#Lotr imagine

[sun-snatcher]

( credits to @perryabbott for this phenomenal gifset ! )

1/? | SEAWARDS, TO YOU. ; REPENTANT!AU

summ.  Mairon Sauron repents. The Valar test his resolve. or:  A Seabird meets a Jailbird.  pairing.  (Repentant!Mairon/Sauron) Halbrand / f!reader w.count.  4k a/n.  AU!s1 in which the Valar are the ones who habit Sauron into Halbrand’s body , Númenor timeline is extended ,  Reader has an established Númenórean name , Galadriel’s call-to-arms is Sauron’s temptation , The Valar are just curious which path he’ll take atp

[This looks to be setting up for a series... Feel free to send requests so we can explore this AU together!]

HE BEHOLDS A LIGHT.

And then— and then.

Grief follows.

Great and bitter and relentlessly pitiless. 

It swallows him whole— spirit and body and thought alike— an all-consuming maw of devouring sorrow that he’d been forcefully severed from. All that Melkor— no, Morgoth— had sought to smother and sunder from his very esse, stirring back to life from where it’d first been cast to the black depths, like a scalding brand of hot iron against skin.

An eternal, burning reminder.

RETRIBUTION—

—howls the great Winds. 

It muffles his screams from unseen heights. Pure, unadulterated agony; his heart aflame of every pain he’d ever wrought throughout the age, throughout the centuries—

It takes a moment for him to realise he’s dying.

Enough, comes a soft-rising lament. He despairs. He is not yet forsaken. 

The voice lilts like a mournful dirge, and with it had come a gentle peace, and the torture seemed to cease nigh in an instant. 

Any will despair in the face of Death, booms another. It rumbles across towering pillars and a cavernous hall of light.

He is not as others. A mighty wave crashes on unseen shores. There’s a swelling cascade. He is Mairon, Maiar of Aulë. 

His name lights the world alive. Other voices have come, now. A curious crowd, a divine council.

He seeks repentance---Does he deserve it?---He is dying---Irredeemable!---He has yet to weep a single tear in the name of any that is good---You would grant him a chance to inflict the same corruption?---Cast him away--- Condemn him to the Night!---He is but a servant hand of M—

A fierce billow of wind. Lashing and deafening, enough to sweep the black name into muteness; into nothingness. 

INVOKE NOT THE DARKNESS HERE.

Quickly follows is a crescendo of music, a song of all Age and that carries all note of harmony, so beautifully terrifying it chills him to the bone. Strikes an utter fear in his heart he hadn’t felt since he’d first been tortured by—

“Let him speak,” commands One.

At once, All had fallen into quiet. The tides recede. The earth stills. The stars dim.

And then—

“Peace,” Mairon trembles, bowing low and terrified, guilt-ridden in his and all eyes. “I wish only for peace.”

Halbrand startles awake.

There are tears down his face.

Númenor, he remembers. He’s in the prisons of Númenor.

His senses are devoid of howling winds, of rumbling earth, and of roaring waters. No thundering night sky of stars. No agonising pain.

But then, echoing from behind, a voice resounds— delicate and openly gentle— and for a terrifying moment he thinks he might still be dreaming; that one of the Valar is speaking to him unseen once again, or perhaps the statue of Uinen graced outside his cell has come to life.

“Nightmare?”

A beat. 

“…Memory,” he answers tentatively, from where he’s curled in his cot. He rubs his face awake. “Where is Galadriel?”

“Trying to win over the heart of the Queen, still.”

“Here.” Halbrand hearkens, and can see a figure shift neath the torchlight closer to the wrought bars, kneeling down to offer him a sip from a carafe of wine. 

A bitter memory involuntarily resurfaces in him: A bottle of wine in his hands, red as a blood moon, feeding it to a black-haired elf chained upon a dark and nameless peak, scarred to the brink of death.

A blistering ache crawls down his nape. He grimaces. 

“No than—”

The moonlight gleams. Halbrand seizes. 

It’s… you .

The fair lady; from ereyesterday he’d recalled standing alongside the Captain of the Sea Guard, when he and Galadriel had first been brought before the royal court to face Tar-Míriel, and you looked like a vision of gold and ocean-blue. He had only caught a glimpse of your profile at the time, but here, now—

You’re beautiful , Mairon thinks candidly. The kind that would make men drown themselves at sea. 

“…No thank you,” Halbrand repeats, significantly less bitter than before. He shifts to sit comfortably, and leans his head back against the barred wall as he carefully scrutinises your ensemble under the hanging firelight— the shell-braid hair, the fresh-water pearl jewellery, the deep-teal gown. 

Princess? He reckons. No. You carry yourself light in both presence and step, but not sophisticated in the high and tight way someone of noble status tends to— not quite like Galadriel, even in all her salt-soaked mien. 

Politician, perhaps? Considering the attempt at an olive branch; an out-of-place kindness if you were to compare it to the scorn from the other Númenorean folk.

Nevertheless: “I was told nobody kneels in Númenor.” Then, more scathingly: “You’re not supposed to be here, are you?” 

The rough blatancy would have put anyone off.

But instead, you blink in surprise and laugh. It’s a soft, wind-chime of a sound, quickly ducked down so he could only catch the tail-end of your obscured, dimpled smile.

(He was surprised to find himself thinking he should have sat closer to the light to see it.)

“So says the castaway,” you volley breezily, rising back to your feet with your peace offering.

Halbrand finally stands to height before you move to leave. He’d much rather take the opportunity for a decent conversation at the very least, than stare mindlessly at the dark until something else interesting happens.

He’s tall, you come to realise. Dizzyingly so.

For someone who’d supposedly been adrift for weeks in the ocean, he looks surprisingly as hale as the she-Elf. Strong, even. It shows in the curl of his biceps, in the firm way he’s leaning down onto the bars now, forearms poking out as the sea-green shift in his eyes regard you almost inquisitively. 

If not for the tell-tale signs of a bad sunburn and his salt-licked wounds, you wouldn’t have been able to tell him apart from a local Númenorean sailor.

“To whom or what do I owe the pleasure of a fair maiden’s presence?”

But you aren’t so easily swayed. “Flattery will not get you far, Southlander.”

“So says the one who tried offering me wine,” he shoots, cocking his head to your bottle.

Well — 

Well.

Fine. Maybe you are easily swayed. Blame the quick-wittedness of him and that cheeky, roguish smile cutting across his chapped lips.

“Offered,” you correct, uselessly. He can surely recognise it: your meek attempt to have the last say. “You’ve lost your chance.”

He hums. “Hopefully not the chance for a name, at least?” 

Though it seems he’s lost that too—

A clamour descended from a distance; the jingle of skeleton keys, the sound of approaching footsteps in heavy armour. Change in guard shift, maybe, or it could be Galadriel’s escorted return. Regardless, you’re quick to gather your senses and make headway to the shadows.

“Wait—” Halbrand catches your fingers just as you turn to leave. The touch feels like a kindle; a spark of ember. “What are you called?”

“Tell no guard I was here, and I may just yet be able to tell you another day,” you whisper, before quickly slipping from his grasp.

And then you’re gone. Like sand between his fingers, like a ripple in water—

(Something, however, tinkers to the floor.)

“Who’re you talkin’ to, Southlander?” comes a snap.

(Halbrand stomps a foot on the rolling ring.)

“Myself,” he smiles.

You come the next night after.

Galadriel recognises you. 

“Does your father not caution you to speak with strangers?” she bites, when she watches you poke your hand into her cell. It’s a canteen of water.

A shrug. “If you speak of the Captain, you are mistaken.” Then, almost breezily, as if a tale told by you countlessly: “More he my ward and I his charge, if nothing else. Elendil found me in a tidepool, as an infant.”

Something flashes in Galadriel’s mind. A memory that never dims: Seaside, and a skin of water she’d given to a tidal-haired half-Elf, who had been left estranged with neither friend nor kin. 

She casts her eyes aside. 

“Erulaitalë will begin soon,” you warn. “The guards may likely conveniently forget to bring down your dinner amid the days-long occasion.” (You leave out the obvious: And because you’d socked two of them in the face during your little tirade towards the Queen yesterday.) 

Galadriel begrudgingly relents. 

When you get the canteen back to offer her prison mate, he’s already looming at the bars of his cell. 

“That’s not why you came, though, is it?”

He’s fidgeting with something in his hand. A mixed metal ring— silver and gold— dainty and elegant, crowned with a freshwater pearl in its centre. To someone like him the build is simple. Ordinary. But the startled look in your eyes seems to imply it’s not as meaningless as it appears. 

“You ought to reshape this,” he murmurs, thumbing at the edge as he studies it. Scrutinising, almost, in his mind’s eye— like he couldn’t help a habit of assessing the details and correcting any flaws. “It’s loose.”

You wrinkle your nose. “What would a castaway like you know of craft?” 

His face lights with a soft smile. (Galadriel thinks it might’ve been the most genuine she’d ever seen of him yet.) “Plenty, if you consider I was once a Smith.”

“Captivating,” you dismiss. “Now give it b—” 

You reach out reflexively, but he’s quick to retreat back into the safety of his cell.

“Ah. I believe you owe me your name,” he cocks his head slowly. “Fair lady.”

A huff. It’s almost comical how your shoulders sink in defeat as he continues. “Or perhaps you’d prefer, hm, I don’t know; Seabird —?”

“Eärmaril,” you admit, reluctantly. “Now give it back, lest I cut it apart from your very fingers myself, jailbird .”

There’s a long, tense moment. 

You wonder if he’ll return it to you; if he’ll continue to covet it as a method of leverage, perhaps— but then you watch him slowly make his way to lean on the bars to meet your gaze once more, and to your surprise, gestures for your hand.

You hesitate.

Halbrand patiently waits.

Then, tentatively, you reach out.

Seducer, you want to scoff— 

He carefully flips your hand palm-down, slides the ring gently back in place. 

—But you’re too distracted by the striking feel of him on your fingers. It’s callous, rough, strong. You’re surprised a man of his seemingly boorish nature can handle your hands this delicately at all, much less be this effortlessly charming.

“Sea-crystal,” he dazedly translates your name, once your presence had finally slipped free from the dungeon. “No?”

“A pearl,” Galadriel specifies. “The Heart of the Sea. ”

You’re back, again.

Halbrand is pleasantly surprised, to say the least. He’d half-expected you to stop showing up after the stunt he’d pulled, but there’d also been that gnawing part of him that knew (hoped) you’d return. There’s a stubbornness in you he can recognise from the she-Elf— it must be why the both of you take to each other so easily. 

“It’s no Lembas,” you tell Galadriel, handing her an apple. (Fresh, still. She can smell the dew rolling down its skin.) “But it’s better than what the guards have been offering you, here.”

He knows what you’re doing, if Galadriel’s word is right. You’re trying to turn the tides towards their favour; to, at the very least, get them out of these wretched cells while the kingdom debates their fate. Getting into their good graces, however, and why you’re going the extra mile with feeding them— he’s not quite sure he’s figured that out exactly yet.

“Enlighten me, what do you stand to gain from your act of breaking proverbial way-bread?”

“Halbrand,” Galadriel warns.

“It’s fine. He’s right to be wary,” you say, before turning to him. “Is plain amity not enough of a reason?"

“Not to my esteem. Everyone has wants,” he says. “Besides, looks can oft be deceiving.”

(You can’t discern if that’s a jab or a compliment or something else entirely. Perhaps all at once.) 

“And what is it you think I want, Southlander?”

He leans on the cell, studies you purposefully. “An escape. Off of this island home you’ve grown bored of. That in hopes, if the Queen should let us free, you could set sail along with us,” he says. “I think you long for a grand adventure, outside the shores of Númenor, to seek the finer joys of life beyond your charted waters.”

A stagnant moment passes.

“Hm,” you shrug, sounding unimpressed. “…Of grand adventures and finer things. That shall be my reason, then, if it is enough for you, Halbrand.”

He falters. The name rolling from your tongue sounds like the purl of a steady, clearwater stream. Like he’d been quenched of something he couldn’t quite place; of something he never noticed longed to be slated.

“What about you? What do you want?” you ask, setting the apple in his hands. 

You miss the turn of Galadriel’s head. 

Sauron doesn’t.

Vengeance, his heart cries instinctively, meeting Galadriel’s rallying-like gaze. 

But then Halbrand blinks your way. 

“Peace,” Mairon recites. “I wish only for peace.”

Someone else delivers in your stead, this time.

A cadet, who appears still wet-behind-the-ears; tanned with a mop of tight curls on his head, and holding a dissimilar kindness to your own eyes. He seems less inclined to linger in his visit, nor to entertain any of their questions. 

“Where is Eärmaril?” Halbrand asks, when the cadet clarifies your supposed order to him.

“…She regrets her absence.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he says, and couldn’t bite back the demand of his tone in time.

“Occupied,” states the cadet.

“With?” Galadriel urges.

“Dealings of which are not of your concern.”

He doesn’t know either, they quickly realise, sharing a knowing glance at each other. 

It’s only when five long minutes pass that the cadet concludes the bowl of scallops prepared will go stubbornly untouched out of distrust, and so decides to clear the evidence away, and turn on his heel to leave.

You fail to appear a night after.

And then the next.

Halbrand just stares at Uinen, and worries.

“Awfully hungry, are you?”

With a handful of fruit, you freeze in place. There’s a chill you feel crawling over you, the type you get when you know you’re caught red-handed; the type a child would get at the icy wrath of their father.

