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#hobbit x you
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Greetings, dear readers. Here you shall find my writing masterlist. I regularly take requests, and can write for The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, and The Witcher. I dally in gender-specific, gender-diverse, and gender-neutral reader inserts, and am happy to cater. Read on and let your mind drift away into a world of submersible imagination…
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She’s the Man (Fellowship X Disguised as Boy! Reader!)
The Road Less Traveled (Fellowship x Pregnant! Reader)
The Road Less Traveled (Part 2) (Legolas x Mother! Reader)
“Thanks, I Owe You Guys One.” (Fellowship x Reader)
Speak My Language (Fellowship x Hurt! Reader)
Leap of Faith (Fellowship x Reader)
Wrong End of the Ithillien Stick (Legolas x Reader)
Not a Hero (Fellowship x Soldier! Reader)
Elf Got Your Tongue? (Legolas x Reader)
The Wrong Kind of Stardust (Legolas x Reader)
And Then There Were Two (Legolas x Reader) (One Bed Trope)
The Softest Shout (Fili x Reader)
Silver is the New Sexy (Kili x Reader)
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Imagine the Fellowship comforting you as you reveal your aro/ace identity to them
Imagine accidentally marrying Legolas whilst drunk in Edoras
Imagine Legolas only yelling at you in Sindarin when angry
Imagine spending your Sweet 16 with the Fellowship
Imagine Mairon and Melkor dangling you over lava to extract information from you
Imagine helping Legolas deal with a sprained ankle
Imagine waiting at the battle of Helms Deep
Imagine Thranduil helping you deal with your skin insecurities
Imagine you, a bard, writing the song ‘Soldier, Poet, King’ about Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas
Imagine Gandalf taking the Fellowship to you after they’ve all been turned into animals
Imagine you, a journalist, forcing your way into the Fellowship of the Ring
Imagine having a spa day with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli
Imagine Legolas becoming a “bridezilla” at your wedding
Imagine Aragorn and Legolas helping hide your mermaid identity from the rest of the Fellowship
Imagine having a playful songwriter rivalry with Maglor
Teaching the Fellowship to drive a car would include: (Fellowship x Reader)
Imagine having Maglor as your neighbour in the 21st century
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strawwritesfic · 1 year
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Bilbo Baggins x Female!Hobbit!Reader: Save
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Summary: The beginning of your own story might be worth writing down someday as well.
Rating/Tags: All (Post-Hobbit; pre-Fellowship of the Ring; The Green Dragon; Drinking; Alcohol; Server!Reader; family problems; inheritance problems; meet cute)
Challenge: “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.
Tag List: @imaginesfire​
Save
Any Hobbit worth their salt could recite upon command any number of stories about far-off lands and daring adventures. Children might shudder in their beds thinking of shadowy forests filled with creeping spiders; even adults could blanch over news of wolves spotted near Buckland. But that was all such tales were in the end: Distant news and exciting fiction, meant to entertain and never to touch its listeners. Nothing could ever really involve the Shire. The people of Hobbiton were free to continue their vicarious quests–until one day such a quest did involve the Shire.
“I already told you, Otho, I don’t have a mountain of gold hidden away to give to you. I’m certain that if I did, there would be nothing left after I was forced to buy back my home and all my possessions.”
You looked up from your work behind the counter to see one Bilbo Baggins sitting at a table across the room. He had a mug of ale clutched in one hand and a look of polite distaste on his face. 
Upon recognizing his drinking companions, you couldn’t say you blamed him for looking like that. Otho and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins were not your favorite customers when they were minding their own business. Throw in harassing other patrons, and you couldn’t help but shoot them an ugly look of your own behind their backs.
Normally, you would have tried to throw them out. Now that you were in serious competition with your younger brother over the inheritance of the inn, however, you decided it would be better not to make a scene. "A patron is a patron, so long as they’ve got gold to spend," as your father had reminded you since you’d started working at the Green Dragon in your tweens. Apparently your brother had no trouble remembering this, though you suspected his good memory was because he didn’t spend much of his time on the clock doing any work, not because he lacked any hint of your admirable temper.
“[Name], quit lollygagging. Table Eight wanted supper fifteen minutes ago,” your father called over the usual evening hubbub. 
His watchful eye prevented you from eavesdropping further on Bilbo and his guests, so you flashed your haggard father a grin, picked up a waiting tray of food, and dove back into the throng.
The Green Dragon had been owned by your family since it had been built several generations ago. Sometimes you got the feeling your father would have gladly given up five square meals a day to be rid of the responsibility of running the place. Not so you. Working at the inn made you come alive more than any other place in the whole of the Shire. You had been hanging around it since you were old enough to follow your father to work as a youth and working there since you were bold enough to convince him to give you a job. By necessity, you knew every nook and cranny, every regular’s name, and every story ever told by the grand stone fireplace.
Except, that was, for Bilbo’s story. Even knowing that the mere sight of Otho and Lobelia would anger you, you sneaked another peek over at their table as you set the food down on another surrounded by ravenous tweens. Sure enough, the trio was still there. Bilbo’s polite façade appeared to be fading quickly as he listened to the two of them rant.
“[Name],” whined one of the tween boys, “you’re in the way.”
You hastily removed your hand before any of them could mistake it for part of their meal. Your constantly-hungry youth wasn’t so far behind you that you had forgotten what it felt like.
“Make sure to pay before you leave this time. Don’t want me to have to talk to your parents again, do you?” you asked.
None of them replied. 
With a deep breath and a roll of your eyes, you turned away. Before you lay a buzzing dining hall. Hobbits laughed and ate and drank in seemingly every inch of the building. It warmed your heart to see so many happy people enjoying your family’s business. All except for Bilbo, of course, who had dismissed faking politeness entirely and now stared grumpily into the space about his relatives’ heads as they prattled on about whatever it was they had a bone to pick about that night.
Before you could even attempt to interrupt the conversation, your father caught your eye and motioned impatiently at the growing assortment of food and drink waiting to be delivered. You picked your way toward him, progress hindered by the many customers that stopped you to say hello. The conversation at Bilbo’s table had grown quite lively by the time you arrived at the bar to pick up another order.
Truth be told, Bilbo’s fascinating disappearance and reappearance were not the only things about him that kept you looking at him. Neither were his rumored riches; you planned to take over the Dragon and raise your own small fortune, after all. Bilbo had, in fact, always interested you. He had had his own schedule before he’d left the Shire, coming in once a week to drink and listen to the same old stories you did day after day. Always polite, that Bilbo, if admittedly not forcibly friendly like most of the others. You had never had to throw him out for poor behavior, at any rate.
That night was the first night he’d been back to the inn after all his time away. You’d been dying to talk to him since the minute you saw him walk through the door. Between your job and the Sackville-Bagginses, you hadn’t had a chance.
Then an idea occurred to you–a wonderful, terrible, perfect idea. Before any of your fellow workers could guess that you were up to something, you filled your tray with the waiting glasses of ale. Your plan might not have had the best timing, considering the dinner rush and how flustered your father had already become, but he would have to do without you. You were only one Hobbit, and if your father truly believed passing the Green Dragon onto your brother (who was, as usual, suspiciously absent that evening), then what good was your working your fingers to the bone to please customers?
You turned and marched purposely toward the table at which Bilbo, Lobelia, and Otho sat. As you drew nearer, you could understand why Bilbo looked as pained as he did.
“As far as I’m concerned, you forfeited your right to Bag End when you left without saying a word and without electing an heir. The hole is ours,” Otho was saying.
“Is it,” said Bilbo.
Lobelia gave him a very nasty, almost un-hobbotish sneer. “You clearly aren’t right in the head anymore. Dragons? Dwarves? Why don’t you just admit you got into some messy business with that Gandalf fellow and step aside for Otho to be head of the family?”
“Difficult to do when I’m not at all mad, my dear Lobelia. For why should you think I had gold to spare if I never had my grand adventure?”
“You’re a fool,” she said, “a fool and perhaps even a criminal. We could go over your head, Bilbo. Mark my words.”
“Consider them marked. Now if you’ll excuse me…”
“We aren’t done here,” Otho growled, getting up to follow Bilbo away from the table.
Oh, yes you are, you thought. 
Just as Otho reached over to pull Bilbo back into his seat, you arrived along with half the dining hall’s drinks. Otho standing up actually provided you with the perfect opportunity. All you had to do was angle your feet just right, and–
Lobelia’s scream told you that you had succeeded. Your staged trip and fall managed to tip all the ale on your tray so that it spilled over the Sackville-Baggginses heads. There they sat, dripping in abject shock, as Bilbo stood staring on in astonishment.
“Oh no!” you squealed dramatically. “Did I do that? I’m ever so sorry. I’m such a klutz!”
With a lurch toward Lobelia, you made to press a towel to her sopping hair. She flinched away before turning the full brunt of her wrath on you.
“You-You-You,” she said. Apparently, your act had rendered her unable to form complete sentences. 
This unforeseen bonus didn’t last long; before you could so much as attempt to offer a fake apology, Otho got in your face: “I’ll have your job for this, girl,” he said, and any desire to apologize, falsely or otherwise, vanished. 
You hooked a thumb over your shoulder toward where you’d last seen your father running around like a chicken with his head cut off. “Boss is that way.”
The two left without more than several glares in your direction. You watched only long enough to see your father shoot you a knowing, aggrieved sort of look when the Sackville-Bagginses approached him. 
Shrugging, you turned away. Well, it was difficult to feel sorry for him. If he really wanted a supper rush without incident, he really ought to have forced your brother to show up for his shifts every once and awhile, especially if you were expected to give up your inheritance without a fight.
All the same, you knew better than to leave a mess behind. You began to pick up the (thankfully unbroken) glasses littering the table and were almost finished by the time Bilbo spoke:
“Thank you.”
You had assumed he had taken the opportunity to escape your inn entirely, actually. His voice surprised you, and even more so that he was standing exactly where you’d left him. 
“You don’t need to thank me for being clumsy,” you answered, then smiled mischievously at his blank expression. “It looked like you could use a rescue. Those two shouldn’t bother you again tonight.”
“Thank you,” he said with more feeling.
“It’s your first time back since your adventure. Wouldn’t want you spooked off forever.”
Much to your confusion, Bilbo hesitated before he replied. His eyes slid toward the door and back to you, and then he took a wide step backward. “Right,” he said. “All the same, I think I had better get going.”
