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thewulf · 1 year ago

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Little One || Aragorn

Summary: Request -I had an Aragorn request that I wanted to send you; if it’s something you’d be interested in writing I know it’ll be perfect (but if it doesn’t strike your fancy I completely understand)!! After reading your fic with the orc attack I was thinking about how Aragorn would respond to reader being injured defending the hobbits... Read Rest Here

A/N: Thank you for the request @fluentmoviequoter !! Had so much fun writing this, hope you enjoy :) Kinda angsty but hella fluffy as always :)

Pairing: Aragorn x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.1k +

TW: orcs, talks of blood, arrows, getting shot, yelling, angsty

You and Strider had been Rangers together for the better part of fifty years now. The two of you quickly found solace in the other. The two of you just seemed to compliment the other. What he lacked you picked up for him and vice versa. It wasn’t often he could find somebody who just understood him. So, he decided to keep you close but always safe.

He did what he wanted after all. He had a high enough ranking quickly. You were assigned nearly every patrol, raid, quest whatever the hell it was he did it with you. And you learned quicker than you had ever thought even possible with his aid. He wasn’t brutal on you, but he was not easy by any stretch of the imagination. He wanted you alive, so he trained you to stay that way. He had to be a little mean. A little too much sometime. For that was the real world. You couldn’t go out in the world as freely as one once could.

So, when Gandalf proposed the deal of getting the Hobbits from Bree to Rivendell he had agreed on the condition you could come with them. He wasn’t willing to leave you in some random village town in Eriador. No, he would never do that. Gandalf had agreed without a second thought thinking it was a good idea to have two Rangers instead of one.

You had decided fairly quickly that the Nazgûl was on your list of least favorite things in middle-earth you’d had the pleasure of coming across. You could deal with spiders and orcs buts these creatures were eerily different. Ice cold and terrifying, soul sucking. But you needed to remain stoic in the face of it all to help the Hobbits. The poor things were shaking they were so terrified. You’d tried stories of tales far and wide to shake their minds of their troubles, but it seemed no use as they only looked to the two of you in terror around every twist and turn.

When you stopped for the night to camp you’d noticed that Strider had led you deep into a dense forest. You’d never been the best at tracking, so you often led it to him. You really should’ve paid better attention before as you were often so reliant on his talents.

“I am off to gather a few plants for some tea. I will be back in an hour. Y/N, I trust they shall remain safe in your care?” He asked and you nodded without so much as a second thought.

“Of course.” You smiled to him, “Off you go. I know how mean you get without your tea.” That earned a hearty round of laughs from the Hobbit’s as they laid out their bedrolls for the night. It was nice to hear such a pleasant sound instead of hearing the screeching in the distance.

“I will remember that.” He glared at you with humor in his eyes before ducking into the night.

You turned back to the Hobbit’s with a stupid smile on your face not quite realizing how much you were giving way of your likeness towards the man, “Off to bed we go.” You shooed the silly little smirks right off their faces.

They all nodded quickly falling asleep without so much as a second thought. You were mighty jealous at the way they just did that. It took you far too long to fall asleep these days. Worry kept you up more than you liked to admit.

Thank whatever was out there for that worry that wouldn’t let you sleep as you heard the distant voices and branches breaking far off in the distance. Orcs. Had to be, they were so noisy. Your heartrate spiked as you heard them before you spotted them in the dark night. How in the hell had anything found you all the way out here?

“Up! Up!” You whisper shouted before shaking each of the Hobbits awake, “Abandon the camp we must go. Run” You grabbed for your sword and spare bow and arrow before ushering the small Hobbit’s further into the forest.

They ran ahead confused and disoriented having just fallen into a deep sleep but trusting you nonetheless. You knew you had made too much noise but did not quite realize how much the smaller ones were making as they ran.

You paused for a brief moment knowing your longer strides could catch up. You took a look behind you to see how in danger you truly were. The orcs hadn’t spotted your little group quite yet except one with keen eyes. Adrenaline shot through you as you saw the orcs arrow trained right at the back of Frodo’s head as he ran forward. He’d be dead instantly if the orc shot the arrow before you could stop it.

Panic shot through you as you ran ahead beside him pushing him to the ground with more force than you’d truly meant. You’d thought you were in the clear before the searing pain of being shot by an orc arrow throbbed through your shoulder blade sending you to the ground before you could think. Frodo rolled beside you which sprung Merry, Pippin and Sam into action as they pulled the two of you behind the thick trees of the dense forest. Fortunately for you it was mid-summer, and the forest was coated in dense foliage making it that much harder to find you and the Hobbits hiding in the trees.

Frodo looked more confused than upset before he saw the arrow protruding from your body. He’d understood instantly, “You have been hit miss Y/N!” Merry’s concerned voice only rose a few octaves as he saw the large arrow sticking right outside your shoulder. It hurt worse than it looked but you tried your best to bite back the tears as they were so unseasoned to such horrors in the world.

You looked down wincing at the arrow surely coated in poison. Thankfully you were only a few days out from Rivendell. You’d be fine… Strider not so much. Shuddering at the thought of the man who would be so mad you got hurt, you turned to the small Hobbit’s sitting in fear beside you.

Ignoring the arrow sticking out from your shoulder you sat up from the fall you took, “Listen, for there is not much time before they try and find us. Frodo and Sam run. Go find Strider. He will help end this swiftly.” You nodded watching them run quickly off into the forest. You’d sent Frodo off as he needed to be as far from the attacks as possible.

Wincing you turned yourself as best as you could towards Merry and Pippin, “Now, I need you two to be brave. You must snap this arrow as close to the wound as you can. I will fight these orcs off, but I cannot do that with this sticking out.” You huffed eyeing the rather large wooden arrow searing its mark in your shoulder blade.

Merry only gave you wide eyes as Pippin shook his head answering your request, “I cannot do that.”

“Not can I!” Merry agreed.

You looked behind you a little panicked seeing the orcs moving in closer. Far too close for your comfort. Lowering your voice, you leaned closer to them, “It does not matter any longer. Time is of the essence now. You must or we all die.” You glared at the two of them letting them both know quite how serious this was.

“Aye, turn away.” Merry stood with shaking hands grabbing at the arrow earning a hiss from your mouth. Pippin took his hands in his helping him get the leverage he needed to break the thick wood.

“All right.” You turned your head away clutching your hands into the earth trying to ground yourself. You had to fight back everything that was telling you to pass out as the arrow snapped in two under the hands of the much smaller Hobbits. A quiet whimper left your mouth as you tried your hardest to stay conscious. The orcs were close. You had to do something.

“Miss Y/N” Merry sounded concerned as he saw your face pale out and the orcs move closer, “Please be okay.”

You nodded blinking back the wave of nausea taking over your usually so agile self. This did not feel like your standard orc poison. You knew what that felt like and this was not it. This was moving faster than anything you’d been hit by them with, “I am fine mister Pippin.” You breathed trying to blink back the unshed tears. Pain only reminded you that you were alive. With another small groan you stood from the ground trying your hardest to fight the searing fire in your shoulder, “Stay quiet and hidden. It is best to attack them by surprise. Strider will be back soon. Let us try and wait this out as long as possible.” You whispered grabbing your sword from its sheath at your side.

You waited in silence as the first of the few crept into your field of vision. They must have been lost. No way a pack of orcs were this dumb. Or they were on a special mission. But you could wait no longer as they were likely to hear your breath or any sort of movement for he was a mere step away from you now.

Quickly, you sliced off its head without much of a sound. The loudness of the animals in the night covered up for its lifeless body hitting the ground giving you a second to recuperate and fight back the overwhelming feeling of pain now making its way down your arm.

When you killed the second and third the attention was finally on you. You were not able to be as graceful and let out a cry of pain as you had to use your bum arm to defend yourself. Darting behind a tree you narrowly avoided another arrow coming right for your head this time. But you didn’t have time to panic as the man you had been waiting for finally made his grand entrance. Just as you suspected it was over before it really begun. You were a fine Ranger. But Strider was an expert one.

Leaning back on the tree you let out the breath you were holding in. Never had you been so close to losing someone so quickly on a quest. Never had you been so close to being eliminated. You were usually so much better than this. Strider was getting in your head, and you were losing focus. A Ranger losing focus! That was unheard of. But Strider was your exception it seemed.

“You arrogant fool!” Strider yelled right at you as he came storming over to where you were leaning on the tree. He hadn’t seen the broken arrow in your shoulder nor the way you were holding your arm upright. He didn’t notice the sweat the coated your face or the distant gaze in your eyes. He was mad and he wanted to take it out on someone. That someone happened to be you.

You let out a cry in pain as he grabbed for the arm that you were holding gingerly. Even the smallest movement made it feel like your arm was getting ripped right apart. You had forgotten how painful poison was for it had been nearly fifty years since you’d been struck. The bastards made it as fast and as painful as possible. And whatever this stuff was seemed worse than before.

He moved his hand away from your arm after hearing your strangled cry. Pushing you back up against the tree, avoiding your injury, he felt the sticky liquid coating your outer garments. Blood. Of course, he knew what it was. He had only begun to panic as he saw the deliriousness in your gaze. You were hurt and badly at that. He was not used to this.

Frodo jumped in between the two of you, pushing Strider away just slightly, “She saved my life master Strider! Please have no anger towards her.”

His heart raced as he ordered the Hobbits to light a fire nodding at Frodo that he was done lashing out at you. He knew you needed a helping hand. Not one to hurt you while you were down. Gently, he pushed you down to the ground, “Sit down, nigol.” He’d all but ordered as he helped the Hobbit’s start a small fire. He couldn’t see your wound and you weren’t so forthcoming with information. That and he wanted to see it for himself.

A small smile came to your lips remembering the old nickname he’d given you, “Nigol… you have not called me that in quite some time Strider.”

Brushing your comment aside he asked you, “What happened?” As he sat down next to you waiting for the fire to glow so he could inspect your wound.

You turned towards him holding your eyebrows close together trying your best to bite back the pain, “Orcs happened is all. Caught a poisoned arrow to the shoulder.” Letting out a strangled sigh you sat further back against the tree.

“How did you get hit?” He clarified with more patience in his voice than you were used to. Maybe you looked worse than you felt because he never, ever cut you a break. And you appreciated him for that as you were still alive and usually avoidant of such injuries.

“Ugly bastard was aiming right at Frodo’s small little Hobbit head.” You frowned realizing if you hadn’t noticed Frodo would be sure as dead. You caught Strider’s smile at your crass language for he knew he would never grow tired of your fowl tongue. He loved it about you, “Had to push him out of the way and he nicked me instead.”

“I heard that miss Y/N!” Frodo yelled back at the two of you shaking his head at you, “Elves are not the only creatures with good hearing!” You only smiled as you watched them feed the small fire with more twigs and sticks. It surprised you that Strider ordered a fire for you’d just been ambushed. Who knew what else lurked beyond the trees that kept you hidden.

