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criticallyinneedofadar · 5 months ago

Text

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.

#gil galad x reader #Ereinion gil galad #Gil Galad x you #the rings of power #gil galad #elrond #gilgadaddy #frfr #fanfiction

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earthlybeam · 22 days ago

Note

What about reader surprising them with lingerie

I’ll definitely be making more for all the other characters (Celeborn, Círdan, Glorfindel, Haldir, Lindir, Legolas, Elladan, Elrohir and anymore) but for now, enjoy the ones I’ve done until I write the rest. ❤️‍🔥🫶✨

Gil-Galad, Thranduil, Elrond, Celebrimbor version below. (You the reader are their spouse and Gender-Neutral Reader.)

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

The great wooden doors of the royal bedchamber creaked open, revealing the familiar silhouette of Gil-galad, tall and regal even in his weariness. His silver-threaded robes, a mark of his station, hung slightly looser on his frame as exhaustion from the day’s burdens weighed upon him. The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow upon his golden circlet, highlighting the tired yet determined expression on his noble face. He stepped inside, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off the endless duties that clung to him like shadows. His deep blue eyes, sharp with wisdom yet clouded with fatigue, lifted as he closed the door behind him—and then he froze.

There you stood, poised in the soft glow of the chamber’s lanterns, adorned in red lace that clung to you like a whispered promise. The fabric, delicate and intricate, traced over your skin like the weave of Elven craftsmanship, elegant yet enticing. It was a stark contrast to the usual soft silks and regal attire you wore, something daring, something meant only for his eyes. Gil-galad’s breath hitched ever so slightly. He was a king, a warrior, a leader of elves and men alike—but at this moment, he was simply a husband. And his composure, honed through centuries of leadership, faltered in the face of you.

“By the stars…” he murmured, his voice a hushed reverence. The tension in his posture melted away, replaced with something deeper, something more intimate. He took a slow, measured step forward, as if giving himself a moment to fully take in the sight before him. His eyes traced over you, appreciation gleaming in their depths, though there was also something tender, something devoted. “You have rendered me speechless,” he admitted, his lips curving into the faintest, rarest of smiles. He reached for you then, fingers brushing against your arm, tracing lightly over the lace as though it were something precious—as though you were something precious.

You smirked slightly, tilting your head as you watched the shift in his expression, the way exhaustion gave way to something softer, something hungry. “Good,” you murmured, voice laced with teasing warmth. “It is not often I manage to leave the High King of the Noldor at a loss for words.” A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest, low and rich. “It is no easy feat,” he agreed, his hands finally settling at your waist. His fingers curled around you, his hold firm yet reverent, as though grounding himself in the reality of you. “You must know,” he continued, voice low, rich with the weight of emotion, “that after the trials of this day, there is no sight in all of Middle-earth I would rather come home to.”

You reached up then, fingertips tracing over the fabric of his robes before finding the cool metal of his circlet. Gently, you removed it, setting it aside with care before running your fingers through his dark hair. “Then let me help you forget the trials of today,” you whispered. “Let tonight belong only to us.” His breath caught slightly at your words, at the sheer devotion woven into them. His forehead lowered to yours, his breath warm against your lips, and for a moment, he simply held you there—silent, reverent. “You humble me, my heart,” he whispered. “And you tempt me beyond reason.”

You smiled, your fingers tracing along the strong lines of his jaw. “Then why resist?” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. There was a flicker in his gaze then, something smoldering beneath the restraint he always held. The great High King, ever composed, ever in control—yet here, in your presence, that control wavered. One hand tilted your chin up slightly, his thumb brushing against your cheek as his lips barely ghosted over yours. “You are certain this is what you desire tonight?” he asked, because no matter how deep his own longing ran, his first thought would always be of you.

You let your hands slide down his chest, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch. “I would not have gone through the trouble of surprising you if I was not certain,” you teased gently. But then your voice softened, your gaze locking with his. “I want you, Ereinion. Not the High King, not the warrior, just you.” Something in him unraveled then. And for the rest of the night, the weight of kingship, the burdens of war, the looming shadow of duty—none of it mattered. Only you did.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The grand doors of the royal bedchamber swung open with a near-silent grace, their polished wood gleaming in the candlelight. Thranduil stepped inside, the weight of the day’s burdens evident in the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed absently at his sides as if trying to banish the stiffness from long hours of court and counsel. His silver robes, regal and refined, rustled with each step. His crown of interwoven branches and silver leaves had been removed, allowing the cascade of his pale-golden hair to flow freely down his back.

But then he saw you. You stood at the foot of his grand, canopied bed, bathed in the flickering glow of the nearby hearth. Wrapped in crimson lace, the intricate fabric wove delicate patterns across your skin, leaving enough to the imagination while promising decadence in its sheer elegance. The deep red hue stood in stark contrast to the cool, moonlit blues and silvers of his chambers, as though you were a flame beckoning him forward.

His steps halted. For the briefest moment, there was no expression on his face—only silence. The deep, ancient pools of his blue eyes swept over you, drinking in the sight with a deliberation that sent heat curling through the air. Slowly, the tension in his posture shifted, something unreadable flickering in his gaze, a fire ignited from exhaustion to something far more primal. “You are full of surprises, meleth nîn.” His voice, low and velvet-smooth, resonated in the stillness, carrying with it the edge of something unspoken, something dangerous.

You tilted your head slightly, a knowing glint in your eyes as you took a slow step toward him. “You have worked tirelessly today. I thought you deserved a distraction.” His lips curved—just a ghost of a smirk—as he reached for the heavy clasps of his outer robes, fingers working with practiced ease to undo them. His eyes never left you, not as the rich fabric slid from his frame and pooled onto the floor, revealing the fitted tunic beneath. His movements were unhurried, savoring the moment, as if daring you to look away.

“You tempt me,” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice a silken thread wrapping around you. “You always do.” He reached out, gloved fingers ghosting over your arm, tracing the lace where it met your skin. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, anticipation thrumming between you both. “And yet…” He exhaled softly, the scent of Dorwinion wine still lingering faintly on his breath. “You test my patience.”

His fingers trailed up, tracing the elegant curves of the fabric, lingering at the delicate straps. With a flick of his wrist, he guided you around, allowing his gaze to travel the full expanse of your back, where the intricate lace barely concealed the shape of you beneath. His voice dipped lower, laced with something heady and possessive.

“You are a vision,” he murmured, his breath brushing against the nape of your neck as his hands came to rest at your hips, drawing you closer until his body pressed flush against yours. “And you are mine.” The finality in his tone sent a rush through you, a mix of anticipation and the sheer, intoxicating weight of being under his gaze. He tilted your chin up with two fingers, making you meet his eyes, their usual icy depths molten with something that burned only for you.

His lips brushed against your temple, featherlight, before trailing down to your jaw, a deliberate tease, just barely touching but never quite giving in. “Tell me…” His voice was a low whisper against your skin, laced with amusement, desire, and something deeper. “Did you plan this to seduce me? Or to reward me?” Your fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic, pulling him closer, feeling the warmth of him, the power that lay just beneath his elegant restraint. “Perhaps both,” you admitted, voice barely above a breath. A soft, rich chuckle escaped him, deep and indulgent. “Then I shall take my time… savoring my reward. But how do You expect me to be gentle after such a sight?” His lips hovered near your ear, breath warm against your skin. “I have spent all day enduring the tedium of diplomacy, restraining my words, my thoughts… And now you tempt me with this?”

