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#reader x the hobbit
playbucky · 2 years
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Ride Along.
You are a mage. One that has always accompanied Gandalf on his tasks, and this one isn’t much different except now you have the company of other dwarves and maybe a hobbit to be the burglar that they need. Characters – Gandalf, Bilbo, Thorin. Word Count – 714. N/A – this is my first hobbit fic, I hope you do enjoy it. Depending on the response there might be more.
Knocking on the circular wooden door you could hear mumbling as the owner stepped closer, cursing out something or another. ‘I don’t-‘ The hobbit stopped when he saw you, you held your hand up giving him a polite wave before lowering your hand. ‘I was told to come here by Gandalf.’ You said giving him a polite smile, you saw his Adam’s apple bob before he nodded. ‘And by the noise that is coming from your kitchen means the rest are already here.’ You stated, he glanced over his shoulder and nodded, you could see the annoyance etched on his face. ‘Is it okay if I come in?’ You asked, his eyes widened slightly. ‘There’s not much space left.’ He commented, you nodded with a smile. ‘That’s fine, I’ll say hello grab something to eat if there’s any and then I leave.’ You told him, he slowly opened the door fully allowing you to step in. ‘The dwarves can be robust without their leader sometimes.’ You told him as a loud crash from the kitchen and his face twisted when he pushed his door back over. ‘Gandalf isn’t their leader?’ He questioned, walking beside you as you followed the noises, you shook your head. ‘No, Thorin is but he seems to be running late.’ You told him, he puffed out his cheeks but nodded. ‘Gandalf.’ You greeted the older wizard, he smiled. ‘Y/N.’ He said, puffing smoke from the pipe, ‘you finally joined us.’ ‘Thought I’d be the last one here.’ You commented, Gandalf shook his head and glanced to Bilbo. ‘No, still missing one.’ Gandalf told you, you gave a slow nod before following Bilbo down the narrow corridor, the shouting getting louder. ‘Y/N!’ Killi said when you arrived at the archway, catching the roll that was flung past you before smiling at him. ‘I see you’ve made yourselves at home.’ You commented, looking at the large group of the burly men seated around the large table, the food scattered across the table. ‘Why wouldn’t we?’ Someone asked with their mouth full. ‘Because it isn’t your home, it’s Mr Baggins’s.’ You reminded them, they were about to grumble before the heavy footsteps sounded next to you. You turned and looked at Thorin, he gave you a nod as a form of greeting. You took this as your queue to step back and let him take the seat that had quickly emptied. Having sat outside for a lengthy amount of time the door opened, you twisted in your seat to see the burly men walking out, mumbling and talking among themselves, Gandalf behind them. You made eye contact with him, he frowned and shook his head. You pursed your lips and nodded before you stood up, dusting the back of your trousers. ‘You aren’t coming with us?’ You asked, Mr. Baggins shook his head. ‘I’m not the adventurous type.’ He said, you frowned slightly before nodding. ‘Very well Mr. Baggins, I hope you have a good day and a good life.’ You told him with a smile, stepping out his house following the path down and into the fresh green fields. ‘And enjoy the lovely you home you have.’ You said, giving him a nod before you quickened your step to join the others.
‘Mr. Baggins what at pleasure to see you again.’ You told him truthfully he looked at you on the horse before smiling. ‘Looks like you’ve given this adventure another thought.’ You commented, he nodded. ‘There is a horse for you.’ You told him, gesturing towards Thorin that was watching the pair of you, he looked at it before shaking his head. ‘If you’re worried about a horse Mr. Baggins then you will have a hard time.’ You explained, he looked at you before making his way over to the smaller horse, you twisted and looked at Gandalf who was hiding his shook. ‘I’m going to go ahead.’ You told him, he looked at you. ‘Y/N.’ He warned, you shook your head. ‘Nothing to worry about, just- I have a feeling.‘ You told him, he nodded slowly before you gently kicked your horses ribs, causing him to jerk into action and start running. ‘Y/N.’ ‘Thorin.’ You greeted as you passed him, the wind rushing through your hair and your horses main.
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LOTR and Hobbit NSFW headcanons
(I’m in my lotr horny era and this list could probably be added to 😂)
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Boromir:
- His favourite position is missionary with your ankles on his shoulders so he can see your body, especially your tits
- Sex during sparring sessions
- Isn’t very rough in the bedroom but when you fuck during sparring he loves to grab you, force your head down and grab your hips hard
- Can be a little subby
- Loves to be put in his place
- Doesn’t like being or giving spanking but isn’t opposed to getting a couple face slaps
- Likes being bossed around but not degraded
- Wants you to call him ‘captain’ in the bedroom
- “Who own your cock, captain? Who fucks you this good?”
- Is a big ol tiddy boy
- Hand over the shoulder and lightly touching your boob
- “Boromir not in public”
- Not super sexual but after a long day he falls to his knees in front of you for you to hold him
- Will say “oh fuck” as he slides into you
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Eomer:
- Very typical but loves when you ride him, loves being able to see and grab all of you
- Lots of riding dirty talk
- “Ride my cock hard, darling. Come on and fuck me hard. Use those gorgeous fucking hips of yours”
- Will guide your hips as you ride him
- Seeing you ride an actual horse turns him on too
- Loooovveesss having his hair pulled
- Especially when hes between your legs or against a wall
- Bending you over his desk and taking you by flipping your dress up and fucking you hard
- When you get a bit drunk you grab his ass and biceps and he loves it
- Loves when you tell him how strong he is, like almost over the top flirting gets him for some reason
- “Oh Eomer, you have such big arms” you tell him all breathy and grabby
- Is so sweet and gentle with you
- But
- When he returns from a battle he will fuck you hard and make you scream
- Very possessive
- “Scream my name, baby, let everyone know who fucks you this good”
- Constantly grabbing you to sit on his lap, especially at parties
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Legolas:
- Sensitive ear kiinnnkkk!
- He definitely whimpers during sex
- No matter who’s on top or if he’s being submissive or dominant he always says ‘thank you’ when his cock slides inside you
- Loves to run his fingertips over you so gently and sweet
- Could gently play with your pussy for hours
- Straddling him while he’s on his knees is easily one of his favourite positions
- Being able to hold you so close to him
- Loves listening to your heart beat after sex
- Holding you and pressing his head to your chest
- Loves after sex head scratches too
- When he is a sub he loves edging
- Begging little baby
- “Please, ma’am, please let me cum. Please I’ve been such a good boy”
- Is a good boy
- When he’s dominant he’s very gentle
- Doesn’t really fuck you fast but more hard and bruising thrusts
- Mutters things in Sindarin when he’s lost in pleasure
- Whispering dirty talk in Sindarin in your ear, whether you understand it or not
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Aragorn:
- Isnt opposed to tying you up but prefers to bond you by manhandling you
- Says such sweet things to you while fucking you hard
- “Oh princess, you take my cock so good”
- Having to put his hand over your mouth while he finger fucks you
- Forced quiet sex
- “Be nice and quiet for me, sweetheart. Don’t want these people to hear you do you?”
- For some reason it turns him on when you smoke his pipe
- Doesn’t like to fuck when he’s been drinking but loves to watch how you dance when you’ve been drinking
- It usually ends with heavy makeout session and touching each other but he doesn’t like full on sex when one of you is drunk
- He loves to watch it from afar too, sit in the corner and watch how your body moves
- Even when you dance with Merry and Pippin on top of tables he thinks it’s so hot
- Will just start saying full sentences and dirty talk in Sindarin while he takes you from behind
- He gets so lost that he can’t help himself
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Haldir:
- Outdoor sex
- Pulling your hair while he takes you from behind up against a tree
- The good old sensual archery lessons while he whispers in your ear
- Loves teasing you, especially by standing behind you and whispering in your ear
- “Yes marchwarden!” “Thank you, sir!”
- Slight degradation kink but nothing that actually hurts you
- “Oh look at how you blush just from my words, darling”
- Height kink
- Corners you and standing close and above you just to look you down and make you blush
- Fucks you stupid
- Like your head lulls and your eyes go all misty
- Chasing you down in the forest and fucking you when he catches you
- One of the few lotr fellas I can see being into violent fucking
- He’s rough with how he fucks but he’s just as if not more gentle and caring with aftercare
- Degradation to raise real quick
- “Take my cock just like the whore you are” “Oh my darling, you did such a good job, Meleth. Such a good girl for me”
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Thorin:
- This man has the biggest breeding kink
- “Give me an heir, my queen. Let me fill your womb”
- Staring you right in the eyes while he finger fuck you
- Obviously throne sex
- Almost cums in his pants when he sees you in your crown for the first time
- Isn’t usually submissive but you can make him do anything when you wear that crown
- Holds you down by your hips while I fucks you from behind
- Will whisper Khuzdul into your ear while he fucks you
- Fucks you rough but doesn’t want to actually ever hurt or scare you
- The second you’re uncomfortable he will stop and hold you, he’ll even sing to you
- Loves to know he can take care of you
- Such sweet dirty talk
- You’re either his queen or his good girl, no in between
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Thranduil:
- Is dominant 99% of the time
- Doesn’t always like when you’re on top but when you are he likes to force your hips to move while he fucks into you
- Wants you to say ‘thank you’ when you cum
- Does want to fuck you hard and rough but will wait and double, triple check before even trying
- Face fucking you stupid
- Is so gentle and soothing with aftercare
- Treats you like a sweet princess during aftercare
- Cockwarming while he does work
- Size kink, loves how much taller he is and how his cock barely fits in you
- “Look how your tiny pussy takes my big cock” “oh, darling, I don’t think it will fit”
- If you’re a human he also has a massive age kink
- “You’re such a sweet little girl for me”
- Staring down at you with your face covered in cum
- Not opposed to some good old pet play
- Is both cruel and loving
- Degrades his dirty little slut pet while he uses them just for his pleasure
- Loves having you sit in his lap and have you curl up to him and hold his sweet little darling
- Holds you and kisses you while you ride his thigh
- Strokes your hair while you hump his boot and look up to him with big desperate eyes
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Kili:
- Biggest turn on for him is seeing you dance and jump around
- The way your face flushes and your tits bounce makes him crazy
- Loves being both babied and degraded
- If he could live between your tits he would
- Sitting in your lap, panting and whimpering as he thrusts his hips into your hand
- Mutual masturbation
- Doesn’t like to be hurt too badly but does love spanking and overstimulation
- Shows off whenever you watch him train
- Even if he’s shorter than you he still loves showing his strength by carrying you
- Carry’s you to the bath after sex and takes his time washing your body and your hair
- Just wants to be your good boy
- No thoughts, just be good boy and love boobs
- Does not have mommy issues but does have mommy style kinks
- Loves sucking on your nipples
- (honestly that gif does things to me 🥵🥵)
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Fili:
- Knife kink!
