#barduil x reader

[itsonlydana]

Noisy Neighbors | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader x Bard 👑 [king's special]

Your new neighbors have been the bane of your existence - or rather sleep - for the last few nights, always keeping you up with their extensive love life. When you go up to confront the couple, you find another solution to the problem.

warnings/tags: NSWF! THIS IS ADULT CONTENT ✋️| [modern!AU] threesome, oral (f receiving), anal sex (m receiving), unprotected p in v, slight choking, brats (reader & Thranduil), mocking & dirty talk, Thranduil being a snarky bitch, he bites a bit, spitting, one ass-slap, praise, pet names, dom!bard, [reader is described with hair no further, no use of y/n]

word count: 6,2k

an: *lifts hands into the air* I'm sorry but writing Thranduil bitchy in this trio is what comes naturally, alright? I've been powering through this whole Sunday and between watching f1 and eating watermelon and packing up for a vacation, this surely made this day better. (not proofread, just wanted this baby out)

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are much appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

They’re at it. Again! 

Another night and you’re yet again held up by your neighbors fucking for the second time; on a Tuesday no less.

It’s 1 am and nearly seventy-three minutes – timed and noted down in your frazzled brain – after the noise had stopped the first time but now the moaning upstairs continues; this time accompanied by the banging of probably a bed frame that, if the force is anything to go by, is close to smashing in the walls. 

You haven’t seen the new neighbors that had moved into the apartment above you, there had been moving trucks, a handful of handsome and very good-to-look-at guys carrying furniture around the garden and blocking the elevator for hours, leaving cigarette buts around and ringing at yours so often you doubted it was an accident every time, but there had been no one who introduced themselves.

Well, not personally. 

Or rather in person, because what you hear every night is as personal as it gets. 

As you lie in your bed, alone one might add, you wonder who this couple is. 

Not that you have anything better to do. They’re the reason you’ve been either sleepless or fallen asleep to a lovely ASMR of two guys moaning that slowly snuck itself into your dreams; if anyone dares to say it isn’t appropriate or normal to think about the – sex – life of your neighbors you could counter that you had every right! Especially you. 

They’re probably young, you figure, not by the number of times they’re going at each other and the length, god, it has been a good while, that stamina is astounding, but by whatever coherent words you can understand now and again, their voices delimited the range of possible ages. 

And you had seen a pair of laced-up thigh-high black boots walking up the stairs after you had once heard the front door open and raced to peek through the peephole. Another time there had been a pair of very shiny and tight boxers left in the washing room downstairs and while you felt like a creep expecting them hanging on the line a few feet away from you, your basket clutched into your hands as you thought of the other renters here and how often you had seen their underwear, you concluded this must be one of theirs. The shoes as well as the boxers could belong to some older couple but that was most unlikely adding the different factors.

The names on their doorbell say ‘Oropherion & Bowmann’, though no Google search has brought up anything forth that could be them, nothing around this area anyway. 

Another moan rips through the night, guttural and raspy, and by now, that sound’s imprinted into your mind as well as the gasp and shout that follow. A few seconds of bed rattling later the boyfriend/husband/lover roommate with lots and lots of benefits reaches his peak as well in a deep moan that reverberates in your bones and sends a heat to your face and much lower. 

When silence falls, there’s an embarrassing moment of clarity as you release a shaking breath and quickly stand up on shaking legs to open your window, inhaling the cold air outside to fight against the urge to look up some porn and follow their example. 

They’ve gotten to your head, twisted up whatever the stress at work had left to be corrupted into this perverse lust. On the one hand, you’ll do anything for a night of full sleep but on the other hand�� what you wouldn’t do to – no, no, no, this route is just a spur of restlessness. Leftover frustration over the last few exes, and dates being unable to bring out whatever your neighbors clearly had no problems with. 

They’re so vocal in their pleasure, that the last experiences of grinding against jeans in dingy club bathrooms or hookups ended in an unsatisfied call to a cab firm makes laying there, listening, fantasizing, even more unbearable. 

Not just because of the few residues of your consciousness, the blaring ‘this is so wrong’ -sign lighting up neon red in your head, but taking in their noises travels a long way through your body and you’re short of actually snapping and resolving the issue of the throbbing inside your pants yourself. 

The silence and air luckily help the cooldown; body and mind alike, and you wait, breathing in and out, calming down. Being up this late (or early) grants you the advantage of hearing the cicadas, the constant clicking, the low buzz of the aircon, and the distant rush of cars passing by. Somewhere there’s laughter, across the street, a TV light flickers through the white curtains fluttering in the opened window. 

People and animals are still up. Life’s going on. Another night of losing sleep isn’t the end of the world, even if the long day ahead will try defiling this feeling of peace that you conjure, brain hooked on the few meditation videos your friend has shown you recently. The stress of this situation manifests in an uncontrollable grumpiness that slips over your tongue and spills out of your eyes like thunderous weather clouded once bright skies – suddenly, one sentence meant nice gets on your nerves. 

You sigh and trot back to the pushed-back covers of your single bed, slipping your naked legs under the thin sheet. This is fine. Completely fine. You just need to close your eyes and concentrate on those damn sheep you had been counting before the rude interruption.

One sheep …. your shoulders sack into the pillow, relaxing slowly.

Two sheep … a heavy yawn breaks through your lips.

Three sheep … finally, you’ll be able to fall asleep. A few hours aren’t preferred, yet they’re better than no sleep at all.

Four sheep — and is that another. fucking. moan?

You sit up in your bed fast enough for dizziness to take over but that isn’t stopping any of the rage that switches your body to autopilot. In seconds after the godforsaken long moan echoes, you’re taking long and hard steps across your apartment, not caring one bit that you’re wearing neither shoes nor a long enough shirt to barely cover your ass and you haven’t even met them so this was neither an appropriate outfit nor emotion to confront them for the first time but fuck propriety!

“Fucking men,” you mumble underneath your breath as you waltz through your front door, – taking one step back to carefully push a sandal in between door and frame –, and then you’re up the stairs. Each step is fueled by that anger, the restlessness that pushes you over. In no other world would you have gotten this infuriated to completely ignore the otherwise introverted side of you, though they have taken it too far, “Just you wait.” 

You basically fly across the corner of the stairway, rushing up the last few steps until you see the dark door, boots standing in front of it, and before you can even think about what you’re about to do, your fists already collide with the wood once, twice, three angry times.

Four for good measure.

Five just because they’re surely taking their time.

Before your hand knocks another time, the door is being ripped open and you’re suddenly face to face with the nightly disturbers of your peace. Or rather face to chest. You’re certain your eyes are still angry because when you lift your chin to look away from those sweaty chests and find their faces, the man closest to you flinches the tiniest bit.

“You’re fucking loud,” you point a finger firstly at them, then down, pronunciation making it clear that you aren’t swearing per se, “I’ve been trying to sleep for so fucking long and I’ll give you one guess why I’m still up and about? Huh? Ever heard of compassion for neighbors or– I don’t know, holding in some of the noises?” Your chest heaves at the row of complaints that spills over your curled lips, cheeks hot and very possibly just as red as they feel.

There is a second of silence where your voice carries through the hallway, bouncing along the walls. 

You take the opportunity to give them a quick once-over, adding a wealth of new details to the mental picture you've been building. The man in front has dark brown, messy hair pulled into a ponytail, with some silver strands curling and sticking wetly to his forehead and temples. He sports a scruffy beard, with stubble on his pinkish cheeks and a thicker mustache over his lips. His body hair trails down, covering his defined chest, and extends further into the tight black boxers you saw in the basement.

The other one is strikingly different. Tall as well, towering over you though this has to do with the ice-cold and annoyed look that bores into you out of blue-grey eyes under heavy eyebrows. Long blonde hair falls over his lean chest, slightly ruffled but that’s no wonder after the two-and-a-half rounds in their bed. His lips are stuck together, adding to his attitude.

Both of them are gorgeous, dressed in nothing but boxers, and their bodies are marked by fingerprints and scratches. And while they surely are a bit older than you, that gap couldn’t be much.

“Wow,” the blonde, the one leaning against the wall behind his partner, the one being more long legs than anything else, rolls his eyes, “Aren’t you lovely?” 

You swear you nearly feel a vein pop. 

“Lovely?” you bring out between clenched teeth. 

The brunette shoots a look over his shoulder, getting a shrug out of the taller one in exchange that most likely means he doesn’t care one bit, and then he turns back to you, offering a crooked smile that sinks in the edge of the right corner, an apology pulling the plush lips down. “I’m sorry,” he starts and nudges his head back, “an’ excuse Thranduil, he can be very – bratty.” The thick accent that curls around the words slightly surprises you but you’re back on track fast.

One eyebrow raised you stare at them. “Sure,” sarcasm drips over your tongue, “and to shut him up you dick him down or what?” In the morning, you’ll probably very much regret this crude language, the dismissive tone that resembles more a hiss than anything else. 

“Yes, actually,” Thranduil cuts in and pushes his sharp chin up, looking down at you over the bridge of his nose. One of his hands, gods, they’re huge, lazily pats the broad shoulders of his partner, long and ringed fingers clanking together. He’s laying down heavily on some possessive shit you couldn’t care less about.

“Bite the curb or turn the moaning down,” you snap back, brows furrowed together. 

“Maybe –” 

“I’m Bard, by the way,” the brunette interrupts him and holds out a hand for you to shake. Hands, that had been who knew where a few minutes ago. Both of you seem to realize this at the same moment and while he cringes and pulls back, you offer your name, only looking at Bard and ignoring Thranduil, draped over Bard's back like a prying cat.

“Nice to meet ya. Thought about coming down a few times but never caught you home,” Bard says, attempting small talk. His effort is overshadowed by the sharp look-over Thranduil gives you, and it's clear that this is not the time to play the friendly neighbor.

You make that clearer by crossing your arms in front of your chest, unconsciously bunching up your shirt, and revealing the black string of your panties. Bard swallows, heavily.

“Well, nice to meet you,” you echo back dryly and cock your hip, “Can I go back to sleep in peace now? Are we done with this?”

Bard’s smile is pained, a bit embarrassed if you have to guess. “Sure, sorry again.”

“I’m not.” 

Thranduil hasn’t even looked at you as he whispers loud enough into Bard’s ears that it’s definitely meant for yours as well. And that piece of shit has the gall to flutter his lashes, his mouth ghosting over the hickey right against Bard’s neck, the offending lips curled into a smirk you want to wipe off. 

The sigh that leaves Bard is deep and deflates his whole chest, his shoulders following the drop of his arms. “Thran–”

“Oh, is that right?” On the contrary, you push your shoulders back and tip your head, sizing up the neighbor who, in your opinion, can move right back out again. No matter how pretty and unfairly sexy he is, that mouth of his ruins it. “Where do you pull out this fucking behavior? I just came here because you two have been going at it for hours and haven’t bothered to think about anyone else. I'm so sorry that –”

“Apology accepted,” Thranduil grins. His grey eyes are gleaming in amusement at your noticeable anger and he makes a high sound out of the back of his throat that sounds a lot like a giggle.

“Fucking hell, Thran!” Bard slaps his hand back, the flat of his palm meeting flexing muscles of Thranduil’s thigh, and lowly, sensually, Thranduil moans. This man is the walking definition of shamelessness.

That sound, the low vibration that usually comes through your walls, shoots to your core so fast that you sputter on the next breath. Hot curling heat makes itself comfortable in your lower stomach and you can’t help but blush – a feast for the unabashed man.

