#Boromir request

[edges-of-night]

Hello, hope this message finds you well! I would like to request (if the idea interests you of course) the fellowship responding to the reader asking “would you still love me if I was a worm/toad?”

What an inspired idea, anon haha! This one was fun to think about; hopefully it’s just as much fun to read! Enjoy ♡

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

Even though you asked him out of nowhere, Aragorn considers your questions rather seriously. Sitting by a fire with you, it takes him a while to answer: “Why wouldn’t I?” It should’ve been obvious to you that a ranger – and one as kind and gentle-hearted as him! – would naturally see beauty in every creature, no matter its general reputation. To him, it’s not a question.

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･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Boromir would shoot you a confused smile when you asked him your question. “What? Why would you turn into a worm…?” You’d blush and explain it to him, which would make him laugh in relief. “Why worry about such nonsense?” – “What, me turning into a worm?” – “No, silly! Me not loving you!” he’d say and pull you close for a kiss ♡ (He’d probably still worry about the sudden question because he cares for you that much haha!)

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･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

When you ask Frodo your question, it catches him off-guard. He’d look up from his book and ask you to repeat, even though he was already listening carefully. But the question has him double-checking! Your adorable explanation makes him laugh. He’d take your hands and say, “The things you think about! If you ever manage to turn yourself into a worm, you must turn me as well, so that we may live happy lives in our worm-house underground.”

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･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

Gandalf smokes his pipe when you ask him your question and smacks his lips as he contemplates the scenario. “A curious proposition…” For a moment, the furrow of his bushy eyebrows makes it look like he was about to scold you for your nonsense, but then he’d shoot you a playful smirk and assure you that yes, if you were to turn into a worm, he would still love you all the same.

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･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

You ask Gimli your question at a late-night banquet, making him pause and laugh. “I do not know if a worm would want to live in stone though! Wouldn’t you leave for grassier, muddier grounds? What would a worm want with a Dwarf?” Just like that, he has turned your question around! The ensuing nonsense conversation makes it certain: The two of you are inseparable ♡

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･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

Legolas is a very playful Elf and enjoys the games and riddles you two tend to play, so your question would not come entirely out of the blue for him. He would tilt his head and pout, pretending to consider it gravely. “A worm? A creature so foul and tiny and all too disagreeable?” – his face splits into a grin – “Why yes, of course!” Additionally, he’d incorporate “little worm” into his endless list of pet names for you.

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･ﾟ✧ Merry.

Your question to Merry would probably come up during one of your philosophical conversations. But instead of stopping Merry dead in his tracks, he’d simply answer, “Yes, next question.” To him, it genuinely is not up for debate if changing your appearance would impact his feelings for you. When you dig deeper, he’d probably say something like, “I’d have to get used to it, but that’s it” and grin at you.

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･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

Let’s be honest: The question would probably come from Pippin in the first place. Maybe he had watched a worm or a toad travelling through a meadow nearby, or even overheard other Hobbits asking their partner about the dreaded scenario. He keeps wondering if he’d still be lovable as a worm but leaves no doubt should that fate befall you: This Hobbit loves you to the moon and back!

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･ﾟ✧ Sam.

No contest: Sam Gamgee wins this one by a mile. When you ask him, no matter how unsurely, he’d cross his arms with a thoughtful sigh and start his answer by explaining how important worms are in the circle of nature to keep the ground and gardens alive. “And that’s just that, y’know? I don’t have to find ‘em beautiful, but I’d simply be lost without them. And if it was you, oh, y’know, there’d be no question about it. I’d tinker with a bit of wood to make you an indoor garden, so you have some dirt to crawl in even when we’re inside the house. Something I can carry around. And somethin’ to eat. Unless you don’t want to. I’d bring you the good dirt from Farmer Maggot, and some apples, too. Your favourite flowers must be there too, so that’s – hm? What’re smilin’ at me like that for? You asked the question…”

[shirefantasies]

Hello. Could you do a slightly suggestive physical touch x reader thing like you did with the company but with the fellowship instead. If you don’t want to that’s okay. Thank youuuu

Sure 😊 Warnings: well duh 😜 but relatively minor as always

LoTR Characters + Physical Affection (Suggestive Version)

Aragorn

✧ Gives the most amazing massages that have you begging him not to stop, especially when you are on the road.

✧ Catches your hand as it roams over his chest, taking it in his and pressing kisses to it.

✧ You slipped some tongue into the last kiss, so it is only fair for him to be doing the same, no?

✧ He knows you love sitting on his lap, yes, but still you are not expecting the way he takes hold of you and sweeps you up onto it with one swift motion…

✧ His hands may be rough, but gentle are they every time they brush and cup your cheeks, tracing their outline.

Legolas

✧ Does not always realize the effect he has. Swipes his thumb across your lips to keep you clean, brows raising and smile creeping onto his face at your resulting expression.

✧ Shivers at the way your nails ghost down his spine, dragging just enough for him to feel each point.

✧ Leans back to meet you in a kiss when you find yourself running your hands over his shoulders.

✧ As if to memorize your form or write it in the very stars, Legolas is slow, intent with his motions as he traces every dip and curve of your body, eyes awed and focused.

✧ Pulls you back from harm by your waist, but cannot resist capturing your lips when he sees the grateful shine of your eyes, so innocent and yet so amorous.

Boromir

✧ Knowing of your love for physical affection gives him so many opportunities to tease you, most of all indulging his love of surprising you from behind, arms winding about you and breath warm in your ear.

✧ When he picks you up and spins you around, his hand may just find its way to give your rear end a playful squeeze as you are lowered.

✧ Training is more fun with you around- suddenly Boromir has all the motivation in the world to do push-ups... on top of you, of course, finding a new spot to kiss each time he comes down.

✧ Playfully and of course lightly sits on you to pin you down, only offering your release in exchange for a kiss.

✧ Boromir indulges your love- if you take him by the side of his face and pepper it with kisses, he will tilt his head and take you for a more passionate one.

Gimli

✧ Spins word upon word of your beauty, yet his voice is stolen completely at the teasing kisses you sneak upon him.

✧ If you’re alone, he has been known to teasingly smack your arse. Just every now and again…

✧ Pulls you down suddenly, almost roughly, to meet his height, noses and foreheads brushing before Gimli is kissing you passionately.

✧ Makes it your problem when his hands get cold, sliding them up your top to startle you!

✧ Tough as he acts, he loves your predisposition to hold him as well, allowing him to nuzzle against your chest and place kisses against anything exposed there. Possibly a nip or two or three...

Frodo

✧ It sends shivers down your spine the way Frodo’s eyes track your every movement, the small action alone feeling a bit like a dare.

✧ A habit of his upon feeling emboldened is placing kisses from the back of your hand up your arm before finally giving your lips a peck.

✧ Of course you know the effect it has on him when you wrap your legs around him- why else would you keep doing it?

✧ You almost think he is about to protest when you tuck your joined hands into the folds of your clothing, but the shy smile Frodo gives you is encouragement enough.

✧ His whole body relaxes when you rub his back, doing anything in your power to comfort him from the ring’s weight, but at times the look in his eyes tells you he is seeking more than comfort…

Sam

✧ Little does he know his flustered expression when your hands roam only encourages you to continue…

✧ Flusters you back by unexpectedly kissing smears of food off your lips, his tongue swiping out to catch anything he’s missed.

✧ He's nearly always holding your hands, whether it's when you're walking or even sitting, then he rests your joined hands upon his lap, sometimes even pulling yours over to him.

✧ If he isn't holding your hand, then his is resting upon your knee or thigh, roaming ever so slightly especially if you are beneath cover of a table.

✧ Jokes that if you don't keep your hands off him, he'll have to feed you by hand, only to realize that's exactly what you want and give in.

Merry

✧ Comes undone at the way you run your hand down his chest, his breath hitching.

✧ Often walks or stands with a hand upon the small of your back, keeping protective but also the optimal position to give your rear end the occasional squeeze!

✧ Buries his face in your neck when you run your fingers through his hair, distracting you with all the kisses he places there.

✧ Comfortable enough to just reach a hand into your pocket for things, maybe keep it there for a bit, too.

✧ Watch out, he often turns pecks on the cheek into full kisses, turning and taking hold of your cheek at the last minute!

Pippin

✧ Grins wider than anything when you pull him into your chest, especially if the height difference is just the right amount.

✧ Takes you to a meadow where you can lay and laugh and roll around to your heart's content; naturally he ends up on top of you, straddling you and gulping as he glances down, tentatively smiling...

✧ Always happy to coat you with kisses- any inch of bare skin he is granted access to is fair game!

✧ Loves the way you keep your bodies casually intertwined, throwing your legs over his or snuggling into him when you lie together, tangling them completely.

✧ Yet another benefit of wearing a scarf? The way you yank him against your body or into kisses by it, always with great fire and fervor.

Faramir

✧ Develops a little habit of slipping his hands into your sleeves, stroking your arm or simply sharing your warmth in a small intertwined moment.

✧ Eyes you with surprise when you pull his head into your chest, but never shall you hear Faramir complain.

✧ His every touch is reverent, grateful at your trust in him and awed at the beautiful dream that is your body before him.

✧ You will know what touches of yours Faramir appreciates most not only by the hitching of his breath, but by the way his hand will capture yours and hold it where it has made its home.

✧ A flush rises to his cheeks when he is laying there sprawled upon his bed with a book and he feels the weight of your body draping atop his and a lazy kiss to his cheek.

Eomer

✧ Makes his home in the hollow between your shoulder and neck, resting his head and pressing his lips against the crook.

✧ Turns instantly to capture your lips passionately the moment you emerge at his side, breath warm upon the shell of his ear.

✧ If you wear a skirt, watch out for Eomer teasingly lifting up the hem with his foot when only he can see, running it up your leg for good measure.

✧ Wide-eyed the first time you tug on his hair as your lips meet, but the look quickly melts into a smirk.

✧ Given your habit of throwing your legs over Eomer’s lap, the marshal has grown used to the weight upon his body, taking the opportunity to show you a bit of love as he caresses your legs.

Eowyn

✧ The way you two teasingly shove and butt at each other sometimes melts seamlessly into makeouts. Neither of you are quite sure how, it just seems to happen.

✧ Relaxes visibly when you run your hand through her golden hair, sending you the most delicious look of pleasure as your hand combs through her tresses and roams to her neck.

✧ Swept up in it the joy of it all, sometimes you’ll catch Eowyn biting your lip gently as you kiss her.

✧ As you tend to walk with your arms linked, every now and again the fancy will take her to fun her hand up and down yours, bringing her nails gently down.

✧ Always tilts her head to give you greater access when you take to kissing her neck.

Haldir

✧ Shoots you the occasional warning look when your hands roam beneath the potential eye of others, but well aware are you that that is simply the manifestation of how flustered you make him. Not above retaliation, Haldir teases you endlessly in your later time away from those prying gazes when he has you all to himself.

✧ Learns your sweet spot, exactly the spot to kiss, and commits it forever to memory.

✧ One of his favorite things about you is the way you seem to seek him, him of all lucky people, for as much as he teases you he cannot deny he loves the way your hands are always darting toward him.

✧ Spreads his legs when he sits, inviting you to rest between them, your head falling against his chest in surrender to his presence.

✧ Having the cover of trees is truly a blessing, for then Haldir can take you on a 'quick patrol' and make out with you behind a massive trunk unseen.

Galadriel

✧ Smirks mischievously, blue eyes glinting, at the way your hand travels up and down her leg.

✧ Takes your hand sometimes only to draw it closer, bring it to a part of her body in silent, awaiting signal.

✧ Like liquid her body melts into yours when you drape your form atop her, feeling her give into you immediately.

