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sugairsstuff · 4 months

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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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