#saurondriel modern au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iamstartraveller776 · 1 year

Note

Prompts for pairing of choice (but I would not say no to Haladriel)

"hey, can i borrow your hoodie real quick? i'm just heading down to the store and mine isn't really dry yet..."

And the one about jealousy over dates :)

Oooh, why not both? Yes, let's do both in one ficlet! Thank you for the prompts! (And of course I'm doing Haladriel!) Also, this one got away from me a little bit.

Modern/Non-magical AU. Rated M. (ao3) Word count: 3739

CROSSING BOUNDARIES

Your turn for groceries. Pick them up before 6 pm.

Galadriel rips the post-it note off the bathroom mirror and, crumpling it, tosses it toward the bin. The offending wad of hot pink lands on the floor by the tub, and she leaves it there out of spite. Her roommate will hate it, just as the environmental scientist in her despises that he’s wasted paper again when he could have sent her a text.

But that’s an argument that she’s never won. “Noldor,” Halbdrand would say with an exasperated sigh, “you do realize that the electricity we use to charge our fancy devices doesn’t appear out of thin air, don’t you?” Then they’d go around in circles over which was the greener method of communication, never coming to a consensus, and red thoughts of how her hands might fit around his neck—and squeeze—start to scratch in her brain.

She glares at the balled post-it, and with a huff, she picks it up, drops it in the bin. Her passive aggressive protest would be pointless. He has his own bathroom.

It’s 4:57 p.m. according to her phone. That leaves her hardly any time to bathe away the grime and sweat from her work in the field today, and no time at all to linger beneath the scalding water that her sore muscles desperately need. Worse, she tried to be efficient—something she’s never been particularly good at when it comes to mundane chores—and threw all her laundry in the washer ten minutes ago. She planned to spend the rest of the evening in her pajamas, catching up on reading or mindlessly scrolling through Netflix, adding shows to her list that she’ll never watch. Now she has to brave the crisp, wet spring evening with nothing but her summer wardrobe and wet hair.

She’s glad she left her muddy boots just inside the front door earlier. He deserves to trip over them.

By the time she’s out of her unjustly short shower, she’s thought of another way she’s going to get her revenge. She dons a cropped t-shirt, not bothering with a bra, and a pair of running shorts, then marches to his room. Her heart flutters just a little as she turns the doorknob. There are rules in their apartment, ironclad. He made that very clear when she moved in. She hadn’t minded then; she needed a way to escape the oppressive expectation that stifled every corner of her family home. Putting up with Halbrand’s near-OCD seemed a small price to pay for freedom.

They found each other through Celebrimbor. When she’d confided in her childhood friend that she was looking for a place, he mentioned that he knew an old grad school pal that needed a roommate. Tall, attractive, and a few years older than her, Halbrand had an unsettling intensity. He looked her over within minutes of their first meeting, the corner of his mouth quirked up, and said, “Yeah, alright.” There was a challenge in those two words, and it zinged in her veins with a sort of savage anticipation. She gave him back a small grin, told him she’d bring her stuff on Saturday.

This is the first time she’s set foot on his room. She thought it would be more like a boudoir. Dark walls, a four-poster bed with burgundy curtains. Maybe a collection of special toys in a glass-enclosed cabinet. It’s irrational, but that’s the picture that has popped into her head on the infrequent occasion he’s brought someone home for a few hours. She’s imagined his ephemeral companions as willowy and world-weary, though she’s only ever seen one in passing.

That was another broken rule, but it wasn’t her fault. She got the courtesy text, told him it was fine if he wanted company. Elrond was picking her up anyway; they were celebrating his recent promotion. When she returned around one in the morning, she was sure she had an hour or two yet before the mystery woman made her quiet exit. She was wrong. His bedroom door creaked open, and she stood stock-still in the dark kitchen where she’d just finished refilling her water bottle. She held her breath as he escorted his guest to the front door. Fortunately, neither of them noticed her. The woman, beautiful enough to grace the cover of a fashion magazine, leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek, and there was a twinge in Galadriel’s stomach that bordered dangerously close to jealousy. She blamed the aberration on a starved libido. Celeborn had another six months left on his tour with Doctors Without Borders, and their only attempt at virtual intimacy had been awkward, blessedly cut off when his spotty internet connection dropped. They had a good laugh about the incident and decided to wait until he was back, but god, sometimes she missed the feel of a body over hers.

Halbrand closed the door, turned toward his room, unfocused gaze sweeping past her, and she thought she’d survive being an accidental voyeur. But then his eyes jerked back to her, and he froze in the dim ambient light streaming in through the living room windows. He wore only a pair of black boxer briefs that hid almost nothing. She never considered what his physique might be, but she couldn’t avoid it then, not when his lean, chiseled frame was on display. As a runner, Celeborn was fit as well, but this was different. Halbrand was built for more than endurance.

“Like the view, Noldor?” he said with a canted brow. The question was flippant enough, but there was something in his lancing stare that seethed. As if he believed she’d laid in wait to catch him in this state. As if he’d make her pay for it if they stood another minute longer this way.

Her skin felt too tight, the air too dense in that moment. But she wouldn’t let him see how he was affecting her. She rolled her eyes instead, muttering, “Get over yourself,” as she walked past him. That was nearly three months ago. He hasn’t had a late-night dalliance since, and she refuses to think too deeply on it.