He’s not your father, you try to thaw. But it would be impossible to attempt that. So you allow yourself to look at him as Captain of the Sea Guard instead. “…Very much so.”

“We may not be of blood, Eärmaril, but to me you are still my eldest,” he reminds, “I’ve raised you longer than I have Isildur and Eärien.” 

“Only by three years,” you dismiss, leaning back onto the kitchen counter and crossing your arms.

“You’ve been sneaking to the prison.” He doesn’t sound surprised as he puts it out in the open. You wish he would’ve at least sounded as such, even a little bit. 

“The Faithful have believ—"

But having brought up that subject alone seems to effectively tip the scales against your favour. “Stop,” he says, in the authoritative tone he always uses to clinch arguments, “You will cease this madness.”

“Is that what we’re calling kindness, now?”

Elendil pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You are lucky, foolish girl, that I caught on, and not any other of the Guard. Why is it you care so much for these castaways?”

I don’t know would’ve been a terrible answer, but it would’ve been an honest one. That you cannot explain the call or the pull towards them since the day those two had set foot on Númenor—

“The sea put them in your path the same way I was put upon yours. And the sea is always right.” 

“That was different. You were an infant,” he corrects. “With no past to haunt you, and no intentions hidden in your heart. These are strangers.”

“Galadriel is known to Númenor. She was the Scourge of Orcs,” you defend, waving an arm. “And of H— the Southlander, I have seen nothing in him but the utter desire for peace.”

Elendil’s face twists into incredulity. “You can see that, and yet for Valandil you were seemingly blind to how involving him could have risked dismissal from the coming Sea Trials—?”

“Don’t bring him into this.”

“You brought him into this!”

“He offered to help—”

“Because he has a good heart.”

“—because you declined to help in the first place!” you snap, and set the apple down with an irritated thud. “All you had to do was convince Chancellor Pharazon to consi—”

Elendil huffs your name, and it feels the verbal equivalent of him flicking your ear. “Don’t you dare fault any of this on me.”

“I am not,” you assert. “I am merely stating the truth. I can take full responsibility for everything else, but whatever fault you feel inside of yourself is not my doing.”

Your expression sinks. “And what I asked of you was simple. If you cannot do even that, then at the very least: turn your gaze inwards for once, instead of casting it across the waters.”

That seems to have knocked the wind from his sails. 

(Surprisingly, yours too.)

“You know,” he sighs, after the silence stretched for a moment. “You are so much like your mother, sometimes.” 

“She’s—” Not my mother, you defy reflexively. Though that would’ve been unfair. She may not have been your mother, but you will always be her daughter; she had raised and cherished and loved you as her very own nonetheless; had chivvied and taught you the ways of water and the world better than anybody ever could have. “—She’s gone.”

“She lives in you. I can see it. Everyday,” he says. 

But that is all the grief he allows you to see. His hard, insular gaze set back into place, and suddenly you’ve found Elendil of the Sea Guard, again, as he goes to swipe the bag from your hands.

Later— much, much later, in fact— you learn Elendil’s following meeting with the castaways that night goes a little something like this:

A cut-glass voice, and a stomp of his feet. “Ever since you two driftwoods have sailed into my path,” echoes Elendil, “A discourse has been sown between me and my daughter.”

“What damage could we possibly have done,” Galadriel says in an undertone, watching him stride in. “Locked in a cage like beasts since our arrival?”

Halbrand shoots her a chiding look. Let me handle this. “Our… sincerest apologies, Captain. We did not intend as such. Your daughter merely extended us a kindness.”

A snort. It’s Galadriel’s.

“I don’t know what she sees in the both of you.” Elendil sighs, and a deep set frown makes itself known on his weary face. The Captain stops short at the foot of Uinen’s statue. “Perhaps a reflection of herself,” he continues, admiring the stone-carved hair blend into crested waves of the sea. “A key to understanding it.”

There’s a cold, calculative look in his eyes as he turns to face them. It’s nothing like the one you wear— warm, assessing. But there’s a kindness, still, in both of you; where the familial thread connects.

It seems you’ve managed to pluck that chord.

“Erulaitalë is a week-long trip to and fro. With the storms we’ve been having, maybe more. I’ve managed to get the both of you an audience with the Queen before then,” he lays the bag of fruit to their cells. “Tomorrow you will have a chance to plead your case. But whatever is commanded of me, I will obey. So for the sake of my daughter, and for yourselves, I ask you tread lightly .”

The last line is said pointedly at Galadriel. 

“Thank you,” Halbrand says. It’s forced— but genuine.

Galadriel says it too, though the day after; and not to the Queen nor Elendil, but to you, after the audience had gone as well as it could have.

Tar-Míriel now considers them guests of the island while she travels to perform her duties amid Erulaitalë, though they will be surveilled for the time being until her return, and will personally ensure the matter of their fate be seen to by then. 

Throughout the final mandate, however—

Ivory white is a beautiful colour on you, Halbrand concludes, distractedly.

“Glad to see the Captain didn’t lock you up in a tower,” he says after, as the Guards unlock his shackles. “Do you always have a tendency to help strays? To beachcomb for flotsam and jetsam that wash ashore?”

“A thank you would be nice,” you scoff, but without heat. “And yes. Call it a mutual understanding.”

The Guards shuffle off. Halbrand is left in the borders of the court, speaking to you, who’s robed in a dress like a monolith of pure light. Salvation, you look like. And you had been, in a way. He cannot deny that.

But he cannot deny he doesn’t trust any of it either.

(Something about things being too good to be true. He’s learned that lesson before.)

“I still don’t know what you want of me, Eärmaril,” he remarks, and was glad to know the sound of your name finally being uttered by him seems to have an effect on you. “But a part of me gathers that staying in those cells to rot might benefit me more, than to be at risk of being at your disposal outside these stone walls.”

Hurt flashes in your eyes. It’s the first he’d ever seen it. 

As if the thought of having someone in thrall to you was— outlandish. And here, perhaps now Sauron will see the malice cut through your façade. That alas, your true colours and intentions will bleed through, as always, like he’s been expecting and predicting all this while.

But then:

“You must have been hurt so, to be this distrusting, Halbrand.”

He seizes.

Your gaze melts into something sickeningly compassionate. Severe, almost, as Estë’s healing touch in his faded dreams.

Sauron doesn’t know what to make of it.

“You— think me afraid,” he manages, terse enough to be a statement more than a question. (Enough, hopefully, to hide the fact you have, indeed, rattled him.)

“No. I think you don’t know what true kindness looks like, even if it’s being handed to you on a silver platter.”

“I’ve done evil,” he says, slow and careful, and accompanies it with an intimidating step into your space; your orbit.

You don’t waver. 

If anything, you’ve boldly bared your throat as you crane your neck to level his steely gaze. “It is said only the sea can wash away all that is evil. That it can erode all given time. I believe that’s why you were adrift and washed here.”

“A baptism,” he muses, suddenly remembering Ossë, between the battle-drum in his ears. 

“Whatever floats your boat.”

Halbrand scoffs. “You think you know me.”

“I know enough,” you say. “I know I’m the only person in this moment who can give you what you want.”

“You alone cannot give me peace.”

“I cannot,” you agree, before cocking your head to the side. “Though, I can lend you a Smith’s hammer and tongs.”

In spite of himself, and against his better judgement—

Mairon lights up.

Footnotes:

Erulaitalë was a ceremony observed on the summit of Meneltarma, the tallest mountain peak of Númenor, in which praise was given to Eru for his works.

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

LOTR and Hobbit NSFW headcanons

(I’m in my lotr horny era and this list could probably be added to 😂)

Boromir:

- His favourite position is missionary with your ankles on his shoulders so he can see your body, especially your tits

- Sex during sparring sessions

- Isn’t very rough in the bedroom but when you fuck during sparring he loves to grab you, force your head down and grab your hips hard

- Can be a little subby

- Loves to be put in his place

- Doesn’t like being or giving spanking but isn’t opposed to getting a couple face slaps

- Likes being bossed around but not degraded

- Wants you to call him ‘captain’ in the bedroom

- “Who own your cock, captain? Who fucks you this good?”

- Is a big ol tiddy boy

- Hand over the shoulder and lightly touching your boob

- “Boromir not in public”

- Not super sexual but after a long day he falls to his knees in front of you for you to hold him

- Will say “oh fuck” as he slides into you

Eomer:

- Very typical but loves when you ride him, loves being able to see and grab all of you

- Lots of riding dirty talk

- “Ride my cock hard, darling. Come on and fuck me hard. Use those gorgeous fucking hips of yours”

- Will guide your hips as you ride him

- Seeing you ride an actual horse turns him on too

- Loooovveesss having his hair pulled

- Especially when hes between your legs or against a wall

- Bending you over his desk and taking you by flipping your dress up and fucking you hard

- When you get a bit drunk you grab his ass and biceps and he loves it

- Loves when you tell him how strong he is, like almost over the top flirting gets him for some reason

- “Oh Eomer, you have such big arms” you tell him all breathy and grabby

- Is so sweet and gentle with you

- But

- When he returns from a battle he will fuck you hard and make you scream

- Very possessive

- “Scream my name, baby, let everyone know who fucks you this good”

- Constantly grabbing you to sit on his lap, especially at parties

Legolas:

- Sensitive ear kiinnnkkk!

- He definitely whimpers during sex

- No matter who’s on top or if he’s being submissive or dominant he always says ‘thank you’ when his cock slides inside you

- Loves to run his fingertips over you so gently and sweet

- Could gently play with your pussy for hours

- Straddling him while he’s on his knees is easily one of his favourite positions

- Being able to hold you so close to him

- Loves listening to your heart beat after sex

- Holding you and pressing his head to your chest

- Loves after sex head scratches too

- When he is a sub he loves edging

- Begging little baby

- “Please, ma’am, please let me cum. Please I’ve been such a good boy”

- Is a good boy

- When he’s dominant he’s very gentle

- Doesn’t really fuck you fast but more hard and bruising thrusts

- Mutters things in Sindarin when he’s lost in pleasure

- Whispering dirty talk in Sindarin in your ear, whether you understand it or not

Aragorn:

- Isnt opposed to tying you up but prefers to bond you by manhandling you

- Says such sweet things to you while fucking you hard

- “Oh princess, you take my cock so good”

- Having to put his hand over your mouth while he finger fucks you

- Forced quiet sex

- “Be nice and quiet for me, sweetheart. Don’t want these people to hear you do you?”

- For some reason it turns him on when you smoke his pipe

- Doesn’t like to fuck when he’s been drinking but loves to watch how you dance when you’ve been drinking

- It usually ends with heavy makeout session and touching each other but he doesn’t like full on sex when one of you is drunk

- He loves to watch it from afar too, sit in the corner and watch how your body moves

- Even when you dance with Merry and Pippin on top of tables he thinks it’s so hot

- Will just start saying full sentences and dirty talk in Sindarin while he takes you from behind

- He gets so lost that he can’t help himself

Haldir:

- Outdoor sex

- Pulling your hair while he takes you from behind up against a tree

- The good old sensual archery lessons while he whispers in your ear

- Loves teasing you, especially by standing behind you and whispering in your ear

- “Yes marchwarden!” “Thank you, sir!”

- Slight degradation kink but nothing that actually hurts you

- “Oh look at how you blush just from my words, darling”

- Height kink

- Corners you and standing close and above you just to look you down and make you blush

- Fucks you stupid

- Like your head lulls and your eyes go all misty

- Chasing you down in the forest and fucking you when he catches you

- One of the few lotr fellas I can see being into violent fucking

- He’s rough with how he fucks but he’s just as if not more gentle and caring with aftercare

- Degradation to raise real quick

- “Take my cock just like the whore you are” “Oh my darling, you did such a good job, Meleth. Such a good girl for me”

Thorin:

- This man has the biggest breeding kink

- “Give me an heir, my queen. Let me fill your womb”

- Staring you right in the eyes while he finger fuck you

- Obviously throne sex

- Almost cums in his pants when he sees you in your crown for the first time

- Isn’t usually submissive but you can make him do anything when you wear that crown

- Holds you down by your hips while I fucks you from behind

- Will whisper Khuzdul into your ear while he fucks you

- Fucks you rough but doesn’t want to actually ever hurt or scare you

- The second you’re uncomfortable he will stop and hold you, he’ll even sing to you

- Loves to know he can take care of you

- Such sweet dirty talk

- You’re either his queen or his good girl, no in between

Thranduil:

- Is dominant 99% of the time

- Doesn’t always like when you’re on top but when you are he likes to force your hips to move while he fucks into you

- Wants you to say ‘thank you’ when you cum

- Does want to fuck you hard and rough but will wait and double, triple check before even trying

- Face fucking you stupid

- Is so gentle and soothing with aftercare

- Treats you like a sweet princess during aftercare

- Cockwarming while he does work

- Size kink, loves how much taller he is and how his cock barely fits in you

- “Look how your tiny pussy takes my big cock” “oh, darling, I don’t think it will fit”

- If you’re a human he also has a massive age kink

- “You’re such a sweet little girl for me”

- Staring down at you with your face covered in cum

- Not opposed to some good old pet play

- Is both cruel and loving

- Degrades his dirty little slut pet while he uses them just for his pleasure

- Loves having you sit in his lap and have you curl up to him and hold his sweet little darling

- Holds you and kisses you while you ride his thigh

- Strokes your hair while you hump his boot and look up to him with big desperate eyes

Kili:

- Biggest turn on for him is seeing you dance and jump around

- The way your face flushes and your tits bounce makes him crazy

- Loves being both babied and degraded

- If he could live between your tits he would

- Sitting in your lap, panting and whimpering as he thrusts his hips into your hand

- Mutual masturbation

- Doesn’t like to be hurt too badly but does love spanking and overstimulation

- Shows off whenever you watch him train

- Even if he’s shorter than you he still loves showing his strength by carrying you

- Carry’s you to the bath after sex and takes his time washing your body and your hair

- Just wants to be your good boy

- No thoughts, just be good boy and love boobs

- Does not have mommy issues but does have mommy style kinks

- Loves sucking on your nipples

- (honestly that gif does things to me 🥵🥵)

Fili:

- Knife kink!

