#Gil galad x reader

[doodle-pops]

When They See You In Someone Else’s Clothes

Characters: Maedhros, Turgon, Finrod, Ecthelion, Gil-Galad

A/N: Just lovable elves going green and denying it…typical of them.

Synopsis: When their friend or brother lent you their clothes to keep you warm or covered, and your lover caught the green-eyed monster.

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Maedhros — you wore Maglor’s old cloak

• He had just returned from an early council ride, dismounting with boots coated in snow and mud and hair slightly damp when he caught sight of you by the fire, cocooned in a long, deep-blue velvet cloak embroidered with silver thread that looked...suspiciously familiar.

• His whole body practically paused mid-step, and the usual composed ginger expression flickered, just a twitch—but enough for his brothers to smirk knowingly in the background.

• He tried to be subtle, really (failed). But the way his eyes narrowed at the shoulder seams like he was trying to measure them against your frame in such a not subtle manner.

• “That’s not mine,” he muttered grumpily, definitely unable to hide his discomfort. “Clearly.”

• You merely rolled your eyes at the bubbling of his little green monster and told him that his brother, Maglor, gave you the cloak when you left the archives because you didn’t have yours with you and you were cold.

• Knowing Maedhros, he said nothing, except a twitch of his eyes and probably a stroke from the way his jaw was clenched.

• All he could do was stand there and glare at the cloak like it had personally offended him. You could almost hear him mentally interrogating every hem: Why is it still on? Surely you’re warm now? Why haven’t you taken it off?

• He didn’t say anything more—at first. But then he casually added, “I don’t know why he still has that old thing. It’s probably infested with harp string fibres and misplaced poetry.”

• “You sound like the green-eyed monster over your brother caring for me,” you laughed. Clearly humoured by his ridiculous jealousy over a cloak. “I’m not jealous,” he said, so very, very calmly.

• Guaranteed, the next morning, a folded russet cloak with a faint scent of pine and iron was left on your chair. Not a word. No note. But it was Maedhros-sized, finely stitched, warm, and unmistakably for you.

• “Just wear that next time,” he muttered later, when you asked. “At least it won’t smell like stage fright.”

• His brothers refused to let him live it down for weeks. Caranthir made snide commentary about “Maedhros establishing dominance through outerwear” while Celegorm fake-shivered, throwing his hand over his face, pretending to faint and yelled, “Lend me your cloak, Maglor! I’m cold and pretty!”

• At some point, when the two of you were walking, he gently brushed the cloak back from your shoulder and said quietly, “Mine would always fit better. Just saying.”

Turgon — you wore Fingon’s tunic

• You were seen exiting the stables wearing a deep green and gold tunic, far too big for you but artfully belted—evidently Fingon had offered it after your riding shirt got soaked in the rain.

• And your broody lover was chatting with a courtier when he noticed. The conversation just ended mid-sentence as he simply…walked off. Leaving the poor elf awkwardly blinking.

• “Is that Fingon’s?” he asked, cutting directly to the point with a sort of scowling majesty only a Nolofinwion could conjure.

• “It was either that or catching frostbite. He said it’s an old one.”

• “Clearly. The embroidery is years out of date.”

• You raised a brow at his pettiness. Typical coming from him. “You memorise his wardrobe rotations now?”

• “Of course not. That would be ridiculous,” he replied, while immediately changing the subject.

• That night, he insisted on giving you a new riding outfit “fit for your station,” a clear upgrade in quality, stitched with white and silver threads in a pattern resembling the stars of Varda. It was mysteriously delivered, but you knew who had commissioned it.

• “And burn that tunic!” he told Fingon later in a not-so-quiet voice, unaware you were within earshot. “Burn it, offer it to Ulmo, drown it in the sea—I don’t care!”

• His brother just laughed at the typical level of jealousy to be expected of his younger brother. “Jealous over the fact that your brother politely keep your beloved from freezing?”

• “Not of you, brother,” he sniffed. “Merely concerned for aesthetic decency.”

• That didn’t stop him from giving you his own formal robe, heavy with pearl-edged detailing, “just to wear when you visit court.” It trailed on the floor slightly, but he helped adjust it himself.

• “There. You see?” he said, clearly pleased once it was settled. “Now that is what elegance looks like.”

• After that, any garment Fingon wore mysteriously vanished if left unattended. Turgon claimed “laundry rotation” but no one believed him.

Finrod — you wore Angrod’s travelling robe

• You were chatting with some scholars in the library, wrapped in a soft ochre robe that swayed around your ankles, a little too broad at the shoulders, with faded trim. Angrod had loaned it to you when the mountain air turned chilly during an evening stroll.

• And in strolled Finrod mid-conversation, stopping in his tracks, tilting his head slightly, and staring at you as though you’d announced you were betrothed to a dragon.

• “I see. My brother has taken to clothing you?” That was a he said at first, so calmly and softly, it was too gentle of him which made you suspicious.

• “I was cold.”

• “So naturally, he assumed you lacked any protection from the elements and leapt in with his extensive robe collection.” He sat beside you and draped his arm dramatically along the back of your seat. “Touching.”

• Finrod remained poised but could not stop himself from prodding the sleeve of the robe like it was personally offensive. “Faded trim. Unlined seams. Is that a scorch mark?”

• “Cooking accident, apparently.”

• “He can’t cook. That’s the accident.”

• Before the day was over, you found a pristine white and gold cloak folded neatly in your room with a note in his handwriting: This won’t catch fire. Nor will it fall apart when you breathe near it. Yours – F.

• That evening, he pretended not to notice when you wore it, but he kept smiling quietly every time you passed by.

• He also casually mentioned in dinner conversation that “golden tones are too harsh for most complexions. It takes a rare one to wear them well.”

• Angrod rolled his eyes and muttered, “Try saying you’re possessive in fewer words.”

• “Oh, I’m not possessive,” Finrod replied brightly. “I’m refined. There’s a difference.”

• The next time you needed a cloak, he personally fastened it at your throat with a soft, self-satisfied hum. “You’ll never need to borrow Angrod’s again,” he told you firmly. “Unless you wish to disappear into mediocrity.”

• He also added, in a murmur as he leaned in, “If you wanted to wear something of mine, you need only ask. Preferably something I’ve washed recently.”

Ecthelion — you wore Glorfindel’s cloak

• The picture of calm grace when he entered the courtyard…until he saw you tucked on a bench by the window, a thick sapphire-blue cloak wrapped around your shoulders, lined with golden embroidery at the edges. The familiar clasp caught the light.

• He stopped mid-stride. Blinked. Then gave the cloak the kind of look reserved for mild insults to one’s dignity.

• “Is that Glorfindel’s?” he asked, a little too neutrally.

• “Yes—he lent it to me. I got caught in that storm on the way back from the eastern slope. My sleeves were soaked through.”

• He nodded too composed and sat beside you. Very close. “Mm. Practical. Warm. Slightly gaudy.”

• You tried not to smile. “You sound awfully green.”

• “I am not,” he said immediately—too quickly—eyes narrowed like a cat who just fell off a ledge but would rather die than admit it. “I am simply dismayed at your lack of appropriate aesthetic standards.”

• So casually, he flicked the hem over your knee. “These tassels look like they were stolen from a curtain.”

• You can pretty much guess that before the day was over, you got a new cloak—steel grey with blue silk lining, clasped with an elegant lily-shaped pin.

• “This is for you. So I don’t have to suffer the visual assault of that again,” he said, nodding toward Glorfindel’s cloak folded nearby. “You have delicate sensibilities. They ought to be dressed accordingly.”

• When Glorfindel found out, he just grinned and clapped Ecthelion on the back, saying, “Didn’t know I had competition in haberdashery.”

• “You don’t. You had a crisis in taste. It’s been resolved.”

• From then on, Ecthelion made a point of always having something to lend you himself—cloaks, scarves, gloves—just in case.

• “You’ll catch cold,” he’d say casually. “And Glorfindel’s wardrobe has suffered enough.”

Gil-Galad — you wore Elrond’s robe

• You walked into the high tower after a long ride from Imladris, bundled in a silver-grey robe with pale blue trim—clearly Elrond’s, given the slightly oversized sleeves and the scholar’s clasp at the collar.

• And when Gil-Galad had spotted yo u in that gaudy, atrocious attire, his entire face blanked. Then the scroll went down. “And what in the name of the Valar are you wearing?”

• “It was cold and Elrond had a spare.”

• “Fun that he has a spare,” he muttered, frowning. “You’re swimming in it. Is that embroidery? Are those herbs in the lining?” He leaned in, sniffed once, and grimaced. “You smell like a medicinal garden.”

• You chuckled. “It’s just sage. He said it helps with headaches.”

• “I have a headache now,” he deadpanned.

• Within the hour, he summoned a tailor and ordered a robe in rich midnight blue lined with velvet. “For official use,” he said grandly. “And warmth. And appearances. And taste.”

• Before you could even comment on his jealousy, he said immediately. “I simply believe rulers of realms should not go about looking like someone’s footman.”

• You wore the new robe the next day, and he looked excessively pleased.

• “Much better,” he said, looping his arm through yours with smug satisfaction. “Now people might actually mistake you for someone regal.”

• Later, when Elrond passed by and gave you a smile and a wave, Gil-Galad leaned closer and whispered, “You still don’t have his robe, do you?”

• “Yes.” “Burn it.” “No.”

• “…Fine. But if I catch you in anything that smells like lavender tincture, I’m confiscating it.”

• He’d pretend not to care, but every time he saw you even talking to Elrond while wearing something vaguely grey, he’d start fidgeting with his rings.

• Eventually, he gifted you a full wardrobe of deep blues, blacks, and rich emeralds—entirely coincidental, he claimed. “A royal should have options. Even if they’re not one yet.”

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[zenith1994]

I need more Gil Galad x reader fanfics..give it to me please Rachael

[etherealeowyn]

"I love... Every... Part of you" - Gil-galad x Fem Reader

Y/n is feeling insecure, and Gil-galad makes her realize just how beautiful she truly is.

Angst + Fluff

Word Count: 677

My requests are always open, so feel free to message me if you have an idea! I'll write for any character from The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, or The Rings of Power!

Gil-galad walked down the hall of his palace, trying to find his wife Y/n since she hadn’t shown up for breakfast. She told him she would meet him downstairs, but after waiting thirty minutes, he knew something was up. It wasn’t like her to stand him up without warning, so he genuinely was worried about her.

When he got to the door, he noticed it was partially cracked open, allowing him to hear soft, muffled crying on the other side. He immediately entered the room, not sure what to expect because it wasn’t often Y/n cried.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands, making Gil-galad unable to see her face. Y/n’s silken robes hung loosely around her body, showing that she hadn’t even bothered getting dressed for the day.

He immediately sat down beside her on the bed and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly against his body. Gil-galad sat there for a couple of moments in silence until her crying had ceased.

“Do you wish to tell me what happened? You don’t have to, but I know it’s good to get things off your chest if they’re bothering you,” he spoke, not wanting to pressure her, but at the same time, desperately wanting to know what was wrong.

Y/n lifted her head from her hands, exposing her tear-stained face. Gil-galad was surprised because her eyes appeared to be even more beautiful than ever, due to the fact the whites of her eyes had become red, making the color of the irises stand out more than ever.

“I-I tried to wear the dress you bought me a while back, but it was too small. Then I started to spiral when I realized how unappealing my body was when I looked in the mirror. I’ll never be pretty like the other female elves, I’m just an imperfect human.” Y/n said, tears bursting from her eyes once again as she turned away from Gil-galad ashamed.

His brows furrowed in confusion, wondering how she could think such things of herself. Not even a single time did he even remotely find Y/n to be unappealing. Gil-galad truly believed she was the most gorgeous individual to ever exist throughout the history of Middle Earth. One of the reasons why he loved her so much was because she was a human, every part of her was unique, something that he adored more than he could express.

Where she saw insecurities, he saw complete and utter beauty.

“Unappealing? I assure you, my love, you are nowhere near unappealing. I don’t want you ever thinking that about yourself. You are far from an imperfect human, quite frankly, you are the epitome of perfect.” Gil-galad replied with sadness laced in his words.

Words didn’t come out of her mouth, instead, she just nodded her head, looking at him once more. She bit her lip slightly, trying to hold back the tears that kept threatening to pour out.

“Darling, you know that I would never tell you anything other than the truth,” he reassured, his hands sliding down the silk robe from her body, making it fall onto the bed around her.

“I love,” he started, kissing the side of her jaw, and down her neck.

“Every,” he continued, his mouth trailing down the skin of her chest to her stomach, causing a small smile to appear on her face.

“Part of you,” he finished, his lips leaving her stomach and connecting to her mouth, deeply and comfortingly kissing her, showing her how much he cared for her.

Her hand cupped the side of his face, and his hands found her waist, swiftly pulling her body towards his, eliminating the space between them. He disconnected his lips from hers, and Y/n’s head fell back in pleasure.

“Now, have I convinced you of your beauty?” Gil-galad asked, raising one of his eyebrows with a small smirk.

“Almost, but I think you need to kiss me once more to make me believe,” Y/n joked, looking at him through her eyelashes.

[gabrielemillers]

An Elvish Love

Gil Galad x Elf F!Reader

Warning: smut 18+

You are nervous. Even if he is your husband and has been nothing but kind and loving towards you, he is still the High King. You don't want to disappoint him. It's your first time and you want to please him.

-Do not worry Y/N. Our King is kind and patient and he loves you. It won't change because you are a virgin. In fact, I'm sure it will please him. says Galadriel with a soft smile.

-You really think so?

-Absolutely. Now go and don't worry if you are not ready he will understand.

-Thank you Galadriel.

You leave your best friend's room to go to yours, where you know the High King is waiting. Deep down you know he won't pressure you into anything, but still a part of you is insecure and want him to be pleased. You take a deep breath and enter the room.

Your husband is waiting by the window, looking at the stars lost in thoughts. He looks ethereal with the moonlight on his face, still wearing his golden robes and his crown. He is beautiful. And he is yours. The High King turns around when he hears you and smiles.

-Meleth nin. You're here. I've missed you today. he says.

-I've missed you too vero. Busy day as always?

Your husband sigh and you see the tension in his body. Immediately you join him on his side of the room and take his hands in yours, comforting him. He smiles at the geasture.

-Tell me about it, it might make you feel better. you say softly.

-I don't want to trouble you with such problematics matters. No, it's kind of you to offer but I would like to be with you without talking about the kingdom.

-Okay, well I actually had an idea while coming here. you say blushing.

-Tell me. I'm intrigued.

-I though...well since we have been married for quite some time now... well could...consumate our union. you say shyly.

The High King smiles at your shyness and you can see he likes the idea. Very much.

-I would love nothing more than lay with you my love, but are you sure? I don't want to pressure you. he says.

You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him swilfty.

-I'm more than sure vero. I really want you.

-In that case, I will happily give wife what she wants from me.

The High King leans down to kiss you softly. You moans and put your hands in his longs brown locks. One thing leading to another, it's not long before you are laying naked on the bed, with Gil Galad between your legs. He makes you see stars two times with his tongue and fingers before entering you slowly with his cock.

It hurts at first, but with his preparations the pain soon turns into great pleasure.

-Oh my king... don't stop please.. you whisper in his ear as he moves at a steady pace.

-You're taking me so well Y/N. he praises you.

He kisses you passionately as you grab his hair and back to hold him close to you. That way you feel him much deeper and you are about to come.

-Ereinion I'm going to... you moan in pleasure.

-Let go for me my love. Let me feel you come around me.

You climax at his command, your vision going white in extasy. Your release triggers his and the High King groans in pleasure as he spills his seed deep into you.

You return to reality as your husband pulls out and lay at your side breathless. You are feeling sore but in a good way and really tired.

-Was...was it good for you? you ask him blushing.

-My love, it was more than perfect. I've loved it and adore you more than any word could express it. replies your husband smiling kindly.

He takes your left hand in his and kisses the back of it. You blush then yawn making him laugh.

-Sleep my love, you did so well for me. I'll be here tomorrow morning.