It’s unsurprising that his room is tidy. But the space is otherwise ordinary. Mahogany furniture free of dust, books lined up perfectly on the shelves. She’s tempted to lift the duvet on his bed, to see if he used hospital corners on his sheets. Artwork hangs on the walls along with a sword she wouldn’t be surprised that he made himself. The hobby keeps his fingers permanently calloused, stained with soot no matter how hard he scrubs his hands after a weekend in his forge just outside of the city. She’s been there, sat on a stool in the corner in the sweltering shop and watched him work. It’s soothing, the orange-white glow of metal and the resounding clang as he swings a hammer down again and again.

She shakes off the memory, focuses on the task at hand. The clock is ticking. There’s a door to his own bathroom, opposite the walk-in closet—amenities that he pays the higher portion of the rent for. She flips on the light to the closet and runs her hand across the ordered line of button-downs, suit coats, and slacks until she reaches the activewear. Her target is the heather grey hoodie. He’s worn this one more than the others, and if she’s going to cross boundaries, she’s going all in.

The hoodie is so huge that it falls past the hem of her shorts; the overlong sleeves bunch at her wrists. The inside is still buttery soft, and she wonders how he keeps the fuzzy fabric from pilling. She leaves the rest of the room untouched, slips on a pair of Converse, and with reusable bags in hand, heads to the store around the corner.

The drizzling rain outside makes her grin, even if her legs prickle with chills. Later, when she hands him back his soggy hoodie, the expression on his face will be worth the discomfort. She runs into Bronwyn and Arondir at the store, makes small talk for a bit. Bronwyn’s eyes keep darting to Galadriel’s unusual attire but thankfully doesn’t comment on it. They part with a promise to set up another game night—where there will be more alcohol than gameplay and everyone will lose to Halbrand. Everyone except Galadriel. She’s managed to bring him to a stalemate a time or two. He gives her a singular smile when it happens, as if he likes it. That smile has infiltrated her insomnia-addled thoughts at night, along with his sculpted bare chest and rough hands. She hates it—hates him for it.

Celeborn needs to come home. Celeborn needs to call her more than once a month, needs to talk to her for longer than ten minutes. And Halbrand needs to stop filling in the void.

It’s an ungainly walk back to her building with two armfuls of grocery bags, but she makes it to the foyer before the skies open up. The doorman hustles to usher her inside and calls the elevator for her. It’s a perk she takes for granted, coming from an upper middle-class family. The closest she’s ever gotten to slumming it was at university in the dorms. Her work keeps her from being too spoiled, though. She spends roughly a third of the year living out of a tent, collecting samples.

After a couple attempts with her key, she manages to get into her apartment. Her boots are no longer in the entryway which means Halbrand beat her home, but she knew he would. She also knows he’ll emerge from his room with a lecture about respecting the public spaces in their home. She’s hungry for it. There’s a jittery swell of energy inside of her that needs an outlet. He doesn’t appear, though, not until she has the groceries almost put away. He’s in sweats and a t-shirt, hair wet as if he’s just finished a shower, and she banishes the fleeting thought of how soft those curling locks might be.

Brows raised, his gaze travels from her face down to her toes, pausing where his hoodie hits her mid-thigh. She glowers at him, unblinking, every step by languid step he takes toward her, daring him to start the clash that’s surely coming.

“Is this what we’re doing now?” He twines his finger in one of the drawstrings, gives it a little tug. “Touching each other’s things?”

She tips her chin up in defiance of her heart thudding against her ribcage. “I needed it. Mine was in the wash.”

He nods slowly with a hint of a smile. “And if I need something, I can just—” he tugs on the drawstring harder, “—take it?”

She doesn’t miss the edge to his question, but it isn’t sharp enough, not for the battle she’s craving. “No.”

“No?” He inches closer, a whisper of menace in his narrowing eyes. “Then give it back.”

She retreats a step, then another and another, gaze dropping with his to the drawstring unwinding from his finger. It falls to her chest, and she looks up at him. “I’m not done with it yet.” She spins on her heel and breaks into a near-run toward her room.

He catches her in the living room, yanks her off the ground and into his chest with an arm around her waist. “I’m not done with you yet.” The words are a low growl in her ear. A threat. Exactly what she wants.

The fight.

The pressure valve has finally released on their charged dynamic, and she kicks her legs, pommels her fists against his arm, as she yells at him to put her down. It’s never been physical between them before, but this is so much more gratifying than their usual shouting matches. She wants him to hurt. She wants to hurt. For reasons she’s not willing to acknowledge.

His grip is steel, immovable, but she doesn’t stop trying. Her pulse stutters when he tosses her onto the couch. Before she can scramble to her feet, he’s on her, knee between her legs, hand gliding up her bare thigh to the hem of his hoodie. She has to battle the instinct to close her eyes, drop her head back, to live inside the sensation of his calloused fingertips against her skin. Using all of her strength, she shoves against his shoulders, but he’s too strong. His large hands circle her wrists, and he pins them above her head.

“You wanted my attention, and now you have it.” There’s a feral light in his eyes, and it feeds the inferno growing inside of her.

“I didn’t.” Not how he’s implying. She can’t want it that way.