- He’d never use his knife on you in a dangerous way but does love to cut your clothes off you

- His beard braids feel amazing and ticklish between your legs

- Hand on your thigh always, during sexual times or not

- Polar opposite things will turn him on

- While you’re fighting he gets hard and wants you to grab his hair and use his cock

- When he sees you taking care of babies his breeding kink comes out hard

- “I’m going to fuck a baby into your womb. We’re not leaving until you’re full of my cum”

- Loves to fuck you in the woods especially when it’s risky

- While on the journey to reclaim his home he liked to take you into the woods and fuck you

- He loved that you had to be so quiet but still he could hear your little whimpers

- He is a prince and next in line to the throne so he has to keep PDA to a minimum

- That doesn’t stop him from grabbing at your thigh under the table and whispering dirty things in your ear in the middle of a party

- Playfully slaps your ass while you’re changing

- Skinny dipping 👌🏻👌🏻

- He has no problem keeping you warm 😏😏

Bard:

- Loves to cum all over your face

- Lots of pet names during

- “Oh darling you feel amazing” “cum for me sweetheart”

- Forced quiet sex

- Packing your wet underwear in his bag while he’s away, he does smell it while he touches himself

- Such a dirty man but great at hiding it

- Loves the noises you make when his beard scratches your neck

- Bit of a caretaking kink

- Gets really horny when you massage him, cook for him, bandage him up, wash him in the bath

- Takes you fishing so he can finger you on his boat

[princessofgondor]

the lord of the rings characters + cuddling with them 🩷

Characters Included: Boromir, Faramir, Aragorn, Arwen, Éowyn, Éomer, Legolas, Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Merry

I decided I wanted to try doing some LOTR preferences! This is my first time writing for all of these characters besides Boromir so I’m still getting a handle on them. If anyone has any requests for preference posts they’d like to see, please send them my way and I’ll see what I can do!!

Author has only seen the movies, so please forgive any mistakes/inaccuracies!

Boromir is definitely pretty touch-starved, and after cuddling with you for the first time he’s very surprised how much he loves it. It becomes a common occurrence for the two of you, something he looks forward to — especially after a long day of training with his soldiers. He loves being the big spoon, and burying his face in your hair or your neck.

Faramir is a big cuddler for sure. You don’t even need to ask — as soon as you rest your head on his shoulder (when you’re sitting together) or on his chest (when you’re laying down together), he’s got his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. He gives you a lot of forehead kisses when you’re cuddling together.

Aragorn loves the moments where the two of you can just relax together, especially when things are getting stressful. He’s happy for the two of you to simply lay there in silence, holding each other, but if you need to talk about anything he’s always ready to listen.

Arwen has an incredibly calming presence, and cuddling with her can improve your mood no matter how bad you were feeling beforehand. She holds you close, whispering comforting words in your ear and pressing gentle kisses to your face and lips every so often.

Éowyn isn’t used to cuddling, but like Boromir she comes to really enjoy it. You make her feel peaceful and happy in a way that she’s never experienced before, and so she loves to be close to you as often as possible. She has a tendency to play with your hair, and she likes it when you do the same to her.

At first, Éomer tries to look tough and doesn’t admit how much he likes cuddling with you. But each time, it becomes increasingly obvious how much he loves it. Similar to Éowyn, he likes it when you play with his hair.

Legolas finds it adorable how much you love to cuddle with him, especially when you get cold. As an Elf he can’t feel the cold, but he can always tell that the temperature is dropping when you cuddle up to him. He’s perfectly happy to stay bundled up with you for as long as you need him there.

Frodo loves when the two of you cuddle up while reading a book together, though sometimes he gets distracted from the words on the page because he’s looking at you. If this is after the main events of LOTR, I could see your presence/touch being able to help Frodo heal from his traumatic experiences, at least somewhat.

Sam is incredibly affectionate, so he definitely loves cuddling. He’s a bit shy about it at first, getting a bit embarrassed and not knowing what he should be doing — like where should his arms/hands be? He doesn’t want to upset you or make you uncomfortable — but once he’s used to it, it’s his favourite thing in the world.

Pippin absolutely loves cuddling with you and he doesn’t care who knows it. Honestly, if he could spend his entire life cuddled up with you and some snacks then he’d be the happiest Hobbit who ever lived. It doesn’t matter where you are, if you’re near each other he’ll want to either have his arms around you or be resting against you.

I think that like Pippin, Merry loves cuddling, but he’s a little less likely to do it publicly. When it’s just the two of you however he loves nothing more than being close to you. He probably makes little jokes and lightly teases you for being so eager to cuddle with him, but it’s all very light-hearted and you know that he loves it too.

[elfy-elf-imagines]

Tolerate It | Thranduil

▹ Pairing: Thranduil x Human!Reader

▹ Genre: Angst

▹ Words: ~2k

▹ Summary: A political alliance makes you the new wife of the elven king Thranduil, trapping you in a gilded cage of elven craft.

▹ Notes: I couldn't get this idea out of my head.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The banquet hall of Eryn Galen was buzzing with high energy. 

The lights were bright, the drinks flowing. Each guest was too deep in their cups as the band played jaunty tunes that kept spirits high. You sat at the end of the table, to the direct right of Thranduil, Legolas seated directly across from you to the king's left. 

Everything was beautiful, similar to what you imagined heaven may look like. The celebration had been highly anticipated, the steward meticulously planning for months to ensure the night would be perfect. 

Each guest had dressed to the nines, and you had been no exception. Silks that flowed like a languid river, braids woven throughout your hair, and glittering jewels that rivaled the stars in the sky. You’d felt quite pretty after your handmaidens finished, taking in your appearance with rapt attention. 

Yet as the king - your husband - met with you, he barely paid you more than a glance. Not a single compliment or acknowledgment slipped from his lips, just the stiff offering of his arm and a cold demeanor you’d never been able to break through.

Not even the bitterness of the red wine you drank could ease the pain festering inside you. You glanced at Thranduil, his attention on his steward whispering something in his ear. Regal and commanding, you’d thought marriage to the elven king would be something out of a fairytale. Yet your story became twisted, and instead of a happy ending, you were trapped in a doomed marriage. It was like a wall separated you from him; you’d tirelessly beat against it with a hammer; Thranduil was on the other end, reinforcing the stone. 

You glanced down at your dress, the pale green fabric, Thranduil’s favorite shade. Even still, you were desperate for his validation and approval, like a child tugging at their father’s sleeves. A stray hair fell in front of your face, and you pushed it behind your ear, hands ghosting over your rounded ears. Maybe if you’d been an elf and not a human, he might view you as an equal and not a consolation prize. 

One hand below the table closed into a tight fist while you downed the rest of your wine in one gulp. 

Legolas met your eye from across the table with an almost apologetic grin. You returned it with a tight smile you tried to make pleasant. Legolas knew all too well the neglect his father could inflict, so he often preferred the forests over the palace. There was an understanding that made your pain more bearable. 

The handmaidens you brought from home and your stepson, who was older than your eldest living relatives, were all that kept you from falling into true despair. 

Like clockwork, a servant filled your chalice, and you gladly drank. This wine was sweeter and less sharp than the red you were expecting. Once again, you looked towards Thranduil, no longer speaking with his steward but quietly watching the party play out. You reached out, delicately placing your hand over his, only for his to push it away, not bothering to pay you a glance. 

The blatant rejection stung, always taking up too much space and time. Would Thranduil even notice if you’d stolen away into the night? If you pulled the dagger your marriage embedded in you, breaking free and leaving this miserable life behind. What might it be like to shed the weight of Thranduil’s cold disposition and an overly suspicious, judgmental, elvish kingdom? You’d be free and weightless for the first time in years. 

Yet, just as soon as the fantasies came, they fizzled out with the weight of reality. You had no money of your own, no survival skills, and nowhere to go. If you returned home, your father would ship you back to Thranduil. The dark forests and the creatures that lurked within would kill you. There was nowhere to go. No freedom to be found. 

You didn’t bother hiding the frown on your lips; no one in the room paid you much mind. They looked through you as if you were a phantom that clung to the residence of its former life. How was it possible to be in such a crowded room and yet still be so alone?

"How much longer do you believe this will go on for?"

At some point, Legolas had moved from across the table and was now seated to your left, watching the crowded room with thinly veiled discomfort.

" I hope for not much longer. I've never been amendable to crowds so large as this one."

Legolas laughed, the noise swallowed by the noise of the room. "And yet you are queen; should you not be used to such raucous parties?"

You tilted your glass towards him, a slight quirk on your lips.

"I could say the same about you, prince."

He nodded in silent agreement, quickly drinking from his glass, which you noticed was filled with water and not wine.

"I get to run off to the forest. How do you deal with all of this?" The smile on your face fell as your eyes dimmed, a reminder of your current standing.

"No one pays me mind. A blessing, I suppose." You attempted to laugh it off, but you couldn't keep the somberness from your tone. You were trapped in a gilded cage, a prisoner in your own home.

"Then I suppose I'll need to take more respites in the castle."

"You don't need--"

"I insist; what kind of friend would I be if I didn't check on your wellbeing."

So warm and inviting, it made you wonder how Legolas could be the son of Thranduil; he must take after his mother. You wondered, if only for a moment, how different your life might be if you'd been married to Legolas instead of his father. He was the more age appropriate option and if he didn't love you he'd at least respect you. But those thoughts were pointless; you'd been married to Thranduil and not Legolas.

"I think I'm technically your stepmother."

"But you feel more like a friend."

You didn't bother to argue, placing down your wine chalice to take a cool water drink. It was refreshing, soothing the burn the wine had created.

"Then I am glad we are friends."

Before he could respond, a member of his guard called his name. The elf enthusiastically waved him over, yelling something in elvish too slurred for you to understand.

Legolas shook his head, refusing the call, but you placed a single hand on his shoulder.

"Go, enjoy the night. I'll be fine over here."

He tried to discern if you were being dishonest but found nothing but sincerity. Just because you were miserable didn't mean he should be. With a single nod, Legolas left the table to join the group forming in the corner of the room.

Left in the chaos with no one to speak with, you picked up the chalice with wine. At some point during your conversation, Thranduil wandered off, talking with some of the higher-ranking nobles.

Thickly, you swallowed, hiding your face as you slowly drank from your glass.

When would this torment end?

---

The night dragged on at an impossibly slow speed. Your sorrow brought time to a near halt. By the time the crowd began to thin and Thranduil had escorted you back to your shared chambers, you’d forgotten how many glasses of wine you consumed. You managed to keep your composure and pride, not letting you show how light and lethargic the alcohol made you. 

Now, you sat before your vanity, preparing for bed as did Thranduil. There were so many pins placed in your hair that you struggled to pull them out without ripping your hair. Your head throbbed, and your frustration was building; you just wanted sleep. A cold hand pushed yours away, tangling in your hair. With practiced and fluid movements, Thranduil began to take down your hair. He was quick and efficient, his hands in your hair almost soothing.

The action was oddly domestic, and it caused a pang of pain in your chest. If the gods had been fair enough to bless you with a husband who loved you, this would be a nightly occurrence, not a rare show of care. 

“There’s too many pins in your hair.” Always critical; nothing would ever be good enough. 

A beat of silence passed; did he even want you to speak?

“It was a special occasion; I wanted something different done to my hair.” 

Clink. He placed the last pin on the table and stepped away from you.

“It was a bit gauche.”

Expression tight, you stared at your reflection, focused on your dark hair that tangled too quickly and your nearly pallid complexion. Gauche and graceless, the elves would never view you as their own. 

“I thought it looked nice.” 

His answer was to silently turn his back to you, moving to the other end of the room. The silence was maddening. Your attention never moved from your reflection, lips downturned as your eyes hardened. Pain turned to rage, pity becoming an all-consuming fire that threatened to turn all in your wake to ash. 

“Why marry me?” Your tone was harsh, firmer than you could remember speaking.

Thranduil let out a sigh, seemingly annoyed at your mere presence. Normally, his disregard made you shrink, and maybe it was the wine, but it only made you straighten your back, meeting his eyes through his reflection in your mirror. 

“To seal an alliance with your kingdom, you know this.” He was always condescending; he was so much older and wiser. 

“I understand political marriages, but why marry me? You’ve managed political alliances without offering your hand in marriage; you even have a son to marry off. So why--” You slowly stood from your chair, turning to face him directly. “-marry me?”

“Would you have preferred to marry Legolas?” 

“I’d prefer you answer my question. So I’ll ask once more: why marry me?” You strode towards him, eyes narrowed.

“To ensure an alliance with your family.”

“That is it? For no reason other than that.”

Thranduil looked down at you, his lips tight.

“Did you hope to hear differently?” He tilted his head, eyes ice cold and bitter. “Ours was a marriage of convenience, not love.”