You fall asleep with a smile. You had nothing to fear at all. In fact, you realize now what you've been missing in these last few months.

[mirkwdmstrss]

the sun had already risen

summary: gil-galad offers words of comfort to ease your anxieties; a brief look at his softer side

genre: fluff

pairing: gil galad x reader

word count: 775

The soft white light of morning filters in through the gossamer curtains, chasing away what shadows of night remain. You watch the rise and fall of his chest, though his back is to you; turned away from the rising sun. Even in slumber, he does not seem rested. And why would he, what with the fate of your people and that of all of Middle Earth seemingly hanging in the balance?

“I can feel your eyes on me,” he rumbles, the vibrations of his deep baritone penetrating your contemplative state.

A soft smile graces your lips though you say nothing in turn.

“Hold your tongue all you want,” he quips. “Your gaze is enough to wake a man from the deepest of sleep.” Slowly, he rolls onto his back before turning to look at you. “And yours is one I feel to the depths of my being.”

“Do you, now?”

He smiles and your heart swells. Very seldom do the lips of the High King curve up as of late; the deep crease on his brow softer now, though still prominent acting as a reminder of all he carries.

“It is a good feeling,” he responds, reaching forward to tuck a stray lock of hair behind the shell of your pointed ear. His hand stills on your cheek, cradling it. You lean into its warmth, closing your eyes and savoring the stolen moment.

The mattress sinks as he shifts his weight to prop himself up on his elbow; his keen eyes regarding you fondly. As he does so, the single long, dark braid you’d woven his hair into last night falls over his shoulder. You reach for it, toying with the end of the plait before working your fingers through it unraveling the silken strands. You slip your fingers through his hair, not one tangle to be found as you gently guide them through it. He closes his eyes and murmurs a sound of approval as you do so. You stay like that for a moment, quietly combing your fingers through his hair until it falls in a curtain of black waves about his shoulders and you swear he’s never looked more beautiful than he does now.

Tears well in your eyes and Gil-Galad’s open suddenly, shining with concern.

“What is it, my love?” he whispers as he wipes away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb.

You press your lips together into a semblance of a smile as you curve your fingers around his wrist. “Nothing, do not worry about me.”

His brow furrows as he regards you. “Now what kind of king, what kind of lover, would I be,” he pauses, shifting up into a sitting position. Gently, and with very little effort, he pulls you into his lap to sit between his legs. “If I did not stop that would cause tears to fall from these beautiful eyes.”

You lay your head against his bare chest and feel him drop his chin atop your head as he wraps his arms around you.

“I just,” you hesitate, searching for the words to articulate this feeling deep in your chest. “Are you certain we’re to trust in this strange new power?” You thread your fingers through his, your thumb skirting over the newest ring in his collection; the one crafted by Celebrimbor in Eregion.

“It brought life back to Lindon, did it not?” he answers softly with a kiss against your temple. “Protected our people?”

Tilting your chin to look up at him from beneath your lashes, you search his eyes for some sort of solace as the pit in your chest grows ever deeper. “I cannot help this feeling of dread, like something terrible will come with the rising sun; catching us all ill-prepared and unaware.”

Gil-Galad gently grasps your chin in his hand, turning your face toward the pale morning light. “The sun has already risen, my love.” He drops his hand to the exposed skin of your thigh from where your leg curls around the sheets. “Look at how it shines upon your skin even now; bright and nourishing. There are no horrors to be found lurking in its rays.”

A soft smile plays at the corners of your mouth as you find it harder and harder to dwell on these feelings of sorrow in his comforting embrace. “Have you always the right words to quell a fearful heart?”

He nuzzles in the crook of your neck, his nose skirting against your skin as he presses delicate kisses along the column of your throat before pausing at your ear. “So long as yours is the heart that I protect.”

[thatlittlered]

rings of power men | tropes

warning(s): light TROP spoilers, gn!reader used throughout

author's note: most of these will be turned into actual fics :)

-.-.-

Elrond + friends to lovers

GIF by @fukutomichi

As kind as summer, as gentle as the soft rays of sun upon your faces whilst you sit in each other's company and he is weaving, unbeknownst to you, tales of your wit and beauty in his mind; poems he would never dare show you. It was love long before either of you knew what to call it.

Gil-galad + opposites attract

GIF by @fukutomichi

Born and raised the son of kings, Gil-galad has known nothing but duty during his lifetime. A King neither ventures, nor tries his hand at passing affections, and yet the curse of a still beating heart inevitably finds him when his lieutenant and trusted friend Círdan is apprenticed by a lovely lowly elf.

Celebrimbor + soulmates

GIF by @dailyflicks

It is instant, absolute. As if the two of you were born a mystical creature, bearing two faces, four arms and four legs, until the Valar separated you and forced you to spend eternity searching for your other half. In the worst of times and the most unlikely of places, the search has come to cease. Alas, so has the time of peace.

Arondir + forbidden love

GIF by @lousolversons

The Silvan elf comes to respect the race of men for what they are during his time in the Southlands and whilst he dare not admit it, it does pertain with knowing you. It is hard to care for the hateful gazes of villagers when your own gaze is so tender under the moonlight, your hands cold and decisive when you touch him here where no one can hear or see. Though he has not tasted mortality, it must taste like you and the urgency you kiss him with, as if in fear the sun might never rise again.

Elendil + forbidden love, age gap

GIF by @frodo-sam

This man was born to be your dutiful protector, loyal like no other and sworn to serve you as his ruler with everything he has. Loyalty and love tend to melt into each other, merge so that it is impossible to tell them apart. It is a tormenting, silent agreement that neither of you may speak on these feelings and yet, it... overwhelms.

Valandil + childhood sweethearts

GIF by @fukutomichi

To know and love Valandil comes as easy as breathing air. You have been doing both for just as long, you think. Childish adoration blossoms in time until your souls are tethered and he will commit his life to earning rank and making it official, from the streets of Númenor to the edge of the world, where he hopes to travel with you.

Isildur + love triangle, second chance

GIF by @vidalharkness

Isildur has always held a deep admiration for you, a childish infatuation even, but your bond with Valandil always comes before all and he happily accepts things as they are for a long time. Friendship is of equal, if not grander, worth and he considers both of you his dear friends above all. Until Valandil is killed, that is. The love each of you have for him and each other perseveres until grief threatens to swallow you whole. On the precipice of desperation, a teary kiss is meant to bring comfort. Yes, of course. That is what this must be.

-.-.-

bonus:

Adar + enemies to lovers

GIF by @anthemias

Sauron saw in you every weakness, every earthly, pathetic desire to be appreciated and loved when everyone and everything has been cruelly ripped from you. To be part of something larger than the pain eating away at your chest until your days in Middle Earth are over and you can find refuge in the arms of those who unlike you, gave their lives for a greater cause. He saw and took full advantage. Adar sees it now too when he looks at you; the agony of knowing you have played into the hands of evil itself just as he has. There is always a sliver of affection in understanding another, is there not?

[poetryvampire]

✨️trop men and if they could get you off based mostly on vibes ✨️

💕Now to level the playing field let's give a simple y/n on if they could get the job done during your first time together and the overall mood of the evening. Mildly nsfw (I'm not gonna get too detailed...unless 👀)

Adar💀 Yes. Woof, not to get too crass right off the bat but daddy is the name he earned so yes absolutely. Also brace yourself it will be kinkier than you think and it will awaken something in you. And it would start off painfully slow just easing you into it lightly. Seems like a great opportunity to try things you've been curious about but beware you're getting into like five kinks that haven't even crossed you mind before. One minute you're having a romantic candle lit dinner then Bam youre wearing a chain collar with his name on it.

Elrond 😇 Oh, god bless. No. Baby I'm sorry but no. That being said it would still be a great time with really positive vibes. But Elrond would get too in his own head thinking about options and the best 'plan of attack' to actually deliver. Plus he would play it super safe not wanting to off put you in anyway and thus would kill the passion a bit. Still would be the biggest sweetheart and over all give you a fun time. (Give him time to build his confidence though lotr Elrond Fucks for sure)

Halbrand 🐶 LISTEN Listen listen...No. Hear me out. I just-I feel it in my blood that this guy will rizz you so hard and talk such a big game and than when he time comes it's just ok at best. Like he's made at least one person come before and thinks he has cracked the code. Still his heart's (seemingly) in the right place and its pretty romantic over all. Lots and lots of cuddling.

Annatar 🐱 Yes. And it's amazing but the vibes are terrible. He gets way too intense too fast. He's the kind of guy to say some really weird shit during. Like not even anything dirty just waxing poetic about how you're part of each now and the bond of your bodies is inescapable even in death. And he waaay into talking about how you belong to him now and you're just like?? Is he just talking crazy in the heat of the moment or ?? Also no aftercare and he's 100% gone when you wake up.

Arondir 🏹 Yes. And it's Good but not as romantic as you were hoping. He's into you but Arondir def doesn't realize what a catch he is and is surprised that you're so here for him. Also buddy's got a lot going on so he's still gonna be pretty guarded emotionally. Still he's extremely respectful and such a good kisser like he's got your head spinning and you've barely started.

Elendil 🗡 No. But he tries hard and it's a great time. He's kinda got that big puppy Halbrand thing going on but like genuine. Def more into you than you are him. Elendil will rizz you with care. Pays very close attention to what you like/want. Even if it doesnt happen he's fine with talking about it, even makes a few light jokes at his expense. He's terribly good at putting you at ease. By the end of the night you're more smitten than you first thought.

Celebrimbor 💍 Yes. Are you kidding me?We're talking mastery, we're talking attentiveness, we're talking about a very smitten old man that's going to court you with his whole heart. The vibes are impeccable and he's going to make it known that taking care of you is his top priority. Additionally I can't explain why but you know this man's head game is god tier.

Gil Galad 🏵 Yes. Don't even get me started on how this man is gonna rock your world. The high king is a big guy so it's go big or go home when it comes to love and affection. He doesn't allow himself to pursue romance often but when he does he goes hard. In terms of the act itself and the amount of extravagance and detail he'd put into wooing you. Plus cmon you know he's stressed and pent up as hell. Brace yourself for being be absolutely worshipped All night. You're in for a wicked case of jelly legs and you're not going anywhere.

[danger-xylophones]

Hello there! I’ve just been looking at some of your Tolkien asks for the elves and I thought you were a really good writer, so I was wondering if you’d be open to writing about how the elves would react to finding out their human friend had parents that didn’t get along that well or argued a lot, and just really disliked each other? I don’t even know if they’d even have a concept of that, because elvish couples love once and forever. If you don’t want to write that, it’s perfectly ok. I understand that this is a sensitive topic for a lot of people, but I just wanted to ask :) Regardless, have a nice day!

Warnings: discussion of unstable/unhappy house holds, illusions to abuse/neglect

Note: I’ve included some elves invented for ROP and The Hobbit movies

Note 2: thank you for this request, it led me down several rabbit holes and now I know exactly how fucked up Celebrimbor’s father was

Masterlist

I think the elves understand on some base level that it is possible for parents to hate each other, especially the ones that interact with humans more often like Elrond.

They’re timeless beings after all, who have seen the rise and fall of countless kingdoms of man. They know the propensity for greed and malice.

But it’s always abstract to them the same way true death is.

In the back of their minds they think it must have such an adverse effect on the child that it would be easy to spot.

Some are naive enough to assume that every person that chose to follow Morgoth and Sauron must have had parents who hated each other.

So when you reveal that you grew up in such a household it rocks their shit it startles quite a few of them.

In order from least to most surprised:

Arondir

As a guard of the south lands, he is constantly dealing with humans. He understands, I think best of all those listed, the broad range of dynamics possible in a human household and I’m sad to say he’s probably had to break up quite a few fights between parents.

So when you tell him, he’s rather unfazed. Not to say that he doesn’t care that you grew up in such a household but he knows that it isn’t something some people like to talk about. He offers you a firm squeeze on the shoulder and offers his ear should you ever want to talk about it though.

If you still live with your parents, he makes a point to start watching them more closely. He wants to be ready should he have to do something.

Elrond

Given his past list of parental figures and him being half-human, Elrond understands the best out of Tolkien’s elves. That’s not say his parents were bad but he has the best experience with uncommon households out of the elves on this list.

Younger or older, he approaches your situation with empathy. Similar to Arondir, he doesn’t try to pry but makes it clear that he is here for you if you want him to be. He also offers up a room in his house if you still live with your parents. He goes a step further though to offer a place to stay to any siblings you have as well.

He doesn’t claim to understand exactly what growing up around people like that does to one’s mental health but he is willing to do the research needed to become an advocate for you and for those who grew up like you.

Galadriel

Galadriel as we know her in the books and PJ’s films has the best intuition about the situation you grew up in. She’s incredibly mature and has a cunning to her that isn’t present in the other elves on this list.

Honestly, she might figure out that your home wasn’t exactly happy before you even tell her - catching all those little signs; the hesitation before mentioning your family, the careful censoring in certain anecdotes, or the complete lack of mentioning them. She catches them and puts two and two together.

I’m torn on if she’d ask you directly or wait for you to tell her. The first option wants for tact but I believe Galadriel can almost see the scars on your psyche and wants to help them heal. Regardless, you are always welcome in Lothlorien should the need arise.

Celebrimbor

Despite how low he is placed, Celebrimbor I think has the closest lived experience to you. He’s down this low because he thinks the shittiness of his father is an exclusive trait to him. It doesn’t actually cross his mind that humans deal with awful parents as well so he is quite shocked to learn this about you.

To be fair, we don’t know who his mother is and by all accounts her and Curufin could have had a wonderful marriage but I find this unlikely given his temper.

Celebrimbor understands best of all the shadow that rests on your shoulders - the creeping dread that rests in your heart whenever you hear a raised voice. Celebrimbor is a good person to rant to because he understands the anger the best and while his father may have committed atrocities in the name of avenging his father - he is careful not to overshadow your own tumultuous feelings whenever you do express them. He just listens, adding scathing commentary when needed.

Honestly, you revealing the truth about your own parents relieves him a little - not because you grew up like that but because someone finally understands what it’s like for him as well. None of the other elves get it. But you do.

Arwen/Elladan/Elrohir

So, the reason these three are grouped together is simple - they’re raised by Elrond. They understand the weird direction of their father’s life and he talks openly about its effect on him with all three of them as they grow up. So, they are a prime example of the elves understanding that parents hating each other is a thing that happens, but none of them have first-hand experience with it.

Arwen, to her credit understands the best out of Elrond’s children. I fully believe she inherited Elrond’s foresight and uses it to intuit what she doesn’t understand already. Still, she is surprised to hear about your parents and tries her best to get her head around it. But she is not immune to the “why did they stay together” question. In her defense, she doesn’t expect you to have an answer.

Her brothers on the other hand do ask you fully expecting you to have some wisdom about it that they don’t. Being some of the youngest elves on this list, it makes sense. They’re mature enough to know that they don’t know everything but not mature enough to comprehend that you don’t know everything either.

All three of them have a million questions but try their best not to bombard you with them. They do, however, insist to their father that he help you with housing if you or your siblings should need it.

Lindir

I believe Lindir to be a smart but sheltered elf. We don’t know how old he is so I personally believe he is on the younger side, maybe barely older than Elladan and Elrohir.

He’s bookish and as a result of that he has a very scholarly understanding of the world - so he has possibly read stories about dysfunction households. But I think he believes them inventions of the author. As in, he thinks they are isolated incidents and not unfortunately common truths for the children of men.

He is floored when you tell him. He is good about not bombarding you with questions but he will ask you why your parents married in the first place. Whether you tell him they were in love once or were a political marriage he can only nod slowly as if he understands (he does not, he is so confused). He can only offer to do what he does best - listen to you if you choose to tell him.

Gil-Galad

Gil-Galad is someone who falls victim to his own preoccupations. It never crosses his mind that the attraction patterns of men are different from elves. He’s not so sheltered to think it impossible but it’s like an out of sight out of mind thing for him. He just doesn’t realize it’s a possibility.

In his defense, he does have a lot of things to worry about as high king and unfortunately the interpersonal politics of humans are not top of the list.