A slow exhale, then his lips finally found yours, firm, claiming, his tongue sweeping against yours with the taste of Dorwinion wine still faint on his breath. His grip on you tightened ever so slightly, a silent warning of what was to come. “You will not be leaving this bed anytime soon, meleth nîn.” With one fluid movement, his arms wrapped around you, and in the next heartbeat, you found yourself beneath him as the bed met your back, Thranduil’s gaze hungry, reverent, and utterly claiming as he loomed over you. And then, the night was his.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

As the moonlight spilled through the tall, arched windows of Elrond’s bedchambers, the soft candlelight flickered against the elegant carvings of Rivendell’s finest elven craftsmanship. The chamber was a sanctuary of tranquility, its silken drapes billowing faintly in the evening breeze, the scent of lavender and aged parchment lingering in the air. Weariness clung to Elrond’s shoulders as he finally stepped into the sanctuary of his bedchambers, the weight of the day’s burdens pressing heavily upon him. Countless matters had demanded his attention—councils, diplomacy, the endless concerns of Rivendell’s people. Though his face remained composed, there was a quiet exhaustion in the way he exhaled, his long fingers coming up to ease the tension at his temples.

You waited, anticipation thrumming through your veins as you reclined against the vast bed, adorned in red lace that contrasted beautifully with the cool, silver-embroidered sheets. The fabric was delicate, whisper-soft against your skin, carefully chosen for this moment. You knew Elrond appreciated beauty in all its forms—history, wisdom, the music of the stars—but you wondered how he would react to this kind of allure. The door eased open with a soundless grace, and there he stood—Lord Elrond of Rivendell, draped in flowing robes, his brow smooth from the weight of the day’s burdens now lifted. His sharp, discerning eyes took in the sight before him, and for the briefest of moments, the great lore-master, and master healer was rendered silent.

His fingers tightened subtly around the edges of his sleeves as he stepped forward, his measured breath the only sound between you. Then, after a moment’s stillness, his gaze softened, darkened with something deeper—something reverent. “Meleth nín…” he murmured, his voice lower now, laced with a weight he rarely allowed himself to show. He moved toward you with slow precision, as if unwilling to shatter the image before him. You watched as his hands, strong yet elegant, reached out, the pads of his fingers grazing over the lace at your shoulder before tracing lightly down your arm. A ghost of a smile touched his lips, amusement tempered by something far more tender. “You weave enchantments without a single spell,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. A small smile played at your lips as you tilted your head into his touch, eyes gleaming with mischief. “And yet, my lord, it seems you have fallen under my spell all the same.”

Elrond had seen the rise and fall of empires, had walked among the greatest of kings and warriors, yet here, in this moment, you held him utterly captivated. He cupped your cheek, his thumb gliding along your skin with a touch so gentle it sent a shiver down your spine. “This is a sight I shall etch into memory,” he said, tilting his head, studying you as one might a long-lost poem rediscovered. “For all my days.” Your fingers brushed lightly against the embroidered fabric of his robe, tracing the intricate patterns as you whispered, “Then I shall make sure you have many more memories to cherish.”

His lips curved slightly at your words before he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours—slow, warm, deliberate. His other hand ghosted along your waist, mapping the intricate lace as if it were woven of starlight itself. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes again, his expression unreadable, yet his devotion unmistakable. “Tell me, meleth nín,” he whispered against your skin, lips tracing the shell of your ear, “shall I worship you as you deserve? Or ravish you like a beast?” A soft hum left your lips as you trailed your fingers up his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your touch. You let your lips hover near his ear, your breath warm against his skin.

“Why not both?” you murmured, your voice a sultry challenge. “Show me the patience of an elf… and the passion of a man.” Elrond exhaled slowly, as if savoring every syllable of your request, and then—his restraint cracked, his eyes dark with unspoken promises. “The night is long, meleth nín,” he murmured, fingers slipping beneath the delicate lace as he guided you beneath him. “Let us not waste a moment of it.” And so the night stretched before you, endless and unhurried—much like the love of an immortal bound to you in soul and spirit.

💍𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓻

The door to the bedchamber creaked open, the warm glow of candlelight flickering as a tired figure stepped inside. Celebrimbor exhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders as though shaking off the weight of the day. His silver hair was slightly tousled, a sign that he had been absentmindedly running his fingers through it, lost in thought. His robes bore the scent of forge-smoke and parchment—proof of his long hours in council and at the anvil.

But the sight before him froze him mid-step. You sat on the edge of the grand, ornately carved bed, bathed in the golden hues of firelight. Draped in delicate red lace, the intricate fabric clung to you, its patterns casting faint shadows on your skin. The color—bold and striking—stood in stark contrast to the usual soft silks and flowing robes of Elven attire. The lace was sheer in places, leaving just enough to the imagination, teasing but not entirely concealing.

For a long moment, Celebrimbor simply stared. His sharp, smith’s hands twitched as though resisting the urge to reach out immediately. His lips parted, but no words came. You tilted your head slightly, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Lost for words, my lord?” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, still unmoving. Then, his hands slowly unfastened the heavy belt at his waist, letting it fall soundlessly to the floor. His voice, when it came, was hoarse. “Where… did you get that without me knowing?”

You smiled, shifting slightly so that the lace caught the light in new ways. “Does it matter?” Celebrimbor finally moved, crossing the room in measured strides. His exhaustion seemed forgotten, replaced by something far more intense. He paused before you, fingers tracing the fine embroidery of your sleeve as though inspecting craftsmanship. “No…it doesn’t..but This,” he murmured, voice deep with admiration, “is… exquisite.”

You could feel the warmth of his hands even though he barely touched you, the callouses from years of smithing rough against the delicate lace. His touch lingered at your shoulder before trailing down your arm, reverent, as though he were handling something rare and priceless. “I take it you approve?” you teased, fingers grazing the embroidered collar of his robes. His chuckle was low, breath warm as he dipped his head toward you, silver strands of hair brushing against your cheek. “That would be an understatement.”

There was something endearing in his expression—awed, captivated, as though you were a masterpiece beyond even his most intricate designs. And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he leaned in, lips brushing against your temple before murmuring, “But tell me, my heart… shall I admire it longer, or shall I remove it?” The night was still young, and Celebrimbor was nothing if not thorough in his appreciation.

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mirkwdmstrss · 5 months ago

Text

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.

#Gil Galad #gil galad x reader #gil galad rop #gil galad rings of power #the rings of power #gil galad fanfic #gil galad fluff #gil galad x you #reader

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agentflowerpot · 2 months ago

Text

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.

#gil galad #Celebrimbor #thranduil #elrond #Glorfindel #haldir #lindir #gil galad x reader #Celebrimbor x reader #thranduil x reader #elrond x reader #glorfindel x reader #haldir x reader #lindir x reader #lotrs #rings of power #lotr elves #tolkien

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tootoomanycats · 5 months ago

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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

#gil galad #ereinion gil galad #gil galad x reader #Gil-galad x you #Gil galad fanfic #Gil-galad smut #rings of power #rings of powerful

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poetryvampire · 4 months ago

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✨️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.