You let out a strangled laugh feeling the effects of the poison inch its way through your system. You watched as Strider looked at you with concern. It wasn’t often you were the one on the receiving end to such a look. You’d been under his wing for a better part of half a century. You’d gotten really excellent at not getting hurt. It must have been jarring to see you fighting the pain back with such a force. He’d never admit how much he had grown to love you. He didn’t like to see you in pain. Not a bit.

He sighed seeing the fleshy wound, “You must not be so careless next. I have trained you better than that.” He sighed inspecting the wound closely, “I must remove the arrow.” He spoke slowly feeling his heart drop at your startled expression.

You shook your head with a vengeance for you did not like that statement “We are but a few days from Rivendell. Surely they will have healers who can do that properly.”

He bit back the frown as he looked at your arm, “You will not have a few days if I do not get this out.” It wasn’t ominous but simply the truth.

“Is it not an Orc arrow?” You looked down knowing what his answer was going to be but trying to ignore it in your head was proving to be a challenge.

He gave you a solemn nod, “Aye, but it does not appear to be orc poison.”

All you could muster was a simple, “Oh.” Not thinking that was a possibility. You’d still concluded it was a different form of Orc poison. What could they possibly be using?

“It appears to be something much darker.” His frown only deepened as he was studying your wound. He had ripped your shirt where you had been hit to examine it closer. It was turning black far too fast to be the standard orc poison they’d become accustomed to.

You shuddered knowing the pain would be intolerable. You already seemed to be teetering on the precipice between the living world and the unconscious world, “Do your worst then.” You spoke quickly turning away and grabbing at a stick on the ground. When you tuned back he was just looking at you with such a sadness you couldn’t help but to ask, “What?”

He shook his head breaking the stare he had on you, “Nothing. Bite the stick. Don’t fight me. You know the rules.”. It had been a long time since you were at the mercy of his hands. You were but a young Ranger the last time you’d been caught in such a dreadful position. Back then you had medicine to at least dull the pain. This was going to be hell you thought as you placed the soggy stick in your mouth. Something to bite into, crucial to keep you from yelling too loud.

But you didn’t need to worry about that issue too much as darkness took over only a moment after he begun to tug on the broken arrow embedded in your shoulder. Of course, you didn’t catch the concern or the panic that overtook him when he saw you collapse into unconsciousness so easily. He didn’t waste a second longer after the arrow was removed from your shoulder to pick you up and carry you in his arms telling the Hobbits that they had to get a move on for your sake. With hushed complaints the group was off to Rivendell in the dead of night.

It must’ve been the pain overtaking the adrenaline that had subsided that made you fade out of unconsciousness. As your body stirred awake the sun rose in the sky before you. Strider only cradled you closer to his chest when he felt you squirming beneath him. A rather large sigh of relief escaped him as he looked down seeing you slowly blink your eyes back into reality.

“Did you enjoy your rest then?” Strider smiled most genuinely down to you for as much as he loved teasing you it sure made him happy to see you awake once more.

You cracked your own smile at his sarcastic words, “It was nice, thank you for inquiring.” You hummed squirming once more in his embrace. When he locked his hands around you it was only then that you realized he was carrying you like so and he had no intention of letting you out of his grasp.

He chucked seeing your startled expression. It was also new to him too and he really did not want to admit just how much he had enjoyed holding you close to him. It put his normally anxious heart at ease. He had long since found you beautiful. He knew he had loved you when he first heard you speak your mind to a superior all those years ago. For nobody, not a single man, had the courage to speak the way you did. And you had the skill to back it up. That was why he panicked seeing your injured silhouette in the forest. For if you were to go down he had no idea what he would do. You were so deeply embedded in his life he could not even begin to fathom a life without you in it.

He ran faster than he ever had before when Sam and Frodo found him foraging for plants. When they came in blabbering that you had been hit by an arrow he began sprinting in autopilot. It drove him mad feeling like it took longer to get to you. He was there in no longer than a minute to kill the ten or so orcs that were hunting you, the one he loved. He was a maniac when it came to protecting you. He hadn’t meant to yell so harshly at you but he was scared. Terrified of the thought of losing you, his person.

He noticed the pink beginning to return to your face and more relief flooded his overstressed system, “You are getting some color back.” He noticed as he held you closer, “That is a good sign. The poison must not be spreading.”

You let out a long yawn feeling the effects of it all starting to come over you once more, “That is good. It does not hurt as bad either. Just aches a bit.” Your eyes drooped as you tried to fight off the sleep that was overcoming you.

“Rest. Go to sleep, nigol.” He smiled down to you with nothing but love in those striking eyes. He’d been carrying you for hours already, what was another few anyway?

“Nigol.” You hummed remembering the times he called you that all the way back when you first had met him. He refused to tell you what it meant and by the time you finally met an elf you’d forgotten the nickname altogether, “What does it mean?” You inquired hoping he would indulge you this time as you were on the verge of unconsciousness.

He laughed, throwing his head back and all. You admired the way his dark hair framed his fair face as he looked back down at you. He was truly so handsome. It wasn’t fair he was placed in front of you like this and yet, was so unattainable, “I did not tell you fifty years ago, why would I tell you now?”

“I thought I would try.” You sighed, “Does it mean something bad? You only use it when I mess up.” You asked him once you concluded the worst. He often used that nickname early on when you two had been partnered up. It’s use seemed to fade as you had gotten more competent. Yet now when you had a bum shoulder rendering you useless he used it once more.

He shook his head quickly, “It is not bad. I can promise you that.” He eased your worried face quickly with his words.

“Well, I suppose I can accept that.” You didn’t want to push feeling oddly unlike yourself in his arms. Usually combative and wanting to pick a friendly fight you felt like doing anything but that. You just wanted to enjoy yourself in his embrace as you knew this moment would likely never occur again.

He knew you better than anybody else. He noticed how shy you were suddenly acting. Was it the nickname? Were you tired? Was the poison moving faster than he could? He looked down seeing you continue to fight sleep. Usually so powerful you looked helpless in his arms. His eyes softened as he realized how much trust you had to have in him to relax into him like so. You were always on guard, always ready. Frodo was alive because of that instinct. But now you were at his will and he felt more responsible for you than he had ever before.

“It’s Sindarin.” He admitted wanting to give you something more as you had given him exactly what he wanted, you.

Feeling your eyes getting heavier you replied with tiredness in your voice, “I had concluded that Strider. You did tell me you were raised by elves, remember?” Lazily, you smiled up to him laughing as best as your body would allow you.

“It is Sindarin for little one.” He finally admitted to you, “Or mouse.” He looked down at you nervously hoping you’d have a decent reaction to it.

“Mouse? Little one? I should be offended.” You grinned not taking offense in the slightest for you found it oddly adorable he had given you such a sweet nickname.

“Do not take offense.” He spoke quickly, “I did not mean it that way.”

“Relax, Strider.” You yawned once more feeling your head rest of his chest heavily. Sleep was coming on quick, “I am just teasing you. You are so easy to mess with.”

“Sleep now, little one.” He gave you another gentle squeeze letting you know he had you. It was alright. You could trust him as always. And trust him you did as you found yourself in a quick sleep right back in his arms.

“There you are.” Strider’s voice pulled you from the sleep that had overcome you on the road. When you blinked you were stunned to be laying in front of a fireplace in a rather grandeur room. You must have made it all the way to Rivendell which meant you had been out for days at this point.

“Are we in Rivendell?” You tried to sit up before his hands pushed you back down, gently, into the plush elven bed.

“You must lie still.” He ordered before answering your question, “Yes. You have been unconscious for nearly four days. Lord Elrond was unsure if you were to make it.” His eyes were laced with something you had hardly seen on the man in your many years of knowing him, fear. He looked scared, terrified. Yet almost relieved seeing you awake.

“Four days?” You swallowed back your surprise.

He gave you a quick not, “Almost, you even have Lord Elrond worried.”

You sighed, “I did not mean to do that.”

He moved closer, sitting on your bedside. Taking his chance he brushed your stray hair away from your face, “You always do that.”

You just looked up at him, “What?”

“It is just that you always care for others before yourself. As much as I love that about you. Think about yourself for once. Care for yourself. You are far too kind.” He spilled his thoughts to you for he was too tired. Too scared at the thought of losing you he was not going to hold back his tongue anymore for he knew he loved you. He wanted you. He couldn’t see you with anyone else but him.

You blinked back surprise at his outright confession. Sure, the two of you had danced around any feelings for quite literally years. But you would have none of that, as sweet as it was, “You did not say that when I slayed half an orc army with you.” You spoke with a hint of playfulness in your tone. It was your favorite game to play with the man.

He laughed a full hearty laugh. A laugh so pure, one you’d heard so rarely from the man. He only laughed like that when he was at peace. Happy. Comfortable and relaxed. A sight that you could really get used to.

“For that is true.” His eyes searched your for any sign of pain. Any sign that something was wrong. He could not quite believe you were finally awake and chatting with him like nothing had happened. Like you hadn’t been knocked out cold for that long. When Lord Elrond had started to get nervous. Strider was not dumb. He grew up with Elves and knew their tells. When an elf grew worried he knew things were not boding well.

You felt yourself shrinking under his gaze, “What? Is there something on my face? Because that would be embarrassing. I have been asleep for three days and you let something stay on my face for that long?” You rambled not quite sure what you were doing. He was making you nervous. Strider never made you nervous. But when he gave you that earnest look you completely lost yourself to him. How fickle your brain was behaving.

He bit back a laugh sensing your nerves, “No. There is nothing marking your face. I was simply admiring you was all.”

Was he trying to kill you? Your cheeks were sure to be a bright rosy, red for his second confession was bolder than his first, “Admiring me?”

“Indeed. I would not be the man that I am had you not been by me all these years. I thought I was going to lose you. But now that you are back I get to admire you.” He spoke with that soft voice he only used ever so often. It was fascinating to get to know an entirely different side of the man you thought you knew through and through.

“I deserve no such thing.” You laughed trying to shake off the seriousness of his gaze down on you. He did not find your statement the least bit humorous.

“While I do not agree I also do not wish to argue. How do you feel?” He changed the subject even though he might have enjoyed watching you squirm. Placing a cool hand on your forehead, he did not miss the small jump you had in response to his contact. Touches he had given you so often before had changed. Things had shifted between the two of you and for the first time in a long time he was excited. He had a purpose. His purpose.

You gulped back your argument and nodded in agreement, “I feel fine, will you let me sit up now or must I stare up all afternoon?” You quipped hoping your quick mouth would let him know just how fine you really felt.

Shaking his head, he held out a hand for your to take, “You may sit up, but take it slow.”

“I was shot by an arrow Strider. I did not get my legs cut off.” You took his hand letting him pull you up to sit next to him.

He rolled his eyes yet still held admiration in them, “That mouth will get you in trouble one day.” His eyes traced your face as you too just looked at him. It didn’t feel quite real that he could have admired you just as you him. Had you been blind?

You hummed in agreement not being able to take your eyes off his, “Not if you are there to protect me.”

It was he who broke the staring game going on between the two of you as he collected his thoughts, “Indeed, little one. There is nothing truer than that statement.” Gaining some courage, he took your hands in his giving them a gentle squeeze, “Please never scare me like that again for I cannot bear it.”