But he’s curious when you tell him and he listens attentively. Whether your parents married for social gain, love, or convenience - he asks careful questions about what it was like to grow up in such an environment. He wants to help and after you tell him this, he resolves to find a way to help other humans currently caught in unhappy households. Depending on your relationship with him (I.e. if it’s platonic) he kind of adopts you. He feels like he wasn’t there for you then but he can be here for you now.

Haldir

Haldir’s hard for me to place. On the one hand, as a border guard he has the chance to interact with more humans than a lot of elves on this list. So that should put him towards the top. But I also think he has a rather insular way of thinking. As in his main concerns are for the elves of Lorien and not the travelers he meets which means he might not inquire about their family lives.

Ultimately, I think he is similar to Gil-Galad in the sense that he just doesn’t think about it. If the few men he speaks to on his travels make a reference to a singular parent, he just assumes the other died because he can’t fully wrap his head around the idea that some people have a potentially volatile home life and might only feel close to one parent. Or neither. His immediate assumption is that the reason a human doesn’t mention their parents is because they died. He doesn’t mean for it to be, it just doesn’t cross his mind on its own.

But, he actually talks to you and when you explain to him that no, they stayed married because it was easier to raise you and your siblings that way but they always fought with each other - he is so shocked. His immediate thought is why didn’t they just leave each other, but he tries to puzzle that out on his own. Ultimately, he is very thoughtful about your circumstance and tries to be someone you can vent to when you need it. If your parents are still alive, he offers to accompany you to visit them if you ever need. And he does his best to secure you a safe place in Lorien should you need it.

Glorfindel

Glorfindel is a great elven warrior able to face many things and take down balrogs. He has no idea that childhood can be one of the most challenging parts of life. And I mean that sincerely. Glorfindel is rather oblivious to the affairs of men prior to his fall. His concerns are Gondolin and the safety of his people.

Now he was alive for the kinslaying, so he is not a stranger to violence against kin. But he thinks that the bond between parents and child is almost sacred and not something easily broken. He is sad when you tell him that the children of men are excluded from the idyllic home life guaranteed to the elves.

But he’s also impressed by you. You’re a good, kind-hearted person despite the tension you grew up in. And he thinks that is something to be admired. He devotes himself to helping establish safe homes for children who grew up like you, especially post-fall and him being sent back to middle earth. And he holds up his promise long after you have perished - committing the house of the golden flower to be a symbol of safe haven.

Tauriel

So, Tauriel, I think is the most understanding of the Woodland elves - she’s a guard, she patrols, I have a feeling she comes into contact with the people of Laketown regularly enough to have experienced a variety of family dynamics.

But she doesn’t expect you to have grown up in a household like that. I think because of Laketown’s apparent poverty post the fall of Dale there is a noticeable uptake in crime. And, unfortunately a lot of crime comes from the broken homes of Laketown - youth acting out to escape their parents bickering, parents causing distress to their children and partners, things like that. I think, subconsciously, she associates unhappy homes with unhappy people.

But you don’t fit the way she thinks. You’re sweet and caring and she feels the weight of cognitive dissonance like a shackle. It takes her awhile to reconcile her view of you but she does her best not to let you see. And she’s decently good at it until she starts asking questions. But she listens carefully and starts to look for warning signs in the people of Laketown that they may need help. She petitions Legolas to speak to his farther to offer refuge to those in Laketown that may need it and asks the dwarves of Erebor to do the same.

Thranduil

Thranduil, I think, suffers from some of the most insular thinking on this list. He focuses on the affairs of his elves and pays no mind to the problems of men. It’s how he’s kept his people safe.

Now, I personally, think Oropher was not the kindest father. I think he was stern and hard to please because he expected the best of himself and his people. So, this affects Thranduil’s perspective on parents quite a bit. He may feel that he was unloved at times but he can attest that his father loved his mother even if he was not good at displaying it. His views are skewed to say the least. So he thinks you’re exaggerating at first.

If two people hated each other as much as you claim, why would they have a child together? Let alone stay together to raise that child?

It takes a lot of explaining for him to realize exactly what you grew up in. And when he does, he feels awful for not believing you. He’s not the best at apologies but he tries to make up for it by extending his services to Laketown. He does eventually find it within himself to apologize to you, directly. And asks that you help him understand.

Legolas

He is gobsmacked. Genuinely, so shocked. I firmly believe that Legolas is one of the youngest elves on this list and as a result he still has some maturing and learning to do.

If this is during the fellowship, he has to ask Boromir and Aragorn if you’re telling the truth - that two people can stay together whilst hating each other. And that it’s common amongst humans. He then gets to learn about Boromir’s childhood as well.

His heart breaks a little. He wants only the best for the people he cares about so he’s saddened and angry to hear the pain in your voice even if it. Is well hidden. He promises, as your friend, to never let you be reminded of your family’s pain. It’s a naive promise but one he means full heartedly.

Note 3: thank you so much for this request, it was a much needed break from King’s Herald and actually helped me solve a plot hole I got into. And thank you for the kind words, I’ve been worried my writing’s gotten stale but hearing that people enjoy it helps me to work out of those funks. Thank you so much.

[earthlybeam]

Not sure if requests are open but if they are may I make one? I loved the ear teasing from the reader. I was thinking another way of the reader teasing the elves for thier attention but in a much more bold way. Like she wears a shirt that shows a nice view of her cleavage and even goes to grab their arm and hug it making sure to press her breasts on their arm or she would press her breasts to their chest or back. Ty!

I absolutely love the idea! I wasn’t sure which character you wanted, and will continue working on more. I’ll definitely post them as I go. Glorfindel, haldir, lindir, Legolas, Elladan, Elrohir are coming soon. Gil-Galad, Thranduil, Elrond, Celebrimbor versions below (you Female reader)

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

The sun was dipping low over Lindon, casting the sky in soft hues of rose and gold. The sea breeze rolled in, cool against your skin, but you barely noticed as your attention remained fixed on one figure—the High King himself.

Gil-galad stood on the balcony overlooking the Gulf of Lune, his tall frame cloaked in silver blue threads gleaming like stars against the velvet fabric. His dark brown hair caught the fading sunlight, a crown of fire atop his proud head. His expression was as composed as ever—calm, unreadable—but there was always a quiet intensity about him, a gravity that only made him more alluring.

You decided to test that composure. Your steps were soft as you approached, the delicate sound of your shoes against the polished stone barely registering over the distant waves. The neckline of your gown dipped daringly low, offering an inviting glimpse of your curves. With boldness humming beneath your skin, you reached out, sliding your hand around his forearm before pressing yourself lightly against it.

His body tensed beneath your touch, the lean muscle of his arm firm beneath your fingers. You tilted your head slightly, a playful smile dancing on your lips as you leaned closer, allowing your breasts to graze against his arm—a deliberate, teasing touch.

“My lord,” you purred, your voice as smooth as fine wine. “You always seem so serious when you stand here alone. Is the weight of the crown too heavy tonight?” Gil-galad’s head turned slightly, his silver blue gaze sweeping down to meet yours. For a heartbeat, he said nothing, but you felt the subtle shift in his stance—the slight tightening of his jaw, the flicker of something darker in his expression.

“You play a dangerous game,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, sending a shiver down your spine. Yet he made no move to pull away. If anything, the weight of his arm shifted subtly against your chest, deliberate as though testing your resolve.

A bolder spark flared within you, and you stepped closer, your body brushing against his side as you slid your hand higher along his arm. “Perhaps I like danger,” you whispered, allowing your lips to hover just near the curve of his jaw, teasing but not quite touching.

His hand moved with elegant precision—faster than you expected. Strong fingers caught your wrist, pulling you gently but firmly until you were standing directly in front of him. Your chest brushed against his, and the warmth of his body seeped through the thin silk of your gown.

“Do you?” His voice was softer now, but the edge beneath it was unmistakable—an undercurrent of restrained desire. His gaze traced the curve of your lips before lifting back to your eyes, sharp and assessing. “You would provoke your king this way?”

Your heart pounded against your ribs, but you refused to shrink beneath his scrutiny. Instead, you allowed your hands to trail up his chest, savoring the feel of him—solid and warm beneath your palms. “Only because I wonder if my king enjoys being provoked,” you countered, your tone playful but laced with challenge.

A quiet chuckle escaped him—a rare, low sound that made your pulse quicken. “You are bolder than most would dare.” His free hand drifted to the small of your back, his fingers brushing your spine in a touch as light as silk. “Do you think I have not noticed your… efforts?”

His words were intoxicating, a promise of something just beneath the surface. Your confidence flared, and you leaned in fully, your breasts pressing firmly against the hard plane of his chest. “Perhaps I wanted you to notice,” you admitted, your breath warm against his skin.

For a moment, the air between you hummed with tension—thick and electric. Then, with slow deliberation, his hand slid further around your waist, pulling you more firmly against him. “Consider me… intrigued,” he said softly, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. But beneath the smooth words, there was no mistaking the hunger in his gaze. “But be careful, my bold one. You may find the fire you play with burns hotter than you expect.” And yet, despite the warning, his grip did not loosen—if anything, it tightened, holding you against him as though he had no intention of letting you go.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The grand halls of the Woodland Realm shimmer in the warm, golden light of the lanterns. The scent of ancient wood and fresh moss lingers in the air as the sound of soft Elven music drifts through the space.

Thranduil stands at the edge of his throne room, his tall, regal frame draped in fine silks and silver-threaded robes. His platinum hair gleams like moonlight as it flows over his shoulders, a sharp contrast to the cold, calculating gaze he directs toward the distant entrance.

He is the picture of unyielding authority—serene, aloof, and untouchable. But you know better. You’ve been testing his patience all evening, and while his face remains unreadable, you sense the tension simmering beneath the surface.

Your attire for the night was no accident—a finely tailored gown cut just low enough to leave little to the imagination. The delicate fabric clings to your curves, and each time you move, the neckline shifts ever so slightly, drawing attention to the swell of your breasts. And if there is one thing you know about Thranduil, it is that despite his cold exterior, he is not immune to temptation—especially when it comes to you.

You glide toward him with deliberate grace, your footsteps soft on the polished stone. When you reach his side, you don’t wait for permission. Instead, you loop your arm through his, pressing yourself against him with just enough pressure to ensure he feels the fullness of your breasts against the firm muscle of his arm.

“Is something troubling you, my lord?” you murmur, your voice smooth and honeyed as you tilt your head up to meet his icy blue eyes. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, and though his expression remains impassive, you do not miss the way his gaze flickers downward—brief but telling. For a moment, the air between you thickens, heavy with unspoken tension.

“You are bold tonight,” he replies, his tone smooth and composed, though there is an unmistakable edge to it. His hand twitches at his side as if resisting the urge to touch you, to pull you closer. “I wonder—do you seek to test my patience, or something else entirely?”

A wicked smile curves your lips as you shift closer still, the swell of your breasts brushing against his side with undeniable intention. “Perhaps I merely enjoy your company,” you purr, allowing your fingers to trail along the length of his forearm, feeling the tautness of the sinew beneath his robes. “Is that so wrong?”

He lets out a soft, nearly imperceptible exhale through his nose—a sign that your antics are not going unnoticed. Without a word, he shifts his arm slightly, as if to dislodge you—but instead, his hand brushes against your waist. The heat of his touch lingers through the thin fabric, even as he attempts to maintain his mask of indifference.

When you step in front of him, bolder still, you press your palms gently against his chest, feeling the smooth fabric stretched over the hard planes of his body. “You seem tense, my king,” you tease, tilting your head so that your breath skims over the elegant line of his jaw. “Allow me to ease your burden.”

Thranduil’s fingers flex at his sides, and this time, when his gaze falls to your cleavage, he does not bother to hide it. “Do you truly believe I am so easily swayed?” he asks, but his voice is quieter now—lower, darker.

You lean in, brushing your breasts deliberately against his chest as you reach up to adjust a lock of his platinum hair that has fallen out of place. The simple touch is intimate—too intimate—and the way his eyes flash with something far more primal makes your pulse quicken. “Not easily,” you admit, letting your lips hover just inches from his. “But perhaps… if I try hard enough…”

His restraint snaps, but only slightly. His hand lifts to your jaw, fingers curling under your chin, tilting your face upward. His thumb brushes along your lower lip with a touch that is both possessive and punishingly gentle. “You play a dangerous game,” he warns, but there is no true heat in the words—only a dangerous hunger beneath his cool facade.

“And if I enjoy the danger?” you challenge, your voice barely a whisper between you. For a heartbeat, you wonder if you have pushed him too far. But then, in one smooth motion, he pulls you flush against him, your body molded to his as his other hand slides along the curve of your waist. The press of your breasts against his chest is no longer teasing—it is all-consuming.

“You seek to tempt me,” he murmurs, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. “And you succeed far too easily.” His lips graze your skin in a touch that leaves you breathless, and when he pulls back, his expression is no longer cold—it is fire and ice entwined, smoldering beneath a thin veneer of control.

“You should tread carefully, my bold little temptress,” he continues, fingers tracing the line of your spine. “For once I decide to claim what is mine…” His lips curve into a faint, wicked smile. “I do not let go easily.” And by the gleam in his eyes, you know that tonight, you have awoken something in him—something he will not allow to go unanswered.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

It’s a quiet evening in Rivendell. The fading light of the setting sun casts a golden hue over the polished marble floors and cascading waterfalls. You find Elrond seated in his study—an elegant, spacious room filled with ancient tomes, scrolls, and the lingering scent of aged parchment.

He’s dressed in flowing silver-and-blue robes, his long, dark hair falling in a sleek cascade over his shoulders. His sharp, timeless features are calm and composed as he reads from an intricately bound volume, though the furrow of his brow suggests his mind is deep in thought. You decide to catch his attention—boldly. You wear a shirt cut just low enough to leave little to the imagination, the curve of your cleavage peeking temptingly from the fabric.

The soft silk clings to your form in all the right places. With deliberate grace, you approach him, the gentle sway of your hips as you walk making your intentions clear. Elrond doesn’t glance up immediately, but you notice the subtle pause in the movement of his fingers as he turns a page—he is aware of your presence.

Without a word, you step behind his chair, leaning down slightly until your breasts press softly against his broad back. The warmth of your body seeps through the fine layers of his robes. You let your hands rest on his shoulders, your fingers tracing delicate circles through the fabric.

“Elrond,” you murmur, your voice soft, sultry—just for him. “You’ve been working far too long. Don’t you think it’s time for a distraction?”At your touch, his shoulders tense for the briefest of moments—a flicker of restrained reaction beneath his composed façade—but then, his posture relaxes beneath your hands.

He turns his head slightly, and when his gaze meets yours, his grey-blue eyes are darker than usual, as though stirred by a rising storm. “You are bold tonight, meleth nín,” he says, his voice smooth and deep, laced with something heavier beneath his usual calm. “Do you seek to test my resolve?”

Without answering, you move around the chair, standing before him. Before he can return to his book, you lower yourself onto the edge of his desk. The movement draws his eyes downward—he cannot ignore the teasing glimpse of your cleavage as you lean forward, intentionally brushing against his arm when you reach out to touch his hand.

His hand remains still beneath yours, but the heat radiating from his skin is undeniable. With deliberate slowness, you slide your fingers up his forearm, savoring the feel of the strength hidden beneath the silk. You pull his hand gently toward you, guiding it to rest on your thigh as you lean closer, your breasts brushing lightly against his chest. “Elrond,” you whisper again, your lips tantalizingly close to his ear. “I am only as bold as you allow me to be. Have I gone too far?”

His breath hitches—just for a moment—and his fingers flex against your thigh, betraying his composure. But when he speaks, his voice is low and measured.“You know well that you walk a fine line,” he replies, his hand remaining on your thigh, firm and warm. “Do you seek to unravel my restraint, ind-nîn?”

Your boldness only grows. You shift forward slightly, closing the remaining space between your bodies until your breasts are pressed fully against his chest. You tilt your head, brushing your lips along the edge of his jaw—a teasing, feather-light touch.