As you looked on, he began to shuffle toward the front door. You realized with a jolt exactly what he thought: Bilbo believed you, too, were after his gold. He didn’t exactly look less nervous when you followed after him either.
“That’s a shame,” you said. “I really was hoping to hear your story.”
That got him to pause. “You…were?”
“Sure. Dwarves and dragons and spiders and elves. Sounds better than half of the stories the rest of them have been telling all week. I'm getting a little tired of the time the creek froze over and let the wolves in, personally. ”
“Mine is a rather exciting tale,” Bilbo confessed, then seemed to decide you weren’t so frightening that he couldn’t size you up. “And you are?” 
“[Name]. My dad owns the place.”
At that, a look of slight disappointment crossed his face. You didn’t understand it, not until he went on: “Then I suppose you wouldn’t be able to join me at my hole for a cup of coffee and a chat? I find myself wanting a quieter atmosphere, but I could do with some company still.”
The words no, not tonight were right on your lips. You couldn’t just abandon the inn, or your father for that matter. 
But on second thought, why couldn’t you? Really, your brother ought to have been there by now to take over, and there were other servers, too, picking their slow ways from table to table. Besides, when was the last time you’d been given time off, or even a break for that matter?
“You know what?” you said. “I’d love to.”
“Delightful!” cried Bilbo, and he held out his arm. 
It took you less than half a second to place your tray on top of one of the other server’s trays as she passed by. She gave you a wild-eyed, panicked looked, but you did not explain. 
You’d hear all about your lack of responsibility in the morning once your father discovered you had slipped away. For the time being, you were just like any other Hobbit. Who cared about work, the inheritance, or the inn when there was such a fine story to hear and such a fine Hobbit to tell it? Even as you thought about the lecture you were in for, you couldn't find yourself regretting your decision. 
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azi-muthal · 3 months
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[Commission] I had the pleasure of drawing a sweet, romantic scene for @wolfsbane-and-nettles's story Chosen Horizons. Go give it a read!
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fvck-the-patriarchy · 8 months
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Y/n: Did you buy eggs like I asked?
Legolas: Even better!
Y/n: What the fuck did you-
Legolas: *holding up a chicken* Her name is Fluffy.
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gloomwitchwrites · 3 months
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Winter Gem
Thranduil x Female Elf Reader
Content & Warnings: soft!Thranduil, widowed!Thranduil, fluff, peril & rescue, mild hurt/comfort
Word Count: 1.8k
Seeking something precious for Thranduil, you're caught in a storm. When you don't return, he goes searching for you.
A/N: For @firelightinferno
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // winter 2023 masterlist
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“The first snows have arrived.”
“It has come early.”
Thranduil inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Indeed.”
You stand beside Thranduil outside the main gates. Five guards stand nearby but there is no danger. A steady snowfall drifts down from the sky. The snowflakes are slightly gray in appearance, almost like ash on the wind. You frown down at a few of the flakes that land on your leather vambrace.
“You look ready for your hunt,” observes Thranduil, gesturing toward your attire with the tip of his head.
“Yes,” reply softly. “I plan on heading out for a bit.”
His eyebrows rise toward his hairline. “In this weather?”
You glance up from the vambrace and meet his blue eyes. Thranduil’s gaze is startling and sharp. Piercing. Intense. It cuts right down to your heart. His gaze always holds you hostage, wrapping you up in his essence. Most might find Thranduil intimidating, but you know better.
“Is my king telling me I cannot?” You’re teasing him, and Thranduil knows this. His smile is one of soft amusement.
“As long as you return to me. You are free to do as you wish.” Even though Thranduil’s tone is gentle, you understand the deeper meaning.
Thranduil lost his wife many years ago. Other than his son, Legolas, you are his comfort. He wants you to be free, to enjoy the pleasures of life, but he also wants you to be safe, to return to him at the end of every leaving.
Thranduil glances over his shoulder. The guards on duty discreetly glance away, staring off into the distance as if they’ve suddenly found something of great interest. Thranduil leans in and shifts his body to block their view of you. He is close enough that it might appear that the two of you are kissing, but he does not meet your lips.
In the end, Thranduil is private about affection. He does not like to share your tender moments together in front of others.
“Enjoy your hunt. I eagerly await your return.”
You give him a half-hearted, sarcastic bow that immediately puts a wide smile on his face. Thranduil watches you until you disappear into the trees. Perhaps he lingers longer than that, wondering if you will turn around and come back to him.
It is true. You are on a hunt, but not for what he or anyone else is likely expecting.
Over a week ago, Thranduil went out in the woods with some of the guards on patrol. It’s the first time he’s been out beyond the walls in some time. Many patrols that ventured into the northern regions reported back on a strangeness in the air, and the scent of evil. Thranduil decided to investigate.
While tracking, he lost something precious.
Around his neck on a chain, Thranduil kept a silver ring. Within the ring is a precious gem, a blue stone so pale it almost appears white like a burning star. The chain that held it snapped while he and the guards chased a group of spiders that had made their way south.
He remembered it snagging, and while he did not show any distress upon telling you of its disappearance, you also know how much that ring and jewel means to him. It was a gift from his wife when they were newly married. She had a matching one, but upon her death, Thranduil moved it from his finger to around his neck.
This hunt—your hunt—is about that ring. You have a fairly good idea about where it might have fallen, and there is no reason for it to have moved since then. Few enter these woods unless they follow the road, and that is on rare occasions.
Tracking is your specialty, and your time is not limited due to the falling snow. But you’ve tracked in worse weather. The snow is unfortunate, but you can still search as long as it remains at its current pace. The tree cover will keep much of the snow in the higher canopy. There will be time yet before the snow completely covers the ground and you lose the trail.
Heading north, you retrace the path the patrol took. Yes, a week has passed, and nature reclaims much, but not everything is hidden so quickly. There are small disturbances that indicate the path ahead.
As you begin to draw nearer to the area Thranduil mentioned, the snow starts to pick up. It becomes thicker, not staying above in the canopy but instead making its way to the ground. It’s not ideal, but you can manage.
Thranduil mentioned two tree trunks growing together and then breaking apart. When you happen upon it, the snow comes down in thicker sheets. On the ground, it’s sticking. Collecting. Time is running out. Elves have good eyes, and you focus in on the ground, gnarled roots, and underbrush.
Near the base of the tangled tree, you notice a slight sparkle. Approaching it, you go down on one knee, brushing away some of the snow.
“Found you.”
The ring is there, resting in the roots. It appears undamaged, and that is a relief. Picking it up, you tuck it into an inside pocket, protecting it from the elements.
The snow crunches under your boots, and the wind howls. For the first time, you shiver. Cold is not and has never been an issue. Elves can withstand a great many things, including winter weather.
Frowning, you turn into the chilly wind. There is a disturbance. Something dark and foul. It sets the edges of your nerves tingling. A simmering suspicion bubbles up from somewhere within you, question whether this snow is natural or not.
Turning on your heel, you head back the way you came. But the snow is heavy, and your fresh tracks are starting to slip away, returning to the snow. As you walk, the snowfall becomes a storm. The wind whips up, swirling the snow around until you cannot see more than a few feet in front of your face.
Your instincts were right. This storm is not natural. It is too early for it, and storms like these are rare in the Woodland Realm.
The toe of your boot catches in a downed tree branch and you slam face first into the snow. It’s freezing. Temperature isn’t usually a deterrent for the elves, but this is beyond cold. It’s as if you’ve been swallowed whole by a massive glacier.
You walk and walk, and you have no idea if you’ve gained any ground. There are no visible signs, and you’re not sure how far you’ve gone, or if you’re simply walking in circles. The snow is deepening or perhaps you’re imagining it. Everything seems darker, like the world is closing in.
You’re not dressed for this sort of weather.
And you’re tired. So tired. Your knees and thighs burn, and sitting down for some rest doesn’t seem so bad. It’s fine. You can take refugee within the deep roots of a tree. You can stay warm there until the snow dissipates. Then, you can return. Thranduil will understand.
As if opening for you, the roots of a nearby tree expand, showing safety from the storm. You slink into it, curling up into a ball.
You drift in the howling wind. There is a haze that sits on your eyelashes. Whether you dream or not is irrelevant. Numbness oozes into your limbs, and that only forces you to curl up tighter, wanting to pull away from the cold.
A hand touches the side of your head. It is warm. Gentle. The fingers slide up to brush your hair out of your face. You hear your name but it is a whisper. Distant. So far away it doesn’t seem real.
There are arms around you. Lifting. Steady. And when you inhale, the scent is familiar. You know who it is instantly.
“Thranduil,” you murmur, and the answer is a gentle squeeze of your hand.
“I found you, my star.”
There are only short moments of consciousness. There is snow. Cold. The antlers of an elk. The gates of home, and then warmth. So much warmth that the numbness begins to recede.
You are brought back to the living world near a roaring fire. Beneath you is a makeshift bed comprised of pillows and soft blankets. You shift, and feel bare skin against bare skin. Slowly, you push yourself to sitting.
Your leather gear is gone, replaced with a soft robe that traps in the heat.
“You’re awake.” Thranduil’s voice is a gentle, comforting hug.
Turning toward his voice, you watch as he glides across the floor. Thranduil wears silver robes of starlight. In his hands in a small tray. On it is a steaming cup of tea and an assortment of food. Bending at the knees, Thranduil settles in beside you, placing the tray down on the blankets.
“You came looking for me,” you say, and your voice nearly cracks with emotion.
“Did you think I would not?” he asks, arranging the food around on the tray.
You know, deep in your heart, that Thranduil would come, but you also believed in your abilities as a tracker. “When did you start to worry?”
Thranduil lifts the cup off the tray and presents it to you. “When the storm picked up. Something about it felt unnatural.” You take it, and bring the warm beverage to your lips. “I gathered some guards and we set out. It is good that we found you in time.” He pauses. “I’m not sure my heart could take any more loss.”
The heat of the tea spreads throughout your body, the chill slipping away quickly. “I do believe you are correct. That storm was not natural.”
Thranduil nods. “There is a growing darkness to the north. The scouts on patrol have spoken of it often but have been unable to get close enough for more details.”
“Perhaps I strayed too close,” you murmur.