✧ You may initiate the kiss, but with a deep chuckle the Lady of Lórien makes quick work of taking control, her tongue dominating yours.

✧ Great is her happiness upon your habitual reach for her arm to walk side by side with her, bringing her hand, wrist, up to your lips.

Elrond

✧ Never fails to show surprise when you yank him in for yet another kiss, hands falling to his chest. Likes to rest his hands over yours in such moments.

✧ Always helps you undress at the end of the day, motions slow and intent as he unlaces and works, eyes boring into yours.

✧ Presses lingering kisses to your bare shoulders.

✧ Always do his lips brush the shell of your ear when Lord Elrond leans in for a private message, especially if it is one to hold onto for the eventide.

✧ Smiles into every kiss you deepen, grip upon your back tightening as he grants you entry, his tongue welcoming yours into a dance.

Arwen

✧ Gets bolder with your encouragement, laying adjacent to you with her head upon your thighs, her favorite cushion of all.

✧ Leans down to place kisses upon them, sometimes traveling up and down as she goes.

✧ Looks up at you with a mix of love and challenge in her eyes when you hover over her lain form, teasing kiss after kiss from you with a single look.

✧ You can't help but let her run her hands down your chest, not when it brings such a smile of satisfaction to her face.

✧ Adoring the way your hands tend to wrap around her, Arwen nuzzles into your cheek, gently rubbing against yours as she enjoys the contact.

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[mismaeve]

A Bond in Silence

↳ A Bond in Silence, Boromir x G!N Reader ↳ Requested by @wormsmith Word Count: 1.8k TW: slight angst, hurt/comfort, nothing too crazy A/N: My dear friend, thank you for your patience! I know it took a while but it's finally here! I am really hoping that you will enjoy it! As I hope that others will as well! 𓋼𓍊

The sight of him made your heart ache. Weariness appeared to have etched its lines into his face permanently, a furrowed brow now set in stone. The previously hopeful glimmer in his eyes had now turned almost crazed with desperation. You understood his burden only all too well, having lived through it yourself. In another life, in another place that no longer was called home.

Your eyes followed Boromir’s frantic pacing from where you sat perched upon a log next to the small campfire, the crackling flames warming your tired bones after a long day’s journey. The camp was veiled in heavy silence, the tragic passing of Gandalf still lingering in the hearts of the Fellowship, doubts of what would now become of their quest weighing heavily on their minds. Even the hobbits – ordinarily a chattering and merry gang – had become increasingly withdrawn as your journey progressed.

The Fellowship was quiet, barely a dozen words exchanged since you had made camp not too far from the riverbank. The trees provided you with enough cover, and the short distance to the river ensured a quick getaway should the need arise. By the company’s reckoning, you were safe for the night to come.

It was your turn to stand guard and keep a watchful eye for the enemy while the rest slept. You didn’t complain, your sleep had long turned restless and plagued with nightmares too dreadful to ever be spoken about out loud. Vivid dreams that showed a time long gone but never forgotten or forgiven, a family that no longer was among the living. A marble city, once splendid and vast, filled with finery and riches, songs and music – now brought down to a pile of rubble, forever silent where not even ghosts would care to dwell. Was that to be the fate of the White City of Gondor too?

Before your thoughts could drift any deeper into the black pit of heart-wrenching memories, the sound of quiet footsteps caught your trained ear, pulling you out from the horrors of the past and back to the bleakness of your present. You cursed yourself for your reckless behavior – allowing your mind to drift when it had to remain sharp and focused - and counted yourself lucky that the soft and measured steps belonged to your beloved and not an orc with far more questionable intentions.

An endearing smile, beckoned by the love you bore for him, blossomed onto your features as Boromir took a seat next to you, the log groaning and creaking softly in protest of the added weight of pure muscle and unwavering strength. You opened your rather large riding cloak – which happened to double as a sleeping blanket – in an unspoken invitation to share your warmth. Boromir shifted closer, snaking his arm around your waist as you draped your cloak around his broad shoulders before moving your legs to hang over his in an attempt of much desired closeness and belonging.

Huddled underneath your woolen cloak with your head resting comfortably against the crook of his neck, you hummed contentedly as you breathed him in – the familiar scent of Earth intertwined with leather and smoke filling your lungs and warming your heart.

“It’s a true pity indeed, this sense of serenity being nothing more than a false illusion,” Boromir murmured quietly, his velvety voice laced with the weight of his burdens. “I would rather see it for what it truly was – a quiet before a violent storm,” he breathed out.

“Do not despair for not all hope is lost,” you said softly.

“Is it not? My city cannot withstand the evil that would see it burn for much longer. Without aid, even the bravest and most valiant of men will falter and fall.”

You winced at the sound of his words, filled to the brim with his fear for his people, his undying loyalty to his duty as Captain of Gondor. Boromir’s sense of honor would also be his curse and undoing - you thought to yourself but dared not utter the words for you knew that they would fall on deaf ears. He would not hear it, not while unyielding fealty ran as thick as the blood in his veins.

You adjusted your position slightly so that you could face the man who carried the weight of the world upon his shoulders. Unbending and firm in the midst of a raging storm - steadfast and faithful he was - battling the doubt that threatened to take his heart and leave him hopeless and lost.

“Do not be quick to give up on them. Or yourself,” you whispered as your hand went to cup his face, the scruffy stubble prickling and tickling the softness of your palm. “You are strong, as is your city and your people. Do not settle for doubt when your own heart aches for faith.”

Boromir’s grey eyes softened at your words, the depth of his weariness dwindling while he regarded you in loving silence. A ghost of a smile formed on his lips before his own hand went to the back of your neck, pulling you closer and allowing him to plant a tender kiss on your forehead. With closed eyes you hummed in satisfaction as his lips lingered there, seeking solace and companionship, an understanding soul that knew of his burden and offered to share a little bit of it. If only for a heartbeat and a shared breath.

You could hear the river running its course -unbothered and untouched by your cares and burdens- and the sound of crickets, forever the minstrels of the night. The two of you sat silently, sharing this rare moment of peace when you could close your eyes and listen to the world around you and feel content. How painfully few and rare such occasions were, and thus that much more precious beyond any measure.

“Tell me of your home,” Boromir’s voice stirred the pleasant silence between you. An innocent question, a sincere attempt at forming a deeper bond on his part, yet to your heart it was another wound ripped open and bleeding.

“There isn’t much to tell,” you breathed out whilst biting your lip in hesitation. The last thing you wanted for him was the bitter knowledge of faith sometimes not being enough.

“One thing, if it please you. The dawn is hours away yet and I would be glad to learn more about you while we stand guard.”

You sighed quietly in defeat.

“The tale of my home will hardly cheer you. On the contrary, it will only add to our grief. But if that is truly your wish, then I will tell you all of it,” you answered after a while.

Boromir listened as you spoke of the dark smoke and fire that had come to pillage your city. He sat quietly and patiently while you told him of the Mordor-orcs and the Easterlings, and the blind and raging hate they smeared the marble walls with, the reckless and needless death that was dealt that fateful day, when hope was long forgotten, and faith a distant memory of the past. You told him all of it, even as it broke your heart anew, and kindled your guilt and fed your everlasting shame - you told it all and true, to the last bloody and mangled body your eyes saw as you had fled from the doom that had descended upon your home and unleashed its wrath.

“All this time, you’ve carried your past in secret. Why?” Boromir asked once your shameful past had been revealed to him.

“I have been, and still am, ridden with guilt. Nothing I do will ever replace it or lessen it. It is a heavy burden to bear, but it is mine and thus I choose to carry it in silence,” you answered truthfully.

“You are wrong,” he countered at once. “This weight of guilt you carry is unfounded and false. You grieve the loss of your home, and in your grief, you’ve misplaced the blame.”

“Am I not at blame for abandoning my city in its hour of need? Am I not guilty of leaving the people – good and honorable people - to a fate worse than death?” you asked in bitter anger that had taken you without a warning. Anger born and bred by years of merciless resentment towards yourself.

“It would have been a folly to stay. To retreat was your only choice, you must understand that,” Boromir insisted fiercely. “What good would it have done to stay and be slain? There is no honor in death for honor dwells in the hearts of the living, willing to fight, knowing when to retreat and regroup and come down upon one’s enemies with a vengeance in retribution.”

Boromir’s palms went to clasp your face, his grey eyes burning with fierce certainty as he beheld your tearful eyes and quivering lips.

“You had to live that day. You were meant to escape. The dead can’t avenge themselves, but you now can,” his voice was thick with his conviction, his spoken words taking on a ring of prophecy. You could only whimper in response, overwhelmed by the unexpected weightlessness of your heart, no longer chained and smothered by your unjust penitence.

“Do not settle for doubt when your heart aches for faith,” Boromir spoke your own words of wisdom to you, earning him a choked hiccup in response as you felt your spirits slowly lifting through the silver curtain of your tears.

The Captain of Gondor took you in his arms and gently stroked your back while with each new tear that trickled down your cheek you unburdened yourself at last. Shedding years’ worth of anguish and self-loathing, you felt lighter with each loving stroke that dribbled down your back, slow and measured and offered in knowing compassion. A new bond – deeper and stronger – had formed between you, tying your hearts together as one for all the days to come. Long had you understood Boromir’s burden and shared its weight without him knowing or even suspecting. Now he knew and regarded you as a kindred soul, gifted – or plagued – by the same unwavering sense of duty as himself.

“Thank you,” you whispered gratefully and felt his hand pause on your back.

“For what?” Boromir asked in return.

You disentangled yourself from his arms and looked upon his face. His brow was furrowed, marks chiseled by his worries and fears creating a map of all that he had lived through. But there was kindness there too, and wisdom beyond his years shone bright in his eyes. An honorable man bearing an honest face which you had come to love so dearly.

“For giving me hope,” you smiled. For saving me, you thought to yourself. “For allowing me to forgive myself,” you added before leaning in and kissing him softly.

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[tamurilofrivendell]

🗡 How members of The Fellowship react when reader is cold 🗡

Included Characters: Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, Frodo, Merry, Pippin, Gandalf, Sam.

A/N: I haven’t really written some of these characters before so if it’s horrible for my first go at them please forgive me! <33

Aragorn had just finished tending the fire and was looking around the group, making sure everybody was accounted for. His gaze swept over you briefly but returned a moment later, sensing something was a little bit off. He almost immediately realised that you were feeling the chill in the air a little more keenly than others and he immediately crossed the ground towards you, shrugging off his cloak as he did so. Reaching you, Aragorn draped the garment around your shoulders and laid a gentle hand upon your shoulder. “Come.” His voice was gentle and his eyes were kind as he smiled at you. “Bring yourself a little closer to the fire. I would not want you to fall ill.”

Boromir’s attention had been fixed upon Frodo for the past five minutes. From the corner of his eye, he could see the halfling staring into space. His attention was on the ring, Boromir knew it. It was heavy... and Boromir could almost hear it calling out to him. Why? He forced his gaze away when he heard Gimli’s voice breaking through his reverie. He turned his head and that was when he noticed you, and the obvious shiver that you were trying to hide from the rest of the Fellowship. He watched you for a minute or so, making no mention of it, before he finally rose to his feet. Boromir cleared his throat. “I think I shall gather some more kindling for the fire.” He said, deciding not to draw attention to the fact that you were obviously feeling the cold. You would have said something if you wanted it to be noticed - you were always trying to prove yourself, keep up with the rest of them, and he felt for you. Sometimes, despite his father’s sky-high praise and the impossible pedestal he put him up on, Boromir felt a similar sort of way. He stomped off to get the wood, making a mental note to sneak you an extra layer from his pack when he returned.