“If I had known we had such’ prude for a neighbor we would’ve found another place,” Thranduil says, most likely just to tease, because in the few minutes you’d known him, he’s definitely a teasing brat.

Ready to fight for yourself you shake your head and furrow your brows further.  “I'm not prude –”

“It’s okay” A Cheshire cat-like smile disproves the false compassion, making it all sound much more patronizing. Thranduil has gotten under your skin, an itch you yearn to scratch however you can, “Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“No, but I’m not a prude!” You lick your teeth, stepping closer to their door as if that will make your point more convincing than the tight vintage shirt you’re wearing, with a fading Care Bear printed right over your tits.

In mocking, Thranduil rests his chin on Bard’s shoulder, holding your slowly wavering gaze. “Not everybody is comfortable with such an active sex life.”

With ease he smothers every bit of self-control you have left, thinning out your resolve to stand higher than him. You glower, all the thoughts of failed one-night stands pressing onto your tongue and loosening it faster than you can realize what you’re spitting in front of their feet – one statement powerful enough to change the entire atmosphere into another type of tension:

"I would be if I would get it!" 

“Woah, let’s take it a notch back, shall we, hun?” Bard’s soothing voice could have been directed at each or either one of you two, and you notice how heavy your breathing has become, how much your hands twitch pressed against your breasts, and how Bard’s eyes flicker over where the shirt stretches tighter. 

Interesting…

The hand on Thranduil’s thigh wanders higher, immediately capturing your attention and it's the tanned color of it against ivory white that gets you. The difference in softness and hardness, obvious callouses moving over smooth skin. 

As subtly as possible, you shift your weight to squeeze your thighs together, heightening the throbbing evoked by every inch of skin in front of you. 

Neither Thranduil nor Bard misses it. You can tell it by Bard’s eyes darkening, Thranduil’s smirk widening dangerously and their stance, Thranduil’s arms slinging across Bard’s taut stomach, fiddling with the silky band of his boxers, as well as Bard leaning more right – opening up the way into their dark apartment.

“What if –,” Bard starts, fingers digging into Thranduil’s thigh.

Ice-cold eyes that suddenly burn with hot interest look you over, stopping right where the hem of your shirt exposes your underwear, “You could join us?” 

The offer shuts down your body as soon as your mind comprehends what Thranduil’s lowered, honeyed voice had presented to you and unfortunately, the inquiring “huh?” sounds much more like a whimper than originally planned. This question, this golden opportunity presented on a silver platter is fuel to the aching arousal pooling in your stomach and you can’t deny that, while lying in bed at night, listening to their intimacy, hadn’t evoked that dirty thought in you. 

Flushes of heat spread from your pelvis. You lick over your teeth. 

“What?” you laugh nervously. 

“You’ve heard us right,” Thranduil’s hand stills over the v of Bard’s hips. That he doesn’t move is nearly as taunting as the constant toying, wandering, and scratching he had done till then. 

“Pff as if –,” you stutter stubbornly, even if the pooling of wetness in your underwear betrays you, “as if.. as if I'm gonna waltz into the apartment of two strangers.. two men! You could do whatever to me!”

“Yeah, and you heard exactly what we could bring out of you” 

Their moans and the bed slamming against the wall are pretty good arguments against a case already won in their favor, despite how you’re still trying to grasp for straws.

“My organs when you strip me to the bed and murder me silently?”

“Jeez, you have an imagination woman. Is the stick this far up your ass that –”

“Babe!” Bard’s elbow lands in Thranduil’s side, warningly and soft just like his voice.

“No, let him finish” you glare at Thranduil, “I’d like to know what he thinks about presumed stick in my arse and its results.”

“I think you are prude and underfucked, jealous and so stripped up tightly you won't admit that a good fuck – and honey, I’ll deliver nothing less – would loosen you up,” Thranduil finishes his speech with a tip of his head forward, daring you to talk back and gosh, you wish you had some comeback, anything to prove him wrong, however, the wetness that sticks syrupy between your legs strikes out all other thoughts except:

You want them. You want both of these men.

“So—so what?” you retort, knowing they're right, a pout forming on your lips and a persistent crease of defiance. “That's such a testosterone-driven answer; typical man, thinking their cocks are the miracle cure to a woman’s dry spell.”

Even Bard tuts now, his soft eyes falling to your underwear. “You sure? Hun, you can whine all ‘bout but I can see your cute little panties being all wet – oh come on, don’t blush, I see them alright?” And sure, the material may cling to your cunt and the breeze in the hallway coming from an open window enhances that feeling, but– “Darlin’,” Bard chuckles, “Stop thinking, ‘s not that hard to accept you want it. Come on in, let Thranduil apologize sincerely for his hissy fit.”

You huff. 

Thranduil breathes a kiss toward you, pink lips forming a cute heart, and you only think: “Fuck it.”

Thranduil’s mouth, as he proves a few minutes later, is quite good at apologizing, fantastic even.

You’re spread on your back across their bed – ironically you find out it’s directly above yours –, legs opened up by his large hands, the metal of his rings biting ice-cold into the heated flesh as he kneads his fingers into your thighs and teases you most annoyingly by kissing all around your clit. His arms are wrapped around you in a way that's confining you to lie there and take whatever he decides to give you, or not in some moments.

“Pretty girl –,” Thranduil murmurs into the sensitive and practically vibrating skin, “Should’ve known there’s something sweet about that sour tongue.” His tongue is just as bitter, licking straight through your folds, gathering the absurd amount of wetness and ending shortly before your clit to press a wide opened mouth kiss into you. 

Your hips buck upward in desperation and at the same time exhilaration and Thranduil’s biceps flex to pin you down again; giving you no wiggle room.

“Better lie still,” Bard whispers and tilts your head back by the hand he wraps loosely around your throat. It’s not hard enough to blur your vision, but just hard enough to remind you of the power he holds over you. His fingertips close in together, putting the right amount of pressure on your windpipe for you to gasp for air; then he pounces in and takes over your lips in a heated kiss.

Your behavior, because you do in fact give it your best to stop your legs from crushing the head between your legs, is rewarded by Thranduil with the assistance of his tongue finally flicking over your swollen clit, first playfully then in earnest. He closes his lips around the bundle of nerves, grazing his teeth slightly over it and your head would’ve fallen back if it isn’t for the hand holding you to Bard. “Oh fuck,” you whine and grasp down. 

The second you burrow your hands into Thranduil’s hair, twirling some strands around your fingers for a better hold, he moans into you. Hot air meets the wetness of your pussy and the tips of your nails dig slightly into his hair roots. It turns him on more, that you grind yourself desperately against his face, your hands weaved into his hair to get back control and Thranduil’s tongue swipes over your pussy, diving in to plunge the tip into your entrance. 

“That’s it,” he gasps, sending the words straight through you while he fucks his tongue back into you a few times. Then he switches back to sucking on your clit and doesn’t stop; no matter how your thighs shook and fought to shut close, he stayed on his task of taking you completely into his mouth and rolling his tongue in figure-eights, circling in closer and closer. 

The sounds of Thranduil eating you out are pornographic, slickness from your spit and wetness, his ever-constant breathing and relentless swirls through your pussy that have your back in a wonderful arch. Bard’s lips swallow most of your whimpers up, and when he starts to lick his tongue against yours, teeth playfully tugging on your lower lip, you feel the stars before you see them. 

It starts up fast, heading toward you at full speed and you choke out your orgasm in a broken wail, fingers tightening in Thranduil’s hair. When he doesn’t stop and stimulation becomes overstimulation, your eyes flutter to escape the nearly drunken stare of his gray eyes hidden under long lashes and finally, he slows down. Bard too, leaves your lips in one last, dragged-out kiss that you want to chase after; his mouth is too sweet and gentle, a perfect harmony of caring and hunger.

“All attitude until the attitude drips down her legs and messes up our bedsheets,” Thranduil laughs huskily and wipes the back of his hand over his glistening lips and chin. He puckers his mouth, a wide grin on his face as he crawls up to you. “Now, how do you want this?”

Breathless, you look up to Thranduil and Bard, the latter already moving to shed himself of his boxers. When you see what Bard packs under the tight black underwear a wheezing laugh escapes your throat.

“Yeah,” you scoff at his arched eyebrow, “I would be fucking that multiple times as well.” 

His cock stands heavy against his stomach, thick and bobbing, white precum rolling down the veins. “Like what you see?” Bard teases, one hand wrapped around himself, leisurely stroking up and down. “I’ll let you have a taste if you’re good.”

A large palm spreads over your abdomen and Thranduil slides two fingers down to pinch your still sensitive clit so you yelp and scowl at him. “You won’t be getting any of that tonight,” his voice sounds threateningly possessive, and at the sight of his much taller body towering over yours and that look in his eyes, your stomach flips. “Don’t think I’ll let you hop on there after you disturbed us. Tonight –,” Again, that word that emphasized like he did promises more nights after this, “tonight he’s mine.” The last bit he whispers into your ear, the soft locks of his hair brushing your still-covered chest. 

All that Thranduil had time to undress you for, had been your underwear and those had landed ripped into two somewhere in the darkness of their bedroom. This meant you would have to borrow some of theirs or rush downstairs with your cunt on display and after this should be over, you have no idea if you would even be able to walk. 

Thranduil, by the feeling of his bulge pressing into your stomach, isn’t small either. That cockiness had to have a source somewhere and they don’t call it that for no reason.

Bard’s laughter interrupts the staring contest you two have going on, otherwise you’re not sure how long it would’ve gotten on or who would’ve quit first; not you, he could poke his cock into you however he wants. The other man walks around the bed, heading to the end where Thranduil’s long legs hang off and by the sudden twitch in the body crowding yours into the mattress and the cry Thranduil lets out, you strongly think there has been a tickling involved. 

You laugh as well, the sound dying swiftly when Thranduil turns back to you and grinds his hips into you. All that comes out then, is a straggled whine. 

“Fucking asshole,” you grumble and pull on his hair again, forcing his head down for you to kiss his wet lips. 

Able to taste yourself on his tongue, you greedily open your mouth further, and Thranduil wastes no second to dominate. He takes over the kiss, distracting you just enough that you don’t notice Bard taking off Thranduil’s boxers until the cock against your stomach twitches at a particular noise out of the back of your throat and precum dribbles onto your skin. 

“Someone’s eager,” you tease.

Thranduil promptly bites you in return. “Says the slut moaning under me,” he retorts, scratching his canines across your neck. “Now, take that skimpy shirt off or I’ll rip it like that sad excuse of underwear.” 

You roll your eyes but follow his demand, pulling the tight shirt off and flinging it away. Free for him to touch, Thranduil’s fingers of one hand find your right tit, and, putting the rock-hard pebble in between them, he steals the air out of your lungs pulling and twisting your nipples. “At least, oh fuck you –!” 

Your attempt to speak gets drowned out by a cry of need and suddenly, you’re getting crushed into the mattress by Thranduil’s heavy weight, his fingers still tight around your nipple and his mouth close to your ear. His ass is the only thing not forcing you down. 

Bard, who has been silently chuckling and observing until now, decided the time’s right to move this forward and over the head of blonde hair pushing itself into the crook of your neck, panting hotly and frustrated, you see Bard circling his rim with two fingers. 

“So that’s what shuts you up,” you whisper for Thranduil to hear. 

He lifts his head slightly, though the angry eyebrows fall quickly at another moan.