You clenched your jaw, swallowing thickly. All of it for nothing, a marriage he knew would never succeed. He may have been content with a loveless life after the passing of his wife, but he knowingly dragged you into it. To turn your life into a void--

You wanted to scream, to yell obscenities at him, to spit all the vile venom his careless behavior filled you with. But it would do no good. An emotional breakdown wouldn’t mend your rift; there was no foundation of respect to rebuild. It was just endless nothingness. Standing at the precipice, you would simply fall into a never-ending pit. 

“I see.”

A hint of shock made his eyes widen a fraction, expecting an outburst like the one you fantasized about. Humans weren’t known for patience, yet it wasn’t patience that kept you silent. It was dejection; you'd given up hope of anything better than what you had.

You dared not move, not even blink until Thranduil turned towards the door.

“I think I will ensure the keep is secured. Goodnight.” 

Head turned, yet your eyes remained where he once stood; you remained silent. The door opened and quietly shut behind his retreating form. Only then did you exhale the breath you’d been holding. 

The bed was plush under your body, and the comforter was like a cloud, yet you’d never felt more miserable. You turned your back to the side Thranduil would take when he returned to the chambers. Eyes shut, soothed by the darkness, you dreamed of something more.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Tags: @jmablurry | @lunatichaotiche | @aearonnin | @emiliessketches | @vibratingbones | @moony-artnstuff | @ranhanabi777 | @kenobiguacamole | @ceinelee | @thranduil | @samnblack | @abbiesthings | @Strangebananabatranch | @bitter--fruit | @keijibum | @lifestylesleep | @themerriweathermage | @im-a-muggleborn | @sweetheart-syndrome | @boyruins | @AwkwardBecomesYou | @delyeceamaitare

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Halbrand (Sauron) visiting you in your dreams…

Your eye caught the split lip and swelling bruise on his cheek. The drying blood did very little to quell the unease growing in your chest.

You were warned not to speak with him. It was explicitly requested that you alert Galadriel or Elrond should Sauron venture into your dreams again… but your heart loved too fiercely. Maybe it was as Galadriel had feared, that you had fallen in love by the allure of his darkness but you had fallen.

“Are you in pain?” You asked.

Halbrand seemed surprised by the question. He had visited each night for the past week speaking of adventures, whispering apologies or reminiscing over stolen moments and you had not uttered a single word - until now. 

“Physical pain can be endured. The ache in my chest, however, echoes more greatly.” He answered.

You turned away briefly in an attempt to wash away his implication of lingering emotions. Instead, you focused on another thought that plagued your mind.

“You are a being of great power.” You stated and looked at him once more. “Why have you subjected yourself to this?”

“Perhaps it was the only way to have you speak to me again?” Halbrand teased. When you chose not to comment he continued. “Or perhaps it is my penance for causing you such hurt?”

“That is no answer.” You told him sternly.

Halbrand softened his gaze and smiled lovingly like he had on so many occasions. “It is not but there are some secrets that I must hold on to. Surely you understand?”

“I do not hold on to secrets as you would assume.”

“No? Then why have you not yet awoken and called for the guards to report my appearance? Why have you chosen to keep Galadriel in the dark about my visits?” He questioned.

You remained silent. He was right. But you had no desire to confess that to him and you had a feeling that he knew it too.

“The hour is growing late. I will leave you to your dreams.” Halbrand said. “I do hope we speak again soon.”

He waited for a few moments. You had wanted to tell him to stay safe but that was far too complicated with what has unfolded. So you said nothing and watched him vanish, leaving you to dream of an empty room.

~ More imagines here ~

A/n: Oh how I’ve missed writing for this show!

[ed-art-studio]

Had the honor of painting this wonderful commission of Finwe morning the loss of his beloved wife Miriel by the silver willows in Lorien.

Thank you @Khris Clymer for requesting this piece!

[kaminokatie]

so i watched the hobbit for the first time yesterday and my god does that thorin have me in a chokehold. i so desperately want to write a fic about him, but would anybody be interested? i’d make a whole account dedicated to lotr/hobbit fics if it did well!

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Imagine breaking the dwarves out of the dungeons of The Woodland Realm.

Ori: "We're never gonna reach the mountain are we?" *He laments*

Bilbo: "Not stuck in here, you're not." *Jingles the keys*

Y/N appears, eating a cake?

Y/N: "Didya know they were having a feast? Bloody good food they have. And the wine! You guys want any? I think I can go-"

Balin: "Bilbo!"

*All erupt into excited chatter*

Y/N: "Wha- What am I? Chopped liver?"

*Munches angrily*

Kili: "It's okay Y/N I'll share with you!"

Fili: "Yeah, come on give us some!"

*Y/N grins and breaks the cake into three pieces.*

Bilbo: "Shh! There are guards nearby!"

*One by one they escape down to the cellar.*

Bofur: "You're suppose to be leading us OUT! Not further in!"

Bilbo: "I know what I'm doing."

Bofur: "Shh!"

Bilbo: "Into the barrels! Quickly now."

Dwalin: "Are you mad? They'll find us."

Bilbo: "No no, they won't I promise you. Please, please you must trust me"

Thorin: "Do as he says."

*They clamber in and Y/N stays out.*

Y/N: "Go Bilbo. into the barrel with Thorin quickly."

Thorin: "Y/N, what are you-"

Y/N: "I will see you at the gate."

Balin: "What gate?"

Y/N: "Hold your breath everyone."

*Y/N pulls the lever and they are all dropped into the river.*

Y/N: "Well, that was fun! Now, let's play some hide and seek shall we?"

*Y/N slips past the guards and out of the palace and up into the light. They spot the dwarves in the river and begins her run towards them*

Legolas: "Shut the gate" (in Sindarin)

Y/N: "No no! Don't do that!"

The guards look at her strangely before beginning to shut the gate.

*Y/N groans and mumbles*

Y/N: "This is gonna hurt like a bitch isn't it. Where's Tauriel when you need her. Stupid world doesn't even have her in it. Stupid movie made me think she was an actual character"

*She huffs while running towards the gate*

Y/N "ORCS! WATCH OUT!"

*A guard is stuck by an arrow.*

Y/N: "Fucks sake."

*The Orcs rampage through the top of the closed gates, persuing fights with the Elven guards.*

Bofur: "Orcs! Watch out!"

Bolg: "Slay them all" (Dark Speech)

*Y/N fires an arrow at him, striking him in the arm*

Y/N: "Take a shower, you STINK."

*Y/N runs towards the fighting dwarves.*

*Kili spots the lever to open the gate.*

Y/N: "NO, STAY PUT. DON'T MOVE KILI."

*Y/N dashes towards him while he gets up to pull the lever.*

Y/N: "NO."

*Bolg pulls out Y/N's arrow from his arm and draws his own, notching it in his bow. He aims it at Kili.*

Y/N: "KILI."

*Y/N lunges towards Kili, pushing him out of the way, the arrow strikes her through the leg. With a gasp she doubles over, clutches onto the lever and pulls it down.*

Y/N: "Ah, fuck."

A/N

For continuance sake, don't read ahead if you want to follow the normal story line. However if you wish to read this as a separate imagine read ahead!

*She gasps and struggles to stand. She bites down on her lip and forces the arrow out, snapping off the feathered end and pulling it out. Kili drags her over the edge of the gate and Y/N slips into a barrel with him below*

Kili: "Y/N! Y/N I'm so sorry I should have listened I-"

Y/N cries out in pain as they tumble down the stream, each knock jolting her wound.

Y/N: "Apologies later. Escape now."

*The company battles the Swarm of Orcs from the stream whilst drifting down the stream, aided by Legolas and his army.*

Thorin: "Anything behind us?"

Nori: "Not that I can see!"

Bofur: "I think we've out run the Orcs."

Thorin: "Not for long. We've lost the current."

Dwalin: "Bombur's half drowned."

Thorin: "Make for the shore! Come on let's go!."

Øin: "Glóin, help me brother."

Kili: "Y/N is hurt. Her leg needs binding."

Y/N Groans quietly before answering.

Y/N: "I'm fine. Not able to die, Just hurts. Better me than Kili. Orc pack on our tail, Need to..

*Y/N grits her teeth*

Need to keep moving."

Thorin: "To where? There's a lake between us and that mountain you need that rest."

Y/N: "A barge, a man will have a boat. Help me up, I'll show you the way. Let's go."

*Kili and Fili lift her up and they hobble away.*

Y/N: "I should do this more often if it means two pretty men will carry me."

Thorin: "I think not. Next time, I will carry you over my shoulder and you will have no say."

*Y/N blinks owlishly.*

[itsfeckinwimdy]

10 Types of Kisses

Various LOTR/TH x Reader

Pairings: Aragorn, Fili, Haldir, Kili, & Legolas x Reader (separately).

Pronouns: n/a.

Prompt(s): 10 types of kisses by @urfriendlywriter. You can find her post here. (I used 9/10 of them).

Word Count: 3.4k words (3415)

Warnings: No beta, we die like Boromir. open wounds (Aragorns + Fili's), marriage (Fili's), swearing (Kili's), mentions of battle + death + blood (Legolas).

Tree Speaks: I had a lot of fun writing this but it also went into territory that I'm not particularly comfortable with writing yet so we'll see how this pans out.

Translations: amad - mother, dwarrowdams - a term used for female dwarves.

LOTR + TH Masterlist

Published: 25/02/2023

1. Aragorn

soft kisses - where they're just lying beside you, hands playing with your hair as they trail tender kisses all over your lips

The two of you were meant to be sleeping of course, but the gloom of the mines made it hard to settle. You supposed that's why he pulled you away from the others slightly, to a spot just that bit further away.

Aragorn was on first watch as usual, having made it his task since the beginning of the journey, and always insisted that the hobbits and Gandalf got plenty of sleep. But with that came the usual knowing looks between the two of you as Aragorn knew his love wouldn't sleep unless he would.

So with that knowledge, and him sensing his love's rising anxiety at being trapped underground, it now brought them to this.

He tilted your head up from where it was resting against his chest, his hand cupping your face. Aragorn brushed a few loose strands of hair off your face from where it had fallen out of place as his own head tilted down towards yours. His hand gently entwined with your other, and he paused in his movements, allowing you to decide next.

You gently reached up, threading your hand through his long locks and gently pulling him down towards you. He pressed his lips to yours, mouth moving slowly, softly, intimately.

He pulled away, your lips chasing after his, a small smile gracing his lips as he pressed another kiss, and then another, and then another to your lips.

the type of kiss where you can't find words to say after, or the ones where your forehead lingers against each other's

Aragorn's horse trotted through helms deep, having just pulled him up from the river bed where if not found, he would've succumbed to his wounds. He dismounted his horse and received a scolding from Gimli before forcing himself up the staircases and into the deep.

Legolas rose from outside the doors, greeting his friend who believed him dead. The elf pulled him into a familiar embrace before pulling back and making a sarcastic comment about the ranger.

The elf turned a small smile gracing his face before yelling the name of a person. The ranger followed his line of sight. It fell on his love, you.

You looked up after the elf who yelled out to you, before seeing the man you mourned for standing with him. Abandoning your stuff, you ran to him, arms thrown over his shoulders and crushing him to your chest as a few sobs left you.

His arms encircled you as he leant his forehead against yours. He didn't care at that point about the mud caking him and he didn't think you cared enough at that point, so it made no odds on whether he was careful or not.

He pulled back slightly, raising his hand to caress your face before pressing his lips to yours. Tears left both of you as his mouth moved languidly with yours.

Aragorn pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. He wanted to say so much to you, fearing that he would never see you again but all thoughts left him as he wished to stay in this moment, longing for nothing but you.

2. Fili

messy kisses - curly hair, ruffled sheets and half-buttoned clothes as you just want more and at that moment, they're the most beautiful soul to you ever

The sun trickled in through the window, bypassing the curtains that hadn't been fully drawn across the night before. The young (ish) couple lounged in the bed, bodies pressed together as close as they could get with the few layers of clothes still between them.

He tilted your head up to meet his, his lips pressing against yours, moving languidly in the early morn. Fili reached up, hand caressing your courting and marriage braids that were still somewhat intact.

He groaned, feeling one of your hands gripping the hair at the base of his neck and the other slipping under his shirt across his chest.

Fili pulled back, eyes fluttering open to meet yours; your own half-lidded as you drew in a few stuttering breaths. It was a pleasant greeting from your love first thing in the morning, one that you would be against again.

You gazed up at Fili, the dwarf hovering over you, careful not to rest his entire body weight on you. The tressels of sunlight filtered through his hair, causing a glow to shine over him.

His eyes trailed over your face, memorising every detail as if it was the first time he saw you.

kisses on your body ♡ frail kisses on your shoulder! on your lower back, belly and trailing to your neck, collarbones, lips.

A cry of pain left your lips.

Oin pulled the blood-soaked cloth away from where it was pressed tightly against your side. The infection from the arrow had spread, the orcs having laced it with something deadly.

The pain wasn't something Fili wished on anyone, much less you. So he did his best to comfort you whilst the infection ransacked your body. His hands firmly held you, one holding the back of your head, and the other gripping your forearm to stop you from forcing Oin's hand away from the wound he was trying his best to treat.

After Oin had doused the cut in water, trying to flood any dirt that wormed its way in, Fili pulled you closer. The healer moved back to gather some more altheas and cloths, leaving you curled against your prince's chest.

Fili dropped his head down to your shoulder, as your tears continued to douse his shirt - not that he cared as it was covered in sweat, grime, and whatever else from the trip across middle earth - his hand on your head slipping down to the back of your neck, stroking his fingers in what he hoped was a soothing pattern.