Legolas had been looking around, keeping a close watch for any dangers that may come upon them. His ears and eyes were keener than those of his companions and he would sense it long before it struck. After a while, he let his gaze move across the others, most asleep by this point, but when his eyes landed on you, you were very obviously still awake. He watched you for a moment, taking in the way you’d curled yourself into a ball, tucking your thin cloak around you as much as you could, the pink tip of your nose an obvious sign of your discomfort. “My friend, are you cold?” Legolas had moved, closing the distance between the two of you, and draped an extra cloak over your body before you even had a chance to respond. He smiled kindly at you and moved to stoke the fire before sitting beside you. “Sleep. We have another long day ahead of us.”

Frodo was tired. He was drained. Like something was dragging him down, down, down, trying to bury him under the ground beneath his feet. He did not think he would have been able to get this far without Sam and without you... no, he didn’t think it... he knew it for a fact. The thought of you both caused his attention to drift away from the ring around his neck, seeking the familiar faces of his best friends. When he found you, huddled beneath a tree at the edge of camp, he frowned. You were shivering. Standing, Frodo walked over to you and wordlessly sat down next to you. He wrapped his arm and his cloak around your shoulders, pulling you closer so you could share his warm garment and also his body heat. He sat with you, heads pressed together, until you no longer needed him.

“I think they’re cold.” Pippin whispered, though not quite as quiet as he was probably attempting to be. Merry frowned at him, glancing over at where you were sitting and then turning back to his friend. “Well, go and ask them.” He nudged the other hobbit. “You ask them!” Pippin insisted, nudging Merry back. “You’re the one who--” Merry was mid-sentence when you cut him off, looking up from your spot with a look of near-amusement in your eyes despite the chill swimming through your very bones. “The two of you have all the subtlety of a cave troll, you know that?” A little abashed, the two hobbits shuffled in place for a few moments, fidgeting. Then they shared a look and both started moving. Merry dug around in his bag, pulling out a long extra cloak that he had stashed somewhere right at the bottom and Pippin ladled a large helping of hot soup into a bowl. They both brought the items to you and held them out. “Maybe you should move closer to the fire?” Merry suggested as you took the soup from Pippin with a little smile.

“C’mon lass/lad.” Gimli urges gruffly when he notices that you’re practically shivering from the cold. He took a puff from his pipe and gestured to the flickering flames of the little fire that they had lit in the centre of tonight’s camp. “Shift yourself closer to the warmth of that fire, c’mon now.”

Has been keeping a close eye on you so he could keep you safe and notices almost right away that you’ve become quieter as you tend with the chill that you’re feeling. Many of the others seem completely fine and it frustrates you but you don’t say a word, not wanting to be any trouble and not wanting to slow anybody down. Gandalf calls your name, bidding you join him at the front. “Come keep an old man company, would you?” You sidle up beside him and he wraps an arm around your shoulders, the large sleeve of his grey cape warming you somewhat all on its own. “Have a puff of this.” He says softly, offering you his pipe. “It will warm you from the inside.”

Sam’s attentions were rather focused upon Frodo. He was concerned about him, he could see so clearly the strain he was feeling, the toll that the ring was taking on him. He wished there was more that he could do but he felt quite helpless. All he knew was that, no matter what, he would not leave him. He had fetched some more water for the rest of the journey and had padded back into the camp when he noticed you sitting with gritted teeth. “Beggin’ your pardon... but you can borrow this if you’d like.” He gestured to the thick looking blanket type thing he had pulled from deep within his pack. “You look like you’ll be needin’ it more than me tonight...” He paused for a moment. “Oh, and I can boil some water and get you a nice hot brew made up if you want?”

[secondratefiction]

could you maybe do Boromir relationship headcanons (or headcanons for him in general)? i love him so much and he deserves happiness

Let me go ahead and put the disclaimer out there ahead of time... your girl has been day drinking, so pls forgive me if things go a little off track, or I miss correcting something...

Also... everything I have so far is an unofficial little series of Boromir x Reader snippets

-

He's secretly a romantic. Maybe not so secretly...

Actually, he's really bad at hiding how much of a sap he is... Faramir teases him relentlessly about this.

Very good about carving out time for his significant other wherever he can... be that asking you along with him when he has to go out on inspections of the surrounding lands, or coming to see you before he heads off on some special assignment by his father that is going to take him away from you for an extended period of time

Man is absolutely infatuated, would move heaven and earth for you. Waltz straight into Mordor if you asked it of him.

Being Denethor's favorite is a double edged sword... so please, even if he acts like he doesn't need it- dote on the man wherever you can.... He's slowly coming to accept that love isn't always conditional.

[lathalea]

Yes, it is finally happening!

Lathalea’s

💎 HUGE 💎

Follower Celebration

… is here!

Remember the poll from last week? The results are here! You have spoken!

Thank you everyone for participating! 💙🙏

💎 What happens now?

Per your request,

I’m going to write ficlets for you, my lovely followers!

And I can’t wait! 🤩

💎 It’s time for the Prompt Game!

HERE ARE THE RULES:

💎 To take part in the celebration, you have to be my follower before it starts!

💎 For the Prompt Game, I will have around 10 slots open. Maybe a few less, maybe a few more (it depends on boring real life stuff, sorry, I’ll try to do my best!).

💎 The participants will be picked on the "first come, first serve" basis.

💎 I’m going to write ficlets (300-500 words) based on Tolkien’s Middle Earth and the characters created by JRRT.

💎 Pick your favorite pairing, the prompt you’ve been dreaming of (or 1-2 prompt numbers from the list below), any additional details you want me to include (like your OC, quote, vibes…), and send me an ask! No anons please 🙏

💎 I will be happy to write about things like: canon x canon, canon x oc, canon x reader, oc x oc, oc x reader, textual ghosts, G-E rated romance (to request E-rated stuff, you have to be an adult), angst, gen fics, fluff, GIME, crack fics, Middle Earth locations, headcanons, imagines, worldbuilding… and much more.

💎 I’m not in the right headspace to write about things like: incest, rape, death, explicit descriptions of injuries/childbirth, themes/characters I’m not too familiar with.

💎 If you’re one of the lucky participants but I’m unable to fulfill your request because of some its content, don’t worry! You won’t lose your spot! I’ll ask you to submit a new fic request.

💎 Any questions? You know where to find me!

⬇️⬇️PROMPT LIST BELOW THE CUT ⬇️⬇️

If you’ve just ran out of fic ideas or there’s something here that speaks to you, please add one or two prompt numbers to your ask:

1. “I lost my way. Twice.”

2. Regency AU

3. "It was an... accident?"

4. Pirate AU

5. “You did this for me?”

6. Neighbor AU

7. “We could just stay like this, cuddling all night, if that is what you wish."

8. Forbidden Love AU

9. “Whose wedding is this?” “Ours.”

10. Soulmate AU

11. “Tell me what you see.”

12. Library AU

13. “Where am I?”

14. Best Friends AU / Friends to Lovers AU (you pick)

15. “Is anything you say to me true?”

16. Modern AU

17. “The stars are bright tonight, aren't they?" "Not as bright as you…”

18. Stranded AU

19. “This quest is yours alone.”

20. Room Mate AU

21. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

22. Fake Dating/Engagement/Marriage AU

23. “Make a wish.”

24. Amnesia AU

25. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

26. Hurt/Comfort AU

27. “What does your heart tell you?”

28. Meet-awful AU (funny!)

29. “How did you get here and what are you doing in my bed?!”

30. An AU of your choice

31. Surprise me, Lathalea! 🤩

Ready?

🎉 Let the Prompt Game begin!🎉

Good luck everyone! 💙

XXX,

Lathalea

[southaway]

Boromir for @they-of-clay

[inkedmoth]

Favourite Weather

For Anon, who requested a one-shot of an innkeeper's daughter unwilling to let Boromir continue through the storm. But oops! There's only one room left... Hers. I spent far too long dithering on how far to push the spice, so we have a fade to black to be safe! Hope you enjoy it!

Torrential rain was Eathril’s favourite weather, not only did the steady drumming of rain upon the roof tiles drown out any rowdiness from the common room, but it also covered the sounds from the rooms of the inn, be it snoring or other noises. Rain was calming, it was soothing, and it meant that the inn was utterly filled to capacity, therefore the lockbox would also be full, and they’d be able to eat come winter.

But a storm like this, meant the Silver Stallion Tavern wasn’t just full, but fit to burst.

Already every room in the building had been sold off, the summer traders having gotten in quick and some even doubling up, then the following travellers and merchants had to make do with bedding down in any free corner of the common room or the leaky stables. This late at night, there was scarcely any room to walk, let alone sleep.

Which meant when the room to the inn was flung open as a gust of wind and a figure bullied their way inside, more than a few disgruntled voices rose in protest.

Thankfully the door didn’t remain open for long.

Having almost been finished cleaning up behind the bar, Eathril bit back a sigh of frustration at the sight of water being dripped all over the floor, as the rather tall figure carefully made their way towards her. But she stood up straight, set aside her cleaning rags, and fixed a pleasant if forced smile upon her face.

It was late, she wanted to sleep, and then this hulking great brick outhouse of a man just let half a river and several trees worth of leaves into the common room. The common room she’d only just finished sweeping. Ugh.

“Can I help you?” she asked, through slightly gritted teeth.

“Apologies for the mess.”

Eathril blinked. Those weren’t the words she’d expected to hear, let alone what followed next.

“If you have a brush, I’ll clear it up.” The cloaked and hooded figure was saying, looking back over their shoulder towards the wet trail of dirt and muck. “Since it’s my fault I’ve dirtied your floors, the weather is rather vicious out there…”

She was staring. It wasn’t polite.

He –judging by the voice she was fairly certain it was a he– was tall, having to mind his head least he get clipped by a rafter. Broad too, with a heavy pack on one shoulder, a great round shield strapped to it that looked Rohirric in design, and a long sword at his belt. But beyond that, she couldn’t make out much.

He didn’t seem to be wearing armour like a solider, was he a mercenary? They often meant trouble, and trouble was the last thing she and her father needed with a crowded inn and irritable patrons having to kip on the floor.

Whoever he was, he turned to her, reaching up, and pulling his hood back. Dark hair plastered to his face, a short well-kept beard, and grey eyes with laughter lines at their corners. A gloved hand dragged through his hair, slicking it back out of his face.

He was, admittedly, rather handsome for a mercenary…

“Miss?”

Oh shit she’d been staring she should say something.

“No.” Well that was eloquent. “I mean I’ll clear it up in the morning,” she hastened to add. And then braced for what she had to say next. “But if you’re here for rooms we’re all sold out.”

Judging by the way his broad shoulders dropped in defeat, it had come out a little blunt.

“Ah, I should have guessed,” he said, with a rueful smile that made his grey eyes crinkle pleasantly, “the roads are empty from here to Gondor, as are the streets. I’m not surprised everyone has sought out shelter.”

He… he wasn’t pissed? Annoyed? Upset that there was no room left?

Eathril reassessed her earlier thought of him being a mercenary. He was armed, but so were most men in this region. Was he just a traveller? Although… now his hood was down she could see the collar of his tunic, a rich red satin with gold embroidery. Not a mercenary, or a solider… maybe a lord?

“Is there any chance of a hot meal? Or just a hot drink?” he was asking.

Good grief she needed to stop staring.

“The chefs finished up for the night, but we’ve got some cider warming and I can see about finding some cold cuts if you’d like?” she offered cautiously.

“That would be wonderful, thank you…?”

“Eathril.”

“Thank you, Miss Eathril.”

Gesturing to a barstool for him to settle, she passed him a dry cloth for his hair and face, before setting about finding a mug and plate for him. If he’d been a dick, she’d have quickly turned him away. But no, this possible Lord was surprisingly polite, so since he wasn’t able to stay, the least she could do was feed him and get him something warm to drink. She didn’t know many Lords that would be willing to sweep the floor…

Then again she didn’t know many Lords at all.