“You did,” he counters, pushing her arms together so he can hold them with one hand. He grabs a fistful of damp hoodie, slides it up to her waist. “Or else you wouldn’t have worn this one.” His gaze drifts to where he’s exposed a sliver of her stomach. He inches the fabric higher, and her breath hitches with the first blush of true disquiet. This isn’t a game anymore.

“Stop,” she says, despising that it sounds more like a plea than a command. “I have a boyfriend.”

Halbrand snorts, glancing up at her. “That doctor? He’s not your boyfriend.”

“He is—”

“Who feeds you, Galadriel?” His hand tightens on her wrists, lip curled in a snarl. “Who makes you dinner every night? Who makes you coffee every morning with one sugar and a splash of hazelnut creamer just the way you like it? Who picks up the goddamn shoes that you leave in the entryway when you’re too lazy to do it yourself? Who watches nature documentaries with you? Who do you spend your weekends with?”

His words are a blade flaying her apart, bit by ugly bit. Every accusation he makes comes with a dozen memories of how the lines have blurred between them over the last year. It was a gentle-sloped descent that began with “How was your day?” Then “Instant ramen isn’t a meal. I’ll cook if you’ll clean.” That became “Hey, I’m going out for drinks with some friends tonight. Want to join us?” A bag of her favorite chocolates chucked at her when she’s curled up in bed with cramps. The surprise birthday party she threw for him and his unfettered laughter at her pathetic attempt of a cake. These moments and countless more.

Turning her head, she squeezes her eyes closed as if she can shutter this piercing truth. Throw it in a vault and sink it into the dark recesses of her mind.

Halbrand lets go of the hoodie and grasps her chin, drawing her face back to his. “Look at me.”

“No.” Because looking will be an admission that she doesn’t want to make. A confession that she’s already betrayed Celeborn. That she resents him for abandoning her to chase a higher calling. Resents that his kindness isn’t the same as thoughtfulness—something she hadn’t known until Halbrand showed her the difference on Valentine’s Day with his “joke” bouquet of peonies compared to Celeborn’s clichéd red roses.

Celeborn is steady and nice, the ideal husband to fill out a future family portrait, one with a white picket fence and two children. Everything she was raised to want.

Halbrand is a hurricane on the sea. Lightning and thunder. Frightening and alluring at the same time. They agree on almost nothing. He drives her so mad sometimes that she has fantasies of drawing his blood. And yet, she wants to drown. Because she doesn’t have to make herself less in his storm.

But he’s wrong, all wrong. She can’t want him.

“Galadriel,” he says her name with a quiet warning. “Look at me.”

She does.

His expression is both softer and too much. Too intense. Too possessive. “I’m more your boyfriend than he’s ever been.” He drags his thumb across her bottom lip, follows the movement with hooded eyes, and murmurs, “More than he ever will be.” He relaxes his hold on her wrists, and she wrests them free.

She needs space to breathe—to think—but her fingers knot in his shirt, and she’s pulling him closer. He comes willingly, eagerly, hot breath fanning over her lips just before he seals his mouth over hers. The kiss is sloppy, violent. A clash of teeth and tongue, and it’s not enough. Not when he slips down, fits his hips against hers. Not when he snakes his arm behind her back and crushes her to his chest. Not when she folds her legs around him, arching upward. It’s not enough.

His beard is sandpaper on her skin, but she likes the burn as he makes a wet trail across her jaw, down to her neck. He lets out a frustrated grunt when the hoodie gets in the way. The room spins when he stands up with her, his hands gripping the backs of her thighs as he staggers toward a room—his. She’s too busy scraping her fingers through his hair, nipping at his throat. Twice, they crash into the wall before he kicks the door open. She makes a noise of protest when he sets her on her feet, but then he’s yanking the hem of the hoodie up. Her crop top comes off with it, and when his eyes widen with surprise, she remembers that she has nothing else on underneath.

For a breath, she thinks she could stop this, leave this final line uncrossed. She’s only kissed him, given him a glimpse of the forbidden. She could flee to her room, lock the door. She could do it. But when a slow smile blooms on his lips, when he brushes the back of his knuckles across her collarbone, she knows she won’t.

He traces a path between her breasts, not touching—not yet. “He’s never laying eyes on this again.”

She bristles at the authority in his tone despite the chills pebbling beneath his questing fingers. “You don’t have a say in that.”

“I do,” he argues, hands gliding down her sides. “This temple has only one priest.” His fingers hook into the waistband of her shorts, and he drops to his knees. “And I’ve come to worship.”

The last flimsy thread of her resistance snaps, and she splays her fingers in his hair again as he divests her of the rest of her clothing. As he uses lips and tongue and fingers to send her to a terrifying, breathtaking height. He holds her upright through the crest when her quaking legs fail her. Lays her on the bed to recover, only until he’s as bare as she is. But it’s long enough that she remembers that she doesn’t want easy. Not with him. She’s ready when he tries to crawl over her, shoves him onto his back and straddles him.

“It’s like that, is it?” he asks with a rasping laugh.

She yanks his roving hands away from her chest, presses them into the bed, grips them hard enough to leave marks. “It’s the way it’s always been.”

“Yes,” he hisses in agreement as she begins her own ministrations.

This, between them, is wildfire. Dangerous but so alive. Too impatient, he breaks free of her grasp, drags her up to him, swallows her protest with a blistering kiss. He makes her the hammer to his anvil as his fingers dig painfully into her hips. She claws red lines into his shoulders and chest in return. The blaze is consuming her, devouring them both, as they become more erratic, more frenetic. It’s too much. She can’t—

She doesn’t fall. She erupts.