Behind Thranduil, illuminated by the moonlight outside, Bard looks positively majestic and dominating, his shoulder-length hair free from the ponytail, falling ruffled into his face as he inhales and forcefully spits down to where his fingers are slowly pushing further into the ass presented to him. 

“That’s good, Darlin’,” he praises and Thranduil keens, eyes full of hearts, “Push back a bit, makin’ it easy for me, aren’t you? Go on, sweetheart.” At your gasp – you’re not unaffected by the praise, not at all and if you weren’t coming down from a sensational orgasm that had your clit in flames.. – Bard looks up and winks at you. “Go on. Wonderful, you’re just the best. Look at you, beautiful.” He’s obviously talking to Thranduil but you follow his command despite it; the aura around Bard makes it impossible to do anything less than obey. 

Lying there under these two men, feeling their weight, hearing their moans and the rasps of their deep voices, and being clouded in the smell of sweat, cum, and body odors mixing, is fulfilling fantasies you hadn’t been creative enough to think up.

“Oh – Bard, can you – hah, yes, there –” Thranduil arches into the touch catlike, his back up in the air and the curve of his spine glistening, now that a few drops of sweat are decorating the skin, marked in pink trails of fingernails of a hand that twists slightly and adds another finger. 

Your chest is full of blonde hair, platinum after another inspection, strands perfect to comb your hands through. Thranduil’s lashes flutter beautifully. His lips open up, puffing out airy breaths, pink plush lips coated in spit after he runs his tongue over them. 

Biting down a comment of how he had been right about the ‘shutting up and dicking down’, you act without thinking. The kiss is much slower and sensual than the last, maybe to distract Thranduil from that pain/pleasure that Bard afflicts on him, opening him up four fingers at one time. Soon though, the grind of Thranduil’s hips becomes too much to endure, he already left a wet trail of precum all over you and while you’re still gasping into his mouth, you blindly reach between your bodies. 

“Goddamit,” you grunt, angling your hips slightly, “You’re no help at all.”

“What?” Thranduil groans and everything vibrates, “I’m the one having four fingers up my arse, can’t you just wait a fucking second?” 

“Mhm, no.”

“You’re such a brat,” he leans down, hair fanning over you and trapping you in a bubble where it’s just you, his panting breath and the fire in his eyes; he’s gorgeous. “I’m sorry but –”

“Apology accepted,” you cut him off, smiling sweetly.

A second later you swear you’re being ripped apart; immediately tears spring into your eyes, hiding Thranduil’s satisfied smirk behind a watery curtain as he pushes his cock in further, stretching you past known limits. The only proof that you’re still breathing is the pitchy moan, the whine that follows the stretch of inch after inch.

“Fuuck–” 

It’s going on forever. The rocking of Thranduil’s hips. The slow drill of his cock pushing its way through you, carving a spot into your clenching walls. Surely it’ll come out of your throat. 

You blink fast, regain your vision, and look down.

“Oh my fucking god,” you slap a hand against Thranduil’s shoulder, trying to get a grip on reality, “How are you this big?”

“He’s a mouthful,” Bard pitches in, grinning, and finally reaches a point where he has prepared Thranduil enough. He spits again; once into his hand, which he immediately closes around his cock again, and once between the globes of Thranduil’s ass, watching it trail down. Bard gathers some of Thranduil’s long hair to gently push it over his side. “Are you ready, my love?” he bows down for a soft kiss to the protruding bones of Thranduil’s arched spine.

Ironically, that's what finally gets you and Thranduil on the same page. 

A page that was full of unintelligible curses, punctuated by groans and underlined by hands grabbing for each other. 

Your hand digs itself into Thranduil’s back as he finally bottoms out, buried so deep you can feel him in the back of your throat – or that’s the pressure from that massive cock bullying your insides – and he stills, hipbones digging into you as well as if he hasn’t already marked you up enough with his girth.

Bard reaches forward, thus pushing in faster than Thranduil expects it and your fingers intertwine over the blonde's back. Electricity zips through you, starting from your toes pressing into the sheets, up your shaking thighs to your clenching cunt, and higher up your spine into your head.

Thranduil, fully sandwiched between you, can do nothing except follow the unforgivable rhythm Bard sets. 

The bed creaks as he rocks into you, just when Bard pushes in. The start is messy, lots of “There–” and “Fuck, slower–” until they change it up. 

Thranduil’s breathing is ragged and erratic as he moves against you, his hips pistoning against yours in a steady, firm rhythm. His arms hold you in place, his body covering you completely, lips moving along your neck and shoulder. You, being just on the receiving end, take everything he gives.

“Finally out of complaints, aren’t you?” he angles his hips to thrust harder. “A – ahh – all you needed was a good cock to shut you up.” 

You almost gag on a whine, proving him just right. “No– so-ohh – not true.”

A fleeing look to Bard and you’re silently begging. For what you don’t know. Maybe his support. Maybe to fuck Thranduil hard enough he swallows his words.

“Oh, Thranduil,” Bard starts and you truly think he’ll be on your side,  “If she’s still trying to mouth back you’re doing something – fuck – wrong!”

Thranduil laughs, fucking laughs. Each snap of his hips fills the room with shameless sounds, and as painful as it is to admit, his low baritone causes your pussy to clench tighter, dripping arousal. The fire they started burns higher when he wedges one hand down between your legs, somehow landing on your clit perfectly despite the brutal pace of his and Bard’s thrust. 

“You should’ve come up the first day you heard us,” Thranduil spits out, “Could’ve had this cock making you happy every night. You needed this, right? Someone, to fuck you stupid? Did you lie awake all night and listened to Bard fucking me, fiddling with yourself as if your dumb little fingers could ever come close to this?” His middle finger demonstratingly flicks your clit up.

“Please, oh– please, please,” you sob, the messy circles he’s rubbing with his thumb dumbing you down to a mumbling mess. Pleasure dances in every vein, lights up nerve endings in white-hot fire. 

"Gosh, I think I’m feeling that stick I had been talking about,” Thranduil rasps, pressing his palm against your lower stomach, bringing out another wail, “Oh wait no, that's just me giving you exactly what you needed." 

You’re wringing out his cock, every stroke sends him deeper and deeper, crushing your g-spot, urged on by the slaps of Bard’s balls. He’s taking it slower, staying against Thranduil’s prostate and spreading his hands in the long hair to control when his boyfriend slams into you. 

“C’mon, honey. Be good and come on Thran’s cock, won’t you? He’s so sorry for his bratty behavior but as you can see –” Bard sends his hand down swiftly, shocking you as his palm lands flat on Thranduil’s right cheek with a loud ‘smack’; a scream of pleasure and Bard pats the already reddening skin, “he’s insatiable.” 

That’s what does it for you, in the end. 

Already spiraling toward the edge with Thranduil’s pace and his fingers slipping, rubbing, flicking in all directions, it’s the calmness in Bard that sends you over. The relaxed hold in Thranduil’s hair, how he thrones above you, patiently waiting for his turn because he’s already fucked Thranduil twice tonight – what are another few minutes of watching you slurring their names?

If Thranduil’s cock broke you in half, the orgasm that spikes through you angrily and into every cell splinters whatever’s there to shred. It’s blinding, hot and cold, a wildfire and ice bath. It’s the strongest you’ve cum in a while and your brain shuts down. 

Thranduil groans as you clench around him, but, sensing – or seeing it in your fucked out expression – that you can’t take anymore, he drags his cock out of you. 

Half conscious your head drops to the side as you try to catch a breath that isn’t sweat and hair. Through blurred eyes, you have a front-row seat to the change in Bard. He swiftly lifts his head once, shaking back his hair and exposing the long column of his throat and the muscles that flex in his shoulder, before he’s sprawled atop Thranduil, grabbing the red and heavy cock wet with your cum and fucks him. 

Raw and unapologetic. 

Fingers pull on Thranduil’s hair, forcing his head back into his neck and Thranduil groans, arching his back closer to Bard. It’s a glorious sight, their hips meeting again and again, Bard’s hand wrapped around Thranduil’s cock, pulling and jacking him off in that same rhythm that Thranduil had rubbed you earlier.

Bard’s panting as well now, grinding more than thrusting and watches himself disappear inside Thranduil. “You feel so good, Thran–” he mumbles, “one more time for me, alrigh’ gorgeous? You did perfectly tonight, taking me three times.”

The praise continues to rain, hailing down like the short and precise twitches of Bard’s hips and when Thranduil hits the bed in a low moan of Bard’s name, coating the bedsheets underneath him white, Bard follows shortly after; buried deep inside his boyfriend.

For a while, the room is filled with efforts to catch your breath. Sweat clings to your body like a second skin, glistening on Thranduil and Bard lying close to each other next to you as well. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper, “the neighbors are gonna hate us.”

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Carrying their sleeping loves to bed

Thorin: *lovingly looking down at a sweet sleeping Bilbo in his arms*

Thranduil: *Bard in one arm, Y/N in the other, carrying them under their bums like awkward toddlers*

Thranduil: “They’re not heavy but that doesn’t seem fair.”

[mirkwdmstrss]

introduction <3

✨fic requests OPEN✨

hi! my name is ash and it was high time i started this blog to store all my tolkien related fics and ramblings. i write largely about bard and thranduil (barduil), adar, and gil galad, but i am hoping to start expanding and exploring other character dynamics! pls feel free to drop a request any time, but know that i reserve the right to decline any topic i am not comfortable with or don’t feel like i would be the best person to write it. that said, don’t be afraid to ask! i love bringing people’s ideas to life if i think i can do so!

i am 26 years old and some of my work is NSFW. because of this: MINORS DNI. this is an 18+ only account and if you follow or engage with my work, i will block you. please respect this boundary

MASTER LIST

adar x sauron:

in his image

returned to darkness

gil galad x reader:

by the river’s edge

the sun has already risen

[scary-grace]

milestone-ish

As of today, it's been one year since I opened up a note on my phone and typed out the first words of Love Like Ghosts. My fandom obsessions don't usually have such a clear start date, but this one does, and although I've only been active since last October, I've had such positive experiences in the BNHA x reader fandom!

In honor of that, if anyone wants to send me prompt or two from this list (or a random prompt of your choice), I'd love to do a few little Shigaraki x reader fics! Emphasis on little -- I'm really trying to practice writing short.

Anyway, thanks to all of you for putting up with me this year. Based on the number of WIPs and ideas I have, you'll be stuck with me for another one.

[laneynoir]

Okay so, I had this idea for the “defending a lover” thing (again). What if you put “Don’t ever say anything like that ever again” and “yes, I’m being serious! That was way out of line.” Together but for Legolas. Idk I just thought that would be interesting and you’ve been wanting requests soo👍🤭

I apologize for how long this took me, and it turned out to be a two part thing so~

Change.  It's a funny word, that can mean so many things. So much, such as life and death, and so little, such as a rock from one day to the next.

Recently there have been far to many 'much' changes in your life.

Not that you were in horrified shock (anymore), or lamenting your loss (often), but things like up and cause more than your idea of a fair amount of stress.

The first major change was probably the butterfly, such a pretty, small, and seemingly inocint thing. You'd seen it in the park, while taking a walk -as one might do if they are poor and have just lost their job- when it fluttered to a landing on the path in front of you.

That in itself would not have been a strange thing, the fact that it seemed to glow, and had an odd green color however was.

Intrigued, you had crouched to get a better look, but it lifted off the ground and flew to a spot six feet away. Resolving to at least get a picture of the bug, you stalked quietly after it.