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ohnogovno · 6 months ago

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rings of power season 2 light spoilers. x reader fic ideas for the second season of rings of power, these are more concepts than fully fleshed out ideas, please feel free to use!

celebrimbor: you traveled with galadriel and halbrand in S1, you arrive at Eregion injured, celebrimbor is a good friend and is mortified to see you so injured, helps take care of you as the elvish rings are made (and after). also anything with fluff or him being affectionate. maybe you resided in Eregion for a long time before your travels with galadriel and celebrimbor was worried that he had missed his shot with you.

annatar: met you as halbrand, jealous of your closeness to celebrimbor in Eregion, tries to get your attention, maybe tells you stories of Valinor/ the Valar, etc. maybe when he “reveals himself” to you and celebrimbor he heals your wounds to even further prove he is who he says he is.

sauron: MORE YES HELLO, you were a fellow maiar who accompanied sauron on his journey with melkor/morgoth and escaped adar just in time to not be “killed” as sauron was long ago. you saw the light shoot into the sky and felt the ice grip the land, and you ran, knowing the uruk would be coming for you next (having at least equal blame for the uruks’ suffering). you ran across middle earth, moving from town to town before adars forces could find you. you end up in the final town that adar plunders before the numenorian forces arrive and you are reunited with your “king of the southlands”. halbrand thought adar had killed you long ago but this was a pleasant surprise, his queen was with him again. he takes you to eregion with galadriel and eventually reveals himself to celebrimbor, while you reveal yourself as another heavenly visitor.

adar: you were one of the first age elves taken by morgoth/melkor, before you were fully corrupted by morgoth or sauron, adar lets you go (or can’t bring himself to stop you from escaping). you spend time in lindon recovering, eventually travel with galadriel to help her look for sauron (while you look for adar). you reunite in the southlands before Mt. Doom erupts, he keeps you close to him in Mordor.

elrond: you and elrond were not so easily convinced to whole heartedly support the wearing of the elvish rings. he goes to you for comfort (when he was on the run or when he was back in Gil Galad’s trust). maybe he’s in Eregion when you come back injured from Mordor with halbrand and galadriel and he stays with you as you heal. maybe halbrand starts showing too much interest in you while in Eregion and elrond doesn’t like it one bit.

gil galad: (lord is this man tall, and all the close up’s on his hands are doing me no good) literally anything for gil galad. please.

nsfw ideas: you’ve taking a walk in the outskirts of the forest with one of the elves, you stumble upon a flower (s*x pollen).

#rings of power x reader #celebrimbor x reader #adar x reader #elrond x reader #annatar x reader #rings of power fanfiction #sauron x reader #gil galad x reader

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doodle-pops · 3 days ago

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You've done strong readers, but what about an s/o that's like batman?

Incredibly smart and compassionate, with hella willpower.

I feel like this would pair well with glorfindel in particular but I also see the potential with others.

A/N: Surprise. Surprise. I have something similar to a Batman type reader ➽ Reader being a detective and solving criminal cases

Thrilled to have an intellectual equal

— Feanor, Maedhros, Curufin, Celebrimbor, Fingolfin, Turgon, Finrod, Egalmoth, Ecthelion, Galdor, Rog, Elrond, Erestor

Admires it, but enjoys teasing you about it

— Celegorm, Amras, Amrod, Fingon, Argon, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, Beleg

Proud and openly supportive

— Maglor, Caranthir, Finarfin, Angrod, Aegnor, Maeglin, Gil-Galad, Thingol, Gwindor

#reactions #beleg x reader #gwindor x reader #thingol x reader #caranthir x reader #celegorm x reader #maedhros x reader #maglor x reader #fingolfin x reader #finrod x reader #elrond x reader #ecthelion x reader #gil galad x reader #celebrimbor x reader #finarfin x reader #silmarillion imagine

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youlikefanficdontyousquidward · 5 months ago

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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.

#gil galad x reader #gilgalad x reader #the rings of power imagine #my fics

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thatlittlered · 4 months ago

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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.

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criticallyinneedofadar · 5 months ago

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Hello! I stumbled across your post about requests opening for certain Rings of Power characters, and I'd love to request one for Gil-galad, if that's okay!

The reader is Elrond's sister, and was taken in by Gil-galad when she was an elfling after Sirion (just like Elros and Elrond). Could you write something that begins in angst and ends in fluff? Like, for example, Gil-galad has been trying to convince himself that he's not falling for the reader (but he is), and one day she goes on a patrol with Elrond and a few other elves. She gets grievously hurt, and is rushed back to the palace by her overprotective brother Elrond. Gil-galad is incredibly concerned, and the love and grief comes rushing to the forefront. He's got to watch her scream in pain as she's being healed by Elrond. When she gets better, the High King professes his love and asks her to court him. A timeskip and a brief mention of them getting married at the end and facing the hardships of Second Age Middle Earth together? Because Eru knows we need some fluff and happy endings!

Thanks a lot, and apologies for the long request!

Hello there! I combined this with another ask I received about our lovely High King! I'm going to make a part 2 that is going to address their happily ever after and maybe some spicey time.... for now, here you go!

zoya-olenka asked:

Ok and the other one, reader and Gil Galad are always clashing during their interactions until the tension is too much and well, we know what follows. I'll leave it to you to set the scenery. I'm sure I'll love anything you come up with!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lovely Thorn

You sit across from Gil-galad at the war council, the map of Middle-earth spread out between you on the heavy oak table. The room is filled with advisors and generals, all eyes turned to the High King as he discusses the latest reports from the patrols. Your heart pounds in your chest, and not because of the looming threat of war.

"I still believe we should patrol further south," you say, folding your arms across your chest. "The enemy could be gaining ground there, and if we don’t act now, we risk losing control of the entire region."

Gil-galad raises an eyebrow, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. "Moving south would leave Lindon exposed. I will not risk the heart of our people for a gamble on a dark servant that Galadriel herself cannot seem to find."

"It’s not a gamble," you argue, your voice sharper than intended. "It is a calculated risk, and one we must take if we’re to stand a chance protecting the people of this world."

The room goes silent, all eyes flicking between you and the High King. This isn’t the first time you’ve challenged him in public, and it certainly won’t be the last. His calm, unflinching demeanor only serves to irritate you more. How can he be so maddeningly composed? And worse—how can he look so beautiful even when he’s infuriating you?

"Perhaps," Gil-galad says after a long pause, "you would like to lead the army yourself, then? Since you seem to know so much more about warfare than my generals."

Heat rushes to your cheeks. "That’s not what I meant, and you know it!"

He leans back in his chair, the smirk still there. "I know what you are saying. But the decision is mine to make."

You grit your teeth, feeling the tension thick between you. The air seems heavier when he’s near, and no matter how much he irritates you, you can’t deny that every argument leaves you more flustered than the last.

"Fine," you mutter, finally relenting, though your mind still spins with frustration. "But when the darkness returns to our borders, remember that I warned you."

As you storm out of the room, you can feel his gaze lingering on you, and the sensation only makes your heart race faster.

—---------------------------

You’re standing in the middle of the throne room, arms crossed as you glare at Gil-galad. The council has just adjourned, but the two of you remain, still arguing over the trade agreements with Númenor. He stands with his arms behind his back, the picture of regal calm, while you’re nearly pacing with frustration.

"We need to offer them more, or they’ll break off the alliance," you insist, your tone exasperated. "You’re being too cautious, Ereinion!"

"And you’re being too reckless," he counters smoothly, his voice low but steady. "If we give Númenor too much, they’ll see it as a sign of weakness. We cannot afford to appear desperate."

"I’m not saying we should grovel," you snap, taking a step closer. "I’m saying we should meet them halfway, but you’re so stubborn!"

Gil-galad’s eyes narrow slightly, but that infuriating calm never leaves his face. "You think me stubborn, do you?"

"Yes!" The word bursts out of you before you can stop it. "You never listen to anyone else’s advice, not when it contradicts your own plans. You—" You falter as he takes a step closer, his gaze locked on yours with a sudden intensity that makes your breath catch. You’re close enough now to feel the heat radiating from him, the weight of his presence pressing down on you.

"And you think I don’t listen to you?" he asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, you’re not sure what to say. His closeness, the way his gaze flickers down to your lips for just a fraction of a second—it all leaves you dizzy. You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Instead, you turn sharply on your heel and walk out, your face burning, every nerve in your body on fire.

—---------------------------

Of all things to argue about, you hadn’t expected this. The grand banquet hall is prepared for an important delegation from the elven cities, and you’re standing with Gil-galad, going over the final seating arrangements. He points to one of the seats near the head of the table.

"Lady Galadriel should sit there," he says decisively.

You shake your head. "No, she should be closer to the center. That way, she can engage more easily with both the Galadhrim and the Lindon lords. She’ll feel isolated at the head."

Gil-galad sighs, rubbing his temple. "The head of the table is a place of honor. It shows respect."