“I will try my hardest, as long as you promise to do the same.” You nodded towards him feeling bashful in front of the man you’d grown to love. The man you had only hoped to love you as he did. The man you never could have imagined felt the same. Yet here you were.

Giving your hands a reassuring squeeze, he simply nodded to you, “I promise, little one. I promise with my whole heart.”

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891

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ghastlylover · 20 days ago

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!!!OATHBOUND SPOILERS BELOW!!

What’s actually genuinely making me explode about Oathbound is how it’s made so fucking clear and explicit just how LOVED everyone is

How Natasia talks about Selwyn after thirteen years as she fights so hard to help him bc he’s her baby and she loves him

Even as he’s mocking and taunting and insulting them, all Bree and Nick do is reassure Sel that he’s not a failure or mistake bc even now even when Bree doesn’t remember him they LOVE him

When William learns about Nicks abuse and vows to be there for him and to never let him think that he isn’t believed in ever again bc he Loves him

When William neglects HIMSELF and Lark insists on going on the quest just to make sure he’s taken care of and protected bc william protects everyone but lark just wants him to be safe bc he Loves Him!!

All the years and decades of love between Valec and Mariah and Hazel and Lu bc they’re a family and have each other no matter what

And Everyone loves Bree!!!so much!!

Mariah, William, Lu and Hazel, Nick… all of them fought to get back to her because of how much they love her!!!

Sel being at the height of his demonia and still clawing and burning himself free to get back to her bc even when it’s warped under all the rage and darkness, he always loves her

Nick’s every word and act and breath being filled with love and affection and trust and call and response for Bree bc he will always find her and fight for her and always always always love her!!

Bree collapsing in her dads arms and sobbing after nearly a year without seeing

Bree fighting like absolute fucking hell to find four lost, scared black girls because that’s exactly who she is

Valec’s monologue near the end and everyone she cares about in one room talking about how beautiful Bree’s soul is because of how much SHE loves 🥺🥺

Like???? Love is the point babes, it was the whole point the entire fucking time

#legendborn #bloodmarked #oathbound spoilers #tracy deonn #the legendborn cycle #YA #Young adult #my godddddd I’m not gonna shut up about thisss #got me rocking back and forth and shit #love is the answer #love is the point #bree matthews #Nick Davis #selwyn kane

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saturngelato · 7 months ago

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He’s alive and now he’s buuuurnning

Cross your heart, open your mind ↳ "Faithless" by Black Veil Brides from Alive & Burning

#andy biersack #black veil brides #alive and burning #he looked great in this concert recording #I wish I could’ve been at this show #look at him gooo #bree after dark

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infiniteimaginings · 10 months ago

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chase davenport x reader pls the lab rats fandom is in a drought 🙏

I Missed You (Chase Davenport x GN!Reader)

Summary: Chase has been overworking himself with school, missions, his family, everything. He hasn't had time to see you recently, and no matter how he tries to open his schedule something else is added to his plate. So, you pay him a little visit just so he can take a break for a little while. Pronouns: You/Yours, They/Them Warnings: I won't lie, this is kinda angsty (but it ends on a good note!) Word Count: 1.4k A/N: THIS IS MY HUSBAND BY THE WAY. PLEASE REQUEST HIM MORE I BEG YOU GUYS! PLEASE! PLEASE, DO IT FOR ME!

One month, two weeks, one day, six hours, and twenty-nine minutes.

It’s been one month, two weeks, one day, six hours, and twenty-nine minutes, no, thirty minutes since the last time Chase Davenport had seen you in person. Along with that, it had been eight days, twelve hours, and seventeen minutes since he had last talked to you on the phone, since the last time he heard your voice.

He had been keeping count because, god, he missed you so much.

Davenport had him working on their next presentation of lab equipment, he had to go on a plethora of missions that have spiked up recently, there had been visits from their grandma, the house system had been tapped into three times, and he had to keep up with schoolwork on top of it all.

He was exhausted, and all he wanted was to see you. He wanted to be in your arms, to hold you, to hear how your day was, just to be around you. But, he wasn’t. He wasn’t able to do any of that, instead he was in the lab, alone, trying not to fall asleep or pull his hair out.

Chase was the smartest person alive, he had abilities that people would kill for. He was relied on, because he is irreplaceable and a necessity to everyone around him. He is trustworthy, responsible, and far greater than he gives himself credit for.

His family adores him, they do, even if sometimes they show it weirdly. Jabs with their words, or in Adams case their elbows, small comments, but they show the love. Chase knows they love him and that they care about him, they’re his family. Adam and Bree are his siblings that he grew up with, they love each other, even if they have a weird way of showing it. They are Davenports greatest creations and he reminds them of how important they are to him. Tasha is his mom, he finally got a mom and she cared for him like no one ever had. Then Leo, Leo is his brother who showed him, Adam, and Bree a world they never thought they’d be able to see.

So many people care for Chase, but…None of them could ease him how you do.

You were just different. It’s as if when Chase felt the entire world crumbling around him, when all the lights got dark and he suddenly felt like he had no solutions, you held your hand out to pull him out of his drowning fears. You saw the ugliest parts of him, the most violent, the cruel, the broken parts of him that no one had tried to fix, and you still smiled at him. You still held his hand, even through the darkness, and you even said you were scared.

When you told him that, he almost blocked out every word after. The thought of you being scared of him, even a bit, crushed him. Chase almost pulled back, he almost told you to let him go, to let him disappear into that dark forest of unknown feelings but you wouldn’t.

He remembers so clearly when you told him:

“I’m honestly a little scared that you’ll go so deep into the code of your chip, looking for what’s happening to you…that you’ll forget you’re still human.”

Chase put his forehead on the table, groaning at the ringing in his ears. He needed to get all of this done. He would say the sooner he got everything done, the sooner he would get to see you, but everytime he tried, something new was thrown onto him.

It was all so frustrating that when he reached his newest project he just dropped his head to the table, hands gripping his hair shakily. He could feel tears stinging his eyes, and a bit of blood drew from how hard he was biting his lip to stifle any sobs that dared to pass his lips.

He had never felt so overwhelmed before in his life, usually he was so used to the work. He was used to doing everything accordingly, but it all suddenly felt like too much. He didn’t know what he was doing wrong to feel like this, he didn’t know what he was doing so wrong to the point he couldn’t just finish all of the work.

As Chase thought of all this, your words constantly repeated in his head, just as they had the past few weeks. You were scared that he wouldn’t remember his own human feelings, because he was so used to being treated as if he was robotic.

Your concern just caused Chase to tear up even more, clutching at his chest. He could feel his heart beating, he could hear it through the ringing.

When did he forget that his heart was still beating in his chest? When did he forget that he was more than just the chip in his neck?

During his processing thoughts, he didn’t hear the sound of the lab door opening. He didn’t hear the sound of footsteps approaching him. He was usually so on guard, he had ultra-sensitive bionic hearing, how did he not hear someone coming up behind him?

A hand was placed on his back, startling him immediately. Chase quickly wiped his tears, turning to the person swiftly, ready to scold them for sneaking up on him. That was until he looked up and made eye contact with…

You.

You stood there, a frown painting your face as you analyzed Chase with your eyes.

He stared, agape, lips parted, pupils shaking, face flushed as you observed him. He couldn’t tell if you were actually there or if he had been working so long to the point he had gone delirious.

You stepped forward, hands cupping his cheeks, thumbs swiping at the wet corners of his eyes. “You were crying?” You whispered, mostly to yourself, but Chase heard it, you knew he did.

The brown haired boy didn’t answer your question though, he left it ignored as if there was something more important than how he was feeling. To him, there was. That something was you.

The moment he processed that you were physically in front of him, he stood up as fast as possible, his head feeling as if it were spinning for a moment. He ignored the feeling and wrapped his arm around you, placing his nose into your shoulder, squeezing you tightly, “You’re here.” He mumbled, taking a deep breath. “You’re actually here.”

You nodded against him, gently petting his hair as you wrapped your own arms around him. “I am…” You trailed off, frown still on your face, “Is everything okay?”

Chase thought for a moment, leaving the two of you in silence, was everything okay? His face felt like it was burning and he wasn’t used to it, his eyes felt sore, his throat was a bit scratchy, and he still felt a bit dizzy.

But…

His heartbeat slowed down, his hands weren’t shaking, his breathing was regulated, his mind finally felt clear, and…You were there.

Chase smiled against your shoulder, nodding and holding you a bit tighter, “I missed you.” He told you, pulling back to see your face.

You blinked at him, a bit confused, tilting your head a bit. “Okay… how long have you been in this lab?” You asked him, now noticing how pale he looked, looking around and seeing the papers scattered around. You squeezed his arms a bit, “You need sunlight.” You stated, chuckling a bit, pulling him by his hand to the doors of the lab.

“I still have work-”

“Chase, the work can wait.” You told him seriously, shaking your head. “You are human.” You reminded him, flicking his forehead lightly, “You need proper food, sunlight, social interaction, and more importantly,” You paused, cupping his face, kissing the spot you flicked, “you need a break.”

His breath staggered in his throat a bit, but he found himself once again. Chase smiled at you, his eyes lighting up, “Okay, I’ll take a break.” He told you, placing his hands over your own.

“Thank you.”

He hummed, enjoying the contact, closing his eyes slightly to just stay in that moment with you. Chase opened his eyes once again, slowly to see you looking back at him, concern in your eyes. He smiled again, glad to be able to smile again, “I missed you, so much.”

“I missed you too.”

It had been seven minutes and twenty-six seconds since Chase Davenport was finally able to see you again, and he wasn’t going to let that time stop anytime soon.

#Chase Davenport #Chase Davenport x reader #Disney #disney x reader #disney channel #disney channel x reader #disneyXD #disneyXD x reader #lab rats #lab rats x reader #infinite imaginings

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toonice113 · 3 months ago

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New Years Day ⋆ ★ N.Hischier

Pairings: Nico Hischier x fem!reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: just reader being completely in love with Nico, based on New Years Day by Taylor Swift.

Warnings?: Mentions of alcohol, mentions of a fight.

Word count: 701

⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ Happy New Year! here's a little something I wrote in like 10 minutes

There's glitter on the floor after the party

Girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby

It was 4am by the time you were leaving the hotel ballroom where the Christmas party had been, Nicole, Bree and you with your heels in your hands, arms intertwined laughing about some dumb joke one of you had made while Jesper, Dougie and Nico walked behind you with their own chatter, a lot more sober and quiet than you three. Nico couldn’t help but get distracted by the way you looked, how your eyes were glossy from the alcohol but also from how much you had laughed, your hair flowing as you threw your head back in laughter and your flushed cheeks.

Candle wax and Polaroids on the hardwood floor

You and me from the night before

Walking out of your room you groaned looking at the mess you had left last night. Nico had been away for a roadie during your birthday and while you had gone out and celebrated with your friends on the actual day, Nico had prepared a night in for you two that had ended in both of you rushing into your room spilling some candle wax on your way there and leaving behind a stack of polaroid pictures from your night together.