He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, the fabric of your tunic had been pulled away, cut away for easier access. It would need replacing, he noted, but hoped that it would be enough to cover you until the sun rose again.

Fili continued his ministrations, pressing another kiss further up your shoulder. And then another at the junction where it met your neck. He considered pressing one to your neck, in that one spot he knew made you shiver, but with the way you were sitting in his lap you were already considered improper in public, so he begrudgingly decided against it.

Oin chose to return at that moment, pressing the churned-up altheas against your wound and then tying the cleanest cloth over it. You cried out in pain, more tears falling. It was like someone was driving a burning knife into your arm, over, and over, and over again. The pain rolling in waves.

Fili kept whispering words of praises and comfort, the Kadzhul translations lost in your mind as all you could feel was the pain, and him.

The knot was finally tied on the bandage. Fili slid his hand from the back of your neck to cup your face, pressing a chaste kiss against your forehead before leaning his own upon yours.

I'm here, you're safe now, I love you, the action spoke more words than Fili could find himself saying.

3. Haldir

lazy kisses as they admire you - fingers delicately trialing your jaw as they kiss your lips

"Haldir," you groaned, leaning back against his chest, head turned up to face him. A smile graced his lips, his eyes locked with yours, shining full of love.

It wasn't often you got to spend a prolonged period of time with your Marchwarden, especially with him being gone for months at a time to guard Lothlórien's borders. So any time you spent with him was precious, even if you knew he would be leaving at the end of it again.

The braid in his hair was loose, albeit from your hands running through his hair earlier, causing him to have a sexy, but dishevelled look. The thought of elves being supermodels no matter what state they were in flashed through your mind again causing you to chuckle slightly.

Haldir raised his hand, letting it linger under your jaw as he delicately leaned down to place another kiss against your lips. Warmth bloomed through you and as his lips moved against yours, all thought about him having to leave again in a few days retreated into the depths of your mind.

You were drunk off the taste of him, off his kisses as he stole your breath each time. And nothing would ever change that.

goodbye kisses - kisses lingering like liquor in each other's lips, bitter but sweet, "I'll always come back to you, love. you're my home after all."

The boats gifted to the fellowship had just finished being prepared and were packed full of provisions to last you a good while.

The thought of having to leave your home again haunted you but not just because it was where you lived. No, because this time you were leaving your love, not knowing when you were to see him again. He was your home.

The Marchwarden was allowed to see his love off, having been granted a week's leave whilst you and the fellowship recovered and stayed in Caras Galadhon, Lothlórien. After you were sent as an emissary to Imladris, Rivendell in the common tongue, and word had returned that you had embarked on a journey to destroy the one ring, Haldir was worried for you.

He knew the history of the ring, as did most if not all elves and was worried about the dangers you may face. He knew that you could protect yourself, having been a sparring partner against you for years, but the worry did not dissipate.

He met you at the shoreline, his hand over his heart in the traditional greeting before he held your hand in his. Sadness filled his eyes as he wished not to see you leave, but knowing that this was a journey you were willing to take.

Haldir leant his head against yours as he fixed the cloak hung around your shoulders, ensuring that the broach was attached properly.

His hands lingered on your waist as he prepared himself to say goodbye again. It was one thing being the one who was leaving, but now that he was on the receiving side for once, he now knew how your heart felt each time he went on patrol. That feeling of not knowing if you were coming back or not eating at his heart.

Your hand on his cheek stole his spiralling mind from his thoughts as your lips pressed against his. A tear threatened to leave his eye as he consumed your kiss like a drug. The fear bubbling in his chest soothing to make way for the love he held for you but the melancholy feeling at having to be parted from you made it more bittersweet than anything.

His lips lingered over yours as you pulled away, his hand raising to stoke a strand of hair back from your face. Haldir wished he could keep you here in his arms but understood the task you had undertaken would not be dropped lightly.

4. Kili

kissing and realising this is the person you'll always love, you'll always want to touch and snuggle with

Kili didn't think he could hold you any closer than he currently was.

You were practically melded into him, hands gripping tightly to the back of his jacket. The clothing was still damp from the thunderous storm you had walked through, but nonetheless had to still wear.

The terror that shot through him as the thunder giant collided with the mountain, believing that he had lost not only his brother but you as well, was something he never wished to feel again. His hands trembled slightly at the thought.

He shifted slightly, taking some pressure off his shoulder whilst pulling you upwards slightly so you were level with him. The ground wasn't pleasant to lie on, less so on his side, and even less so with damp clothes on, but Kili knew this was the company's best option right now.

Kili rested his head against yours, his eyes meeting yours. He nudged his nose with yours affectionately, giving you time to pull away.

It was something he always did, you noted. Every time he wanted to kiss you but couldn't find the words to say it, or was surrounded by too many prying eyes, he did that. Gave you that tell that allowed you to decide what happens next.

You tentatively leant forwards, tilting your head upwards ever so slightly, letting your lips press against his. There was no rush. No incessant desire to pull the other closer, just him.

Kili moved his lips slowly with yours, savouring every moment that he got with you. Fuck, he loved you. The realisation pulled at his heartstrings more, knowing that he could've lost you today.

prohibited kiss - you're not even supposed to be seeing each other but your hands are on his hair and his hands around your waist, lower bodies pressing into each other as you kiss

Laughter radiated through your body as you were pulled through the endless turns and corridors of Erebor. The stone walls were lined with torches and braziers all lit with fires burning brightly.

To anyone else, it would be a maze, a catacomb of tunnels that unless sense was made of them, would surely lead to your demise. But years of living there had engraved the pathways into your mind, and no doubt Kili's.

His hand dragged you to a secluded corner, himself coming to a halt. He could no longer hear the guards trying to follow the two of you. Pride flooded his chest as he gazed back at you, finally alone with his betrothed.

You were finally able to get a good look at him, now that he didn't have all the dwarrowdams fawning over him. Even if he wasn't "beautiful" by dwarf standards, he was still a prince and would have people trying to gain his favour.

But his title didn't matter to you. Kili did.

And by the creator himself, did you love the way he looked. His hair tousled from the running, and the short beard he was so desperately trying to grow accentuated his face.

But the ceremonial robes that hung to his body? You couldn't resist.

He found himself pushed back, pinned against the pillar. Kili's eyes locked with yours, the same fire of desire within him, burning through you.

Your lips pressed with his, mouths moving frantically with the others. Your hands that gripped onto the front of his robes slid up, trailing up his neck and into his hair, pulling slightly to press him into you more.  A groan left him at a particularly harsh tug before your hand moved to trace his courting braid.

He pulled away, panting, breathless, kissing you again and pulling you into him, arms gripping your waist, hands in his hair, your bodies practically merging into one. If his Amad caught him now, he wouldn't even have to face the scornful looks of Dwalin, he would already be lying in his grave.

But could he let you go? Fuck no.

5. Legolas

shy kisses - when you're the one pulling them closer, and they nuzzle their face in your crook after the kiss, hands around your waist as their ears get red

You were scared. If anything you were currently lustful, but you were about to fight in a war against ten thousand troops with an army of less than a third of that. So you were scared.

Legolas had turned to where you leant against one of the pillars, choosing to come and check all the fastenings on your armour. He was meticulous and methodical as he went to each and every one, adjusting where he deemed necessary whilst checking it caused you no discomfort.

A soft smile graced your face, as you watch his gentle movements before reaching out to cup his face in one of your hands. A blush, so subtle anyone who didn’t know Legolas would miss it, warmed his face, his head lifting and eyes locking with yours. It was as if he was staring straight into your soul, his piercing grey eyes full of love but fear.

You pulled him towards you, Legolas leaning his head down as his hand held over yours on his face, the other resting gently on your waist. Leaning up, you gently pressed your lips to his. Just once, mind you, the action as tender as possible, letting him come to you.

Legolas leant into you, pressing his lips back against yours, moving at a slow pace. He wanted to savour this moment as much as possible before the two of you walked to what could be your deaths.

ahem.

The clearing of the person's throat sprung the two of you apart, you mentally preparing for the endless stream of apologies to whichever passerby caught you, only for it to be someone you knew all too well.

"Aragorn." You spoke, heavily embarrassed to be caught with your lover.

The ranger looked between the two of you, his face being that awful neutral resting one making it so you couldn't judge his feelings on the matter. Aragorn must have read the panic starting to creep up in you as a teasing smile broke out.

“I have no qualms with this,” he began before looking over his shoulder towards the entrance of the armoury, “but the people of Rohan may not be as forgiving if you are caught.”

He turned on his heel, making his way up the staircase and leaving the two to their devices.

A moment passed and then a chuckle left your lips as a sigh left Legolas’. His head fell to your shoulder as the blush absconding his cheeks spread like wildfire tinting his ears a rosy colour.

At least it was only Aragorn, you mused, If Gimli had found you then he wouldn’t stop teasing your elf.

kisses of reassurance - saying that you're safe, still with them, that your heart is still beating wildly in your chest, that they couldn't get rid of you if they tried, that for some insane reason, you're not dead yet

Your chest heaved, trying to inhale as much air as possible as you sprinted up the mud-soaked hill. Aragorn had yelled for the soldiers to retreat into Minas Tirith and you were making your way as fast as you could until an arrow pierced your shoulder.

The doors were closed and sealed as you entered alongside the last few stragglers, a resounding bang from the wood hitting the stone frame. The room spun on its axis.

The throbbing pain in your arm continued, each ebb seeming stronger which was probably due to the adrenaline wearing off. Maybe you should've stayed fighting, it surely couldn't hurt as much as your arm did, you thought as your uninjured arm reached out to hold yourself up against the wall.

Giving up on keeping yourself upright, you slid falling somewhat ungracefully to the floor, blood dripping from your wound and soaking your sleeve. It was funny how much damage one arrow could cause.

You blinked.

The sun had risen, and from where you could see it, it was around mid-morning. Your eyes focused and you could see a worried face in a sea of platinum blonde hair. Legolas.

Ignoring the sound of the elf’s worry, you pushed yourself up into a seated position, as he gracefully knelt down next to you. His hands mindlessly moved to cup your face, as he had to pull his eyes away from your crudely bandaged arm. The arrow had been jagged and cut more as it pierced you, causing more blood to be lost.

Your hand covered one of his as Legolas moved to press his forehead to yours.

“I'm okay,” you whispered, breaking the silence between the two of you. Your thumb stroked the back of his hand absentmindedly, as you tilted your head up, meeting his lips with yours. It was one of desperation, longing and fear. A shuddered breath left you as the two of you broke apart.

“We’re okay.”

[edges-of-night]

Hello, hope this message finds you well! I would like to request (if the idea interests you of course) the fellowship responding to the reader asking “would you still love me if I was a worm/toad?”

What an inspired idea, anon haha! This one was fun to think about; hopefully it’s just as much fun to read! Enjoy ♡

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

Even though you asked him out of nowhere, Aragorn considers your questions rather seriously. Sitting by a fire with you, it takes him a while to answer: “Why wouldn’t I?” It should’ve been obvious to you that a ranger – and one as kind and gentle-hearted as him! – would naturally see beauty in every creature, no matter its general reputation. To him, it’s not a question.

.

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Boromir would shoot you a confused smile when you asked him your question. “What? Why would you turn into a worm…?” You’d blush and explain it to him, which would make him laugh in relief. “Why worry about such nonsense?” – “What, me turning into a worm?” – “No, silly! Me not loving you!” he’d say and pull you close for a kiss ♡ (He’d probably still worry about the sudden question because he cares for you that much haha!)

.

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

When you ask Frodo your question, it catches him off-guard. He’d look up from his book and ask you to repeat, even though he was already listening carefully. But the question has him double-checking! Your adorable explanation makes him laugh. He’d take your hands and say, “The things you think about! If you ever manage to turn yourself into a worm, you must turn me as well, so that we may live happy lives in our worm-house underground.”

.

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

Gandalf smokes his pipe when you ask him your question and smacks his lips as he contemplates the scenario. “A curious proposition…” For a moment, the furrow of his bushy eyebrows makes it look like he was about to scold you for your nonsense, but then he’d shoot you a playful smirk and assure you that yes, if you were to turn into a worm, he would still love you all the same.

.

･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

You ask Gimli your question at a late-night banquet, making him pause and laugh. “I do not know if a worm would want to live in stone though! Wouldn’t you leave for grassier, muddier grounds? What would a worm want with a Dwarf?” Just like that, he has turned your question around! The ensuing nonsense conversation makes it certain: The two of you are inseparable ♡

.

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

Legolas is a very playful Elf and enjoys the games and riddles you two tend to play, so your question would not come entirely out of the blue for him. He would tilt his head and pout, pretending to consider it gravely. “A worm? A creature so foul and tiny and all too disagreeable?” – his face splits into a grin – “Why yes, of course!” Additionally, he’d incorporate “little worm” into his endless list of pet names for you.

.

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

Your question to Merry would probably come up during one of your philosophical conversations. But instead of stopping Merry dead in his tracks, he’d simply answer, “Yes, next question.” To him, it genuinely is not up for debate if changing your appearance would impact his feelings for you. When you dig deeper, he’d probably say something like, “I’d have to get used to it, but that’s it” and grin at you.

.

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

Let’s be honest: The question would probably come from Pippin in the first place. Maybe he had watched a worm or a toad travelling through a meadow nearby, or even overheard other Hobbits asking their partner about the dreaded scenario. He keeps wondering if he’d still be lovable as a worm but leaves no doubt should that fate befall you: This Hobbit loves you to the moon and back!