“Perhaps,” replies Thranduil, reaching out to take your hand. He lifts it, and brings it into his lap. Using both hands, he rotates your wrist until your palm faces the ceiling. Then, he guides your open palm to his lips, placing a soft kiss in the middle of it.
Instant warmth shoots out from that spot, running down your arm and piercing your heart like an arrow. Slowly, he curls your fingers in, creating a loose fist, and then brushes his lips against your knuckles before pulling away.
He does not release your hand. “I know why you left.”
“Thranduil—”
“You did not need to explain. I understand why.” Thranduil reaches out and cups your cheek, turning your face toward him. “I am thankful that you found it, but you are also precious to me, and losing you is a far greater loss.”
You turn into his touch. “That ring is important to you.”
“Many things are important to me. But the ring is just that. A thing. You are breathing. You are here. I would like to keep it that way.”
Your eyes drift close and you revel in the warmth of his touch. “Are you mad?”
“Never.”
“Will you hold me?”
“For as long as you like.”
taglist:
@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @ninman82 @therealbloom
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deadlymistletoe · 8 months
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An Execution
Pairing: Thranduil x F!Reader
Genre: Angst/comfort
Description: When you’re forced to witness an execution performed by the man you love, Legolas shields you from the sight, but Thranduil still has to reassure you later.
Warnings: Beheading (not graphic), mentions of assault.
Word count: 1148
The man leered at you from where he knelt in the middle of the ring of elves.
You took a breath, averting your gaze to somewhere over his soon-to-be-detached head and failed to notice the worried glance from the elf beside you.
Legolas glanced between you, the human who had his father so smitten, and said father. Truth be told, he didn’t think you should be here. Yes, according to the customs you had to be here, seeing as you were the one the man had attacked, but he could also see the faint tremor in your stance, and he hated that you had to see his father in a light you’d never had to see before.
His father was happy, more than he had been in years, because of you, and Legolas was terrified that this would scare you off once and for all, leaving his father heartbroken once again.
When you’d gone to Dale with Thranduil, the man had taken one look at your close proximity to the king and the adoring gaze he looked at you with and seen his chance at revenge against the elves who’d ‘caused’ his sister's death.
It hadn’t been hard for him to corner you when you got separated from the other elves at the marketplace. You’d been drawn to the stall filled with flowers at the edge of the marketplace and he’d taken his chance, convincing you that he had some rare flowers the stall didn't offer in his wife’s garden. No need to mention that he didn’t have a wife.
After that you were just lucky that Thranduil had sent someone to find you, and the bruises that had quickly formed around your throat and your hysteric state were evidence enough for Bard to agree to hand over the man to the elves' justice system.
Those same bruises still stood out against your skin, your dress doing nothing to cover them up. You shivered, although the air was warm, thoughts racing through your head as the man’s sentencing crime was read out.
Were you about to be responsible for someone’s death? Yes, he was a horrible man, and yes, you’d never asked for his execution, but you hadn’t argued against it either. You’d even felt a sick sort of relief at the decision to end the man's life.
Your breathing picked up and you felt your hands begin to sweat as the gleaming sword was handed to Thranduil, your lover stepping towards the man, whose dark, leering eyes were still on you.
This was his own fault, you knew that, Thranduil had drilled it into your head that nothing was your fault for days afterwards. The law of the elves said that harm or assault towards one of their own was met with execution, and while it warmed your heart that the elves of Mirkwood thought of you as one of them, part of you still felt sick. Felt like you were to blame. You’d followed him, hadn’t you? Left those who were to keep you safe behind without a second thought?
The blade was lined up with the man's throat, the man’s eyes drilled into yours and you couldn’t look away.
The blade was pulled back. It swung forwards.
You let out a gasp as arms wrapped around your shoulders, spinning you around so your face was pressed into a green covered shoulder as the sound of metal swung through the air and a dull thud was heard.
Legolas met his father’s eyes over your head as you trembled against him, and saw the gratitude in his father’s eyes. 
Gratitude that you hadn’t had to see this side of him.
~
When Thranduil entered your shared chambers you were in the same place you had been since you had been escorted back hours before.
You were perched in the middle of the bed, knees pulled to your chest. You startled when he moved into your line of vision and he inwardly winced. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of.
He paused at the end of the bed, thankful that he’d made sure no blood was left on his robe, before he sat down on the edge, holding out a hand to you.
He held his breath, watching as you eyed his hand, the same hand the sword had swung from, before taking it and moving to sit beside him at the end of the bed.
You were both silent for a moment before he spoke, quietly, as if afraid of startling you. “I’m sorry you had to be there for that.”
“It’s okay.” You murmured. “Legolas made sure I didn’t see it.”
“Yes,” He squeezed your hand. “I thanked him for that.” He hesitated before continuing. “He was worried you would want to leave if you saw me like that.”
“Like what?” You murmured. “Like a king doing his duty?”
Thranduil swallowed. “Like a monster.”
You snapped your head around to look at him. Did he honestly think..? 
“No,” You hurried to reassure him. “You're not a monster. You were just…”
“Just what?” His piercing eyes met yours and you were unable to look away. “Just ending somebody’s life without a single ounce of sympathy? Because I don’t regret ending that man’s life. I only regret doing it with you there.”
“I don’t expect you to.” You whispered, falling silent again.
Thranduil sighed, bringing your hand up to his mouth to place a lingering kiss on your knuckles. “That man deserved everything he got. It is not your fault that he chose you to take out his anger on, nor that he got caught.”
You swallowed. “He said… he said that he had a sister… that the elves killed her.”
“I know.” He hummed. “It is not the first time I have seen that man. His sister fell into the enchanted river when they were children sneaking out to explore. Legolas’ patrol found them and pulled her out but it was too late. She drowned and he has blamed us ever since.”
“Oh, that’s horrible.” You whispered, feeling a sudden wave of sympathy.
He looked at you sharply. “That does not excuse his actions towards you. There are elves in this kingdom who have lost family because of humans and yet they do not condemn you for being human, do they?”
You sighed. You knew he was right. You leaned against his side. “I know. I just don’t like feeling responsible for someone’s death.”
He turned to press a kiss to your forehead. “You're not. And I don’t care if it takes years, I will prove it to you in every way possible, until it doesn’t even cross your mind.”
“I love you.” You whispered, not knowing what to say. Never before had someone been this dedicated to your feelings.
“And I love you, you silly human.” He murmured back. “Now let me show you how much.” 
Taglist:
@fizzyxcustard @bookworm-with-coffee
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tamurilofrivendell · 8 months
Text
Arranged | Thranduil x Reader
Read on AO3
Pairing: Thranduil x Female Reader
Summary: The Mirkwood courts having successfully pushed Thranduil into accepting a new queen through an arranged marriage. However, he cannot seem to help comparing them to his former wife. When tensions run high and reader calls the whole thing off, Thranduil realises the error of his ways.
Content etc: Thranduil being a little bit of an ass I guess. Angst. Fluff.
Prompt: number 32 & 39 on this list
requested by anonymous (I’m sorry this took literally forever and I’m sorry if it isn’t exactly what you wanted!)
word count: 4.6k
tags: @firelightinferno​​, @achromaticerebus​​, @coopsgirl​​, @birbixo0912​​, @desert-fern​​, @ancient-rime​​, @lady-of-imladris​​​, @weepingdreammarvel​​​, @asianbutnotjapanese​​​, @deadlymistletoe​​​
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“This is wrong.” Thranduil’s voice snapped you out of your tangled thoughts and you lifted your head with a confused frown, looking back at him.
"What is?" You asked, not even having had any clue as to what it was that he was working on over there on the sprawling couch of his large private library.
Thranduil looked up and met your gaze. "The guards you have picked." He gestured to the paper in his hands as if it should be obvious. "They are not of a high enough level to guard the Queen." 
“Oh.” You gave him a quizzical look, tilting your head. You weren’t entirely sure about levels and the like. Nobody had said anything yesterday. Nobody had even really told you much at all, in all honesty, you had been sort of left to fend for yourself. “I... didn’t know anything about that. I just had to watch them fight and pick, you said. They appeared good enough for me. I think they would do just fine.”
The Elvenking blinked at you for a moment, his thoughts more critical than he would have liked. If you had not been sure, why had you not asked? Deep down, he knew that you could not possibly have known to ask because he had not told you that you could, or should. He’d told you to pick your own guards and then left you in the training grounds to attend a council meeting. However, Thranduil had simply assumed you would have asked for help or clarification if you had needed it. And clearly you had if this list was anything to go by. As it was, you had not wanted to cause a fuss, or look foolish, or add more work to the king’s heavy load. The soldiers showing off their skills had seemed capable enough and that had been all you’d thought you needed to look for. Besides, how would you know anything about their levels? You still did not yet know everybody here.
Thranduil’s silence was uncomfortable but then he simply tsk'd and lowered his gaze again. He shrugged, almost to himself, but he did not sign off on the document. He simply scored something out before setting it to one side to go back to later. He would pick, he decided. If he let you choose low levelled guards, how would they protect you?
She would have chosen better, he thought, though it was there and gone again so quickly that he did not notice he’d thought it at all.
You eyed him for another long moment before you moved to leave the library, heading away down the corridor. He had been in a fairly strange mood all day and you supposed you should leave him to it. Not bad, exactly, just... distracted, perhaps.
Most likely he was still struggling a little with this entire situation and you couldn't really blame him for that because it was still so very strange for you too. To have wound up in an arranged marriage with the King of Mirkwood. You yourself were from Lothlórien, daughter of an important elf in the Lord and Lady's court.
While unexpected, you could see the positives in such an arrangement and, truthfully, you liked Thranduil. He had been kind to you, at least when you first met and agreed to this. However, now that you had actually moved here, it seemed a little like he had been taking offence to every single decision you made. He’d give you things to do and then seem unsatisfied with the way you had done them. It was frustrating but you could only assume he was stressed and that he would soon relax.
You went to sleep that night hopeful that tomorrow he would be in a better mood.
You found him in his study the following afternoon and felt relief when he looked up and smiled at you. "I hope you slept well. Are you prepared for the feast tonight?" He asked, holding his hand out to bid you closer.
"Mostly. I just have to decide what to wear." You told him, moving into the room and seating yourself beside him. “It is still between two dresses.”
He sat there looking at you with an expression that you couldn’t quite decipher and it was almost as if he was studying something in your very soul. “Oh? You are not... set by now?” It seemed far too late to not have the entire outfit prepared.
