beset by some great terror,” he admitted, “but I had not expected such betrayal from within our own Company.” 

“It was not so dire as all that,” you muttered, looking embarrassed. “I had nearly caught him when you woke me.” 

“Is that so?”

You nodded. “Pippin was unused to wearing boots. He ran like a dog trying to cross a frozen pond.” 

For another moment, Boromir was lost again, chest heaving helplessly with silent laughter until you delivered a swift punch to his arm. “Ahem. Forgive me.” He had not meant to lose himself to your words like a drunken, lovesick youth. “Always you take me by surprise,” he said softly, in explanation.

“Yes, well. You are forgiven.” A shy smile played on your lips, and he beamed at the sight.

“Would that all our dreams were so lighthearted—that yours might remain so, though we journey into darkness.” On impulse, he took your hand in his again, squeezing warmly. “Would that I might protect you from—”

“From thieving hobbits?”

Valar, how he wanted to kiss you. “Yes, exactly.” He sent an exaggerated glower in Pippin’s direction, hoping to win more of your laughter. 

But your smile had grown pensive, and you shook your head. “Have your dreams been so dark, then, Boromir?” 

No one had asked him such a thing before, had ever given a thought to his dreams beyond the one that had brought him hither. “They have been, at times. But not tonight. I—” He looked away quickly, his traitorous mind supplying memories of his earlier dream in salacious, torturous detail. “Well. Pippin’s untimely theft woke me from it, in any case.”

“I’m sorry to have disturbed it,” you said. “He interrupted a more pleasant dream for me, too.”

“Oh?” He risked meeting your eyes again, but found that you were the one looking hurriedly away now. It was too dark to tell, but he thought a flush was rising to your cheeks. 

“It’s—a dream I’ve had often before. There was no harm done, really.” Your hand fidgeted in his. “Boromir, I—I have not talked in my sleep before tonight, have I?” 

“Not that I have heard,” he assured you, and your shoulders slumped in relief. He eyed you curiously for a moment more, but you offered no further explanation, your eyes still determinedly avoiding his. “I should let you return to your rest,” he said at length, “that such a dream might find you again.” 

Now the heat on your face was obvious, even in the faint moonlight. “Thank you.” Meeting his eyes at last, you disentangled your hand from his, patting the back of his hand fondly before drawing away. “I wish you the same.”

“I...I will see you at dawn, then,” he said awkwardly, distracted by the heat of your fingers still sinking into his palm.

Smiling softly, you turned away and burrowed into your bedroll. “Oh, I hope to see you sooner than that,” you murmured. “Providing no thieving hobbits interrupt me again.”

It took a moment for your words to sink in. “What?” Boromir leaned over your bedroll again, blood thrumming in his ears—but your eyes were determinedly shut tight, the hand that had rested in his clutched tight to your chest. “Will you not speak plainly?” he demanded, and he swore a faint grin flickered over your lips.

“Goodnight, Boromir.” Your teasing voice was so faint that he nearly missed it, and he retreated to his blankets with his mind racing, his heart pounding, thoroughly defeated and thoroughly in love.

There was no chance of returning to his dreams of you now, he knew. In only a few words, you had robbed him of his sleep for the rest of the night—and likely many more nights to come.

[ereawrites]

sigh… sean bean as boromir…