- He’d never use his knife on you in a dangerous way but does love to cut your clothes off you
- His beard braids feel amazing and ticklish between your legs
- Hand on your thigh always, during sexual times or not
- Polar opposite things will turn him on
- While you’re fighting he gets hard and wants you to grab his hair and use his cock
- When he sees you taking care of babies his breeding kink comes out hard
- “I’m going to fuck a baby into your womb. We’re not leaving until you’re full of my cum”
- Loves to fuck you in the woods especially when it’s risky
- While on the journey to reclaim his home he liked to take you into the woods and fuck you
- He loved that you had to be so quiet but still he could hear your little whimpers
- He is a prince and next in line to the throne so he has to keep PDA to a minimum
- That doesn’t stop him from grabbing at your thigh under the table and whispering dirty things in your ear in the middle of a party
- Playfully slaps your ass while you’re changing
- Skinny dipping 👌🏻👌🏻
- He has no problem keeping you warm 😏😏
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Bard:
- Loves to cum all over your face
- Lots of pet names during
- “Oh darling you feel amazing” “cum for me sweetheart”
- Forced quiet sex
- Packing your wet underwear in his bag while he’s away, he does smell it while he touches himself
- Such a dirty man but great at hiding it
- Loves the noises you make when his beard scratches your neck
- Bit of a caretaking kink
- Gets really horny when you massage him, cook for him, bandage him up, wash him in the bath
- Takes you fishing so he can finger you on his boat
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gus-the-goldfish · 7 months
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Headcanon: riding them the first time
A/N; No one asked for this, but i, once again, fell into the lotr/hobbit hole. So there is that. Now I will probably disappear for another year before posting any stories. Enjoy!
Rating: 18+ minors avert your eyes
Warnings: smut!, a tiny bit of degradation
Characters involved: Kili, Fili, Thranduil
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Kili:
The first time you literally flipped him over to be on top, his eyebrows shot up so high on his forehead you were worried they would never return to normal
Boy was he surprised
He is usually a talker, loves to tease you in and outside of the bedroom but at that moment, he was speechless
For a few seconds he just stared at you, not knowing what the fuck he was supposed to do now since he was usually the one on top
You started out slow , just grinding against him which had him gripping your hips so hard you were sure there would be bruises
Honestly he wouldn’t be able to stop moaning because it felt so fucking good
And the way you look, fuck. Enjoying yourself, literally using him for your own pleasure
From that day on, he was the one almost begging you to ride him
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Fili:
Fili, like his brother, was surprised to have you on top of him but he recovered quickly and had a shit eating grin plastered on his face “Alright then...”
He would quiet literally lean back and enjoy the show, giving you some encouraging words along the way
“Doing so good, love. Keep going.”
“That’s it, make yourself cum.”
Would shamelessly grab, kiss, bite and lick any inch of skin he could find
Grabs your hips to keep you still once he noticed you’re close, just to hear you whimper and beg him to let you cum
“Not yet, love. You got to work for it.”
When he feels like you deserve to cum, he would just grab the back of your neck and pull you down to him before fucking up into you with a intensity that lets you see stars
Safe to say its his new favorite position
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Thranduil:
He felt insulted the first time you mentioned your desire to be on top for once
Thranduil is a king. A king has to be in control
He agreed to try it after lots of convincing (and to shut you up)
Once you finally settled on top of him, with his cock deep inside of you, he had the audacity to look bored. Bored!
Tried really hard to look unaffected when you started to move, but you did notice him licking his lips at the way your boobs bounced right in his face
He kept his hands at his sides, denying you the pleasure of his hands on your body even when you begged him to touch you, to guide you
Would definitely start mocking you when your legs gave out right before your orgasm
“What is it, meleth nin? You wanted to do this on your own, didn’t you?”
“Look at my stupid little girl, cant even ride her king properly.”
Finally had mercy on you when you started to cry from frustration and desperation
“No, no don’t cry now little star. I will show you how it’s done.”
Would fuck and overstimulate you for hours to remind you why he is the one on top
Secretly likes you on top anyway
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entishramblings · 5 months
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Watcher of Wanderers [Legolas/F!Reader]
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A.N: this was intended just to be a mini one-shot to get back into writing. although, I will admit I got carried away. oops. heh.
Pairing: Legolas X F!Reader
Song Inspo: Mountain Meditation by Chantress Seba
🌬️ I highly recommend listening while reading
Summary: Legolas senses a presence following the fellowship on their journey and it seems to be particularly fond of him.
Disclaimer: all mythology related to the reader was made up for plot purposes lol. not canon.
Word count: 5.6k (once again, idk why I’m like this)
Warnings: comfort, fluff, loneliness, flirting, suggested sexual innuendos, stalking sort of (yes, again, I know. you’re just gonna have to read it I can’t explain it)
Additional Content: moodboard linked here
MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD
When you are nothing but a breeze that passes through the travelers’ bending hair. When you are nothing but a tickle that brushes upon the vagabonds’ breaking skin. When you are nothing but a whisper that hisses upon the wanders’ deaf ear. When you are nothing but alone, you too are a voyager.
That’s what (Y/N) was, wasn’t she?
She sailed through the years, watching every war and every battle. She observed every lover as she observed every enemy. She attended to them all, from their start and to their end. She perceived them hunt—first for food and drink, the simplest things, then for more. She witnessed them build—smaller creations in the beginning, then large structures that reached deep into her sky. She gazed at them as they grew, in mind and body. They began as little screaming balls of flesh, then sprouted into large beings that walked and talked. They produced more of themselves. They multiplied. Families, they had called it. She saw each one of them go by, twisting with desire as they did with age. Each was sneaking to find something—riches, power, hope, love, safety—but it didn’t really matter. She just bore witness. She bore witness to the happiness and to the dread. Yet, even when it was dark and desperate, she did nothing. She was silent—as she was meant to be.
Cursed to ride the winds for all of her immortal years.
Cursed to guide them and bend them.
Cursed to behold them.
Cursed to be them.
Alone.
A Watcher of Wanderers.
She was unescorted, unattended, and unchaperoned. She was unaccompanied as she wove through the desolate lands of Arda. Through the oceans, through the deserts, through the mountains, she bent and bellowed. But (Y/N) didn’t need anyone to accompany her, for she simply didn’t exist—at least not in the way one would think.
But after so long in solidarity, watching and observing, (Y/N) wondered what it would feel like to be more than what she was. She wondered what it was to taste and touch, to smell and see, to live and breath.
She thought how pain must feel. How did it bring red to the surface of their skin? How did it bring tears to their eyes? How did it bring screams to their throats?
Still, she wandered more.
She thought how laughter must feel. How did it bubble in their chests? How did it bring water to their faces? How did it bring glee from their mouths?
Still, she wandered more.
She thought about how love must feel. How did it soften their gazes? How did it bring drops upon their cheeks? How did it bring proclamations to their lips? How did it feel to welcome in another soul? Was it safe—not that she would know what safety felt like.
Still, she wandered more.
As each day passed and each traveler followed, she continued to question, guess, inquire.
Some of these creatures were more in tune with the natural currents of the word. It was the immortal beings, distinguished by the pointy ears that lent them an air of otherworldly grace and their lightning-quick reflexes. They were not just any immortals, but those whose lineages stretched back to ancestors who had walked among the Valar themselves. At times, (Y/N) entertained the fantasizing notion that they possessed the rare ability to hear her, though she recognized that this belief was nothing more than wishful thinking. As a watcher of wanderers, she liked these ones best.
Yet that did not mean that others did not catch her eye, for she was curious of anything unusual from the regular patterns of life. And when nine—born of various blood—walked together, her curiosity peaked.
So, she followed them.
One was a Maiar, but not like her. He shared the same celestial origin, shaped as one of the spirits meant to aid the Valar in their worldbuilding endeavors. However, his form differed greatly from hers—a form (Y/N) yearned for. She had seen him many times before, puffing his pipe. He had many names, but most knew him as Gandalf.
Two more figures accompanied him, mortal beings aging like the rolling seasons. Burling and tumbling they went, with their countless heavy weapons. One emanated kindness, his heart a wellspring of warmth. She had seen him before too. But the other, he was….troubled.
Another was one of the immortal, graceful, pointy-eared race—elves, she recalled. He was fluid and elegantant. He was observant and evaluating. He was tranquil yet vigorous. (Y/N) liked this one. She always had liked the elves.