.

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

No contest: Sam Gamgee wins this one by a mile. When you ask him, no matter how unsurely, he’d cross his arms with a thoughtful sigh and start his answer by explaining how important worms are in the circle of nature to keep the ground and gardens alive. “And that’s just that, y’know? I don’t have to find ‘em beautiful, but I’d simply be lost without them. And if it was you, oh, y’know, there’d be no question about it. I’d tinker with a bit of wood to make you an indoor garden, so you have some dirt to crawl in even when we’re inside the house. Something I can carry around. And somethin’ to eat. Unless you don’t want to. I’d bring you the good dirt from Farmer Maggot, and some apples, too. Your favourite flowers must be there too, so that’s – hm? What’re smilin’ at me like that for? You asked the question…”

[temporarily-your-saint]

Under the Stars

A Rings of Power fic has been brewing inside of my brain but unfortunately Elrond will be going through so much pain... As if he hasn't been through it enough. :') BUT. I really wanted to give him a soft and sweet moment, so here we are. Our sweet summer boy deserves only love. <3

Word count: 3.8k

Warning(s): none, kissing??, some (lil bit) of spice??? more like suggestive spicy?

Themes: Friends to lovers, mutual pining, sort of submissive elrond??? hehehe

Also all translations are at the end!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

Elrond could always be found underneath the golden trees that surrounded Lindon, Írimë could be sure of that.

The elleth watched her dear friend from afar, awestruck by the scene before her. The half-elf seemed to glow underneath the mallorn trees, almost shining while he wrote his poetry and speeches for the king. 

She always admired his passion for the melodic words that danced along the pages and never grew tired watching his quill flick skillfully. After a moment, her legs finally moved through the field and towards the king’s harold.

As she approached, his gaze continued to stay fully enveloped within the binded pages, unaware of her presence. 

“My heart sings to see that not much has changed,” her voice rang, breaking the silence.

Elrond, slightly startled, smiled when he heard the familiar voice. His eyes flickered to her face and then down her body, taking in her figure with a subtle glance.

"Írimë? Is that really you?" He spoke calmly as he stood up from his sitting position atop the tree and stepped forward to approach her. "It's been a while. You haven't changed a single day."

As he grew closer to her, she reached out and placed a hand against his cheek. “Neither have you, mellon nin,” she breathed as her thumb brushed against his skin, tenderly just beneath his eye.

Warmth immediately poured over her as they greeted one another. It had been years since the two had seen one another and by the Valar, she had truly missed his affable smile. While years in the lives of elves passed swiftly and without much notice, she had still ached to lay her eyes upon him once again.

A light blush trickled along Elrond’s cheeks as his eyes danced across her face. “I’ve missed you, my dear friend,” he spoke softly.

She couldn’t help but beam with happiness at his words, a smile never leaving her lips. Her bright blue eyes stared into his gray orbs, not daring to look away.

“And I you,” her voice whispered. The elleth’s heart pumped quickly as her stomach filled with butterflies.

His hands wrapped around her one that had held his cheek and brought it down between them. She could let him hold her there in place for centuries if Eru Ilúvatar allowed it. 

He squeezed her hand gently, feeling the warmth of her touch while his gaze held hers as it shined with merriment and affection.

Gods, had he missed her.

The half-elf studied her features, captivated by the beauty of the elleth. A strange but not unpleasant flutter raised inside his chest. He always thought she was beautiful; any being that roamed Arda could see she was well-favored by the gods, but something felt different now.

“There was not a day that went by when I did not think of you,” he admitted, voice just above a whisper.

His forward words only quickened her pulse more. She wasn’t so sure her heart wouldn’t fully beat out of her chest at this point for she would melt under his gaze if he wasn’t currently keeping her grounded, holding her hand between his two.

“Surely I didn’t cloak your thoughts too much,” she teased him, a smile dancing across her lips.

Elrond let out a soft huff of amusement at Írimë’s teasing. He gave her hand another gentle squeeze and shook his head with an affectionate smile as he spoke, "You know very well that you have always occupied a significant amount of my thoughts," he replied in a teasing tone of his own.

He brought her hand up and pressed a soft, gentle kiss against her palm. It was a small yet intimate gesture.

Elrond had always been fond of the elleth before him. He hadn’t always noticed the peculiar feeling for it only seemed to grow stronger within the past years that had passed. And here she was before him once again. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity this time to tell her.

“Elrond…” she breathed, unable to formulate a witty response. He was being serious.

His lips…His eyes…The way he peered into her soul dizzied her senses. She had noticed Elrond looking at her differently the last time she was in his presence and now…Here he did it once again.

Elrond watched her reaction carefully. He saw the way her breath caught in her throat and he heard the slight tremble in her voice. His heart beat a little faster, his breath catching in return.

His thumb traced idle circles on her palm, the contact between them making his skin tingle. Elrond swallowed tightly, meeting her gaze with a gaze full of sincerity.

"Írimë... I have wanted to tell you... that I..."

His voice trailed off, his words failing him. How could he tell her that he felt for her without sounding foolish?

“Yes…?” Wide eyes stared into his own, searching for answers. Something… anything.

Írimë felt like she was on fire. Blood pumped through her veins that felt like lava—heavy, scolding. Pink lips parted as she licked her lips.

Elrond hesitated, struggling with how to properly articulate the storm of emotions he felt inside. He swallowed again, swallowing his last remaining doubts.

He brought her hand up to his chest, placing it right over his rapidly beating heart. The warmth of her palm pressed against him nearly made him shiver.

"Írimë... I have come to realize...”

Every passing moment made her heart boom louder. Her hand placed over his heart was so intimate, so raw. He wanted her to feel his heartbeat. 

And she did.

Before he could finish, a loud voice came barreling over the hill, running toward them through the grass.

“Írimë! Elrond!”

The voice broke their trance, not allowing Elrond to finish his words. Gods, how she needed him to finish those words.

She stepped back, allowing some space between her and the half-elf before her as she retracted her hand. Her gaze met a familiar figure walking towards them. 

“Vorohil!” She exclaimed, welcoming her old friend.

Elrond's heart felt heavy inside of his chest, the moment stolen from him just as he was about to confess his true feelings. He took a step back as well, his shoulders slightly slumped in defeat.

As Vorohil approached, Elrond looked up, his expression slightly irritated at the interruption. He had been so close to speaking up, so close...But now there was no chance of picking up from where he had left off. The mood between the two souring now that Vorohil had joined them.

"Vorohil," Elrond said in greeting, forcing a small smile.

The ellon acknowledged Elrond with respect and then rested upon the raven-haired elleth. “I heard you just arrived. I have come to fetch you for the feast!”

Írimë grasped her dear friend’s forearm and gave it a light squeeze. “Thank you, my dear friend,” she said softly. Her bright eyes then met Elrond’s gaze, “Shall we join?”

The half-elf let out a soft sigh, his disappointment still evident on his face. However, he offered her a small, reluctant smile and nodded, "Yes, let us be on our way."

As they began walking, Elrond fell into pace beside her, their shoulders brushing slightly. He kept his hands clasped tightly behind his back to stop himself from reaching out to her again. The words that he had wanted to say lingered on the tip of his tongue, yet he held them back once more.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

The feast was a splendid affair. Food was plentiful and wine flowed freely. Music played in the background, filling the air with cheerful, light elvish tunes.

Elrond walked beside Írimë, though his earlier enthusiasm had wilted slightly. He occasionally stole glances at her but made no attempt to resume their earlier conversation. His heart ached with unspoken words, yet he couldn't bring himself to speak them, not with so many peers around.

Írimë made her rounds throughout the evening. It had been many, many moons since she had last seen the trees of Lindon. How she had missed it so…

A familiar gaze lingered on the elleth though she welcomed it. She knew he watched her. Their keen senses made it near impossible to ignore. She found herself biting her lips more than not, swinging her hair, and smiling more than not as Elrond watched. The half-elf had such a peculiar way of affecting her; it was like she was a young elleth once again the way she yearned for his gaze.

And he noticed it all. The way she strode with more confidence and grace, the way she flipped her waves of midnight hair around, the way her smile glowed.

Every movement she made, every gesture, he absorbed them all, devouring them like a sweet dessert. 

His gaze lingered, continuing to watch her closely, trying to memorize every detail. The half-ellon’s fingers squeezed the chalice he held.

The more time passed, the more his heart longed for her, desperate to reach out and touch her, to speak the words that were dying to leave his tongue.

As the feast went on, Elrond eventually found himself able to slip away. He walked outside into the cool night air, his heart still pounding in his chest. He couldn't stay inside anymore, being so close to Írimë yet unable to speak to her; it had become too much to bear.

He ran his fingers through his curly locks, feeling tired and frustrated as he stared off into the night sky. "If I could just have one moment alone with her," he muttered to himself.

“Who is this elleth my dear friend frets over?” The very voice he daydreamed of rang through the air as she approached Elrond. 

He gave a small huff of laughter in response to her question as he turned toward her, "You heard that, did you?"

Her eyes narrowed curiously at him. As he spoke, he wouldn’t meet her eyes, instead talking into the distance as he turned back away from her.

Taking a sip of the wine he held, he sighed, "She is someone I cannot seem to get off my mind, even for a single moment. She occupies my thoughts from dawn to dusk, filling my heart with a melody I have never felt before."

His words cut into her. Was she being farcical? Was this an unknown lover of his? Or…?

She sighed and took a large gulp of wine from her own chalice. The sweet wine from the First Age coated her tongue and warmed her insides. “A lucky elleth,” her voice strained. “You must write poetry about her…” She whispered as her eyes turned down.

Do not shed tears, she thought to herself. 

Her response startled Elrond. It was almost as if she... as if she didn't seem happy for him. Or, perhaps, jealous? But surely not. He shook his head slightly, his heart starting to pound in his chest.

Írimë stood beside him, looking out into the late evening.

Elrond looked over at her, his gaze fixing on hers. He could see the forced smile spread across her lips and he knew that there was something deeper behind her words.

"I have written many poems about her," he admitted, his voice quiet. "She is my muse, my light, my everything."

Her voice hitched in the back of her throat. His everything… His words echoed throughout her very being.

She swallowed hard and met Elrond’s eyes as she tried her best to hold back tears. “This elleth must feel only warmth and sunlight then,” her voice came out as a whisper.

Elrond could hear the hitch in her voice, the barely concealed pain in her words. His heart ached hearing the sadness that coated her tongue.

He took a step closer to her, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You do not sound as if you are happy for me, Írimë. Do my words cut you?"

Their bodies almost touched. Her heart pounded as the tears began to swell over. Tears streamed down her pink cheeks as blue eyes searched Elrond’s. 

A forced smile still strained on her lips as she spoke, “I wish you nothing but happiness, mellon nin.” 

She avoided the question, only wanting to relieve him but the pain was too much. Until it hit her. I love him. The words ran through her mind as realization kicked her in the chest.

The sight of Írimë’s tears broke him. Seeing the pain in her eyes, hearing her voice crack and her forced smile... He couldn't bear it anymore. But he needed to know why. Needed to hear her say it.

"You wish me happiness yet the sight of me talking about another pains you so," he said softly, taking another small step forward.

He reached up, gently brushing away her tears with his thumb. His gaze pierced hers as he spoke, “Tell me, Írimë. Why does this make you grieve?"

His question echoed through her mind. She had to tell him. Needed to. Though she felt foolish to love him if he was already promised to another. How could she do that to such a friend like him?

But what if she never told him? She would have to endure and watch him love another. Could she handle that?

Trembling lips parted as whispered words fell from her lips, “I remember when we were younger. You always wiped away my tears.”

A wavering smile crept upon her lips as she looked up at him. “You have always looked out for me, even knowing that I did not need it. Always tended my wounds. Always filled my heart with nothing but warmth and joy,” her eyes searched his, almost pleading as she spoke. 

Her hand reached up to cover his own that lingered on her cheek as his thumb wiped away the wet remnants.

“When your face fills my dreams, I sigh with comfort and happiness. When your skin meets mine,” she began as she turned her cheek inward toward his hand, placing a soft kiss in the middle of his palm. 

Her eyes met his again. “A current runs through me as if something becomes awakened when we touch. A wildfire that cannot be contained. A light that can never be diminished. You are as bright as daylight and warm as summer, Elrond.”

Elrond's heart pounded in his chest as he listened to her words. Every sentence, every sentiment... It was everything that he had been waiting for. Every bit of validation that he needed, it was in her words. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

The tear-stained face, the trembling lips, the hand on his... It was so raw, so open, so vulnerable, and yet so beautiful. He ached to say something, anything, but he was frozen in place. He could only stare at her, his face mirroring every emotion that ran through him.

He swallowed hard, his voice barely more than a whisper, "My dear Írimë, I... I never knew...I wanted to…"

His eyes flicked down to her trembling lips, his heart pounding louder and louder in his chest. The hand on her cheek moved down, tenderly cupping her face as his thumb brushed over her lips.

She sucked in a breath at his touch, closing her eyes in the process. A slow exhale left her lips as she slowly looked up at him.

The way she looked up at him was entrancing. Eyes of blue wide, pleading for him yet sad. She had never wanted something so badly in her immortal life. 

His finger brushed against her bottom lip again, softly pulling on it and then brushing it over. An agonizing ache reached below her stomach from the way his eyes bore into hers. He felt her breath hitch at his touch, her eyes closing for a brief moment once more.