“And if I am?” you challenge softly. For a heartbeat, Elrond remains still—calculating, controlled. But then, his hand tightens ever so slightly on your thigh, his other hand rising to brush against your waist. His thumb traces a slow, deliberate path along your side, igniting a warmth that spreads through you.

His expression remains composed, but there is a glint of something far more primal in his eyes as he speaks, his voice just above a whisper. “Then you shall learn, meleth nín,” he murmurs, tilting his head so that his lips hover just above yours, “that even my patience has its limits.”

And with those words, his hand slides higher, his touch burning through the thin fabric between you. Though his restraint holds—for now—you can feel the weight of his desire hanging heavy in the air between you, and you know that it would take very little to make him abandon all pretense of composure.

💍𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓻

The forge hummed softly in the background, the air warm and laced with the faint scent of molten metal and polished wood. Celebrimbor stood at his workbench, his mithril hammer resting lightly in his hand as he inspected a delicate circlet—a new design, intricate and shining beneath the light. His focus was razor-sharp, as it always was when he worked, the smooth lines of his face set with intense concentration.

But then—you entered. The gentle click of your heels across the stone floor made his pointed ears twitch slightly, but he did not immediately turn. It wasn’t until you were close—very close—that he faltered. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the soft shimmer of your shirt—cut low enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of your cleavage. The smooth curve of your skin stood out against the dark fabric, and the way it hugged your figure was… impossible to ignore.

He swallowed hard, but his fingers, usually so steady, tensed. “Celebrimbor,” you murmured, your voice low and warm, laced with playful mischief. Before he could respond, you reached for him—delicate fingers wrapping around his forearm. You pressed yourself against him, the soft swell of your breasts molding against his lean, muscular arm as you held him close.

The tension in his body spiked—he stiffened beneath your touch, though not from discomfort. No, the slight hitch in his breath betrayed him. His pale skin, always so serene, bloomed with a faint flush across his high cheekbones. Still, his voice remained steady—barely .“What… are you doing?” he asked, his tone caught between genuine curiosity and a tremor of restraint.

You smiled—sweet, bold, unrepentant. “Just making sure you aren’t working yourself too hard,” you purred, leaning in until your lips were dangerously close to the pointed curve of his ear. “It would be such a shame if you neglected anything important.”

The hand holding his arm slid a fraction lower, brushing against the warmth of his skin through the thin sleeve. You shifted your stance slightly—just enough to press your chest more firmly against him. Your softness contrasted with the toned lines of his body, and for a heartbeat, you felt his muscles flex beneath your touch.

His jaw tightened as if he were trying to maintain control, but his free hand—usually so precise—curled into a fist by his side. “You’re… distracting,” he admitted, a rare vulnerability slipping through his usually composed façade.

Satisfied, you tilted your head and let your lips graze softly along his jawline—just a whisper of a touch that sent a shiver rippling through him. The sensation clearly rattled him; his perfect composure cracked ever so slightly.

“I should stop, then,” you teased, loosening your hold as though to pull away—but his reaction was immediate. “No,” he said—quieter, rougher than you expected. His hand moved at last, firm fingers curling delicately but possessively around your wrist. “Stay.”

His eyes, usually so distant in their focus, burned when they finally met yours—light gray but stormy now, clouded with something deeper. For a moment, all the walls he so carefully maintained crumbled under the weight of his desire.

You pressed your advantage, moving in front of him and sliding your arms around his waist—this time resting your chest against his. The heat of his body was intoxicating, the tension humming beneath his skin palpable. His breath came faster now, his heart hammering beneath your touch.

“Do you always let distractions linger this long, my lord?” you asked, your lips curling into a wicked smile. His lips parted as though to answer—but instead, he surprised you. Slowly—hesitantly—he dropped his mithril hammer onto the workbench behind him and brought both hands to your waist. His touch was firm, but reverent, as though he was still trying to convince himself this was real.

“I’ve never had a distraction quite like you,” he confessed softly, the words carrying a weight you hadn’t anticipated. And when you shifted again—pressing your body fully against his chest—you swore you felt his hold tighten, his self-control hanging by a frayed thread.

Whatever pride or restraint usually held him back was slipping away. And, judging by the way his hands lingered—fingers brushing just beneath the hem of your shirt—he wasn’t eager to regain it.

[criticallyinneedofadar]

An Unexpected Joy

A/N: A bit of Gil Galad fluff... making Gil Gadaddy a reality ;) Also- look at his haiiiirrrrr its so prettyyyyy

Pairing: Ereinion Gil Galad x reader

Word Count: 1.7K

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Your steps are light as you tread through the dimmed corridors of the camp, the night’s quiet punctuated by the soft crackling of distant fires. The mingling scents of smoke and herbs fill the air, earthy and pungent, the healers’ remedies still clinging to the battlefield’s recent memory. You feel the strain of conflict clinging to you like a shadow, its weight not yet lifted. Eregion has fallen, its people scattered across hills and ravines, each soul a flicker of light in the dark. And yet here you are, walking through the ruins and remnants, driven by a miracle you had only dared to dream, an ache of longing finally met.

The trail narrows as you descend deeper into the glade, down to a secluded grove nestled at the bottom of a ravine. You pause, the sound of water trickling nearby, a peaceful counterpoint to the fury you’ve left behind. The ravine is shrouded in a thick, quiet darkness, broken only by glimmers of starlight filtering through the leaves. You continue carefully, following the faint tracks left by those who came before, your heart guided by an unshakeable instinct. At last, you see them: Ereinion, your beloved, King Gil-galad, seated vigilantly on a low log beside the resting figure of Galadriel.

She lies on a bed of soft moss, her silver-gold hair spilled across the ground like moonlight. Her breathing is soft, a steady rise and fall, each breath a testament to the healing power of the rings. The harshness of battle has fallen away from her in sleep, leaving only peace in its place.

Ereinion sits nearby, his gaze fixed on her with a soft intensity, as though even in this quiet moment he must protect her from unseen threats. His face, usually so stern in the presence of others, is touched by gentleness in the solitude of the glade. The firelight from a nearby torch dances over his features, highlighting the weary lines etched by long years and countless sacrifices. His hair tumbles over his shoulders, dark and unbound, catching glints of silver in the starlight, and for a moment, you pause, heart full, seeing in him the king and the man you’ve loved for centuries.

Quietly, you approach, hoping not to disturb him, but the soft rustle of your steps gives you away. He turns, his gaze catching yours, and in his eyes, you see a flicker of relief, of joy, mingled with something deeper. Here, in this hidden glade, with the echoes of war left above, you find yourself on the cusp of sharing a revelation more profound than any you’ve carried before.

“Meleth nîn,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he turns to you. His eyes soften with an unspeakable relief as they meet yours, and he steps forward, closing the distance in one swift, unhesitating motion. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close as if you are his very breath, his anchor in this ravaged land. “You’re here. Safe. How did we escape without a scratch?”

You melt into his embrace, letting the warmth of his touch wash over you, steadying the parts of yourself still shaken from the day’s terror. “By some grace we did,” you say softly, resting your head against his chest. The steady beat of his heart calms you, grounding you in this moment. You close your eyes, breathing him in, and for a second, all the fear, the grief, the worry dissipate like mist.

But as the silence deepens, your thoughts turn to Galadriel, who still lies in a quiet slumber. “And Galadriel?” you ask, your voice a mere murmur against his shoulder. “Will she recover?”

He sighs, a weight in his breath that you can feel deep within his chest. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, the flicker of sadness and resolve in his gaze unmistakable. “Her wound was dark, festering from the touch of Morgoth’s crown itself,” he says, his voice low and strained. “It was… worse than I could have imagined. She has endured great pain, more than any soul should bear. We feared the wound might take her, that the shadow clinging to her would devour even her spirit.”

His gaze falls to where she lies, his eyes softening with a deep affection and sorrow. “But the rings have done their work. She is healing, the darkness lifted, though it took all we had to cast it out. Now, she only needs to wake. It will take time, yet I believe she will return to us.”

You follow his gaze, taking in Galadriel’s peaceful, sleeping form. Her face, though still and pale, no longer bears the strain that had marked it before, her breathing deep and even. Relief fills you, mingled with a gratitude too immense to name. She has survived a shadow few could endure—and in some quiet way, that gives you strength. 

The words press against your lips, a tremor of anticipation and uncertainty, too immense, too impossible to hold back any longer. Yet as they linger, unspoken, a wave of nervousness washes over you. The enormity of what you are about to reveal fills you with both joy and fear, and for a moment, you hesitate, wondering if this fragile new hope should remain a secret for just a moment longer, kept safe from the harshness of the world.

But Ereinion is watching you closely, his gaze shifting from tender relief to concern. He pulls back, searching your face with quiet intensity, sensing the weight of what you hold back. "Are you truly alright, meleth nîn?" he asks softly, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek. "You look… troubled." His voice is gentle, and his brow furrows, the ever-present protector surfacing in his gaze.

You swallow, heart pounding. "I am," you whisper, voice barely a breath. But the truth wells up in you like light breaking through darkness, and you realize you cannot hold it in any longer. With a deep, shuddering breath, you close the small distance between you and rest your forehead against his, feeling the strength of his presence, his warmth, grounding you.

"There's something else, Ereinion," you say, your words trembling with the weight of them. Your hands, trembling but sure, reach for his and guide them to rest gently over your stomach. You press his hands there, urging him silently to feel, to sense the delicate, radiant spark of life that stirs within you—a light so faint, yet already strong, like the glimmer of a star.

His fingers curl instinctively over your stomach, and you watch as his expression shifts, disbelief dawning in his eyes, mingling with wonder. You feel his breath hitch, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moves. It’s as if the world itself has stilled, holding its breath for this impossible truth. And then, like a whisper only he can hear, he senses it—the faint yet unmistakable light of the fae stirring within you, growing, living.

"A child?" His voice is barely audible, choked with wonder and joy, his gaze filled with awe as he looks down at your joined hands, as if the world has rearranged itself around this single, precious moment.

For a heartbeat, there is only silence, but then realization dawns in his eyes, followed swiftly by the gleam of pure joy. He clasps your hands, disbelief mingling with awe. “A child!” His laughter, bright and unrestrained, fills the air. He pulls you into him, pressing a kiss to your lips, as though your happiness has rekindled some part of him worn by the years of warfare.

When he draws back, you can see his mind already racing, the strategist within him awakening. “But what of the battle’s toll on you?” he asks, concern darkening his features as he cups your face. “Are you unharmed? You’ve been through so much—how can I be sure—”

“I’m fine, my love,” you assure him, pressing your hand over his. “Whole and safe. Our child is strong.”

He exhales in relief, though his eyes linger on your face, still assessing, still planning. “Then I’ll make sure that nothing will threaten you both,” he promises fervently. “You must have the best care, a fortified place far from the battlefronts. And when the battle breaks out again…” His thoughts tumble over one another as he strategizes how to keep you safe, listing every precaution, every arrangement, his love woven into each detail.

With a smile, you reach up and quiet him with a gentle kiss. “Ereinion,” you murmur, resting your forehead against his. “We’ll do this together. The timing may not be what we imagined, but together we can weather it.” The warmth of your words and touch stills his worry, and he nods, a faint smile lifting his lips. His hand covers yours, resting over the life you now share.

Before you can speak again, a dry voice cuts through the quiet of the glade, laced with humor and unmistakable sharpness. "I must be more wounded than I thought," Galadriel drawls, her eyes barely open but glinting with mischief. “Or perhaps I’m hallucinating… It’s either that, or I am far too injured to stomach such sickening affection.”

You and Ereinion both turn, momentarily startled, and find her watching you from her place on the moss-covered ground, a small, genuine smile tugging at her lips. Laughter bubbles up between you, spilling into the soft night air, as relief and joy mingle freely. Still chuckling, Ereinion lifts his gaze, meeting Galadriel’s with a smirk.

“Ah, but don’t strain yourself further, Lady of Light,” he replies, voice dripping with feigned reproach as he holds you tighter in his arms. “It wouldn’t do for you to exhaust yourself any more than necessary. Not all of us are accustomed to such stoic detachment from matters of the heart.”

Galadriel huffs, managing to roll her eyes in spite of her injuries. “I will recover, Ereinion, if only to save myself from enduring another moment of this spectacle.” But there is warmth in her gaze as it drifts between the two of you, a faint shimmer that speaks of her own hidden joy. Though she hides it well, you can see the spark of approval in her eyes, an unspoken blessing shared in the soft, knowing look that only a friend and ally can give.

You rest your head against Ereinion’s shoulder, and for a moment, the world feels untouched by shadows, your heart buoyed by this rare, shared joy. You steal one more glance at your husband, the glimmer of hope rekindling between you. Whatever lies ahead—whatever battles or burdens the future may hold—you know you’ll face it hand in hand, just as you always have.

[doodle-pops]

When You Disappeared After A Fight And They Thought You Left Them

Headcanon: Celebrimbor, Finarfin, Finrod, Glorfindel, Elrond, Gil-Galad

A/N: I realised it’s been far too long since I last wrote for Celebrimbor and Gil-Galad. Don’t worry, no crazy angst, just humour, and hurt/comfort.

Synopsis: After a heated argument, you decided to take a walk to clear your head, only to end up getting caught in a storm, resulting in your absence for a week. They, on the other hand, thought the worse until your return.

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Celebrimbor

You stepped through the doorway soaked to the bone, your cloak heavy with rain, and boots caked with half-dried mud from the trail. Your fingers were numb by the time you pushed open the forge door, the hinges groaning in a way that made you wince. There was a moment you expected anger, or worse, indifference. But what you got instead was the echo of something heavy crashing to the floor, followed by the very loud, very uneven clatter of tools spilling everywhere.

There he was, Celebrimbor shot around the corner like he’d been fired from a war bow. His hair was a mess, half-tied back with soot streaking his cheek, and the look on his face—pure disbelief.

“You—” He stopped dead in his tracks, clenching and unclenching his jaw. Then unhinged as though a dozen words had just jammed up behind his teeth, he took a shaky step forward. “You’re alive?”

You blinked at him. “What?”

He strode to you without hesitation and grabbing your face in both calloused hands, eyes darting over your soaked features like he couldn’t believe you were real. “I thought you left. You didn’t send word. You didn’t—by the Valar, I thought you were dead or that you—” He sucked in a ragged breath and pulled back, fists clenched. “I thought you left me. Because of what I said.”

Brushing wet strands of hair out of your face, you rolled your eyes. “Because you acted like a stubborn ass and I didn’t feel like getting struck by lightning trying to hike back here during a bloody storm?”

He stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “Storm?”

You gestured at yourself, dripping onto the floor. “Yes. Storm. The week-long monsoon from hell? Trees falling, floods, livestock floating by? What, did you think I was tanning in Ereigon?”

He didn’t say anything while his brows furrowed deeper and hand slowly rose to rub over his face like he was trying to scrub away his shame. “I thought—” He looked away. “I deserved it. I said too much. I was cruel. I...I never should have said those things.”

You dropped your cloak with a thud. “No, you shouldn’t have. You were an ass. You said I never understood your work. That I was only here because I liked the forge’s heat and the free jewellery.”

“I know,” he cut in, wincing. “I know. It was vile. I was angry and—”

“No. You were scared,” you said, stepping into his space, glaring up at him. “Because I told you you’re not a god, and your projects don’t get to eat you alive. And instead of listening, you threw that in my face.”

He sagged visibly. “I haven’t slept in a week. I couldn’t. The bed didn’t feel right without you in it. The forge didn’t sound the same. I couldn’t tell if I was hallucinating you or remembering you wrong. And I’d come home every night hoping you’d be here, and every night the door stayed shut.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So...you missed me?”

His expression was dry enough to bake bread. “I was halfway to building a replica of you from spare chainmail links and cursing your name the entire time. So, yes. I missed you.”

You crossed your arms with a slow smirk forming. “And?”

“And I’m sorry,” he said quickly, eyes holding yours. “I’ll never say anything like that again. Even when I’m angry, especially when I’m angry. Because losing you—thinking I’d lost you—it wasn’t just unbearable. It made me realise I care about us more than I care about anything I’ve ever made.”