Flipping them both over, he finishes with his teeth and mouth sucking a welt into curve of her neck. He collapses on her with an affectionate curse afterward. He’s heavy, but the weight is an anchor, bringing her back from the heaven or hell he sent her to. When she shivers, he rolls onto his side, pulls her into him, and wraps his duvet over them both. She’s irrationally pleased that they’ve made a mess of his bed.

The sky is full dark in his window when she wakes—alone. She has a vague memory of him tucking the blanket back around her, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. She doesn’t know how she feels about the latter. Her chest is tight, and she wants to call that guilt. It should be. Though, she can only muster a pale ghost of the emotion. Obligatory, but not truly hers.

Maybe that’s what her relationship with Celeborn has always been. An obligation they naively called devotion.

She slips out of bed, picks up Halbrand’s discarded t-shirt as she makes her way to his bathroom. From the sounds in the kitchen, she can guess what he’s up to, but she’s not ready to face him yet. She catches her reflection in the mirror, pauses to study it. Her hair is in disarray, crimson patches on her chin, her neck, her breasts. Faint bruises dotting her hips, her thighs. She runs her fingers over the purple-red mark at the base of her throat, and desire yawns awake in her belly, so thick that she’s almost ill with it.

Is this what it’s like? To be coveted. Claimed.

She pulls on his shirt and holds the collar up to her nose, inhales the clean scent of his laundry detergent, the hint of his sandalwood soap. She opens his medicine cabinet, examines each item—aftershave, cologne, deodorant, toothbrush and toothpaste—leaving her fingerprints on everything inside, as if she’s making these hers. Because he’s made her his.

“There you are.” She turns to find him leaning against the doorframe, wearing a half-smile, arms crossed over his bare chest. He glances at the shirt she wears and clucks his tongue. “Still touching my things.”

She mirrors his self-satisfied grin. “You touched mine.”

He straightens with a quiet laugh, reaches out to grab his shirt and tugs her closer to him. “You’re wrong,” he says, leaning forward. “This is all mine.” He tangles his other hand in her hair, draws her mouth up to his for a kiss, deep and wet.

She wants to laugh. She wants to cry. Because this—the chaos that they are—is somehow love.

~FIN~

#saurondriel #haladriel #saurondriel fic #haladriel fic #sauron x galadriel #halbrand x galadriel #galadriel x sauron #galadriel x halbrand #my fic #modern au #non magical au #human au #crossing boundaries

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iamstartraveller776 · 6 months

Text

The End of You and Beginning of Me

Summary: [High School AU.] Galadriel's sort-of boyfriend is coming to visit and she tries to keep her delinquent neighbor away. (Sequel to Only Way Out, Say Thank You, and Midnight Favor.)

Rating: T

Also on AO3

A/N: It's November 1st, and what am I doing instead of working on my Nanowrimo novel? Why, posting a Halloween story a day late! I couldn't get this universe out of my head. This installment is just a little longer than 500 words.

LIES

coming home this wknd u free?

Galadriel stared at Celeborn’s text, trying to conjure up her typical excitement for one of his rare visits, but her stomach would only twist in a thorny knot instead. She flopped back onto her bed. This was so dumb. She didn’t have anything to feel guilty about, not really. Was it her fault that some future felon had imprinted on her? He was the one who kissed her—and only that one time. As for the nights he spent in her room, nothing happened.

His arm around her waist, holding her pressed against him. Warm cigarette breath stirring her hair.

She covered her face with a groan. She hadn’t been unfaithful. She hadn’t! Besides, she and Celeborn had never put a label on what they were. It was fine. She grabbed her phone and tapped out a quick reply.

can’t wait!! <3

There was absolutely problem at all. Celeborn would come, and they would have a lovely visit. She was happy—over the moon, in fact.

She hummed a peppy tune as she picked up one of her textbooks. Her hand only shook a little when she locked her window that night—and the next. She went to sleep with earbuds in to drown out the soft tapping against the glass, the muted call of her name.

Everything was fine.

Her delinquent neighbor was suspended for fighting—again. He wasn’t on his porch either, following her every move with those hazel eyes. Life was almost normal for two days. Laughing with her friends over internet memes. Making plans for the winter formal. Bemoaning upcoming exams. The world was right once more.

Except it wasn’t.

Everything was too much and too little. A hair unreal in a way that made her skin itch. Interactions with her friends, with her family felt scripted. Superficial. But that was ridiculous. It was fine. It was fine.

He was back at the end of the week, leaning against the wall after school, thumb tucked under the strap of his backpack. The grip around her lungs gave way when she laid eyes on Halbrand. She squared her shoulders, refusing to feel relieved at the sight of his smirking face, and attempted to walk past him. He grabbed her arm, pulled her into an empty corridor.

Just like she knew he would.

She glared to cover the sudden thrill zinging in her middle. “They let you out of the cage, I see.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up in a cocksure grin. “I’m slippery like that.” He took a step toward her, then another until her back touched rough brick. “You’ve been avoiding me again.”

His long fingers on her jaw. The swipe of his tongue against hers. Her nails scraping through his hair.

Galadriel shook off the errant memory and redoubled her scowl. “They’re called boundaries. Ever heard of them?”