Don't read the last page

But I stay when you're lost, and I'm scared, and you're turning away

I want your midnights

But I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day

The New Year’s Eve party had started out great, your friends filling your apartment, drinks flowing, good food and good music, so you weren’t sure how you’d ended the night in an empty bed while Nico slept in the guest room. You had no idea who had started the fight or how it had escalated to where it had but you knew this wasn’t how you wanted to start the new year, so after tossing and turning you finally got out of bed, the clock reading 7am, you had gone to bed just after 4. Walking out of the room wearing only your underwear and one of Nico’s hoodies you could see him picking up cups and bottles that had been left out, he looked just as tired as you and you couldn’t stand being so apart from each other so you took a few strides his way and held him from behind feeling him tense up for a second before relaxing and turning around pulling you into his chest, both of you melting right into each other, an unspoken promise to never go to bed angry at each other ever again.

You squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi

I can tell that it's gonna be a long road

I'll be there if you're the toast of the town, babe

Or if you strike out and you're crawling home

You knew Nico was not excited for this event, he usually didn’t mind going to fundraisers and charity events but this one was different. Tonight would be filled with investors and boring speeches, having to act like the people at the dinner were the most interesting ever even though neither of you cared, sitting in the back of the car the team had sent to pick you up you felt him squeeze your hand three times, you squeezed back letting him know you were there for him “We can always sneak out early if this is horrible” You whispered at him as you climbed out of the car, a small chuckle leaving his mouth as he buttoned his suit jacket before holding your hand again and pulling you in for a forehead kiss.

Please don't ever become a stranger (hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you)

Whose laugh I could recognize anywhere (I will hold on to you)

Even from the other side of the dark room, you could recognize his laugh making you smile, a warm feeling consuming you as you sipped on your drink and chatted with the other WAGs, you had his laugh engraved in your brain and you prayed you could keep hearing it for the rest of your life.

#nh13 #nico hischier #nj devils fic #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier fanfic #nhl fic

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saturngelato · 8 months ago

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Forgive me mother for I have sinned

#black veil brides #andy biersack #i live and breathe #i love him so much #he’s got raccoon eyes #that fuckass loose strand of hair #the cross earring ahhh #bree after dark

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warrioreowynofrohan · 7 months ago

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A bit of a theory that I’ve struck on while rereading the start of FOTR. I think there’s something guarding Rivendell besides the Bruinen. I think Elrond has taken a leaf out of Melian’s book.

There are some hints that the distance to Rivendell varies depending on who you are. Frodo starts approaching the Ford in late afternoon; he is in desperate need of healing, and is brought to Rivendell midway into that same night.

In The Hobbit, in contrast, the dwarves and Bilbo cross the Ford of Bruinen in the morning, and the sun is down by the time they reach Rivendell. There’s lot of references to the journey being longer than Bilbo would expect:

They came on unexpected valleys, narrow with steep sides, that opened suddenly at their feet, and then looked down surprised to see trees below them and running water at the bottom. There were gullies that they could almost leap over, but very deep with waterfalls in them. There were dark ravines that one could neither jump over or climb into. There were bogs, some of them green pleasant places to look at, with flowers growing bright and tall; but a pony that walked there with a pack on its back would never have come out again. It was indeed a mich wider land from the ford to the mountains than you would ever have guessed. Bilbo was astonished.

Then there’s Aragorn’s line when Merry asks him how far it is to Rivendell:

“I don’t know if the Road has ever been measured in miles beyond The Forsaken Inn, a day’s journey east of Bree. Some say it is far, and others say otherwise. It is a strange road, and folk are glad to meet their journey’s end, whether the time is long or short. But I know how long it would take me on my own feet, with fair weather and no ill fortune: twelve days from here to the Ford of Bruinen.”

(By the way, it always amazes me, now I’ve noticed it, that the hobbits manage this journey - which Aragorn says would take him 12 days on the Road, with “fair weather and no ill fortune,” in only 14 days with Frodo severely injured, travelling mainly off the Road, and with some bad weather and wrong directions. Some of that’s due to the extremely fast pace Glorfindel sets for the last twoand a half days, but it’s incredibly impressive.)

If anyone should know the distance from Bree to Rivendell, it should be Aragorn, a Ranger of the North fostered in Rivendell, who has probably covered that journey dozens to hundreds of times. And the Road is fairly straight; it shouldn’t be hard for travellers to keep track of the general distance. And also, Aragorn only gives the distance to the Ford, not to Rivendell itself. What if the distance and difficulty of the Road from the Ford to Rivendell varies, based on how well a guest is known. Frodo is the Ring-bearer, in desperate need; he makes it there fast. Thorin & Company are vouched for by Gandalf, but are largely an unknown quantity; it takes them the better part of a day. Someone with hostile intentions might never find Rivendell at all, even after days of wanderings.

#tolkien #the lord of the rings #rivendell #elrond #the hobbit #aragorn

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corruptedcaps · 8 months ago

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Pierced

On the fourth floor of her sorority, Sarah stood in front of the door marked 'President', a little nervous, a little surprised but ultimately excited. It was a tremendous honor for her friends, and fellow sorority sisters, Emily and Bree to have voted to make her president. This was even more compounded by the fact that they had decided when they started the sorority to abolish the idea of having a single figure head.

In the first few months of her freshman year Sarah had been utterly lonely. She found it hard to make friends and there was no real place for her to meet anyone. That's when she had come across the sorority that had been abandoned.

Alpha Omega Sigma was once the most feared and revered sorority on campus, ruled with an iron fist by a girl called Kayla, the hottest, meanest, and most popular girl at the college. Her reign was infamous. She instilled fear in everyone, and her sorority sisters both idolized and dreaded her. When Kayla graduated, the sorority was left leaderless. The other girls seemed to lose their taste of being campus bitches and the building fell into disrepair, eventually being forgotten.

Sarah had seen it as an opportunity to bring together other girls who felt at sea, who needed a helping hand, who needed friends. That’s how she met the equally outcast Emily and Bree. They banded together to repair the broken down sorority. They made plans to organize charity events, volunteer at local shelters, and hold inclusive social gatherings that welcomed everyone, regardless of their background.

Finally after months of work getting the house back in liveable order, Emily and Bree surprised her with a gesture of gratitude and respect. They insisted that she become the President of Alpha Omega Sigma. Despite her resistance to having any sort of leader position or title, Sarah accepted, knowing how much it meant to them.

Pushing open the door into the bedroom she found herself beaming ear to ear. The girls had completely overhauled the room and it was now a warm and welcoming space rather than the dingy and dark place they had been storing materials in.

Sarah wandered around the newly renovated room, basking in its simple beauty. Piled in the corner were some boxes marked ‘Kayla’. They contained a bunch of clothes, jewelry and makeup from the former president that they had planned on using in a charity auction, once they had more sisters of course.

As she took a step towards the bookshelf, she suddenly felt a sharp pain shoot through her foot. "Ouch!" she exclaimed, hopping on one leg. Looking down, she saw something gleaming between the floorboards. Kneeling, she pried it out and found herself holding a small, jewel-encrusted belly button piercing. The pink diamond at its center sparkled mesmerizingly in the light.

Her eyes were captivated by the piercing's beauty. It seemed almost alive, the way it shimmered and glowed. Suddenly, it shot out of her hand and latched onto her belly button with a force that knocked the breath out of her. She quickly recovered as a pleasurable vibration coursed through her body. "Ohhhh god what is happpppppening?" She managed to moan.

A deep sensation ran through her, and she could feel her bones cracking and shifting. Her once brown hair lightened, strands turning a bright, golden blonde that cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders.

As her hair transformed, she felt her drive for academic excellence fade, slowly replaced by an overwhelming desire to party and fuck boys. Her once focused mind now swirled with thoughts of drinking, dancing and riding cock.

“No, I have to focus, I can’t just think about partying… or can I?” She muttered weakly, trying to fight the intrusive thoughts. Each time she let the naughty ideas the more she felt her body change and the piercing throb pleasurably.

Next to change were her boobs which grew bigger than any other pair she knew. They stretched out her hoody she was wearing, lifting it high and exposing her midriff where the piercing sparkled.

With her now bigger tits, her extensive knowledge of science was pushed aside, supplanted by a deep understanding of makeup, fashion and seduction techniques. As smart as she was with equations and chemical mixtures she now was an expert in the right lip gloss for the right occasion, the sexiest dress that would have heads turning, and the flirtatious looks that could bring any man to their knees.

“Maybe this isn’t so bad. Knowing how to dress to get what I want would be useful, right?” She reasoned, a sly smile creeping onto her face.

Her lips plumped, becoming lush and inviting. She bit her bottom lip pleasurably, loving the taste of lipstick she felt on it. She felt her introverted nature dissolved into an intense arrogance. She no longer felt the need to shy away from the spotlight. She craved it, relishing the power she felt in her new, sexy appearance.

“Of course, I need to be seen and admired. What’s the point of being this beautiful if no one is around to appreciate it?” She said confidently.

Her fingernails elongated and took on a perfect pink polish, as if freshly manicured. Her kindness, which had been a cornerstone of her character, was stripped away, replaced by a cruel streak. She felt a thrill in the idea of asserting her newfound dominance over others, especially her two sorority sisters.

“Yes more, MORE! This is what I want! What I deserve! The other girls are just ants in need of a queen, and I am that queen.” She declared, her voice dripping with contempt.

Sarah’s skin began tingle as it became tan, achieving a flawless, sun-kissed glow. Every blemish, scar, and imperfection faded away, leaving her complexion smooth and radiant. She felt an overwhelming surge of power and beauty unlike anything she had ever known.

Striding confidently to the mirror, Sarah looked at herself vainly. She took out her phone, posing for pictures, loving how she looked from every angle. Her new, blonde hair shimmered, her fuller tits and plumper lips adding to her bitchy look.

“Mmmm fuck yessss. I don’t know how the piercing did this, but I love it. And I’m going to make some changes to this sorority. MY sorority.” She said, admiring her reflection.

Her eye caught the boxes in the corner marked ‘Kayla’ and a wicked grin crossed her perfect lips. She ripped them open with manic glee and pulled outa tight pink outfit and began trying it on.

Everything felt perfect on her body, every item clung tightly to her bigger tits and tighter waist. She was in heaven. She looked every bit the stereotypically bitchy sorority girl. She loved it and so did the piercing. It continued to throb pleasurable everytime she thought or did something bitchy.

But there as something more to it as she caught its pink glint in the reflection. It seemed to whisper to her evil ideas, filled her mind with schemes. It endowed her with the knowledge of the wicked magic that now coursed through her and told her how she could wield it. The very thought made her wet with anticipation and thankfully she didn’t have to wait long to test out her new power.

“Sarah? Are you ok? It sounded like you were in pain.” Came Emily’s voice from beyond the door.

“We just wanted to make sure you’re not hurt.” Said Bree who was also there.

Sarah felt the piercing throb as it glowed an unholy pink. She knew what she needed to do. Swinging open the door the two girls were at first shocked at the sight of their president looking like every bully they ever had combined.