You held his gaze letting him squirm a moment longer out of a quest for satisfaction, then stepped forward and shoved your cold, wet face against his chest. “Good. Because if I’d made it home and you were off brooding in a cave somewhere, I’d have gone back into that storm and hoped for a lightning bolt.”

Releasing let out a short, breathy laugh, his arms wound tightly around your waist. “Remind me to temper my mouth next time.”

“I’ll temper your ass next time.”

“Already sculpting the armour for that, love.”

Finarfin

You opened the heavy front door, expecting silence. Maybe even the stern face of a king trying to pretend he hadn’t cried into a dozen embroidered handkerchiefs. But what you weren’t expecting was to be immediately tackled by golden robes and a blur of hair smelling like lilac oil and nervous sweat.

He squeezed you so tight your spine protested audibly. “Yavanna’s tits, you’re alive!” he gasped against your shoulder, and you had a split second to marvel at him swearing before your feet left the ground.

“Put me down!” you protested while poking his shoulder. “I’ve just walked six leagues through wet forest—I probably smell like moss!”

Suddenly releasing you, his hands moved to cup your face, eyes frantic. “You disappeared. No word. Not even a note. I scoured the coastline. Sent birds. Rode out with the guards. I interrogated a goose herder because he thought he saw someone matching your description two days ago.”

“A goose herder?” you asked, deadpan.

“Bribed him with a wheel of cheese and four loaves of honeyed bread.”

You blinked. “You bribed a man to tell you where I went using baked goods?”

“It’s what I had on hand!” he snapped, then let out a breath and took a half step back. “Where were you?”

You peeled off your dripping cloak and stepped out your soggy boots. “Nearby village. Storm rolled in hard. Bridge collapsed. I was stuck for days before someone even managed to repair the road out.”

He stared, clearly dumbfounded. “You didn’t leave?”

You levelled him a look. “Of course not. Just because you said I had the diplomacy of a drunken orc doesn’t mean I’d up and vanish. I was angry, not deranged.”

His face went sheet white. “I—oh.” He dropped into the nearest chair like his knees had turned to pudding. “You were just stuck. Not gone.”

“I would never just leave you like that,” your muttered in an obvious tone while crossing the room to plop yourself into his lap, and flick his nose. “Although, if you ever talk to me like that again during an argument, I will exile myself. To Angband.”

“I was furious, and stupid, and possibly drunk on elderberry wine. But the moment you were gone, I felt like a hollow man playing king to a room full of ghosts,” he grunted, voice muffled as he buried his face into your neck and arms around your waist, squeezing you tightly.

“You didn’t change the bedsheets.”

He looked up. “Of course not.”

You softened, fingers slipping through his hair. “Next time, trust me to come back. Storms pass. Tempers cool. But you are my home.”

His mouth curled into a small, sheepish smile. “Even when I say utterly regrettable things about your tact?”

“Especially then. Because someone’s got to keep your golden head from floating too far off your shoulders.”

“I shall make it up to you.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw. “Name your price.”

“Hot bath and food. And I’m choosing the bedtime story tonight.”

He grinned. “Even if it’s the one where I accidentally insulted a goose herder and got smacked with a bread roll?”

“Especially that one.”

“And if I cried into my council robes?”

“Oh, I assume you did.”

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Not even if Eru himself demanded it.”

Finrod

The halls were obscenely quiet when you entered. The kind of silence that only existed when someone refused to acknowledge anything around them because they were still stewing. The sheer thought prompted another eye roll—your nth number for the week.

Your cloak dripped steadily onto the mosaic floor of the palace, and you kicked off your boots just inside the entrance. You hadn’t the opportunity to make it three steps before Finrod’s voice echoed coldly from the corridor behind you.

“So you do remember where you live.”

Slowly, you turned to be treated by the sight of him standing with arms crossed, jaw clenched tight, and his golden hair slightly dishevelled like he’d been dragging his hands through it for hours. Nice to see how crazy you were capable of driving him.

You raised a brow, returning the same air of authority. “Nice to see you too.”

Striding forward with an expression so thunderous, he stopped a foot away. “You were gone. A week. No word. No message from the servants. Not even a whisper from the wind.”

“I was trapped in one of the nearby humam settlements. The roads flooded, so one could leave, and the villagers were too busy tying down roofs from becoming birds in the raging wind.”

“I assumed you’d left because of our argument,” he pointed out tightly. “That you’d walked out because I pushed you too far.”

“You told me I didn’t understand what it meant to rule. That I was selfish for questioning your council.”

“I said that in anger!” His voice cracked through the room. “And I regretted it the moment you walked away! I thought, give them time. A day. Maybe two. But then three passed. Then four. The storm hit, and every rider I sent returned empty-handed—”

“You sent riders?” you questioned in softness.

“Dozens.” He scrubbed his face with both hands. “And when they found nothing, I thought maybe…maybe you left because I made you feel like you didn’t belong.”

He looked at you with all the sharpness fading into raw hurt. “Do you have any idea what it’s like walking these halls thinking you’ve destroyed the best thing in your life with a few words? I held court with a mask for six days and couldn’t remember what you looked like when you smiled.”

Your mouth twitched. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Entirely.” His tone didn’t even attempt denial. “I was halfway through composing a lament by the fifth night.”

“My goodness.”

“Yes. There were rhymes.”

You made a noise of mock horror. “Please tell me you didn’t sing.”

“I’m not saying I did.” He looked sideways. “But if I did, it was very moving.”

You couldn’t resist snorting. “You idiot.”

His shoulders sagged. “Your idiot,” he corrected, then softened his tone with an ounce of hesitation, “if you’ll still have me.”

Closing the gap, you reached up to cup his face, and his hands flew to your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. “I would’ve sent word if I could,” you murmured. “But the weather was horrible. And…I was angry. But I didn’t leave you.”

Slowly he exhaled, pressing his forehead against yours. “Good. Because I love you. And if you had left, I’d have to write a second lament.”

“You absolute menace.”

“Still your menace.”

Glorfindel

Glorfindel appeared in the hallway like the same storm you just faced—wild hair unbraided, tunic only half-buttoned, his expression caught between fury, disbelief, and the unmistakable shine of near-tears. The moment your foot crossed the threshold, you barely had time to shut the door before the sound of his boots thundered across the floor, approaching.

“You,” he growled, pointing an accusatory finger like he wasn’t entirely convinced you weren’t some hallucination conjured by a grief-addled mind. “You vanished for a week!”

You dropped your soaked cloak with a soggy thud and blinked at him, soaked from head to toe. “There was a storm. The roads were flooded—”

“I know there was a storm!” he snapped. “I sent out three search parties! I threatened to punch Círdan when he suggested you might’ve just needed ‘space’!”

“You threatened Círdan?” you cried in utter disbelief.

He threw up his arms. “He was being philosophical at me when I hadn’t slept since the third day! I thought you were dead, or kidnapped! Or—” his voice cracked, and the rage drained out of him, leaving him standing there looking wrecked and years older.

“…Or gone,” he whispered quietly. “And I couldn’t even remember what the last thing I said to you was. Only that you were angry. And then you were gone.”

Your brows furrowed as you stepped forward, boots squelching on the wood. “You told me I was being ‘dramatic,’ Fin.”

“I meant adorably dramatic,” he muttered instantly, stepping toward you with equal urgency. “You were huffing. Your nose scrunches when you’re angry, it’s precious—and you know I’m terrible with words when I’m angry—”

You narrowed your eyes. “You called me a spoiled elfling and stormed out.”

“…Okay,” he admitted, wincing. “Not my finest moment. But I stormed out intending to return and apologise! I bought apple pastries on the way back! And when I returned you were just…gone. No note. No sign. And then the storm hit, and I kept thinking, what if the last thing you ever heard from me was—was that?”

He looked almost offended when you didn’t immediately throw yourself into his arms to console him. Instead, you wrung out your cloak and calmly replied, “You’re the one who stormed off like you were starring in a stage play.”

There a strangled noise that was somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “I was dramatic. Fine. But—you were the one who walked into the rain and disappeared like some moody soliloquy. You didn’t think maybe sending a bird? A single raven?”

“I tried,” you replied sarcastically. “The damn birds couldn’t fly in the storm. One nearly got knocked out of the sky by a tree branch the size of your ego.”

He opened his mouth. Shut it. Then gave a grudging nod before the silence stretched. His hands clenched and unclenched like he didn’t know what to do with them. Then, with a grumble, he reached forward and tugged you into his arms.

You were still soggy, but he didn’t care.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight again,” he murmured, burying his face in your shoulder. “You’re lucky I didn’t start writing poems in mourning and have every elf in Imladris listen to me.”

You snorted. “You’d write poems?”

“Dramatic and weeping.”

“You really are ridiculous.”

“You love me.”

“…Unfortunately.”

He kissed your neck, desperate and rough. “Don’t vanish on me again. Or I will punch Círdan.”

Elrond

The moment Elrond saw you walking through the front gates of Imladris, muddy, rain-streaked, and glaring at the sky like it had insulted your lineage, he dropped the teacup he’d been holding. Not caring that it shattered beyond repair—as did his composure.

“Where in the Void have you been?”

You flinched, clearly you had been imagining this exact moment for seven storm-soaked days and still weren’t ready for it. “Well, hello to you, too,” you croaked, pushing back your hood. “You wouldn’t believe the week I’ve had—”

“You disappeared,” he cut in, striding toward you with wide, sharp eyes. “Without a note. Without a message. Even without your cloak, for Eru’s sake! And after that—”

“—ridiculous argument,” you finished. “Yes. I remember. Mostly the part where you accused me of never taking anything seriously and that being with you was a responsibility, not a game.”

He stopped in his tracks. “I didn’t mean—”

“You did,” you snapped. “And I was furious. So I took a walk for some air. Then for half an hour before the heavens cracked open, a tree fell on the road, and a lovely travelling merchant shoved me into a barn before I was flattened by lightning.”

“You could have sent a bird—”

“Oh, yes! Of course. Send a bird in the middle of a raging storm!” you exclaimed, flailing your hands in the air. “Why didn’t I think about that?”

He rubbed his face with both hands and made a sound that could only be described as part groan, part sob. “I thought you were gone. Not ‘temporarily cross and got caught in a freak storm’ gone—actually gone. I haven’t slept. I’ve started yelling at the staff. I called Glorfindel ‘ammë’ yesterday.”

You paused and raised an eyebrow. “Did he cry?”

“He curtsied.”

Well, that was the cue that broke you. You doubled over with laughter while Elrond stood there, baffled and tired and vaguely damp from standing outside in his night robe all week like some cursed spirit.

“Look,” you said, voice shaking as you sobered up, “I didn’t plan to vanish. But you hurt me. You said something harsh, I said something worse, and then I got stranded with a farmer who thought my name was ‘Moss.’”

“Moss?”

“I was too tired to correct him.”

Cautiously, he stepped closer with his eyes dropping to your feet. “I am sorry. I was harsh, and worried, and frightened.”

“I know,” you muttered. “I figured that out somewhere between the second lightning strike and the moment a goat tried to eat my sleeve.”

“Come inside,” he said softly while reaching out to clasp your fingers and guide you indoor. “You’re soaked, blue and clearly on the brink of falling ill. Your boots are—are those not your boots?”

“They belonged to a man named Oloron who lost his in the river. We swapped. Don’t ask.”

Stepping closer, he lifted his hand to cradle your face, his warm thumb rubbing your cold skin. “I missed you. The house missed you. The trees were quiet.”

“That’s creepy.”

“It’s true.”

Instinctively leaned into him without warning, and he caught you without hesitation, arms dropping to warm around you like he thought you might vanish again if he didn’t anchor you down.

“Say it again,” you murmured into his chest.

“I missed you.”

“Good. Don’t forget it.”

“I won’t.”

Gil-galad

The halls of Lindon were colder than usual. Not from the biting winds or damp stone, but from your absence, resulting in the great High King from not slept in a week—he barely ate, save for the few times Elrond had coaxed him into chewing through half a honeyed fig like some pitiful, lovesick warlord. All because you two had argued. Loudly.

It first started off a something petty—maybe it was about the council and his constant dodging of your concerns, or maybe the usual ‘you don’t understand the pressure I carry’ rubbish—before escalating. Whatever it was, he’d been dismissive, you’d been furious, and by the time the shouting had stopped, so had your presence in the house.

You hadn’t left a message with the maids. No word. Not even a note. Nothing but a door left ajar and silence heavier than the storm clouds that rolled in that night.

For two days, he searched, storm or not. Rode halfway to Forlond and back with soaked boots and a bruised ego. It didn’t matter that the rain pelted like knives or that his guards warned him of landslides. You were gone. You could have been dead for all he knew, and the last words he’d thrown at you had been, “If you can’t handle this life, perhaps you shouldn’t be part of it.”

Beautiful. Regal. Worthy of carving onto his tombstone, right next to Beloved Idiot.

So when the front door creaked open on the eighth morning, dripping with mud and exhaustion, and you stumbled in with your cloak barely clinging to your shoulders, Gil-galad froze mid-pace on the staircase.

“...You have three seconds to explain before I start wailing like a widow.”

You blinked at him, water streaming off your nose. “I got stuck in a bloody storm,” you grumbled. “The bridge collapsed, the path to Lindon was flooded, and the only inn in the village had one bed, and a family of six already in it. So, I’ve been drying socks by the hearth of an old woman named Sarah who thought I was some war orphan.”

“You didn’t think to send someone?”

“In the raging storm?”

“Birds fly in storms!”

“Yes, foolish Birds who have a death wish.”

He stomped down the stairs. “Do you have any idea what I thought happened? I buried you in my head five times! I thought you were dead, or worse—gone. Just…left.”

“Well that’s romantic.” You threw your arms in the air, which would’ve been more dramatic had you not slapped a soaked glove into your own face. “Why would I just leave?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he barked, sarcasm thick. “Maybe because your husband said something truly wretched and didn’t even apologise before you vanished into a torrential abyss?”

Your glare could’ve melted mithril at this point. “I was going to come home after a day, but then mudslides happened and cows started floating down the river like logs, and some bloody elf thought that was the perfect time to lecture me about duty and whether I’m ‘suited’ for this life!”

He winced. “...Yes. That would be me.”

“No shit.”

You both stared at each other, soaking wet and shaking for very different reasons. But then he stepped forward and flung his arms around you, his warrior-made body weighted upon yours and solid against your weary bones.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured into your hair. “And probably hungry. I left stew on the fire. It’s awful. I overdid the garlic. But it’s warm.”

You stifled a laugh at the absurdity of him assuming you would leave him, unsure whether to cry or punch him. “You thought I left.”

“I did. And if you ever actually leave without a message again, I’ll throw myself into the sea.”

You snorted while attempting to gently pry him off so his attire wouldn’t be drenched and smelling, however, he resisted your efforts. “You’d float. You’re too full of hot air.”

“Not the sweet reunion I was hoping for,” he muttered, burying his face into your neck. “But I’ll take it. Just don’t go running off without me.”

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[youlikefanficdontyousquidward]

All the Kings horses

Summary: When your injured in Eregion Gil-Galad has to confess his feelings.

There may be a smutty sequel to this in time but for now enjoy another shorter fic.

This morning you were reveling in the beauty of Lindon, admiring the golden leaves drifting through the gentle breeze and singing songs of hope and love with your kin. Now you sat on horse back, clad in your silver armor and preparing to march to Eregion.

You rode just behind your dear friend Elrond with the High King beside him. As the current captain of the King's guard had been sent with most of Lindon's forces to march into Mordor it fell to the few left to take up his mantle. The responsibility weighed heavy on your mind. Sure you weren't the only one who would be ensuring his safety but to you it was a personal matter.

You'd met the young High King when you were a simple foot soldier. You had fought under his banner against the forces of Morgoth. There you saw him on the battle field, his broad form clashing against the enemy. His spear glinting in the light as he spun it with a grace that left you speechless. He was every bit the King you'd imagined and when his firm grasp clasped your hand to help you rise, you swore you'd fight for him until the end.