Halbrand’s brows drew downward in exaggerated confusion. “You know, I don’t think I have.”

She rolled her eyes. If that wasn’t a fact. “They’re simple really,” she explained with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “I tell you to go away, and you do.” She pushed on his shoulders, but he wouldn’t budge.

He glanced down at her hands as she gave him another shove. “Odd. They don’t seem to be working. You might be using them wrong.”

She let out a strangled growl, done with this game. “Listen, I more than paid you back for—”

“You think that’s what this is about?” he cut in, anger clipping his words. The startling shift in his demeanor made her pulse jump.

But it wasn’t fear crackling through her veins. It was something far more alive. “This? There’s no ‘this.’” She knew her denial would only stoke his budding fury. She wanted it—wanted it so much that it almost made her sick.

He snarled, grasping her chin as he pressed into her. His gaze flicked to her mouth, and she stared back at him, daring him to close the last few millimeters between them. For a trembling heartbeat, she thought he might.

With a snort, he backed away. “Keep lying to yourself, Noldor.”

“It’s not a lie!” she scoffed.

“Everything about you is.” He shook his head. “Perfect little princess in her sheltered world full of rainbows and lollipops where nothing bad ever happens.” He gave her a dismissive once-over. “I should have known better.”

She hated how much the comment stung. He didn’t know her. She wasn’t some Barbie living in a dream house, and she opened her mouth to tell him as much. But this was what she wanted, wasn’t it? An end to his unhealthy obsession with her? She crossed her arms. “Yep, you should have.”

His answering laugh was serrated at the edges. “Still so damn stupid,” he muttered before turning away.

“Looks like those boundaries are working after all!” she shouted at his retreating back.

His only reply was a middle finger.

It was over—finally. And she was fine. Just fine.

If she pushed so hard at cross-country practice that she shaved three minutes off her long run, then good. Whatever it took to forget the bastard. It almost worked too—until she got home.

He was in his stoop as usual, eyes closed and smoking while he listened to whatever was coming through his headphones. He wouldn’t look at her, though. Not even when she audibly wrenched her front door open.

Still irrationally incensed over their earlier conversation, she yelled, “Those things are going to kill you!”

“That’s the point, princess!” he returned before she slammed her door shut.

She let out a strangled scream. Why did she even care? She didn’t. He was the worst.

The doorbell rang when she just finished drying her hair.

Celeborn was here.

She called out for her brother to get it, but then remembered he was on shift tonight. Her parents were away on one of her dad’s business trips. Normally she liked having the house to herself, but it’d been too quiet today, especially when her sheets still held a whisper of burnt tobacco and cologne. She was fairly certain Halbrand had stolen the teddy bear on her bureau the first night he crashed in her room.

The doorbell rang again.

“Coming!” she shouted as she jogged down the stairs. That anemic coil her stomach had to be excitement. It couldn’t be anything else.

Her sort-of boyfriend stood tall on the other side of the threshold, blond hair trimmed and perfectly coiffed. He wore a pale blue button-down tucked into khakis. The very vision of a young man with his act together—unlike Halbrand who always looked like he rolled out of bed into whatever random clothes he found on the floor of his room.

It’s your bed he rolls out of lately.

“Celeborn!” she exclaimed too brightly. He stumbled back when she practically leapt into his arms.

“Good to see you too,” he said with a chuckle. “If I’d known you’d be this enthusiastic, I might have come home sooner.”

Galadriel hardly heard the joke. Her gaze snagged on Halbrand, who was still lazing on his now-dark porch. His phone lit up the sardonic grin he tossed in her direction. Ugh. She wound her hands around Celeborn’s neck and gave him a kiss—one far less chaste than the few they’d shared before.

His long fingers on her jaw. The swipe of his tongue—

She tugged him closer, parted her lips in an attempt to erase the memory of Halbrand’s mouth on hers, but Celeborn gently pushed her back.

“Galadriel!” he hissed with round eyes. “Don’t you think we should do that somewhere more private?” He nodded toward her neighbor.

She glanced at the bastard—he wasn’t smiling anymore—and gave him smug look before linking her arm with Celeborn’s. “Yes, let’s go inside where I can show you how much I’ve missed you,” she announced loudly.

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” he sputtered as she pulled him inside.

She ignored the comment, ignored too the buzzing underneath her skin at Halbrand’s seething rage. “I’m glad you’re finally here.”

Celeborn cleared his throat. “So I gathered.”

Embarrassment tinged her cheeks. She wasn’t like this; they weren’t like this. They met at an academic camp the summer before last, bonded over familial pressures for excellence and shared principles. He attended a prep school in Doriath, only coming home for the holidays and the occasional weekend. They were easy, never intense, never consuming. They could go days, even weeks, without talking and then pick up where they left off without any awkwardness. She used to love that.

But now…

No, she still loved it. Of course she did.

“What should we do?” Celeborn asked. “I probably should take you out somewhere since you seem to be home alone.” He gave her a sweet smile. Ever the gentleman.

This was what a healthy relationship looked like. This wholesome, unsullied affection. Exactly what she always wanted.

Hands gripping the headboard as he rocked the mattress. Good girl. Now say my name.

“Dinner and maybe a walk in the park?” Celeborn suggested. “I heard they finished that installment—the one with the two trees. Telperion and Lauren or something.”