“Here you go,” she said upon her return, a tankard of steaming cider, and a plate with the last rolls of bread, several slices of chicken, a few cold roast potatoes, a hunk of cheese, and a slightly bruised apple. “I’m sorry it’s not much.”

“It’s more than enough, thank you Eathril.”

Oh well now she was feeling guilty.

Especially as he tucked into the scant meal as though it was the first food he’d eaten in days. Maybe it was, it had been raining near constantly for the past three, if he’d been caught in the deluge then perhaps he had ridden through it in a bid to find shelter.

Only to find that the inn was full.

And not complained.

Well shit now she really felt guilty…

“Is it just you running this place?” he asked, apparently having noted her watchful gaze.

“No, my da owns it, while I do the accounts and help run the bar,” she replied, moving closer to lean upon the countertop while he ate. “Have you travelled far?”

“From Minas Tirith.”

That was a solid four-day ride east, which meant he probably had ridden through the storm.

“Do you live there?” She already knew the answer to that, could tell by the finery of his clothing, but it was politer to ask than assume. “Are you a lord?”

“I do and I am,” he replied with an amused smile, and then held out a hand to her. “Lord Boromir, at your service.”

Amused, Eathril set her hand in his to shake, and then blinked owlishly as he bowed over her hand. It looked a little ridiculous, considering he was sat down and still had a good foot of height on her, but the intention was there regardless.

She wasn’t a doe-eyed teenager, but she could feel her cheeks burning at that simple gesture.

“You’re more polite than most the Gondorian Lords we get round here.”

The words were blurted in a bid to cover up her flustered reaction, but it was too late to take it back, as Lord Boromir’s brows shot towards his hairline. For a heart-stopping moment, Eathril feared she’d just insulted the man, but then he grinned, a smile so broad and bright it shifted his face from noble to almost… boyish.

“Well I’m both glad and disappointed to hear that,” he replied, finishing his meal and neatly stacking the knife and fork to one side, before wrapping his hands about the warm mug of cider. “Any names you can think of? I can always punish them once I’m back home.”

Alarmed noise rose in her throat, eyes flying wide at the thought.

But then Boromir chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that had Eathril’s stomach flipping. “I jest my Lady—��

“Lady?” she interrupted incredulously.

Ladies of Gondor were tall, elegant, beautiful, sophisticated, with stunning dresses, polite airs and graces, and skilled in conversation, dance, and the arts. She, on the other hand, was a barmaid, too stocky and well-built for her own tastes, and more than a little scuffed up and sweaty from the life of labour, wearing homespun clothing that had been patched one too many times. The one thing she was proud of, her long black hair, was nearly always dragged into a tight bun for practicality’s sakes. No, she wasn’t a Lady, no matter what he might say.

“What part of me makes you think I’m a Lady?”

“All of you.”

The sincerity of his words had Eathril’s mind going blank, staring at him in outright surprise and no small amount of doubt. Another blush was rising to her cheeks, unable to prevent her confused stare at the Lord sat at her bar.

“I’ve made you uncomfortable, forgive me,” Boromir apologised, taking an awkward sip of the warmed cider, as though he needed to give his hands and mouth something to do.

She wasn’t uncomfortable, not really. But watching his hands absently turn the mug, tracing the old engraving across its surface, Eathril found herself wondering what they were like without the gloves. Calloused from years of battle? Scared? Warm? Cold? She wasn’t uncomfortable… and she wouldn’t be complaining if he flirted some more.

 “It’s fine,” she managed to say, voice slightly more breathless than intended. Clearing her throat, Eathril straightened up, gathering his empty plate, intending to return it to the kitchen. “I’m just not used to… compliments.”

“Really?”

Lord Boromir sounded so perplexed by that, that she hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at him from the kitchen door. It wasn’t just his words, even his expression was confused, as though she’d posed him a riddle and demanded an answer. With an amused huff, she’d left him to it, let him wonder, let him puzzle it out.

Stepping into the kitchen, the door swung shut behind her, and Eathril let out a pent-up breath.

Maybe he had an ulterior motive, maybe he was just trying to get into her bed, maybe he was trying to get a free meal and drinks. It didn’t matter, she might not be accustomed to compliments, but that didn’t mean she was oblivious to the manipulation tactics of men. Especially soggy men who were hoping for a soft bed and possibly some company too.

Scraping the remains of food into the waste bucket, she left the plate alongside the sink, she’d see if he needed a refill, and then clean up and turn in for the night.

Stepping back out into the common room, Eathril froze.

The barstool was empty.

Except for two gold set alongside the now empty tankard. Enough for a room, and certainly far more than the meal and drink had been worth.

Had he left?

Shit. He thought she was uncomfortable with his flirting and had decided a fucking rainstorm was the better option? Was he going to sleep in the stables or was he going to keep riding and brave the elements? Was he insane?

Probably.

Which made Eathril utterly batshit crazy when she snatched up a cloak and bolted after him.

The full force of the storm slammed into her the second she made it outside, and the cloak hastily flung about her shoulders was rendered pointless immediately. Rain sleeted into her face, soaking her hair, her clothes, her skin. It felt like she was drowning on dry land.

One hand thrown up to try and shield her eyes, Eathril staggered to the stables, and ducked inside. It was noisy, it was leaking, but at least she could open her eyes, even if she couldn’t hear that well.

“Eathril?”

Thank the Valar he’d not left yet.

“I lied,” she blurted, earning an utterly bewildered look from the Lord in the midst of saddling his horse. Yes apparently the lunatic was planning to keep riding. “There is a room, we, we keep one in reserve for visiting dignitaries.”

A slight lie, since if she knew her Gondorian Lords, Boromir was that dignitary.

For a moment he didn’t move, remaining alongside his large mare, one hand on its mane the other on the leather saddle. But his eyes were very much on her. What must she look like? Shivering, soaked through, stood in the middle of the stables all but begging him not to ride out in the storm.

“You can’t ride out in this, the storm’ll kill you off,” she tried instead.

“It would take more than some rain to kill m—”

As though answering the challenge in his voice, a crack of thunder sounded, rattling the walls of the stable. Eathril jumped, a startled noise leaving her throat, and even Lord Boromir cursed, his horse tossing its head in alarm.

“Please, just, come back inside!”

“Alright, alright,” he relented, “one moment.”

It didn’t take long for him to unsaddle the mare, and even less time to lead her back into the stall and fling a blanket across her back. That done, he gathered up his pack, and joined Eathril at the entrance to the stables. For a moment, the pair watched as the rain moved in clear ripples and waves, the path between the stables and the inn turned into a quagmire. It was a miracle she’d made it to the stables without slipping and breaking her neck.

With a glance up at him, Eathril dragged her cloak tighter about her shoulders, and lead the way.

For all of two steps.

The wind and rain slammed into her, forcing her back a step, almost losing her balance. It was only the broad arm of Boromir hooking about her shoulders that prevented Eathril from taking a nasty tumble. He said something, voice snatched away by the wind, but she found herself tucked against his side, and the pair made it back towards the inn.

It was shockingly quiet once the door shut.

“T-this way,” she chattered, leading him towards a corridor.

On route, she snatched a pair of rough blankets from the storage cupboard, blindly passing one to the Lord following in her footsteps, and wiping at her own face. The spare room wasn’t upstairs with those of the other patrons, but tucked behind the kitchens, utilising the lingering warmth of the hearth. It was smaller, cosy, but the bed was comfortable and there were thick blankets.

Stepping inside, Eathril was quick to move across the room and pull the little lead paned window closed, and the sound of the thunderstorm dropped from a loud roar to a dull hum.

“It-it’s not much, but it’s a room,” she managed to say, beginning to sort the blankets heaped upon the bed, and trying not to drip too much water as she did so.

“This is your room, isn’t it?”

The quiet comment had Eathril pausing in surprise, looking over from where she was turning down the bed, and finding the tall Lord inspecting the shelves by the door. A couple of books, a few nicknacks, gifts from family and friends, dried flowers, and even a few trinkets from traders of distant lands. Boromir was careful to look, but not touch, which she appreciated.

But he’d caught her lie, knew that this room wasn’t reserved for dignitaries.

“It is,” she admitted, turning back to the bed, “w-we’re out of regular rooms, father’s already given up his to a horse trader from Rohan, so now it’s my turn.”

“And where will you sleep…?”

“The kitchens hearth will still be warm,” Eathril answered, turning away from the bed.

“No, no, you remain here, my Lady,” he countered, and picked up the bag he’d set down. “I must insist that you take the bed, I’ll take the kitchens.”

“You’ve already paid good gold for the room, and the bed.”

“I’d rather lose the gold than sleep in your bed while knowing you were uncomfortable.”

Oh.

Oh he was good.

Eathril breathed a laugh shaking her head in mock disbelief.

“I’m insisting you t-take the bed, you’re insisting I take the bed,” she murmured, “both of us are too stubborn to consider the ra-rather obvious solution.”

“And what would that be, my Lady?” he asked, pack now resting on his shoulder, looking fully prepared to head back out into the storm once again, no matter how dangerous it would be. “As far as I’m concerned the answer is clear, you’ll take the bed and I’ll—”

“Join me.”

Whatever Lord Boromir had been intending to say was silenced instantly with a click of teeth. Staring at her once more in confusion and shock, like she was a foe or opponent, he scanned her face for any misgivings, sought out any signs of distrust, of unwillingness.

Arms wrapped about herself to stave of the chill, she met his gaze levelly, watching as he blinked and then gave a low huff of surprise, shaking his head ruefully. Had she crossed a line? She wasn’t quite throwing herself at him, but it made sense to share if they were both so insistent.

“Are you sure, Lady Eathril?”

“I am.”

Apparently the fact she didn’t hesitate or have to reconsider, was surprising, as his brows rose briefly, but was quickly schooled. His head tilted, as though considering her anew, eyes roving across her face before dropping to her soaked clothing.

“Then I’ll see if any of my clothing survived the storm,” Lord Boromir relented, and unbuckled his pack. “And give you a moment to get changed.”

It didn’t take long for him to pull free a shirt and pair of breeches which were mostly dry, at which point he stepped from the room.

And Eathril tried not to exhale explosively.

Valar what had gotten into her, offering a Lord her own room and then suggesting they shared. Good grief was she really deluding herself that he had been flirting?

No, no if he’d been flirting, he’d have not resisted so strongly to sharing her bed, nor would he have stepped out of the room while she changed, or any number of things that he could have used to get closer to her or approach her or, or, or…

Okay maybe she was deluding herself.

Or he was being polite.

Shoving any more salacious thoughts from her mind, Eathril was quick to dry off the best she could. Her hair was damp against her back, but she’d need to leave it loose to dry quicker, and while a braid would have been more appropriate, her scalp felt tight after wearing a bun all day. Changed into one of her nightgowns, she threw a thick shawl about her shoulders in a bid to stave off the chill air, with minimal success.

A light knock at the door had her stomach flipping.

Squashing down that reaction, Eathril opened the door and immediately struggled to keep her eyes on his face.

Lord Boromir was tall, he was broad, he was well built, and that white undershirt was leaving very little to the imagination. Her scandalous thoughts became considerably harder to ignore when his chest was on a level with her eyes, and the dampness of his hair and body had it sticking to his skin in the most interesting of ways.

As the Lord stepped into the room her bed chamber abruptly felt cramped, not cosy. Like there wasn’t enough room, there wasn’t enough space between them. The bed shoved into the corner beneath the window didn’t look large enough anymore. Lord Boromir was tall, his feet were bound to hang off the end of the bed, Valar why did she think this was a good idea.

“I’ll take the window side, if that’s amenable to you?” Boromir offered, lifting a hand to slick his still damp hair back from his face.