"She won’t care about that," you insist, your voice rising slightly. "She cares about connection, not appearances."

"And what makes you think I don’t know what she cares about?" he says, turning to face you fully now, his brow furrowing. "I’ve known Galadriel for centuries."

"Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think," you counter, crossing your arms and standing your ground. You know you’re being difficult, but for some reason, every word out of his mouth today is setting you off. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, like you’re some puzzle he can’t quite solve. Maybe it’s the way he always manages to look so composed while you’re constantly flustered in his presence.

He takes a step closer, his gaze hardening, but his voice remains calm. "If memory serves, I am the High King, and the decision is mine."

Your heart pounds as he stands so close, his presence once again overwhelming you. You can smell the faint scent of pine and sea air on him, and you hate that even now, even in the middle of an argument, you can’t help but notice how maddeningly attractive he is.

"You always say that," you mutter, looking away, your face burning. "But sometimes I think you make these decisions just to frustrate me."

Gil-galad’s expression softens for just a moment, something unreadable passing through his eyes. "Perhaps," he says quietly, "I do."

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. You glance up at him, your heart racing, but before you can say anything, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, flustered and confused once again.

—---------------------------

You walk down the quiet halls of the palace, your feet barely making a sound as you wander through the open corridors of Lindon. The sea breeze brushes against your face, carrying with it the familiar scent of salt and pine. You’re lost in thought today, the memories of Sirion still haunting the edges of your mind despite the many years that have passed.

Your steps slow as you near one of the open council rooms. Two familiar voices filter through the air. Círdan and Gil-galad. Their tones are low but clear enough for you to hear.

“You are the High King of the Noldor, Ereinion. It is your duty to provide a legacy, to ensure the future of our people,” Círdan says with that calm, ancient wisdom in his voice.

There’s a pause, and then you hear Gil-galad’s reply, strained but resolute. “No one deserves that burden, Círdan. To be bound to me would be a life of endless war and worry. The darkness presses closer each day. How could I ask anyone to endure that?”

“You would not be asking. Someone would gladly bear it, if it meant standing beside you,” Círdan counters softly. “There are many who would fill the role, Ereinion. And, if I may speak freely, there is already someone fit.”

A silence follows, heavier than the words before it. You find yourself holding your breath, your heart beating faster for reasons you can’t quite place.

Gil-galad sighs, the sound laced with weariness. “No. There is no one fit for such a task. Not… not her. She deserves more than I can give. I can never ask her to share in this life.”

Her? It couldn’t be you. A sudden weight settles in your chest as your mind scrambles for an explanation. Gil-galad must be in love with someone else—some other elleth, far more graceful and fitting for a king. Perhaps all those charged moments between you—the arguments, the heated exchanges—were nothing more than misunderstandings, your own heart playing tricks on you. You’ve been a fool, misreading his every glance, every word. Heat rises to your cheeks as embarrassment floods you. Of course, the High King would never see you that way.

You quietly slip away from the door, your heart heavy, and find Elrond later that evening. Without revealing too much of your turmoil, you convince him to take you on the next patrol. Anything to clear your mind, to escape these tangled feelings. Elrond hesitates at first, but you press, insisting that some fresh air and a change of pace will help you regain your focus.

But as you ride out with the patrol, your thoughts remain clouded with questions about the mystery elleth. Who is she? Is she one of the noble ladies who frequently attends court? One of the warriors who catches Gil-galad’s eye during council?

The wind whispers through the trees as your patrol moves cautiously through the dense forest. The air is tense, but your thoughts are elsewhere—drifting back to the conversation you overheard, the words replaying over and over. Who could she be? Gil-galad’s voice, so calm, so certain, echoes in your mind. Whoever she is, she has captured his heart, and that realization claws at you, leaving you distracted and heavy with emotion.

"Are you well?" Elrond’s voice pulls you from your reverie. He rides beside you, his sharp eyes watching the tree line, ever the vigilant commander. You nod, forcing a tight smile, but your mind is still clouded.

Suddenly, a cry goes up from the front of the patrol. The snap of arrows cutting through the air is followed by the sickening thud of one hitting its target. Chaos erupts as orcs burst from the underbrush, their jagged weapons gleaming in the dim light. Your heart leaps into your throat, and instinctively, you draw your sword.

"To arms!" Elrond shouts, his voice clear and commanding over the din of battle. He’s already dismounting, swinging his blade with practiced precision, felling the first orc that rushes him. The patrol scatters, engaging the enemy in pockets of combat, but the ambush has left you surrounded.

You leap from your horse, blade in hand, but your focus is scattered, your movements just a fraction too slow. You parry an orc’s strike, feeling the jarring force of the blow reverberate through your arm. Another charges, and you swing your sword wide, catching it in the side. It falls, but more take its place.

The clashing of steel fills the air, mingled with the guttural roars of the orcs and the cries of your comrades. You fight to keep up, dodging and weaving between the advancing enemies, but your thoughts keep pulling you back—back to her. Whoever she is, she’s the one occupying Gil-galad’s heart, not you. Not ever you.

And that moment of distraction costs you.

An orc lunges from the side, and you turn too late. The blade slashes across your side with brutal force, the shock of it knocking you off your feet. A scream escapes your lips as the pain explodes through your body. You hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from your lungs, blood already soaking through your tunic. You try to stand, but the world spins, your vision dimming at the edges.

"Sister!" Elrond’s voice cuts through the haze, frantic and filled with fear. He’s at your side, fighting off orcs left and right with terrifying precision. He’s calling for help, his face pale as he kneels beside you, hands pressed to your wound. His touch is warm, but you can feel the cold creeping in.

The battle rages on around you, but all you can focus on is the searing pain and the dull roar in your ears. Elrond’s voice fades in and out as he fights to keep you conscious. Somewhere in the distance, you hear the thundering of more hooves—reinforcements, maybe—but it’s too late. The darkness closes in, and your last thought is of Gil-galad. The king you love. The king you can never have.

The world goes black.

The gates of Lindon loom ahead as the patrol rushes back into the city, Elrond riding with you cradled in his arms. You’re barely conscious, the pain from your wound a constant, throbbing ache that keeps you teetering on the edge of blackness. Every breath is agony, and the blood loss has left you weak. Through the haze, you feel the rhythmic beat of your brother’s heart as he holds you close, murmuring soothing words that you can barely hear.

The moment you pass through the gates, the guards shout for aid, and in the next breath, you hear another voice—a voice that sends a jolt through your foggy mind.

"Ereinion," you manage to whisper, but the sound is drowned out by the clamor around you.

Gil-galad appears as if from nowhere, his face pale, eyes wide with fear as he takes in your bloodied form. His gaze locks onto the gash across your side, and his calm, regal demeanor shatters in an instant. He rushes to your side, kneeling next to Elrond as they carry you inside the palace, moving swiftly toward the healing chambers. His fingers tremble as they brush against your cheek, his breath shallow.

"What happened?" His voice is low, edged with a panic you’ve never heard from him before.

"An ambush," Elrond replies tersely, his focus never leaving you as he lays you gently on the bed. "She’s lost a lot of blood, and the wound is deep. I have to start healing her now."

Gil-galad nods, but his eyes remain on you, unable to tear himself away. As Elrond begins the healing process, the room fills with an eerie light. You know what’s coming—the agonizing burn as your brother’s power works to knit your flesh back together. It’s like fire coursing through your veins, and you grit your teeth, trying to suppress the scream rising in your throat.

The pain surges, and your body writhes involuntarily, your breath coming in short gasps. Elrond’s hands glow brighter as he works, but the intensity of the healing magic is unbearable. Your vision blurs, and a scream tears from your lips, the agony more than you can bear.

"Stay with me," Gil-galad’s voice suddenly breaks through the haze. You feel his hand wrap around yours, firm and steady, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. "Look at me."