“Laurelin.” Galadriel saw the life-sized sculptures two weeks ago with her friends, and later that night, while Halbrand slept next to her, she dreamt of him pushing her up against the stone trunk of the brighter tree, lips marking a path down her neck as his hand slid beneath the hem of her top.

She needed to go someplace busy, noisy. Somewhere without his tainted fingerprints. “Durin’s having a Halloween party,” she said.

Celeborn made a face, and a filament of ire prickled in her chest. She’d forgotten about his unreasonable aversion to anyone from the Misty Mountains.

“I don’t know,” he hedged. “I don’t have a costume.”

“I’m sure there’s something in Fin’s things you can borrow. I promised Disa I’d come.” That wasn’t precisely true. Galadriel had said she might make an appearance, but at this point there was nowhere else she was willing to go. When Celeborn seemed unconvinced, she added, “Elrond and Brimby will be there.”

Celeborn brows shot up. That did the trick. “If you’re sure…”

She took his hand and led him toward the stairs. “Come on.”

Celeborn tugged on the collar of his silver armor as they walked a half block toward the party.

“I feel a little ridiculous.”

Galadriel held back a sigh. Despite his apparent enthusiasm at the idea of seeing his two favorite friends, he complained nearly every step of the way. The costume didn’t fit right—her brother was fuller in the chest and shoulders. Road construction forced them to take a longer detour. There was no parking close to Durin’s place by the time they arrived. Had he always been so fussy?

She pasted on an encouraging smile. “You’re my knight in shining armor. You wouldn’t abandon your lady, would you?” Her own outfit was a medieval dress and cloak she’d worn to one of Brimby’s themed dinner parties a couple of years ago. She’d only grown a smidgen taller since then, but the gown was definitely more fitted in the bust and hips than it was before, making her look curvier than she was—if the way the tips of Celeborn’s ears turned red at the sight of her was any indication.

She absolutely did not wonder what Halbrand would have thought of the dress. He wasn’t in his stoop when they left, not that she was looking.

“You’re right,” Celeborn relented. “I’m sorry I’ve been a bit of a killjoy. I was just hoping for a quiet evening with you.”

Guilt made an uncomfortable bur in her sternum. She’d make it up to him tomorrow. Tonight, though, she needed an escape. “It’ll be fun.” She laced her fingers with his.

Almost the moment they stepped inside, they were waylaid by Brimby. The older boy was dressed like an archaic blacksmith, and he threw his arms around the both of them in a brief embrace.

“Galadriel! Celeborn!” he yelled jovially over the din of the party. “Look at us! Must’ve all had the same idea. Elrond, too, believe it or not.” He clapped a hand on Celeborn’s shoulder. “It’s been too long, Cellie! You should come out back and catch us up on the latest!”

Celeborn gave Galadriel a questioning look. He clearly wanted to go but wasn’t going to abandon her. She could join them, of course. They were her friends after all. Yet when the three boys got together, it was as if everything else stopped existing outside of their bubble. She could only stomach so much ardent rhetoric about politics or the rehashing of some football match or another before she wanted to scream. Not that they’d notice if she did.

Right now, however, she wouldn’t mind being invisible. “Go on,” she said, rising up on her toes to place a soft peck on his cheek. “I’ll find you later.”

He gave her a grateful smile before Brimby hauled him off.

That was normal, right? That it wasn’t hard to be apart? Yes. Absolutely.

Galadriel navigated deeper in the gargantuan house. Durin’s family was old money with the kind of wealth that rivaled the gross national product of a small nation. She was familiar enough with his home that she could negotiate its labyrinthine layout despite the masses. She passed teens in all kinds of costumes, from traditional ghosts and witches and vampires to more elaborate garb better suited for a fan convention. One of them wore a realistic wolf mask, mouth curled back in a frozen growl, blood on the tips of its teeth. Those black eyes seemed to follow her as she pushed through the crowd farther down the hallway.

She rubbed at the chills pebbling her arms.

She found her crew in the den, the cavernous room all books and mahogany and leather. She squinted in the brighter light. They were around a large hand-carved stone desk in plush overstuffed chairs. Durin sat at the head with Disa perched on his lap. The couple wore the conical hats and colorful clothes of garden gnomes, complete with a long red beard glued to Durin’s ruddy face. They were playing a card game with Bronwyn and Arondir. Míriel was chatting quietly nearby with the college guy that she always swore was just a friend. Galadriel didn’t miss how they unconsciously leaned into each other as if pulled by gravity.

The way Halbrand always seemed to be in her orbit.

“Oh, you came!” Disa exclaimed, leaping up and racing across the room. Galadriel braced herself for a bone-crushing hug and the other girl did not disappoint. “I’m so happy you could make it!” She pulled back and glanced past Galadriel. “Did you bring your beau?”

“He’s with Elrond and Brimby.” Galadriel let out a sigh.

Disa clucked her tongue, but before she could comment, Durin interrupted.

“Woman, get back where you belong!”

Disa rolled her eyes. “I’ll come when I’m good and ready!” She grabbed Galadriel’s elbow, ushered her toward the desk. “We’re playing Knock Rummy, and there’s room for one more.” She leaned into Galadriel. “Durin’s losing even though he’s cheating.”

“I do not cheat!” Durin sputtered, though he sounded more playful than indignant. “I’ll paddle your bum for spreading such lies.”