The motion drew her eyes to the shift of his muscles.

With a thick swallow, Eathril dragged her eyes to his face, considering his offer. It would mean she’d take the side of the bed closest to the door, which meant she’d be able to leave without having to clamber across the bed, which meant she wasn’t trapped between the wall and this brick outhouse of a man. A surprisingly touching gesture.

“Th-that would be g-good.”

At her stammering, Boromir’s attention landed squarely on her face, brows furrowing in concern.

“You’re shivering,” his voice sounded shockingly loud in the quiet of her room, even with the rain pelting against the glass window.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking, I can see it,” he repeated, “I’ll bring you some cider.”

He turned towards the door and Eathril moved, putting a hand up to stop him, her palm landing squarely against his chest. There was a sharp inhale from him, but she applied pressure, and he stilled, staring down at her.

“I’m fine,” she repeated stubbornly. “T-the bed’ll warm up soon enough.”

He was the guest, if she needed a warming drink, she could get it herself, but right now the bed was far warmer than her room and her room was far warmer than the corridor. She had little intention of leaving it. She would warm up. It would be fine. She just had to wait for the shivers to subside. It would be fine.

A broad hand landed on hers, and with a jolt Eathril realised she’d not removed her hand from his chest.

Valar he was warm. The sheer heat radiating from his chest, from his hand, from his body, was enviable. Apparently noticing how cold her hand was, Boromir took her hands between his and lightly rubbing, breathing into his cupped palms, the heat of his breath tingling across her skin.

It was a kind gesture, but also incredibly… intimate.

A shaky exhale left her lips, and Boromir’s deep grey eyes glanced to her in concern.

“Come here.”

“What?” Her voice was little more than a strangled whisper. “Why?”

“Come, here,” he ordered, and gently pulled her hand.

It was far too easy to obey, too easy to step towards him, too easy to allow herself to be drawn into his warmth. One moment Eathril was trying to keep her distance, the next she’d all but plastered herself to his chest. Head tucking under his chin, face pressed against his collarbones, hands bundling into fists and gripping his shirt.

It was soothing, he was warm, it felt… safe.

Which was ridiculous really, considering he was a total stranger she’d invited into her bedroom on a whim, but at this point she didn’t care.

It would have been embarrassing how she clung to him, if it wasn’t for the fact his own arms had wrapped about her, gently running through her long black hair and moving the damp lengths from her back. His hands smoothed across her shoulder blades, skating up and down her back, gently rubbing warmth into her, the rough skin of his hands snagging lightly on her nightgown.

What would his hands feel like on her skin?

The thought was so unexpected, that a slight jolt ran through Eathril’s body.

Immediately Boromir froze, hands still resting on her back, but ceasing in their path. She didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want his hands to leave her back, didn’t want him to move away or put distance between them.

“Are you alright?” he asked, breath ghosting across the crown of her head.

“Y-eah.”

Fuck, that wasn’t convincing.

“Just cold, but th-this helps,” she forced herself to add, in the hopes his hands would resume their path. To her relief, they swept down her spine again, the motion was enough to have Eathril sighing.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more to warm you.”

“You could.”

The words slipped out without conscious thought, and once again Boromir’s hands froze, as did his breathing, it was only the drumming of his heart against her cheek that told her he was still alive. That was a little concerning.

“Do you want me to get the cider?”

The hoarse offer suggested he was oblivious, or perhaps polite, although Eathril was willing to bet a hefty sum of gold on the later.

“No.”

“Then what do you need?” he asked, voice dropping to a low rumble that made her own body buzz in delight. “What do you want, Eathril? Tell me…”

Nervously licking her lips, Eathril splayed her hands across his chest, feeling the beat of his heart, how his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, how the heat warmed her skin even through his undershirt. She lifted her head, so close to his own face, that their noses grazed, the dark grey of his eyes all but filling her vision.

“You,” she breathed.

There was a surprised inhale, and then shaky exhale, his breath feathering across her skin, scented with the cider she’d given him. Would she be able to taste it if she kissed him?

“Eathril.” Her name was little more than a whisper against her skin. “You don’t have to…”

“I want to.”

Her hands skated over the planes of his torso, fingertips dragging across the stubble at his throat, as she closed the gap between them. His lips were soft and warm beneath her own, hesitant and restrained, gently brushing, cautious and careful.

There was a low groan in his throat.

And then his hands resting against her back increased in pressure, fingers all but digging into her softness, pulling her flush to his chest. Lips moving against his, a thrill running through her body as she felt how eagerly he responded. One of his hands was in her hair, gently tilting her head to a better angle, the other digging into the soft curves of her waist.

There was a soft brush of his tongue across her lower lip, but Eathril didn’t hesitate to respond in parting them. The heat of his mouth was almost overwhelming, the teasing flicks and caresses of his tongue against hers, encouraging her to join, coaxing her to play. She could taste the cider, she could taste him, she wanted more. Hands sliding into his hair, she dragged her short nails across his scalp, and was rewarded with the most delicious groan against her tongue.

He stepped back, and she more than willingly followed, another step, a third, on the fourth, his legs hit something, and the man in her grasp toppled backwards.

Pulled along with his fall, a surprised yelp was pulled from her throat, which became a startled whoof of air as she landed on his chest. Pushing herself up slightly, Eathril found herself… straddling his hips, hands planted in her mattress, staring down at Lord Boromir sprawled on her bed.

That was a little unexpected.

But not unwelcome.

Boromir was panting heavily against her lips, his hands kneading at her flesh, his body pressed against hers. Eathril wanted more, wanted him, needed him. Why did he stop, did he want to stop, why was he stopping—

“Eathril,” Boromir panted, “Eathril, are you sure? You don’t, you don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

The eagerness of her response wasn’t lost on him, she caught a brief glimpse of a smile pulling at his lips, before his mouth claimed hers once again.

What she didn’t expect, was for his broad hand to drag lower, fingers kneading at her waist, her hip, her ass, her thigh. Each curl of his fingers, each possessive grip dragging a quiet gasp, a whine, a huff from her.

His hand hooked behind her knee and then he rolled towards her.

A startled gasp left her lips, but was quickly soothed away by a myriad of fleeting kisses. The weight of his chest against hers, the feeling of his hips settled between her thighs, the instinctive need to hook her ankles about his waist. It felt like she was burning up, any lingering shivers and chills chased away by the Lord between her legs.

“Valar, you’re stunning.” It felt like she was underwater, his voice muffled as his lips pressed to the soft skin just beneath her ear. “Beautiful.”

“Y-you don’t, have to say that,” she protested, all but panting against him. “You don’t have to lie.”

Lord Boromir froze, growing tense against her, his head lifted from her throat, staring at her with such a heated look, that something tightened about her chest. Pupils blown wide, lips bruised, hair dishevelled from her hands running through it, he looked wild.

He also looked utterly bewildered.

“Lie?” The word was said so incredulously that Eathril winced. “Why would I lie?”

It already felt like her body was burning up, which meant the embarrassment that flooded her face would easily be missed. It became imperative that she not meet the rather intense look in Boromir’s eye, instead finding a great deal of interest in the rafters of her room.

“I’m, I’m not a lady I’m not elegant.” That wasn’t quite what she wanted to say, but it was close enough. “I’m…I’m stocky, I’m strong, well-built, I’m not—”

“And I’m a soldier, not a poet,” Boromir said, making her blink at his words. “I can’t sing your praises, or write sonnets about how your eyes look like starlight, or that your hair looks like the darkest night, or how your skin is sun kissed and golden—”

“I thought you weren’t a poet.”

There was a low chuckle in his chest, head shaking.

“But I can say that you’re beautiful,” he said, and kissed her brow. “Stunning.” A kiss to her cheek. “Gorgeous.” A kiss to her lips. “Lovely.” A kiss to her jaw. “Glorious.” A kiss to her throat. “Divine.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“Do you not believe me?” he growled, head lifting just enough to meet her gaze, her stomach flipping pleasantly at the look in his eye.

“No.”

“Hm, then I’ll have to try harder.”

Boromir’s teeth grazed her pulse, making her groan softly, only to be replaced by burning open mouth lathing, his beard brushing across her skin, lips mouth tongue teeth, tracing the precarious neckline of her nightgown.

Eathril was all but panting beneath him, one hand tangled in his hair, the other finding the hem of his shirt, sliding across bare skin, raking her nails through the hair of his chest.

A satisfied growl that rumbled from him, was only reinforced by the nips and sucks along her collarbone. Leaning on one forearm, his free hand had found the bare skin of her calf, and was slowly creeping upwards, rough fingers caressing the back of her knee and earning a shiver, before tracing further.

The hem of her nightgown slid up, exposing her thigh to the cold night air. It should have been cold, but with Lord Boromir kneading at her skin and worshiping her body –worshiping her– with his mouth and tongue and hands and body, Eathril was more than warm enough.

Rumbles of thunder rattled the windows, rain drummed steadily upon the rooftiles, and Eathril’s favourite weather drowned out the sounds of the tavern perfectly.

*

Sunlight slanted through the lead paned windows of her room, spilling across the bed and managing to shine directly into Eathril’s eyes. Squinting against the disturbance, it took a groggy couple of minutes to realise what was wrong.

Maybe not wrong, just… unexpected.

She was warm, tucked beneath the covers and blankets of her bed, and unless she was very much mistaken, naked. That was a little alarming, but with wakefulness came more awareness, and the memory as to why she wasn’t wearing her nightgown.

Oh.

Oh.

A girlish giggle bubbled up in her chest, but didn’t escape past her clamped lips, unwilling to disturb Lord Boromir’s sleep. His muscular arm was slung over her hips, pulling her back against his broad chest, warm breaths brushing the skin of her neck with gently rumbling snores.

He was so warm it took a concentrated effort not to wiggle deeper into his embrace, because as pleasant as this was, it was morning, and that meant there was work to be done. With any luck the chef had gotten in and started on breakfast, which meant she could at least wake Lord Boromir with a hot meal.

Shifting her weight, Eathril started to extricate herself from his arms, only to squeak in surprise as his grip tightened. Dragging backwards, her back pressed against his bare chest as Boromir gave a low grumble in his sleep, fingers curling into the plumpness of her hip, unwilling to let go. His face tucked into the back of her neck, beard grazing her shoulder as he inhaled and sighed heavily.

Maybe she could stay a little longer…

But no, there was the sound of patrons rising for the day, and she really needed to pee.

Another shift of weight had his arm tightening once more, so she changed tack.

“Boromir,” Eathril murmured, “Boromir wake up.”

“Hmmno.”

His voice was so thick was sleep it was a miracle he’d even managed that.

This time, she shifted towards him, and Boromir’s arm loosened just enough for her to roll over. Now face to face, his arm tightened once more until her breasts were flush to his chest, and their legs were tangled. She smoothed her hands across his face and jaw, earning a sleepy grumble.

“Do you want breakfast in bed?” she whispered.

And just as she knew it would, one eye cracked open to peer at her.

“Br’kfst?”

“Mm hm, bacon, eggs, toast, fried tomatoes, mushroo—”

“You?”

A surprised snort left her throat, but she grinned as he smirked at her, starting to actually wake up.

“Only if you let me up to get breakfast first,” she suggested with a cheeky grin.

“Y’drive a hard bargain,” he grumbled.

His mouth found hers, and Eathril almost forgot her plan at the taste of his lips and caress of his tongue. Or would have, if not for the pressure in her bladder.

“Let me up,” she chided, breaking off the kiss, “breakfast first.”

There was a sigh, but the arms about her loosened, and against her own wishes, Eathril rose, finding her nightgown abandoned on the floor, pulling it on and tossing a shawl about her shoulders.

“I won’t be long,” she reassured, looking over to him.