However they were soon drawn in to the glowing light of her belly button piercing. They were bathed in the pink light and were quickly transformed into blonde brats just like their leader.

“OMG Sarah, like, what did you do to us? I feel, like, so nasty.” Emily purred entering the room to use the mirror.

“For real babes, I’m so yummy and hawt now. I can’t believe the loser dorks we used to be.” Bree said in a bratty whine as she ran her newly manicured fingers over her transformed body.

“Soak it up girls, you’re the first sisters of my NEW sorority. A sorority where we get what we want, we fuck who we want, and we crush everyone who crosses us.” Sarah smirked at the two girls who returned the smile.

Over the next week the Sorority exploded with activity. Their first pledges arrived expecting a welcoming environment but instead finding two wicked bitches, Mila and Brianna, who belittled and bullied them. The ones who stayed were rewarded with a meeting with the sorority queen, Sasha.

After that meeting any resistance to the sorority lifestyle was dispel, as was their notions of kindness and charity. They just wanted to party, bully and fuck. Before the end of the month the sorority was filled with hot babes who controlled the campus.

The Alphas, as they were come to be known, were a force to be reckoned with. If you upset one of them you might as well drop out. If you didn’t they would make you wish you had.

They held the biggest parties and had the hottest girls. Everyone wanted to be them or be with them but no one was more coveted than the queen bee herself, Sasha.

At their nightly parties, hot guys would surround her, their eyes filled with desire as they watched her move. She basked in their attention, feeling the power of their longing wash over her.

Each beat of the music seemed to sync with the rhythmic throbs of the piercing in her belly button, sending waves of pleasure and satisfaction through her body. Every throb was a reward.

Sasha’s hips swayed provocatively, and she threw her head back, laughing with a mix of arrogance and delight. The boys around her were captivated, their gazes never leaving her. She could feel their desire, their yearning to be close to her, and it only fueled her confidence.

She eyed them like food at a buffet, wondering which one she would enjoy tonight. Eventually picking a muscle bound man named Brad. The other guys looked disappointed as she led Brad up the stairs. She passed by the open door of Mila who was being eaten out by her Psychology professor. She gave a wink to Sasha in between moans.

Reaching the next floor she came across Brianna who was leading another girl around by a leash while whipping her with a leather crop. Brianna nodded in respect to Sasha and pulled her pet out of her path.

Finally Sasha and Brad reached the top of the house where she had taken over the entire floor. Her previous room was more than spacious but that was fit for a president and not the queen that she now was nor what the sign now said on her pink door.

"It’s good to be the Queen." Sasha thought, her lips curling into a triumphant smile as she pulled Brad into her bedroom. The piercing throbbed again, as if in agreement, filling her with a deep sense of satisfaction. She was Alpha Omega Sigma, and nothing could challenge her reign.

THE END

#f2f #corruption #bitchification #magic #evil bitch #power transfer #cc2024 #pierced

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sugairsstuff · 1 year ago

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hey… 💋 was wondering if you could write something for aragorn… you know who this is. you know what i’m asking for.

@theactofknowing yes i know who this is. here is payment. (p.s. they also write!)

(credit to @cafekitsune for the divider)

to bloom

aragorn x half-elf gn/reader

warnings: descriptions of nudity

summary: you and aragorn have known each other for years, resulting in the two of you inevitably falling in love with each other though never admitting it. though, it turns out all a love confession took was a bar of soap and you two bathing in a lake together.

Exhaustion has long since seeped into your muscles, the motion of placing one boot in front of the other becoming a rhythmic pattern you refuse to break for you know you won’t be able to pick it back up again.

Strong winds roll through the grassy fields, making a mess of your untied hair and causing your eyes to catch the billowing of a dark cloak in front of you. You raise your head slightly to gaze at the owner of the garment: reluctant heir of Gondor, unnamed leader of the little band titled the Fellowship the group of you have formed- and although commonly known as Strider, this part-elf is simply Aragorn to you.

The pair of you had been picked up by the group of hobbits you traveled with in Bree, helping them to evade the infamous Nazgûl and inevitably being brought along the daunting journey laid out for them. You had first met Aragorn years ago when he had first left Rivendell. You led a similar fate to Aragorn after you befriended him, leaving the safety of your current life for one of adventure alongside the ranger. Poets would say you were seeking meaning, you joke that you were bored.

The seed of friendship you and Aragorn had planted then was watered through the experiences you shared on your travels, the memories that wrapped themselves like vines around that bond holding you two together, and every laugh and secret you both managed out of each other in peaceful times. But then you two began to look at each softer, speak to each other quieter for the words were meant only for the two of you, touch each other in fleeting moments that may not have been accidents- and then that seed grew into a budding flower of more that you gathered up and have held deep within your chest. Though no matter how much you both watered the bond of your friendship since then, that flower has never seemed to bloom.

Aragorn finally looks over his shoulder to the rest of you, and everyone momentarily pauses as he lifts his hand to guide everyone’s attention to a forestry patch of land seated a few hundred metres south of the hill you all waited on. “We’ll take camp there for tonight. We won’t reach Lothlorien by dusk, and I haven’t seen a better place for cover yet.” he instructs. Nobody seems to disagree, not even the opinionated elf or eager dwarf who both wait at your sides. Once three of four hobbits start celebrating, enthusiastically asking who would hunt for dinner, you offer Aragorn a small smile and nod of assurance. He repeats the gesture and turns to lead the way, but not without a response to the impatient hobbits, “You all can hunt dinner for us tonight, how does that sound?” which silences them.

You hurry a pair of paces to match the long strides of Aragorn, who slows down when he notices exactly who is on his tail. “You look exhausted,” you tell him, amusement flickering in your eyes as you look to him.

“As do you,” Aragorn shoots back, his brows raised in subtle entertainment at your rather honest opening line.

You scoff lightheartedly and get to the point of your words, reaching down to the satchel at your side to unbutton the flap and reveal the contents. Aragorn leans over you to peer into the bag, finding four small bars of soap.

“From the travelling merchant we crossed earlier?” the heir asks, and you nod proudly as if this was a noble accomplishment on your end.

“I do not have confidence in myself to survive another day with the… natural aroma of our companions,” you jest, and pause, “or you.”

And to your pleasant surprise, Aragorn’s chin tilts back- outlining the sharp line of his jaw- as the man lets a genuine laugh escape his lips. “I would not say you are so innocent in the matter, either,” he says, the closed-lipped smile on his face not faltering as you send a warning glare his way.

You feel lighter as you walk alongside Aragorn the rest of the way to the tree border, smiling like a giddy child for longer than need be over the silly interaction. You and Aragorn maintain the front as the lot of you push further into the forest until Aragorn stops, glances around, and looks to you and Legolas for approval.

You turn to look over your shoulder, and when you see that the forest has become dense enough to block the border to the grasslands from your line of sight, you say, “I think we are far enough in.”

Legolas had already found perch on a fallen log, fiddling with the strings of his bow, and so you and Aragorn simply take that as a sign he agrees.

As the sun dips behind the distant hills, the shadows of the trees encompassing you all extend until the soft starlight slipping through the canopy dims them. Now, camp is set up, and the fire Aragorn once was stroking while Gimli cooked the hunted meal of the evening has been forgotten. Most of your companions have spaced out their places for the night, all but the hobbits who crowd next to their friend Frodo.

You gingerly place your things down nearby Aragorn’s, and when you offer to take first watch Aragorn’s volunteer to do the same comes not much later than yours. You both sit next to each other as you listen to the idle noises of your companions turn to quietness, and quietness to silence save for the surrounding sounds of the forest.

You catch Aragorn glance to you in your peripheral vision which tempts you to steal a glance back. When you do, you are surprised to see he has risen from the leafy floor he was sitting on and began crossing the few metres that separated the two of you. You stay sitting, craning your neck as Aragorn now stands a few feet in front of you. You tilt your head in questioning.

“There is a lake nearby, I saw it when I scouted the perimeters earlier,” his voice is low, quiet, though you see his Adam’s apple bob slightly as he swallows, “May I borrow the soap?”

Any hint of drowsiness has been stolen from your body, your heart beating rapidly as you nod to him. You do not like how the thought of the man doing the simple act of bathing makes your body blaze like a catching fire. You dig into your nearby satchel and hand him one of the square, neutral coloured bars. Aragorn turns the dry thing in his hand a few times before he turns and walks away.

You do not watch him go and rather turn back to your satchel to close the button of it, wondering why the crunching of leaves beneath Aragorn’s walking feet ceased so swiftly. Curiously, you turn to check, finding Aragorn returning your gaze.

Aragorn clears his throat. “Would you like to join me?”

You can only blink, feeling that flame return to your body as his words act like oxygen and spread its tendrils through you.

“Yes, I would,” you say, though the words come out more breathless than you had expected.

You feel Aragorn’s eyes on you as you stand, dusting off your trousers in the most awkward of ways before padding over to where he stands. He only looks down at you, the look in his eyes gentle yet unreadable before he quietly turns and begins to guide you to this lake.

“What of the others?” you ask, glancing back.

“I do not wish to bathe with Gimli,” Aragorn responds with blunt humour, looking back at you with a raised brow.

“No, I mean that we promised to watch the camp,” you correct, managing not to roll your eyes.

“The lake is not far. We will know if something happens.” he assures.

Although it may be easy for him to remain alert, you are not sure if you can trust your instincts once you are distracted with the sight of Aragorn’s bare body. Aragorn seems to see apprehension on your face, and makes a bold move of reaching back to brush his fingers against yours. Then, your fingers close around each other’s like lock and key, and Aragorn is gently pulling you until you reach a clearing.

The trees wrap around the small, oval lake like a wreath. The water is not murky, a sign that it is untouched, and instead when you peer into it you see both your reflection and the moon above.

When you turn to see what Aragorn is doing, unsure if you are welcome to begin undressing so openly, you see that the ranger has already begun to do exactly that. You heart leaps and your chest flutters so much that you think that bud in you is instead a cocoon that has just sprouted a dancing butterfly.

Aragorn already unclasped his cloak from around his neck, discarding it nearby on a rock that borders the lake’s edge. He disarms, setting his weapons on the same rock should he need them, then reaches for the hem of his tunic. The man pulls the fabric off of him slowly, revealing to you the muscles beneath that you have only been able to imagine until now. You gaze at him, following the movement of his hands until you see them stop. Your eyes flick up slightly and are met with an amused half-smirk on Aragorn’s end. That flame in you moved to burn in your cheeks as you turn your head away, seeing Aragorn slowly walk towards you in the edge of your vision.

“Do not be nervous,” he says quietly, his hand turning your jaw slowly so you meet his eyes again. You feel your heart in your ears as his attention moves lower, lower, lower, and then back. “Would you like me to help?”

You can only nod. He smiles and nods back before his hands move to the clasps of your cloak, working it undone with ease. He sets your weapons aside somewhere- too distracted to take note- before he pulls your tunic off of your raised arms. Aragorn takes a step closer, removing the rest of your undergarments before a turn of his head causes his lips to brush against the shell of your half-pointed ear, “Beautiful.” he murmurs, evoking a pleasant shiver that slips down your spine.