You shrugged, always having been a bit more carefree and lazy in your decision making. You were a bit of a procrastinator and did not altogether mind if you left things to the last minute. Sometimes this was simply because you just... forgot. A far cry from the King beside you, of course. Also unbeknownst to you, a far cry from the Queen who had come before.
Thranduil raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. His displeasure, however, radiated from him in waves in the silence that followed as he looked back down at the paperwork on the desk before him.
"Thranduil?"
"What?" He did not look up.
“Something troubles you.”
He responded with a non-committal grunt and you frowned at him, watching as he pretended to read whatever was on the desk but you could tell his mind was now elsewhere. You sighed and stood to leave the room. 
As you turned, Thranduil’s hand suddenly reached out and grasped your own. You turned to find him looking at you, a soft smile on his lips once more. “You will look beautiful whatever you wear.”
Returning his smile, you ducked your head to hide the blush you could feel about to spread over your cheeks, and quickly took your leave.
Thranduil watched you go and then leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. He liked you, he always had, but you were not quite what he had expected when he had finally relented to the pushing of his court to take a new Queen.
He had obviously agreed you would be a good choice. Your station in Lothlórien, your family tree, put you in a very good position to knowing how things worked... yet not entirely, it seemed. Something was a little... off now that you were actually here in Mirkwood with him.
Oh, you were beautiful, there was no doubt about that. You made him laugh. He enjoyed your company. There was simply something niggling at him in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t quite figure out.
The feast came quickly, too quickly for you as the time just flew past. You had gotten caught up doing something completely unrelated and frowned when a maid rushed in to find you. Her relief was palpable but you didn’t understand it until you realised the time and she had ushered you back to your room to get ready.
Thranduil was irritated. There had been a delay - nobody had been able to find you - and you were not ready for the feast. You were not here, and it took so long that he had to walk into the room alone and act as though nothing were amiss. He had promptly sat down and thrown back a rather large gulp of strong wine, irritated by the hold up.
When you entered the room - finally - you were a vision. He took in your hair, the ornamentation in it and around your neck, and the royal blue dress with pleased eyes that did much to allay his frustration.
Then, you went and tripped over the hem of the damned thing because you had not bothered to see that it had been properly fitted.
Luckily, you were close enough to the table at this point for him to grab you by the arm and keep you upright, but his irritation only grew at the scene that your little stumble had caused. The attention you caught was not the type he wished for, nor were the titters of laughter around the room.
She would never have left the fit of the dress to chance, nor would she have embarrassed him as such.
This time, Thranduil did catch the thought, but he quickly dismissed it as a simple stray musing that did not mean anything.
“Are you alright?” He asked, a little tersely, as he refilled his glass of wine.
You nodded, hardly noticing his tone yet as you willed the embarrassed flush in your cheeks to go away. You felt like the entire room had seen that and you cursed yourself for not even thinking that the dress might need proper attention. It just had not occurred to you.
“Yes. Thank you.”
He grunted and you finally looked up at him and noticed the frustration he was trying to bury shining in his eyes. You frowned, feeling even worse. He could not be... angry at you? Could he?
After picking at the food on your plate and watching one dance (you dare not join in with your dress!), you rose and made your way from the table out of the room without a word. You were not in the mood now. Reaching up, you tore the circlet from your head as you walked down the hallway as quickly as you could.
“Where are you going?” Thranduil’s voice came from the door you had just exited and you realised that he had followed you out.
Turning, you eyed him cautiously for a moment, trying to ascertain his mood, but once more he was quite the mask. “I am tired, Thranduil. I am going to bed.”
He nodded, moving closer. His gaze dropped to the circlet in your hands. “You could not have waited until you were behind a closed door?”
“What does it matter?” You asked, shrugging at him.
Thranduil didn’t respond but his brow creased just the slightest bit. Did it matter? He began to walk down the hallway and you turned to walk with him since it seemed that he was heading in the same direction you were anyway. 
“Are you upset?” You ventured after a while, watching him come to a halt as your question reached his ears.
Thranduil blinked. Was he upset? He supposed that he was feeling frustrated. Annoyed. Angry, perhaps. Why? He turned his head to look at you, a soft frown of confusion on his face as he shrugged. “I suppose I am. A little.”
“What’s the matter?”
He didn’t answer right away because, truthfully, Thranduil could not fully put into words what his problem was. What had gotten him so riled up over something that, logically, he told himself did not truly matter. Thranduil shook his head. “I am not rightly sure.” He offered his arm then. “Come, I will escort you to your room.”
But you would not be shut down quite so easily, and you shook your head. “You must know what is wrong.” You insisted. “How can I help you if you do not tell me?”
Thranduil frowned at you, his frustration growing once more. “I do not need your help.” He stated firmly, moving his arm closer so you would take it, but you still did not take it.
“Well, you need something. You-”
“Stop. Please.” He snapped lightly, dropping his arm since it had become clear that you were not going to take it. He turned around and took a step away, not wishing to engage in this right now.
“Thranduil!” Was he truly going to just turn away and leave? In the middle of a conversation? You could not quite believe it. “Just tell me what is wrong! Tell me!”
“She would not behave thus!” He thundered as he spun back to face you, and then immediately fell silent. Horror seemed to fill him as he realised what he had just said.
You frowned softly back at him, shaking your head. “Who-” Your mouth snapped shut as you stared back at him, suddenly understanding with a sick sort of certainty.
She. Her. His deceased wife.
She would not behave in this manner. She would not behave how you were behaving. She would do things ‘the right’ way. She would do better.
You could not hide the hurt that bled across your face as the two of you stared back at each other in the long, deathly silence that followed. Thranduil seemed to be frozen, utterly stricken, but you did not see it past your own dismay. Then, you were gone. Turning and fleeing from him, away down the corridor towards your own rooms.
Thranduil did not see you for two days. 
He tried to seek you out that same night but he had not been able to find you and, so, retired to his chamber to wait until you were ready to talk. However, it seemed that you were not willing to talk at all as, two days later, he received word that you had been seen sneaking into the stables with a bag full of your things.
Had it not been for you carrying your own belongings, Thranduil might have dismissed it and told them to simply follow you from a safe distance to keep you safe. As it was, he was immediately up from his chair and out of the door before the guard who reported to him could blink.
He rushed to the stables, finding you still trying to attach a bag to your horse, clearly frustrated that you could not get it secure. The animal, too, seemed unamused with your attention - blowing air through its nostrils and scuffing its feet.
“Going somewhere?” He asked quietly from the doorway, causing you to jump because you had not even heard him arrive, too focused on your irritation.
You stared at him for a second and found that looking at him hurt. You did not respond, you just turned your attention back to the horse and continued fiddling with the bag but nothing would attach the damn thing to the animal so you eventually huffed in exasperation and let it drop to the floor of the stall.
A silence followed.
You could feel Thranduil’s eyes on you but you did not look up at him.
“I never meant to hurt you” Thranduil said softly after another moment and you could hear the regret in his voice but you still didn’t look up at him.
Instead, you shrugged. “But you did.”
“Yes.” He agreed quietly, sighing. “I did.”
Of course, you did not resent him thinking of his wife. How could you ever? She had been a good Queen and an even better wife from all that you had heard of her. You had never met her, not even on a trip she’d taken with the King long ago to Lothlórien. But you had heard a lot about her and she sounded amazing. She was the love of his life, the mother of his only son, and you truly had never expected to replace her but to have him compare you in such a way... it had hurt, you could not deny that.
You were so different, you understood that, but... you were two completely different people and it did not feel fair for Thranduil to hold you to this standard that you had not even realised you had to meet. Yes, you were to be a queen and yes, you had a lot still to learn especially about Mirkwood and its own politics... but you were trying. You really were! All you needed was his help, not criticism. How could he not see that?
“Please just talk to me.” He said, his voice full of obvious unhappiness. His eyes dropped to the bag on the ground. “Where are you going?”
You held in a sharp comeback about why you should be expected to talk to him when he did not wish to do the same two nights ago. At his question, your gaze turned to the bag and you sighed, shaking your head. You bent down to pick it back up and began once more attempting to fasten it securely to the horse. “Home.” You said.
Thranduil blinked. “This is home.”
You frowned and your head snapped up to look at him. “This is your home... and clearly I am not welcome in it.” You hated how your voice shook just a little. You wanted to sound brave and firm, not like a hurt little girl. “I am returning to Lothlórien. You can call off all the arrangements.”
Thranduil stared at you then, watching while you struggled with the bag, as the reality hit him. You were going home, you were... calling off the wedding?
His arm shot out and he took hold of the bag, wrenching it gently but firmly from your grip. You gave a sigh and lifted your eyes to his face. Gods, why did he have to be so handsome? You shook your head at him, throwing your hands up in a defeated manner.
“Do not leave.” He said, his voice quieter than he would have liked. He was certain it shook a little... but you did not notice.
“Why?” Was all you could ask, scoffing a little as you shook your head again. “Why should I stay here, Thranduil? I did not come here because I have no other options, I came here because I... I like you and I trust you and...” You trailed off, lowering your gaze for a moment, one of your shoes (which were absolutely not suitable for riding a horse in the first place) kicking at the straw covered ground. “I will not... settle for a life where I am never good enough, where I am always second best. A life in the shadow of a memory. A beautiful memory, do not misunderstand, and one I would never want you to forget... but I am not her, Thranduil! I am not her and I never will be and I am sorry but... I cannot stay here, not like this.”
Another silence filled the stable. 
You looked away, at the horse, running your fingers through its mane. The animal was no longer in a mood now that you had stopped messing with the bag. You watched as it lazily chewed on some hay. Thranduil still had your bag in his hands, his fingers anxiously fiddling with the strap, his eyes on his hands. He felt ashamed and for a long moment he could not speak.
“You were never second place to me.” He whispered eventually, his eyes filling up with tears as he realised just what he had done. What he had made you feel. What he had made you think. “Never. You are not. I...” He faltered, grasping for the right words but he could not find them. “I know... what I said, what I have done, it was wrong. I cannot excuse myself, I do not even know why I...” He paused, frowning. 
You didn’t look up, though you could see him in your peripheral vision. He seemed to be struggling. He was not always good with words when it was not about politics or battle.