Having lost track of time, you'd followed the neon wonderment (which you begrudgingly had named Dill, for it's coloring was close to that of the plant) far off of the path, and into the woods.

Upon realising this, you mearly shrugged and started humming the song. The benefits of being temporarily unemployed.

At last Dill landed on the exposed root of a great tree, and promptly turned grey; or more accurately, to stone.

You found yourself gaping at the audacious creature, thirty minutes it had led you on... only to turn to stone.

You'd only taken a step forward when, in a moment that clearly showed the authors love for Alice in Wonderland , the ground opened up beneath your feet.

Suddenly you were free falling with nothing to catch yourself, and as opposed to Alice there was no conveniently placed floating table an accompanying lamp to shed light into the passage.

Not that you would have been able to turn a lamp on, as you speed was constantly picking up and any root you tried to grab only tore at your hands, painfully pulling a fingernail free.

When the novelty of falling with no way to stop faded, (how deep was this hole?) Your rational thoughts -those you had anyway- returned. You decided quickly to stop trying to slow your decent, as that was getting you nowhere, the realisation that this fall is going to end in your death quickly followed.

Oh.

Well that wasn't exactly how youd hoped the day would go, but it wasn't as if you needed to show up for work the next day, and really, a missing persons case was probably the most anyone would pay mind to you. With that thought you let a laugh escape, a sound that is decidedly strange in the few seconds before the sound is sucked away.

Just as the comparison with the scene where Loki complains about having been falling for thirty minutes crossed your mind, the world, or at least gravity, seemed to tilt and the bile you'd been successfully containing made a dangerously close attempt at an appearance.

The lights (wait- lights?) swirled around in a galaxy of colours before the rocky ground (wait no- that couldn't be right. You we're already underground.) Came into view.

And there came the second change, though you did not know it at the time. A delightful change in universe.

Staring at the rocks which were growing steadily closer to your person, you notice a man with red hair, and prehaps a note book, really he was still to far away to tell. And of course you were about to die.

You do at last come close enough to tell that, yes it is a notebook, and feel an odd sense of pride at the correct guess.

The ground is very close when the man looked up, mouth promptly falling open, and you only had the feverant hope that you dont land on the man, as his sweater is quite nice, and you don't wish to ruin it.

When you woke you found the same man, as well as three others peering over you. Thus followed a round of introductions, Dori, Nori, Ori, (the man from before) and an unrelated man named Oin.

When you were convinced that, no, you were not dead, you politly inquired as to what happned to your clothing. You were not pleased to learn that you'd not been whearing any upon landing, only what Ori described as 'a blanket of stars, swathing your form until landing' (the guy must be a poet, you decided)

The following monthes were quite... Odd to say the least. It took two weeks before you were convinced that this wasn't really a cult, even longer until you belived the whole 'dwarf' thing.

Another change, a change of mind came in your time in the Erud Luin you were... Content. The air seemed to be so pure that breathing itself was a privilege, and even though you were a bit out of place among the bearded lot -because you had never seen a woman with facial hair, much less a this many, all whom pulled it off with enviable grace- you settled in with the suspicious folk with relative ease.

Though the time you mentioned needing a haircut nearly sent your new housemates into cardiac arrest.

You rarely missed your old life, and certainly didn't miss the clothing with lack of pockets, which seemed to be almost as importamt to Dwarrow as their weapons. And that's saying somthing.

You made many an aquantince there, eventually (albeit accidentally) earning the respect of a gruff captain, and subsequently earning lessons in combat.

That led to meeting the two young princes, after which you watched your back alot more. They were sweet, but pranksters through and through.

Meeting their uncle and mother was a nerve-wracking experiance to say the least. But lady Dís was an amazing woman, and her brother no less so.

Not one to take charity without repayment, you began helping around the 'Ri household as much as you could, Dori owned a laundry-sewing-alterations service, and you became accustomed to such work quickly.

Ori was at the end of his Scribe training, and was truly a magnificent artist. And so once a month he usually was employed for a portrait painting.

Nori... Had sticky fingers. You enjoyed your lessons with Dwalin (nearly as much as Ori enjoyed accompanying you, though you had the distinct feeling that you were being ised as an excuse to watch the tattooed dwarf) and so did not help the middle brother in his activity.

...much

A pleasant change was when the 'Ri family officially took you into their household and named you kin before the law. An impressive feat as Nori managed not to pickpocket the nobles presant.

Ori in particular became close to you, so really it came as no surprise when you backed him in his wish to join the Quest for Erabor.

A dragon, after all, would be neat.

Sitting at the table of Master Baggins, (who was even shorter than the dwarves, and had the softest looking curls youd ever seen) you lamented the horrible display of manners that Thorin in particular displayed.

The next day you gleefully handed your money over to Balin, the hobbit would join the Quest.

Thus the journy began.

And here you are, tied in a bag.

Trolls really smell awful. And you don't exactly enjoy being dubbed as the one who'd given the parasites to the dwarves.

Still the distraction worked and the trolls turn to stone, leaving you thinking once again about the butterfly who'd started this all.

The languages of Arda came to you easily, so you know kudzul -unofficially of course, as it is forbidden to teach. Ori was quite creative in 'accidently' translating it for you- and now Bilbo makes quite the teacher in Sindrin.

Lessons that the young scibe was defenently not listening in on.

And so you can laugh quietly as the elven lord invites you for dinner, arousing the suspicion of the dwarves.

As lovely as Rivendale is, you cannot but feel relief when you leave. Everythings seems to be higher in volume after the stay, the buzzing of the giant bees when you arive at Beorn's house is louder than it should be. Somehow your stay with Elrond has changed you.

Mirkwood is awful. Everything is amplified and muted at the same time, voices are garbled to your ears, yet hurt in their volume simultaneously. Every glint of light off of a weapon is blinding, but the darkness offers no comfort.

You smell the spiders and hear them before you can even realise what they are. Only instinct and habbit from Dwalin's lessons keep you alive.

You will never tell your adopted family, but you find significant relief when the elves take you captive, hoping for a dark space at last to curl into a ball, and maybe pass out.

The blond is admittedly attractive, but looses brownie points with you when he takes Thorin's sword.

~

The Elven King Thranduil has just as commanding a presence as Thorin, and hair to envy. He seems to be alike his son in that he also looses any brownie points by subjecting your lot to rot in his dungeons. Very rude. You wouldnt even live to a hundred.

The elven cooks are quite good however, if the food they feed the prisoners is anything to go by. And yet you cannot eat more than a few bites. Your body hyperaware of everything, senses dialed up so that you cannot tune anything out each crumb of bread is your worst enemy, the stench of unwashed dwarves, even though they are around the corner from your cell, washes over you.

The steps of Bilbo when he comes seem to be as heavy as a trolls for all that they sound.

The quiet presance of Legolas -the blond- is the only solace when he takes gaurd, Tauriel hangs by Kili's cell more often than not, her voice is like music, and they speak quietly. But still you catch every words and hear as their tones to one another change.

Also do you hear with some satisfaction that Dwalin and Ori have been locked up together. Prehaps now they will finaly face eachother.

~

A month you've yet been in the woodland realm's cells, and you grow worse. The shouting from your companions is like a hammer driving a spike into your head with each syllable. Your ears have begun to ache. Legolas has spoken to you only, and though it pains you, you enjoy the quiet company.

You tell him nothing of the Quest, but when he asks where you come from, you cannot help but answer the prince. He listens, enraptured by your tale. When the very sound of your own breathing is to much to bare, Legolas notices, and brings Oin to your cell.

You nearly vomit when he arrives, and his shouting causes you to shake, eyes wide, he leaves.

You can feel everything. The texture of your cloth is awful. The ground is rough.  The bread is two days old, and baked by a novice. The water was kept in an old wine barrel. You can see to well. It hurts.

Legolas snaps at the dwarves as their talking is making you curl into yourself, shivering.

You feel useless. But you can't make it stop.

Your ears are the worst, you want to huddle in a ball and press your palms against them. And plug them with wax. But the feeling is to much, they're too sensitive. You've torn a strip from the horrid tunic to tie your hair back from touching them.

When Bilbo comes to say that a way out has been found, you just look into his eyes and he knows. You wont be joining them.

He releases the dwarves, and when they notice your lack of appearance they rush to your cell.

The clambering for an explanation is horrid. A whimper escapes your mouth, and Bilbo hushes them, backed up by Thorin, they fall as silent as is possable.

"Y/n, whats wrong?" Ori is the quietest dwarf in voice, but still is loud to your ear.

You shake your aching head. "I don't know. I don't-" you break off and are horrified to find a tear rolling down your face. "I'm so sorry. I'm useless-"

They raise their voices in protest and you wince, entire body jerking. "Like this." You finish. "I cant even stand the sound of my own breathing, or the feel of clothing. I havent eaten in who knows how long. And I'm about as strong as a toothpick!"

At the confused looks you sigh. "A tiny shaving of wood used to poke food from between teeth. Look, the point is, I cant do much of anything right now. Hate me if you must, but I cannot accompany you on this quest anymore. I wish you all the best of luck, but you must go."

"How can you think that we would hate you." To your shock it is Thorin who speaks. "You were taken from your home, just as we were. You lost everything, but yet you started over in our land, and were courageous enough to join a mad quest to face a dragon. You have proved yourself more than necessary, saving the lives of me and mine. If we must leave you now, be assured that when we may, we will return for you. You will always be welcomed in any realm of dwarves, you are kin."

You smile in gratitude at his acceptance and promise, but make a shooing motion with you hand. "I hear them taking their meal, you must hurry. Go!"

With nods, they depart. Each step echoing painfully loud in your ears. When they are out of sight you crumple, not knowing if you will ever lay eyes on them again.

The green tunic you've come to recognize as comfort comes into view. "That was admirable of you."

You smile softly. "Not truly, rather self serving actually. I love them all dearly, but they are the loudest bunch." You meet Legolas' eyes. "Are you going to stop them?"

He ignores your question and drops to his knees, reaching through the bars. "You are crying..." There is sorrow apparent on his features, and it sends a feeling of guilt through you.

"Sorry"

"Do not be sorry, you are unwell. That is why I have come, father has given me permission to bring you to the healers, should you be willing." His tome indicates that he really would like it if you took up this offer, so you nod.

He unlocks the door and you move to stand. "Will they be able to-" black specks float around the edges of your vision and try as you might, blinking does not clear them away.

"Ah, shit"

Yaaaayyyyyyy.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Fotfictember Masterlist

AH, another month, another challenge...

To kick things off, I've decided to go with some of my favourite pairings and characters, but feel free to request any and all others!

I'll be writing S H O R T (I promise) ficlets of 100+ words, as inspiration strikes!

Let's playyyyy...