It had been an age since then and you were sure he had not remembered one soldier from such a battle. Still he had always treated you with respect despite your low rank. Asking your opinion on trivial matters, or sharing with you a book or two to enjoy in your free time.

When the horses stopped to rest, you dismounted and took your post. You were unsure why you'd been ordered to stand guard inside the King's tent. The honor rightfully should have gone to higher ranked guard but you were not about to question your temporary captain. Not when the power had gone right to her head and not when it let you gaze at your King.

Elrond entered and you bowed your head to him with a smirk but there was no levity to be found. His face was serious as he placed a hand on your shoulder. He passed on to speak to your King and you were left feeling more apprehensive about the battle to come.

It was a bad omen indeed and when the fighting began you stayed back with King GIl-Galad and a few of the guards. As Elrond had explained they need only fend off the orcs until dawn. By then Prince Durin would've brought his army from Khazad-dum for much needed reinforcements. Too many had already fallen and you felt your hands itch for your sword.

"Enough!" Your King growled. "I will not stand by as my people are slaughtered."

There was no argument, none of the guards dared disobey and from the firm nods of your kin you knew it was settled. You rode in formation, the bow man taking out threats as you made your way into the fray.

From horse back you struck down at closing in orcs, keeping yourself between them and your King. As your group neared the cleared river bed the bow man was struck. You'd barely known him, just another face you passed in your duties but you'd done so for 200 years. Now that face struck the wet ground with a snap you could hear over the cries of battle. There was a shout and the elleth flanking the King went flying off her horse as it fell. You rode on, catching a glimpse of her fighting against a gathering group of orcs.

You stayed by King Gil-Galad through the night, fighting by his side as the field grew quieter. You met Elrond on the field, loosing a throwing knife to strike an assailant coming up behind him. You lost your 2nd and 3rd in close combat, to the eye and toe of orcs.

You lost the last when it became lodged in the skull of an orc that almost clipped the King's armor. You'd had it in hand and leapt onto the beast, knocking it down and stabbing up through the mouth. You heaved in deep breathes, the prolonged fight starting to wear on you and rose from off the corpse.

Gil-Galad stood, haloed by the first light of dawn. His hair loose and glowing stands dancing in the breeze. Morning had come and a horse stood on the hill. Vorohil had returned and worse for wear. Despite the arrows he managed to ride to you, collapsing into Elrond but he brought no comfort. The dwarves were not coming.

Still your King called you to ranks and the battle continued. Each sword slash felt like you were trying to stop the flow of a great river. No matter how many fell the fight never stopped. You were pushed back past the wall into Eregion, baring witness to the city in ruins. You could not abandon hope now however, with each moment you fought on those within the city were granted time to escape.

Pain erupted from your leg, an arrow piercing into the flesh of your thigh. You screamed before blocking the orc approaching, crashing your head past the joint blades and crushing their nose with your helm. It fell loose and clattered against the stone path, rolling to stop by the feet of an approaching horde.

You stepped back, meeting your King against you. In a moment of silent connection you knew he was seeing much the same thing. You'd lost sight of Elrond some streets back and hoped that somehow he'd appear now. Slaying his way to rescue his King.

You fought on but in the narrow passage you lost your sword. You heard Gil-Galad call your name but you couldn't see him in the mass of orc's beating down on you.

Your mind seemed to swim in to the depths, going dark and blank for many minutes at a time before you surfaced for a moment. In blinks it seemed you went from face down on the carved stone of the street to your arms painfully gripped as your limp body dragged after you. Flashes of carnage, orc, elf, blood, viscera, all blurring into a collage of suffering. In the dark of your mind you smelt burning but couldn't draw the strength to open your eyes. The warm sensation trickling from your hairline, down your face was a likely culprit.

"Lord Sauron said we don't need these ones..." A nasally voice spoke near by.

Your hair was pulled painfully, jolting your head back and for a moment you could see again. Gil-Galad, your King and the only elf to ever take such root in your heart, strained against his captors. Something cold touched your throat but in the haze you were back in Lindon, receiving your armor for the first time since the war. Elrond was there too, shouting, congratulations maybe? Everything was perfect and tranquil. The leaves fell gently on the wind and you shut your eyes.

When they opened again all you knew was pain. So loud it thrummed in your head that all else seemed drowned out by it. You groaned against it, shifting to try assess cause. A large hand landed on your shoulder and you flinched.

"Apologies." A strained voice spoke withdrawing. "Just take a moment."

Your hand came up to your face, rubbing against the brightness of the light ahead. It came away with russet flakes sticking to your fingers.

"And perhaps we don't reopen our head wounds while we're at it." Gil-Galad's voice came crisper now.

"Wher..." You began, jolting suddenly and reaching for your missing sword.

Gil-Galads hands took your own, encompassing them with ease and radiating in you such calm that you forgot your pounding heart.

"Safe, my dearest friend." He smiled, brighter than the sun and no less warm.

Your heart stuttered in your chest at his words. You'd think it was some trick of your injured head but his hands were still holding your own and his face a serene mask. His eyes left your own for a moment, focusing on your lap as his thumb brushed gently over your bruised knuckles.

"I thought I may have lost you. That years of deluding myself that it was for our best interest that I say nothing, would have robbed me of this chance." Gil-Galad murmured.

He didn't sound himself and you began to worry. You shifted your hands in his to clasp them. You gave a reassuring squeeze and kept focused on his softening features. His brow lifted and those dark eyes met your own again.

"Please, If this isn't what you wish say the word and you will never hear another syllable about it." Gil-Galad promised but you kept your lips sealed.

"I have loved you too long from afar. I wish for you to be by my side from now until the end of all things. I wish to hear you sing and laugh and tell those awful jokes that you tell when you think I'm not listening. I want all of you and all I have to give is me and my burdens." Gil-Galad professed.

You had no words, no eloquent speech of your own just a hand taken and laid on his shoulder and lips pressed to his own. Gil-Galad responded in kind, his hand coming to cup your cheek as he deepened the kiss.

"They are no burdens." You manage between kisses. "Not when shared with you."

This seems to spur him on, nipping at your lower lip and moving his hand up into your hair. You hiss suddenly, pulling back as the reminder of your pain pulses to life again.

"Sorry my love." Gil-Galad apologises with a chaste kiss to your temple. "There will be time when you're healed."

You pout at this, earning a hearty laugh and another soft kiss against your lips. You supposed you'd waited this long for him, what was another day.

[agentflowerpot]

You cooked something you wanted them to try it by hand feeding them on a spoon so “hey will you try this for me please?” moves spoon closer to their lips and says “open”

Headcanons: Gil Galad, Celebrimbor, Thranduil, Elrond, Glorfindel, Haldir, Lindir.

This first post I hope anyone whom ever reads this enjoys, I been inspired by @earthlybeam random chaos love your writing so much makes my day ♡

Gil~Galad

You stood before Gil-galad, a small plate of steaming food in hand, the aroma of roasted vegetables and spiced honey filling the air. You had spent a good portion of the afternoon preparing it, perfecting every detail—just the right balance of sweetness and warmth. Now, you felt a spark of excitement, the hope that he’d enjoy it dancing in your chest.

“Gil-galad,” you said, your voice light with anticipation. “I made something special. Will you try it for me?”

He turned to face you, those sharp, piercing eyes of his studying you with a mixture of curiosity and caution. Always the composed king. “What is it?”

“Just a little something,” you replied with a grin, teasing him. “Go ahead, trust me. Open.”

You held out a spoon toward him, the delicate blend of roasted carrots, parsnips, and a drizzle of honey gleaming in the soft light of the room. You could see the slight hesitation in his gaze, though it was only for the briefest of moments.

He raised a brow, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You ask much of me, my friend,” he said in his usual, controlled tone, though there was no real reluctance in his voice.

“Open,” you repeated, your gaze steady but playful as you moved the spoon closer to his lips.

Gil-galad hesitated for a mere heartbeat before finally complying, his lips parting slightly as you guided the spoon to his mouth. He didn’t rush, but took the bite with calm elegance, the High King in him even in the simplest of moments.

His eyes closed for a moment as he chewed, clearly savoring the taste. When he opened them again, they met yours, warm and thoughtful, with a quiet appreciation.

“Well,” he began, a slight smile now forming on his face, “it seems your cooking skills match your ability to challenge me. This is… quite good.”

You grinned, feeling a small triumph surge through you. “I’m glad you think so.”

Gil-galad didn’t speak again, but there was something in his expression—something akin to soft amusement—that made your heart flutter. He had been the ever-dignified ruler, but in this moment, you could see a different side of him, a side that only you would know: the quiet joy of something simple, something shared.

“More?” you offered, your tone teasing.

His smile deepened ever so slightly. “Only if you insist.”

You could hardly keep the grin off your face as you moved to feed him another bite, this time feeling the weight of his gaze on you more than ever.

Celebrimbor

You stood in the kitchen, carefully placing the last spoonful of a delicate dish you’d spent hours perfecting—honey-glazed figs stuffed with creamy goat cheese and roasted almonds. The aroma was tantalizing, rich and sweet with a hint of warmth from the oven. You were excited, eager to share the fruits of your labor with Celebrimbor, who was lingering nearby, seemingly lost in his thoughts as he inspected one of his many crafted items.

“Celebrimbor,” you called, your voice light with anticipation. His head tilted up at the sound of your voice, those amber eyes momentarily shifting from the mithril work in his hands to you. He smiled, though the slight furrow between his brows suggested he was still thinking through something—likely a design flaw or a new idea for his next project.

“Yes?” he replied, his tone soft but curious.

“I made something,” you said with a mischievous grin, stepping forward with a small plate in hand, carefully holding the figs on a silver dish. “I know how much you appreciate fine craftsmanship, so I thought I’d offer you a taste of mine.”

You took a step closer, the plate balanced gently in your hands as you met his gaze. “Will you try this for me, please?”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking in a way that suggested his interest was piqued, though his expression remained mostly neutral. “For you?” he asked, his voice low with a hint of amusement. “I suppose I could be persuaded.”

Grinning wider, you leaned in slightly, taking one of the figs on the spoon and moving it towards his lips with exaggerated care. “Open,” you said, a playful note in your voice as you held the spoon just inches away from his mouth.

Celebrimbor blinked, a moment of hesitation flickering across his face. He’d spent a lifetime surrounded by the finest artisans and craftsmen, but this—this was different. There was a tenderness in your gesture that made him pause, just for a second, before his lips parted and he allowed you to feed him.

The bite was small, delicate, and as he tasted it, his expression shifted from mild curiosity to something warmer, something softer. His eyes closed for a brief moment, savoring the flavor.

“It is…” He opened his eyes, fixing you with an expression that was part surprise, part admiration. “Delightful,” he said, his voice thoughtful, the corners of his lips twitching with a restrained smile. “You’ve a talent for this, as well.”

You couldn’t help but grin, pleased with the reaction. “You don’t have to be so formal, Celebrimbor. You can say it’s fantastic if you want.”

He chuckled quietly, the sound rich and warm. “Perhaps you’ll hear that from me when I’ve had more. One is hardly enough to judge.”

You nodded, offering him another bite, this time bringing the spoon closer and meeting his gaze with a teasing gleam. “I suppose I’ll have to make more then. Wouldn’t want to leave you hanging with just one taste.”

He didn’t fight you this time, and though he maintained his usual air of dignity, there was an undeniable warmth in the way he accepted the next spoonful.

“You’re quite the temptation,” he murmured, a quiet but genuine note of affection in his words. “I must confess, I’ve rarely been so distracted from my work.”

A satisfied smile curled on your lips as you watched him, both pleased with the food and the response it garnered. It was rare for him to show such vulnerability, and it made every moment you shared feel all the more precious.

Thranduil

You watched Thranduil with quiet anticipation as you held out the spoon in front of him, a small, delicate spoonful of honeyed pears glistening in the soft light of the evening. The sweet fragrance of the fruit and spices seemed to hang in the air, almost teasing his senses. You had spent hours preparing this dish, carefully infusing the pears with a blend of forest herbs that you’d hoped would appeal to his refined tastes.

“Your Majesty,” you began, voice a touch playful. “Would you do me the honor of trying something I made?”

Thranduil’s gaze shifted from the fire, sharp and calculating, as though he were weighing your words against the silence of the forest that surrounded his kingdom. His eyes, as cold and green as the ancient woods he ruled, bore into you, but for a moment, you swore you saw a glint of curiosity in them.

You took a step closer, the spoon moving ever so slightly toward his lips. His posture didn’t change—proud, composed, and regal as always—but there was something in the air now, a shift, as if he was waiting for something from you. A challenge, perhaps.

“Try it,” you urged again, smiling mischievously, “I promise it won’t bite.”

A low, almost imperceptible hum vibrated in his chest, his fingers tightening slightly around the armrest of his chair, but he didn’t speak for a moment. Thranduil’s lips parted ever so slightly, eyes narrowing in that regal, almost imperious way of his. Still, his gaze lingered on the spoon.

“Open,” you said again, voice quiet but confident.

He hesitated, just for a second, as if considering whether to indulge you, but then, ever so slowly, he leaned forward. His lips parted just enough to accept the bite, and you watched him as you fed him the honeyed pears.

The moment the fruit touched his tongue, a soft sigh escaped his lips—one that was nearly inaudible, but you heard it all the same. Thranduil’s eyes fluttered closed for just a second, as though savoring the taste. When they opened again, you saw something akin to surprise flicker in their depths.

“…This is…unexpected,” he murmured, and for a fleeting moment, his usual arrogance seemed to soften.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “Unexpected in a good way, I hope?”

A small, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps,” he replied, his voice lowering just slightly. “It would be rude to say otherwise, wouldn’t it?”

You leaned in a little closer, offering him another spoonful, your gaze locked with his. Thranduil’s expression remained unreadable, but there was something in his eyes now, something that made you think you had won a small victory in his unyielding kingdom.

“Well,” you said, raising an eyebrow, “I’m glad to hear that.”

For a brief moment, Thranduil seemed to be lost in thought, a rare thing for him, before he met your gaze again, his lips twitching slightly. “Do not mistake me,” he said, his voice regaining its usual, regal tone. “I am still not accustomed to being fed like some pet.”

You chuckled lightly. “Oh, I’m certain the great Elven King can tolerate a little bit of indulgence.”

He only raised an eyebrow in response, as though silently challenging your audacity, but you noticed that he didn’t pull away. In fact, his fingers brushed the edge of your hand for a fraction of a second, the faintest hint of contact—brief, but deliberate.

It was enough for you to know that, despite his aloof demeanor, something about your small act of defiance, your playful challenge, had softened the armor around him—if only for a moment.

“Perhaps,” he said quietly, “you may do this again. But only if I deem it worthy.”

You grinned, knowing that this, at least, was a victory you’d savor. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Elrond

You stood in front of Elrond, a small plate of carefully prepared elvish honey cakes in your hands, the soft aroma filling the air. You were quite proud of the delicate treat you had made, the perfect balance of sweetness and texture that you hoped would please his refined tastes.

“Lord Elrond,” you said, a playful gleam in your eye, “will you try this for me, please?”

He looked up from his work, his piercing grey eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. His composed, noble demeanor never faltered, but there was a faint lift at the corner of his lips, a sign that he was accustomed to your antics.

His brow arched ever so slightly, but he said nothing as you held up the spoon, the golden cake perched delicately upon it.

You moved the spoon closer to his lips and smiled, “Open.”

Elrond’s eyes flickered to the spoon, then back to you, his gaze sharp and steady. There was an almost imperceptible pause before he slowly parted his lips, allowing you to feed him. As he tasted the cake, you watched closely for any hint of approval.

The sweetness lingered on his tongue, and for a moment, you wondered if he would give you the satisfaction of a compliment. His eyes softened ever so slightly, though he remained quiet, his usual reticent self.

Finally, after a thoughtful moment, Elrond spoke, his voice low and measured. “It is… pleasing,” he said, the words carefully chosen, his gaze still locked on you. “But I believe the true sweetness lies in your company.”

Your heart skipped a beat, his tone unexpectedly warm. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. “Well,” you teased, “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment, Lord Elrond.”