“I did not realise I was doing it at first,” he continued after gathering his thoughts once more. “There is no excuse and I do not say this to make one. I simply... she is the only queen to have ever graced my rule. I was thrust onto the throne so quickly... and I was grieving and she had to... truthfully, she had no choice but to take control of many things until I was more... present.” More in the moment after watching his father die, after that dreadful day, after suddenly becoming a king. “My mother died long before I even began to pay real, proper attention to anything... royal. I... my wife was the only queen I have ever known here, I remember how she did everything, I grew used to it. I forgot that you... do not know and I did not help you properly when I know that I should have. So I compared you to her and it was not fair of me. You did nothing wrong. I am sorry. So, so sorry.” He did not really expect forgiveness, he did not feel that he deserved it, he did not feel that he should receive it. To have hurt you... it pained him. “I love you.”
You turned your head from the horse to Thranduil’s face, the shock evident as you stared back at him for a few very long minutes. Had you heard that correctly? Did he... did he say...? 
Over this time, you had developed your own feelings towards the king. He was not perfect, though to outsiders he may look it, but that was probably part of why you’d fallen for him in the first place. You had not been able to help yourself. 
In the beginning, after he had approached you and your father with the idea from his council of an arranged marriage, it was not something either of you had rushed into. He had spent some time getting to know you better, for he did not wish to wed somebody he did not at least get along with. He’d been clear on that with his councillors and advisors. He’d written you letters after he returned to Mirkwood, he arranged visits for you to come and spend time with him. He showed up in Lórien once with no other reason than to offer you a bouquet of wildflowers he had picked himself, then he took you on a walk through the forest and the two of you just... talked. After all of that, it had been so easy. To say yes. To agree. Though you had known, you had known, that he would never love you. He cared for you enough, you knew that, but as a friend. He would never love you as he loved her. At least that’s what you had presumed.
“You...?” Was all you could say, still staring at him in absolute shock.
Thranduil nodded, the tears in his eyes that he’d managed to keep at bay finally beginning to spill down his cheeks as he blinked. He glanced down, embarrassed, lifting his thumb to his face and swiping away a tear. “Yes.” He whispered. “I... I should have said it before, I should have... shown it better. I am so sorry... but please.” He lifted his head again, his eyes wide as he looked at you quite desperately. “Stay. Please... do not leave me.”
You were staring at him, frozen for what felt like a long time, and Thranduil began to lose hope. You would leave and he would never see you again all because of his own stupidity. He knew you did not love him that way, that you had agreed to this as his friend, but he needed you to stay here, he could not bear to lose you.
When your voice finally came, it was but a whisper, and there were now tears in your own eyes to match Thranduil’s. “...I love you too.”
Now it was Thranduil’s turn to stare at you. He looked like he could not comprehend what had just come out of your mouth. He looked like he did not dare believe it. You stepped towards him, your hand dropping from the horse as you reached for the bag in his hands. He let you take it and you swung it up onto your shoulder out of the way, taking one of his hands in yours. You were still hurt but you could not believe this had happened... and maybe this was just something you both had needed to go through, to be able to get past it. Something his mind had needed to work through.
“I love you.” You said again, a little louder. You felt his hand squeeze yours and you lifted your free one to his face, wiping away his tears. He looked like he dared not even hope that what you had just said was true. 
“You do?” He asked then, his eyes softening as he gazed down at you while you wiped his tears away. His heart was threatening to burst out of his chest as he looked back at you. He was not fully sure he had even entirely admitted to himself that he loved you until right now. He’d felt it, he’d been aware of how fond he was growing of you despite those other thoughts, but he hadn’t fully come to terms with his feelings - he had not felt such love in a thousand years.
You nodded, your anger fading away, leaving both your hurt and your love behind. “Yes... I do.” You confirmed, sighing as you took his other hand. You heard his breath catch in his throat and you gave him a sad little smile. “I’m sor-”
“Don’t.” Thranduil said immediately, shaking his head firmly as he cut you off. “Do not. You have nothing to apologise for, you did absolutely nothing wrong. I am the one who was in the wrong. You will make a good queen. I should have told you this... I should not have gotten upset over such trivial things. Dresses...” He scoffed at himself. “None of that matters.” He said, glancing down shamefully. “I do not want you to think that I... that I do not appreciate you for who you are or that I wish you to be somebody else... because I do not.” He shook his head. “I love who you are, I love everything about you. I am so sorry.”
You could practically feel your heart soaring to the heavens. You simply could not believe that Thranduil felt this way about you and, despite your hurt over his words, you were quite overjoyed. You finally smiled and Thranduil took a steadying breath before he moved. He leaned towards you, slowly so you could turn or pull away if you did not wish it, but you stayed perfectly still and waited for him to kiss you.
When he finally did, it was like electricity. It was like something you had been missing your whole life suddenly clicked into place and you removed your hands from his to loop your arms around his neck and pull him closer. His own tentatively moved to hold you gently by the waist. When he broke the kiss and you opened your eyes again, you could tell by his expression that he truly felt the same, that he was floored by all of this, and you could see how deeply he regretted hurting you, making you feel inferior, second best.
“You will stay?” He asked then, still sounding a little uncertain, despite the fact you had kissed him and admitted you felt the same way. He was worried he might have ruined everything before he even got the chance.
You gazed up at him and you nodded. “Yes... I will stay. Of course I will.” 
There was still a sadness in your eyes that broke Thranduil’s heart to know that he was the one who put it there and he vowed to do everything in his power to make up for what he had done.
“I will never make you feel that way again.” Thranduil told you, his voice extremely firm, his gaze sharp but loving. He lifted a hand to your face, cupping your cheek. “I promise.”
You smiled and he kissed you once more before he took your hand, leading you from the stables and back into the palace, back to the future with you that he was more grateful than he could ever express to have not forever ruined.
1K notes · View notes
xacatalepsyx · 2 months
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Show me
*The Hobbit
•Thranduil x Reader
~After overhearing him downplay your significance in your life, you attempt to show Thranduil just how far he’s willing to go to keep you
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This story was written in answer to an anonymous request for a sub Thranduil x Reader! Hope you enjoy 😊🦌 xx
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“(Y/N)!” You knew he was mere feet behind you at this point, but you didn’t care. You were past it in fact.
“(Y/N), I didn’t realise you were there-“ he reaches out and takes hold of your arm in a bid to get you to face him, though just as he does so, you break free from his grasp and round on him of your own accord.
He stops suddenly in response to your own unexpected action, before taking a step back, his eyes sparking with something you can’t quite read. He opens his mouth, but before he can utter a syllable you beat him to it.
“Is that your way of apologising?” You scoffed, brows rising at his audacity.
You knew that elves were complicated beings, but the constant unpredictability in your interactions was really beginning to infuriate you.
This man had been on his high stag for far too long, you remember imagining all the ways you could rip him off it the first time you’d met. The thoughts had simmered down over time, only rising on occasion; but all at once they appeared to come back in full force.
All the ways you could but couldn’t.
You’d thought after nearly three years of bicker and banter, of getting to know each other little by little after each prickly interaction that he’d come to see you with at least a shred of respect.
You weren’t expecting your relationship to bloom into a bed of roses, though you thought not for the first time, that it was a rather fitting comparison for the eleven king before you.
Pretty to admire, but still sharp enough to draw blood if not careful. And you’d clearly gotten too comfortable.
“I thought we’d come see past something as trivial as our species.”
His own brow dips at your words, “we have -“
“Do, not, insult, me, Thranduil.” You don’t doubt he expected a more explosive reaction, though you weren’t in the mood to give him the satisfaction.
You knew your cold venomous tone would hit him harder than any show of anger. His words had pushed you past that.
You knew they only hurt so much because you’d allowed yourself to open up enough with him to let it affect you so. But the feeling was mutual, or so you’d thought.
He wasn’t as defensive or confrontational as he used to be, his gaze towards you had softened significantly, he’d taken to seeking out your company more often than not… he’d even shown you his scars after a drunken rage one night.
You’d found him drunk in the courtyard and he’d opened up to you about his past despite your efforts to stop him, and you’d hesitantly matched that display of trust by telling him about your own life.
Yous had forged a bond, despite your differences, and found many unexpected similarities in the process.
“I thought… I thought we were past the point of you looking down on me.” Even the beginning of something more, despite you being human, he’d come to see past that. Hadn’t he?
“I… I didn’t think,” you cut him off once more.
“No, you didn’t.”
His words circle your mind once more; shes just a human.
The cold detatched tone he’d so eloquently wielded had pierced you deep. You weren’t just a human. You were a warrior, a woman capable of more than he could even begin to imagine.
You’d studied with wizards, crafted with dwarves, fought with elves, conquered trolls and goblins alike.
Many a man had tried to tame you, many a beast sought your throat; but none had succeeded.
You’d single-handedly built alliances and destroyed the ego of many tyrannical men from all walks of life.
Your value and accomplishments had not only brought you to Mirkwood, but had in fact also been the foundation from where your interactions had stemmed. Where respect had grown.
You had come on a political mission with Elrond, and had stayed to aid in the cleansing of Mirkwood; a proposition that Thranduil had personally put forward.
It would seem you’d become too comfortable.
Too tame.
“I did not mean for it to come across how it did, it was not my intention to insult you. Please believe that.” His tone held a softness, one he often used away from prying eyes and ears.
Though you knew that many suspected that there was something between the pair of you, he wasn’t as subtle as he liked to think he was. You’d often heard the elves within his court mumbling about you; Thranduil’s human.
“Old habits die hard, I assume?” You offered, your lips quirking at one corner in a bid to lay a false sense of security.
He seemed to measure your words, before bowing his head slightly in acceptance. His hands rose up to settle on your biceps, giving them a gentle squeeze.
“If you will allow it, I would make it up to you, show you my regret.” You could see a glimmer of relief in his eyes, and the observation only added fuel to the fire burning in your veins.
“And how would you do that?” It wasn’t often the eleven king apologised for anything, rarer still that he would admit his wrong and offer something in turn.
“Name it, name it and it shall be yours.” One of his hands dropped back to his side, whilst the other, glided down the length of your arm to curl around your own limp hand.
“Anything.” Oh the possibilities he offered with one word.
You squeezed his digits with a smile, knowing exactly what you wanted.
“I want you to show me.”
“Show you what?” His eyes glimmered with curiosity, his head tilts ever so slightly to the side as you tilt your own head back to look him in the eye.