Apple picking (Thorin, Fíli, Kíli)

Leaves falling (Ori x OC)

Hand holding (Caranthir x OC)

Campfire (Russingon)

Baking (Eönwë x Gothmog)

Mist (Finwë x Thingol)

Harvest (Angbang)

Cozy pajamas (Finrod & Bëor)

Cuddles (kidnap dads) for @jaz-the-bard

Pumpkins (Aulë x Yavanna) for @cilil

Tradition (Fingolfin)

Boots (Beleg x Mablung) for @lycheesodas

Pie (Halenthir)

Corn Maze (Éomer x reader/OC)

Soft (Daemags)

Warm beverages (Námo, Irmo, & Nienna)

Family (Nerdanel x Anairë)

Sweet treats (Curuwendil)

Rainstorms (Fíli) for @laurfilijames

Cinnamon (Bagginshield) for @lordoftherazzles

Feast (Boromir x OC/reader)

Sweater Weather (Fëanor/Fingolfin) for anon

Candlelight (Celebrimbor x Annatar)

Festival (Barduil)

Acorns (Bilbo & Frodo)

Mushrooms (Irmo x Estë) for @cilil

Moon (Eöl x Aredhel) for @cuarthol

Soup (Farawyn)

Scarecrow (Celegorm, Curufin, Finrod & Turgon)

Author's choice - Walk in the forest

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Other Pairings Drabbles and Collections

CHARACTER X OC/READER

Modern May

Glorin/Milja (OC)- Chance Meeting + Chiropractor + “You have a package for me?”

Ori/Reader- Commuter + Computer Programmer + “Because this is where I live.”

BARDUIL (BARD X THRANDUIL)

Modern May

Rival Shops + Hair Stylist + “Did you enjoy yourself last night?”

BOFFINS (BOFUR X BILBO)

Sweet & Spicy Bingo

Cooking Together- Bilbo invites Bofur to stay and help him cook some tasty treats that have a little more meaning to the hobbit.

BOOK ENDS (BELLADONNA X BUNGO)

Modern May

Raising a Child + Reporter + “This isn’t just about you. It’s about what’s best for all of us.” (Not Happy Ending/Character Death)

FARAGRIN (FARAMIR X PIPPIN)

January Roulette

Sick + Royal- While Faramir is too sick to perform his duties, Pippin takes over even seeing the man to bed.

FILORI (FILI X ORI)

Modern May

Roommates + Paralegal + “I didn’t even realize you were flirting.”

Trick or Treat

Eagles (Treat)- Fili and Ori are stopped by the rain from getting to see eagles this time.

NWALIN (NORI X DWALIN)

Modern May

Neighbors + Police Officer + “I miss moments like this more than anything.”

Trick or Treat

Healing Biscuits and More (Treat)- Nori has to bribe Dwalin to keep him home so he can heal.

OIFUR (OIN X BIFUR)

Hugs & Kisses

Sweet Words of Relief- Oin thought he was going to lose Bifur at Azanulbizar and welcomes his awakening, damaged as he is now

SAMFRO (SAM X FRODO)

Trick or Treat

Garden (Treat)- Bilbo catches Frodo and Sam goofing off and flirting in the garden.

Dance with Me (Treat)- Frodo asks Sam to dance with him.

[blueberryrock]

8 and 9 for ao3 wrapped!

8. Pairing you wrote the most this year

well according to what i have posted, it's Elrond x reader with 1 fic 😅tho the ones I haven't finished is a whole other story that I can't really look through rn

9. Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

def barduil! as i said i got a new fic that's gonna come out soon and I am so excited

[trishfullertonwriting75]

I posted 173 times in 2021

25 posts created (14%)

148 posts reblogged (86%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 5.9 posts.

I added 104 tags in 2021

#reblogawriter - 28 posts

#teamthranduil - 28 posts

#thranduil - 16 posts

#thranduil fanfic - 8 posts

#thranduilfanfic - 6 posts

#thranduilfantasy - 5 posts

#thranduilfanfiction - 5 posts

#supportawriter - 3 posts

#thranduil x reader - 3 posts

#thranduil oropherion - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 32 characters

#notahealthproblembutanelfproblem

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

@ardhoniel-oropherion Never a commoner 😘

20 notes • Posted 2021-01-25 02:10:59 GMT

#4

Chapters: 25/25 Fandom: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: Underage Relationships: Thranduil (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Original Female Character(s), Thranduil (Tolkien), Bard the Bowman, Original Characters Additional Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Caring Thranduil, Protective Thranduil, Thranduil modern setting, Thranduil is an actor, Shakespeare References, A Midsummer Night's Dream - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Did I say angst?, Angsty allergic reaction, Betrayal, pretence, Thorin referenced Summary:

Mia Masry is a renowned published author, with no less than six, highly popular novels to her name, novels that are of an explicit nature. However, her well of ideas has run dry as of late and inspiration simply won't come to her. Her publicist decides to hire an actor, by the name of Thranduil, to pretend to be her 'prince charming' and give her the inspiration that is lacking. Thranduil isn't thrilled with his new assignment, but is struggling to get proper acting roles, through no fault of his own, but rather because of an ill-fated situation in his past. He has no choice but to take on a job that at least somewhat requires him to do what he loves to do most: to act. When the attraction between Mia and Thranduil is no longer based on pretence, they are on an unavoidable collision course with anger and heartache. There is no telling what their future will hold.

THIS NEEDS TO BE READ. I know there’s a lot of you Thranduil fans out there (as in most of my mutuals!) so pop over to AO3 and check out the latest story from this amazingly wonderful and talented writer. She’s taken two strong characters and worked wonders with them - it’d be criminal to miss this. Feel free to kudo and/or comment...everything helps motivate for the next work of art. 

And this IS a work of art.

And as a Thranduil fanatic - trust me. 

20 notes • Posted 2021-08-21 15:13:31 GMT

#3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bard the Bowman/Thranduil Characters: Bard the Bowman, Thranduil (Tolkien) Additional Tags: Praise Kink, Boss/Employee Relationship, Office Blow Jobs, Oh no the power went out!, Light Dom/sub, PWP, bard the bowman - Freeform, CEO!Thranduil, Oneshot, Deep throat, Bard has a praise kink Summary:

Bard is late for work and his line manager just had to make him work the time back.

Thing is, he isn't in the office alone. No, his ridiculously handsome boss with a voice like velvet is also working late.

Something very not safe for work happens between the two and Bard discovers a kink.

Ok folks, this NEEDS to be read and commented on. Written by my very good friend @writerman, the chemistry in the Barduil tale is electric. Read, coment, share.

25 notes • Posted 2021-08-08 02:18:19 GMT

#2

Need some help, guys...

Ok...I saw a fan edit/artwork pic of Thranduil somewhere, and can't remember where. He's in the forest (if I remember correctly), wearing a cloak with a hood pulled up over his head, looking directly out of the picture at the viewer.

Can anybody help with this..?

43 notes • Posted 2021-12-24 12:45:26 GMT

#1

Always perfect, always gorgeous

55 notes • Posted 2021-01-25 02:20:28 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[elvish-sky]

💜🖤 congrats darling!! you deserve every one of your followers :) also, “i cannot heal the hurt but i will hold you here forever if i can” for the black heart <3

Ahhhhh thank you!!! You’re so sweet 🥰. I hope you’re having a wonderful day!!!

💜- another absolutely wonderful person and blog is @guardianofrivendell !! They’ve helped me out so much, from calming me down about requests to advising me on fics. They’re a truly incredible person who is always so nice, and their blog is one of my absolute favorites!! Their fics never fail to make me smile so go check em out!!

🖤- “I Cannot Heal the Hurt, But I Will Hold You Here Forever if I Can”

Holy crap that’s a good title. And the feels!!! This is giving me biiiig Barduil or Aralas vibes. But for an reader insert I’d write maybe a Legolas x Reader, when they get to Helm’s Deep and think Aragorn is dead and they’ve just lost their best friend and comfort each other (ooh i think i might do that). Or a fili x reader, where maybe thorin dies in BotFA but Fili and Kili don’t and Fili is trying to deal with suddenly becoming king while mourning his uncle (ouch sadness but i think I might write it).

[itsonlydana]

Sailing Under the Sun | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader x Bard 👑 [king's special]

You're in the middle of the ocean when the wind dies down and leaves you stranded on Bard's sailboat. Thranduil's mood sinks but surely, though, there's a way to lift his spirits.

warnings/tags: NSWF! THIS IS ADULT CONTENT ✋️| [modern!AU], rich!Barduil, oral (m receiving), hand jobs, (guided) masturbation (f), dirty talk, i guess public-sex bc they're on the ocean? [reader is described with hair & wearing a bikini, no use of y/n]

word count: 4k

an: just a short little something, a treat for Thranduil as well as for you.. also.. Luke on that boat? Mhm-mhm yes yes. Best enjoyed listening to lana's 'born to die' because that's what i did xx // divider by @drinkthesky

+ masterlist + rules +🌿 reposts and comments are much appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

“I’m just saying,” Thranduil slides his gigantic pair of dark Prada sunglasses up his nose after one annoyed look at Bard, “if we’d taken my boat, there wouldn’t be this issue.”

You can’t stop the snort you let out at Thranduil’s less passive, more aggressive jab and since your face is pressed into the curve of your elbow, the sound is much louder than anticipated. 

“Thranduil, that yacht of yours burns through hundreds of liters of fuel. You can’t expect me to drop this baby –” The sound of Bard’s hand patting the wooden rail of his boat underlines the defensive bite in his answer, “so that you can destroy the ocean some more!”

“Have you not literally bought a new car last month?”

“It’s electric!”

“You had it flown in!”

“Boys!” You lift your head to stare at the two men – children, by the sound of their argument over boats like it was a cock measuring tool – and purse your lips, “Can’t a woman just nap on a boat, no matter what boat, and enjoy the sun a bit?” 

Thranduil opens his mouth to answer but you see that twitch in his eyebrows, the tell-tale sign that nothing good will come out so you cut him off before by shaking your head. “No, Thran. I really don’t care what or whose boat. All I want is for some relaxation. Maybe a drink.” You think back to the bottles of red wine cooling down in the cabin and sigh, “Or two.”

“You could’ve had one now,” Thranduil says and adds in a faux-whisper directed at none but heard by all: “Could’ve had a whole bar of drinks if we’d taken the Ferretti.”

Immediately, the groans of Bard and your inhale shut him up and Thranduil flips his hair back. “What? What?” his eyes fix you over the sunglasses and there’s a sharp edge to his low voice, a threatening edge of true annoyance. “Darling, you can’t tell me you’re happy that we’re stranded here.”

Stranded, because Bard’s prediction of a smooth sail went overboard as soon as the wind died down and he realized you’re mostly out of fuel.

Here, as in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by endless hues of blue. The glittering pacific blue ocean goes over into a cloudless light sky. No other boats, except yours, a peaceful human-less quiet that’s only interrupted by the gentle lapping of white foam-topped waves breaking against Bard’s sailboat and the breeze that makes the hot rays of the sun bearable if not enjoyable. 

And Bard’s been working on the sails wearing nothing but his swimming shorts so whenever you decide to look up from the towel you spread on the deck to sunbathe, you see his tanned muscles flexing in his back or his broad shoulders, and more than often he pulls on something or squats down which gives you a view even better than the ocean. The playful wind ruffles his hair now and then, dishevelling the locks of dark brown, salt and pepper and he looks – just right; balancing on the railing, his cinnamon-tanned chest splattered with freckles all up to his cheeks and a carefree easiness on his face. That’s the appearance of someone glad to be out on the water.

“Thranduil,” you pronounce the name like he’s a six-year-old who refuses to wear sunscreen, “I had the time of my life until you two whipped out your dicks.” 

And that’s the complete and honest truth. You have no need to suck up to Bard because Thranduil’s spoiled and rather spends the time on water acting like he’s not actually on water and sitting in the pool on his yacht, and you really like Bard’s sailboat. There’s a small bar downstairs, a hammock strung between the two masts, and plenty of room to lie down and do nothing. That’s all you need; he provides that and adds the naked-chest-view.

What are you going to do? Complain?!