From the mountainous regions of unyielding stone came another companion—a burly and gruff figure. His anger resonated in the sharpness of his words and the boastry of his laughter. (Y/N) could feel his temperament through the earth's vibrations. It wasn't always pleasant
Next, matched four more. They were stompers and stumblers, in a clumsy sort of way; yet, it was evident that they held no desire to ravage the earth. If anything, they seemed to harbor deep affection for it. The sad one broke her heart, the kind one warmed her soul, and the last two made her giggle….and sometimes she thought the elf could hear it.
See that was the thing.
Initially, her fascination led her to accompany them, drawn by their sheer otherness—such a strange assembly of beings walking in unison. But as she ventured alongside them, she felt connected to them. She got to know them, and one seemed to know her….sorta.
The first time she noticed such a thing was when a sound of joy escaped her being.
The two silly ones, which she found out to be named Merry and Pippin, were cracking jokes at one another and performing a game of riddles. As they did so, they ended up breaking into an argument. The most ridiculous words they called each other: mushroom murderer, squash squisher, beet beater…..
She couldn’t help but release a whisper of amusement, and when she did, the elf—Legolas—abruptly halted. His eyes brimmed with uncertainty, and he swiveled his head, as though searching for someone.
But he couldn’t….
No…
He couldn’t have heard her….could he?
Of course, occasionally, all could hear her. In moments of anger, she would unleash her fury with deafening howls and piercing screams, causing gusts to bellow and trees to tremble. Her yell created a hollow sound as it funneled through the rest of the world—echoing upon mountains, bouncing off houses, riding along hills, drifting through the farmer’s mills. It took much frustration to create such a ruckus of vibrations. However, just a faint breath of joy? There was no way the elf could hear that….right?
…..
The second time that a strange encounter occurred was when the group stopped by a deep river. Legolas had wandered a little way away from the group where the trees were denser and the light was less, and oh of course (Y/N) followed.
There, the elf stripped off his clothing, letting the moonlight bend and dip upon his muscled form. The cool night air played gently against his bare skin as he ventured into the water, welcoming the invigorating sensation. With his hands, he meticulously scrubbed away any lingering grime, running his palms across his arms and fingers through his damp hair until no trace of dirt remained.
Gently, he laid upon his back, floating at the surface of the smooth river.
(Y/N) watched as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply and repeatedly. Meditation, she recalled the elvish creatures of the world calling it.
Eager to draw nearer, (Y/N) gracefully glided closer, brushing ever so lightly upon the surface of the ripples. She circled him, her gaze drinking in every detail of his form slightly obstructed by the water—his elegant facial features, his sleek hair, his sculpted biceps, his toned abs, the sharp v-line of his lower abdomen, and, she couldn't help but notice his rather large…
A soft giggle escaped her lips, her warm breath brushing against his cheek.
Instantly, Legolas sprang upright, his feet finding a place upon the rocks beneath the now turbulent ripples. He swiftly pivoted, calling out, “Who’s there?!”
(Y/N) was still, shock and uncertainty shrouding her.
Legolas' cerulean eyes darted anxiously from side to side, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He moved with haste, continually spinning around in search of…..something.
“You…you can hear me?” (Y/N) whispered.
He did not respond and his state did not change. There was not an ounce of any recognition across his features.
…..
The third time that Legolas was startled by the curious enigma that appeared to be haunting him was when the fellowship had set up camp for the night.
Gandalf and Legolas were on watch, their attentive gazes shifting from the crackling fire to the perimeters of their camp. Mithanduil contentedly puffed on his pipe, releasing wisps of smoke that ascended into the night sky. Legolas was methodically sharpening the tips of his arrows, preparing for the inevitable fight. The ambiance was strangely peaceful, with the imminent dangers appearing to be held at bay, at least for the moment, even in the face of the dread.
However, this serene atmosphere suffered a sudden intrusion, initiated by (Y/N)'s ever-present curiosity.
She loved watching the creatures of Arda. It was her favorite pastime over the eons. Well, her only pastime. After all, she was a watcher of wanderers. For, as her shapeless form, there was nothing more she could do with her existence.
Therefore, when the elf began to draw whetstone upon the tops of his arrows, (Y/N) wanted to observe. She crept closer to him, becoming entranced by the rhythmic and tranquil nature of his movements. Drawn into the spectacle, she leaned in further and further until, unintentionally, she brushed lightly against his form.
His hand instinctively reached for his shoulder as his wide cerulean blues initiated their frequent and fervent scanning of the dim surroundings—a routine that seemed to be occurring with increasing regularity nowadays.
Gandalf’s gray eyes drifted upon the elf curiously, his bushy brows lifting in questions.
“I swore…” Legolas began, still peering about the campsite. “I swore I felt…something.”
The wizard’s inquiring gaze only deepened, imploring the elf to add more to his rather empty statement.
Noticing Gandalf's unspoken request for more information, Legolas continued, "My apologies, Mithranduil. Lately, I've been sensing a presence. Yet, when I search for it, I'm met with nothing but emptiness and confusion."
Gandalf huffed before pressing his lips to his pipe again, his gaze drifting away in a dismissal of danger. “It is probably just (Y/N).”
“(Y/N)?” He questioned, still puzzled.
Gandalf glanced at Legolas, and with a nonchalant hum, he spoke again. “The spirit of the wind. A Maiar with a form that knows no shape.” He rolled his eyes as he gruffed out an additional mumbling sentence. “She has a particular fondness for elves.”
Legolas, still flushed with adrenaline, only stared at him. “I—I do not understand.”
The wizard’s gray gaze drifted back to the elf, who was clearly seeking answers. “(Y/N) is one of the Maiar, tasked many ages ago by Manwë to help shape Arda. She still lingers in this realm, often stirring up her usual mischief as she follows wanderers on their adventures."
Legolas frowned. “If she wanders this earth, why can I see her not?”
Gandalf drew another puff from his pipe before responding, "She was cursed to be without form, unlike myself."
“Cursed? But why?”
The wizard raised his bushy brows once more. “Her mischief irked many—especially Manwë.”
“What sorts of mischief do you speak of?”
Gandalf shrugged. “Inconsequential pranks and harmless tricks. Quite frankly, an annoyance to us all, but not dangerous.”
At that very moment, a gust of wind swept in rather forcefully, causing the wizard's beard to billow and lifting his hat into the air, sending it spiraling down to land by his feet.
Legolas's lips parted in surprise as the wind subsided, and Gandalf let out a string of curses and grumbles.
"I believe you might have offended her," Legolas remarked, amusement dancing in his eyes.
The wizard snorted, his irritation obvious, as he picked his hat up and placed it atop his head once more.
….
As the weeks continued on, Legolas took notice of (Y/N)’s subtle presence.
It seemed she was indeed traveling with them. On scorching hot days, a refreshing breeze would rise and caress them gently, offering some much-needed relief. As the autumn months settled in, that coolness transformed into a warm breath flowing through the air, comforting them. When they kindled fires, little gusts rushed forward, providing oxygen and nurturing the flames. If an item of clothing or a parcel were dropped, it would be delicately carried toward a hand ready to collect. It was as if the wind—(Y/N)—was assisting them along their quest.
It was particularly noticeable to Legolas that she often lingered in close proximity to him. Her presence seemed to envelop him frequently, becoming unmistakable and distinct.
When Legolas would be tasked to collect firewood, a gentle breeze would follow him. It would brush leaves out of the way to reveal dry wood and small sticks, perfect for kindling. The wind murmured songs among the soil, almost as if it were beckoning him to dance.
When Legolas would be hunting for food, a calm drift would search alongside him. It would twist through the brush, startling small prey to reveal them to him. The wind breathed wordless encouragement to him, as if challenging him to impress her.
When Legolas would be walking upon hard terrain, a playful gust would walk with him. It would blow his hair away from his face to reveal his features. The wind sent flirtatious laughter upon his elvish ear, chasing shivers along his nerves.
When Legolas would be changing out of mud or blood covered clothes, a devious wisk would linger behind him. It would push his tunic and undershirt upwards to reveal his muscled form then make his extra clothing scatter. The wind whispered sultry glee to him, teasing him in efforts to show more.
This mischievous presence that shrouded him seemed to flirt with him—challenge, play, and engage. Of course, Legolas recalled Gandalf's earlier assertion that the wind spirit held a particular fondness for elves, but the true depth of this fondness had only become apparent as her companionship persisted. He couldn't deny that their ongoing interaction held a certain allure, for he would be lying if he said their little game did not entertain him.
When the fellowship was in Moria, however, silence reigned. The usual gusts and breezes that had accompanied them were absent. It was as if the very air mourned with them. Yet, as soon as they exited, with grief heavy upon their soul, a quick adrenalized wind came to find them. It seemed to brush around the rocks, taking in the pain of the travelers and trying to process what it meant. Though, as the wind noticed one was no longer there, she took to sending warmth their way in hopes to soften the sorrow—shrouding Legolas for just a moment longer than the others.
When the fellowship was in Lothlorien, (Y/N) came too. Rustling up trouble among the elves with flirtatious gusts, lifting skirts and sweeping away cloaks, fostering much annoyance and embarrassment among the immortal elven folk. However, those brushes of wind often struck Legolas more than any other.
When the fellowship—or rather the three that remained—took to sprinting across Arda, the wind ran alongside them. It pushed them forward with encouragement, almost too eagerly and too persistent. It was as if she was whispering ‘hurry hurry’ in their ears—as if she possessed knowledge they did not. Though Legolas suspected neither Gimli nor Aragorn noticed the subtle guidance of the wind.
A watcher of wanderers indeed.