He gave you one of his rare, fleeting smiles—enigmatic and almost imperceptible—but the sincerity behind it was unmistakable. “A rare one, for you,” he added, his voice carrying a hint of affection, though it was wrapped in his usual quiet poise.

You couldn’t resist. “I may need to feed you more often if I’m to hear more of these compliments, my lord.”

Elrond, as always, remained composed, but there was a soft glint in his eyes that made it clear he had appreciated your light-heartedness—if only for a moment.

Glorfindel

You watched as Glorfindel took a seat, the soft glow of the fire casting a warm light on his features. There was something about his presence that made everything seem brighter—his golden hair catching the light, his easy smile, and that warm energy that radiated from him like the sun itself.

“Glorfindel,” you called softly, the dish in front of you nearly ready. “Hey, will you try this for me, please?”

He looked up, raising an eyebrow in curiosity, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “What is it this time? Something I can’t resist?”

You smiled, holding up a spoon of steaming porridge. It wasn’t just any porridge, though—it was a special recipe you’d made, infused with berries, a touch of honey, and a dash of cinnamon. It was rich, comforting, and warm, much like the way Glorfindel made you feel whenever he was near.

“Open,” you said playfully, moving the spoon closer to his lips.

Glorfindel chuckled softly, glancing at the spoon, and then back to you. “Is this some sort of test, my friend? You’ve been known to challenge me before.”

You didn’t answer, just grinned and held the spoon steady.

“Very well,” he sighed dramatically, a mock pout pulling at his lips. “If I must…” And with that, he opened his mouth, letting you feed him the bite.

The moment the flavor hit his tongue, his eyes widened, and for a split second, he looked completely taken aback. “Well, I didn’t expect that,” he murmured, reaching for the spoon with an exaggerated air of seriousness, though his lips were still curved in amusement. “This… this is good. Too good, perhaps. Are you sure you didn’t sneak in a little magic?”

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “A little bit of magic, maybe. But mostly just love… and a lot of honey.”

Glorfindel laughed heartily, his golden laughter ringing through the room like music. “A dish made with affection,” he teased. “How can I refuse?”

“Will you eat the rest?” you asked, handing him the bowl.

“Of course,” he replied, taking the bowl from you. “But I may require a second helping to ensure I am not mistaken about its excellence.” He winked, taking another bite and making an exaggerated hum of appreciation.

Your heart fluttered at the playful moment, the light teasing between you two feeling like something more. “I’m glad you liked it,” you said softly, watching as he polished off the rest of the food with a satisfied sigh.

Glorfindel set the bowl aside and leaned back, his gaze softening. “You are truly a marvel, my friend. Not just with your words, but with your cooking as well. You have my loyalty forever, if only for the meals you provide.”

You grinned. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to keep feeding you, won’t I?”

“Oh, if you insist,” he replied with another laugh, the warmth between you both settling in like a familiar, comforting embrace.

And in that moment, as he smiled at you, you couldn’t help but feel that, yes, this was a kind of magic all its own.

Haldir

You stood in front of Haldir, your excitement bubbling over as you presented the dish you had spent hours perfecting. The warm, sweet scent of roasted root vegetables and spiced honey filled the air, mingling with the slight tang of fresh herbs. You could barely contain your grin as you stirred the concoction one final time in the pot.

“Haldir,” you said, practically bouncing on your toes, “Will you try this for me, please?”

His brows furrowed in suspicion as he looked down at the spoon you were holding out, but he didn’t refuse. The glint in your eyes told him this was a request he could not decline.

You slowly moved the spoon closer to his lips, your voice soft but commanding. “Open.”

He hesitated for only a fraction of a moment before parting his lips, the look in his eyes one of mild curiosity mixed with uncertainty. As the spoon hovered just inches from his mouth, he studied you with a raised brow, a quiet challenge in his gaze.

“Do not make me regret this,” he murmured, though there was a trace of amusement in his tone.

With a grin, you fed him the bite, watching intently as he tasted it. Haldir’s expression remained neutral for a long, agonizing second, and you held your breath. Then, he swallowed, his lips pursing slightly as he considered the flavor.

“It’s… interesting,” he said at last, voice measured but with a hint of something faintly approving. “What is it?”

You were already beaming, pleased that he hadn’t immediately recoiled. “Roasted root vegetables with a honey and herb glaze. It’s a recipe I wanted to try.”

Haldir gave a small, approving nod, his face softening for just a moment as he dipped his head. “Not bad, for a mortal dish.”

“You know, you can say you like it,” you teased, taking the spoon back. “It won’t kill you.”

He gave you a side glance, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps. But I am still uncertain of this… ‘mortal’ food.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” you laughed, offering him another bite. “Come on, just one more for the sake of science.”

Haldir raised an eyebrow, then sighed. “You will be the death of me,” he muttered, but he allowed you to feed him another bite. His reaction this time was slightly more positive, his lips quirking in a rare, reluctant smile.

“Fine,” he said, leaning back. “I suppose it’s not entirely terrible.”

Lindir

You had spent the afternoon in the kitchen, experimenting with a new recipe that you were sure would impress Lindir. You had crafted a delicate blend of spices and herbs, preparing a savory dish with a hint of sweetness—a roasted root vegetable puree with a dash of honey and rosemary, topped with toasted nuts for a little crunch. It was simple, but you were certain it was perfect.

Lindir was lounging by the fire, absorbed in his lute, the soft hum of the strings filling the room. You watched him for a moment, smiling to yourself, before moving toward him with the spoon, the dish balanced carefully in your hand.

“Hey, will you try this for me, please?” you asked sweetly, already moving the spoon closer to his lips. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, the faintest glint of curiosity in his gaze.

“Try what?” he asked, brow furrowed, though he didn’t pull away. You could see the wariness on his face—he knew you well enough to recognize that this was no ordinary request.

“It’s something I made,” you said, teasing him with a grin. “I promise it’s not poisonous.” You hovered the spoon a little closer, maintaining that playful glint in your eyes.

Lindir shifted his weight, sighing dramatically as if he were about to indulge you, though you saw the tiny twitch of a smile on his lips. “Very well,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, leaning slightly forward. “But I expect a full report on what I am about to ingest.”

You smirked. “I’ll consider it an honor. Now, open.”

There was the briefest hesitation before his lips parted, just a fraction, enough for you to slide the spoon inside. As soon as he tasted the puree, his eyebrows shot up, and his eyes widened ever so slightly.

“Well?” you prompted, unable to hide the eager anticipation from your voice.

He chewed thoughtfully, the taste seeming to settle on his tongue as he processed the flavors. For a brief moment, he seemed lost in it, his usual composure slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of surprise.

“Hmm,” he finally said, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, “it’s unexpected. But… not unpleasant.” His voice was laced with amusement, though there was still a note of genuine intrigue beneath his words. “I must admit, you have caught me off guard.”

You leaned in, grinning widely. “Caught you off guard? I’m glad I’m not entirely predictable.”

He rolled his eyes, though the smile that tugged at his lips betrayed his amusement. “You are nothing if not persistent. And insufferable.”

“Oh, come now,” you said, pretending to be wounded. “I just wanted to share something delightful with you.”

Lindir’s eyes narrowed playfully as he tilted his head. “Delightful, indeed. If a little… adventurous.”

“You like it,” you teased, eyes twinkling.

“I did not say that.” He raised an eyebrow, though you could see the faint glint of affection in his gaze, despite his usually cool demeanor. “But I will give you credit. You do have a talent for surprises.”

“Not just a talent,” you shot back. “I have a gift.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, clearly humoring you, though there was no denying the fondness in his voice as he continued to watch you with a mixture of bemusement and quiet admiration.

[tootoomanycats]

Hi.

I think it’s a travesty that Gil-Galad has barely a crumb of fanfics or even head canons.

So I’m working on something to add to that sexy, sassy, big boy’s fandom.

I definitely have a type, and it’s men who have their shit together, have goals and a very good sense of self control but are pent up…so I can watch them snap.

This is rough draft, unedited and just thrown down to keep my idea going but dang nabbit, the thirsty folks deserve a drink!

I present the first teaser for *drum roll*

The Plan

UPDATE: 1/27/2025 First chapter has been posted HERE!

Desperation pushed you to find the guest quarters and put distance between the High King and yourself. After what you just did, you can’t look him in the eye, gods you don’t want look yourself in the eye.

Dammit, was that the same door with a potted plant you passed a few minutes ago? You were going in circles, fast pacing, and red faced from embarrassment. He knew, he had to know you were lost and still Gil-Galad followed while offering no help in your escape from him.

“How long shall I expect you to hide away this time? I was under the impression that it was too precious to waste-being as short as it is.��� Gil-Galad knew that his words were sharp, their sarcasm laced like a blade with poison. He could feel his pride pulsing like an open wound after what you just did. Emotions raw from weeks of you seesawing both towards and away from him.

“How dare you!” Came your rage in a whispered hiss, spinning on your heels to glare at the tall elf who followed behind so closely.

How dare he?

Gil-Galad could feel his neck heat as the temperance of his frustration grew. He was not the one disillusioned from reality. “I believe the offense is mine to have. For I was not the one to run and cower after you kis-“

“Shush! Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

Not once in the entirety of his life time, centuries long that it was, has anyone ever dared to ‘shush’ him. His posture straightened, the tips of his ears faintly hued red as frustration turned to insult.

“First you run is cowardice from your own actions, now you not only refuse to acknowledge them but have the gall to shush me?” He glared from where he stood, watching as each word cut through your panic and your eyes shamefully turned to the ground.

Gil-Galad’s pride raged like that of a wounded beast trapped behind the bars of well trained control. Had he not been kind in taking in you and your small group? Housed and feed you, treated the wounded and sick to health, all to see your worries lessen?

He had no expectation of receiving anything in return, other than a thank you for the kindness- which you and your small group had given ample times over. Nor was no expectation to have the fluttering feeling of attraction reciprocated, his only hope was to continue the friendship he enjoyed in your company.

But he did not deserve the inconsistencies of your actions and words. Spinning his minds thoughts and hopes in circles that dizzied and confused. So many times you flirted back, even flirting boldly at him, flustering him. How much he had held self control in his desires to reach out to you, feel the grasp of your hand in his. Even for you lean on him when sitting together.

Just moments ago when you kissed him so tenderly, he had been frozen, his mind trying to confirm what he had hoped for had finally come true. But before he could reciprocate the action, you fled. No more. He could take this no more.

Update post for this story here -----> Update 10/17/24

Update #2 for this story here ----➡️ Update 12/26/24

[mirkwdmstrss]

by the river’s edge

summary: gil-galad feared the worst in not knowing whether you lived or died in the siege at eregion. upon being reunited, you take him to a clandestine hideaway to help cleanse his body and mind of the horrors he witnessed on the battlefield. with a full heart and clear mind, he asks you something you did not expect

word count: 4.4k

pairing: gil galad x reader

genre: hurt comfort, fluff

tags: implied sex, mild blood, nudity

Branches whipped across his face as he blindly pushed through the dense foliage, never minding the sharpened thorns or abrasive barks stinging at his exposed flesh. Such was the nature of this valley, to protect those that sought refuge within its walls. Another might have torn their sword from its sheath and slashed at the maze of vines and tangles of tree limbs, but Gil Galad was not so far yet lost to his fears and anxieties to cause undue harm to the natural world.

You are alive. You are well.

These are the words he’d kept repeating to himself after nearly having lost Galadriel hours earlier. To have lost her would’ve been a blow to him unlike any other. To have lost her while also not yet knowing if you lived or died caused immeasurable fear to shadow his heart; and he wasn’t sure if he’d survive the loss of either of you if that was what the Valar had deemed to happen on this day.

Hope. He held to hope. If they had all survived what they had thus far, surely you, and the rest of those trapped in the Siege at Eregion had been able to escape. Galadriel had been unable to speak when he and Elrond had worked tirelessly to stabilize her injuries. He knew in his heart though that she would’ve done her best to help as many as possible escape through the secret tunnels in her pursuit of Sauron, a Lady of Light in the darkest of times. Though he’d intended to stay by the commander’s side, Arondir and Elrond had promised her safe delivery to the valley in which the survivors had been rumored to flee to and encouraged him to go on ahead without them to find you.

And as he drew upon an opening in the thicket all around him, his heart swelled to hear the language of his people. As he broke through trees, their tongues fell silent; stunned to find their high king in such a disheveled state. His eyes rapidly scanned the gathering crowd, though it was not very big to begin with. Had so few made it out? Surely this couldn’t be everyone.

“Where are they?” he asked no one in particular, eyes unable to focus on any one person for too long.

“Who, High King?”

Gil Galad turned at the sound of his title and was surprised to find Vorohil. He was sure he’d died in Eregion after being struck by the enemy's arrows; and though he cradled his left arm close to his chest, he seemed otherwise unharmed save a few cuts and bruises on his face.

He spoke your name and his heart sang upon Vorohil’s face instantly brightening. With his right hand, he pointed toward an outcropping of rocks near a small waterfall. “Just past those boulders, my lord. We’ve established a rudimentary infirmary. They’ve been tending to the wounded night and day. I probably wouldn’t be here to tell you of it had it not been for them.”

Gil Galad parted from him, a brief word of thanks rolling off his tongue as he swept down the hill, never minding the praise and thanks his people extended towards him as he rushed past. This battle was not won by him alone, by the Valar, this battle hadn’t been won at all; but they survived due to the leadership of many, and he would address his people formally once all were present.

For now, all that mattered was you.

As he rounded the mass of boulders, the expanse of land opened up into a dell shadowed by enormous trees and the gentle rush of a number of small brooks flowed freely over smooth stone.

At least a dozen elves, soldiers and civilians alike, were laid out on makeshift beds of grass in various states of health and wellness. Some had suffered broken bones, some penetrating stab wounds. A couple of elf maidens he recognized from Eregion busied themselves over an elf that had suffered an arrow to the shoulder who cried out as they withdrew the shaft and immediately packed the wound with bandages that looked like they’d been made from someone’s cloak. He greeted them and they startled.

“High king,” they greeted in turn with a bow of their heads.

“Please,” he said in dismissal, waving them back towards the injured. “I don’t mean to interrupt. Tell me, where is—”

His voice faltered and a choked sob escaped his lips as you appeared from around a bend in the rock formation.

Gil Galad was upon you in an instant, a breath of air whooshing from your lungs as two strong arms wrapped around your middle, forcing you to drop the basket you’d been holding. Clean linens spilled about your feet as the High held you close against his mud and blood stained chest plate, his large hand cradling your neck and fingers tangling into your hair.

“Thank the Valar you’re alive,” he breathed into your ear.

“Me?” you questioned, pulling back to look into his deep brown eyes as you cupped his cheek in your hand. “From what I heard, you llead a charge with less than two dozen elves at your backing. You’re lucky you made it out with only a scratch.” You ran your thumb along his jaw where a rather nasty cut split the skin of his cheek. “Come, let me tend to you somewhere more private, my lord.”

Gil Galad inclined his head as though he wanted to say more, but then realized all eyes of those that were conscious were currently on the two of you; and though he cared not if they saw him show affection towards you, it was probably the last thing they expected to see at this current moment in time. With a nod of his head, he relented and allowed you to curl your fingers around his and tug him along down a path that curved on between the rocks.

The sun shone overhead, breaking through the boughs of the trees dappling the path in swirls of golden light. Birds chirped in their branches and the sound was so sweet, it nearly puzzled Gil Galad for he’d not heard the birds sing in weeks and wasn’t sure he’d ever hear them again for the carnage of what had transpired in Eregion.

As you wandered down the path, eventually, he could no longer even hear the voices of those back at the stream’s edge.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked, craning to look around your frame.

You turned to look at him over your shoulder, and he smiled upon finding both adoration and amusement shining back at him in your eyes; a welcome contrast to the horror and fear he’d seen reflected back at him in the eyes of his people as they’d fallen around him in battle.

“Somewhere I can get you cleaned up, would that please the High King?” You asked coyly, batting your lashes at him.