“Yes, but imagine –” Thranduil stands up from his towel and saunters to you like a cat on a mission. The baby-blue linen shirt blows open in the sea breeze and shows the blush of pink that the sun has kissed onto his chest and the soft, slightly curled platinum strands of long hair brush your naked arms as he sits back down on the edge of your towel to lean down, his lips passing your temple to mumble hid deep vibrating voice into your ear, “The things we could do, the places we could play. The pool, the beds, the jacuzzi. I could tell the staff to leave the bar so I could taste my favorite drink –” his hands slide up your sunscreen sticky legs, rubbing the flesh of your thighs and part them slightly to play with the string of your bikini bottoms, “and that isolation means you, Darling, honey, can decide however – I – should – fuck – you.” 

A word, a kiss, a finger darting over the black bikini but never dipping in.

“Mhm,” your throaty hum is partly faulted to his hands caressing the warm skin of your inner thighs though his voice does a fantastic job of planting the seeds of imagination into your mind.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Bard calls and points his finger at Thranduil, “You’re playing unfair! Our girl has a right to her own opinion and doesn’t need your devilish tongue.”

The smirk is on Thranduil’s face before Bard realizes the double meaning of what he said and while he groans, Thranduil licks over his lips. “She could have it, though.” 

Bard jumps down from the railing, throwing a rope to the wooden floor. “You need a spanking,” he says, which not only leads to another smirk but to a low: “Yes, please, Sir.” 

Your bikini straps dig into your shoulders as you support yourself on your elbows, giving both men a view of your breasts pushed together in that black top they bought last month on the Monacco Trip. You catch Bard’s eyes, exchanging a shrug and tilt of the head, an unspoken discussion on how to deal with Thranduil’s behavior which, if unhandled, will only get worse the longer you sit around and try to ignore the crease between his eyebrows. 

The last time Thranduil had been forced to a dinner he had zero interest in being at, he made off-handed comments about everyone like he was absolutely counting on getting thrown out and when that didn’t happen he faked multiple phone calls (Bard and you ignored him the entire time, chatting to investors and walking arm in arm through the private gallery) before he stood up and left. Right before dessert was served. Like a cunt – There had been strawberry shortcakes and layered tiramisu, the perfect cream-to-berry ratio on the afternoon sweet clock. Bard had his chocolate eyes on the tiny glasses the entire time you were circling the room but none of them made it into your hands there.

You stole two in your tiny handbag, had sacrificed a lip balm and condoms to make room for the glasses to sneak them back to your hotel where you and Bard had watched a movie and pretended Thranduil didn’t sit next to you looking thoroughly pleased that he was finally back in his silk pajamas and freshly pampered.

“Soo,” Bard starts slowly, dragging out the ‘o’ that sounds more like a low throaty hum in the end. His hands wander up Thranduil’s shoulders to massage the twirly thin hair on his nape, “how can we make this day more enjoyable to you, Your Majesty?” 

“I could blow some winds into the sail to bring you back into port,” you suggest light-heartedly. 

Thranduil lifts one hand and nudges the glasses up into his hair. A few strands escape, falling down the side of his temples and fluttering in the breeze. While Bard has this look that places him on a sailboat, hands dirty and tanned like he spends his life up in the masts and ropes, Thranduil belongs on the yacht. Dirty-Shirleys, loosely buttoned shirts in white and blue, discussing galleys and standing on a glass floor to safely look down on the cerulean water underneath without ever getting even a bit of wave spraying up to the expensive clothes. 

You dabble in both these lifestyles. There are days when you love to sit around in tight dresses and hang around Thranduil’s arm, watching him gamble or play pool, whispering dirty thoughts like secret tactics into his ear but you would never say no to a day like this one. Lounging in your bikini, listening to the waves, and flying whenever the winds bless you. 

 “Or you could blow me.”

Thranduil doesn’t blink or twitch a muscle while you cough the devil out of you. Unfortunately, his proposition came when you reached for your bottle of water for a refreshment. The cooling drops roll down the curve of your breast and sink into the bikini and towel, leaving behind nothing but a darkened spot instead of the reanimating of your dried-out mouth and you’re spraying the water in more directions than Thranduil's yacht, barreling through the ocean at 40 knots.

At your sputtering, Bard pats your back compassionately. “There, there,” he chuckles and reaches down to wipe some of the water away, his fingers innocently brushing past the seamline at your breasts. The skin is warm, calloused, rough, and yet lovingly; he’s the summer cocktail that leaves you wanting more after one sip.  “He got you this wet already?”

“Bet that little number is drenched as well,” Thranduil adds mockingly and to prove him wrong, you raise your ass up.

“Check your facts,” you grin and slightly wiggle your butt, knowing full well that one more comment from either of them or one more touch would disintegrate the composure brought on by the sun and relaxation to leave another sea in the black bottoms. That thought brings more laughter, one that dusts your cheeks pinker than Thranduil’s chest. “Sea for yourself, huh?” 

Even Thranduil laughs at that, the first real smile that isn’t conceited or shameless flirting like the one he gave you as you showed off your bikini; this one’s deep from his soul and you’re proud that it’s one thoroughly bad dad-pun that cracks the shell of his mood.

“Well, Captain,” you blink up to Bard, “does the boat need you or can your loyal crew borrow some of that time?”

Sitting on one knee, Bard scratches the scruff of his beard, drawing his chin between two fingers. “No,” he says after a moment of thought and turns to Thranduil, “I’ve got time to help our Majesty out. One might say I’m quite handy at raising the mast. What? Oh, don’t look at me like that,” – that, being an eye roll and a huff – “so when she–” he nods his chin at you, “says it it’s fine but me? I’m getting castrated by the looks of ya!” 

“Tze, I don’t need your help masting me up. I’ve been lounging around blue-balling ever since our Darling girl showed that ass of her in that skimpy string bikini.” Thranduil makes himself more comfortable, sitting back on the small bench and leaning against one of the cabin windows so that you’re directly situated in front of him. As soon as you scoot closer on your knees, he opens his thighs and pets them. “C’mon, honey. Show me what that mouth of you can do.”

Bard, following his own, mischievous agenda, moves as well to sit next to Thranduil on the bench, one foot stemming up behind Thranduil to pull him into his opened legs. Their mouths crash together in a kiss that starts up fast, a colliding of teeth like a continuation of their earlier discussion that neither one is willing to lose. One of Bard’s hands finds its way into Thranduil’s neck, the other one moves to one of his perked-up nipples and playfully flicks it. 

You shuffle closer and undo the string that holds up Thranduil’s cream linen pants with fast nimble fingers – pulling on one end and watching, your cheek resting against one thigh, as the bow falls apart just like you plan on unraveling Thranduil. 

Without breaking away from Bard’s opened and moaning lips, Thranduil lifts his hips, aiding you as you pull the fabric over his legs to find a wonderful surprise waiting for you. 

“Seems like you weren’t lying,” you hum. There’s certainly one part of Thranduil that enjoys the view; ocean be dammed if you can have a good pair of tits in front of you, right? Thranduil’s cock stands proudly against his stomach, the tip red and weeping. You kitten-lick up the side, alternating to a soft kiss when you reach the head. “How did I not notice this?” you ask and lick up a bit of precum. 

The taste spreads salty on your tongue yet sweeter than seawater. 

That does bring Thranduil to break away from Bard and his gray eyes find yours, his pupils dilated by the lust taking over. “I guess it's because you didn't spare a glance at me during the whole journey. You were too busy drooling over Bard's a – ahh– ss.” 

“Is that so?” Bard asks cheekily, pausing his administration of marking up the junction Thranduil’s neck with his teeth, bruises that’ll remind Thranduil for a long time how, in the end, he enjoyed himself on Bard’s boat.

“No?” you lie. You did, but who wouldn’t stare if presented with such a good arse and muscles? Anyway, he’s your boyfriend and spent the morning between your legs so that must cancel each other out, right?

“Mhm, she did.” Thranduil grabs for Bard and pulls him into another kiss.

You spit in your hand, knowing full well by now a dip into your bottoms would be enough but the flutter of Thranduil’s lashes at the sound and what comes next is a high reward, and give his cock one testing stroke. 

“I don’t think you’re in the place to tease,” You use your thumb to smear his precome that dribbles out of his slit over the head and down, mixing it with your spit to wetten his cock further. A helping hand comes from Bard and he gatherers your hair. With nothing in your way, you lean forward and swallow Thranduil’s cock right to the base, licking up the veins.

Thranduil groans and his head slumps into the crook of Bard’s neck. He’s already too gone to answer in typical Thranduil-fashion – which is a snarky comeback –, a few licks and the slight pressure from your tongue against his balls is all it takes.

Swirling your tongue around the base, you sigh heavily, breathing in and taking him a bit deeper into your throat in the delight of finally having his weight in your mouth again. Thranduil’s hand flies to your head when you start bobbing, going down further and further every time, and his fingers wrap themselves around some strands, nails digging into your skin. 

“Fuck, that’s right,” Bard groans. You look up and see that Thranduil has his other hand around his cock, though he went right into a steady pace. Through lowered lashes, Bard nods at you. “C’mon baby, I know you’re drenched as well,” his hips lift, following Thranduil’s tug on his cock, “Just – fuck, just listen to me and I can take care of you, alrigh’?”

You nod around Thranduil’s cock, the tip now bullying the end of your throat in a way that nearly constricts your breathing but pleasurably lets just the tiniest bit of air through so you’re not yet lightheaded. Unconsciously you rub your thighs together, searching for some friction with one of your heels digging into your cunt. 

“That’s good, baby, but y’know what’s going to feel real good? Give Thranduil those fingers.”

While you continue to hold Thranduil’s cock down, nose pushed against the waxed skin, you let the blonde swirl his tongue around two of your fingers and watch as he coats your middle and pointer in enough spit that it drips when you pull them back with a ‘pop’.

Bard groans in approval. “That’s right, good job. Now go ‘head and slide them into your bikini. Leave it on, ‘s not like there’s much to pull off anyway.”

Thranduil laughs and moans at the same time, nearly choking you on his cock at the sudden movement and you quickly lift your head. A mix of your spit and his precum drip down your throat and onto your breasts. 

“Can you fuck my throat?” Your question sounds sweet but it’s Thranduil’s turn to choke on his laughter. The hand in your hair tightens.

“Fuck, of course, Darling,” Thranduil wastes no second and pushes you back on his cock immediately, giving you barely any time to inhale enough air before he’s lodged in your throat again. Without further ado, he starts thrusting up, first slow as he’s figuring out how he would like it today, then faster.

Gagging and shifting for a better stance, knees spread apart, your wet fingers slide past the tight stretch of your bikini, finding it practically glued to your cunt. There’s not one single cell in your body that isn’t strung to vibrate in lust and desire, all that goes through your flesh and mind is the siren song of pleasure, luring you closer into her trap but is it truly a trap when you surrender all you are willingly? You don’t think so and sink your middle finger into yourself, finding that there’s little resistance yet plenty of slickness that makes it easy for you to rub the pads of your fingers over your throbbing clit.

The squelch is loud and evokes groans from all three of you, only yours is stifled by Thranduil’s cock spearing through your mouth. 

“Oh, you’re such a good girl,” Bard smirks down at you, taking in the tears that gather in your eyes and the spit drooling out of your mouth, dripping uncontrollably and smearing over the hand you’ve been using to fondle Thranduil’s balls. “What a sight, you messy messy girl. Look how you’re pleasing Thran – shit,” he breaks into a moan as Thranduil twists his hand.