As the group arrived in Rohan, their hearts brimmed with renewed hope, for they had gained the knowledge of Merry and Pippin’s life and the presence of Gandalf.
Following Mithranduil's expulsion of the sorcery that had ensnared King Théoden, the weary travelers were ushered to various chambers where they could refresh themselves and find much-needed rest.
Legolas opted to bathe immediately, determined to liberate himself from the accumulated dirt and grime that had clung to his body through the arduous months of travel. He eased into the in-ground basin, the soothing warmth and enveloping steam creating a cocoon of comfort. He tended to his skin and hair with meticulous care until he finally felt rejuvenated. Elves did not like to linger in grime.
Emerging from the bath, he stepped into the adjacent bedroom, where his gaze was drawn to the open windows, allowing the cool breeze to waft in. The wind seemed to recognize him instantly, rushing forth with an almost mischievous enthusiasm. It nearly yanked his towel from his waist! It was only through his quick reflexes that he narrowly avoided a less than modest reveal.
Legolas ground his teeth. “(Y/N),” he mumbled in a chastising tone.
In response, the wind seemed to giggle, as if playfully toying with him.
He rewrapped the towel and hastened to close the windows, yearning for a night of undisturbed peace. Normally, he would tolerate (Y/N)'s whimsical outbursts, but on this night, his weary body and mind craved respite and tranquility.
Legolas changed into more comfortable attire and settled into his bed. He allowed his heavy eyelids to drift shut, for he craved sleep. But after a brief moment, they snapped open.
He watched as the curtains shifted ever so slightly, followed by the tapestry on the wall and the drapes above his bed. The blanket beside him rustled gently, and then, there was no movement in the room.
She hadn't left when he closed the windows.
She was still here.
Though he couldn't see her, he was acutely aware of her presence…right beside him.
The elf couldn't help but blush, a warm crimson hue creeping up upon his ears and cheeks. Oh, if his Ada knew he was flirting with the wind….
In an effort to divert his thoughts from such matters and avoid giving (Y/N) any indication that he was dwelling on them, the elf shifted onto his side, turning away from the playful Spirit whose home was the sky.
…..
Legolas took notice of (Y/N)’s presence among the battles at Helms Deep and the Fields of Pelennor; although it wasn't until the latter that he knew for sure she was actively fighting alongside him.
Amidst the relentless chaos, the elf wielded his two silver blades, using them with deadly precision to cut the throat of one orc and immediately behead another. He swiftly pressed on, eliminating as many of the enemy forces as he could.
The men around him were growing weary, their energy dwindling, but Legolas continued to stand firm, even though he too felt the drain on his strength.It seemed the dark forces had taken notice of the relentless devastation he was causing among their ranks, as they began to single him out. Hordes of orcs began converging on him, and Sauron's archers took aim. However, the arrows meant for him didn't find their mark. They veered off course, curving with an unexpected gust of wind, plunging directly into three orcs nearby.
Legolas whipped his head around in astonishment, but it took only a moment for him to grasp the source of this unexpected intervention: (Y/N).
As he continued to take down orc after orc, she remained by his side, using her ethereal presence to force the creatures back into one another, granting Legolas a distinct advantage and a brief moment to catch his breath. She deflected arrows aimed at him and extended her helping hand when he faced the Oliphaunt. She even lifted him up with a gentle drift when his footing faltered. (Y/N) followed Legolas throughout the battlefield, her commitment unwavering, even after the war had drawn to a close.
Exhausted and burdened by grief and relief, the mortal, battle-weary soldiers sought solace and took to rest, heal, and eat.
Legolas volunteered to wander the battlefield in search of any survivors.
He tread carefully, his feet moving softly over the blood-soaked and red-stained earth. The ground seemed to bear witness to the agony, uncertainty, and hope that had marked their strenuous journey. Legolas had never anticipated surviving the trials that had befallen him, yet here he stood, alive and persevering against all odds.
With a heavy heart and the absence of survivors to be found, Legolas, fatigued and drained, decided to make his way back to his comrades who were attending to the wounded and offering peace to those in need.
In a sudden fierce gust of wind, Legolas found himself surrounded by an unexpected swirl. Swiftly, he whirled around, his keen elven senses alert, just in time to witness an orc raising an axe menacingly above his head, poised to strike.
However, Legolas was not met with such a gruesome fate. The wind seemed to rise against the approaching beast, as though an invisible force hindered its advance. However, that force began to no longer be invisible. A strange, translucent figure began to materialize into the opaque form of a woman. She stood, her back pressed against his chest and her front pushing firmly against the would-be assailant. With her arms raised high, she held the axe at bay, preventing the deadly blow from falling upon the elf.
Legolas' lips parted in astonishment, his eyes widening as he struggled to comprehend the event unfolding before him. But everything transpired too swiftly for him to intervene. The figure solidified, to the point that he could feel her against him, and the axe came down at an unusual angle, slicing into the woman's side.
A cry escaped her throat, and she collapsed to the ground, her pain echoing through the air.
Suddenly thrust back into the harsh reality of battle, Legolas swiftly grasped the knife strapped to his belt. In one fluid motion, he drove the blade into the orc's heart. The creature gurgled for a moment, blood pooling from its mouth, before finally collapsing lifeless.
Without hesitation, Legolas fell to the unconscious woman crumpled at his feet. His heart clenched with dread as he noticed the crimson stains spreading across the delicate, iridescent fabric that cloaked his form.
"No, no, no," he murmured, his hands pressing against the wound in a frantic attempt to stop the bleeding. Panic tinged his voice as he glanced at her face, his voice rising in desperation, " (Y/N), you foolish Maiar. Why did you intervene? Why did you put yourself in harm's way?" His bloodied hand gently cupped her cheek. "Wake up. Come on, wake up!"
She remained unresponsive.
Swiftly, Legolas gathered her into his arms, keeping one hand pressed against the bleeding wound, and hurried towards the makeshift infirmary.
Pushing the doors open, he called out in a voice laced with fear, "Aragorn!"
Immediately, the urgent tone drew the attention of those nearby, even in the midst of the ongoing chaos of the healing ward. The Ranger, alerted by the distress in his friend's voice, swiftly moved past the curious onlookers, with Gimli at his side and Gandalf following not too far behind.
“A-an ax to the side. She’s bleeding heavily,” he sputtered out. “Please.”
Pointing to a makeshift bed, Aragorn commanded. ‘Get her on that cot! Quickly now.”
Gimili, entirely bewildered by the unfolding events and his friend’s frantic behavior, called out, “Laddie, who is that?!”
Legolas, gently placing her form on the cot, didn't even bother to look at his dwarf companion as he replied. “(Y/N).”
The dwarf shook his head and raised his hands in confusion. “Who the fuck is (Y/N)?!”
The elf sent Gimli a quick, almost exasperated glance. "The wind!" he snapped back, a bit too sharply.
Gimli’s eyes drifted around the room, his confusion turning into concern for his friend’s well being. “The wind?” he questioned. “Did ya happen to get knocked in the head, tree boy?”
It was Gandalf that chimed in. “(Y/N), a Maiar, the spirit of the wind. She has been with us throughout our journey.”
Aragorn shot the wizard a brief look as he swiftly cut away the mysterious, translucent fabric cloaking the woman and began tending to the deep, bleeding wound.
“With us the entire time?!” Gimli bellowed. “Then why haven't I seen her once?"
Gandalf peered over Aragorn’s shoulder. “She doesn't have a corporal form. At least, she didn’t. I’m afraid this is the first time any of us are seeing her.”
Legolas ran his bloodied hands through his hair, his fingers trembling with anxiety as he stepped back. His chest felt constricted with worry while his eyes remained fixated on the woman as Aragorn worked. “Can you do it, Aragorn? Can you save her?” he implored, his voice quivering with a mixture of desperation and hope.
The man met Legolas' gaze. His determination to save her was unwavering, even in the face of this strange reveal of a profound connection between a force he didn't know existed and his dear friend. Seeing Legolas’ pain, he responded firmly, "I will try."
Gimli, moving to stand beside the wizard, watched the scene with a mixture of concern and curiosity. He couldn't help but murmur, "I've never seen him so frazzled before." His words were filled with a deep sense of empathy for his elven friend, for this had clearly shaken Legolas to his core.
Gandalf let his gaze shift from the elf to Gimli, offering the dwarf a knowing look in response.
The watcher of wanderers had now become a wonder to the wanderers themselves.
……
Legolas sat in a chair beside (Y/N). He was quiet and still as he watched her chest rise and fall steadily. Aragorn had successfully treated her wound, preventing infection, though she remained unconscious. She rested soundlessly, her expression peaceful—despite Legolas’ bloody handprint, now brown, dried, and cracking, that lingered upon her cheek. Her features were graceful and elegant. Each curve and bend of her face accentuated her beauty. He wasn't sure what he had expected her to look like, though how she appeared made sense with her temperament. He could see her flirtatious streak, her mischievous tone, and her protective aurora. She was exactly what wind would be: strong yet gentle, fierce yet calm, emotional yet stern.
He watched over her, just as she had watched over him. So intently, that he didn't notice one behind him until a hand pressed firmly upon his shoulder.
"Legolas," Aragorn began, his expression filled with gentle concern as he inquired, "How do you know this woman?"
Legolas sighed, keeping his gaze on her. "She has been traveling with us," he explained.
The sound of wood scraping against stone told the elf that the Ranger pulled a nearby chair over to sit next to him.
“So Gandalf said. Though I do not understand,” Aragorn admitted.
Legolas shifted. “I started to notice strange occurrences—unexplained events.”
Aragorn raised a brow, “Strange occurrences?”