It was an effort to drag her eyes away from the exposed lines of Boromir’s chest, from the sleepy smile on his face, from his dark eyes locked on her. The sunlight streaming through the little window throwing every detail of him, of the Lord in her bed, into stark relief. But Eathril forced herself to go in search of breakfast.

She’d been right, the chef had gotten started, customers were already eating and beginning to get ready to go about their days, and barely anyone’s eyes turned to her as she weaved through the people bare foot and wrapped in a shawl.

With a large plate loaded up for two, she slunk back towards her bedchamber and drew up short at the familiar face leaving the next room down. Her father also paused, eyeing her, and her half-dressed state, eyes dropping to the hefty plate, and then to the door of her room.

A brow raised in silent question.

“A late arrival,” she answered, keeping her voice down, “a lord from Minas Tirith.”

“A lord?” her father asked sceptically.

Two could play at that game, she wasn’t the only one that had sacrificed her chamber for a guest, only to remain with the guest.

“A horse trader?” she countered in challenge.

He was quick to capitulate, hands raised, and palms shown in surrender. “You’re alright though?”

“I am,” she relented, not wanting him to worry, “now shoo, the patrons are leaving.”

Her father rolled his eyes, but didn’t protest as she slipped back into her chambers.

It was nice, eating breakfast with Lord Boromir, settled cross legged on her bed like she’d used to do with the other girls of the village. Talking quietly, stealing glances at one another. Her cheeks ached with how much she was smiling, a near constant blush staining her cheeks at his attention.

But it wouldn’t last, and his next words confirmed it.

“I… need to leave today,” he said quietly, “I have a long road ahead of me.”

She knew that, she truly did, but still Eathril’s stomach sank.

“Will you be travelling back this way?” she managed to ask around the lump in her throat.

“With any luck, yes.”

“Ah, good.” Eathril floundered for the words she wanted to say, but it didn’t take long to find, smile broadening as she said them. “Then I’ll make sure we keep a room set aside for you.”

“Reserved for visiting dignitaries?”

“That’s the one.”

Lord Boromir grinned. “Then I look forwards to it.”

[live-laugh-legolas]

I’ve never written any sort of fan fiction or anything but I have wanted to and I’ve decided to just fucking do it lol.

Preferences, short one shots, or head-canons seem like a good place to start so please send some ideas, I would much appreciate it :)

I’ll do anyone in the fellowship

[heilith]

You are spoiling us!! 😍 ! Okay I wish you would write something with Boromir, maybe where he is tired and reader takes care of him :") something soft ♡

@noldorinpainter So sorry it took me long. :) Also I deviated from your request, but just a little. Hope you enjoy. Oh, in case you're interested, the songspiration was Gorod 312 - Pomogi mne - loosely, but still. The art is by The-Wizard-of-Art

Tagging @scyllas-revenge @glassgulls @lathalea @fizzyxcustard @absentmindeduniverse @court-jobi @middleearthpixie @sotwk @emmyspov @evenstaredits @guardianofrivendell @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @asgardianhobbit98 and sorry, sorry if I forgot anyone, I got lost somewhere between Discord and Tumblr.

Ok, here it is:

Before the Storm

“Your lips are softer than they look,” you lean out of the kiss unhurriedly, basking in the feeling of his breath upon you face.

“Hmm?”

“Your…lips…are…soft,” you alter your own statement – and the sense of it, too, “But only when I kiss you. Why aren’t they soft, when you kiss me?”

You don’t need the answer as much as you need to see that deceitful mouth twitch and tighten, as too predictable images float up before his mind’s eye. The sight is fleeting, yet you cherish it better than any words he could say.  

“You utter the strangest things, dove,” your Captain states with no particular expression.

His eyes are still closed. Your heart forgets how to beat, shrinking in sweet pain, as you touch the very tips of his eyelashes and stroke them as carefully as you can afford it.

“I do them, too,” you whisper more to yourself than to him.

He looks so distant, and so close, and stern, and defenseless.

The armchair by the fire is built sturdy enough to hold the weight of you, curled on his laps and clinging to his exhausted self like bindweed.  

It is unkind – wicked of you to enjoy such moments, when you have to thank his tiredness for that.

For a blissfully long sting of minutes all you can think of is how his breath becomes more and more even, tamed by the movements of your hand, running through his hair over and over again.

“I must go down.”  

“Yes, do,” you agree easily, “Nobody wants you here.”

“Shall I stay and make them?” there’s no single kind note in his voice, but the gleam in his eyes makes up for it to the full.   

You allow yourself a laugh that is more of a sigh.  

“Stay and sleep. They will look for reasons to put up with you meanwhile.”

The arm, which was up to now slack around your waist, gains strength and presses you to him too hard for a caress.

You lose yourself in another endless kiss.

“Consider this one,” offers he as evenly.

You nod, not ashamed of letting him see how you’re learning to breathe again. Lifting his spirits is worth the fear of denial in your book.

“I’ll bring you the furs,” you say, as he finally relaxes back into the tattered seat.

“No,” the protest is sharp and almost order-like.

Startled by this sudden harshness, you pull back, yet he doesn’t let you to slip away too far. It is not his embrace, but his look that stops you this time. The weariness and despair in it drive a knife through your chest, wiping out everything except your love for him – that and pity you hope he’ll never know you harbour for him.

“Please, dove,” asks he under his breath, “I need…”

“I know,” you cut in, unable to bear it any longer, “Take your rest, Boromir.”     

 His palm ghosts against your cheek in gratitude, and you wish you could shut out every emotion that comes with it. You wish for it to end and to go on.

You close your eyes, too, and dissolve in his arms, longing to be reborn into a safer world tomorrow.

With him.

[random-imagines-blog]

Imagine telling Boromir that you’re pregnant with twins.

The sparkle that lit up his eyes came from within, and couldn’t be blamed on the sun, not today. Some would say that he already was a glowing man, proud, hearty, kind, brave, but this was a new sort of glow - a happiness that you hadn’t seen since the day of your wedding together.

“Boromir, are you going to say something?” You asked, as the quiet moment went on a beat too long, and his face remained completely unchanged. His smile only seemed to grow bigger at the sound of your voice, and he snapped out of whatever trance that your words had on him.

“And the healer was sure? There’s twins in there?”

You ran your fingers over your stomach, which bulged through the loose gown that you were wearing. The folds of it did nothing to hide your pregnancy, not that you wanted to. “They seemed quite sure of it - with how fast I’m growing.”

“Twins,” He repeated again. His own hands rested upon your stomach now, palms caressing the fabric, trying to feel within. “I don’t believe that life could get much better than this.”

He was so happy, it made your own heart soar. Having a family was always his dream - and being a better father than his own had been, not choosing favorites, never leaving one to feel abandoned while the other was celebrated. There would be no time for favorites now. You were happy, and quite honored, to help him achieve this dream.

“You say that now, wait until they start crying in the night,” You laughed.

“I can’t wait,” Boromir admitted. “Twins. Have I wandered into a dream?”

“No, my love, this is real. This is all so very real.”

Requested by: Anonymous

[edges-of-night]

I love your headcannons, thank you very much. How do you think fellowship would react if a reader saw two cute animals and said, "Oh, it's you and me!"

Thank you very much! I’m happy to hear you enjoy this little blog ♡ Another animal request, with another anon who asked for this, too – this prompt is super cute, I hope I did it justice!

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

You’re gazing at a golden twilight forest with Aragorn when you spot two deer in the distance. Just like you, one rests its head against the other. “Look,” you chuckle quietly, “it’s you and me.” Aragorn smiles as he follows your gaze. When one of the deer nuzzles the other’s ear, he, too, leans in to give you a kiss. “What an uncanny resemblance, my love,” he says and pulls you even closer.

.

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Boromir is scandalised when you suggest that the two cats crossing your path are “just like you and me.” He has heard stories of the ruthless Gondorian queen who used felines as her spies and flinches when one of the cats hisses at him. You go to pet it instead, and it softens and purrs – just like Boromir does when you caress him – but you don’t say that part out loud ♡

.

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

You and Frodo share a cool carafe of strawberry lemonade when two butterflies flutter to the flower field beside you. “Look at those,” you say, “they’re just like you and me.” – “Sharing a delicious drink in the sunlight,” Frodo agrees with a dreamy smile. You keep watching the butterflies until one of them flies right into your face. “It gave you a kiss. I shall do the same,” Frodo says and leans in to peck you ♡

.

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

You’re travelling the Shire’s hills in Gandalf’s wooden cart when two sparrows almost fly right into you. You flinch but realise they’re only doing their Spring dance through the morning air – a couple! “They’re like you and me!” you laugh. Gandalf gives you an amused look. “What a subtle way to tell me we’re going to dance at tonight’s party.” – “Indeed,” you grin.

.

･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

Watching the puppies play on the ground makes you soften. When one of them bites another’s ear, you playfully nudge Gimli’s head – he’s been sitting silently next to you until now. “What?” he grunts. “The dogs are doing it,” you argue with a grin. Your Dwarf protests at first about this comparison. The two of you, dogs? “I reckon it is true though,” he muses. “We are both very loyal after all. And we like food. And games. And…”

.

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

You’re making your way through Mirkwood with Legolas, crossing a tree over a small pond where you make a curious observation: “Look! The toad and dragonfly are sharing a lily pad.” You snort. “They remind me of you and me.” – “Indeed! The sunlight reflects on its wings just like in your eyes, in all the colours of the sky.” You blush and wonder whether or not Legolas knew you meant it the other way around.

.

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

Merry is a bit sensitive about his height, but that doesn’t stop you from comparing the two of you to the horse and the pony you spot in Bree. “Hey! I’ll have you know,” Merry begins, “that ponies are very sturdy and resilient.” – “I know. Just like Hobbits.” – Merry pouts at that comment and crosses his arms, murmuring, “Fine. Just don’t braid my hair like that pony’s.” – “Perhaps…”

.

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

After a proper picnic, you lie in a meadow with Pippin. Purely by chance you look to your right when two bunnies scamper out of the bushes to eat some grass. You grin and whisper, “Don’t move too fast now, but there’s tiny versions of you and me over there.” – “Tinier than me?” Pippin asks and rolls over to watch the bunnies over your belly. “Aww! They’re mighty cute, but so are we!”

.

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

You watch fondly when two ladybugs crawl over Sam’s hands, dirty from gardening but still gentle to the bugs. You smile when you hear your Hobbit talking quietly: “Right. Let me get up… there you go… over here it’s safer for you. A flower house.” You tilt your head at him. “Moving in together? Just like the two of us, you mean?” – “Hm? What? Sorry, luv, I wasn’t listenin’ there.” – “Oh, nothing…” ♡

[shirefantasies]

Hey! Recently finished LotR for the first time and just wanted to thank you for sharing so much amazing writing with the fandom!

I was wondering, after reading the how many children they’d like hcs, if you’d be comfortable writing some characters(personally requesting Legolas and Eowyn, but whoever you’d wish of course!) meeting their(/them and their partner’s if they already have children ofc) firstborn!

Either way! Tysm for reading and have an amazing day!!

Forgot I had one more finished draft lmao sorry everyone🤙🏻 here's one more post

Bro OF COURSE I love doing parent AU stuff!!! This is such a cute imagine omg. Also thanks for the kind words & welcome to the fandom 🥰 consider this part 2 of the pregnancy headcanons~

Warnings: some descriptions/mentions of childbirth/labor pain/blood (not too graphic though!)