“You respect me?” His eyes widen ever so slightly at your question.
“Of course.” His reply was quick, his tone steadfast in its delivery.
“You would have me stay by your side?” You knew your questions were more than a little self serving, but you knew what you wanted, and once you had your mind set on something…
Well, your stubbornness wouldn’t let it go so easily.
“I doubt there’s much I wouldn’t do for the honour,” his eyes narrowed at his admission, seeming to take yous both aback by his honesty, “I know I don’t often say it. But I speak the truth.
You were quiet for a moment.
A part of you felt bad for where you were taking this, but the other part, the part that had gotten you to where you are in life urged you forward.
“If you truly want my forgiveness, then show me how far you’re willing to go to obtain it.”
“What would you have me do?” The hopeful glimmer in his eye almost stopped you. Almost.
“Kneel.”
You heard him exhale, a small sharp sound that told you he most certainly did not expect those words.
His brows furrow as he searches your face for something, humour perhaps, though you were far from joking. His body language, and his hesitation spoke volumes.
“If you aren’t willing, then you have my word, that this is where I draw the line.”
His gaze flicks down the embankment were a platoon of his men await his commands. He knew as well as you did that the pair of you were in plain sight should anyone look up.
You both knew what it would mean for him to follow through with your ultimatum. What it would mean for him, and for you.
For once, the mighty Thranduil seemed speechless, and you took great pride in that.
“I won’t repeat myself Thranduil, if you want my forgiveness, if you want to earn back my respect, if you truly want me by your side then you will do as I ask.”
He had belittled you in front of your allies, and what’s worse behind your back. Or so he had thought.
He seemed to be weighing out the pros and cons, and quite frankly, that notion only infuriated you more.
You allowed a humourless breath to escape you, before pulling your hand from his and turning your back on him. You hadn’t even taken a step before he finally reacted.
“Wait.”
You glance over your shoulder, brow quirked at his tone, something he seems to pick up on.
He raises a hand in a placating motion, no doubt battling his pride.
Your body turns, eager to see what he would do. You could hear the resignation in his tone and was curious to see where he’d go with this.
His eyes fluttered closed as he released a breath, just as your own caught in your throat at the sight of him lowering his impressive height.
Inch by inch he dropped until he rested on his knees before you.
Satisfaction warmed your belly at the sight of him, you squashed the guilty part of you, silenced the voice urging you to take back your words.
Before you was none other than the eleven king, kneeling before a mere human, like a man at prayer.
“Look at me.” He obeys, his captivating silver gaze catching your own (E/C) orbs, each burning with something the other can’t quite read.
“What do you want?” A look of confusion briefly crossed his face, before his head falls back to better look at you.
“What do you want from me, Thranduil?”
Were you taking this too far? Perhaps, but you weren’t going to stop, not now.
He swallowed thickly, eyes never leaving your own. His arms lay by his side as you took a step towards him, wanting a closer look at his submission.
“What could you want from a mere human?” Cruel and cunning, weren’t words often used to describe you. You didn’t enjoy acting as such, not normally, but you wanted to remind him that you had thorns too.
“Everything.” His dazed response gave you pause for a moment.
You hummed at his words, hand reaching out to tilt his chin back further. You kept your eyes locked with him as you done so.
Your gaze keen and sharp as you observed his reaction; your confidence grew by the second.
Your fingers graze the length down his neck before stopping to linger over his jugular, lightly tracing your fingertips over his pale skin.
A shuddered breath escaped him as he watched you.
His eyes glinted with something, something you couldn’t read but instinctively knew. It had anticipation building in your belly, and you suspected he felt similarly.
“You’ll need to earn that, in time, perhaps.”
He swallowed thickly, you could feel the usually steady pulse quicken beneath your fingers, and the fact he held the position was not lost on you.
You leaned down towards him, your (H/C) locks falling round the pair of you like a curtain as you slowly closed the distance between your faces.
His eyes widened a fraction, his lips parting in anticipation for your close proximity. You craved it also, but this moment, it went deeper than physical bonds of any sort.
So you stopped, with just a whisper of space between your lips, “would you like that, Thranduil?”
You lips barely brushed against his own, though the motion of him dazedly nodding in response had his upper lip brushing against yours.
You suppressed your own shiver at the contact, but he wasn’t so quick to hide his own reaction. He arched towards you, pupils blown and breath caught.
“Your words, my king.”
“Yes.” His breathless tone was like music to your ears, and you smiled at him in response.
“Good.”
And with that single syllable, you rose back to your full height, watching eagerly as he made as though to follow after you, but remembered his position.
His eyes flickered with a mix of anticipation and confusion, his brow knitting together as realisation dawned on him.
And with that, you turned your back once more.
In doing so, with your presence and gaze elsewhere, Thranduil was able to think clearly.
His eyes trailed after you as you made your way back down the embankment, not once turning back to look his way, as though he wasn’t worth the effort.
But you were.
As he took in his position. As his mind replayed the last few minutes over and over again, he realised that he was indeed wrong. You were unlike anyone he had ever met, no one had ever gotten to him quite like you did.
He chuckled, humourlessly at the thought.
You were indeed, no mere human.
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Shortcuts!
If you’re interested here you’ll find a quicker path to my Masterlist!
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Thank you so much for taking the time to read this story, I hope you enjoyed!
Love,
Acatalepsy xx
@band--psycho
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a-sneaky-bagginses · 3 months
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I NEED more fics that include Bilbo complaining to the rest of the company about how "Thorin just bats his pretty blue eyes and everyone just falls to their knees! Well,- ! I, for one, will not be persuaded so easily! And he can go- !" and rants in the same vein, of how just because Thorin is hot, he thinks he can get away with whatever. Meanwhile the rest of the company are like "??? But Thorin's ugly???" Bilbo never hears this and they've all agreed to just leave him to his delusions
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fizzyxcustard · 10 months
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Those Hands.
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Masterlist of fan fiction
Fandom: The Hobbit
Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Insecurity, comparison, angst, sexual references, mutual pining, idiots in love.
Comments/Notes: From the imagine, "Imagine that Thorin is in love with you (from the race of Men) but constantly compares his body and features with other men, thinking you find him disgusting." Requested by multiple readers and anons. (THANK YOU!)
I hope you like the fic. As always, like, reblog and comment if you enjoy. If you wish to be added to any of my tag lists, let me know.
Thorin watched every little interaction that you had with other males, whether they be Dwarves, Men or Elves. He couldn’t help but watch you blush, avert eye contact and use self-soothing gestures, such as touching your face, curling your hair with your fingers, or rubbing your upper arms. 
Since Thorin had been crowned King of Erebor, and re-building was underway, many people visited the mountain. Bard came from Esgaroth, often meeting with Thorin in council, to discuss trade deals and assistance in building. Much to Thorin’s distain, Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, also came. Again, he joined the council to converse around the subject of trade deals in precious metals and gemstones.  
Your relationship with Thorin was entirely built on trust. The two of you had been companions out on the road during the quest to re-take Erebor. He had always valued your opinion, spoke with you in private, and kept you close to him on his council of advisors. Erebor was now your home, despite you being of the race of Men. Your family were all gone, meaning that the Dwarves had now taken that place, welcoming you into the fold and treating you as one of their own. 
One morning, council was busy. Neldra, one of the kitchen staff, was on hand with jugs of cold drinks and pots of tea. Then once all the drinks were laid out neatly on intricately laced doilies, she came back with a trolley of fresh pastries. 
The smell was divine; you took an inhale and let the scent overtake you. Apple and cinnamon were among the selection: your favourite. 
You reached out to take one of the pastries, only to feel another hand graze yours. “I apologise,” a voice came, from the direction of the hand. 
It was Bard, from two seats down to your right hand side, who had stretched across to grab one of Neldra’s famous delicacies. “It was no bother,” you replied. “You first.” 
“Ladies first. I insist.” 
Thorin’s blue eyes studied the scene going on before him. No one else had noticed the exchange between you and Bard. Upon the impact of yours and Bard’s hands, Thorin felt a jolt in his chest. It rose up into his throat, and he closed his eyes for a brief second. The red hot sensation bore into him, feeling as if it were forming a hole straight through him. Upon opening his eyes, Thorin looked at his hands, then glanced across to Bard’s. The man’s hands were broad, but his fingers long and slender. Very much unlike Thorin’s. The Dwarf King’s fingers were short and bulky, with stubby ends. Surely Bard’s hands would have the dexterity and skill to caress your skin, drawing shivers from you. A Dwarf’s hands would be too calloused and thick to evoke any kind of pleasurable sensation upon a woman from the race of Men. 
Chatter continued, along with eating and drinking. In that time, Thorin tried his hardest to push the negative thoughts from his mind, and concentrate on the conversation at hand, which involved the realms of Erebor and Esgaroth exchanging skilled workers and apprentices. 
Thranduil was also present and merely rolled his eyes as the conversation got underway between Bard and Thorin. The Elven King did not like to waste his time, and being in this council meant that there were stints of time where his input was not needed. 
“Would you like another drink?” you asked Thranduil, picking up the nearest china pot of tea. 
“I would much prefer wine, but since I’m not within my realm, I would not say no.”
Thorin’s gaze darted over to Thranduil, and then to you. He saw you brush a piece of hair behind your ear, and then look up at the Elven King sat opposite you. Your ears were small, with one golden hoop earring in each lobe. Then Thorin looked at Thranduil’s ears; pointed at the tip, finely structured. They weren’t big, round and sticking out. Thorin’s ears were ugly, and thankfully he could keep them hidden under his long hair. Secretly, he had always imagined you whispering against them, your lips brushing them. It made Thorin shiver. 
Once council had concluded, Thorin left the chamber and headed back to the royal wing. Once inside and he stood in front of his full length dress mirror, staring at the protruding ears on the side of his head. Then he studied his large hands, thinking back to Bard’s. 
The males from the races of Men and Elves made you blush in a way that Thorin never had. Their bodies were more finely crafted, which complemented yours. They had finer features with smaller noses and brows. 
Thorin shifted back and sat on his bed, his hands in his lap. He took one more glance at them, feeling disgusted at what he saw. They would never be good enough for you. None of his body would ever be good enough for you. Everything about him was oversized, not delicate and handsome like Bard and Thranduil. Both of them had lost their wives, and may have wished to re-marry, so they would make better husbands for you. 