Legolas felt his cheeks heat as he cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, but more importantly, I noticed something helping us. Consistently.” He paused, “I asked Mithranduil about it and he told me of her.” He shook his head. “He said she was cursed to watch us—us inhabitants of Arda—and not be able to walk among us.”
“Then how is she here now before us, like this.”
Legolas glanced at his hands, a hint of nervousness in his expression. “I asked Mithranduil that too,” he admitted. “He said her sacrifice must have ended her limbo.” He then let his eyes land on his friend and he spoke once more, his tone almost fearful and definitely shy—something Aragorn had never seen from the elf. “If she doesn't survive, because of me, will Arda have wind no longer? I haven't felt a single breeze since she fell.”
Aragorn sighed. “I do not know, my friend. I do not know.” He reached forward and placed his hand upon his shoulder. “Please go clean up and rest. You are no good to her like this. I will take care of her, I promise.”
Legolas hesitated, “But what if she wakes?”
The Ranger sighed again, “If she wakes, I will send someone to—”
He was interrupted by a soft groan escaping from the lips of the Wind Spirit.
Instantly, both Legolas and Aragorn turned to look at the woman.
Her eyelids lazily blinked open, and she gradually became aware of her surroundings. A frown creased her face as she emitted another groan. Her hand moved slowly, making its way down to her bandaged side.
"What... what is this feeling?" she murmured to herself, puzzled by the sensations.
To her astonishment, Legolas responded, “Pain.”
She scrambled to sit upright in bed, the pain surging through her body but the sheer force of adrenaline propelled her actions. “You–you can hear me?” she whispered, eyes wide.
Legolas moved closer, taking a seat on the edge of the cot. In a gentle tone, he answered, "I can hear you. I can see you." He tenderly raised his hand to her cheek, resting it on the dried bloody mark already there. "And I can feel you."
A hushed gasp escaped her lips as she reached up to touch his hand. "It's... it's warm," she remarked, her voice filled with surprise. "I didn't expect it to be warm."
The elf smiled gently in response.
A mischievous smirk then graced her lips, and her gaze, rather unmistakably, wandered down his figure and briefly settled upon his pants. ��Is everything this warm?” she inquired with a teasing tone.
Taken aback by her words and her brazen gaze, he cleared his throat. A noticeable flush crept across his cheeks and ears as he broke eye contact. With that, Legolas turned to face Aragorn, who stood behind him with raised eyebrows and a playful grin forming at the corner of his mouth. “My apologies, Aragorn.” He glanced back at the Wind Spirit. “(Y/N), this is—”
She interrupted him, her eyes on the other man. “I know who he is,” she said with confidence. “Aragorn, son of Arathorn the second, also called Strider or Wingfoot, Chieftain of the Dúnedain, and the Uncrowned King of Gondor.”
The expressions on both men's faces contorted, morphing to sheer astonishment—how did she know all that?
(Y/N) grinned sheepishly. "I am the wind," she confessed. "I see and hear a great deal."
…..
The Minas Tirith Castle was cloaked in the deep shroud of a late moonlit night as Legolas walked through its ancient halls. The soft flickering of torchlight painted wavering shadows on the weathered stone walls, lending an atmosphere that resonated with the weight of its history. His footsteps were silent as he moved, and his thoughts followed suit, meandering through the corridors of his mind.
However, up ahead, a figure bathed in a gentle glow caused Legolas to abruptly halt in his tracks, his thoughts instantly converging on the woman.
“(Y/N),” he called out, approaching her. “What are you doing away from the House of Healing? You shouldn't be out of bed. You should be resting!”
She let out an exasperated sigh, not appreciating his chastising tone. "I am a watcher of wanderers, Legolas. Therefore, I too am a voyager. It is not in my nature to stay still."
Legolas released a heated breath through his nose. “That may be true, but you now have a corporal form. No longer are you just a breeze.”
She rolled her eyes, shifting her feet to hide the persistent pain emanating from her side. “I may not be a breeze any longer, but I still control all the winds of Arda. I could knock you on your ass in seconds, injured or not.”
Legolas chuckled lightly. “I never would have gotten involved with the wind if I knew she was so temperamental,” he teased.
(Y/N), suppressing a grin, responded with a snarky retort. “Oh, so we are involved, are we?”
The elf sent her a look, trying to hide his expression of amusement. “I would be naive to think that all the times the wind flirted with me, it was just a ploy.”
“Maybe I enjoy a ploy from century to century, Legolas,” she replied.
He laughed lightly at her jest, then took a step closer, his demeanor shifting to one of seriousness. Gently, he pressed his hand to her bandaged side. “(Y/N),” he began softly. “Why did you do it? Why did you get in between that orc and I?”
She looked up at him, her eyes gleaming with sincerity. “You know why.”
“Say it,” he commanded.
“Because,” she began, her tone becoming shy and soft. “Because, I—I love you.”
Instantly, Legolas wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her close to him. He pressed his lips fervently against hers. As their mouths met with equal intensity, he tasted the essence of the wind. And oh, it tasted of adventure, suffering, and joy. It tasted of warm bread from the north, bitter nuts from the east, clear water from the south, and fresh fruit from the west. It tasted of eons and eons of wandering, yet still, she tasted of home. Her hands found their way into his golden locks of hair, twisting and tugging it lightly. He allowed her to siphon off his heat, for the wind was often cold and bellowing. Though, he could tell she was taking more than just his warmth—she was taking his love; and oh, he gladly gave it to her.
…..
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fvck-the-patriarchy · 8 months
Text
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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itsfeckinwimdy · 1 year
Text
10 Types of Kisses
Various LOTR/TH x Reader
Pairings: Aragorn, Fili, Haldir, Kili, & Legolas x Reader (separately).
Pronouns: n/a.
Prompt(s): 10 types of kisses by @urfriendlywriter. You can find her post here. (I used 9/10 of them).
Word Count: 3.4k words (3415)
Warnings: No beta, we die like Boromir. open wounds (Aragorns + Fili's), marriage (Fili's), swearing (Kili's), mentions of battle + death + blood (Legolas).
Tree Speaks: I had a lot of fun writing this but it also went into territory that I'm not particularly comfortable with writing yet so we'll see how this pans out.
Translations: amad - mother, dwarrowdams - a term used for female dwarves.
LOTR + TH Masterlist
Published: 25/02/2023
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1. Aragorn
soft kisses - where they're just lying beside you, hands playing with your hair as they trail tender kisses all over your lips
The two of you were meant to be sleeping of course, but the gloom of the mines made it hard to settle. You supposed that's why he pulled you away from the others slightly, to a spot just that bit further away.
Aragorn was on first watch as usual, having made it his task since the beginning of the journey, and always insisted that the hobbits and Gandalf got plenty of sleep. But with that came the usual knowing looks between the two of you as Aragorn knew his love wouldn't sleep unless he would.
So with that knowledge, and him sensing his love's rising anxiety at being trapped underground, it now brought them to this.
He tilted your head up from where it was resting against his chest, his hand cupping your face. Aragorn brushed a few loose strands of hair off your face from where it had fallen out of place as his own head tilted down towards yours. His hand gently entwined with your other, and he paused in his movements, allowing you to decide next.
You gently reached up, threading your hand through his long locks and gently pulling him down towards you. He pressed his lips to yours, mouth moving slowly, softly, intimately.
He pulled away, your lips chasing after his, a small smile gracing his lips as he pressed another kiss, and then another, and then another to your lips.
the type of kiss where you can't find words to say after, or the ones where your forehead lingers against each other's
Aragorn's horse trotted through helms deep, having just pulled him up from the river bed where if not found, he would've succumbed to his wounds. He dismounted his horse and received a scolding from Gimli before forcing himself up the staircases and into the deep.
Legolas rose from outside the doors, greeting his friend who believed him dead. The elf pulled him into a familiar embrace before pulling back and making a sarcastic comment about the ranger.
The elf turned a small smile gracing his face before yelling the name of a person. The ranger followed his line of sight. It fell on his love, you.
You looked up after the elf who yelled out to you, before seeing the man you mourned for standing with him. Abandoning your stuff, you ran to him, arms thrown over his shoulders and crushing him to your chest as a few sobs left you.
His arms encircled you as he leant his forehead against yours. He didn't care at that point about the mud caking him and he didn't think you cared enough at that point, so it made no odds on whether he was careful or not.
He pulled back slightly, raising his hand to caress your face before pressing his lips to yours. Tears left both of you as his mouth moved languidly with yours.
Aragorn pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. He wanted to say so much to you, fearing that he would never see you again but all thoughts left him as he wished to stay in this moment, longing for nothing but you.
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2. Fili
messy kisses - curly hair, ruffled sheets and half-buttoned clothes as you just want more and at that moment, they're the most beautiful soul to you ever
The sun trickled in through the window, bypassing the curtains that hadn't been fully drawn across the night before. The young (ish) couple lounged in the bed, bodies pressed together as close as they could get with the few layers of clothes still between them.
He tilted your head up to meet his, his lips pressing against yours, moving languidly in the early morn. Fili reached up, hand caressing your courting and marriage braids that were still somewhat intact.
He groaned, feeling one of your hands gripping the hair at the base of his neck and the other slipping under his shirt across his chest.
Fili pulled back, eyes fluttering open to meet yours; your own half-lidded as you drew in a few stuttering breaths. It was a pleasant greeting from your love first thing in the morning, one that you would be against again.
You gazed up at Fili, the dwarf hovering over you, careful not to rest his entire body weight on you. The tressels of sunlight filtered through his hair, causing a glow to shine over him.