LoTR Characters Meeting Your First Child Together (Wife!Reader)

Aragorn

Concern paints your husband's handsome features, furrowing his dark brow and glittering deeply in his blue eyes at your sudden, frantic motions. You are too quiet, too focused. Hiding something, perhaps? "What troubles you?" Aragorn asks, moving to your side, a hand caressing your shoulder as he breathes your name. Eyes widening, you start for a moment before deflating in a sigh. "I think the baby is coming. But I did not wish to worry you until I was certain, until I had more prepared and-" Saying your name, this time a little more firmly and a lot more lovingly, Aragorn takes your hand. "Worry me? Cast all your worries upon me. I am your husband. My heart is yours, and my service. Come, we will go to the healing halls at once."

~

Aragorn smooths your hair, wincing as you cry out and calmly whispering encouragement. He quiets you down as the pain and stress wash over you in nearly blinding waves, your body writhing with each push. Hours pass like this, Aragorn your one anchor until finally, blessedly, your body can fall limp against your sickbed and pant and sigh in relief, the babe proclaimed healthy and taken to be soothed and cleaned. "What a marvel. Truly you prove strength beyond measure every day. Beyond that, I simply love you more every day," he adds with a smile. Leaning up to kiss him, you fix your husband with tired eyes, loving gaze broken only by the midwives' calls. "My king," they say, "a son was born to you! The prince of Gondor!" "A son," you repeat, finally breaking back into a grin as you accept your little boy. Aragorn looks down upon him too with as wide a smile, greeting him in Elvish. "My son," he says, "how loved you are, and how blessed are we your parents. May you grow strong, healthy, happy, our little gift."

Legolas

Even as far as you had gotten, an unspoken fear had crept up between you and your husband until the very day of your labor, but your twins held fast. Such a thought echoed through your mind as much as you could bear to will it between the waves of pain. They held fast, and so would you, your husband at your side stroking your head and holding your hand, whispering calming words in the language of his people. Through tears, you smiled at the beautiful sound, at Legolas's constant reminders that you are strong, you are the most amazing gift the prince has born witness to in hundreds of years. He reminded you to look into his eyes as you were urged to push harder, your hips burning like never before...

~

"A son. A son and a daughter,” Legolas breathed, pulling you and both your twins into a gentle embrace. “And my wife. What more could I desire? Nothing. Nothing indeed.” You feel moisture, realize a tear has slid from Legolas’s eye to your hand, and reaching up you dry his eye before bringing your hand down to stroke the side of his face. You can feel the bags of exhaustion circling your eyes and your whole body aches, but all you can do is smile, smile until your face is just as sore; with your aching pleasure glowing throughout you nuzzle the babe in your arms, your son. “Our dreams are finally reality, Legolas. I would ask for no more either.”

Boromir

"What for it? What can I do?" Boromir is less calm than you expected at your sudden pain, the downward rush you can only assume is the baby coming. Not that you have told him that already. "Let us go to the healers." You try to steady your breathing, praying your water will hold out and break only upon entry to the home of the dear friend you'd selected to aid in your birth. Grateful are you for the grasp of your husband’s hand and the strength with which his arm raises you, tugging you against him for support, even if you feel his heart racing like mad when your hand falls against his chest.

~

For hours you toiled, your body rent and torn in creative horror as Boromir tried his best with jokes and sweet words to keep your wits about you… for far shorter hours than usual in your friend’s words. “I find that hard to believe,” you panted as she cleaned the child. “No, truly that was quite amazing,” your friend shot back, stepping back your way with a bundle in her hands, “We’ve had them take twenty hours before. Five is quite fast I daresay.” Every orifice in your body cried out with pain, so all you could do was incline your head until you raised it again, saw the child in her outstretched arms and felt your lips part in amazement. Eyes still closed, your child groped for you, stilling a bit in satisfaction upon your acceptance, feeling the weight fall and rest gently upon your chest. “Impatient little man and with some fire too! He fought against cleaning quite well.” “Little man?” Boromir’s head snapped so rapidly up to your friend and back to your baby you thought he might snap something. “We have a son?” “Indeed you do, you old dog, you,” she grinned. “It’s a boy!” He shouted gleefully, one hand resting firmly between your son’s and the other cupping your cheek and yanking your lips to smash against his. When Boromir pulled away, he laughed aloud, hearty and triumphant. “Bless him and bless you for giving him to me! I never knew I could be this happy, love!” Your smile widened to match his grin. Suddenly your pain didn’t seem quite so bad.

Gimli

“Push! Push!” “Am I not?!” You reply, uncaring of the raise of your voice or the vice of your hand about your husband’s. For his part and quite in spite of himself, Gimli must laugh, for such was the fire that stole his heart some time ago and the fire from which your newest love was forged- though not without some trouble first. Chip off the ol’ block, indeed! “That’s it, that’s it,” the healer encouraged, “yer doin’ great, lassie!” “Doesn’t feel like it!” Even as he winces in pain by your iron grip, Gimli chuckles again.

~

“A healthy little lad!” Six more hours have passed, but finally he’s in hand and you won’t give him up for anything. Except Gimli- he is the only one to survive your death glares when he reaches for your son, and pushing some hair off his shoulder he gently extends his arms further when you acquiesce. His lips part in an o of endearment and shock at your son, crying moments ago but now laying peacefully in his father's arms. Breaking into a wide smile, Gimli stares down with moist eyes and it is like time is frozen. “My son,” he half-declares, half-sobs. His gaze tears from the babe after a minute or two only to meet yours and bring a wide, triumphant smile to his face. "And most importantly, son of the fairest this earth has yet set forth, she who gave herself that he should be here. You did wonderful, my love. Thank you." "Thank you for being his father," you reply, "and for loving me through it all, even when I was quite ugly about it." "Ah..." Gimli replies diplomatically, "you were in a great deal of pain." Of course he forgives you, he worships the ground you walk on, after all, and you have just gifted him the honor of a son, a little flame all his own! And who, the dwarf suspects with another smile, shall look a lot like his father too!

Frodo

Frodo walked you all the way to the bed and laid you down by himself before he would finally relinquish any care of you to the midwife, despite the fact that he had selected her. You knew it was borne of no distrust of her, however, only a sign of the immense care in his heart he felt for you and the sum of all the kindnesses done upon Frodo in his most difficult years. When you love someone, after all, you carry them up a mountain. You lay them down and take their hand and kiss their forehead, telling them you will never leave them in their greatest pain. Just as your husband now did, just as he spoke upon cradling you close, grip only tightening as you cried out in pain.

~

"You're doing so well," Frodo encouraged during your last pushes, stroking your sweat-beaded forehead, "This is almost over." Indeed it was, for minutes later your final whimper broke Frodo's heart, sending spikes of dread shooting down his spine until a new set of cries stopped them cold. "She's here," the midwife tells you, standing up and fetching the cloths she'd dunked earlier. "A girl," Frodo breathes, "A little girl!" "Our little girl," you agree, reaching out to accept the tiny babe. Frodo's heart melts at her now-calmed face, the way her tiny eyelids flutter and the spray of tiny dark curls already visible on her head. "Hello there," he whispers, "my beautiful little girl. Never did I think my heart could give any more, and yet here it is, doubly taken."

Sam

"What's wrong? You look a little peaky. Here, why don't we-" "Sam, I'm fine. I just think I twisted my- hngh!" Crumpling in half with a grunt of pain you cannot even complete your sentence. Sam is rushing to your side, taking your hand and leading you back to your shared bedroom. "Shh, shh, it's going to be ok, you'll see. I'll get the midwife and she'll know everything to do, alright?" Sam's green eyes are warm as ever, his tone the sweetest and most soothing thing you've ever heard and ever will. Despite the waves of pain and the gush you begin to feel soaking the sheets around you, you find yourself nodding and willing up a faint smile.

~

"You're a strong lass, aren't you?" The midwife remarks as Sam returns to the room with more boiled water, looking at you with wonder in her pale blue eyes. Panting, you manage to reply that you suppose so with a faint smile of amusement before being wracked with the pain of another contraction. The only thing that keeps you going is the way your husband is there, leaving only to help you both before tumbling back against the bedframe to grip your hand, never once losing his smile even as you crushed the life out of him. It feels like a lifetime and yet no time before cries fill the room, your head immediately whipping to Sam's and meeting the tears spiling from his kind, loving eyes. "You did it," he whispers your name with awe, kissing your head, then your cheeks sweetly and softly again and again until the midwife is ready with your bundle of joy. "She's beautiful," the older hobbit comments, handing your baby off to you and beaming as you pull your daughter into your chest, loosening her swaddle enough to see her peaceful face. "Lovely," Sam replies, tone even more awed now despite its faint sob, "she looks like her mother. Her mother who worked so hard. Look, she has your hair." "She sure does," you agree, "but I hope she got your eyes." "Nah," he shook his head, "that can be the next one. I love that she's the spitting image. You've earned it after all that, I fear." You laugh at that, still smiling down at your daughter's face, which is still red and calming from her cries of alarm. "That I have. But the only reason I could at all was because of you, Sam." Tears falling anew, he shakes his head one more time. "The thanks are all yours. I knew you could do it all along. It's 'cause of you we have our little beauty."

Merry

"Come on, come on, that's it," Merry coaxed, lowering you down into the squatting position you'd asked for. Inside he was screaming bloody murder, but it was no good letting you know that, not when he had a duty to do and the most important one at that. No indeed, courage was far beyond necessary. Just as he'd had on the battlefield, he was to have with you. For you. Merry only could thank his lucky stars that you began your labor at home while he was there. Once you'd gotten settled, he reluctantly began to pull away his hand from yours, face falling at the way your fingers trembled. "I'm just going to get help. I'll come right back for you." "I know," you whispered with a smile, and just as it had been broken Merry's heart was up and skipping beats.

~

What a good sport the midwife was, for she had been in the middle of her afternoon tea when Merry found her, but never had he seen a napkin thrown down so fast. She rushed with him back to you and found you there still squatting and wincing, this time with sweat beading upon your brow. For hours there you remained, flanked on both sides by husband and midwife, until suddenly your skirts were lifted even further and the lady was calling "He's out!" You cried out in pain and relief and Merry just laughed and gave a big smile before remembering you, looking down at you with great concern. At that, you gave a chuckle of your own. "Sounds like we have a son, Merry." "We have a-" "Certainly you do and quite a big one! Here, you can hold him if you like, but not after the missus has a turn," the midwife cut in, laying your son in your arms. Merry's jaw positively dropped at the sight of him, and he leaned down to speak at once. "Hello there, little one. It's me, your dad. You remember the sound of my voice, don't you?"

Pippin

“Pippin, it’s time.” “Time? Time for what?” You loved your sweet, wonderful, clueless husband, but now was simply not the time. “The baby is coming! Get my supplies, please.” Your command came out as more of a whimper, your face twisting into a grimace at the feeling of moisture trickling down your leg. Water’s broken, then. Pippin caught sight of this, paled, and tore off down the hall, a crash sounding and a handful of stomps before he emerged again, bag slung over his shoulder and a pile of rags in one hand. "You know, for your..." "Yes, I know," you nodded, smiling in faint amusement as he took hold of your arm, barely giving you any time to straddle the rags at all.

~

"Push!" "What am I doing, then?" Your reply shattered Pippin, for it dripped with no sarcasm, only broken tears as you struggled with the pains of labor. The midwife shed a tear of her own, promising you did well, but this went on for hours until suddenly, finally, cries pierced the room's tense air and a massive smile spread across Pippin's face. "You did it!" A loud, triumphant laugh. "You did it, my love!" "She sure did," the midwife agreed, handing the babe off to another older hobbit and chuckling at the way Pippin's open hands followed them. "Don't worry your head off, he's just getting cleaned up." "He? It's a boy! Love, it's a-" "I heard," you grinned, "A little mini-Pippin. Just what I always wanted." "Are- are you joking?" "No," you shook your head, accepting your son with open, grabbing hands, "Not at all. Oh, look, he really does look just like you, too! Oh, Pippin!" Another little Pippin. This time hopefully not one who'll make the same mistakes. No. No, he won't, because he'll have the big one to guide him. And you, oh, his lovely wife... "Pip, are you crying?" "Of course I am," he replied in a quiet, awe-filled voice, leaning to press his curly head to yours, "Our son. Yours and mine. What a glorious gift you've given me. I'm going to work every day to pay you back."