A smile hooked the corners of his lips as your playful tongue expelled the images of war from his mind. Without thinking further of it, he tugged on your hand and with one strong pull of his arm, twirled you around the path so you were flush with his body and had to arch your back in order to gaze up at him, the press of his hand against the small of your waist making you feel more safe and secure than you had in weeks. A moment of silence stretched between you, but only a moment, before you both launched yourselves at one another.

You threw your arms around his neck as he hoisted you up into the air to press his lips against yours. He tasted like blood and sweat, but you didn’t care because he was there and he was alive. He moaned into your mouth as he squeezed you tightly and you laughed against his lips, feeling joy for the first time since you couldn’t even remember.

Pressing your hands against his shoulders in a gentle signal to let you down, you kissed the corner of his mouth. “There will be plenty of time for that later, let’s get you cleaned up. In the coming days, we’ll have little time together with all the responsibility that will fall to you. You’ll need to look a little bit more presentable for your people.”

Gil Galad arched a brow in response as he placed your feet back on the ground. “Are you saying I don’t look presentable right now?”

You smirked in response, giving him a once over. “I suppose you could stay dressed in that.” A wicked glint entered your gaze. “Or you could allow me to help bathe and dress you in a fresh set of clothes. Your armor has seen better days, after all.”

Gil Galad nodded his head slowly, an eagerness in his eyes you’d not seen in ages. “It has, hasn’t it?”

You murmured your assent and led him off path through a break in the dense foliage where a clear blue waterfall gushed into a wide pebbled pool beneath. Wide rocks poked out of the water, bathed in sunlight. Oaks and other trees grew tall, curving toward the sky in beautiful arches. The surrounding mountain of the valley and thick brush encircling the space kept it hidden from those just following the path, so there would be plenty of privacy here.

“How did you find this place?” Gil Galad asked as his eyes looked about in wonder. Vines of wisteria crawled along the canopy, filling the space with a sweet and delicate scent.

“I was searching for herbs to use in poultices and salves for the injured.” You gestured towards the sandy bank where a number of small baskets were packed full with various herbs and plants. Beside that was a larger basket you’d used to wash linens, a number of which were stretched out to dry on the sun drenched rocks.

A knowing look entered the depths of his brown eyes. “Very far to wander on one’s own, don’t you think?”

You squeezed his hand as you continued to lead him down towards the falls, “We can always go back.”

“No, no,” he replied. “This will do just fine.”

“Good,” you said softly, backing up towards the water’s edge, your feet sinking just so into the smooth sand surrounding the pool. With a delicate hand, and without breaking eye contact with him, you curled your palm around his wrist, undoing the straps of one gauntlet before following suit and removing the other. You tossed them onto the sand and followed the length of his torso, seeking out and undoing the latches of the chest plate along his sides and those holding it in place over his shoulders. Gil Galad breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled it over his head and let it fall away, not minding how it hit the sand with a firm thunk. Finally, your fingers found and made quick work of the buckles holding his pauldrons in place.

Fire danced in the depths of his deep brown eyes as you took a measured step towards him and reached for the belt at his waist, holding his long sword tight to his hip. His fingers folded over yours, threading through them to undo the buckle. He gripped his sword as the belt from around his waist and dug his weapon into the earth with one powerful thrust of his arm. You swallowed thickly and felt your heart hammer a steady beat against your ribcage as you dared to gather the fabric of his tunic into your hands.

“Go on, then,” he said, voice low. Your fingers skimmed the trail of dark hair beneath his navel as you pushed the fabric of his shirt up and over his shoulders, allowing him to tug the remainder over his head and cast it aside in a ripple of golden fabric. He shook out his hair and it fell across his broad shoulders in deep brown waves.

When he took a step closer to you, closing what little distance remained between the two of you, every muscle in your belly clenched with heat. “Are you just going to watch me bathe?” he asked softly. “Or shall you join me?”

“Whatever my king prefers,” you answered with a small bow of your head. Your breath hitched in your throat when his fingers gripped your chin in his hand, tilting your face up to look at his. “What have I told you about calling me by my name?”

A blush coated your cheeks as a shy smile played about your lips. “Years now, we’ve spent together, and I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the way your name rolls off the tongue.”

Gil Galad dropped his fingers from your chin to fall upon the bare skin of your shoulder. As he curled his fingers around the back of your neck to make quick work of the knot holding your simple halter shift dress in place, his lips brushed the shell of your pointed ear. “Perhaps, we can see how it rolls off the tongue whilst mine lavishes the body it belongs to.”

“Bite your tongue,” you scolded playfully.

“If you ask nicely,” he purred, tugging the knot free and with it, your dress fell in a pile of fabric around your ankles.

Your nipples immediately peaked in response to the gentle breeze of the warm summer day; the sun on your back instantly warming you through to your core. As you toed out of your sandals, you stepped forward to reach for the ties on his trousers. His hands curved over your hips and you gasped as he grabbed your backside firmly in his palms causing you to fumble the laces. When you finally managed to pull them loose, you watched as he kicked out of his boots to shimmy them off, casting them aside and leaving him completely nude before you save for his ring, Vilya, whose ruby glittered in the sun.

You found yourself unable to look away from him, bared like this to you in the open air; and you to him. There was as much beauty in it as there was vulnerability and you craved him now more than ever.

Before you could place a hand on him, he lunged towards you. A squeal escaped your lips as he tackled you into the pool; arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he turned his body to take the brunt of the impact with the water’s surface. The water was cold, yet refreshing, and you both spluttered and laughed as you kicked yourselves upright. You reached out a hand to brush a lock of hair out of his face and rubbed your finger along the dried blood on his cheek.

“I’m so glad you made it back safely,” you murmured as your laughter fell away.

Gil Galad turned his head to place a gentle kiss upon your thumb which lingered there. “When I have something so important to come back to, I do everything in my power to make it so.”

“This is but a lull in the storm,” you ventured, fear lacing your words.

His eyes flashed with concern, irises flickering as he searched for solace in yours. “Do not trouble yourself with such dark thoughts, not when I have found strength in your gentle arms.” He folded himself around you then, fingers splayed against your back as he buried his nose into your hair.

You closed your eyes, reveling in the touch of his strong and gentle caress. “I want to show you something,” you whispered in his ear, causing him to pull back and regard you with bemused curiosity.

Releasing his hand, you took slow, measured steps back. Fortunately, you’d had plenty of time to explore this place in the days since you’d taken refuge in the valley. The roar of the falls grew louder as you backed up closer and closer to it. A devious grin pulled at your lips as you took a breath and held it before stepping back through the curtain of water into the secret cavern behind it.

You waded back and swam in a slow circle, taking in the smooth rounded out walls that tapered up high towards an opening in the ceiling overhead. The sun cut across the top, reflecting off the walls in shimmering silver and golden light that danced along the cavern walls.

Gil Galad appeared then, swiping a hand over his face to smooth his hair back. His lips parted as awe struck him, head tilting back to admire the clandestine space.

“Ulmo must be fond of you to have revealed such a place,” he breathed, completely wonderstruck as he turned to admire the expanse of smooth flat stones that made up the perimeter of the space, dipping and forming alcoves where one could sit or out of the water. He could picture you now, stretched out across one while the water lapped at your flesh and he lapped at your—

“The vines that grow down through the opening in the cavern are soapwort.”

“Soapwort,” Gil Galad repeated, mind returning to a more appropriate topic.

You nodded, swimming over to one of the vines curling down the wall and plucking a flower from it. You rolled the petals between your hands until a gentle lather foamed between your palms. You plucked a handful and made your way over to a cluster of smooth rocks. After taking a seat on one that resided just beneath the water's surface, you waved Gil Galad over to join you.

You set the flowers on a dry portion of rock sticking out of the water and placed your hands on his chest when he drew near, pressing down in a quiet order to sit. When he did, you smoothed his hair back over his shoulders. After breaking down the herbs in hand, you massaged the lather into his hair, kneading his scalp with your fingers as you did so.

The murmurs of satisfaction that left the High King’s lips brought a knowing smile to your own. So often he busied himself with the kingdom, as was his duty, that he never took true time for himself. If you could offer him but a moment’s respite from the horrors he’d seen befall your people, then that would be enough. After rinsing the sweat and dirt from his hair, you shifted your attention to clean the marks of battle from his flesh. Gil Galad winced as you worked the herb’s lather into the cut on his cheek, but you only smiled.

“I will not see the High King of Lindon felled by infection if you don’t let me clean this and keep squirming like that.”

“It’s not a pleasant feeling,” Gil Galad quipped, though his eyes betrayed his amusement.

You only smirked in response and continued to wash the memory of the siege from his flesh, gently guiding your fingers over every inch of his skin; not missing the way his cock twitched several times in response to your heated touch.

As you turned to pluck more soapwort from the vine for yourself, Gil Galad’s hulking silhouette shadowed yours as he reached an arm above your head to pick several blossoms just out of reach.

“Allow me,” he offered, voice rumbling: and as he sat down on one of the partly submerged rocks, he looped an arm around your waist to pull you down into his lap. “I doubt you’ve paused to pay any heed to your own needs.” He pressed a soft kiss to your temple and you closed your eyes, leaning your head back to rest against the crook of his neck as your spine laid flush with his torso. “Let the carer be cared for in turn.”

He tended to you then with as gentle a hand as you had shown him and when his hands swept across your chest and torso, you couldn’t fight the way you arched into the wide plane of his body.

“Do you like it when I touch you there?” he murmured in your ear.

You nodded as his hand curved around your belly, fingers creeping ever lower. “And what if I were to touch you elsewhere?”

“I think I’d like that very much,” you breathed, voice raspy.

Gil Galad hoisted you into his arms then eliciting a delighted shriek from you as you threw your arms around his neck to keep from falling back into the water.

“Then allow me to treat you like the royalty you’ll one day be at my side.”

•••

Gil Galad rolled off of you and onto his back beside you, both of your chests heaving with labored breaths after the love you’d just made on the shores of the falls left you fully spent and sated. You turned on your side to face him, dragging a finger along the fine layer of hair covering the expanse of his chest. He reached an arm across your back to pull the edge of the cloak you laid upon up and over your lower bodies to provide some protection from the sun beaming overhead, though he marveled at the way its light danced along your bare skin.

When the silk had settled over you, he stretched one arm behind his head to look upon you better and with the opposite, reached forward to stroke the skin of your cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“Your skin is flushed,” he murmured, a tender smile playing on his pink lips.

A laugh tumbled from your throat as you regarded him keenly, “And who’s to blame for that, I wonder?”

“If worshiping your body is wrong,” Gil Galad mused as he leaned forward to nip at your chest, which was already littered with purple-blue marks from the way he’d suckled your skin. “Let me never be right. Place all blame on me and judge me guilty.”

His eyes glittered in the afternoon sun and you saw the promise of his words reflected back at you in them. You pressed a featherlight kiss to his lips and moaned into his open mouth as his arm tightened around your back, as if he could bring you closer together than you already were.

“Never doubt the love I have for you,” he breathed as he touched his forehead to yours. “In these dark times, it is the light that guides me through each peril; the star that will always lead me home to you.”

“How could I ever doubt that which you make so clear to me in every word you speak and every gentle touch you place upon my skin?”

“Then let me declare it to all who dwell in our kingdom,” he said resolutely, eyes brightening.

A huff of laughter tumbled from your lips at the sudden excitement gleaming in his eyes.

“Wed me.”

Your smile faltered as you searched his features for a sign that he was joking, but all you found was determination. “What?” was all you could manage to stammer out.

His smile widened as he propped himself up on one elbow, his dark hair falling in a curtain across his shoulder as he smoothed an arm down your bicep.

“Let us be wed,” he repeated. “In this place, in this valley. Let the first act in defiance of the spreading darkness be one of love. Marry me.”

Tears brimmed along your lashes as he withdrew the ring adorning his pinky finger and held it before you. Sunlight reflected off the thin gold band and the sapphire adorning it gleamed brightly in the afternoon rays.

“When the time came, I thought—” his voice caught in his throat. He pressed his lips together as he looked down at the ring, a deep sadness entering his gaze. “I thought I might have Lord Celebrimbor craft you a ring fit for a royal of our realm, but now…” A tear slipped from the corner of his eye and you watched as it slid down his cheek. He ran his finger along the smooth gold and held it tightly. You cupped his cheek in your hand, wiping the tear away with your thumb and he leaned into your palm, finding solace in the warmth of your touch. With a deep breath, he continued. “This was the last ring he’d made for me before crafting the Three and I know he’d be honored by my asking you to wear it for all our lives and with it, bind yourself to me and me to you.”

He gazed up at you then from beneath his lashes, eyes sad yet hopeful. “I come before you now, not as a King, but as a lover; as your partner, your equal in every way.” His brow rose as an almost shy smile curved the corners of his mouth. “Say yes and I’ll spend the rest of my immortal life loving you with all that I am.”

You bit down on your lip, eyes flickering between his and the ring he held before you.

“Yes,” you whispered, lips trembling as you smiled and threw your arms around him, knocking the wind from his lungs as he fell back against the sandy bank. You pressed your lips against his and murmured the word again and again. “In this lifetime and every henceforth.”

Gil Galad pushed himself upright into a sitting position, and you with him. You turned in his lap so that you were facing him and wrapped your legs around his waist. The High King took your left hand in his and you splayed your fingers so he could slip the ring onto your finger.. “It fits you better than it did me,” he mused with a soft smile on his lips.

You held your hand up to the light where you could both admire its beauty. “The Lord of Eregion truly was the greatest of Elven smiths. I should’ve liked to have told him that.”

“One day,” Gil Galad said as he took hold of your hand in his. “When our time to sail comes, he’ll be there to greet us on silver shores and we can rejoice in the sorrows and joys of our lives, including this moment; which I know will forever remain my singular and most treasured.”

And as the sun parted between the trees once more, the wind gently stirring their green and golden boughs; you could see forever staring back at you in the eyes of the High King alongside a firm hope for a brighter tomorrow at his side.

[thatlittlered]

rings of power men | terms of endearment

warning(s): not even spoilers really, gn!reader

author's note: these are mostly based on my other post about tropes I am convinced these men are written for

enjoy

-.-.-

Elrond

my love, my beloved, meleth nîn, my lovely, my precious love, light of my life, my beauty, my flower, my stars and sky and many, many more

You couldn't possibly get this man to call you by name once you make your feelings clear to one another. He is a poet after all.

Gil-galad

my beloved, my dear, my darling, melethrinen/melethronen

I think that even after you are wed, Gil-galad would refrain from referring to you by your given titles, unless in public. Expressing himself in such a tender and vulnerable manner does not come easily for him, but he will genuinely try for you.

Celebrimbor

guren vell (my sweet heart), precious one, dear, my Lady/Lord

The Elven-smith has never spoken loving words before so it might take a while, but once he is assured you return his feelings, he too is surprised by how easily they roll off his tongue. He won't specify this, but when he calls you by title it is because he pictures you ruling Eregion by his side.

Arondir

guren gîn (my heart)

He is a man of few words and tends to express his affection through actions instead. Simple as it is, it overflows with emotion each time it's spoken.

Elendil

my Queen/King, my dear heart, darling, melda (beloved, dear)

For the most part, he will still refer to you by title, even in your most private moments where keen ears are nowhere to be found. It is a title of reverence by now, especially when he calls you his. You might hold his heart in your hand, but he too, is the keeper of yours.

Valandil

wife/husband

Valandil knew who he was from a very young age the two of you would be together forever since the moment you met. The rest was details. It matters little whether you are betrothed, or married or anything else; you are his and he is yours.

Isildur

love

It is not a common occurrence. It's far more common for him to whisper your name with honey practically dripping from his mouth when he is calling out for you. He does however love and need being called all sorts of sweet names and that is mostly the reason why he cannot come up with any of his own. His mind goes blank.

bonus:

Adar

enda óma (heart of my heart)

He is a man who is very protective of all he deems his and you are no different. Your size, your strength, your fighting capabilities matter not, he will always view you as a beautiful, fragile thing he's come to care for and will do anything to guard from harm.