His eyes trailed over your face, memorising every detail as if it was the first time he saw you.
kisses on your body ♡ frail kisses on your shoulder! on your lower back, belly and trailing to your neck, collarbones, lips.
A cry of pain left your lips.
Oin pulled the blood-soaked cloth away from where it was pressed tightly against your side. The infection from the arrow had spread, the orcs having laced it with something deadly.
The pain wasn't something Fili wished on anyone, much less you. So he did his best to comfort you whilst the infection ransacked your body. His hands firmly held you, one holding the back of your head, and the other gripping your forearm to stop you from forcing Oin's hand away from the wound he was trying his best to treat.
After Oin had doused the cut in water, trying to flood any dirt that wormed its way in, Fili pulled you closer. The healer moved back to gather some more altheas and cloths, leaving you curled against your prince's chest.
Fili dropped his head down to your shoulder, as your tears continued to douse his shirt - not that he cared as it was covered in sweat, grime, and whatever else from the trip across middle earth - his hand on your head slipping down to the back of your neck, stroking his fingers in what he hoped was a soothing pattern.
He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, the fabric of your tunic had been pulled away, cut away for easier access. It would need replacing, he noted, but hoped that it would be enough to cover you until the sun rose again.
Fili continued his ministrations, pressing another kiss further up your shoulder. And then another at the junction where it met your neck. He considered pressing one to your neck, in that one spot he knew made you shiver, but with the way you were sitting in his lap you were already considered improper in public, so he begrudgingly decided against it.
Oin chose to return at that moment, pressing the churned-up altheas against your wound and then tying the cleanest cloth over it. You cried out in pain, more tears falling. It was like someone was driving a burning knife into your arm, over, and over, and over again. The pain rolling in waves.
Fili kept whispering words of praises and comfort, the Kadzhul translations lost in your mind as all you could feel was the pain, and him.
The knot was finally tied on the bandage. Fili slid his hand from the back of your neck to cup your face, pressing a chaste kiss against your forehead before leaning his own upon yours.
I'm here, you're safe now, I love you, the action spoke more words than Fili could find himself saying.
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3. Haldir
lazy kisses as they admire you - fingers delicately trialing your jaw as they kiss your lips
"Haldir," you groaned, leaning back against his chest, head turned up to face him. A smile graced his lips, his eyes locked with yours, shining full of love.
It wasn't often you got to spend a prolonged period of time with your Marchwarden, especially with him being gone for months at a time to guard Lothlórien's borders. So any time you spent with him was precious, even if you knew he would be leaving at the end of it again.
The braid in his hair was loose, albeit from your hands running through his hair earlier, causing him to have a sexy, but dishevelled look. The thought of elves being supermodels no matter what state they were in flashed through your mind again causing you to chuckle slightly.
Haldir raised his hand, letting it linger under your jaw as he delicately leaned down to place another kiss against your lips. Warmth bloomed through you and as his lips moved against yours, all thought about him having to leave again in a few days retreated into the depths of your mind.
You were drunk off the taste of him, off his kisses as he stole your breath each time. And nothing would ever change that.
goodbye kisses - kisses lingering like liquor in each other's lips, bitter but sweet, "I'll always come back to you, love. you're my home after all."
The boats gifted to the fellowship had just finished being prepared and were packed full of provisions to last you a good while.
The thought of having to leave your home again haunted you but not just because it was where you lived. No, because this time you were leaving your love, not knowing when you were to see him again. He was your home.
The Marchwarden was allowed to see his love off, having been granted a week's leave whilst you and the fellowship recovered and stayed in Caras Galadhon, Lothlórien. After you were sent as an emissary to Imladris, Rivendell in the common tongue, and word had returned that you had embarked on a journey to destroy the one ring, Haldir was worried for you.
He knew the history of the ring, as did most if not all elves and was worried about the dangers you may face. He knew that you could protect yourself, having been a sparring partner against you for years, but the worry did not dissipate.
He met you at the shoreline, his hand over his heart in the traditional greeting before he held your hand in his. Sadness filled his eyes as he wished not to see you leave, but knowing that this was a journey you were willing to take.
Haldir leant his head against yours as he fixed the cloak hung around your shoulders, ensuring that the broach was attached properly.
His hands lingered on your waist as he prepared himself to say goodbye again. It was one thing being the one who was leaving, but now that he was on the receiving side for once, he now knew how your heart felt each time he went on patrol. That feeling of not knowing if you were coming back or not eating at his heart.
Your hand on his cheek stole his spiralling mind from his thoughts as your lips pressed against his. A tear threatened to leave his eye as he consumed your kiss like a drug. The fear bubbling in his chest soothing to make way for the love he held for you but the melancholy feeling at having to be parted from you made it more bittersweet than anything.
His lips lingered over yours as you pulled away, his hand raising to stoke a strand of hair back from your face. Haldir wished he could keep you here in his arms but understood the task you had undertaken would not be dropped lightly.
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4. Kili
kissing and realising this is the person you'll always love, you'll always want to touch and snuggle with
Kili didn't think he could hold you any closer than he currently was.
You were practically melded into him, hands gripping tightly to the back of his jacket. The clothing was still damp from the thunderous storm you had walked through, but nonetheless had to still wear.
The terror that shot through him as the thunder giant collided with the mountain, believing that he had lost not only his brother but you as well, was something he never wished to feel again. His hands trembled slightly at the thought.
He shifted slightly, taking some pressure off his shoulder whilst pulling you upwards slightly so you were level with him. The ground wasn't pleasant to lie on, less so on his side, and even less so with damp clothes on, but Kili knew this was the company's best option right now.
Kili rested his head against yours, his eyes meeting yours. He nudged his nose with yours affectionately, giving you time to pull away.
It was something he always did, you noted. Every time he wanted to kiss you but couldn't find the words to say it, or was surrounded by too many prying eyes, he did that. Gave you that tell that allowed you to decide what happens next.
You tentatively leant forwards, tilting your head upwards ever so slightly, letting your lips press against his. There was no rush. No incessant desire to pull the other closer, just him.
Kili moved his lips slowly with yours, savouring every moment that he got with you. Fuck, he loved you. The realisation pulled at his heartstrings more, knowing that he could've lost you today.
prohibited kiss - you're not even supposed to be seeing each other but your hands are on his hair and his hands around your waist, lower bodies pressing into each other as you kiss
Laughter radiated through your body as you were pulled through the endless turns and corridors of Erebor. The stone walls were lined with torches and braziers all lit with fires burning brightly.
To anyone else, it would be a maze, a catacomb of tunnels that unless sense was made of them, would surely lead to your demise. But years of living there had engraved the pathways into your mind, and no doubt Kili's.
His hand dragged you to a secluded corner, himself coming to a halt. He could no longer hear the guards trying to follow the two of you. Pride flooded his chest as he gazed back at you, finally alone with his betrothed.
You were finally able to get a good look at him, now that he didn't have all the dwarrowdams fawning over him. Even if he wasn't "beautiful" by dwarf standards, he was still a prince and would have people trying to gain his favour.
But his title didn't matter to you. Kili did.
And by the creator himself, did you love the way he looked. His hair tousled from the running, and the short beard he was so desperately trying to grow accentuated his face.
But the ceremonial robes that hung to his body? You couldn't resist.
He found himself pushed back, pinned against the pillar. Kili's eyes locked with yours, the same fire of desire within him, burning through you.
Your lips pressed with his, mouths moving frantically with the others. Your hands that gripped onto the front of his robes slid up, trailing up his neck and into his hair, pulling slightly to press him into you more.  A groan left him at a particularly harsh tug before your hand moved to trace his courting braid.
He pulled away, panting, breathless, kissing you again and pulling you into him, arms gripping your waist, hands in his hair, your bodies practically merging into one. If his Amad caught him now, he wouldn't even have to face the scornful looks of Dwalin, he would already be lying in his grave.
But could he let you go? Fuck no.
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5. Legolas
shy kisses - when you're the one pulling them closer, and they nuzzle their face in your crook after the kiss, hands around your waist as their ears get red
You were scared. If anything you were currently lustful, but you were about to fight in a war against ten thousand troops with an army of less than a third of that. So you were scared.
Legolas had turned to where you leant against one of the pillars, choosing to come and check all the fastenings on your armour. He was meticulous and methodical as he went to each and every one, adjusting where he deemed necessary whilst checking it caused you no discomfort.
A soft smile graced your face, as you watch his gentle movements before reaching out to cup his face in one of your hands. A blush, so subtle anyone who didn’t know Legolas would miss it, warmed his face, his head lifting and eyes locking with yours. It was as if he was staring straight into your soul, his piercing grey eyes full of love but fear.
You pulled him towards you, Legolas leaning his head down as his hand held over yours on his face, the other resting gently on your waist. Leaning up, you gently pressed your lips to his. Just once, mind you, the action as tender as possible, letting him come to you.
Legolas leant into you, pressing his lips back against yours, moving at a slow pace. He wanted to savour this moment as much as possible before the two of you walked to what could be your deaths.
ahem.
The clearing of the person's throat sprung the two of you apart, you mentally preparing for the endless stream of apologies to whichever passerby caught you, only for it to be someone you knew all too well.
"Aragorn." You spoke, heavily embarrassed to be caught with your lover.
The ranger looked between the two of you, his face being that awful neutral resting one making it so you couldn't judge his feelings on the matter. Aragorn must have read the panic starting to creep up in you as a teasing smile broke out.
“I have no qualms with this,” he began before looking over his shoulder towards the entrance of the armoury, “but the people of Rohan may not be as forgiving if you are caught.”
He turned on his heel, making his way up the staircase and leaving the two to their devices.