You force your eyes open, your gaze locking onto his. His face is inches from yours, his expression raw with concern, and something else—something deeper that you can’t quite name.

"Do you remember the day we met?" he asks, his voice soft but urgent, as if he’s trying to anchor you to the moment, to keep you from slipping away. "You were so angry. Soaked from the sea, all wide eyes and defiance. I knew then that you would be a thorn in my side."

Despite the pain, a weak, breathless laugh escapes you. "Glad... to oblige."

"You’ve been a constant thorn ever since," he continues, his tone light but laced with something tender. "Arguing with me at every turn. About everything. War. Politics. Even seating arrangements."

You wince as another wave of pain hits, but Gil-galad squeezes your hand, his grip steadying you, pulling you back from the edge. His eyes, usually so composed, are filled with a desperate kind of affection. "But," he murmurs, his voice low and almost trembling, "you are a thorn I would gladly bear every day of my life—if you would stay by my side."

Your heart races, but the words are lost in the haze of pain. All you can do is hold on to his voice, to the warmth of his hand in yours, as Elrond works tirelessly to heal you. The burning, searing pain seems to stretch on for hours, each second a battle to stay conscious. But Gil-galad doesn’t leave your side. He speaks to you quietly, distracting you from the worst of it, telling you of moments you had shared, of arguments he had secretly cherished because they meant you were there, with him.

When the pain finally subsides, and the last of the healing light fades from Elrond’s hands, you collapse back against the pillows, utterly exhausted. Your body is drenched in sweat, your limbs trembling, but the worst is over. Your eyes flutter closed, your mind drifting as sleep pulls you under. The last thing you feel is the warmth of Gil-galad’s hand still holding yours.

As you slip into unconsciousness, Gil-galad remains where he is, his fingers intertwined with yours, his expression unreadable. He leans his forehead against your hand, relief and exhaustion written in every line of his face.

"I won’t leave her," Gil-galad says quietly, his voice hoarse. He looks up at Elrond, his gaze unwavering. "Not until she releases me."

Elrond, weary but grateful, nods in understanding. "She’ll need you when she wakes," he says softly, placing a hand on Gil-galad’s shoulder before quietly leaving the room.

The High King stays, his grip never loosening, watching over you as the night wears on, his heart heavy with the weight of his unspoken feelings.

#gil galad x you #gil galad x reader #gil galad #the rings of power #asks #fanfiction

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lady-raidia · 6 months ago

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You guys are crazy! 😭 My Gil-Galad story "Forest Heart" blew up the last few days and over 100 people interacted with that post! 😭Thank you so so so much, I can't believe the love you are giving my little story! 😭�� I know that part 2 was long due, that's why as a little thank you, I finally managed to write the next part for Fores Heart. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! 💕

@lucypaulette @elifereinion - you two left such nice comments, I hope you enjoy part two as well! 😭💕

You can find part one here: Forest Heart

WHISPERS OF A HEART 🌿

Pairing: Gil-Galad x Reader

Summary: Part II of "Forest Heart" - The celebrations are grand but your soul feels tired. When you wander under the moonlight, you get lost in the eyes of the king.

Warnings: None!

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

Two days. Two days since your heart and soul stumbled upon the High King in the woods. And for two days you can’t get him out of your head. You still feel embarrassed by being so careless, but the fear that you might have insulted him by not addressing him properly vanished quickly. Yesterday and the day before, Elrond and you spent some time in the gardens, talking about dwarves, eagles and dragons. After he scolded you for ignoring his words. But while you talked and laughed about various stories you have heard, wandering around to enjoy the sunshine on your face, you could see the king from the distance. On both days he was trying to enjoy a walk but on both days different people gathered around him, asking questions, reporting problems or sharing information. You could see it in his face, his tired soul and shattered mind. But when his eyes met you from a distance, his whole being lit up. It was only for a moment but it electrified your whole body. And the past two days you both spend glancing at each other from far away, while the words you both want to say stay hidden.

But tonight, you have to focus on your friend. The celebrations are in honor of Galadriel and her troop and you have to give her the attention she deserves. The festivities are grand, the food is great and your feet already hurt from all the dancing. You start to feel exhausted by your surroundings, even though the celebrations are far from being over. You excuse yourself, telling your friends that you will be back, that you just need some time for yourself.

You leave the noise of the festivities behind you while you seek refuge in the gardens, breathing in the cool night air. These quiet moments are your home; stepping away from the crowdedness of Lindon, away from the conversations and laughter that feel too far removed from the peace you have known all your life. Tonight, though, the restlessness lingers.

You keep on walking, taking in the sight of the flowers bathing in the moonlight, the grass shimmering with dew. But your attention quickly moves elsewhere. Standing alone beneath a large tree, the moonlight casts a pale glow on his dark hair. It’s him. Gil-Galad. His back is facing you at first, but as you move closer, he turns around as if sensing your presence. Your eyes meet, just like all the times before. Except that there is no one else around—just him and you and the hidden words, that want to leave the darkness. There is a soft smile on his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Something about him feels distant, his mind occupied by thoughts far heavier than you can imagine.

“It is the second time that I have met you under the moonlight.”, he speaks while his eyes never leave yours. “It is peaceful under the moonlight, something we both seem to value.” You pause for a moment, trying to calm your heart which beats stronger and faster with every second. “Do you often seek silence away from others?”, you ask softly, even though you already know the answer. Gil-Galad’s smile deepens a little, though his gaze remains distant. “More often than I care to admit. The burden of a crown is heavy,” he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. He looks toward the trees, the quiet peace of the garden offering no rest from the weight on his shoulders. “But between the trees and under the glimmering moon, I can forget it for a while.” With one hand he reaches out to touch the tree next to him, his touch is gentle, as if he is scared to break something sacred.

Without thinking, entranced by him, you step closer. Your mind does not fully understand why you feel the urge to be closer to him, but your heart already knows. It always knew that fate waited for you under the moonlight. “It is the heaviest of burdens, one that can not be shared. I am glad you can find peace in nature, the leaves may not understand the heavy task that was laid upon you but they can offer a welcoming retreat.” You step next to him, looking at the tree in front of you.

There is a pause, and when he finally shifts his head to look at you, his gaze is soft but searching, as if he is trying to find something within you … “You understand the need for peace.,” he says. “I have seen it in you. It is as though you carry a sense of peace within you that the rest of us have long lost.” His words pull at something inside you, a feeling you thought to have shaken off. “I don’t if it is peace … Perhaps a longing. A longing to belong somewhere. I believe to have found my place between flowers and trees, far away from everyone. But … I am not sure anymore if that truly is where I belong. Or if I belong at all.”, you admit, looking up to the sky before you turn your gaze to the king next to you. His eyes meet yours fully now, and for a moment, the vulnerability inside your soul is gone.

“You are not like anyone I have ever met,” he says quietly, the words almost slipping out before he can catch them. “There is something about you … something I can’t quite explain.” Your heart flutters at his confession, and you take another step closer, close enough to feel the warmth of his presence. “I don’t know what it is either,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “But I have felt it since I arrived.”

The air between the two of you is heavy with unspoken words, but both of your hearts feel a sense of lightness when you are around each other. But the tension grows stronger with desire as his gaze drops to your lips for just a moment before returning to your eyes. His hand almost moves instinctively, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. His touch makes you shiver and you soon realize that you are absolutely bewitched by him.

“You make it easy to forget,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a vulnerability you have never heard from him before. His fingers linger near your cheek, the warmth of his hand a stark contrast to the cool night air. “When I am with you, it is as though the weight of the world disappears.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, all you can do is look at him. The moonlight reflects in his eyes and it is as if you are looking at Valinor itself. The soft glow, the promise of a new dawn, when you allow it – you feel something shift inside of you; a pull stronger than any duty or fear. Without thinking, your hand moves to rest on his chest, feeling his heart beating fast beneath your fingertips.