His hands, resting on each side of your waist, move downwards until they reach the band of your trousers. You kick off your boots in silent encouragement, and Aragorn turns his head further to look down at you properly. Then he begins to slowly drag the last few pieces of your clothing that kept you decent, and once you stepped out of them- Aragorn now kneeling before you as he set aside your aside garments- you heard both of your breaths hitch.

Aragorn rises again, your breaths heavy as you both glance in the direction of whence you came, checking that none of your sleeping friends have noticed your absences. You look back at Aragorn first and see how the moonlight betrays Aragorn as he slowly drifts his attention back to you, illuminating the red tinting of his cheeks. He takes his sweet time in simply looking at your body, and you hear him sigh softly- a gentle, sweet exhale. The amusing thought of him swooning over you like a damsel crosses your mind.

Aragorn seems to notice the light dancing in your eyes, and he takes your hand and leads you to the rocky edges of the lake. “After you,” he tells you, and you feel as his eyes never leave you as you descend into the water. You wade around, taking note that water in the area you stand reaches your middle, and watch as Aragorn strips himself of the rest of his clothing.

Shamelessly, you stare as he undos his trousers, slipping them off alongside his undergarment and blushing when he sees you looking. You offer a coy smile in return, reaching over the edge to grab the soap he left on it as he enters the water alongside you.

“You first,” you tell him, and he obeys by wading over to where you stand. As you dip the soap into the water, getting some of the substance on to your hands, you feel a little grateful that the water is just high enough to reach Aragorn’s waist. He remains where he is as you work the soap into his skin, your heart jumping each time he sighs when you press into a particularly sore muscle. His skin gleams with moonlight and sparkles with droplets of water that cling to the short strands of hair on his chest leading downwards. You wash his arms, focus on his shoulders, and when he turns around to let you do his chest your hands linger there.

“Friends do not do these things,” is what Aragorn decides to say to break the comfortable silence.

“No, they do not,” you agree, your voice wavering with uncertainty. You keep your gaze on his chest, cupping water in your hand as you rinse off the soap. You let him wash the parts of him below the surface of the water, grinning as you can’t help but steal glances. But he says nothing else, nor do you, as you quietly find a seat on a ledge in the rock. Aragorn moves to stand between your legs, leaning back so his head is nearly against your chest.

You gather soap on your hands once more, lathering the suds through his hair. You watch from above as he sighs and closes his eyes, giving in to temptation as he leans further back into you. You massage the soap into his dark oak curls, watching his eyelashes flutter against his cheek and the corners of his pink lips tug upwards ever so slightly. You tilt his head back a little more as you cup water into your free hand, pouring it along the back of his head and watch as it drags the soap off of his curls that resist straightening even when wet.

Before you have the chance to climb down from your perch on the rock, Aragorn reaches a hand to your calf. His fingers dance along the skin, as if exploring, and travel up until they reach your thigh. By then, he’s looking up at you, and you are looking down at him, and his face is so close to yours you know that you both are only trying to see who caves first.

And it is Aragorn who does. He tilts his chin only slightly, which is enough to capture your lips in his as you lean over him. Your hands move to drape around his neck as his continue their journey up your thighs. He lifts you by the waist, bringing you back down to the lake floor with him so that it is he who must bend downwards to keep kissing you. You press your chest into his, standing practically between his legs as you both run your hands over each other’s bodies. Aragorn leaves a spark everywhere his fingers brush- your waist, your legs, back, chest, neck- he is everywhere but it is still not enough.

You know now what it feels like to bloom as that bud deep within your chest comes to life as Aragorn’s hands find their final place on each side of your face. His thumbs stroke gently in a lover’s caress as he finally breaks the kiss, though he does not move far. The look he gives you as you both stand together- chests heaving and lips puffy red with adrenaline pumping through your veins- tells you that Aragorn has just discovered what that feels like too, for there has been a matching budding flower in him, as well.

“We are not friends,” Aragorn finally says. You have never heard his voice so soft, “we are more.”

#aragorn x reader #aragorn #aragorn x you #aragorn x y/n #lotr #lord of the rings #the fellowship of the ring #the fellowship x reader #the lord of the rings #tlotr

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saturngelato · 8 months ago

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Happy national boob day to you too 🖤🪐

love how my blog turned into an andy biersack tit forum tonight — happy national boob day!

#black veil brides #andy moobs #andy biersack #I love it too #bree after dark

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worth-this-and-more · 10 days ago

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a very pissed off rant because some people still think this is a romance centered story

okay everyone ik people are loving the romance angle a lot in these books, and people on reddit are like "stop policing us!! some people read it for romance!! we don't have to adhere to your rules!! okay so 1. shut the fuck up and 2. this book is not romantasy. it is a YA fantasy series, it is bree's journey, her story, her life has romance so we get to see romance.

if this book were romantasy, or like even just with a major major focus on romance, i could understand dropping the book for a love interests' appearance/disappearance or not giving it stars because it is a romance book and it failed to make you feel romance worthy. but it is not a romance book. romance is a subplot. even the fucking tag is after young adult. if it were a proper romance you would know!! this is a romance subplot!! this is a sort of coming of age typa story it is bree's story can we please stop fucking pretending that the romance is the only thing here??

ik we love a dark-haired brooding character i love him too okay but is it that fucking hard to understand that this is not about him?? this is why reading comprehension and literacy empathy is important it doesn't take people a moment to toss bree away because oooh white boys.

im not saying the books are perfect, yes there are flaws, but if the only flaw that you can find is that one white guy isn't mentioned or mentioned too much in a black girl's story then you need to put the damn book down and go back to your romantasy section. this is not a story for you and I'm tired of people posting "uNpOpUlAr oPiNiOnS" and it's just plain bullshit.

#and this might be just me but bree is like 10x more interesting than sel or nick or even just both of them combined #like we have a black girl who has her ancestory with arthur rootcraft and bloodmarked by the literal shadow king #compare it to a merlin descendant with secrets and former mistitled scion of arthur like comon #both guys are very much interesting but compared to bree you cant tell me they are more mysterious #all the characters are developed and nicely fleshed out ik #but can we please just look at the bigger picture instead of the few romance scenes #romance is good ik but bashing on the books because its not romance or just a lil romance like grow tf up goddamnit #the legendborn cycle #legendborn cycle #legendborn #bloodmarked #oathbound #tracy deonn #briana matthews #bree matthews

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thewulf · 26 days ago

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Return to You || Aragorn

Summary: Request - he reader and aragorn are in an established relationship before he leaves with the fellowship, and shortly after he's gone she finds out that she's pregnant. obviously she can't tell aragorn since she doesn't know where he is to send a letter or otherwise a message of some kind... Read Rest Here

A/N: Wow, I really love this one. It took me a while but I think it turned out really well. Let me know what you think :)

Pairing: Aragorn x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.1k +

TW: War, talks of war, pregnancy, general LOTR

The fire crackled low in the hearth casting long, flickering shadows across the small space you and Strider had called home. It wasn’t much. Just a small cottage nestled in the rolling hills not too far from the village of Bree. The warmth of the fire did little to chase away the chill creeping into your bones. It wasn’t from the cold, no, but instead from the unspoken truth that lingers between you.

He’s leaving.

You knew the time was coming. You felt it in your bones. The way Middle Earth got darker through every day. And Strider was important in warding off whatever the hell was taking over your home. You knew that much by how often Gandalf had visited. You never asked how bad. He never told you the details other than you knew he’d be called to the front lines soon enough. And apparently that day was today.

Strider sat beside you. His rough, calloused fingers trailing along the back of your hand as if memorizing every ridge and line. He does that often, touching you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he lets go. Tonight, though there’s something different in his touch. A quiet desperation, a silent plea. Neither of you had spoken in a while. There’s nothing left to say that hasn’t already been whispered in the dark, murmured against skin, carved into the sacred spaces between your heartbeats.

Gandalf’s call had finally come. The war is no longer a distant shadow on the horizon. It’s here, looming over the world, threatening to tear everything apart. And Strider, the man you love, the man whose name is laced with destiny, cannot turn away.

“I would stay if I could,” he murmured at last breaking the heavy silence. His thumb brushes against your knuckles, lingering, like he’s afraid to let go. Because he is. “You know that, don’t you?” His eyes were pleading.

You swallow the ache rising in your throat and nod. “Of course, I know.”

His breath shuddered as he shifted closer, resting his forehead against yours. “Gandalf needs me.” His voice is low, rough with regret. “The world needs me.”

Your fingers tighten around his. “I know. Trust me… I know. But what of me? What am I to do?” The words slip out before you can stop them, raw and aching. You hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t meant to let the fear show.

Strider exhales sharply, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. There’s something in his expression that steals the air from your lungs, something tender and fierce all at once. “You must stay hidden. You are my world,” he says softly. “And I will return to you no matter what it takes.”

Tears prick at your eyes, but you force yourself to smile. “You’re lucky I’m good at hiding. And that I’m patient.”

A low, breathless chuckle escapes him before he cups your face in his hands. His thumb brushing along your cheek as if to chase away the sorrow settling there. His lips find yours in a kiss that is both a promise and a plea, slow and lingering, desperate, and aching. You pour every unspoken word into it, every prayer, every ounce of love you have for him. When he finally pulled away his forehead rests against yours once more. “I will come back to you,” he vows. “I will always come back to you. No matter how long it takes.”

And in the morning as you stand at the edge of the village watching him disappear into the rising sun you clung to those words like a lifeline. Because no matter how far he goes, no matter how long you have to wait, you know one thing with absolute certainty. He will always find his way back to you.

The days stretch long and quiet in his absence. The mornings are the hardest, waking to an empty bed and reaching for the warmth of him only to find cold sheets and silence. You find yourself lingering in doorways staring out toward the horizon as if you might catch a glimpse of him in the distance riding home to you. But he is gone so far beyond your reach swallowed by the road that calls him ever forward.

At first you distract yourself with routine. Chores, errands, tending to the home you built together. You keep busy because you must. Because if you stop the ache in your chest becomes unbearable. But not long after he leaves something feels different. At first it was subtle. A wave of dizziness when you stood too quickly. A lingering nausea in the mornings that you chalk up to restless sleep. You tried brushing it off but not long after the fatigue creeps in. An exhaustion that weighs heavier than heartache alone. You press on though, pushing through until the realization becomes impossible to ignore.

The healer didn’t t need long to confirm what you already suspected. Her hands are gentle as they press against your abdomen with a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You are with child.” She said softly with a saddened smile. She knew, the whole village knew, that the baby’s father was long off fighting for the preservation of Middle Earth. The words crash over you like a wave, sweeping your breath away. For a long moment you can only stare trying to process what she’s just said. A child. Strider’s child.

Your hands tremble as they settle over your stomach as if expecting to feel something different beneath your fingertips. A life, small and fragile, growing within you. A piece of him left behind. Joy, fear, and uncertainty twist together in your chest, tangling into something impossible to untangle. You should be happy, shouldn’t you? And you are, in some quiet, awestruck way. But beneath that joy, fear lingers. A fear of what the future holds. Of what may come. Because Strider is not here. And there is no way to tell him.