A moment passed and then a chuckle left your lips as a sigh left Legolas’. His head fell to your shoulder as the blush absconding his cheeks spread like wildfire tinting his ears a rosy colour.
At least it was only Aragorn, you mused, If Gimli had found you then he wouldn’t stop teasing your elf.
kisses of reassurance - saying that you're safe, still with them, that your heart is still beating wildly in your chest, that they couldn't get rid of you if they tried, that for some insane reason, you're not dead yet
Your chest heaved, trying to inhale as much air as possible as you sprinted up the mud-soaked hill. Aragorn had yelled for the soldiers to retreat into Minas Tirith and you were making your way as fast as you could until an arrow pierced your shoulder.
The doors were closed and sealed as you entered alongside the last few stragglers, a resounding bang from the wood hitting the stone frame. The room spun on its axis.
The throbbing pain in your arm continued, each ebb seeming stronger which was probably due to the adrenaline wearing off. Maybe you should've stayed fighting, it surely couldn't hurt as much as your arm did, you thought as your uninjured arm reached out to hold yourself up against the wall.
Giving up on keeping yourself upright, you slid falling somewhat ungracefully to the floor, blood dripping from your wound and soaking your sleeve. It was funny how much damage one arrow could cause.
You blinked.
The sun had risen, and from where you could see it, it was around mid-morning. Your eyes focused and you could see a worried face in a sea of platinum blonde hair. Legolas.
Ignoring the sound of the elf’s worry, you pushed yourself up into a seated position, as he gracefully knelt down next to you. His hands mindlessly moved to cup your face, as he had to pull his eyes away from your crudely bandaged arm. The arrow had been jagged and cut more as it pierced you, causing more blood to be lost.
Your hand covered one of his as Legolas moved to press his forehead to yours.
“I'm okay,” you whispered, breaking the silence between the two of you. Your thumb stroked the back of his hand absentmindedly, as you tilted your head up, meeting his lips with yours. It was one of desperation, longing and fear. A shuddered breath left you as the two of you broke apart.
“We’re okay.”
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gloomwitchwrites · 3 months
Text
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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tinfairies · 1 year
Note
Hey so we talked before about hair braiding being intimate to elves. Can we have headcanons of reader just coming up behind them and starts braiding it casually and Legolas and Thranduil reacting to it? I feel they’d be like “wow she’s so forward (〃 ̄ω ̄〃ゞ” 🤣
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Thranduil
Of course he knows that this human isn't aware of elvish culture and the significance of braiding.
That doesn't stop him from being a bit surprised, then smug about it.
He would use it as a way to subtly claim his human. Making sure the other elves see them braiding his hair.
He might tell them about what braiding means for elves, but that won't be until he has them firmly in his grasp.
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Legolas
Despite what his culture says about braiding, he loves having his hair played with.
He thinks it's cute that this human doesn't know, but is also glad for it. Legolas loves physical affection and he doesn't get much of it from his kind.
Will definitely show the braids off to other elves, boasting about his human's skill.
They will probably find out about what braids mean, but until then Legolas plans to soak up as much attention as he can.
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disasterofastory · 7 months
Text
Like a tree (Thranduil x Reader)
Like a tree Thranduil x Reader Warnings: drunk and horny Reader
Summary: You drank too much and your husband takes care of you.
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You have to fight with every fiber of your body to open your eyes, and when you do, the world is spinning, and you feel dizzy. You need a few seconds to adjust your sight to the dim lights. The first thing you notice is the soft line of Thranduil's jaw and, a moment later, his hair as it falls all over his broad shoulders. Your fingers curl around the collar of his robe, not that you are afraid he would drop you. His strong arms are secure and steady under your back and knee. Warmth radiates from his body, bundling you into his embrace. "Where are we going?" You hum against his chest. Your words are muffled and disoriented. "You, my dear, are going to sleep." "What?" You scoff, wanting to push yourself away from him, but he doesn't even budge. "I'm fine," you tell him. "Oh, I know you are fine," Thranduil laughs. The deep rumble of his chest goes straight to your chest. The deep sound warms your heart. "But I think you drank a bit too much," he continues. "It seems like I have to talk with the guards again to not challenge you anytime soon." "Did I win?" You ask him. "Yes." "Good."
"Hey," you pout, reaching out for your husband when he steps back from you after putting you down on the bed. Your dress is long forgotten on the ground while your nightgown covers your body. The fabric is soft and light, showing off your cleavage and thighs. "Where are you going?" "I'm just going to change my clothes," he laughs at the expression on your face. "I won't go anywhere, I promise." "Oh," you breathe out, a mischievous grin pulls up the corners of your lips. "I can help with that." "I'm sure you could," Thranduil laughs again. He loves the way you look at him even though your eyes are half-closed. Your gaze is heated and full of love as you watch him change his clothes. "I think you shouldn't even bother with clothes," you break the silence again. "And why is that, my wife?" He asks, tugging on the blankets so he can tuck you in. "It's still cold." "Uhm," you groan, turning on your side so you can face him when he lies down next to you. "I can warm you up." Your bare leg slips up on his thighs, brushing his already half-hard cock in the process. Thranduil's muscles tense as he keeps his groan deep in his chest. His large hand lands on your soft skin, stopping your grinding on his erection. "I think we should postpone it, love," he says in a low voice. Your hand is warm on him as your fingers draw small circles on his wide chest. His skin is soft and smooth under your touch. "Why would we do such a thing?" You ask, frowning. "Because I'm drunk? It doesn't matter. I would climb on you like a tree if I were sober too." His laugh comes from deep inside his chest and fills the room with a pleasant rumble. God, you really love his voice. "I love your laugh," you state, creeping closer. "But I love your moans better." "Sleep, Y/N," Thranduil says. His amusement is still clear in his voice. His long fingers curl around your wrist to stop you from slipping inside his pants. "But I'm not that drunk," you argue. "I know," he says, pulling you against his side to be closer to his body. "But I don't want you to fall asleep in the middle." You gasp. "I wouldn't." Thranduil doesn't answer for long minutes as a knowing smirk spreads across his face. When his eyes move up from his hand still on your thigh to your face, he can't help but chuckle again. Your lips are slightly open as you sleep. "Of course not, my love," he hums softly, adjusting you until your head is on his chest and his arms are around you. "We will talk about you climbing me like a tree tomorrow," he adds quietly. His warm breath ghost over your ear, and you hum in agreement.
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deadlymistletoe · 8 months
Text
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.
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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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How the elves prefer to kiss a short parter
(Elves are said to never really be under 6’4 and I’m thinking partners under 5’4)
Standing on a table
They find it hilarious and makes it easy to kiss you or pick you up if they want to continue the kiss elsewhere. They think it’s even funnier if you still have to go on your tippy toes.
Glorfindel and Lindir
Picking you up
Loves feeling you this close and making you feel safe. They won’t lie, they love that it means they can grab at your thighs and ass.
Haldir and Thranduil
Crouching down/On their knees
They like meeting you down to your level. If they’re on their knees it makes you both laugh but they love it because it makes them feel like they’re worshipping their sweet little love.
Legolas and Meludir
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elfy-elf-imagines · 2 months
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Tolerate It | Thranduil
▹ Pairing: Thranduil x Human!Reader
▹ Genre: Angst
▹ Words: ~2k
▹ Summary: A political alliance makes you the new wife of the elven king Thranduil, trapping you in a gilded cage of elven craft.
▹ Notes: I couldn't get this idea out of my head.
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✧・゚: *✧・゚:*✧・゚: *✧・゚:*✧・゚: *✧・゚:*✧・゚: *✧・゚
The banquet hall of Eryn Galen was buzzing with high energy. 
The lights were bright, the drinks flowing. Each guest was too deep in their cups as the band played jaunty tunes that kept spirits high. You sat at the end of the table, to the direct right of Thranduil, Legolas seated directly across from you to the king's left. 
Everything was beautiful, similar to what you imagined heaven may look like. The celebration had been highly anticipated, the steward meticulously planning for months to ensure the night would be perfect. 
Each guest had dressed to the nines, and you had been no exception. Silks that flowed like a languid river, braids woven throughout your hair, and glittering jewels that rivaled the stars in the sky. You’d felt quite pretty after your handmaidens finished, taking in your appearance with rapt attention. 
Yet as the king - your husband - met with you, he barely paid you more than a glance. Not a single compliment or acknowledgment slipped from his lips, just the stiff offering of his arm and a cold demeanor you’d never been able to break through.
Not even the bitterness of the red wine you drank could ease the pain festering inside you. You glanced at Thranduil, his attention on his steward whispering something in his ear. Regal and commanding, you’d thought marriage to the elven king would be something out of a fairytale. Yet your story became twisted, and instead of a happy ending, you were trapped in a doomed marriage. It was like a wall separated you from him; you’d tirelessly beat against it with a hammer; Thranduil was on the other end, reinforcing the stone. 
You glanced down at your dress, the pale green fabric, Thranduil’s favorite shade. Even still, you were desperate for his validation and approval, like a child tugging at their father’s sleeves. A stray hair fell in front of your face, and you pushed it behind your ear, hands ghosting over your rounded ears. Maybe if you’d been an elf and not a human, he might view you as an equal and not a consolation prize. 
One hand below the table closed into a tight fist while you downed the rest of your wine in one gulp. 
Legolas met your eye from across the table with an almost apologetic grin. You returned it with a tight smile you tried to make pleasant. Legolas knew all too well the neglect his father could inflict, so he often preferred the forests over the palace. There was an understanding that made your pain more bearable. 
The handmaidens you brought from home and your stepson, who was older than your eldest living relatives, were all that kept you from falling into true despair. 