Blinking away some of the tears and rubbing your clit harder, it’s an effort to focus your twisted view to look up at Thranduil but when your eyes focus, he’s glorious. Both hands occupied, one holding you down and the other fucking Bard’s leaking cock, knuckles glistening with precome. He’s leaning to the side, moaning open-mouthed against Bard’s throat that bobs at each sound, the blush on his cheeks dark and a beautiful contrast to his light yet disheveled hair. No painter could capture that wanton pull of his face, the color of his lips, and the fan of his lashes.

“I – Love, Bard, I don’t think – ah fuck yesyesyessogood – I’m not gonna last long,” Thranduil manages to say, his hips speeding up in that blind chase after pleasure, grinding his cock into the back of your throat.

The lightheadedness kicks in with the rush of adrenalin and you hum, sending the vibrations along Thranduil’s cock. He can’t hold himself back longer, there’s no reason or thought behind his actions as he hammers his cock into you, using your mouth as a wet sleeve just like you had wanted him to and his size and width will probably bruise you enough that speaking will be something to avoid but there’s no reason for your voice if your body sings that beautifully like it does now.

Your hips move against your own hand, rutting into the fingers rubbing your clit furiously, the heat in your stomach tight.

“Fuck if you could only see yourselves,” Bard grunts, twitching in Thranduil’s firm grip one last time before he shoots his load all over his heaving chest. Breathlessly, he sinks down, falling to his knees and you don’t even notice how close he is until rough fingers shove yours aside. 

For a second you whine, a useless sound blocked by Thranduil’s heavy cock, but Bard shushes you. His frame blocks the sun that beats down on your back and he curls around you. “Let me, love,” he murmurs. There’s another burning light, stronger and hotter than the sun. His fingers find your clit with a knowing ease and you go tense up completely, thighs shaking to hold yourself up somehow. 

The gentle bob of the boat does nothing but heighten the sensations, the exposure to everyone who might pass or get close a knowledge that sits in the back of your neck and rolls down your spine hot like molten silver.

A narrow breath trips out of Thranduil’s lips, a pretty little sound that leaves you dripping all over Bard, who shoves two fingers of one hand inside you and rubs your clit with two of the other. A string of moans follow and then, shooting directly down your throat, Thranduil comes with one last raise of his hips, his hand stilling in your hair and his cum bittersweet. 

“Good fucking girl,” Bard praises, his fingers sending you into oblivion straight after you finish swallowing and choking on Thranduil, one ‘come-hither’ motion that lights up your body like fireworks on the fourth of July though instead of rocketing up into the sky, you clam down on Bard’s fingers and let the flaming orgasm whip you into another sphere. 

Your sight clears and both men are there, rubbing your back and gently rolling you through the shaking aftershocks that leave you to fall trembling into Bard. He catches you, hands sticky with your combined arousal holding you up. Thranduil reaches for your forgotten water bottle, tipping it to your mouth and you greedily flush down the remaining taste of his cum.

An orgasmic bliss clings to the edge of your being and you’re more than satisfied. 

Since you don’t seem like taking control over your body, Bard man-handles you to lay down on another towel, one that’s free from cum. Thranduil stands, if not sways, and pulls on the open sail to bathe you in a cooling shadow.

“There,” Thranduil pulls off his shirt, the baby-blue darkened by his sweat and carelessly throws it into the cabin, “I could go for a swim now. All that blowing and there’s still no wind.”

And with that he swings himself over the metal railing, hair flying through the air and the water spraying up as he dives down.

You mumble a question and – yes, speaking will definitely be limited to the bare minimum and only if truly necessary.

Bard understands you nevertheless and slips behind you again, pulling your tired body against his – cleaned – chest. “Let’s join him in a bit,” he mumbles between the rain of soft kisses into your neck, his nose nudging your skin gently, “and then I’ll them him I’ve got a full enough tank to sail us to every port he wants to.”

You snort, rolling your head back to give his wandering lips more access to your sun-kissed warm skin. Spots dance in front of your closed eyes and seagulls screech in the distance. The water sounds inviting and you can’t wait to dive into the cooling wet, joining Thranduil. You’ll climb on his back, letting him drift around with your arms around his neck holding on, the water lapping over you and Bard tugging on your feet, tickling you until you swallow water from laughing so much.

But now, his breathing is as constant as Thranduil’s low hum next to the boat, and his arm’s heavy around your stomach and you promise yourself you’ll just close your eyes for a little bit.

taglist: @crouchingapple (if you want to be added: just inform me via the inbox or under my posts)

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Thranduil being trapped under Bard and Reader not wanting to move after they sleep off the hours of love making.

*Thranduil internally*: “Why do humans sleep so long? How long will I be trapped like this? I can’t wake them. Why has love made me soft? I am a king. Surely they can’t sleep much longer, last night wasn’t that bad.”

[angelic-kisses13]

Master list - Updated 11/21/20

* smut piece

Henry Cavill

~ Bruised Knuckles and Soft Chuckles 

~ Weapon Of Vengeance Part I

~ Weapon of Vengeance Part II (Coming Soon)

~ Wet and Dry

~ Firelight Kisses

~ Haven’t Forgotten You 

~ In any life

~ Marking my territory 

~ Mine Tonight

~ Long Legged Beauty

~ Stars on your Skin 

~College AU (coming soon) 

Antillia (Pirate Henry x Voodoo Witch Reader) 

~ Antillia

~ Antillia II

~ Antillia III (coming soon) 

August Walker

~ *All Wrapped Up for Me?

~ Code Purple

~ *Red Halo

~ *Red Halo II

Walter Marshall  

~ *Breed Part I 

~ *Breed Part II

~ Family Outing

~ Notched 

Napoleon Solo

~ Kiss the Pain Away?

Charles Brandon 

~ Claiming I

~ Claiming II (coming soon) 

Geralt of Rivia

Captain Syverson

Clark Kent/Superman

~ SunStone 

Charles Vane 

~ Invincible (Coming Soon) 

Legolas Greenleaf

~ Inthildin Nin I

~ Ithildin Nin II

~ Ithildin Nin III

~ Ithildin Nin IV (coming soon) 

Barduil

~ Love Withdrawal 

~ Chug

~ Hi Handsome

~ Crown of Antlers

~ C’mere

~ Oh Fuck Me 

Five Word Prompts

50 Types of Kisses Prompts

Smut Prompts

Can choose any of the prompts for Henry, and his characters as well Charles Vane and Legolas and Barduil. 

[scary-grace]

working on multiple x reader fics that are all in various plot stages is so confusing because it’s like “they just met. they’re not going to see each other for fifteen years. they’re hooking up. they’re about to kill each other. they’re about to fake each other’s deaths. why haven’t they kissed yet. why haven’t they admitted they like each other. what are they going to do about that zombie bite. did they just break up? they just met again.”

I miss the barduil days when I was only working on one story at a time.

[laneynoir]

Part Two of Changes

Legolas x reader

You wake in an amazingly soft bed, light streams through windows causing you to squint. The first thing you notice is that you no longer hear the blood puming through your veins at a rate that makes you sick. The second is that you had said that aloud.

The third is that Thranduil is in the same room, and happens to be... Laughing? "Uh hi?"

His hand is on you forhead moments later, and you feel the horrid pressure lessening. "Good morning, it is a pleasure to see you awake."

You blink twice. "Oh. How long have I been out?" His reply of three days leaves you nodding. "That explains why I feel like I've had the best sleep in my life." You pause, but decide not to dance around the issue. 

"I'm terrably sorry, but I must ask, have I been healed so you can kill me by testing out a torture device?"

The Elvenking blinks slowly, mouth lifting elegantly at the corner. "Have I made such an impression that you would think such?"

You shrug, and oh what a gloriously simple movement- free of pain you could liken it to the ripple of water over a rock in a cool, clear creek. "Forgive me, I'm suspicious by nature and life with dwarves tends to cultivate that, rather than remove it." You grin. "And you haven't exactly given me the best experience, I've spent the last who knows how long stuck in a doungon with the worst pain I have ever faced. And that's counting periods."

"I supose I can see where you may have garnered your mistrust."

You take the proffered glass, relishing in the delightfully clear taste, fresh spring water. "I'm still not fixed, I hear to well, and I can taste the minerals in this water, even though by rights they should be far to subtle."

The Elvenking look as if he is repressing a smile. "You wish to know what was 'wrong' with you I assume?" You nod. "Your body was going through a change, I assume it had much to do with your impromptu relocation from your 'Earth' it seems the Valar saw more than meer mortal exsistance for you.

"The heightened awareness, aversion to sleep, sensitivity... All of these were outward signs of this change. I placed you under a deep sleep so that I could better access your mind, having prodded a few things I managed to push the transformation into speed, the discomfort of this transformation passed during your slumber."

You bite you lip, confusion being the most prominent of the swirling emotions in your head, you inquire; "You keep mentioning this change, what about me has changed? Am I now a goblin?"

This time Thranduil does not contain his smirk. "That my dear is where the humor of this most interesting situation arrives."

"Oh, 'cause that's not cryptic" at the ache in your neck's insistence, you may back on the pillow. "Come now, the suspense is killing me, what foul beast am I changed to?"

"Let us say that I have no confidance in your dwarrow accepting you."

"What's that-" the implications set in halfway through your sentance. "...oh dear."

"Hm, I'm afraid you have a better chance with my son. However yes, you are now an elf." He looks entirely too pleased by this, and you shoot him a disgruntled look.

"That explains the ear pain. But I can't be an elf, I barely manahed to keep a flimsy mortal life together! Elves are suposed to be the fairest and wisest, I followed a butterfly because it looked neat, then ended up falling down a hole and landing buck ass nude in a Dwarven sheep pasture!"

"My condolences."

You sit up. "Has anyone ever told you, you're an ass?"

He sighs, and in that moment you can see through the mystical glow that seems to cling to his pale skin, you see the centuries of life reflected in his eyes. "What has happned to you is unheard of, no tale has ever even hinted at the possibility of a mortal experiencing such change. Therefore no one expects you to adapt seamlessly.

"Not all elves are always wise fair and kind, as I am sure you will have gathered. Indeed my peoples have long suffered life in a forest riddled with sickness, fighting a never ending battle from two fronts, excluding the dangers of our own home.

"Such we have been labeled warlike and less wise by our distant kin, tell me; is that fair?" He shakes his head. "No, our kind may be immortal, but still we have much to learn."

His words give you much to think about, so you stay quiet a moment. "So... What happens to me?"

"If your dwarves forsake you-"

"They would never!"

He holds a hand up. "Do you know this, truly?" At your silence he says, "No we can know nothing for certain. If your dwarves forsake you, the woodland tell is an open sanctuary to you." His mouth tilts upward again. "Indeed, I think my son should be much displeasured by any other offer. He is most fond of you"

You feel the blood rise to your face. "I'm sure he was mearly fascinated by the shriveled hooman turing into an elf." The smirk on Thranduil's face is a might too knowing for your taste so you ask instead, "Where is Legolas?"

The King sighs. "He and Tauriel raced off after the Drarrow band." He glares when you stiffle a laugh.

"Sorry" you say, batting your eyes to let him know that you are not, indeed, sorry.

Days have passed, and when you are at last allowed from the halls of healing you nearly sing with joy.

Instead you take a walk through the gardens, as much if a walk as you can any way, as you now mist get used to weighing about twenty pounds but having the strength of fifty athletes.