Disa planted her hands on her hips. “I’d like to see you try!” she challenged, but then she climbed back into his lap and settled against him.

Galadriel laughed, and she almost felt like herself.

Time ticked by as they played a hand, then another. Laughing. Taking playful potshots at one another. Durin made a good show of being a sore loser each time he came in last. Bronwyn turned out to be the one to beat, and by the third round, the entire group began coordinating her demise.

But it still wasn’t enough, not to dispel the hollowness scratching at Galadriel’s insides. Her gaze caught on everyone who came and went in the room, searching. For what? Celeborn? Of course Celeborn. Who else? But he’d be too distracted by his two favorite companions to seek her out. He wouldn’t pull her into a vacant hallway, crowd her against the wall and—

“Do you know him?”

She blinked. She’d been staring at a wolf looming in the doorway—the wolf. The mask was even more sinister in the better light. He wore tattered jeans and an unbuttoned flannel shirt, revealing an expanse of tanned, muscled chest. Those starless eyes were aimed in her direction, breaking contact to look over his shoulder before turning back at her. Prickles crept up her spine.

My, what big eyes you have! The better to see you with.

“Galadriel?”

“Sorry,” she murmured, half standing up when she noticed that he had disappeared. “I think I should…” She trailed off, at a loss.

“Are you alright?” Bronwyn frowned at her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Galadriel forced a smile. “I’m fine. Just famished,” she lied. “And I should probably find Celeborn. I’ve left him alone with the dynamic duo long enough.”

The others chuckled and waved her off. Bronwyn didn’t seem quite convinced; the girl always saw more than she should. But she blessedly kept her thoughts to herself.

Galadriel didn’t head toward the garden, though. She meandered aimlessly through the house, scanning fruitlessly for the wolf as if she were tethered to him somehow. An acquaintance here and there called out to her, beckoned her over for a minute or two of perfunctory conversation. She was pleasant enough, but her thoughts wandered on ahead of her, drawing her toward the next turn in the hallway, toward the next room, and the next.

She found herself in the kitchen, white countertops covered with an assortment of food and drink. There were sodas and water among the less innocent wine spritzers, kegs, and harder liquor. She meant to grab one of the former, but she drifted toward the array of glass bottles in the corner. Stop. Don’t. Aside from the half glass of wine her parents allowed her on special occasions, she didn’t imbibe. She’d never been interested in playing roulette with her future for the sake of getting tipsy—or getting high for that matter.

Tonight, though, she understood the allure. If it would quiet the humming that ground against her bones and sinews, maybe it was worth it. Just once. One sip.

A hand grasped hers before she could reach for one of the shots already poured out. Her breath caught at the wolf towering over her. He shook his head wordlessly, then crooked a finger as if inviting her to follow. She shouldn’t—she didn’t know him—and yet her feet moved as if he were the pied piper.

My, what big ears you have! The better to hear you with.

He brought her toward the center of the mansion, where the music grew so loud that it made her heart struggle to keep time with the thumping bass. The ballroom was dark with red, yellow, and blue strobe lights lancing out over the throng of party-goers. The wolf twined his long fingers in hers, guiding her to the far side of the dance floor. He spun her under his arm, encouraged her to sway with him. She hesitated. She wasn’t self-conscious; she loved to dance. She didn’t fear for her safety, not in a crowd with dozens of people who knew her. And yet dense expectation hung in the air between them as if warning her to flee.

Impatient, her partner took her other hand and drew her in close. The muzzle of the mask brushed against her face, the fur tickling her cheek.

“My, what big teeth you have,” she mused out loud.

The wolf rasped a laugh that was quickly swallowed by the music. He spun her again, this time finishing the movement with her back against him. His long fingers curled around her hip, and her middle fluttered at the intimacy of it. Cigarettes. Cologne.

“Do you want to be eaten, princess?”

The air turned opaque in her lungs at the familiar voice. “You!” She tried to break out of his grasp, but he held on tighter, pulled her farther into the recesses of the ballroom. “What are you doing here?”

Halbrand didn’t answer but led her through a set of French doors out onto a veranda. The night air was crisp enough that Galadriel regretted leaving her cloak in the den. He dragged her along until they reached an unoccupied set of patio furniture in the shadows.

“Did you follow me here?” she demanded as he pulled off his mask and ran his fingers through his sweat-drenched hair.

He made a derisive noise. “Always you with that inflated sense of importance,” he said. “I was, in fact, invited.”

She let her flat expression convey her disbelief. “By who?”

“My mate from shop class. What do you call him? Brimby?” Halbrand’s grin was annoyingly self-satisfied. “Pretty sure he’s got a crush. What is it with prudes and their obsession with bad boys?”

She scoffed, but before she could let loose a stinging remark about his oversized ego, he was on her, hand on her jaw, squeezing. Not enough to cause pain but enough to shock her into silence.

“Don’t,” he warned in a low voice, flint in his hazel eyes. “No more lies out of this mouth.”

Feral anticipation pooled in her middle, snaked out to her limbs. Everything became sharper, the moonlit yellows and greys of the night more vibrant. Living things. Real.

“I thought you were done with me,” she countered.

He relaxed his grip, palm sliding down the side of her throat. “When have I ever said that?”