Like clockwork, a servant filled your chalice, and you gladly drank. This wine was sweeter and less sharp than the red you were expecting. Once again, you looked towards Thranduil, no longer speaking with his steward but quietly watching the party play out. You reached out, delicately placing your hand over his, only for his to push it away, not bothering to pay you a glance. 
The blatant rejection stung, always taking up too much space and time. Would Thranduil even notice if you’d stolen away into the night? If you pulled the dagger your marriage embedded in you, breaking free and leaving this miserable life behind. What might it be like to shed the weight of Thranduil’s cold disposition and an overly suspicious, judgmental, elvish kingdom? You’d be free and weightless for the first time in years. 
Yet, just as soon as the fantasies came, they fizzled out with the weight of reality. You had no money of your own, no survival skills, and nowhere to go. If you returned home, your father would ship you back to Thranduil. The dark forests and the creatures that lurked within would kill you. There was nowhere to go. No freedom to be found. 
You didn’t bother hiding the frown on your lips; no one in the room paid you much mind. They looked through you as if you were a phantom that clung to the residence of its former life. How was it possible to be in such a crowded room and yet still be so alone?
"How much longer do you believe this will go on for?"
At some point, Legolas had moved from across the table and was now seated to your left, watching the crowded room with thinly veiled discomfort.
" I hope for not much longer. I've never been amendable to crowds so large as this one."
Legolas laughed, the noise swallowed by the noise of the room. "And yet you are queen; should you not be used to such raucous parties?"
You tilted your glass towards him, a slight quirk on your lips.
"I could say the same about you, prince."
He nodded in silent agreement, quickly drinking from his glass, which you noticed was filled with water and not wine.
"I get to run off to the forest. How do you deal with all of this?" The smile on your face fell as your eyes dimmed, a reminder of your current standing.
"No one pays me mind. A blessing, I suppose." You attempted to laugh it off, but you couldn't keep the somberness from your tone. You were trapped in a gilded cage, a prisoner in your own home.
"Then I suppose I'll need to take more respites in the castle."
"You don't need--"
"I insist; what kind of friend would I be if I didn't check on your wellbeing."
So warm and inviting, it made you wonder how Legolas could be the son of Thranduil; he must take after his mother. You wondered, if only for a moment, how different your life might be if you'd been married to Legolas instead of his father. He was the more age appropriate option and if he didn't love you he'd at least respect you. But those thoughts were pointless; you'd been married to Thranduil and not Legolas.
"I think I'm technically your stepmother."
"But you feel more like a friend."
You didn't bother to argue, placing down your wine chalice to take a cool water drink. It was refreshing, soothing the burn the wine had created.
"Then I am glad we are friends."
Before he could respond, a member of his guard called his name. The elf enthusiastically waved him over, yelling something in elvish too slurred for you to understand.
Legolas shook his head, refusing the call, but you placed a single hand on his shoulder.
"Go, enjoy the night. I'll be fine over here."
He tried to discern if you were being dishonest but found nothing but sincerity. Just because you were miserable didn't mean he should be. With a single nod, Legolas left the table to join the group forming in the corner of the room.
Left in the chaos with no one to speak with, you picked up the chalice with wine. At some point during your conversation, Thranduil wandered off, talking with some of the higher-ranking nobles.
Thickly, you swallowed, hiding your face as you slowly drank from your glass.
When would this torment end?
---
The night dragged on at an impossibly slow speed. Your sorrow brought time to a near halt. By the time the crowd began to thin and Thranduil had escorted you back to your shared chambers, you’d forgotten how many glasses of wine you consumed. You managed to keep your composure and pride, not letting you show how light and lethargic the alcohol made you. 
Now, you sat before your vanity, preparing for bed as did Thranduil. There were so many pins placed in your hair that you struggled to pull them out without ripping your hair. Your head throbbed, and your frustration was building; you just wanted sleep. A cold hand pushed yours away, tangling in your hair. With practiced and fluid movements, Thranduil began to take down your hair. He was quick and efficient, his hands in your hair almost soothing.
The action was oddly domestic, and it caused a pang of pain in your chest. If the gods had been fair enough to bless you with a husband who loved you, this would be a nightly occurrence, not a rare show of care. 
“There’s too many pins in your hair.” Always critical; nothing would ever be good enough. 
A beat of silence passed; did he even want you to speak?
“It was a special occasion; I wanted something different done to my hair.” 
Clink. He placed the last pin on the table and stepped away from you.
“It was a bit gauche.”
Expression tight, you stared at your reflection, focused on your dark hair that tangled too quickly and your nearly pallid complexion. Gauche and graceless, the elves would never view you as their own. 
“I thought it looked nice.” 
His answer was to silently turn his back to you, moving to the other end of the room. The silence was maddening. Your attention never moved from your reflection, lips downturned as your eyes hardened. Pain turned to rage, pity becoming an all-consuming fire that threatened to turn all in your wake to ash. 
“Why marry me?” Your tone was harsh, firmer than you could remember speaking.
Thranduil let out a sigh, seemingly annoyed at your mere presence. Normally, his disregard made you shrink, and maybe it was the wine, but it only made you straighten your back, meeting his eyes through his reflection in your mirror. 
“To seal an alliance with your kingdom, you know this.” He was always condescending; he was so much older and wiser. 
“I understand political marriages, but why marry me? You’ve managed political alliances without offering your hand in marriage; you even have a son to marry off. So why--” You slowly stood from your chair, turning to face him directly. “-marry me?”
“Would you have preferred to marry Legolas?” 
“I’d prefer you answer my question. So I’ll ask once more: why marry me?” You strode towards him, eyes narrowed.
“To ensure an alliance with your family.”
“That is it? For no reason other than that.”
Thranduil looked down at you, his lips tight.
“Did you hope to hear differently?” He tilted his head, eyes ice cold and bitter. “Ours was a marriage of convenience, not love.”
You clenched your jaw, swallowing thickly. All of it for nothing, a marriage he knew would never succeed. He may have been content with a loveless life after the passing of his wife, but he knowingly dragged you into it. To turn your life into a void--
You wanted to scream, to yell obscenities at him, to spit all the vile venom his careless behavior filled you with. But it would do no good. An emotional breakdown wouldn’t mend your rift; there was no foundation of respect to rebuild. It was just endless nothingness. Standing at the precipice, you would simply fall into a never-ending pit. 
“I see.”
A hint of shock made his eyes widen a fraction, expecting an outburst like the one you fantasized about. Humans weren’t known for patience, yet it wasn’t patience that kept you silent. It was dejection; you'd given up hope of anything better than what you had.
You dared not move, not even blink until Thranduil turned towards the door.
“I think I will ensure the keep is secured. Goodnight.” 
Head turned, yet your eyes remained where he once stood; you remained silent. The door opened and quietly shut behind his retreating form. Only then did you exhale the breath you’d been holding. 
The bed was plush under your body, and the comforter was like a cloud, yet you’d never felt more miserable. You turned your back to the side Thranduil would take when he returned to the chambers. Eyes shut, soothed by the darkness, you dreamed of something more.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:*✧・゚: *✧・゚:*✧・゚: *✧・゚:*✧・゚: *✧・゚
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ohnonotnow · 3 months
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my library
here's some of the best the hobbit/lotr fanfics I've read cuz they can be quite hard to find and I wanna help
will update the list as I read
Thorin
Smoke, iron and Thorin
Fire and Gold
Learning Khuzdul
Braid of Gold
Thorin being soft
The Beauty of Chance
Those Hands
Misunderstanding
The arrival
A king's crown
Covered In Steam
There's just inches in between us
Thorin after a long day of training with his nephews
In This Moment 
Agreement
Symphony of your life
Oh so quiet
Confession
Find Your Way Back
Fili
fili oneshots
Moonrise
The Most Unpleasant, Defective, and Abominable Incident
Stay with me
The Redeemer
Durin's Garage
Restless
Kili
The book keeper
insecurities
The beauty and the Beast
getting back at Kili for teasing
My Treasure
Madly in love
It's in his kiss
Love Bites
Sway With Me
Wood Carvings
Softly. . .
Sweet like nectar
A Shot in the Dark
Beorn
Early Mornings
Beorn takes care of you when you're injured
Linger
Legolas
Watcher of Wanderers
The Innocence of Brutality
Blessing
Sensitive
Being best friends with Legolas
Hazy Memories
Spellbound
Thranduil
Bookworm
Relax
Best friends father
Fascination
Flower On My Skin
To Meet Under the Stars
Passenger Princess
Autumn Thunderstorm
I Could Love You With My Eyes Closed
Haldir
Gentle Dark
Lindir
My Heart Is In Your Hands
Moonlight
Just a Little Help
Warriors Great Tales
The Fountain
Return to Me
Èomer
Burnt Bread
A Helping Hand
Wildest Dreams
Falling In Love With A Librarian
SFW alphabet
Happiness
A Roll in the Hay
Blessing
Turning Points
More characters
various characters oneshots
Imagine: elves having highly sensitive ears and you finding out by accidently touching them.
Journey to Erebor
Hair braiding
Elves + Braiding
What Type of Kisser is Each LoTR Character?
The Hobbit Characters + Physical Affection (Suggestive Version)
A Headcanon For Each Member of Thorin’s Company
Cuddling With Thorin's Company
Imagine some of the elves of Middle Earth find out how easy it is to make you (a human staying in Rivendell) blush and become aroused.
The LOTR characters reacting to a modern reader
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fvck-the-patriarchy · 8 months
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Thorin, at Y/n: Would you like to stay for dinner?
Fili and Kili, from the kitchen: Would you like to stay forever!?!
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