Faramir

Faramir would have given anything to escape the meeting he had become entrenched in, the droning on about some law or another that- Slam! A messenger came bursting in through the door, one of the young page boys whom Faramir had sent notes off with. Rather than pass a message, though, the young man strode right over to his seat and leaned in to whisper to him. Feeling his face contort in shock, then a smile, Faramir rose from the chair at once. “My apologies, gentleman, but my wife has gone into labor. I will review all notes taken at my earliest convenience.” So it seemed the twins inherited their mother’s sense of humor.

~

Watching you strain and hearing your ragged breaths, listening to every cry of pain, stabbed Faramir in the heart with a hurt of his own. He never let go of your hand for a moment, though, despite the ache in those muscles as well. For hours he whispered you words of encouragement, reminding you that you were his hero and that you were doing great, even if it didn’t feel such. And finally your grip was tightening one final time, one final cry of pain as the second twin was born. First your daughter had come. “A girl!” Faramir breathed. “We have a daughter.” And with that last push Faramir himself caught your son. “A son as well. Two beautiful children.” Tears welled up in his eyes, which quickly turned to you as your son was cut free, lifted from his arms, and cleaned. Thumb stroking over the back of your hand, Faramir leaned over, head resting against yours. His stubble tickled your face as he shifted to press a kiss to your cheek. “We got the most difficult one out of our way first, hm?” You joked. Breaking into a tearful grin at your words, Faramir nodded.

Eomer

He should never have agreed to ride out on that patrol, but the others were pushing harder than usual and Eomer knew they trusted him. Trust went far in the Riddermark. Hence his shouts of frustration upon returning to a herald rushing his way and telling him that you had gone into labor. Luckily only about an hour and a half back. He had plenty of time. Running to the halls of healing and all but throwing open the great doors, Eomer barreled in and was met with your smile, then your cry for him, to which he ran to your side and took your hand at once.

~

"It's a boy," he panted hours later, hand aching from your grip and mind fatigued by pained screams, "our son is here." How in this world could you have endured it all if it drained even a bystander so? What a warrior you were. And what a warrior your son would be! Taking in the cleaned babe being placed in your arms, the enamored smile upon his beloved wife's face, the great rush of joy finally overtook him, all pain and exhaustion melting away for a brief moment. "Our son is here!" He called out again, this time louder, more triumphant, and when you spoke it also in your softer tone Eomer pulled you gently by the back of your head into a kiss that spoke volumes, every year of your love story thus far and all of them to come.

Eowyn

The pains of birth were no stranger to your wife; in fact, Eowyn recognized them before you did, cutting into your panic that something was going wrong with the reassurance that things were going quite right. “Our baby is coming,” she told you with a small smile that quickly faded back down when your knees buckled. She was prepared for this, very prepared. Having been forced into work as a nurse for so long had some benefits, after all, and very quickly your things were in hand, your body settled into the most comfortable position possible, and your wife rolling up her sleeves and pulling back her hair to get to work. Her own child would not be the first she had delivered, simply her favorite by far. Spikes of pressure fought their way up Eowyn’s chest, but just like in the heat of battle they spurred her on and she got to work with renewed courage.

~

“You are doing so well, my love, there we are,” your wife coaxed, “almost done, in fact! Our little one is almost here!” “Really?” You smile widely before your next wince and Eowyn can see her words have encouraged you. You pushed with all you had, and crying out finally forced the head, then finally the whole of your child, out into the world. Eowyn cut the baby free quickly as she could, all her focus tied down to making sure she heard breath before she let herself truly look. At the first call of little lungs she sighed and collapsed down upon her knees, hugging the baby to her chest. “Healthy, perfectly healthy.” Hurriedly cleaning your child, Eowyn saw that you had delivered a girl. “You’ve birthed a healthy girl. We have a daughter, my love!” Hearing you sob, she hurried quickly over to your side. “We both did,” you told her, reaching out to caress your daughter’s reddened cheeks, “Both her mothers birthed her. Where would I be, after all, without you?” It was Eowyn’s turn for tears to fall at your words, smiling as she was when you pulled her close and kissed the crown of her golden head.

Haldir

Long, difficult months had led to the moment of your doubling over with the first pains of birth, hobbling out to where you could find a hand to lead you to the midwives. You were half-knelt at the side of a bed, gripping its post for dear life, when your husband burst in. “Your patrol,” you inquired between waves of pain. “Safely in the hands of another,” Haldir responded, hand groping for one of yours, hastily taking it, “and no, they blame neither of us. Nothing but the pain of death could have separated me from your side.” A smile crossed your face, but moments later another wave of pain split your smile into a cry of agony. “The little ones are coming very rapidly,” one of the midwives told you, “your labor will not be long, at the very least.” At that, you heard Haldir exhale in relief. After such difficultly carrying them, your struggles with the twins would soon abate. Soon they would be in your arms.

~

True to her word, the midwife saw you through every push of labor in just under three hours’ time, one of the fastest she had seen in her many years. Haldir’s grip upon your hand never faltered until the very moment one of the twins was placed wrapped up in his arms. The other held by you, exhausted, shocked, but joyous, tears of relief and celebration flowing. “Two daughters. Two fair and healthy little souls all our own,” Haldir remarked, his voice barely above a whisper and a stunned smile upon his lips as he glanced back your way. The moment your eyes met, tears fell from his, too, and you both let out another exhale in relief; shifting the little one in his arms, Haldir grasped your hand. Smiling up at your husband, despite every strain of pain and exhaustion upon your body, all you could feel was the glow of utter triumph and bliss. “I have said it countless times, I am sure, but you my fair maids have my sword, my word, my heart, my everything,” Haldir told you, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on your head, then that of the baby girl in your arms.

Galadriel

How Galadriel managed to remain so calm amidst your heaving breaths and calls of alarm, amidst a healer and midwives forgetting their place and trying to move her from your side, surrounded by bodies and screams and heat and fluid so serene, you would never understand. The way you’d doubled over in the middle of your wife’s vision, failing to smother the choked cry that escaped your lips, and she’d simply risen from the water with wide eyes and a nod, taking your hand. Had she let go? Not as you could recall, though memories blended and faded through great waving curtains of pain. Your strength is beyond admirable, my love. Head swiveling to meet your wife’s intense blue gaze, you smiled faintly. Comparable only to your beauty, her voice teased in your mind. Smile growing, the rush of joy gave you strength for another push…

~

“A daughter,” Galadriel breathes your name, joy permeating every faint crack of her so even voice, “you have borne us a daughter!” You see her extend a hand, accept a cloth you assume shall dry your little one off, but the midwife swipes your newborn for a moment and your wife dabs your tears, then the sweat clinging to your forehead. Setting the small piece of white fabric on the table by your head, Galadriel lets her hand drop down to trace the curve of your cheek, the ring you placed upon her finger some years back on your wedding day sliding over it with a pleasant cool. Your daughter, clean and swaddled, is placed in your arms, and beaming down upon you, your wife takes your hand. “A beautiful gift unlike any this world has seen,” she speaks out loud this time, though it is a whisper, “and surely with a heart as strong as her mother’s.”

Arwen

Pain rushed to you so rapidly it was as though you were stabbed. Crumpling and crying out was how your wife found you, rushing in with skirts held at her sides and dropped just as quickly so Arwen’s hands could close around both of yours, words of worry followed by encouragement whispered between you. Her father was the greatest healer you knew, thus he was to aid in his grandchild’s birth, the first of his family. Elrond was calm when through the veil of your pain you saw your wife bring him into the room, brows faintly furrowed as he pulled back his sleeves. Your hearing practically faded- or was it simply your memory?- as he began giving quiet but firm commands to another elf that followed.

~

Vision blurred with tears, you fell back against the downy pillow, breathing ragged. Much as Lord Elrond could do for you, the pain was still great. "The cord is severed!" You heard him announce and your head snapped back up to see your son in his grandfather's arms, hear him wail as breath filled his lungs. "Our little boy," Arwen grips your arm, grinning down at you, "He is here! Go on, Ada, keep us waiting no longer." Shaking his head at her teasing, Elrond gave you a wide, tearful smile as he lowered your son. Smoothing his dark hair, Arwen gazed down at him with loving eyes before leaning over to you, kissing your lips with such love and joy both of you were smiling into it. "My dearest love, he is so beautiful. Just like his mother."

Elrond

"My lord, your wife-" Lindir needn't say more. Elrond is already gathering up his robes and abandoning entirely the parapet on which he stood, regretting leaving you for a moment even if you had insisted he take some time while you rest. Hurrying down the staircase to your shared room, Elrond finds you sitting bolt upright in bed, brows furrowed and hand resting upon your middle. "I must get to the-" "No," calm as he is, Elrond seems to have developed a habit of interruptions, he thinks, "the midwife will come to you. Lindir?" "Sending for her now, my lord." At Elrond's side, you whimper. All too well does he remember this anguish; nodding, he presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Lie still. You will be well."

~

Thank the Valar for healing magic; soon your screams melt into whispers shared between you and your husband and winces become faint, tired smiles. Elrond feels the strain of each push upon you, but marvels at your strength, the midwife all but telling you to slow down. "I beg your pardon," you reply, gritting your teeth, "but I must be free of this!" And free you are, for not long later cries fill the air and tears of relief and joy spill down your cheeks. Elrond caresses your face and meets your eyes with a tearful smile; never does this moment stale, in fact nothing in this world can compare. As soon as the bundle is placed in your hands, you hold your newborn out between you, Elrond taking hold and reaching out his other hand, which your daughter grasps. "She looks just like her mother," he tells you with a smile. "But hopefully she inherited her father's wisdom," you tease back with a tired grin.

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[justsomerandomfanfic]

Hey Hun, so excited for your celebration!! Could I please get 🍰 with Boromir? My three Facts are that I'm a witch with a wide knowledge of plants, I'm very short (4' 10") and I enjoy feeding people and trying new recipes. Thanks!!

Here ya go!!!! <3333 I hope you like it!

---

Boromir;

---

You probably met when you joined the Fellowship

You're Gandalf's protégé

You were also the groups healer

Boromir is intrigued by you, being a witch, and a great healer

(And fighter)

Boromir probably challenged you in a small sword duel

You won

Short yet very quick and nimble

He's impressed

During the journey, you often make dinner when you and the Fellowship stopped for the night

You'd also make small little deserts sometimes when you could

You also sometimes hide little snacks for the Fellowship

So when you see someone's feeling down

... Or when Gandalf... "Died"

You just whip out a small snack for everyone

You and Boromir spend a lot more time together after the "passing" of Gandalf

After a bit of grieving

You'd probably teach Boromir a bit about herbs and plants

Wandering close to camp together as you point out some plants and herbs and explain their possible purposes

I like to think that's one of the ways you and Boromir get rather close

Conversations about plants and herbs then become talks of other interests, family, and so on

Love blooms

Pun intended

[thelien-art]

Gasp! Pride requests? Yes! How about Ace Boromir and Trans Faramir please please! Queer Gondor brothers YES!

They´re the most wholesome brothers ever.

🏳️‍🌈CELEBRATE PRIDE WITH ME🏳️‍🌈 - send in a character or a ship with a pride flag and I´ll draw it

[madammars]

Heya!

So I'm on vacation until Tuesday, so I'm opening requests until then. Anything to do with LOTR or the Hobbit except for smut is welcome!