You think of sending a letter, of finding a messenger, but you have no idea where he is. He could be anywhere beyond the mountains, lost in the wilds, deep in the heart of danger. You could write a thousand letters and never know if one would reach him. So, you had to wait.

The weeks pass and the weight of your secret grows heavier. Your body begins to change. The once loose fabric of your dresses stretching tighter over your stomach. You stand before the mirror some mornings pressing your hands against your belly whispering words only the child can hear. Your love. Your father will return to us. He will.

But as time drags on the world darkens. Rumors trickle in from travelers, whispers of war and death and an enemy who grows stronger by the day. Villages burned, men slaughtered, hope slipping through the cracks like sand in an hourglass. And with every passing day, your fear deepens. What if he does not return? What if he never knows? What if this child, his baby, enters the world without ever knowing the sound of his father’s voice?

You press your hands against your stomach, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill. “I will wait for you,” you whisper into the quiet. Even if the waiting breaks you.

The world feels too quiet without him. Without the steady warmth of his presence. Without the way he would murmur soft words in the dark when he thought you were asleep. Without the way his fingers would brush over yours in quiet moment promising things he never said aloud.

Now, there is only the crackle of the dying fire and the steady whisper of wind against the wooden walls. You lay awake most nights staring at the ceiling one hand resting over the growing curve of your stomach. The weight of the secret you carry grows heavier with each passing day. With each reminder that you are alone.

Fear lurks in the corners of your mind. Not just for yourself, but for him. Where is he? Is he safe? Does he think of you as often as you think of him? You don’t know. And it’s the not knowing that threatens to break you.

Then, one morning, the nausea hits harder than before. You barely make it outside in time, bracing yourself against the railing as your body trembles with the force of it. When the sickness passes you lean back against the post, breathless and exhausted. The sun is barely cresting over the horizon casting a golden glow across the fields and for a moment you let yourself pretend that Strider is still here. That he will step through the doorway and press a hand to your back, murmuring reassurances in that steady, quiet voice of his.

But he is not here. And he will not be, not for a long time. You press a hand to your stomach, feeling the faintest flutter beneath your palm. A life. His life. A part of him, still here, still with you. The thought steels your resolve. You cannot continue waiting in silence hoping for answers that may never come. Strider once spoke of Rivendell, of Lord Elrond’s wisdom, of the sanctuary it provided. If anyone knew where he was it would be him. If anyone could offer guidance it would be him.

And so, before doubt can creep in you pull yourself upright and move inside settling at the worn wooden desk in the corner of the room. The parchment feels fragile beneath your fingertips as you dip the quill into ink, hesitating only for a breath before pressing the tip to the page. You do not know how to begin. But you begin anyway.

To Lord Elrond of Rivendell,

My name is Y/N, and I write to you not as a stranger, but as the one Strider left behind. Or as you know him, Aragorn.

I do not send this letter lightly, nor do I wish to burden you with matters that may seem small in the face of the darkness that looms over Middle Earth. But I have nowhere else to turn.

Aragorn spoke of you often, with the deepest respect. He once told me that if I were ever in need I might look to Rivendell for guidance. Now, I find myself in need of both guidance and news of him.

I do not know where he is. I do not know if he is safe, or if he will return. And I do not know if this letter will reach you in time. But I pray that it does because I am carrying his child.

I had no way of telling him before he left. I do not even know if I will ever have the chance. But I had to try. If there is any way to get word to him. If there is any hope that you might know where he is… please, I beg of you, let me know.

If nothing else, I ask for your wisdom. The world is changing, growing darker with each passing day and I fear for the safety of this child.

I will wait for your word.

You let the ink dry then fold the letter carefully sealing it before pressing it into the hands of a trusted traveler. “Take this to Rivendell,” you whisper. “Please.”

The waiting is unbearable. Days turn into weeks. Each one stretching longer than the last. Your body changes with the passing time. A growing reminder of the life that will arrive whether Strider returns or not. You knew of his true lineage as Aragorn. He told you a long time ago but insisted on Strider. So, you’d always called him by what he wished.

Then, at last, a rider arrives at your doorstep, clad in elven robes. He does not speak at first but only presses a letter into your trembling hands. His expression solemn. Your heart pounds against your ribs as you break the seal, fingers tightening around the parchment as your eyes scan the elegant script.

Your letter reached me, but alas, not in time.

Aragorn has already departed from Rivendell. He travels now with the Fellowship, and I cannot say when or if he will return. He walks a path of great peril. His fate, like that of all free peoples, hangs in the balance.

I grieve that you must bear this burden alone. No lady should have to face such uncertainty without the comfort of her beloved by her side. And so, I offer you this: Come to Rivendell. You and the child will find sanctuary here. You will not be alone.

If you wish it come to Rivendell with the messenger who handed you this letter.

Elrond of Rivendell

Your vision blurred as you lower the letter, emotions warring within you. Relief that your words had not gone unheard, sorrow that your Strider is still lost to you, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the kindness offered in Elrond’s reply.

You press a hand to your stomach, exhaling a slow, steady breath. Strider may be gone. He may never know of the child you carry. But you will do whatever it takes to protect this life. To ensure that your child is safe even if it means leaving everything behind.

When the messenger asks what you will do, you lift your chin, heart heavy but resolute. “I will travel to Rivendell with you.”

The journey to Rivendell is long, stretching over days or weeks that bleed together in exhaustion and quiet reflection. You leave behind the familiar comforts of home. The place where Strider last stood before you and trade them for the uncertainty of the road ahead. The elves who guide you are patient, their presence a steady reassurance, but the solitude you carry remains unshaken. The nights now had become the hardest when the world is still and there is nothing but your own thoughts to keep you company. You wonder where he is, if he is safe, if he is looking at the same stars you are.

By the time you reach Rivendell you are nearly at the end of this pregnancy. But you did have time to admire the elven lands. Rivendell is as beautiful as Strider had described. Untouched by war and time. A sanctuary wrapped in cascading waterfalls and golden trees. The very air feels different here, lighter, ancient, like a whisper of something beyond mortal comprehension. But for all its beauty it is not home. The ache in your chest does not fade nor does the silence in the space beside you. The absence of the man you love stretching wider with each passing day. The elves welcome you graciously, offering kindness without expectation, but their presence only reminds you that you are alone in a place meant for those with elven blood. You do not belong here.

At first you keep to yourself uncertain of what role you hold in this sanctuary. You spend the days walking through the stone corridors, the terraces that overlook the valley, your hands always finding their place over the growing curve of your stomach. The life inside you is the only tether you have to Strider now. The last piece of him you can hold onto when everything else is uncertain. You whisper to your baby, pressing soft words against your skin, hoping that somehow they can feel the love you already bear for them.

Elrond watches over you though you do not understand why at first. You know of his history with Strider. Of the weight he placed upon him for years, the expectations of a lineage long denied but never forgotten. There is an unspoken wariness when you first meet him. A quiet hesitation as you wonder if he sees you as a complication in Striders grand destiny. But Elrond never speaks of such things, nor does he treat you with anything less than patience and wisdom. He does not pry, does not press when he sees the lingering sorrow in your eyes. Instead, he offers quiet companionship. A presence steady enough to remind you that you do not have to bear this alone.

He is there on the mornings when the sickness leaves you pale and shaking, offering herbal remedies to ease the discomfort. He places books in your hands when the nights stretch too long knowing that distraction is sometimes the only way to keep the mind from spiraling. When you struggle beneath the weight of uncertainty he does not speak empty reassurances but instead reminds you of your own strength, of the resilience that has carried you this far.

"You are strong," he tells you one evening. His voice calm but firm. "Even when you do not feel it you are strong. And you will endure." You nod though you do not entirely believe it. Strength feels fleeting these days. A thing that wavers beneath the weight of the unknown. Some nights, you dream of Strider. Of his hands on yours, of the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world worth fighting for. You wake with tears on your cheeks more often than not, and though Elrond never mentions it you know he sees. He does not press but his presence lingers just long enough to remind you that you are not truly alone.

Time moves forward even as you feel frozen in place. Your body changes wholly. Your baby growing stronger with each passing day. You begin to feel the child’s movements, soft at first, then stronger. Small kicks, reminders that you are not just waiting for Strider but for the baby who will need you no matter what happens in the world beyond Rivendell. You let yourself imagine what it would be like if Strider were here. If his hand could rest over your stomach the way yours does. If he could see the life you created together. The thought brings equal parts joy and sorrow because you do not know if he will ever return to see it.

And then, on a night bathed in silver moonlight, the first sharp pain lances through you.

It begins slowly. A dull ache that you try to dismiss as exhaustion but as the hours stretch on the pain intensifies. You clutch the edge of the bed, breathing through it, but when the next wave comes, you know. It is time.

The next hours pass in a blur of whispered voices and steady hands. Of soft reassurances in Elvish and the warmth of a hand pressed against yours when the pain becomes unbearable. The room swims in and out of focus, exhaustion threatening to pull you under, but you fight against it, gripping onto the knowledge that soon, so soon, you will meet you baby.

And then after what feels like an eternity, the weight of it all breaks. A sharp cry fills the room, piercing through the exhaustion, the haze of pain and uncertainty. The sound crashes over you, and everything else fades into nothing. “A boy.” You hear in your haze.

Your son.

Elrond lifts him carefully. His expression unreadable for a moment before he steps closer, placing the small, wriggling body into your waiting arms. The moment his weight settles against you, the world stills.

He is perfect.

Your breath hitches as you take him in. Your hands shaking as you press your fingers against his impossibly soft skin. Dark hair, still damp from birth, clings to his forehead. And when his eyes flutter open, they are deep and grey, piercing in a way that makes your heart stop.

Strider.

It’s almost too much, the ache in your chest swelling until it feels unbearable. He is not here. He should be here. He should be the one holding his son. The one whispering reassurances. The one tracing the tiny fingers curled against your chest.

Tears spill over before you can stop them, dropping onto your son’s forehead as you press a trembling kiss there, inhaling the scent of him, of new life, of something so fragile yet so incredibly strong. You hold him closer, whispering words against his skin, words meant for him but also for Strider. For the man who does not yet know the love waiting for him here.

"You are loved," you whisper. Your voice thick with emotion. "You are so, so loved."

Even if Strider never returns. Even if the world takes him from you before he can ever know, this child will never have to doubt the depth of the love he was born into. Because Strider is here. Not in body, not yet, but in this life, in this perfect, tiny boy who carries his strength.

And so, you hold your son close, rocking him gently as his cries soften into small breaths against your chest. You do not know what the future holds but in this moment you do not need to.

Because no matter what happens next you will keep your promise. You will wait for Strider. And when he returns, if he returns, you will place his son in his arms, and he will know. He will know that even through all the darkness something bright and beautiful was waiting for him to come home.