“The elleth is you, meleth nîn,” his voice whispered. He placed both hands on either side of her cheeks as she looked up at him.

Everything fell into place at his words. The elleth is you, he had said. 

“Elrond,” her voice squeaked. 

A wave of relief washed over Elrond. Every ounce of tension left him as he heard the relief in her voice, knowing that he hadn't made a terrible mistake. He had never felt so vulnerable yet so complete at the same time. His thumb traced over her cheek gently, feeling the smooth skin beneath his touch.

"Írimë," he whispered back, his eyes roaming her face as if trying to memorize every little fleck of cerulean in her eyes, every curve, and every freckle on her skin.

He bent down and rested his forehead against hers. The two closed their eyes and shared breaths in the silence. She placed her hands over his own, her touch sending yet another shiver through him.

After a moment, she whispered, “Kiss me.”

When Írimë’s whispered words reached his ears, it was like a dam had burst.

The words had barely sunk in before he leaned in and hungrily pressed his lips to hers.

Long, slender fingers gently wove into her hair, holding her in place as he deepened the kiss. Their bodies close, so close that he could feel the heat radiating from her like a fire. All the years of longing, of hidden desires, were suddenly let loose in the kiss. His heart pounded in his chest, feeling as if it had finally found its home.

His other hand slid down, curling around her waist, pulling her in even closer, holding her against his body, as if trying to merge their very beings.

She could almost feel their souls become one as his lips pressed against hers. The hungry kiss released everything she had been feeling for him. Everything she wanted to envelop into words but did not have the ability.

They let their lips speak for them as the kiss deepened and he pulled her tighter into him. She could feel him, feel everything beneath his linens. 

A moan fell from her lips as his tongue danced with her own. She reached up, letting one hand curl into his dark locks. 

“Elrond…” her voice gasped his name. 

He felt every sound that left her lips—every soft gasp, every whisper, every moan. It was like music to him, the most beautiful symphony that his ears and soul had ever composed. Only the welcoming melody to Valinor could compare to this.

His hands wandered over her body as his tongue moved against hers, feeling her every curve, his touch desperate and hungry, yet tender and gentle.

Nothing else mattered in that moment but them. The dark night hid their figures outside, luckily, as their bodies intertwined. 

Her hand slid down through his hair, making its way next to his ear. Her fingers brushed over the pointed tip and she heard him whimper. Finally, she thought. 

The pointed ears of elves were incredibly sensitive, especially when senses were heightened. And they were left only to the touch of those that were promised, only to the most precious of close loved ones.

A jolt of pleasure shot through his body as her fingers glided over his ear. He had never felt something like it before, the sensation so intense, so intimate, that it almost overpowered all judgment. He let out a small gasp against her mouth, his body tensing up briefly before relaxing again.

His mind clouded, his focus entirely on her and the way she touched him. He pulled back from the kiss, breathless, and looked into her eyes, the intensity of his gaze almost dizzying.

"Do that again," he whispered, his voice husky with desire.

She had never heard his voice like this before. It was so gruff yet, he was begging? Or was that a command? She intended to find out.

Darkened eyes stared up into his piercing grays. Her thumb slowly, and barely even touching the tip of his ear, slid across the sensitive skin.

She watched his brows furrow and eyes close. No, she thought.

“Look at me, meleth nin,” her voice commanded, breath against his lips. Her thumb then traced down the outer part of his tapered ear.

Elrond's breath hitched in his throat as she touched him again, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head with the sensation. But the sound of her voice pulled him back into focus, a mixture of command and desire in her tone.

His eyes slowly drifted open, finding hers. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest, his lips parted as he let out a shaky breath. His fingers traced along her waist, drawing her as close as he could.

Hearing his song of pleasure spill from his lips rang through her.

His lust-filled gaze peered into her dilated pupils. She had never felt like this before. Her body could not get enough of him; it sang to her as hers sang to him, and she wanted to pluck every note.

Elrond’s breath deepened, his fingers gripping at the fabric of her dress, as if trying to hold himself back. His gaze darkened, the intensity in his eyes burning brighter with need.

He couldn't take it anymore. The fire coursing through his veins demanded something more. He wanted Írimë—needed her. Needed to feel their bodies fuse together, needed to taste her, needed to make her his entirely.

What was this?

Their chests heaved as they exchanged breaths, staring at one another. Desire filled their eyes as heat pooled deep within them.

“Elrond,” she breathed, looking up to him. In the quietness, eyes searched each other.

“We have been gone from the feast for so long,” her voice was unsteady, breath hitched from the shared intimacy.

Hearing her mention the feast reminded him of the festivities that still occurred. The thought of leaving her side to return made him wince, his heart clenching at the idea of being apart from her again.

His fingers flexed against her waist as he held her gaze, his mind and body both fighting against the rational part of him. He knew they needed to return but he didn't want it to end.

"You speak...words of reason," he said, his voice low and uneven.

She reached up, placing her hand against his cheek softly as her eyes peered into his. They both knew they needed to make an appearance once more.

”Meet me under the stars once more tonight…After the feast,” she finished, whispering her words.

His gaze softened as she touched his cheek, the feel of her skin causing his eyes to close for a moment. Elrond then turned to press his face into the palm of her hand, keeping her there for a moment as her words sunk in and he reopened them. 

“Under the stars, melnā,” he murmured, his voice as soft as a whisper against her skin.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

mellon nin: my friend

meleth nîn: my love

melnā: beloved

Írimë: lovely, desirable

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

[sun-snatcher]

Your take of Círdan being an old man who enjoys pestering people is my absolute fave bc yeah if I was the oldest elf alive I'd be a little shit half the time too for funzies

( credits to the lovely @peregrintook for this beautiful gifset ! )

✵ — WATER-DAMAGED!

summ.  Elrond arrives at Círdan’s workshop. He finds his heart instead. or:  The Herald and the Artisan fall in love. pairing.  elrond peredhel / f!reader  w.count.  1.2k (a lil baby!) a/n.  set in s2e1, friends-to-lovers kinda , fluff galore , mutual pining , Círdan being a thirdwheel (but highkey enjoying it because he’s a little shit like that)

       YOU’RE QUICK TO attempt to bundle Elrond up like a child when he’d arrived. 

Frantic, almost, at the sight of Lindon’s renowned Herald— drenched to the bone, head-to-toe, and dripping river water from his mess of curls, leaving puddles and a wet track wherever he went on the stone of the workshop.

“He’s not here yet,” is what you’d said, when he’d urged you for Master Círdan. The shipwright had gone off to appraise proper timber for the frames of the vessels prepared for Valinor, now that High King Gil-Galad has decreed preparations to set sail. 

“But he should return by nightfall, latest. So will you please sit down, Elr—”

“I cannot,” he overrides, wholly unconvincing through the chatter of his teeth. “You’ll be at risk if I stay.”

You blink. “…From who?”

“I—”

In the distance, a horse whinnies. 

Elrond tenses instantly.

“…Are you— hiding?” you realise, as he springs to his feet to make headway for the sidedoors. “Elrond, wait!”

“Thank you, truly, for your kindness, but I cannot allow the King’s Guard—”

“That was just Silef,” you say incredulously, muscling the door back shut and stubbornly standing in his way. “My mare, remember? From the stables just uphill?” 

A pause. 

He listens with pricked ears: gates of a stable door squeaking; hooves clopping from paddock ground onto pasture grass; the sound of grain and feed being chewed on, after a moment's pass. A notable absence of marching Elven armour and feet stamping its way downhill towards him. 

Just Silef. You’re right. He’d been paranoid. 

“Á quildessë, Elrond,” comes your quiet voice, gentler now as you chase to meet his anxious gaze. “I will make sure no one comes into this workshop, unless it’s Master Círdan himself,” you assure, resting your hands on his forearms. “Just please, sit down. You’re shaking.” 

…He is. He hadn’t even realised. 

It might have been adrenaline, or the bite of the cold from wind and water— but he’s trembling, nonetheless, like a leaf. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, much, much later, when you’d stoked the coals of the workshop hearth to life, and set him upon a wooden seat beside it.

From the open foyer of the atelier, the sea-reflected hues of the setting sun does little to hide the tentative worry in your features. Your voice is as gentle as the lap of tidewater. “There’s nothing to apologise for.”

“I shouldn’t have… barged in.” 

I shouldn’t have involved you in the first place, and put you at risk for treason for harboring a dissenter.

The firelight paints your face in soft, flickering licks of ochre as you tenderly dry off the dampness in his hair, the water trickling down his face. “You were afraid,” you reason generously.

(You don’t tell him that he looks adorably… pitiful. With eyes like that of a kicked puppy, almost. Even worse that he looks half-drowned.)

Elrond doesn’t argue. You’ve always been a kind friend to him. So, so kind. Ever-ready and steadfast to extend an olive branch, impervious to tactlessness, or even offence, from the sheer tenacity of your patience. Elrond has always admired you for it. Elrond has always—

Liked you. Cared. Loved.

(Too much to allow himself to let you get caught in this tangle he’s been forced into.)

He lays a hand over yours, and you pause mid-wipe of a droplet down his lined jaw. His eyes are shut briefly, as if falling into the comfort of your touch— candid indulgence. It makes your heart stutter.

That you’re allowed a quiet moment to admire him this close, so much so you can see the rings of sundering blue in his eyes; or to touch him this affectionately, so much so you could feel the very change of temperature on his skin— 

You think you’ve been blessed with a handsome vision by the Valar themselves.

“You must be curious,” he says, voice a low murmur. His palm swallows yours entirely. His fingers are warm by now. (You shouldn’t notice such details— but you do. You’re an artisan, after all. Or perhaps hopeless romantic is a better suited term?) “But this is beyond even me.”

He slides your hand down, much to your dismay, and uncurls the pouch he’s been clutching onto since he arrived. Now that it’s infront of you, there’s a pull to it you can’t quite understand.

You reach, almost too keenly— 

—but you close his fingers around it instead.

If Elrond had shown any surprise, you didn’t notice. 

“Must be why you’ve sought out Master Círdan,” you muse, looking up at him. “If it’s beyond you, it’s most certainly beyond me, a mere shipwright’s apprentice.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Elrond adds quickly, realising how he must have come across. 

“I know,” you laugh, before he can take off into a tangent. (It’s bright and musical to Elrond’s ears— thinks if he could drown in its sound, he would have done so willingly.) “You forget I know you.”

Not entirely, he doesn’t say. You don’t know how much my heart sings to be near you. How much your presence— or the very thought of you, even— have always brought comfort to me. 

You don’t know how much I’ve been resisting the urge to kiss you since you first sat me down by the fire.

He feels a little smile coming, the kind he couldn’t help, that would light his whole face whenever he cast his gaze on you. “You do, don’t you?” he whispers, voice sinking into something almost— nostalgic, at the sudden unravelling of old memories shared with you throughout the age.

“Well, when it comes to Kingdom politicians…” you shrug teasingly. “As much as I’m allowed to be privy to.”

He barely laughs, too busy looking at you with rapt, reverent attention. It curls a timidness in your heart. “You are allowed all of me. Always.”

Something takes wing in your chest. Butterflies, maybe. Doves taking flight in your ribcage. 

As are you, to me.

At least, that's what you would’ve said, had your ears not caught the distant clop of hooves headed downwind towards the river edge. “Master Círdan is here,” you say instead, diverted. You recognise the huff of his steed anywhere.

You watch Elrond perk up and tune into the approach: the rustle of saddle and stirrups, the shuffle of robes and footsteps. When the doors squeak open and shut, the Kingdom’s shipwright finds the Kingdom’s herald standing in the heart of his own workshop.

“Elrond,” he says, by way of greeting. There’s naught a hint of surprise in his voice— Círdan had felt a call louder than the sea long before he’d arrived, and now he can understand it’s carried in the herald’s charge. “Have you come to seek a certain apprentice of mine?” he asks, regardless.

It’s playful. Knowing.

“He seeks you, Master Círdan,” you answer politely, rounding from the corner where you’d grabbed your spare pelerine cloak to pass to Elrond. “Here, to keep warm.”

“Thank you.”

You bow your head to them both. “I shall be at the lighthouse just across.”

Your fingertips brush against Elrond’s hand as you leave. It tarries; merely a millisecond— enough, however, for Círdan’s keen eyes to catch— before he watches you depart through the sidedoors to give them the privacy they needed. 

Elrond's hand flexes reflexively. Longingly.

A beat passes.

“…Are you sure it is still me you seek?” Círdan muses, brows shot to his hairline.

The tips of Elrond’s ears burn. 

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Imagine some of the elves of Middle Earth find out how easy it is to make you (a human staying in Rivendell) blush and become aroused.

They’re almost amazed how much their sweet words and light touches affect you. They begin to crave your flushed cheeks, the way your breath speeds up and the smell of your arousal. At first they were territorial and wanted you for themselves but now they know it’s better to work together.

At first they didn’t want to have sex with you, not wanting to spoil the seemingly innocent fun, but when Elrond fingers you and tells of how easy it is to make you cum, they all want to learn more.

Thranduil loves how submissive and good you are for him. You do whatever he orders and you look so pretty kneeling between his legs.

Glorfindel is amazed at how much your human body can take and how tight you feel around him. At first he worried he’d hurt you, but he hates the look and sound of disappointment when he holds back from you.

Elrond wants to make you cum again and again and again. He doesn’t care for his own pleasure, he just craves the way you cry out and beg him once you become too simulated.