She loathed how much his reply pleased her—how badly she needed to hear it. “I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh, I saw.” He leaned forward, bumping his nose against hers. “A plastic prince for you to play pretend with. Tell me, can you bend his knees and elbows or is he an older model?”

She scowled at him. “God, you’re such an ass!”

Halbrand shrugged, unmoved by the insult. He traced a line down her right arm and brought up her hand between them, fingers running over the braided silver ring she wore. “Did he give you this? Is it a promise that you’ll ride off into the sunset together on his white horse someday.”

Galadriel tried to yank her hand back, but he held firm. “It’s a purity ring—not that you’d know anything about that.”

Something dark passed over his face, chasing away his perpetual cavalier half-grin. “You’re right,” he murmured. “I’ve never known anything about that.”

She swallowed thickly, unsettled by the way he stared at the ring. There was something fractured in his expression, tactile and spiky. His eyes flicked to hers in the next breath with the same biting intensity. He spun the ring slowly, and she gasped when he tugged it off.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He pushed it onto his pinky, working it past his knuckle, and ran his thumb over it in a reverent caress that sent another wave of that untamed need through her. Because this felt like more than silly game, especially when he looked down at her the same way he admired the ring. No, “admired” wasn’t right. It was too mild, too sterile for the intention in his gaze.

“Give it back,” she commanded—or tried to, but the words didn’t come out right. They were breathy, unsteady as if she didn’t have the strength to mean them.

He shook his head, the movement almost imperceptible. And then his mouth was abruptly on hers, tongue pushing past the seal of her lips, hungry. Devouring. He wasn’t merely taking this time. He was possessing. And she answered by slipping her hands inside his open shirt, nails leaving a trail down the smooth skin of his back. He groaned into mouth and it was like falling and flying at once. She pressed up against him, needing to be closer. Desperate to be inside of him somehow—inside of his very soul. Just like he’d infected hers.

Without warning, he broke off the kiss. She started to protest, but then she heard it: her friends.

“Thondir thought he saw her come out here earlier.”

Halbrand stepped back, rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth. He pointed at her hair with a smirk as he leaned down to pick up his mask. Flushed with a furious mix of mortification and irritation, she hastily ran her fingers through her locks just as the group came into view.

“There she is!” Elrond said with Celeborn and Brimby in his wake. “We’ve been looking for you.”

Galadriel tried to look as if she hadn’t been making out with the reprobate next to her. She smothered the voice that told her what she and Halbrand had done was definitely cheating. “I was—”

“Just catching me up on what I missed in school,” Halbrand interjected, giving her shoulder a friendly pat. “It was terribly thoughtful of her to remind me about that exam on Monday.”

“Halbrand! You came!” Brimby exclaimed a little too eagerly, and Galadriel hated that she could see it now—his barely veiled infatuation.

“I did.” Halbrand gave him a delighted smile and nodded at the others. “Elrond, our illustrious head boy. And that means you—” he took a step toward Celeborn and stretched a hand out to shake, “—must be Galadriel’s Ken that I’ve been hearing so much about.”

Celeborn frowned but shook Halbrand’s hand. “It’s Celeborn, actually.”

“Ah, my mistake.” Halbrand’s gaze flitted to Galadriel, a flash to convey his disdain, though the others seemed to miss it. His grin turned impish, and she knew that if she let him say anything else, it would be catastrophic.

“Halbrand has to go!” she nearly shouted, cheeks burning as all eyes turned to her.

“I do?” Halbrand raised his brows as if he found her desperate attempt to head off his antics amusing.

“Yes, remember you got that call—about that emergency?” she stammered, willing him to go along with the story. “From your dad?” she added as an afterthought, recalling the vile man who had opened the door that awful night weeks ago.

“My dad…” Halbrand repeated, congenial air transforming into cold hostility. She’d made a dangerous misstep here, though she couldn’t begin to guess how. In a blink, though, he was all regretful smiles. “That’s right. I’m afraid I’m needed elsewhere. Have a pleasant night, Elrond. Ken.”

“Celeborn,” both Galadriel and Celeborn corrected.

“Brimby, mate,” Halbrand went on, clasping Brimby’s face between his palms. “You know it’s always a pleasure.” He gave him a lusty kiss on the mouth, not a long one, but enough for Galadriel’s stomach to wrench with a congealed black emotion.

He turned, positively triumphant as he offered her a salute, the purity ring glinting on his finger. “See you around, Noldor.” Arching his back, he howled at the sky, then pulled on his mask and sprinted inside.

“Well,” Brimby mumbled, his cheeks a bright pink.

Celeborn cleared his throat. “He seems like—”

“Trouble,” Elrond finished for him, glancing at Galadriel.

“Probably drunk,” she said. Not true. She’d only tasted spearmint and tobacco on his lips. Pretending not to notice Elrond’s scrutiny of her, she gave the three boys a sunny smile. “You were looking for me?”

That night she left her bedroom window unlocked. She kept her eyes closed when the bed dipped behind her—when Halbrand dragged her against him, arm cinching around her waist. And when his hand came to rest just beneath the waistband of her shorts, fingertips warm on her hip, her breath became thready, but she didn’t move, didn’t protest.

He sighed against her shoulder.

“Good girl.” The words were hardly more than air. “My good girl.”

~FIN~

#haladriel #saurondriel #trop #modern au #high school au #my fic #lies #the end of you and beginning of me

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