***
The following day and Thorin was sat in the council room, signing documents. His quill scratched loudly against the parchment. 
You walked in, holding a further stack of documents in your hands. “These should be the last ones,” you said, offering a smile. 
Thorin looked up at you. No blush on your face to be seen. 
“Is everything alright?” you asked. There was something in his eyes, a thoughtfulness. Maybe even a sadness. You sat down in an empty seat next to Thorin. “What’s wrong?” On impulse, you placed your hand on top of his. 
Thorin looked at your hands, watching your thumb gently caress his knuckle. How huge his hand looked against yours. But how right it felt, as if the size did not matter, and they were still able to fit together as one. 
“There is nothing wrong,” Thorin said, forcing a weak smile. “I hear that Bard is leaving this afternoon. Will you not be wishing him farewell?” 
“I barely know him,” you replied. “I’d feel it strange to do so.” 
“Would you wish to get to know him?” 
“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”
“Surely you find him handsome,” Thorin continued, pulling the new stack of documents over towards him. 
“Not really. Can’t say I do. There’s some reason to you asking this, Thorin.” 
“Why would I have any reason?” 
“There’s always a reason to anything that you ask. I know you enough by now. Talk to me. You’ve always given me more trust than I deserve, and never questioned me liked this before.” 
Thorin took a deep inhale and looked at you, dropping his quill. “Who do you find handsome? If not Bard, maybe Thranduil?” 
You couldn’t help but laugh. “Why ever would you think I’m attracted to King Thranduil?” The whole idea was so comical that you couldn’t help but keep giggling. “It takes….” You couldn’t stop the giggling. “A special….kind of woman….to…..” 
Thorin also began to chuckle, watching your face turn red in amusement and delight. His heart somehow felt lighter as he watched you, and that overwhelming love for you rose. It was a love that would allow him to do anything to make you happy. It was a love that would make him sacrifice his very life to keep you safe. It was sacrificial and unconditional. 
You could see the glow in Thorin’s eyes and the smile which curled his lips upwards. He was the one you found handsome, above all others. The intensity in his eyes made butterflies swarm in your stomach. His proud presence caused you to shiver whenever he entered a room. His voice was enough to make your imaginations travel to another place where only the two of you were, locked away in comfort, pursuing wondrous pleasure. 
You edged closer to Thorin. “You said you want to know who I find handsome?” 
Thorin’s heart was hammering now and he was sure that you would be able to hear it. 
“It’s you.” Your voice was a whisper. “It’s always been you. How could it not be you? Why would you ever think I’d be attracted to Bard and Thranduil?” 
Thorin closed his eyes in embarrassment. “My features and body are not like theirs.” 
“So why would that not make you handsome?” 
“My hands…” 
“Your hands?” you giggled. This time a blush did hit your cheeks, and it was even more vivid than it had ever been when in the company of any other man. “You have found out my secret.” 
“What secret?” Thorin asked, shifting ever so slightly closer to you. He had never wanted you any more than he did in those moments. The very thought that it was him that you found handsome was making his whole being rise, but anticipation was now racing down his spine in shivers. 
“I have had a fantasy for some time now, since meeting you, of what you could do to me with those hands,” you said, biting your lip. 
Thorin couldn’t hold back any more and moved even closer to you, his hand cupping your cheek. His breath was elevated and his eyes were sparkling with so much joy, but slight fear. 
His lips crashed against yours and you both groaned upon impact. Within seconds and the kiss had grown deep, your tongues both meeting. You couldn’t help but whimper as Thorin’s lips left yours and trailed down your neck. His beard tickled your skin and then as he grew more impatient, you could feel the tickle become a bristling, sharp sensation. Your hands became lost in his hair as he nuzzled at your neck, groaning and grunting. 
Thorin felt your fingertips brush over his ears, and it drew an overwhelming shiver from his very core. 
“I love you, Thorin,” you said again. “Now show me what you can do with those hands.” 
***
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notinusesworld · 5 months
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hello friend! Im so excited to have a new writer in the fandom!
if you are taking requests, (I’m gonna give you a broad one) legolas/reader with cuddles!
I hope you have a great day!
~ @entishramblings // vaya
a/n: thank you so much, i hope you enjoy this
Legolas and cuddles head cannons!
synopsis: as the tittle says, g!n reader
warnings: none! just fluff.
requests are open and encouraged!
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- he’s a spooner. he absolutely loves to spoon, he’ll happily be the big spoon but he also likes being spooned, especially if you’re smaller then him
- however he likes cuddling in any position, and he will cuddle you whenever he has the chance to
- if he’s reading, he wants you in his lap, if you’re cooking, he’s hovering over you, if neither of you are doing anything that day, he wants to lay with you in bed
- sometimes when he wants to take a break from his duties, he’ll take you into the forest and sit under a tree, you in-between his legs, back against his chest and he’ll rest his head on your shoulder and play with your hands, he finds it relaxing
- he will give you kisses every so often, wherever he can when you he’s holding you, your face, neck, shoulders, hands, back etc etc
- he likes to hum, and you can feel the vibrations from it though your body whenever he does, kinda has the same effect of a cats purr
- he’s really quiet when he moves, so he likes to surprise you by hugging you from behind when you don’t know he’s there. it still startles you sometimes even though he’s done it millions of times
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itsonlydana · 1 month
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"Flower On My Skin" | hobbit
pairing: Thranduil x human fem!reader 👑
Thranduil gets his hair braided and thinks too much.
warnings/tags: bittersweet, more fluff tho, swf, King Thranduil needs a break
words: 1,9k
an: this is a gift for the lovely @tigereyesf who always comments on my posts on ao3 🤍 the lyrics are from Noah Kahans song "Your needs, my needs'
+ masterlist +
🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3
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Thranduil understands that permitting you to be near him might not be wise. It could very well rank among the least advisable decisions he's made in ages.
But he did, he invited you again and again, sending horses and carriages to transport you ever since he found out you traveled all the way from Dale by yourself whenever he sent a letter.
Until he didn't need to anymore.
Not because you wouldn't come, but because you didn't leave.
Never in a million years would anyone have guessed that the stoic Elvenking would invite a human to his palace on more occasions than his own kind and surely no one would have ever thought that he would start courting them.
Yet here he was, sitting in one of his many blooming gardens, swatting away the hand that was currently trying to gather his hair.
"Stop this," Thranduil's stern voice would've had any other shiver in fear of losing their head, though it only makes you giggle.
"Please, let me braid it again," you stable yourself with your hands on his shoulders and lean over, chest pressed against his strong back.
"No, you little nuisance. I shall not! You know of the meeting I will attend later, we do not have the time."
Even though he can't see your face, he knows you roll your eyes at him, he can feel it in the huff you let out before letting go of him. The warmth of your body disappears as you stand up from the bench and throw one challenging look over your shoulder.
Thranduil watches how you lift the skirts of the gown you're wearing, the finest of silks that you've adorned with little handmade bows from the village, and flop down into the grass. There is not one care on your face that the hems will surely stain and that there are perfectly suitable marmor benches all over the garden and only one of those occupied by Thranduil himself.
You seem to ignore them every time you two spend time out here, he noticed you are much more content with your naked feet buried in the high grass and your hair intertwined with the flowers that grow here.
At first, he couldn't understand the fascination you harbored with nature.
Of course, he had a deep appreciation for the forest surrounding his kingdom, the strong resistance of the trees had been an inspiration for the winding halls, the water flowing through the roots and gifting life and the ever so steady wind reminded someone who lived a thousand years that some things, though they change, never completely disappear.
You, on the other hand, could not be separated from nature in any way whatsoever. There had been the flowers, first only on your side of the bed when he'd invited you to sleep next to him, and one day he woke up to find a vase filled with Astilbe flowers on his nightstand and on his vanity as well.
You also spend most of your day either wandering through the woods (which left him restless and worried until you accepted the sword he had his blacksmith forge for you) or meeting him here in the gardens. He would never tell you but before you, he hadn't walked or maker-forbid, sat there for decades.
Now, he found himself soaking sunshine more days than not, reading Elvish poetry to you while you rested curled into his side with one of his hands brushing your hair, or, chasing you on his Elk through the forest, following the sound of your horse and your laughter.
Your infatuation with nature and the stubbornness of pulling him along made him fall for you, deeply and most ardently and he knew that one day he would need to survive the sight of forests and gardens and flowers without the urge to burn them to the ground for outliving you.
As he watches you examine the colorful flowers and gather them in your lap, he isn't sure if he will be able to contain that anger against the gods if the time comes.
You are oblivious to the dark clouds hanging onto his thoughts, he makes sure that you'll never see the heartbreak he lives through while loving you because he knows, he knows that you would do everything in your power to make him happy.
This is who you are, a human that lives and loves and pours all that you are into those around you, he sees it in the gentleness of your hands cupping the flowers before plucking them, in the way your tongue learned a new language for you wouldn't accept not studying it for an answer if you lived here.
You live to love and love to live.
Thranduil shifts, forgetting that there are guards stationed around the gardens who could see their King doing the unthinkable but he doesn't care.
Not with you sitting a few feet away from him, your dress spilled around you, a full smile on your face as you collect the flowers growing there for you, their little heads turning to you as if you are the sun for them as well, and not just for Thranduil.
If you notice him standing up, you give no sign, you don't even stop humming, and the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth at this stubbornness is far too strong to stop it.
"Melethril nîn," he says quietly and his shadow falls over your body. The symbolism and fear of him taking away the sun from you has him clench his jaw. His pain is impatient as if it doesn't know he's going to live longer than he wants to and that it has all the time to break him down.
He quickly shuts those thoughts away behind the sight of you tipping your head back to smirk at him.
This is not the time to dwell on the future, not if he can exist in the moments he shares with you instead of fearing the time when he'll have to think back on them.
"Don't tell me you missed me," you tease.
He scoffs and –surprising you enough to let out a squeak– lowers himself onto his knees next to you.
Eye to eye, he feels much more comfortable, despite the stains that he knows now graze his robes.
"You know," he starts and lets his gaze wander over the flowers in your lap, however, you managed to collect this many of them in such a short time awes him, "the meeting can wait."
You catch onto the meaning instantly, your eyes lightening up even more. The golden rays of the setting sun reflect in them and he reaches forward to cup your face in the palm of his hand and gently leans towards you, capturing your lips in a long kiss that has you gasping.