“I don’t want to be someone who complicates things for you,” You speak with fear but in your chest, you can feel hope. Words don’t matter anymore.

His hand moves to cover yours, holding it gently against his chest. “It is already complicated.”, he admits, his voice low. “But for once, I don’t care.”

And before you can say anything more, he closes the little distance that was left between you, his lips finding yours. The kiss is as tender as the rising sun, as tender as the smell of dewy grass in the morning. The world seems to stop, time suffocates in the softness of this moment, and all you can feel is him – his warmth, his breath, the way his hands gently hold you as if afraid you might slip away.

The kiss is brief, but it leaves you both breathless, your heart racing as you pull back just enough to meet his gaze again. His eyes are filled with the same vulnerability, the same uncertainty that you feel deep in your chest. But there is also hope, a wish for a golden future.

“I shouldn’t –“ he begins, but the words die on his lips, as if even he doesn’t believe them anymore. You shake your head softly, your hand still resting on his chest. “Neither should I,” your voice is trembling slightly. “But maybe … maybe for once, we don’t have to think about what we should or shouldn’t do.”

For a long moment, he says nothing, his eyes searching yours, and then he pulls you close again, resting his forehead against yours. There, in the quietness of the garden, you both hold each other, whispering sweet promises of a new dawn. The moonlight had brought you together and even though the future is uncertain, your feelings are not. The burden of a king remains heavy, but his heart finally found peace in your soul.

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earthlybeam · 1 month ago

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I got a request rather funny really so elves wanting to know if reader is single so they ask “are you like seeing anyone?” And reader reply with “like dating? Or hallucinating?” How would the elves react? Im very curious I feel they be very concerned 🤣🤣🤣

the elves Gil-galad, Celebrimbor, Elrond and thranduil

This was so funny! I added a twist at the end—I hope you don’t mind. Gil-Galad, Celebrimbor, Thranduil, Elrond versions below.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

The night stretches endless above you, a velvet sky adorned with glimmering constellations, their soft light casting a silvery glow upon the balcony where you stand. The waves beyond Lindon’s shores murmur against the cliffs, a rhythmic, steady song beneath the quiet hum of the evening breeze. Lanterns flicker behind you, their golden warmth illuminating the polished stone beneath your feet, but it is nothing compared to the presence beside you—the quiet, undeniable gravity of Gil-galad himself.

He stands poised as always, an effortless command in his bearing, though tonight… something is different. His gaze lingers, measured yet intent, as if searching for something unspoken in the depths of your eyes. His silver circlet gleams beneath the starlight, and the finely embroidered cloak draped over his shoulders shifts slightly as the night wind teases its edges.

Then, finally, he speaks. “Are you… seeing anyone?” There is no hesitation in his voice, only a smooth, deliberate curiosity. Yet beneath the even cadence of his tone, there is something quieter, something unspoken. You blink, tilting your head just slightly, letting your lips curve into a teasing smirk. “Like dating? Or hallucinating?” Silence. A beat. For the first time, you catch him off guard.

A slow blink, a pause, and then—something rare. Gil-galad exhales, and a quiet chuckle escapes him, a rich, warm sound that seems to settle into the night air like a melody. The faintest smile tugs at the corners of his lips, a fleeting break in his ever-composed exterior. “I must confess,” he murmurs, his voice carrying the softest trace of amusement, “I was not expecting that response.” His gaze remains steady upon you, intrigued, waiting, but you are not finished yet. Leaning in just slightly, you let your tone soften, taking on a playful lilt as you murmur,

“Because if it’s hallucinating, then I’d really like to know why the most handsome High King of the Noldor keeps appearing in all my dreams.” This time, he does not laugh. Something shifts in his expression—a flicker of realization, sharp and sudden, as your meaning registers. He does not move, not immediately, but his stillness is telling. His keen, star-bright eyes study you, searching, weighing.

You have answered his question. And you have done so boldly. The corners of his lips press together slightly, his brows lifting just a fraction—not in disbelief, but in something akin to intrigue. His posture, ever so poised, does not falter, yet there is a subtle shift in his stance, a near-imperceptible lean forward, as if drawn closer by the gravity of your words.

“I see,” he murmurs, and this time, his voice is different—lower, smoother, touched with something deeper. He takes a single step forward, and though the distance between you remains proper, you can feel the shift in the air, the weight of his presence impossibly near. “Then, if I am to persist in appearing in your dreams…” A pause. His gaze dips, just briefly, before returning to yours, steady as the sea, “perhaps I should ensure I am making a good impression.”

The space between you hums with something unspoken, something charged, as his words settle between you. “Tell me,” he continues, and there is a distinct shift in his tone now—deliberate, confident, edged with something quiet yet undeniably magnetic, “do I live up to your expectations?” The way he says it—measured, yet laced with that unmistakable challenge—sends a ripple of anticipation through the cool night air. He is waiting. Watching. Your move.

Gil-galad watches you intently, his sharp Elven eyes searching yours, awaiting your answer. There is confidence in his stance, but also curiosity—a rare moment where the High King, so composed and measured, is uncertain of what you will say next. You pause, letting the silence stretch just enough to be playful. Then, you tilt your head and exhale a soft sigh, feigning disappointment. “No.” His brow lifts ever so slightly. His expression remains composed, but you can tell you have his full attention now. His hands remain clasped behind his back, his posture unshaken, but there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

“No?” he repeats, his voice smooth but laced with intrigue. “How unfortunate.” You let the moment hang between you, then, with a smirk, you add, “Well… for my hallucinations, at least.” The slight furrow of his brows deepens, but before he can question you, you lean in just a little, dropping your voice to something almost conspiratorial.

“In my hallucination, you were on your knees…” you let the words trail off, watching his reaction. His expression doesn’t falter, but you notice the slight inhale he takes, the way his sharp mind processes your words in an instant. Then you deliver the final blow. “And I was in your bed.” For a fraction of a second—so brief that most would miss it—Gil-galad stills entirely. No movement, no sound, just the quiet crackle of the torches and the distant rush of the waves beyond Lindon. Then, something shifts. His eyes darken—not with anger, but with something else, something unreadable yet undeniably intense. His lips press together, suppressing a reaction you can’t quite place. Then, after a moment, he exhales, a slow and measured breath.

“Is that so?” His voice is lower now, quieter, deliberate. He tilts his head, studying you as if you were an enigma he has yet to solve. There is no outward fluster, no loss of composure—he is a king, after all, and well-trained in maintaining his regal bearing. But the way his gaze lingers, the way his fingers flex slightly before settling once more behind his back—these are the tells of a man who has just been… affected.

“Then I suppose I must wonder,” he muses, his voice almost teasing but laced with something deeper, “whether I have merely been lacking… or if your imagination is particularly ambitious.” A pause. A flicker of something knowing in his gaze. “Perhaps,” he continues, ever so smoothly, “you would care to elaborate… on what exactly I was doing on my knees?”

💍𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓻

The study was warm, illuminated by the golden flicker of the fireplace. The scent of parchment, burning wood, and something faintly metallic lingered in the air—a subtle reminder of the forge not far beyond these walls. Celebrimbor sat across from you, his hands resting on the arms of his intricately carved chair, fingers absently tracing patterns into the wood as though lost in thought. His sharp, silver-gray eyes, however, were focused solely on you.

He had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past few moments, considering something. Then, with an exhale that sounded far too intentional for casual conversation, he finally asked, “Are you… like, seeing anyone?” There it was. Casual on the surface, but his voice held that careful, deliberate tone he used when he was measuring something important. He wasn’t the type to ask pointless questions.