The two elves whispering to eachother while pointing 'discreetly' in your direction kill the peacfull mood.

It is almost a relief when the King tells you of the March on Erabor.

You agree quickly to come, Thranduil wishes no more bloodshed than he can prevent. And as you are kin, he points out, you have a better chance at convincing the dwarves to assist Laketown.

~

You knock back the mug of ale that Legolas hands you, though the taste is not so great as that of Thranduil's wine, not having to watch the Elvenking flirt with Bard king of Dale is a definite win.

Besides, you think with little shame, your current company is quite adequate.

Reclined on the grass and staring at the stars you trace the shapes of dwarven constellations.

"You are troubled."

The clear musical sounding voice does not phrase this as a question, bit as an invitation to seek comfort. After a mental debate you concede.

"Yes. They -the dwarves- are my family. Or were. The betrayal of their faces this morning... Hurts quite frankly. I dont know what or how they will react when they see... Me." You sit up, no longer focoused on the stars and wrap yourself in your cloak.

Legolas tentivly reaches a hand to your shoulder, smiling when you lean into the touch. "Dwarrow are suspicious in the best of times, to an elf, much less and entire army of elves at the door of a mad king? They, or at least your king, will suspect trickery. It is not you they bear grudge against."

The shift closer to the prince and grin. "I'm not sure I wish their wrath upon you my prince." You smirk. "Unless you have put some spell of trickery onto me."

Legolas traces the line of your jaw. "Do you feel tricked? Or under a spell? Tell me, what spell do you feel?"

His fingers brush your ear as they push hair back from your face, the touch sending and involuntary shiver through you.

Before you vould do something rediculouse, such as kissing the Ellon, you hear footsteps approaching. Moments later the owner appears, bowing quickly. "Prince Legolas, the king wishes to see you," he turns another bow in your direction. "You as well"

As you make your way tword the tent where they await, Legolas whispers, "I harbour no ill will unto Lord Bard, however I do hope that he may be absent from this meet. However much I may approve, my father is not so subtle as he think. That or he does this on purpose."

You stiffle a laugh before entering, and though Bard is presant, your attention is stuck on a curly haired Hobbit instead. "Bilbo!"

Though he looks unnaturally pale, Bilbo's face brightens. "Ah it is good to see you again! I- my goodness what has happened to your ears?"

On instinct, you reach up to touch the offending subject (causing all three elves to reden, though Tauriel's smirk is quite obvious). "I'd near forgotten, turns out I'm an elf now" you grin self consciously while doing halfhearted jazz hands.

Bilbo blinks very rapidly before He shakes his head and smiles. "Okay, alright."

"Wait- Bilbo why are you here? Shouldn't you be in the mountain?"

Bilbo then tells of how he took the arkenstone as his part of the share, explaining his plan. After the two kings and wizard acknowledge this course of action, Bilbo bows and leaves the tent.

"That was quite a brave thing to do Master Boggins."

Bilbo lets out a distracted humming sound. "It wasn't suposed to be you know, I meant what I said; I don't wish to see war."

You follow the line of his sight to the mountain of Erabor. "You also wish to save the life of your love." At his blushing and stammering you grin. "I may now have the eyes of elves, Bilbo, but that does not mean I was blind during our journy."

Cheeks as red as his prize-winning tomatoes, the hobbit huffs. "Now really! And even if I were -which I most certainly am not- you would have no room to speak of such. I'll remind you of a particular elven Prince, one who stayed beside your cell in silent comfort, and did everything he couldn't make your pain less?"

"Bilbo Bag-"

"You should have geard the argument he gave his father too, it was quite moving."

"Bimbo Boggins I love you, but I am two seconds from tieing to to a pillar and putting shoes on you." Your threat is rewarded by a scandalized gasp.

"You wouldnt-"

You grin, letting him know that you most certainly would. But the expression falls almost immediately. "I hope this works. I may not be accepted on the other side of this, but the company is closer to me than any blood relative I've ever had."

Bilbo ponders your words for a second. "It will." He says finaly. "It will."

You get the feeling he's more trying to convince himself than anything else.

"Gandalf doesn't wish for me to return to the Mountain."

"But you need to." At his signing admittance you stand. "Alright then, come on."

As you casually walk -with no alternative plan whatsoever, no escaping hobbits here- Bilbo, ever curious asks after you adaption to the new species.

"It's alright I suppose," you say after a shrug. "My main problem is forgeting that I only weigh twenty pounds max, but have the strength of three trolls. Fist time I rose from bed I accidentally launched myself into the air and hit my head on the ceiling."

Bilbo laughs, a merry sound, that convays a feeling of hope into you.

~

That hope dissapates quickly the next morning, as you watch in horror as your hobbit is held over the edge of the parpet.

You sigh in relief as Gandalf intervenes, though you shift in your armour. Rather niceb admittedly, and fits well, though not perfectly. The swords on your back provide a familiar comfort, and you are grateful for their return.

And then Lord Dain arives and you must refrain from snorting at his typical dwarven lack of diplomacy.

The Elven king is not so cold a being as he allows outsiders to think, his people remain loyal out of love. You are reminded of this when he pulls you into his steed during the battle, and instantly a calming influence spreads over you, the painfully loud roaring in your ears is suddenly able to focous.

Thus you continue until he elegantly rolls off, deciding to fight on foot to free his movement.

And again you are reminded of change, as the Thranduil pleads for you to go to his son.

Not that you had any intentions of doing otherwise. Ori and Bilbo are quite grateful for the ride to Ravenhill after you spot them both sprawled on the ground. (You kater learn that the hobbit had stumbled into the scribe whilst invisable.)

Bilbo's message is conveyed in time for Dwalin and Thorin, but this offers little comfort. Kili and Fili have walked into a trap.

~

In the midst of their concealed panic you tell them to go, and cross the water to search for the princes. 

Silently you pad through the tunnels, runing into Kili, you want him and have a heated argument in an attempt not to allow him to follow in search of his brother.

It is nearly comical the way he freezes suddenly, gaping at your ears.

"I'll tell you later, now go. Tauriel is searching for you, do you wish her to come to harm?"  This is am admitedly underhanded tactic, bit you find no shame In using both the elven warrior and his uncle against him.

After a panicked internal debate Kili's face settles into a determined expression, his hand shoots to your arm. The grip is tight enough to bruise, but the pressure is inconsequential against the severity of his gaze. "I trust you, you must know this. Help my brother. I trust you." You jerk your head, but his back is already turned and he strides quietly away.

Twitching your ear you hear comotion from down another tunnel and quickly dart down.

~

The aftermath of the battle is brutal, losses numbering high, but not so devastating as they may have been without the assistance of Radagast and his band of reinforcements.

Fili is the least injured of the Royal family, escaping with only broken ribs and a few nasty cuts. Kili's leg was shattered, and Oin says that it will never heal compleatly, the Wolf prince woukd bear a limp for all of his days.

Thorin has not yet awoken, the only reason for his life being a very outraged Bilbo Baggins (and supposedly the elk had something of a hand in the matter) 

Upon your entrance to the tent Kili is only patient awake, Oin hovers next to an unhappy looking Thranduil, who stands over a deathly pale Thorin.

When you take Kili's side he pushes his forgead against yours, a reliving alternative to the panicked moment that you misinterpreted his intent. "Thank you." He whispers.

He'd seen, having made it to the open ice just as Azog was wraping his monolouging up. In the end that was what had saved Fili from the pale orc.

You'd crept from behind, mind racing. Tackling Azog wasn't an option, as your new weight would have the same effect as a dodge ball against the large frame. So you'd settled for throwing another orc at the great white boy. He'd topped from the edge, nearly taking Fili with him.

A throat is cleared off to your left, and Kili releases you with a smirk. "Worry not oh elf prince, you've as much danger of me stealing y/n from you as inhave of you snatching Tauriel." To you he says, "You're physical change matters nothing to the company, always will you be welcomed in our home, Namad."

~

Legolas is as always a comforting presance, and rescues you when Oin begins poking at your injuries.

Walking through encampment you shiver. "The days are growing colder."

Instantaneously legolas becomes protective. "Do you wish to find a fire to rest beside?" You laugh.

"'S not that bad Leggy my dear," noticing that somthing seems off with him you bump agaisnt him. What is bad is your mood, what's wrong?"

He does not answer at first, but at your insistent glare he relents. "What was it that Prince Kili called you?"

You start. "Huh?"

"In the healing tent."

You smile and loop your arm through his, remembering to late that this may be more forward than youd intended, but as he says nought, nor moves away you leave it there. "Namad, it means sister. A great honour."

Legolas seems calmer and the two of you continue your stroll, speaking of anything that comes to mind. Later a disgruntled looking gaurd arives to escort Legolas to his father, unthinking, you press a kiss againstvhis cheek and turn to leave making it four steps befire your action register.

You seize up in horror, waiting for Legolas to say somthing in disgusts, but when you look at his face he just gives you his unfairly beutiful smile and walks away with the gaurd.

~

Legolas sighs when at last he is free from his fathers tent, why he was needed when all the king of Dale and Thranduil did was flirt the whole time...

The Prince's train of through is interrupted by the words of two elves close to the fire.

"-isnt even a real elf. Dont know why they let it so close to the prince."

"Must be offering other services, has the look of one of them." This is greated by laughtwr from his companion.

Legolas draws close, just as the reply comes; "Do you supose the king uses it as well? I don't think I'd mind seeing what's under that-"

“Don’t ever say anything like that ever again”

Both jolt, nearly falling over -clearly intoxicated.

Heavaly intoxicated.

"You cannot be ernest!"

They have fought in war today, and habe probably lost friends is not family. They cannot be in clear mindfulness. All this Legolas aknowlages, yet he still is angered. “yes, I’m being serious! That was way out of line.”

The secomd elf lowers his head once recognizing his prince. "Of course, my apologies my prince. I belive I've had more than enough of this drink."

"As he says, I don't quite know what's come over me..."

Legolas crosses his arms at the excuses. "Rumors of Y/n are not to be encouraged. If you hear of any, you will put a stop to them. Is this clear?" Both nod. "Very well, rest well."

The twoscamper of as Legolas hears a manic chuckle. He spins to see you perched on a beam. "That was rather nice of you."

"I will hear no ill against you."

You land in front of him and peer into his eyes. "You really shouldn't speak so my prince" at his risen brow you continue. "You'll have me taking Bilbo's advice."

Legolas breath is warm agaisnt your lips as he quips. "Master Baggins usually has good advice, prehaps you should do so anyway?"

You smile. "I think I may." You tilt up and press your lips against his.

Change is alright really.

This fix ended up over 6k words so *jazz hands*

[i-did-not-mean-to]

February 2023 Bingo

💖Sweet💖

Stargazing (Varda/Manwë)

Cup of love (Teacup-Ori)

Doom and Lattes (Beleg (/Mablung?) (/Túrin? You decide)

Candles of Candour (Beleg/Mablung) for @lycheesodas

Apple of my eye (Ori x reader) for @sorisooyaa

Tripping (Barduil) for @lordoftherazzles

Cupcake (Angbang)

Crime of passion (Angbang)

🔥Spicy🔥

Splash (Modern!AU Russingon)

Retrospect (Modern!AU Farawyn)

Leap (Trans!Ori x OC) -> Sequel to Daydream

A taste of heaven (Trans!Ori x OC)

Dance (Fingolfin doing a striptease)

Poultice of passion (Angbang)