The days in Rivendell are quiet, your son growing stronger with each passing week. He is your anchor. The only thing tethering you to the present when your thoughts so often drift to the past. To Strider, to the uncertainty of his fate. You wake in the night sometimes clutching your child close wondering if somewhere across the world Strider is still fighting if he is still alive. You have no idea how long it had been since he left your home. A year maybe? Elrond confirms it had been nearly that amount of time.

Then, one morning, the world shifts. The halls of Rivendell buzz with murmurs. Excitement threading through voices that have remained steady and somber for so long. The news arrives that Sauron was defeated. The war is over.

You clutch your son tighter as the words sink in. Middle Earth is free. The darkness that once threatened to consume everything has been vanquished. Hope fills the valley, but you are afraid to let it settle in your heart. You do not ask the one question burning inside you, not yet, not until you hear Elrond’s voice, quiet but certain, as he delivers the final truth.

Aragorn lives. Your Strider is alive. Alive.

The breath left your lungs in a sharp, shuddering gasp, your knees nearly giving out beneath you. Relief washed over you so violently that it leaves you dizzy. The weight of months of fear, of not knowing, crashing down all at once. He is alive. He is alive. He is coming back. Coming home!

But Elrond’s next words halt your thoughts in their tracks.

“He is to be crowned King of Gondor.”

The statement rings in your ears, sending a different kind of tremor through you. The war is over. Strider is not just alive. He is victorious. He is stepping into the destiny he was always meant for, the one that has lingered over him like a shadow for as long as you have known him. He is no longer just the man who held you close and promised to return. He is to be king. King of Gondor.

Your heart clenches with a different fear taking root in your chest. What if everything has changed? What if he has changed? You had always known that this day would come. That Strider was never meant to remain in the wilds forever. But now, standing here with your son in your arms, the reality of it is suffocating.

Would he still want you? Would he still want this life that was built in his absence, a child he did not know existed? Or would his new station, his new responsibilities, demand something else entirely?

You press a trembling kiss to your son’s forehead, inhaling the scent of him, grounding yourself. You should be celebrating, rejoicing in the knowledge that the man you love is alive. And yet, all you can do is stare down at the small boy in your arms, the one who carries Striders features so clearly, and wonder. Will he still choose us?

The journey to Minas Tirith stretches endlessly before you. Every step closer filling you with both anticipation and fear. You clutch your son tightly pressing a soft kiss to his dark hair, inhaling the sweet, warm scent of him as if it will steady the rapid beating of your heart. You had spent so many nights fearing this moment would never come. That Strider would never return. Now, the truth is almost too much to bear. He is alive, he has won, and he is waiting for you. Or so you hope. But what if he is no longer your Strider? What if he is now Aragorn alone?

The towering gates of Minas Tirith rise ahead after a month of travel. The banners of Gondor snapping in the wind. The city is alive with the hum of celebration. The people reveling in their freedom, in their new king. But you are blind to it all. Your world has shrunk to the only thing that matters. The man waiting at the top of those white stone steps.

And then you see him.

Strider stands at the entrance of the citadel clothed in the robes of a king, a silver circlet resting upon his brow. But none of it matters. Not the title. Not the crown. He could be standing in rags, and he would still be him. His grey eyes find yours and everything stops.

For a moment he does not move. Does not breathe as if the sight of you has struck him so deeply he cannot comprehend it. His gaze flickers from your face to the child in your arms and then back to you, something breaking, something raw and unguarded slipping through the carefully placed armor he has worn for so long.

And then he moves. Not with the controlled grace of a king. Not with the measured composure of a man who has carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. No, he runs. He runs to you. To your son. To his home.

His legs nearly buckle as he reaches you. His breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as if he has forgotten how to breathe altogether. He stops just short. His entire body trembling. His hands reaching out but not quite touching as if he is afraid that if he does you might vanish like a cruel dream.

His voice when it comes is hoarse, cracked with emotion. “You…” His breath shudders. “You’re real?”

Tears blur your vision as you nod, your arms tightening around your son. “I’m here.”

Strider, Aragorn, exhales sharply and before you can take another breath he drops to his knees before you. A strangled sound escapes him as he presses his hands to your skirts. His forehead resting against your legs in a gesture so utterly broken that it sends a fresh wave of tears spilling down your cheeks. His fingers grip the fabric of your cloak as if anchoring himself to you, his shoulders shaking under the weight of emotions too strong to contain.

“You waited for me,” he whispers, the words a prayer, a reverence, a confession. His lips press against the fabric covering your knee, then your thigh, then lower, worshiping the very ground you stand on. “I thought—I feared—” His breath is ragged as he shakes his head, pressing another kiss against your legs before tilting his head back to look up at you, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

Then, his gaze drops widens as he sees him. The baby in your arms. Not so much a newborn anymore but not a toddler yet. The small, sleeping boy nestled in your arms, so peaceful, so unaware of the storm his father is weathering before him. Striders entire body goes still. His hands slowly releasing their grip on your skirts. His breath catches, his fingers trembling as he hesitantly reaches forward, stopping just short of touching the child.

He looks up at you. His expression unraveling into something utterly undone. “Is he…” His voice fails him, cracking beneath the weight of the question.

You nod, your own voice barely a whisper. “He is yours, Strider.”

Something inside him broke. A choked, breathless sob escapes him as he lifts shaking hands. His fingers barely grazing the soft blanket wrapped around his son before he pulls back afraid that he is unworthy of touching something so pure. “I didn’t know…” His voice fractures again and he looks back up at you with desperation in his eyes. “I didn’t know.”

“I know,” you whisper before shifting closer, pressing the bundle into his waiting arms. “But you do now.” The moment his son was in his arms Strider let out a sound so raw, so full of everything that he has held back for so long that it steals the air right from your lungs.

His hands, scarred and calloused from war, cradle the small boy with infinite tenderness. His thumb brushes along his son’s cheek memorizing every inch of him. The curve of his tiny nose, the soft wisps of dark hair, the way his fingers twitch in sleep.

Strider swallowed hard, tears slipping down his face as he presses his forehead against his son’s. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers. His voice trembling. “You are…” His breath shudders. “You are mine. The Prince of Gondor”

The boy stirs then, blinking up at him with eyes that mirror his own. Grey and stormy, deep as the rivers that run through the land. The first glimpse of recognition dawns in those tiny features, and Strider let out a soft, broken laugh. His grip tightening ever so slightly knowing will never let go. Your heart feels like it might truly shatter as you witness your son and his father meeting for the first time.

He looks back up at you then with the tears now spilling freely down his face. “What is his name?”

You hesitate. “I never truly named him,” you admit. Your voice thick with emotion. “I only ever called him Aragorn.”

Something unreadable flickers across his face. Then, suddenly, he laughs. A soft, breathless sound, full of wonder, full of disbelief. He looks down at his son with a teary smile tugging at his lips. “Then he has a name worthy of him.” He presses a reverent kiss to his son’s forehead before shifting his gaze back to you. And then before you can say anything else he reached for you, wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you into his embrace.

“I love you,” he murmurs as his lips pressed against your temple, your cheek, your lips. “I have always loved you.” His grip tightens as if he cannot bear to let go. “No war, no kingdom, nothing could ever change that.”

Tears rolled down your face as you clutch at him, pressing your forehead against his. “I was so afraid,” you whisper. “That you wouldn’t want us. That…”

Strider silences you with another kiss, deep and lingering, full of every promise he has ever made, full of everything he cannot put into words. When he pulls away his voice is fierce, unshaken. “Never,” he vows. “Never doubt that you are my heart. That he is my greatest joy.” He looks down at his son again, his fingers tracing gentle patterns over the boy’s tiny hands. “You waited for me,” he murmurs before pressing another kiss to his son’s head. “And now, I swear to you both, I will never leave again.” A quiet sob escapes you and you lean into him. Letting him hold both of you as if he can shield you from every sorrow you have ever known. You had waited. And now, finally you were home.

The White City gleams beneath the golden afternoon sun. Its towers stretching high into the heavens, banners of Gondor rippling in the wind. The throne room, once a place of war councils and endless worries, now holds something far greater. It holds peace, love, and a king who rules not just with wisdom but with a heart full of devotion.

And at the center of it all, Aragorn sits upon his throne, not just as the ruler of Gondor, but as a father, a husband, a man who has found his way back to the life he never dared to dream for himself.

His son sits in his lap with tiny fingers clutching at the silver detailing of his robes, wide grey eyes staring up at his father in open adoration. The boy is a mirror of him, with dark curls and a regal air that already hints at the leader he will one day become. Though for now he is simply his father’s son, wrapped in the safety of arms that would never let him go.

The court watches with quiet amusement as the toddler shifts in Aragorn’s hold whispering something in that sweet, curious voice of his. Without hesitation, the King of Gondor leans down, his expression softening completely as he murmurs a response, pressing a kiss to the boy’s forehead before turning back to the matters of the realm.

And standing at his side, watching the scene unfold, is you. You rest a hand over the gentle swell of your stomach, your heart full with the life growing inside you. Your second child, a symbol of everything that had once felt so uncertain, now made real in the warmth of your husband’s love. Your fingers trace over the fabric of your gown feeling the faintest flutter of movement beneath your touch. A quiet reminder that soon, your family would grow even more.

Aragorn’s eyes find yours, his gaze lingering, full of a love that still leaves you breathless, even now. His lips curve into a soft, knowing smile, and without a word, he shifts, adjusting his son in his arms before extending a hand toward you. You step forward, placing your hand in his, feeling the familiar warmth of his touch, the strength in his fingers as he intertwines them with yours. He lifts your joined hands pressing a kiss to the back of yours, reverence in every movement.

“My Queen,” he murmurs. His voice thick with affection. The title spoken not as a formality, but as something sacred.

Your breath falters for a moment, and though you have been by his side for months now, the weight of it still fills you with awe. He does not say it as if it is an obligation. He does not say it as if it is a role you were forced to accept. He says it like a man who has chosen you in every lifetime, in every battle, in every moment since the first time he laid eyes on you.

The small boy in his arms reaches for you then, his chubby fingers patting against your growing belly, a bright, innocent giggle spilling from his lips as if he already knows that soon he will have a sibling to protect. Aragorn chuckles, shifting the child slightly so you can press a kiss to his soft curls. Your fingers brushing against Aragorn’s in the process. His hand tightens over yours, his thumb sweeping gently across your knuckles, grounding you in the warmth of him.

There had been so much fear once. So much uncertainty. But now, there is only this. Him, your son, your growing family, the home you have built together within the walls of a kingdom that now thrives under his reign.

“You are happy?” he asks softly. His voice a quiet caress against your skin.

You smile, leaning in until your lips brush against his ear. Your voice warm with all the love you have ever held for him. “I have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Aragorn exhales. His forehead pressing lightly against yours, the soft weight of your son nestled between you both. “Then I have fulfilled my greatest duty,” he murmurs, a quiet promise only for you to hear.

You close your eyes, letting the moment settle around you, letting yourself breathe in the scent of him, the warmth of your son, the peace that now fills your life. You had waited. You had hoped. You had loved him even when the world tried to tear you apart. And now, standing at his side, with his hand in yours and his child in your arms, you know.

He had always, always, been coming home to you. He would always return to you.

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