You tilted your head, suppressing a grin. “Like dating? Or hallucinating?” The silence that followed was utterly delicious. Celebrimbor blinked once, then again—his lips parting slightly, as if he needed a moment to process your words. His fingers briefly tensed against the wood, then flexed. He was trying, quite valiantly, to decide if this was some sort of test, an enigma to be solved, or if he had simply lost control of the conversation entirely.

“I… presume you mean dating?” His voice was measured, though the slight furrow in his brow betrayed his effort to parse your words. “Unless… hallucinations are a concern of yours? Should I be worried?” You leaned forward slightly, resting your chin in your palm, letting your gaze linger on him just a moment longer than necessary. “Oh, don’t worry, Lord Celebrimbor,” you mused, “the only vision I see before me is you… and I’d say you look quite real to me.” A pause. A very long pause.

Celebrimbor, the greatest Elven-smith of the Second Age, Lord of Eregion, heir to the House of Fëanor, looked at you as if you had just shattered the very laws of logic before his eyes. His lips parted, then closed. His mind, so keen and analytical, was caught between amusement and sheer bewilderment. Then, to your utter delight, a slow realization dawned over him.

“You…” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to clear it. Then, he laughed. A quiet, breathy chuckle at first, but one that softened his normally intense expression. He tilted his head slightly, gaze flickering with something both intrigued and—dare you say—pleased. “That was…” He paused as if choosing his words carefully. “Astoundingly ridiculous.” You feigned offense, placing a hand over your heart. “You wound me, my lord.”

“Do I?” His voice was smoother now, laced with something dangerously close to teasing. He rested his elbow on the armrest, chin lightly against his knuckles as he regarded you. “Then perhaps I should craft something for you. A token of my sincerest apologies.” You smirked. “Oh? And what would that be?” Celebrimbor leaned forward just slightly, his gaze holding yours in the firelight. “A mirror,” he said, voice as soft as it was knowing. “So you might see the vision you spoke of, every time you look upon it.” Your breath caught for half a second. Clever, clever Elf. The warmth in his expression deepened. He had caught on now. And by the gods, he was enjoying this.

You watched as the realization fully settled in Celebrimbor’s sharp mind, the flicker of amusement in his silver-gray eyes unmistakable now. He had caught on to your game, and the soft curve of his lips told you that he was not above playing along—especially if it meant unraveling the absurdity of your words while keeping you firmly in his focus. So, naturally, you decided to push him further.

With an innocent tilt of your head, you let your fingers lazily trace the rim of your goblet before lifting your gaze back to him. “Well, if we’re speaking of my hallucinations…” you mused, letting your voice drop to something almost contemplative. Celebrimbor raised a brow, waiting. You leaned in just slightly, your expression unreadable save for the unmistakable glint of mischief in your eyes. “In them, you weren’t just standing there.” A pause. A slow, deliberate smile. “You were on your knees.”

The flicker of intrigue in his gaze sharpened, his posture going completely still. You could practically hear the moment his mind whirred into overdrive, calculating exactly what you meant. Before he could formulate a response, you added the finishing touch—leaning back, utterly at ease as you sighed dramatically, just to see what he would do next. “And I,” you continued, with a thoughtful air, “was in your bed.” Celebrimbor.exe has stopped working. 🤣 (yes just imagine his face in this moment) For one glorious moment, the master craftsman—the heir of Fëanor, the most skilled Elven-smith of the Second Age, the Lord of Eregion himself—was completely and utterly speechless.

His fingers twitched ever so slightly where they rested against the arm of his chair, the only betrayal of the sheer mental gymnastics currently taking place inside his brilliant mind. His sharp gaze flickered over your expression, assessing, trying to determine precisely how much of that was meant in jest and how much was something far, far more dangerous.

You swore you could see the exact moment he processed every possible interpretation of your words—his lips parting slightly before pressing into a firm, contemplative line, his fingers momentarily gripping the armrest as if he needed something solid to ground himself. Then—then—he did something that sent a delightful thrill down your spine.

Instead of reacting in flustered outrage or immediate dismissal, Celebrimbor leaned forward, resting his elbow against the arm of his chair, his chin grazing his knuckles as he regarded you in silence. The firelight flickered against the planes of his face, casting shadows that only made his expression more unreadable. “Fascinating,” he finally murmured, voice smooth, thoughtful—and dangerously unreadable. “You must tell me more of these… hallucinations.” You had expected him to be caught off guard. You had not expected him to meet you step for step. Celebrimbor, it seemed, had decided to play your game.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The grand halls of the Woodland Realm shimmered under the ethereal glow of soft lantern light, their golden hues casting rippling reflections across the polished stone floors. The faint scent of pine and aged parchment clung to the air, mingling with the distant whisper of leaves rustling beyond the great pillars.

King Thranduil, ever the picture of poise and regal detachment, stood near his throne, fingers idly resting on the hilt of his ornate sword. His piercing blue eyes, keen as a falcon’s, flickered with something unreadable as he regarded you. There was a hesitation—an anomaly for one so accustomed to control—before he finally inquired, in a tone deliberately casual yet edged with curiosity,

“Are you… seeing anyone?” The question hung in the air, deceptively simple, yet burdened with all the weight of his intent. It was rare for the Elvenking to express interest so plainly. You, ever the opportunist for a little mischief, tilted your head, lips twitching as you met his gaze with a playful glint in your eyes.

“Like dating? Or hallucinating?” The reaction was immediate—Thranduil’s brows lifted, his expression caught somewhere between mild exasperation and intrigue. A slow inhale, controlled and measured, escaped him, as though he were weighing the effort of entertaining your nonsense. His fingers tapped once against the silver guard of his sword, a silent signal of his internal deliberation.

“I was referring to the former,” he replied smoothly, though there was the barest flicker of amusement behind his cool exterior. But before he could press further, you leaned in slightly, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Because, you know, my vision does tend to blur whenever I look at you… must be because you’re absolutely breathtaking.”

A slow blink. His expression remained unreadable for a moment—so unreadable, in fact, that you almost wondered if you had just delivered your cheesiest pick-up line to a brick wall. Then, he exhaled sharply through his nose—a sound that might have been a scoff, had it not been for the unmistakable glimmer of reluctant amusement dancing in his gaze. He turned his head slightly, as if trying to conceal the ghost of a smirk. “Flattery will not sway me,” he murmured, though the way his fingers flexed against the hilt of his blade betrayed his intrigue. But you weren’t done. Oh no. If he wanted to feign indifference, you were more than willing to test his patience.

“Oh, but I’m completely serious,” you continued, stepping just a fraction closer. “In fact, if beauty were time, you’d be eternal.” That did it. His lips pressed together, the corners twitching as if holding back a sigh—perhaps one of exasperation, perhaps one of amusement. His gaze, sharp as ever, settled on you, searching, assessing. Then, in a voice as smooth as honeyed wine yet laced with something undeniably amused, he finally asked,

“So you are saying you are unattached, then?” You grinned, leaning back with an air of mock contemplation. “Well, my heart was up for auction, but it seems a certain Elvenking has already placed a rather compelling bid.” There was a pause. A heartbeat of silence in which the weight of your words fully settled between you.

Then, something unexpected. Thranduil chuckled. Low, quiet, brief—but unmistakably real. His head inclined ever so slightly, as if acknowledging both your wit and your audacity. “You are bold,” he murmured, his voice softer now, though no less amused. He lifted his goblet, taking a slow sip, his gaze never leaving yours. “I shall have to keep a close watch on you.” And from the way his eyes lingered, gleaming like polished silver beneath the torchlight, you had a feeling he already was.

A slow, knowing smile tugged at your lips as you regarded Thranduil, his quiet chuckle still lingering in the air like the last notes of a fading melody. His gaze, sharp and unwavering, remained fixed on you, as if weighing whether you were simply amusing yourself at his expense or playing a far more dangerous game. You took a deliberate step closer, your voice dropping just enough to feign innocent contemplation. “Well… since we’ve established my relationship status,” you mused, tilting your head, “shall we discuss my hallucinations?”