"Now," Thranduil swipes his thumb over your lower lip, as you separate, tugging playfully at it and giving into another kiss before he continues, "Have your way with my hair, my love. I know you did not collect those flowers for any other reason."
You gasp ingeniously. "You are by far the wisest Elf I've ever met," you say and scoot –maker, he makes a note to get another dress just like this made because surely this will be ruined by the time you leave the gardens– behind his back.
While you gather his hair in your hands, this time without him trying to stop you but relaxing into the soft tugging, you mumble: "So wise, they should make you King."
He chuckles at that. "Ah, but I would need a Queen by my side. Do you know where one could find on–ahhh," his teasing words get swallowed by a sigh as your fingers collect some fine hairs on the side of his head and surely completely on accident run over the shell of his ear to the delicate tip.
"Ooops," you sing and just as his body calms, you repeat the action, even have the gall to scratch the skin with your nails and he melts into a puddle.
His ears burn, not just the one your breath hits but the other one as well and he can feel the blood shoot into his face as well, crumbling the stoic and straight-laced composure of the King who is already on his knees.
"You witch," he presses out between his clenched teeth and hears you giggle. "I should have never told you about that," he murmurs more to himself, trying to regulate his heart beating inside his chest like a wild rabbit on the loose.
You laugh once, a "Pah!" while you tug on his hair, "You didn't tell me," you say and he feels something get pushed inside the braid you are working on, "I found out all by myself."
Thinking back to the night that started this completely outrageous behavior trait of you fiddling with his ears whenever he doesn't pay you enough attention or he says something that teases you a bit too much, he can't tell if you are right or him.
A few years ago he would have shut you down completely because the King would never be wrong but now he grumbles under his breath, agreeing that you must be correct.
Then again, there are many new things that you brought into his life.
He laughs more freely, and not just out of spite of viciously.
He cares more, for you, for his son, for nature and sometimes even for the dwarfs he trades with.
He is formed by you, shaped by your untamable ways of never letting a rainy day ruin your mood.
He is nothing but wax in your hands.
Here, sitting in the gardens and letting you weave flowers in his precious hair, he is no King, he is just a soul yearning for your touch, a flower reaching to bloom in your golden light.
Thranduil's eyes flutter shut as you braid and weave and run your hands over his scalp and through his hair.
He may have fallen asleep, lulled into a trance by the warm sun caressing his face and your voice humming a melody as sweet as any words that you speak, because when you let go of the delicate braids and let them fall into the rest of his hair, he opens his eyes to a pink and purple sunset.
The birds sing their last song and the trees rustle, shaking their branches and leaves as if they would ready themselves for the animals coming to rest in them.
There is a pleasantly chilled breeze that comes with nightfall, one that brings the smell of flowers and grass.
"There," you press a gentle kiss to the skin right behind his left ear, "all done."
For a moment Thranduil is disappointed that you are finished but then he turns to find your smile and all is right.
"Thank you, meldanya," he says, already closing in to express his gratitude with a soft kiss.
You nudge your nose against his, eyes shut in contentment. "Thank you, for letting me. Le ni meleth," you say quietly.
"Always," Thranduil's gaze wanders over you, bathed in rosé and golden hues, the cheeks flushed from the air, your hair wild and untamed, and flowers all over your lap. He grabs a few of them, inspecting the stems and probing them with his sharp nails.
"Let me repay the favor," he effortlessly lifts you, smiling wide at the laugh bursting out of you as he sets you between his legs and onto his robes.
"I want my Queen to wear a fitting crown."
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morningnoodles · 5 months
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bagginshieldtober day 30: flowers // a companion piece for my braids piece
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literainey · 11 months
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(Fem reader) legolas being clingy after spending the day away from reader. i want to see my doe eyes elf being pouty and acting like a touch starved bby please 🥺
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──⠀۪ ♡ ۫ pairing: legolas x fem!reader
──⠀۪ ♡ ۫ word count: 0.5k
──⠀۪ ♡ ۫ synopsis: a day spent away from you has left the prince in need of your touch now more than ever ( fluff, established relationship )
──⠀۪ ♡ ۫ notes: omg omg i loved writing clingy legolas sm ty for the req !
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˗ˏˋ 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 ´ˎ˗
One could have mistaken the woodland prince’s footfalls for a dwarf as they grew heavy upon entering his shared chambers with his beloved. 
Rarely did the prince commit the careless act of allowing dirt to track the halls of the kingdom, yet his boots caked with remnants of the forest floor follow him as the door closes behind him. A sigh holding a handful of burdens departs from his lips at the sight of an empty room. His eyes glaze over the neatly made bed, staring at the smoothed covers as though they are taunting him. Moonlight leaks through an exposed window, and he frowns among the darkness that has overtaken the room. Whoever prompted the notion of elves slipping through the passage of time was sorely mistaken it seems, as it now feels to him that it has been an eternity since he last bid you farewell (which was this morning, soft kisses pressing onto your cheeks as you slept soundly). The possibility that the weight of your absence could evoke such a hold on him was something he failed to consider when he began courting you—and now the once tireless and perhaps even invincible prince finds himself in a poor state without the loving nature your touch provides as he transforms from a deadly warrior into a wounded bunny. 
“Meleth nîn?” [ 'my love' ] His voice is quieter than his usual velvety tone, and his arms feel so empty without you tightly wound within their hold.
“In here!” You call from the bathing chambers, swiftly tying a robe over your waist before his steps follow your voice as though he's been coaxed by a spell. He smiles, relief in his eyes, shoulders relaxing as he greets the scent of woodland herbs that permeates within the bathing room. Strong arms pull you into an embrace and you are taken aback by his towering frame for a moment, shuffling slightly as he leans against you. His hand cradles the back of your head and he sighs, inhaling the scent of you while you bite back a laugh. “Hello,” you greet him softly and your head lifts to meet his gaze. His lips press onto your temple in a wordless reply and you sense that he is in extra need of your attention. "Long day?" You smile and his kiss trails to your lips. 
"Lay with me."  He says, and suddenly you are nestled next to him under warm covers with his face cocooned into your neck. His boots lay discarded at the foot of the bed, bracers tossed next to the fireplace that crackles lightly. Your hand works gently to undo his braids, delicate fingers running through his light tendrils. You are certain that he will clear both of your schedules tomorrow, and you are even more certain that you will not be able to leave his side for at least another day. And you have no objections, smiling as his hand finds yours and your fingers interlock with his. 
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fvck-the-patriarchy · 8 months
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Kili: Look, I know you think my judgement's clouded because I like Y/n a little bit.
Thorin, holding Kili's notepad: You doodled your wedding invitation.
Kili: No, that's our joint tombstone.
Thorin: My mistake.
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frost-queen · 2 months
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Lady of Mirkwood | (Reader x Thranduil)
Requested by: anon, Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22@elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers @merlieve,  @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly,@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury, @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn
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| Meeting Thranduil
You met Thranduil when the Third age progressed. It was when the Necromancer unknown then but known as Sauron later on claimed the abandoned fortress of Amon Lanc to make it into Dol Guldur. Sauron infected the woods with spiders and orcs. The spiders and the orcs expended their reach claiming more and more for them. Infecting the very nature with their filth and death.
All the elves were forced to leave the woods. Those who fought back were brought down. Countless of lost elves filled the sickening woods. You were amongst some elves that were fleeing. The orcs had increased their stench to the part of the woods where you lived. With a few douzen you were. Fleeing for your lives as the orcs hunted you down. The woods had grown iller. Spider cobs were not too much yet in these parts. But a few spiders having expended their webs out to your lands.
Some elves wanted to stay and fight. They barely lasted long as the pack of orcs were too many. Sweeping them down in a matter of seconds. The others fled as fast as they could. Hatred, anger and sorrow grieving your hearts. You were running trying to stay out of the orcs clutches. The orcs attack made you stumble, dropping to the ground. Surrounded by death and darkness. You thought it was over. You thought you were never going to see the undying lands, but then a bright light appeared between the trees. The illumination blinded the orcs sending them back a bit. The light faded as you could see a small group of elves charge for battle. Lead by a High elf.
The orcs never stood a chance. The High elf approached you, helping you up your feet. The moment his eyes met with his, he was struck. Gasping breathlessly at your grace and beauty. The woods no longer having a place for you, he took you in. Thranduil his name was. King of the woodland realm.
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| Life at the woodland realm
Thranduil was smitten with you. For the first time in many ages, the so cocky king found beauty in another. He threated you like a guest with the highest honor. Quarters close to his. Thranduil would host parties just to have an excuse to dance with you. He never let any other elf near you. He wanted you for himself. You sometimes dared to tease Thranduil by speaking to other elves, just to see his reaction. You loved how easily jealous he was. He would come over, pull you gently behind him while urging them in a polite way to leave. Sometimes he would lay his robe over your shoulder to hint to others that you were his.
Underneath the moonlight on a summer's day was when you had your first kiss with Thranduil. Forever giving yourself to one another. He married you a month later never wanted to be parted from you ever again. You became queen of the woodland realm. All the elves present adored you for your righteousness and kind heart. Whenever Thranduil dared to lose his temper, you were there to calm him down. Sometimes you would come along with Thranduil and his army in an attempt to reclaim your woods. When Thranduil saw his numbers dim and almost losing you in a battle, he gave up. Not wanting to see his people be slaughtered or see you in danger. For he could not afford to lose you, his brightest star.
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| Legolas
Legolas was born with grace. You loved every little detail of him. Thranduil would be careful at first. For he feared to hold such a fragile creature. He feared he might harm it in any way. You would show him he could do no harm. Taking his hand and bringing it up to Legolas for him to touch. His fingers would brush against his cheek making Legolas flutter a laugh. On that Thranduil was sold. Taking his son in his arms and care deeply for him.
As Legolas grew older, Thranduil insisted he had his features from you. Everything about Legolas reminded him of you. With the coming of Legolas was Thranduil more careful. You were no longer aloud out of the woodland realm. Not wanting anything to happen to you or Legolas. You had to admit it felt a bit lonely being unable to see the old woods. Your home that you missed dearly. With each year it grew colder and deader. Plagued by orcs and spiders. Since you had no where else to go, you focused more on Legolas. Teaching him how to defend himself. It was you who introduced Legolas to the bow and arrow. When Legolas was old enough to have his own bow, he would name it after you.
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