Haldir loves to toy with you. Although he craves the way your pleasure-filled voice sounds moaning his name, it’s the foreplay and the way he can tease you that he loves the most. Sneaking up on you to hear your surprised sounds and then the way your breath catches at his surprising touches.

Legolas is a lot more playful then his fellow elves and loves the sweet noises you make. He loves to bounce you in his lap and listen to your sweet moans and giggles. He will give you whatever you want because he craves your sweet smile and look of admiration. Loves to feel your soft skin and stare at your pleasure-filled face.

Lindir plays you like a fine instrument, spending hours learning how to make you create certain sounds for him. He uses his fingers, mouth and cock so he can hear all of your sweet sounds. He’s not above begging you to be louder or to sing out for him.

[factorydefaultlu]

Hey so we talked before about hair braiding being intimate to elves. Can we have headcanons of reader just coming up behind them and starts braiding it casually and Legolas and Thranduil reacting to it? I feel they’d be like “wow she’s so forward (〃￣ω￣〃ゞ” 🤣

Thranduil

Of course he knows that this human isn't aware of elvish culture and the significance of braiding.

That doesn't stop him from being a bit surprised, then smug about it.

He would use it as a way to subtly claim his human. Making sure the other elves see them braiding his hair.

He might tell them about what braiding means for elves, but that won't be until he has them firmly in his grasp.

Legolas

Despite what his culture says about braiding, he loves having his hair played with.

He thinks it's cute that this human doesn't know, but is also glad for it. Legolas loves physical affection and he doesn't get much of it from his kind.

Will definitely show the braids off to other elves, boasting about his human's skill.

They will probably find out about what braids mean, but until then Legolas plans to soak up as much attention as he can.

[elfy-elf-imagines]

— Elven Instinct | Legolas Greenleaf *✧･ﾟ

▹ Pairing: Legolas x Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff

▹ Words: ~2.1k

▹ Summary: When you know, you know. There's no other way to explain it.

▹ Note: I listened to Margaret by Lana on repeat while writing this, 10/10 recommend. Also, unedited because it's 2am and I want to SLEEP.

You’d met Legolas early spring when the winds were still bitter and the frost was beginning to melt. 

The moon was high and the chatter was mellow, the defeat of Sauron still fresh in everyone's memory. He’d been wearing his ceremonial armor and you a white dress. The jewels you wore shimmered like stars and your eyes shone like moonlit water. A human woman from a minor noble house, you never expected catching the eye of the elven prince that helped save the realm.

Legolas’ eyes followed you intently, entranced by your sweet voice and the slight creases around your eyes when you smiled. It had been three times your eyes had met and after the third time, Legolas found the courage to approach, downing his glass and leaving it behind. His hands trembled and a lump formed in his throat, but he’d kick himself later if he didn’t try. The pathway to you seemed miles long, the rest of the crowd blind to Legolas; it was as if a single light was guiding his way to you. His blood rushed and his heart raced; tingles lit his body up.

It was no shock when Legolas was a few feet away. You noticed him approaching, of course, you were entirely too aware of him and his lingering eyes. Liquid courage was found in a glass of wine that was sweet and tarte all at once. The alcohol caused your cheeks to flush but you knew the prince's presence would make them flush brighter. The alcohol would be a good excuse for the blush you’d soon have.

The noise in your mind grew hush once the elven prince stood before you. He smelled warm and fresh, well groomed and oiled with a hint of a woodsy scent. The smoothness of his features were nearly off putting, but the shy grin on his face was anything but unnerving. The tips of your fingers fiddled with the fabric of your dress and Legolas’ hands were clasped in front of him. Nervous and awkward, neither of you were sure how to proceed.

It was silent for a moment, replaced by the fumbling of the two of you speaking over each other. With the realization, the words were cut short and silence fell over the air. Your eyes fell to the floor and your teeth worried your lips while Legolas’ cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. 

“Apologies, my prince--”

“I insist my lady, you first--”

Another bout of silence. Neither of you could remember how casual conversation worked. You peeked at him through your lashes, a small giggle slipping past your lips. It made Legolas ease his stiff posture, melting into the sound of your voice. 

“May I have your name, my lady.” He couldn’t recall being so shy when speaking with a woman. All the confidence age and skill brought was drained from his body; he was an elfling fumbling over his own feet.

“It is Y/N. I would ask for yours, but I believe that question is redundant.”

“Am I so well known?”

Your grin widened in a way that would make your mother grimace. 

“One of the heroes who saved Middle Earth and the son of the King of the Woodlands?” There was a hint of teasing in your tone, lips curled into a slight smirk. “I perhaps heard your name a time or two.”

Legolas laughed, eyes shut and head slightly tossed back. A stray ray of light hit his head, illuminating him with a halo above his head. “I suppose my reputation does precede me, but I feel like we’re standing on uneven ground. You know more of me than I do of you.”

Some of the nerves that made you feel fluttery and sick began to disappear. His easy and smile and comforting aura felt as same as the childhood nativity you clung to. He put stars in your eyes in a way no one else ever had.

“I’m afraid my life is dull in comparison to the other attendees of this party.” 

The half smile on Legolas’ face contorted into a much softer appearance. Eye bright and voice low, it sent shivers down your spine.

“I dare say you are more so memorable.” 

Your lashes fluttered and your breath got caught in your throat. Subtly, you pinched the side of your thigh, sending a prayer of gratitude to whatever god led you to this moment. A shy giggle bubbled from behind your closed lips. Emboldened from the haze the wine created, you leave a feather light touch over Legolas’ shoulder. 

“A bold statement considering you’ve hardly known me a day.”

Legolas smiled at your quick retort, leaning towards your body, his head tilted down to see you better. 

“They say an elves' instincts are never wrong.” 

You raised a single brow in response, a coy smile tugging at the corner of your lips. All thoughts of formality and proprietary thrown out. 

“And your instincts say I’m memorable?” 

Legolas paused for a moment before continuing.

“Well when you know, you know.”

Unsure of how to react, a small bout of laughter left your mouth. The rest of the night was spent with Legolas at your side. Even as nobles singing his praises and vying for the favor of an elven prince, Legolas never strayed too far. With a polite smile and nod of the head, he would quickly dismiss the well-wishers in favor of returning his attention to you. 

The night passed far too quickly, and with the blink of an eye you found yourself in the isolation of your room with your blankets pulled to your chin. Behind your closed eyes, your thoughts and dreams were nothing but Legolas and a life you were certain was too far from your grasp. 

---

The crisp spring air was traded for balmy, long summer nights. The world began to return to normal, all that Mordor and Sauraman destroyed slowly being rebuilt. The coronation of the king was approaching, the heroes of Middle Earth lingering in Gondor, including Legolas.  

 You hadn’t spoken since your first meeting, but he was everywhere you looked. Walks through the city, visits to the Keep, or wandering through the gardens; it didn’t matter where you were, he was everywhere. To his credit, he made it seem as if he was a subject of fate and not the mastermind setting the chess board. 

And the board was currently being reset in a small nook overlooking the city. The queen sat in front of a stone table with a book while the king lingered around the edges, unsure of how to approach. 

“I began to think you were a ghost I’d imagined.” You spoke quietly and wet the tip of your finger. Flick. Your eyes began to scan the new page of your book. 

From the corner of your eye you saw Legolas take the free chair directly across from you. His hands rested on the table, fingers intertwined. 

“Why’s that?” 

A slight smirk appeared on your lips, barely visible over your book. Finishing the sentence you were reading, you shut the book and set it on the table. Eye to eye, you took in Legolas’ appearance. His casual leathers had been traded in for formal attire, a delicate silver circlet resting above his brow. Gods did he look beautiful. 

“You seem to be everywhere I am, yet this is the first time you’ve approached.”

Legolas stared at you a moment; a slight furrow of his brow in response to the tilt of your head and sly grin. “I approached you at the celebration.” 

“The first and only time, if we don’t take this moment into consideration.” 

Legolas narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, a grin pulling on his puzzled expression. 

“You seem perfectly capable of starting a conversation and entirely aware of when we were in a room together.” The implication of his words weren’t lost on you, a slight flush betraying your embarrassment. You were entirely too aware of him. 

“And how improper would that be?” You feigned a scandalized appearance, lightly swatting Legolas’ hand. “A minor noble woman approaching an elven prince? My mother would die from the embarrassment that scandal would cause.” 

Legolas laughed; a short and sweet one that made his eyes turn to crescents. There was a flutter in your stomach and a misbeat of your heart. For a moment your eyes glazed over, not aware what Legolas was saying if he was speaking to begin with. He looked entirely too beautiful, his eyes too blue to be natural. Elves were supposed to be supernaturally beautiful, but none of the other elves wandering the keep were as beautiful as him.  

“Ahh.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth, the sound pulling you from the spell he cast. “How foolish of me to overlook that detail. In the future I will be sure to start all conversations, lest the public get the wrong idea.” 

“A relief to hear you have agreed to stop silently stalking me. And they claim chivalry to be a dying behavior.” You rolled your eyes, the grin on your face dulling any snark in your words. 

Your eyes returned to Legolas, the easy silence hanging over the two of you. The air was calm, sans a nervous fog over Legolas’ eyes. What was there to be worried over? The war was over, Sauron was defeated. You tried to remember what could be a cause of worry, but your mind came up empty. Even the remaining orcs were being hunted down and slain.

“But I’m sure that reassurance isn’t why you’re here.” You broke the silence, Legolas’ attention snapping back towards you. “What worried you?” 

“I am to return home soon.” 

Your mouth was parted, unable to hide the disappointment on your face.

“Oh.” The word was uttered so quietly you weren’t certain it was actually said. Of course he would go home, he’s a prince with duties to his people. It’s not as if there would be anything to keep him here after the King’s coronation next week. 

“I wish you a safe journey.” 

The tips of your fingers tapped against the smooth stone. 

“You mistake me. It is expected of me to return home shortly after Aragorn’s coronation, but I am unsure if it is what I want to do.” 

A slight furrow of your brows betrayed your confusion, but before you could open your mouth, Legolas continued to speak. 

“We have not spoken nearly as much as I would’ve liked during my stay here, a predicament I understand to be a making of my own, but I--” He cut himself off, eyes lowering to the ground as he shook his head. 

Oh.

The realization came with a bright red hue painting your cheeks. All this time, you never once considered the elven prince had affections for you. Each time you’d been in the same room, same hall, or same street, it never occurred to you he was building the courage to speak with you again. Had your first meeting had such an effect on him? Could he possibly get as fluttery and nervous as you do?

“I would like the chance to get to know you, Lady Y/N, and in time perhaps court you.” 

Like a starstruck idiot, you stared at Legolas with wide eyes and parted lips. You could hear the blood rushing in your ears and in the distance there were birds singing, or maybe you’d just imagined that.

Legolas began to drum his fingers against the table, nervous eyes unable to meet yours. You’d been silent for too long, you realized. He may be getting the wrong idea. To assuage whatever fears were building within his head, you reached your hand out and placed it over him. It brought his attention back to you; wide eyed and flushed face he looked ages younger than he really was. 

“I would love for the chance to get to know you beyond the surface level.”

Like dawn brightening the landscape, Legolas’ face lit up. Any petty fears or worries were banished from his expression. He brought his free hand to rest it atop your other free hand. He squeezed your hand three times before pulling them away. After a moment you hear the soft pad of footsteps on the ground. 

A chair skids across the ground as Legolas stood from his seat, outstretching a hand towards you. “Perhaps the lady would grant me a walk through the halls?”

Gently, you stood from your seat, placing your hand in the crook of his arm. 

“Lead the way my prince.”

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine your final request to Annatar (Sauron) going horribly wrong…

“If you are to bring my death then I would plead with you to allow me one last moment of happiness.”

He wished that his spell over you had not broken, that you had not seen the true horrors of his conquest. But most of all, he wished that he was being given another choice. Unable to speak, he merely gazed upon your face in the small hope that your mind would change.

“Kiss me for the last time.”

He had endured torment at the hands of Morgoth and yet this felt worse.

“What?”

“Let my last breath be upon your lips. Let me feel your embrace for another heartbeat. Perhaps it will ease the heartache of what could have been.” You said. “Please, I do not ask for much else.”

His dream to achieve order was near. He had manipulated and spilled blood at each turn but he also felt love. He did not think he could and yet, he allowed you into settle in his heart and create a home.

Could he forsake you? Would it be worth it?

Needing clarity, he granted you this one pardon. Taking you into his arms as he had done many times before, Annatar closed the space and gently pressed his lips upon yours. When you moved against him with equal pressure, his conflicted mind was calmed. His senses were overwhelmed with your scent, your sweet taste - that is when he realised that he could not follow through.

He would allow you to live and hate him for eternity but he would not be the cause of your death. Not here and, certainly, not now.

Suddenly, you took in a sharp breath and bit his lower lip. He felt blood being drawn but he also felt something else, something sharp.

Your body grew heavy, alarming Annatar. His eyes opened and he saw it, a surviving guard had summoned enough strength to stand and plunge a sword into his immortal chest… through your body.

Rage swelled and with one single stare, the guard’s neck snapped leaving him to crumple in a heap. He snapped his fingers and the sword vanished leaving only a trail of blood.

When he called your name, you did not stir. He demanded that you open your eyes. He promised a swift destruction to the lands if you did not speak. He fell to his knees and wept when you did not heed his commands.

It was too late. You had passed, taking the remains of his heart and capacity to love with you. And you would never know that he loved you enough.

~ More imagines here ~

A/n: Well, I’m sad now.