Thranduil arched a single elegant brow, his fingers still curled around the stem of his goblet. “Shall we?” he echoed, his tone smooth as aged Dorwinion, yet laced with wary amusement. “Well, as for my hallucinations…” You let the words hang for a moment, watching as his eyes narrowed slightly—not in irritation, but in intrigue. You had set the bait, and the Elvenking, ever the strategist, was waiting to see where you intended to lead him.

You feigned a thoughtful sigh, tilting your head just so, as if confiding some great secret. “You weren’t just standing before me in those, Thranduil. No, no…” You met his gaze head-on, the glimmer of challenge in your eyes unmistakable. “You were on your knees.”

The reaction was instantaneous—his fingers, previously relaxed against the goblet, tightened ever so slightly. A slow blink, his expression carefully schooled into neutrality, but you saw it—the flicker of something unreadable in those piercing blue eyes. Then, deliberately, he set his goblet down with a soft clink against the carved wood of the throne’s armrest. His movements were slow, calculated, the way a predator shifts just before the hunt.

“Is that so?” His voice was smooth, silk over steel, betraying nothing—but his gaze? His gaze burned, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. You hummed, feigning nonchalance as you took a slow step back, only to add—“Oh, and now that I think of it…” You placed a finger against your chin, as if lost in recollection. “It wasn’t the throne room where I saw you. No, it was somewhere far more private. Somewhere far more… comfortable.”

A beat of silence. Then—his lips parted, just slightly, as if to speak, but instead of answering, he simply regarded you with a look so unreadable, so deliberate, that you almost—almost—thought you had miscalculated. Then, with a slow, measured inhale, he leaned forward. Not by much, just enough to make you aware of the way the space between you had shrunk, of the sudden shift in atmosphere he knows exactly what your gonna say next he give step ahead like always.

“My bed, was it?” His voice was softer now, but no less commanding. His head tilted, silver hair cascading like molten starlight over his shoulder as he regarded you through half-lidded eyes. “How very bold of you.” The way he spoke, the way his words dripped like honeyed wine from his lips, sent a shiver down your spine. You had expected amusement, perhaps mild exasperation. What you hadn’t expected was this—this quiet, simmering intensity.

Thranduil exhaled slowly, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Tell me, then.” He tilted his head, gaze unwavering. “Did I kneel before you, or were you simply hoping I would?” He was playing your game now. And from the way his fingers had once again flexed against the hilt of his blade, you knew he intended to win.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of rain-kissed leaves and the distant murmur of waterfalls. The moonlight spills over the marble pathways of Rivendell, casting long, silvered shadows between the ancient trees. You and Elrond walk side by side, the quiet hum of the evening settling around you like an unspoken understanding.

There is a weight in the way Elrond glances at you, something unspoken yet deliberate, a question forming behind those storm-grey eyes. He walks with his usual composed grace, hands loosely clasped behind his back, but there is something else tonight—an intent just beneath the surface. At last, he speaks, his voice smooth as riverstone, carefully measured yet undeniably curious. “Are you… seeing anyone?” You pause, lips curving into a mischievous smile. There’s a teasing lilt in your voice when you reply, “Like dating? Or hallucinating?”

For a fleeting moment, Elrond simply blinks. His expression is unreadable—composed, elegant, unreadable. Then, ever so subtly, the corner of his mouth twitches in what might be the ghost of a smile. A breath of laughter—soft, quiet, almost imperceptible—escapes him, though his gaze remains steady, watching you with quiet intrigue.

“I would hope your perception of reality remains intact,” he muses, his tone dry yet undeniably amused. “Though, given the unpredictability of mortals, I can never be certain.” You tilt your head, letting the silence stretch just long enough before leaning in slightly, a playful gleam in your eye. “Well, since you asked… My relationship status is like the One Ring.”

Elrond’s brow lifts just slightly, intrigued yet wary. “How so?” Your grin widens. “It doesn’t exist, and people keep trying to claim it.” Elrond exhales a short, surprised chuckle—low, refined, but real. His eyes flicker with something warmer now, the mask of his usual solemnity slipping ever so slightly. “A dangerous thing to admit, then,” he counters smoothly, his voice rich with quiet mirth. “For there are those who would go to great lengths for such a claim.”

You don’t miss the way his gaze lingers a fraction longer than before, the way his head tilts ever so slightly as if considering something deeper. Encouraged, you press on, stepping just a little closer. “And you?” you ask, your voice dipping to something softer, something teasing. “Are you like Rivendell?” Elrond gives you a patient yet knowing look. “I hesitate to ask what you mean by that.” Your grin turns shameless. “Because I feel safest when I’m with you.” This time, Elrond does not answer right away.

He merely watches you, his expression shifting—thoughtful, contemplative. And then, slowly, a small, knowing smile plays at his lips. “A bold sentiment,” he murmurs at last, his voice quiet yet carrying a certain weight. He takes a slow step forward, closing the distance just enough for the warmth of his presence to be undeniable. “But tell me… is it spoken in jest, or does it carry truth?”

The space between you hums with something unspoken, something electric. His gaze is steady, searching—not demanding, but waiting. Your heart beats just a little faster, but you meet his eyes, unflinching, and smile. “What do you think?” Elrond’s expression softens—not quite an answer, but something close. And as the night deepens around you, the question lingers—along with the possibility of something more.

Elrond’s gaze lingers on you, studying your expression with quiet curiosity. The silvered moonlight catches in his dark hair, in the thoughtful crease between his brows. He is waiting—waiting for your answer, for the truth behind your playful words. You exhale softly, your grin deepening as you decide to push just a little further. “Well, for my hallucinations?” you begin, voice lilting with mischief. “You weren’t just standing there like this.” Elrond tilts his head slightly, his patience unwavering. “Oh?”

You nod, letting the tension stretch just long enough before delivering your next words with shameless amusement. “No, you were on your knees.” A single dark brow lifts in response, his expression unreadable but alert. The only reaction at first is the faintest shift of his posture—shoulders drawing back, an imperceptible inhale.

Then, smoothly, calmly, he responds. “On my knees?” His voice is quiet, but there is something in the way he says it—something measured, as if turning over every possible meaning behind your words. Your smile doesn’t waver. “Mhm,” you hum, eyes gleaming. Then, with deliberate slowness, you add, “And I was in your bed.” The silence that follows is absolute.

Elrond does not move at first. His storm-grey eyes flicker with something unreadable—contemplation? Amusement? Perhaps something deeper. The weight of your words settles between you, thick like honey, and for a long moment, he simply watches you. Then, finally, his lips press into something that is not quite a frown, nor quite a smirk.

“How interesting,” he muses, his voice soft yet edged with something keen, something unreadable. “I was unaware your dreams had taken such a turn.” There is a shift in his stance, a subtle step closer, though his composure never falters. His gaze remains steady, piercing, as if he is considering the full weight of your meaning. “And tell me,” he continues, tilting his head ever so slightly, “was I kneeling in reverence… or for another reason entirely?”

The way he says it—so composed, so infuriatingly calm—sends a shiver through you. He is playing along now, but there is a challenge beneath his words, a deliberate test of just how far you are willing to push this game. Your heart beats a little faster, but you meet his eyes with the same unshaken confidence. “That,” you say, voice slow and teasing, “depends on what you think I was asking for.” Elrond studies you for a beat longer, his expression unreadable. And then, at last, he exhales a quiet breath—a laugh? A sigh? It’s impossible to tell.

“You are fortunate I am a patient elf,” he murmurs at last, his voice carrying the barest trace of amusement. “Otherwise, I might demand an explanation… in far greater detail.” His words linger between you, heavy with unspoken promise. And as the night deepens, you realize—with no small amount of thrill—that this game is far from over.

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